My dying words attentive hear,
And bear them to my master dear.

"Tell him, if e'er again he keep
As muckle gear as buy a sheep,
Oh, bid him never tie them mair
Wi' wicked strings o' hemp or hair!
But ca' them out to park or hill,
And let them wander at their will;
So may his flock increase, and grow
To scores o' lambs, and packs o' woo' !
"Tell him he was a master kin',
And aye was guid to me and mine;
And now my dying charge I gie him--
My helpless lambs I trust them wi' him.
"Oh, bid him save their harmless lives
Frae dogs, and tods, and butchers' knives!
But gie them guid cow-milk their fill,
Till they be fit to fend themsel;
And tent them duly, e'en and morn,
Wi' teats o' hay, and ripps o' corn.

"And may they never learn the gaets
Of other vile, wanrestfu' pets;
To slink through slaps, and reave and steal
At stacks o' peas, or stocks o' kail.
So may they, like their great forbears,
For mony a year come through the shears:
So wives will gie them bits o' breid,

And bairns greet for them when they're deid.

My poor toop-lamb, my son and heir, Oh, bid him breed him up wi' care;

And if he live to be a beast,

To pit some havins in his breast!

"And warn him, what 1 winna name,
To stay content wi' yowes at hame;
And no to rin and wear his cloots,
Like ither menseless, graceless brutes.

"And neist my yowie, silly thing,
Oh, keep thee frae a tether string;
Oh, may thou ne'er forgather up
Wi' ony blastit, moorland toop,
But aye keep mind to moop and mell
Wi' sheep of credit like thysel'.

"And now, my bairns, wi' my last breath I lea'e my blessin' wi' you baith:

And when you think upo' your mither,
Mind to be kin' to ane anither.

"Now, honest Hughoc, dinna fail
To tell my master a my tale."
This said, poor Mailie turned her heid,
And closed her een amang the deid.

much money

more

drive

wool

always, good give

from, foxes

provide for tend

portions, handfuls

ways restless

gaps

stem, cabbage

ancestors

many

bread

weep

tup

manners

ewes

hoofs

other senseless

next, ewe from

encounter

any, tup

mump, associate

children both

one another

do not

head eyes, dead

She was nae get o' moorland tips,
Wi' tawted ket and hairy hips,
For her forbears were brought in ships
Frae yont the Tweed:

A bonnier fleesh ne'er crossed the clips
Than Mailie deid.

Wae worth the man wha first did shape
That vile, wanchancie thing-a rape
It makes guid fellows girn and gape,
Wi' chokin dreid;

And Robin's bonnet wave wi crape,
For Mailie deid.

Oh a' ye bards on bonnie Doon'
And wha on Ayr your chanters tune
Come, join the melancholious croon
O' Robin's reed!

His heart will never get aboon-
His Mailie's deid!

valley

ewe

over, hillock

roll

rams

matted fleece ancestors from beyond

fleece

woe

dangerous, rope grin

who, pipes

moan

above

A PRAYER IN THE PROSPECT OF DEATH

OH thou unknown, Almighty Cause
Of all my hope and fear!

In whose dread presence, ere an hour
Perhaps I must appear!

If I have wandered in those paths
Of life I ought to shun;

As something, loudly, in my breast,
Remonstrates I have done;

Thou know'st that Thou hast formed me
With passions wild and strong;
And listening to their witching voice
Has often led me wrong.

Where human weakness has come short,
Or frailty stept aside,

Do Thou, All-good! for such thou art,
In shades of darkness hide.

Where with intention I have err'd,
No other plea I have,

But, Thou art good; and goodness still
Delighteth to forgive.

STANZAS

ON THE SAME OCCASION.

WHY am I loth to leave this earthly scene?
Have 1 so found it full of pleasing charms?
Some drops of joy with draughts of ill between:
Some gleams of sunshine 'mid renewing storms:
Is it departing pangs my soul alarms?

Or death's unlovely, dreary, dark abode?
For guilt, for guilt, my terrors are in arms;
I tremble to approach an angry God,

And justly smart beneath his sin-avenging rod. "Forgive my foul offence!"

Fain would I say,

Fain promise never more to disobey;
But should my Author health again dispense,
Again I might desert fair virtue's way:
Again in folly's path might go astray;

Again exalt the brute, and sink the man;
Then how should I for heavenly mercy pray,
Who act so counter heavenly mercy's plan?
Who sin so oft have mourned, yet to temptation ran?

Oh Thou, great Governor of all below!
If I may dare a lifted eye to Thee,
Thy nod can make the tempest cease to blow,
Ör still the tumult of the raging sea:
With that controlling power assist even me
Those headlong furious passions to confine;
For all unfit I feel my powers to be,

To rule their torrent in the allowed line;
Oh, aid me with Thy help, Omnipotence Divine

And, like the rootless stubble, tost
Before the sweeping blast.

For why that God the good adore
Hath given them peace and rest,
But hath decreed that wicked men
Shall ne'er be truly blest.

THE FIRST SIX VERSES OF THE NINETIETH
PSALM.

OH Thou, the first, the greatest friend
Of all the human race!

Whose strong right hand has ever been
Their stay and dwelling-place!

Before the mountains heaved their heads
Beneath Thy forming hand,

Before this ponderous globe itself

Arose at Thy command;

That Power which raised and still upholds

This universal frame,

From countless, unbeginning time,

Was ever still the same.

Those mighty periods of years

Which seem to us so vast,

Appear no more before Thy sight

Than yesterday that's past.

Thou giv'st the word: Thy creature man,
Is to existence brought;

Again Thou say'st, "Ye sons of men,

Return ye into nought!"

Thou layest them with all their cares
In everlasting sleep;

As with a flood Thou tak'st them off

With overwhelming sweep.

They flourish like the morning flower,

In beauty's pride arrayed;

But long ere night, cut down, it lies
All withered and decayed.

EPISTLE TO JOHN RANKINE

I'VE sent you here some rhyming ware,
A' that I bargained for, and mair;
Sae, whan ye hae an hour to spare,
I will expect

Yon sang, ye'll sen 't wi' canny care,
And no neglect.

more

So, when

song, thoughtfu