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While nobles strive to please ye,
A simple poet gies ye?
Still higher may they heeze ye
Frae care that day.
I tell your highness fairly,
I'm tauld ye're driving rarely ;
An' curse your folly sairly,
By night or day.
To mak a noble aiver ;
For a' their clish-ma-claver:
Few better were, or braver ;
For monie a day.
XII. For you right rev'rend O
Nane sets the lawn-sleeve sweeter, Altho' a ribban at your lug
Wad been a dress completer :
* King Henry V.
As ye disown yon paughty dog
That bears the keys of Peter, Then, swith! an' get a wife to hug, Or, trouth! ye'll stain the mitre
Some luckless day.
Ye've lately come athwart her;
Weel rigg'd for Venus' barter;
Your hymeneal charter,
Come full that day.
Ye royal lasses dainty,
An' gie you lads a-plenty:
For kings are unco scant aye;
On onie day.
Your unco muckle dautet;
It may be bitter sautet:
That yet hae tarrow't at it;
Fu' clean that day.
* Alluding to the news-paper account of a certain royal sailor's amour.
The sun had clos'd the winter day, The curlers quat their roaring play, An' hunger'd maukin taen her way
To kail-yards green, While faithless snąws ilk step betray
Whare she has been.
The thresher's weary flingin-tree
Far i' the west,
I gaed to rest,
There, lanely, by the ingle-cheek,
The auld clay biggin;
About the riggin.
All in this mottie, misty clime,
An' done nae-thing,
For fools to sing.
Had I to guid advice but barkit, I might, by this, hae led a market, Or strutted in a bank an' clarkit
My cash-account: While here, half-mad, half-fed, half-sarkit,
Is a' th' amount.
Duan, a term of Ossian's for the different divi. sions of a digressive poem. See his Cath-Loda, vol. ii. of M-Pherson's translation.
I started, mutt'ring, blockhead! coof!
Or sorne rash aith,
Till my last breath
When click! the string the snick did draw; And jee! the door gaed to the wa'; An' by my ingle-lowe I saw,
Now bleezin bright, A tight, outlandish hizzie, braw,
Come full in sight,
Ye need na doubt, I held my whisht ; The infant aith, half-form'd, was crusht ; I glowr'd as eerie's I'd been dusht
In some wild glen; When sweet, like modest worth, she blusht!
And stepped ben.
Green, slender, leaf-clad holly-boughs Were twisted, gracefu', round her brows; I took her for some Scottish muse,
By that same token ; An' come to stop those reckless vows,
Wou'd soon been broken.
A “hair-brain'd, sentimental trace"
upon Her eye, ev'n turn'd on empty space,
Beam'd keen with honour,
Down flow'd her robe, a tartan sheep
Could only peer it;
Nane else came near it
Her mantle large, of greenish hue,
A lustre grand;
A well known land.
Here, rivers in the sea were lost; There, mountains to the skies were tost: Here, tumbling billows mark'd the coast,
With surging foam ; There, distant shone art's lofty boast,
The lordly dome.
Here, Doon pour'd down his far-fetched floods; There, well-fed Irvine stately thuds : Auld hermit Ayr staw thro' his woods,
On to the shore ; And many a lesser torrent scuds,
With seeming roar.
Low, in a sandy valley spread,
She boasts a race,
And polish'd grace.
By stately tow'r or palace fair,
I could discern;
With feature stern.
My heart did glowing transport feel, To see a rage" heroic wheel, and brandish round the deep-dy'd steel
In sturdy blows ; While back-recoiling seem'd to reel
Their suthron foes.
* The Wallaces.