For Nannie, far before the rest,
Hard upon noble Maggie prest,
And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle;
But little wist she Maggie's mettle-
Ae spring brought aff her master hale,
But left behind her ain gray tail:
The carlin claught her by the rump,
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump.
Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read,
Ilk man and mother's son take heed;
Whene'er to drink you are inclined,
Or cutty-sarks run in your mind,
Think, ye may buy the joys o'er dear,
Remember Tam o' Shanter's mare.
DONNIE Mary Halliday,
Turn again, I call you;
you leave your father's ha'
Sorrow will befall you;
The cushat, hark, a tale of woe
Is to its true love telling,
And Annan stream in drowning wrath
Is through the greenwood swelling.
Gentle Mary Halliday,
Born to be a lady,
Upon the Annan's woody side
Thy saddled steed stands ready;
For thy haughty kinsman's threats
Will thy true faith falter?
The bridal banquet 's ready made,
The priest stands by the altar.
Bonnie Mary Halliday,
Turn again, I tell you;
For wit and grace and loveliness,
What maiden can excel you?
Though Annan has its beauteous dames,
And Corrie mony a fair one,
We canna spare thee frae our sight,
Thou lovely and thou rare one.
When the cittern's sounding
We'll miss the music of thy foot
Amang the blythe lads bounding, ·
The summer sun will freeze our blood,
The winter moon will warm us,
Ere the like o' thee will come again
To cheer us and to charm us.
ON THE FRITH OF CLYDE.
RRAN! a single-crested Teneriffe,
ABRAN is single cres
Varying her crowded peaks and ridges blue;
Who but must covet a cloud-seat, or skiff
Built for the air, or wingéd Hippogriff,
That he might fly, where no one could pursue,
From this dull monster and her sooty crew;
And, as a god, light on thy topmost cliff?
Impotent wish! which reason would despise
If the mind knew no union of extremes,
No natural bond between the boldest schemes
Ambition frames and heart-humilities.
Beneath stern mountains many a soft vale lies,
And lofty springs give birth to lowly streams.
THE GOLDEN ISLAND: ARRAN FROM AYR.
EEP set in distant seas it lies;
The morning vapors float and fall,
The noonday clouds above it rise,
Then drop as white as virgin's pall.
And sometimes, when that shroud uplifts,
The far green fields show strange and fair;
Mute waterfalls in silver rifts
Sparkle adown the hillside bare.
But ah! mists gather more and more;
And though the blue sky has no tears,
And the sea laughs with light all o’er,
The lovely island disappears.
O vanished island of the blest!
O dream of all things pure and high! Hid in deep seas, as faithful breast
Hides loves that have but seemed to die,
Whether on seas dividing tossed,
Or led through fertile lands the while,
Better lose all things than have lost
The memory of the morning isle!
For lo! when gloaming shadows glide,
And all is calm in earth and air,
Above the heaving of the tide
The lonely island rises fair;
Its purple peaks shine, outlined grand
And clear, as noble lives nigh done;
While stretches bright from land to land
The broad sea-pathway to the sun.
He wraps it in his glory's blaze,
He stoops to kiss its forehead cold; And, all transfigured by his rays,
It gleams—an isle of molten gold.
The sun may set, the shades descend,
Earth sleep, and yet while sleeping smile;
But it will live unto life's end,
That vision of the Golden Isle.
Dinah Maria Mulock Craik.
A MOUNTAIN in the Island of Arran, the summit of which resembles a gigantic human profile.
ITH face turned upward to the changeful sky,
W1,
I, Fergus, lie, supine in frozen rest;
The maiden morning clouds slip rosily
Unclasped, unclasping, down my granite breast; The lightning strikes my brow and passes by.
There's nothing new beneath the sun, I wot;
I "Fergus" called, the great preadamite,
Who for my mortal body blindly sought
Rash immortality, and on this height
Stone-bound, forever am and yet am not, -
There's nothing new beneath the sun, I say.
Ye pygmies of a later race, who come
And play out your brief generation's play
Below me, know, I too spent my life's sum,
And revelled through my short tumultuous day.
O, what is man that he should mouth so grand Through his poor thousand as his seventy years? Whether as king I ruled a trembling land,
Or swayed by tongue or pen my meaner peers, Or earth's whole learning once did understand,
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