Gaunt, ghastly, ghaist-alluring edifices, Hanging with threat'ning jut, like precipices, Fit only for a doited Monkish race, Or frosty maids, fors worn the dear embrace, AULD BRIG. O ye, my dear-remember'd, ancient yealings, Were ye but here to share my wounded feelings! Ye worthy Proveses, an' mony a Bailie, Wha in the paths of righteousness did toil ay; Ye dainty Deacons, and ye douce Conveeners, To whom our moderns are but causey-cleaners; Ye godly Councils wha hae bless'd this town; Ye godly Brethren of the sacred gown, Wha meekly gae your hurdies to the smiters; And (what would now be strange) ye godly writers A' ye douce folk I've borne aboon the broo, Were ye but here, what would ye say or do? How would your spirits groan in deep vexation, To see each melancholy alteration; And agonizing, curse the time and place Nae langer Rev'rend Men, their country's glory, Meet owre a pint, or in the Council-house; Men, three parts made by tailors and by barbers, Wha waste your wheel-hain'd gear on d-d new Brigs and Harbors! NEW BRIG. Now haud you there! for faith ye've said enough, And muckle mair than ye can make to through. As for your Priesthood, I shall say but little, Corbies and Clergy are a shot right kittle; But under favor o' your langer beard, Abuse o' magistrates might weel be spar'd; To liken them to your auld warld squad, I must needs say, comparisons are odd. In Ayr, wag-wits nae mair can hae a handle To mouth "a citizen," a term o' scandal: Nae mair the Council waddles down the street, In all the pomp of ignorant conceit: Men wha grew wise priggin owre hops an' raisins, If haply Knowledge, on a random tramp, And would to Common-sense, for once betray'd them * What farther clishmaclaver might been said, What bloody wars, if sprites had blood to shed. No man can tell; but all before their sight, Or when they struck old Scotia's melting airs, While simple melody pour'd moving on the heart. The Genius of the Stream in front appears, A venerable chief advanc'd in years; His hoary head with water-lilies crown'd, Next came the loveliest pair in all the ring, A well-known performer of Scottish music on the violin. Next follow'd Courage with his martial stride, A female form,* came from the tow'rs of Stair; The broken iron instruments of Death; At sight of whom our Sprites forgat their kindling wrath, THE VISION. DUAN FIRST.† THE sun had clos'd the winter day, While faithless snaws ilk step betray The thrasher's weary flingin-tree The lee-lang day had tired me; The poet here alludes to a Mrs. Stewart, who was then in possession of Stair. She afterwards removed to Afton-lodge, on the banks of the Afton, a stream which he subsequently celebrated in a song entitled "Afton Water."- ED. ↑ Duan, a term of Ossian's for the different divisions of a digressive poem. See his Cath-Loda, vol. ii. of Macpherson's translation. Ben i' the spence, right pensivelie, There, lanely, by the ingle-cheek, An' heard the restless rattons squeak All in this mottie, misty clime, But stringin blethers up in rhyme, Had I to guid advice but harkit, My cash account: While here, half mad, half fed, half sarkit, I started, mutt'ring, blockhead! coof! Or some rash aith, That I henceforth would be a rhyme-proof Till my last breath; When, click! the string the sneck did draw, And, jee! the door gaed to the wa'; An' by my ingle-lowe I saw, Now bleezin bright, |