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A SUMMER SABBATH WALK.

Buoyant he flutters but a little while,

Mistakes th' inverted image of the sky Delightful is this loneliness ; it calms

For heaven itself, and, sinking, meets his My heart: pleasant the cool beneath these

fate. elms,

Now let me trace the stream up to its That throw across the stream a moveless shade.

Among the hills; its runnel by degrees Here nature in her midnoon whisper | Diminishing, the murmur turns a tinkle. speaks :

Closer and closer still the banks approach, How peaceful every sound !—the ring- Tangled so thick with pleaching bramble dove's plaint,

shoots, Moan'd from the twilight centre of the With brier, and hazel branch, and hawgrove,

thorn spray, While every other woodland lay is mute, That, fain to quit the dingle, glad I mount Save when the wren flits from her down- Into the open air : grateful the breeze coved nest,

That fans my throbbing temples ! smiles And from the root-sprig trills her ditty

the plain clear,

Spread wide below : how sweet the placid The grasshopper's oft-pausing chirp,

view; the buzz,

But O! more sweet the thought, heartAngrily shrill, of moss-entangled bee,

soothing thought, That, soon as loosed, booms with full That thousands and ten thousands of the

twang away, The sudden rushing of the minnow shoal, Of toil partake this day the common joy Scared from the shallows by my passing Of rest, of peace, of viewing hill and dale, tread.

Of breathing in the silence of the woods, Dimpling the water glides, with here and And blessing Him who gave the Sabbath there

day. A glossy fly, skimming in circlets gay Yes, my heart flutters with a freer throb, The treacherous surface, while the quick- To think that now the townsman wanders eyed trout

forth Watches his time to spring ; or, from Among the fields and meadows, to enjoy above,

The coolness of the day's decline; to see Some feather'd dam, purveying 'midst the His children sport around, and simply boughs,

pull Darts from her perch, and to her plume- The flower and weed promiscuous, as a less brood

boon, Bears off the prize :-sad emblem of Which proudly in his breast they smiling man's lot!

fix. He, giddy insect, from his native leaf, Again I turn me to the hill, and trace (Where safe and happily he might have The wizard stream, now scarce to be dislurk'd),

cern'd; Elate upon ambition's gaudy wings, Woodless its banks, but green with ferny Forgetful of his origin, and, worse,

leaves, Unthinking of his end, flies to the stream; And thinly strew'd with heath-bells up And if from hostile vigilance he 'scape,

and down.

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I'll wonder on, with tentless heed

Some, lucky, find a flowery spot, How never-halting moments speed, For which they never toil'd or swat ; Till fate shall snap the brittle thread ; They drink the sweet and eat the fat Then, all unknown,

But care or pain ; I'll lay me with the inglorious dead, And, haply, eye the barren hut Forgot and gone !

With high disdain. But why o' death begin a tale?

With steady aim some fortune chase ; Just now we're living sound and hale ;

Keen hope does every sinew brace ; Then top and maintop crowd the sail,

Through fair, through foul, they urge the Heave Care ower side!

race, And large, before enjoyment's gale,

And seize the prey :
Let's tak the tide.

Then cannie, in come cozie place,
This life, sae far's I understand,

They close the day. Is a' enchanted fairy-land, Where pleasure is the magic wand, And others, like your humble servan', That, wielded right,

Poor wights! nae rules nor roads observin'; Maks hours like minutes, hand in hand, To right or left, eternal swervin', Dance by fu' light.

They zig-zag on ;

Till curst with age, obscure and starvin', The magic wand then let us wield :

They aften groan.
For, ance that five-and forty's peeld,
See, crazy, weary, joyless Eild,

Alas! what bitter toil and straining-
Wi' wrinkled face,

But truce with peevish, poor complaining ! Comes hostin', hirplin', ower the field,

Is Fortune's fickle Luna waning?
Wi' creepin' pace.

E'en let her gang ! When ance life's day draws near the Beneath what light she has remaining, gloamin',

Let's sing our sang.
Then fareweel vacant careless roamin';
And fareweel cheerfu' tankards foamin', My pen I here fling to the door,
And social noise ;

And kneel, “Ye Powers !” and warm And fareweel dear, deluding woman !

implore, The joy of joys.

"Though I should wander Terra o'er,

In all her climes, O life ! how pleasant is thy morning,

Grant me but this, I ask no more,
Young Fancy's rays the hills adorning!

Aye rowth o' rhymes.
Cold-pausing Caution's lesson scorning,
We frisk away,

“Gie dreeping roasts to country lairds, Like schoolboys, at the expected warning, Till icicles hing frae their beards; To joy and play.

Gie fine braw claes to fine life-guards, We wander there, we wander here,

And maids of honour ! We eye the rose upon the brier,

And yill and whisky gie to cairds,
Unmindful that the thorn is near,

Until they sconner.
Among the leaves;
And though the puny wound appear, “A title, Dempster merits it;
Short while it grieves.

A garter gie to Willie Pitt;

Gie wealth to some be-ledger'd cit,

In cent. per cent. ; But gie me real, sterling wit,

And I'm content.

“While ye are pleased to keep me hale, I'll sit down o'er my scanty meal, Be't water-brose, or muslin-kail,

Wi' cheerfu' face, As lang's the Muses dinna fail

To say the grace."

An anxious ee I never throws,
Behint my lug or by my nose :
I jouk beneath misfortune's blows

As weel's I may ;
Sworn foe to Sorrow, Care, and Prose,

I rhyme away.

ADDRESS TO THE DEIL.
O thou ! whatever title suit thee,
Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie,
Wha in yon cavern grim and sootie,

Closed under hatches,
Spairges about the brunstane cootie,

To scaud poor wretches !
Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee,
And let poor damned bodies be ;
I'm sure sma' pleasure it can gie

E'en to a deil,
To skelp and scaud poor dogs like me,

And hear us squeel !
Great is thy power, and great thy fame;
Far kenn'd and noted is thy name :
And though yon lowin' heugh's thy hame,

Thou travels far : And, faith! thou's neither lag nor lame,

Nor blate nor scaur. Whyles ranging like a roaring lion, For prey a' holes and corners tryin': Whyles on the strong-wing'd tempest flyin',

Tirlin' the kirks; Whyles in the human bosom pryin',

Unseen thou lurks.

O ye douce folk, that live by rule,
Grave, tideless-blooded, calm and cool,
Compared wi' you-o fool ! fool! fool!

How much unlike!
Your hearts are just a standing pool,

Your lives a dike!

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Nae hairbrain'd, sentimental traces
In your unletter'd, nameless faces !
In arioso trills and graces

Ye never stray,
But gravissimo, solemn basses,

Ye hum away.

Ye are sae grave, nae doubt ye're wise ;
Nae ferly though ye do despise
The hairum-scairum, ram-stam boys,

The rattling squad :
I see you upward cast your eyes-

Ye ken the road.

I've heard my reverend grannie say,
In lanely glens ye like to stray :
Or where auld ruin'd castles, grey,

Nod to the moon,
Ye fright the nightly wanderer's way

Wi' eldritch croon.
When twilight did my grannie summon
To say her prayers, douce, honest woman!
Aft yont the dike she's heard you bummin',

Wi' eerie drone;
Or, rustlin, through the boortrees comin',.

Wi' heavy groan.
Ae dreary, windy, winter night,
The stars shot down wi' sklentin' light,
Wi' you, mysel, I gat a fright

Ayont the lough ;
Ye, like a rash-bush, stood in sight,

Wi' waving sough.

Whilst 1-but I shall haud me thereWi' you I'll scarce gang onywhereThen, Jamie, I shall say nae mair,

But quat my sang, Content wi' you to mak a pair,

Where'er I gang.

The cudgel in my nieve did shake,
Each bristled hair stood like a stake,
When wi' an eldritch stoor, quaick, quaick,

Amang the springs,
Awa' ye squatter'd, like a drake,

On whistling wings.

Langsyne, in Eden's bonny yard,
When youthfu' lovers first were pair'd,
And all the soul of love they shared,

The raptured hour,
Sweet on the fragrant flowery swaird,

In shady bower :
Then you, ye auld sneck-drawing dog !
Ye came to Paradise incog.,
And play'd on man a cursèd brogue,

(Black be your fa'!)
And gied the infant warld a shog,

'Maist ruin'd a'.

Let warlocks grim, and wither'd hags,
Tell how wi' you, on ragweed nags,
They skim the muirs and dizzy crags,

Wi' wicked speed ;
And in kirkyards renew their leagues

Ower howkit deid.

Thence countra wives, wi' toil and pain, D'ye mind that day, when in a bizz,
May plunge and plunge the kirn in vain : Wi' reekit duds, and reestit gizz,
For, oh! the yellow treasure's taen Ye did present your smoutie phiz
By witching skill ;

'Mang better folk, And dawtit twal-pint hawkie's gaen And sklented on the man of Uzz As yell's the bill.

Your spitefu' joke ! Thence mystic knots mak great abuse And how ye gat him i' your thrall, On young guidmen, fond, keen,and crouse; And brak him out o' house and hall, When the best wark-lume i' the house, While scabs and blotches did him gall, By cantrip wit,

Wi' bitter claw, Is instant made no worth a louse,

And lowsed his ill-tongued, wicked scawl, Just at the bit.

Was warst ava? When thowes dissolve the snawy hoord, But a'

your doings to rehearse, And float the jinglin' icy-boord,

Your wily snares and fechting fierce, Then water-kelpies haunt the foord Sin' that day Michael did you pierce, By your direction ;

Down to this time, And 'nighted travellers are allured Wad ding a Lallan tongue or Erse, To their destruction,

In prose or rhyme.
And aft your moss-traversing spunkies And now, auld Cloots, I ken ye're thinkin'
Decoy the wight that late and drunk is; A certain Bardie's rantin', drinkin',
The bleezin', curst, mischievous monkeys Some luckless hour will send him linkin
Delude his eyes,

To your black pit ;
Till in some miry slough he sunk is, But, faith, he'll turn a corner jinkin',
Ne'er mair to rise.

And cheat you yet.
When mason's mystic word and grip But, fare you weel, auld Nickie-ben!
In storms and tempests raise you up, Oh, wad ye tak a thought and men'!
Some cock or cat your rage maun stop, Ye aiblins might-I dinna ken-
Or, strange to tell !

Still hae a stakeThe youngest brother ye wad whip I'm wae to think upo' yon den, Aff straught to hell !

Even for your sake ! (11)

2 T

stream

AFTON WATER.

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy

green braes, Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my green braes,

lays; Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring praise ;

streamMy Mary's asleep by thy murmuring Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her

dream! Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

THE BIRKS OF ABERFELDY. Thou stock-dove, whose echo resounds

Bonny lassie, will ye go, through the glen,

Will ye go, will ye go, Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny Bonny lassie, will ye go den,

To the birks of Aberfeldy? Thou green crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear

Now simmer blinks on flowery braes, I charge you, disturb not my slumbering And o'er the crystal streamlet plays ; fair.

Come, let us spend the lightsome days

In the birks of Aberfeldy. How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring While o'er their heads the hazels hing, hills,

The little birdies blithely sing, Far mark'd with the courses of clear Or lightly flit on wanton wing, winding rills ;

In the birks of Aberfeldy. There daily I wander as noon rises high, The braes ascend like lofty wa's, My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in

The foaming stream deep-roaring fa's, my eye.

O'erhung wi' fragrant spreading shaws,

The birks of Aberfeldy. Howipleasant thy banks and green valleys The hoary clifts are crown'd wi' flowers, below,

White o'er the linns the burnie pours, Where wild in the woodlands the prim- And rising, weets wi' misty showers roses blow;

The birks of Aberfeldy. There, oft as mild evening weeps over the lea,

Let Fortune's gifts at random flee, The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me, and me.

Supremely blest wi' love and thee,

In the birks of Aberfeldy. Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides,

WANDERING WILLIE. And winds by the cot where my Mary resides;

Here awa', there awa', wandering Willie, How wanton thy waters her snowy feet Here awa', there awa', haud awa' hame; lave,

Come to my bosom, my ain only dearie, As gathering sweet flowerets she stems Tell me thou bring'st me my Willie thy clear wave.

the same.

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