VALEDICTORY. The OUR review of Scottish Poetry properly ends with Robert Nicoll. anonymous pieces which follow, like those attached to former periods, are placed at the end as a matter of arrange ment. TIBBY AND THE LAIRD. [ALEXANDER MACLAGAN]. Auld Robin, our laird, thought o' changin' his life, But he didna weel ken whaur to wale a gude wife. A plump quean had he, wha had served him for years: 'Ho, Tibby!" he cried. Lo! douce Tibby appears. "Sit doun," said the laird; "ye are wanted awee." "Very weel, sir," quo' Tibby, "sae let it be." Noo, Tibby," quo' he, "there's a queer rumour rins Through the hail country-side, that there's naebody spins, Bakes, washes, or brews, wi' sic talents as you; An' what a'body says, ye ken, maun be true, Our design has been to give a select, not an exhaustive view of the subject; placing the means of estimating the character and quality, rather than the extent of Scottish poetry, within easy reach of the public. We do not think that a continuation to the present date would present any new features, especially in its more peculiarly Scotch aspects, for, though Scottish poetry will always retain traces of its native character, that of language it may be said to have already ceased to cultivate, except occasionally. The dialect presently spoken in out-of-the-way corners, in debased forms, is unsuitable as a vehicle of the national sentiments, and So ye ought to be gratefu' for their courcannot be expected or desired to hold out long against educational and other influences. But the language in which the noble body of Scottish poetry is "Noo, it seemeth but just an' richt proper embalmed may always be quite well understood by Scotsmen, although its use as a literary medium may be said to have ceased with the productions of such devoted cultivators as James Ballantine, James Smith, and Alexander Maclagan, specimens of whose poetry we append. The future course of the stream of Scottish song is best indicated by Olrig Grange, and the few beautiful remains of Thomas Davidson. tesie." "Very weel, sir," quo' Tibby, sae let it be." to me, "The pearl may be pure, Tib, though Sae come doon the stair, Tib, an' e'en bridal gear; Ye maun busk in your best, lass, an' that Gin reft frae friends, or crost in love, as speedilie." whiles, nae doubt, ye've been, 'Very weel, sir," quo' Tibby, sae let Grief lies deep hidden in your heart, or it be.' " When the blessin' was said, an' the feastin' was done, Tib crap to her bed i' the garret aboon. When she heard the laird's fit, an' his tap at her door, She wondered-he ne'er took sic freedoms before. "Come, Tibby, my lass, ye maun listen to me." "Very weel, sir," quo' Tibby, "sae let it be." "Noo, Tibby, ye ken, we were wedded the nicht, or tears flow frae your een, Believe it for the best, and trow there's good in store for you, For ilka blade o' grass keps ain drap o' dew. In lang, lang days o' simmer, when the clear and cloudless sky Rufuses ae wee drap o' rain to Nature parch'd and dry, The genial night wi' balmy breath gaurs vendure spring anew, An' ilka blade o' grass keps its ain drap o' dew. Sae lest 'mid fortune's sunshine we should feel ower proud an' hie, An' that ye should be here, haith, I think An' in our pride forget to wipe the fear is na richt. frae poorith's ee, It canna be richt; for, when women and Some wee dark cluds o' sorrow come, we men Are wedded, they ought to be bedded, ye ken. ken na whence or hoo, Bnt ilka blade o' grass keps its ain drap o' dew. Burd Ailie lay low by the wimplin' burn, The robin flew hie ower the gowden But gane was the glance o' her bonnie An' he warbl'd fu' cheerilie. black e'e, An' the robin sang nae mair. "Oh tell me-oh tell me, thou bonnie For an angel cam' doun at the fa' o' the |