Young, royal Tarry Breeks, I learn, Then heave aboard your grapple airn, An', large upo' her quarter, Come full that day. Ye, lastly, bonie blossoms a', Ye royal lasses dainty, Heav'n mak you guid as weel as braw, God bless you a'! consider now, But ere the course o' life be through, An' I hae seen their coggie fou, That yet hae tarrow't at it; But or the day was done, I trow, The laggen they hae clautet Fu' clean that day. Alluding to the newspaper account of a certain royal sailor's amour. THE VISION. DUAN FIRST 1. THE sun had clos'd the winter day, To kail-yards green, While faithless snaws ilk step betray Whare she has been. The thresher's weary flingin-tree And whan the day had clos'd his e'e, Far i' the west, Ben i' the spence, right pensivelie, I gaed to rest. There, lanely, by the ingle-cheek, The auld clay biggin; An' heard the restless rattons squeak About the riggin. All in this mottie, misty clime, An' done nae-thing, But stringin blethers up in rhyme, For fools to sing. 1 Duan is a term in Ossian for the different divisions of a digressive poem. See his Cath-Loda, vol. ii. of M'PherSon's translation. Had I to guid advice but harkit, My cash-account: While here, half-mad, half-fed, half-sarkit, Is a' th' amount. I started, muttering, blackhead! coof! Or some rash aith, That I, henceforth, would be rhyme-proof Till my last breath When click! the string the snick did draw: 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; In some wild glen; When sweet, like modest worth, she blusht, And stepped ben. Green, slender, leaf-clad holly-boughs I took her for some Scotish Muse, By that same token; An' come to stop those reckless vows, Wou'd soon been broken. A hair-brain'd sentimental trace' Shone full upon her; Her eye, ev'n turn'd on empty space, Beem'd keen with honor. Down flow'd her robe, a tartan sheen, And such a leg; my bonie Jean Could only peer it; Sae straught, sae taper, tight and clean, Nane else came near it. Her mantle large, of greenish hue, My gazing wonder chiefly drew; Deep lights and shades, bold-mingling, threw A lustre grand; And seem'd to my astonish'd view, A well-known land. Here, rivers in the sea were lost; There, distant shone art's lofty boast, The lordly dome. Here Doon pour'd down his far-fetch'd floods; There, well-fed Irwine 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, To every nobler virtue bred, And polish'd grace. By stately tower or palace fair, Or ruins pendent in the air, Bold stems of heroes, here and there, I could discern: Some seem'd to muse, some seem'd to dare, With feature stern. My heart did glowing transport feel, And brandish round the deep-dy'd steel While back-recoiling seem'd to reel Their suthron foes. His Country's Saviour 3, mark him well! In high command; His native land. And he whom ruthless fates expel 2 The Wallaces. 3 William Wallace. 4 Adam Wallace, of Richardton, cousin to the immortal preserver of Scotish independence. 5 Wallace, Laird of Craigie, who was second in command, under Douglas Earl of Ormond, at the famous battle on the banks of Sark, fought anno 1448 That glorious victory was principally owing to the judicious conduct and intrepid valour of the gallant Laird of Craigie, who died of his wounds after the action. |