Had I to guid advice but harkit,
I might, by this, hae led a market,
Or strutted in a bank, an' clarkit

My cash account:
While bere, half-mad, half-fed, half-sarkit,

Is a' th' amount.

I started, mutt'ring, blockhead! coof!
And heav'd on high my waukit loof,
To swear by a' yon starry roof,

Or some rash aith,
That I, henceforth, would be rhyme-proof

Till my last breath

When click! the string the snick did draw;
And jee! the door gaed to the wa’;
An' by my ingle-lowe I saw,

Now bleezin bright,
A tight, outlandish Hizzie, braw,

Come full in sight.

Ye needna doubt, I held my whisht;
The infant aith, half-form’d, was crusht;
I glowr'd as eerie's I'd been dusht

In some wild glen;
When sweet, like modest worth, she blusht,

And stepped ben.

Green, slender, leaf-clad holly-boughs
Were twisted, gracefu', round her brows;
I took her for some Scottish Muse,

By that same token;
An' come to stop those reckless vows,

Wou'd soon been broken.

A 'hair-brain'd, sentimental trace,'
Was strongly marked in her face;
A wildly-witty, rustic grace

Shone full upon her;
Her eye, e'en turn’d on empty space,

Beam'd keen with honour.

Down flow'd her robe, a tartan sheen;
Till half a leg was scrimply seen;
And such a leg! my bonnie Jean

Could only peer it;
Sae straught, sae taper, tight, and clean,

Nane else cam near it.

Her mantle large, of greenish hué,
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, mountains to the skies were tost:
Here, tumbling billows mark'd the coast,

With surging foam;
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,
An ancient borough rear'd her head;
Still, as in Scottish story read,

She boasts a race,
To ev'ry nobler virtue bred,

And polish'd grace.

By stately tow'r 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,
To see a race' heroic wheel,
And brandish round the deep-dy'd steel

In sturdy blows;
While back-recoiling seem'd to reel

Their suthron foes.

His Country's Saviour?, mark him well!
Bold Richardton's 3 heroic swell ;
The chief on Sark4 who glorious fell,

In high command;
And he whom ruthless fates expel

His native land.

There, where a scepter'd Pictish shades
Stalk'd round his ashes lowly laid,
I mark'd a martial race, pourtray'd

In colours strong;
Bold, soldier-featur'd, undismay'd

They strode along.

Thro' many a wild, romantic grove',
Near many a hermit-fancy'd cove
(Fit haunts for friendship or for love),

In musing mood,
An aged judge, I saw him rove,

Dispensing good.

With deep-struck reverential awe?
The learned sire and son I saw,
To Nature's God and Nature's law

They gave their lore, This, all its source and end to draw,

That, to adore.

Brydone's brave ward I well could spy
Beneath old Scotia's smiling eye;
Who call'd on fame, low standing by,

To hand him on,
Where many a patriot name on high,

With musing-deep, astonish'd stare,
I view'd the heav'nly-seeming fair;
A whisp'ring throb did witness bear,

Of kindred sweet,
When with an elder sister's air

She did me greet.

• All hail! my own inspired bard!
In me thy native muse regard !
Nor longer mourn thy fate is hard,

Thus poorly low !
I come to give thee such reward

As we bestow.

• Know, the great genius of this land
Has many a light, aërial bánd,
Who, all beneath his high command,

Harmoniously,
As arts or arms they understand,

Their labours ply.

• They Scotia's race among them share;
Some fire the soldier on to dare;
Some rouse the patriot up to bare

Corruption's heart:
Some teach the bard, a darling care,

The tuneful art.