As yet ye little ken about the matter,
But twa-three winters will inform ye better.
When heavy, dark, continued, a'-day rains,
Wi' deepening deluges o'erflow the plains;
When from the hills where springs the brawling Coil,
Or stately Lugar's mossy fountains boil,
Or where the Greenock winds his moorland course,
Or haunted Garpal 5 draws his feeble source,
Aroused by blustering winds an' spotting thowes,
In mony a torrent down his sna-broo rowes,
While crashing ice, borne on the roaring spate,
Sweeps dams, an' mills, an' brigs, a' to the gate;
And from Glenbuck,6 down to the Ratton-key,7
Auld Ayr is just one lengthen'd, tumbling sea;
Then down ye'll hurl, deil nor ye never rise!
And dash the gumlie jaups up to the pouring skies,
A lesson sadly teaching, to your cost,
That Architecture's noble art is lost!
Fine Architecture, trowth, I needs must say 't o't! The L-d be thankit that we've tiut the gate o't! Gaunt, ghastly, ghaist-alluring edifices,
Hanging with threatening jut, like precipices;
O'er-arching, mouldy, gloom-inspiring coves,
Supporting roofs fantastic, stouy groves :
Windows and doors, in nameless sculpture dress'd,
With order, symmetry, or taste unbless'd;
Forms like some bedlam statuary's dream,
The crazed creations of misguided whim;
Forms might be worshipp'd on the bended knee,
And still the second dread command be free,
Their likeness is not found on earth, in air, or sea.
Mansions that would disgrace the building taste
Of any mason, reptile, bird, or beast;
Fit only for a doited monkish race,
Or frosty maids forsworn the dear embrace;
Or cuifs of latter times, wha held the notion
'That sullen gloom was sterling true devotion;
Fancies that our good brugh denies protection;
And soon may they expire, unbless'd with resur-
rection!
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 o' righteousness did toil ay;
Ye dainty Deacons, an' 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 gie 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
When ye begat the base, degenerate race!
Nae langer reverend men, their country's glory,
In plain braid Scots hold forth a plain braid story!
Nae longer thrifty citizens, an' douce,
Meet owre a pint, or in the Council-house;
But staumrel, corky-headed, graceless gentry,
The herryment and ruin of the country;
Men, three-parts made by tailors and by barbers, Wha waste your weel-hain'd gear on d-d new brigs and harbours!
Now haud ye there! for faith ye 've said enough,
And muckle mair than ye can mak to through.
As for your priesthood, I shall say but little,
Corbies and clergy are a shot right kittle :
But, under favour of your langer beard,
Abuse o' magistrates might weel be spared:
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 of scandal:
Nae mair the Council waddles down the street,
In all the pomp of ignorant conceit;
Men wha grew wise priggin owre hops and raisins,
Or gather'd liberal views in Bonds and Seisins.
If haply Knowledge, on a random tramp,
Had shored them with a glimmer of his lamp,
And would to Common-sense, for once, betray'd
Plain, dull Stupidity stepp'd kindly in to aid them.
What farther clishmaclaver might been said, What bloody wars, if sprites had blood to shed, No man can tell; but a' before their sight A fairy train appear'd in order bright: Adown the glittering stream they featly danced; Bright to the moon their various dresses glanced: They footed o'er the watery glass so neat, The infant ice scarce bent beneath their feet:
While arts of minstrelsy among them rung,
And soul-ennobling bards heroic ditties sung.
O had M'Lauchlau,8 thairm-inspiring sage,
Been there to hear this heavenly band engage,
When through his dear Strathspeys they bore with
Highland rage;
Or when they struck old Scotia's melting airs,
The lover's raptured joys or bleeding cares;
How would his Highland lug been nobler fired,
And ev❜n his matchless hand with finer touch in-
No guess could tell what instrument appear'd,
But all the soul of Music's self was heard;
Harmonious concert rung in every part,
While simple melody pour'd moving on the heart.
The Genius of the stream in front appears,
A venerable chief advanced in years;
His hoary-head with water-lilies crown'd,
His manly leg with garter-tangle bound.
Next came the loveliest pair in all the ring,
Sweet Female Beauty hand in hand with Spring;
Then, crown'd with flowery hay, came Rural
And Summer, with his fervid-beaming eye:
All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn,
Led yellow Autumn wreathed with nodding corn ;
Then Winter's time-bleach'd locks did hoary show,
By Hospitality with cloudless brow.
Next follow'd Courage with his martial stride,
From where the Feal wild-woody coverts hide;
Benevolence, with mild benignant air,
A female form, came from the towers of Stair: 9
Learning and Worth in equal measures trode
From simple Catrine, their long-loved abode :
Last, white-robed Peace, crown'd with a hazel
To rustic Agriculture did bequeathe
The broken iron instruments of death;
At sight of whom our sprites forgot their kindling wrath.
NOTES ON THE BRIGS OF AYR.
1 A noted tavern at the Auld Brig end.
2 The two steeples.
3 The gos-hawk, or falcon.
4 A noted ford, just above the Auld Brig.
5 The banks of Garpal Water is one of the few places in the West of Scotland where those fancy-scaring beings known by the name of Ghaists still continue pertinaciously to inhabit.
6 The source of the river Ayr.
7 A small landing-place above the large key.
8 A well-known performer of Scottish music on the violin. 9 The poet alludes here to Mrs. Stewart of Stair.-Stair was then in her possession. She afterwards removed to Afton Lodge, on the banks of the Afton, a stream which he afterwards celebrated in a song entitled Afton Water.'
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