M'Murdo and his lovely spouse
(The enamoured laurels kiss her brows)
Led on the loves and graces;
She won each gaping burgess' heart,
While he, all-conquering, played his part,
Among their wives and lasses.

Craigdarroch led a light-armed corps;
Tropes, metaphors, and figures pour,
Like Hecla streaming thunder;
Glenriddel, skilled in rusty coins,
Blew up each Tory's dark designs,
And bared the treason under.

In either wing two champions fought;
Redoubted Staig, who set at nought
The wildest savage Tory,

And Welsh, who ne'er yet flinched his ground,
High waved his magnum bonum round
With Cyclopean fury.

6

Miller brought up the artillery ranks,
The many-pounders of the Banks,

1 The Duke's chamberlain, a friend of Burns.

2 Mr. Fergusson of Craigdarroch; the victor of the Whistle

ontest.

3 Captain Riddel of Glenriddel.

4 Provost of Dumfries.

The sheriff of the county.

Mr. Miller of Dalswinton, father of the candidate. had been a banker.

He

Resistless desolation;

While Maxwelton,1 that baron bold,
Mid Lawson's port intrenched his hold,
And threatened worse damnation.

To these, what Tory hosts opposed,
With these, what Tory warriors closed,
Surpasses my descriving:
Squadrons extended long and large,
With furious speed rushed to the charge,
Like raging devils driving.

What verse can sing, what prose narrate,
The butcher deeds of bloody fate

Amid this mighty tulzie?

Grim Horror grinned; pale Terror roared,

conflict

As Murther at his thrapple shored; throat-threatened And hell mixt in the brulzie!

As Highland crags, by thunder cleft,
When lightnings fire the stormy lift,

Hurl down wi' crashing rattle ;
As flames amang a hundred woods;
As headlong foam a hundred floods;
Such is the rage of battle.

The stubborn Tories dare to die;
As soon the rooted oaks would fly,
Before th' approaching fellers;

1 Sir Robert Lawrie, M. P. for the county.

broil

firmament

The Whigs come on like Ocean's roar,
When all his wintry billows pour,
Against the Buchan Bullers.1

Lo, from the shades of Death's deep night,
Departed Whigs enjoy the fight,

And think on former daring!

The muffled murtherer of Charles 2
The Magna-Charta flag unfurls,
All deadly gules its bearing.

Nor wanting ghosts of Tory fame;
Bold Scrimgeour follows gallant Grahame,'
Auld Covenanters shiver;

Forgive, forgive, much-wronged Montrose !
While death and hell engulf thy foes,
Thou liv'st on high for ever!

Still o'er the field the combat burns;
The Tories, Whigs, give way by turns,
But Fate the word has spoken:

1 The "Bullers of Buchan" is an appellation given to a tremendous rocky recess on the Aberdeenshire coast, near Peterhead having an opening to the sea, while the top is open. The sea, constantly raging in it, gives it the appear ance of a pot or boiler, and hence the name.

2 The masked executioner of Charles I.

3 John, Earl of Dundee, noted for his zeal and sufferings in le cause of the Stuarts during the time of the Commonwealth.

4 The great Marquis of Montrose.

For woman's wit, or strength of man,
Alas! can do but what they can

The Tory ranks are broken.

O that my e'en were flowing burns!
My voice a lioness that mourns

Her darling cub's undoing!

That I might greet, that I might cry,
While Tories fall, while Tories fly,
From furious Whigs pursuing!

brocks

weep

What Whig but wails the good Sir James-
Dear to his country by the names
Friend, Patron, Benefactor?

Not Pulteney's wealth can Pulteney save,
And Hopetoun falls, the generous, brave,
And Stuart bold as Hector!1

Thou, Pitt, shall rue this overthrow,
And Thurlow growl a curse of wo,
And Melville melt in wailing!

Now Fox and Sheridan, rejoice!
And Burke shall sing: "O prince, arise!
Thy power is all-prevailing!"

For your poor friend, the Bard afar,
He hears, and only hears the war,
A cool spectator purely;

1 Stuart of Hillside. Closeburn MS.

So when the storm the forest rends,
The robin in the hedge descends,
And sober chirps securely.

Additional verse in Closeburn MS.

Now for my friends' and brothers' sakes,
And for my native Land o' Cakes,
I pray with holy fire-

Lord, send a rough-shod troop of hell
O'er all would Scotland buy or sell,
And grind them into mire!

ON CAPTAIN MATTHEW HENDERSON,

A GENTLEMAN WHO HELD THE PATENT FOR HIS HONOURS IMMEDIATELY FROM ALMIGHTY GOD.

"Should the poor be flattered?" — SHAKESPEARE.

But now his radiant course is run,
For Matthew's course was bright:
His soul was like the glorious sun,
A matchless, heavenly light!

66

Matthew Henderson appears to have been a man about town," a kind-hearted, life-enjoying person