Or where the Greenock winds his moorland course,
Or haunted Garpal1 draws his feeble source,
Aroused by blustering winds and spotting thowes,
In mony a torrent down his sna'-broo rowes;
While crashing ice, borne on the roaring speat,
Sweeps dams, an' mills, an' brigs a' to the gate;
And from Glenbuck,2 down to the Ratton-key,3
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, troth, I needs must say 't o't!
The L-be thankit that we've tint the gate o't!
Gaunt, ghastly, ghaist-alluring edifices,
Hanging with threat'ning jut, like precipices;
O'erarching, mouldy, gloom-inspiring coves,
Supporting roofs fantastic, stony 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 knec,
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;
16 'Garpal:' '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.-B.-2 Glenbuck:' the source of the river Ayr.-B. Ratton-key:' a small landing-place above the large key.-B.
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 guid brugh denies protection,
And soon may they expire, unblest with resurrection!
0 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 aye;
Ye dainty Deacons, an' ye douce Conveners,
To whom our moderns are but causey-cleaners;
Ye godly Councils, wha hae blest 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 born 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 agonising, 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 langer 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 well-hain'd gear on d new brigs
Now haud you there! for, faith! ye've said enough, 174
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 o' 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 o' scandal;
Nae mair the council waddles down the street,
In all the pomp of ignorant conceit;
Men wha grew wise priggin' owre hops an' 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 them, 190
Plain, dull Stupidity stept 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 all 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.
Oh had M'Lauchlan,' thairm-inspiring sage,
''M'Lauchlan:' a well-known performer of Scotch music on the violin.-B. He was from Argyleshire, and patronised by the Earl of Eglinton, himself a great musician, and alluded to in the next stanza as ' Courage.'
Been there to hear this heavenly band engage,
When through his dear strathspeys they bore with
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 even his matchless hand with finer touch inspired!
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 Joy,
And Summer, with his fervid-beaming eye:
All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn,
Led yellow Autumn wreath'd 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:1
Learning and Worth in equal measures trode
From simple Catrine,2 their long-loved abode:
Last, white-robed Peace, crown'd with a hazel wreath,
To rustic Agriculture did bequeath
The broken iron instruments of death;
At sight of whom our Sprites forgat their kindling wrath.
'Towers of Stair: the poet alludes here to Mrs Stewart of Stair, his early patroness.- 'Catrine:' alluding to Dugald Stewart.
'For sense they little owe to frugal heaven--
To please the mob they hide the little given.'
1 KILMARNOCK wabsters, fidge an' claw,
An' pour your creeshie nations;
An' ye wha leather rax an' draw,
O' a' denominations,
Swith to the Laigh Kirk, ane an' a',
An' there tak up your stations;
Then aff to Begbie's2 in a raw,
An' pour divine libations
2 Curst Common-sense, that imp o' hell,
Cam in wi' Maggie Lauder; 3
But Oliphant aft made her yell,
An' Russell5 sair misca'd her;
This day Mackinlay taks the flail,
An' he's the boy will blaud her!
He'll clap a shangan on her tail,
An' set the bairns to daud her
Wi' dirt this day.
3 Mak haste an' turn King David owre,
An' lilt wi' holy clangor;
O' double verse come gie us four,
An' skirl up the Bangor:'
The ordination:' of Rev. James Mackinlay, in Kilmarnock, whose call and ordination gave the highfliers a great triumph.-2 ' Begbie's :' a tavern near the church.- 'Maggie Lauder:' alluding to a scoffing ballad which was made on the admission of the late reverend and worthy Mr Lindsay to the Laigh Kirk.—B. His wife, Margaret Lauder, had been housekeeper to Lord Glencairn; and he owed, it was said, his promotion to this. Oliphant;' an Evangelical minister in Kilmarnock.- 'Russell:' see former note.
|