Where the mossy riv'let strays, And life's poor season peaceful spend. Dare invade your native right, Man with all his powers you scorn ; 29 Scorn at least to be his slave. And the foe you cannot brave, 40 WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL OVER THE CHIMNEY-PIECE IN THE PARLOUR OF THE INN AT KENMORE, TAYMOUTH. ADMIRING Nature in her wildest grace, These northern scenes with weary feet I trace; The lawns wood-fringed in Nature's native taste; 10 The arches striding o'er the new-born stream; Poetic ardours in my bosom swell, 15 20. Here Poesy might wake her heaven-taught lyre, WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL, STANDING BY THE FALL OF FYERS,1 NEAR LOCH-NESS. AMONG the heathy hills and ragged woods Till full he dashes on the rocky mounds, Where, through a shapeless breach, his stream resounds. As deep recoiling surges foam below; Prone down the rock the whitening sheet descends, Dim-seen, through rising mists, and ceaseless showers, เ Fyers' more frequently now printed Foyers. 10 Still through the gap the struggling river toils, 11 ON THE BIRTH OF A POSTHUMOUS CHILD,1 BORN IN PECULIAR CIRCUMSTANCES OF FAMILY DISTRESS. 1 SWEET flow'ret, pledge o' meikle love, 2 November hirples o'er the lea, And gane, alas! the sheltering tree, 3 May He who gives the rain to pour, 4 May He, the friend of woe and want, 5 But late she flourish'd, rooted fast, Now feebly bends she in the blast, Posthumous child:' grand-child of Mrs Dunlop, whose daughter had married M. Henri, a Frenchman. This son, after many vicissitudes, succeeded to his paternal estates. The father had died ere the birth. 6 Blest be thy bloom, thou lovely gem And from thee many a parent stem THE WHISTLE, A BALLAD. As the authentic prose history of the whistle is curious, I shall here give it. In the train of Anne of Denmark, when she came to Scotland with our James the Sixth, there came over also a Danish gentleman of gigantic stature and great prowess, and a matchless champion of Bacchus. He had a little ebony whistle, which at the commencement of the orgies he laid on the table, and whoever was last able to blow it, every body else being disabled by the potency of the bottle, was to carry off the whistle as a trophy of victory. The Dane produced credentials of his victories, without a single defeat, at the courts of Copenhagen, Stockholm, Moscow, Warsaw, and several of the petty courts in Germany; and challenged the Scots bacchanalians to the alternative of trying his prowess, or else of acknowledging their inferiority. After many overthrows on the part of the Scots, the Dane was encountered by Sir Robert Lawrie of Maxwelton, ancestor of the present worthy baronet of that name: who, after three days and three nights' hard contest, left the Scandinavian under the table, 'And blew on the whistle his requiem shrill.' Sir Walter, son to Sir Robert before-mentioned, afterwards lost the whistle to Walter Riddel of Glenriddel, who had married a sister of Sir Walter's. On Friday, the 16th of October 1790, at Friars-Carse, the whistle was once more contended for, as related in the ballad, by the present Sir Robert Lawrie of Maxwelton; Robert Riddel, Esq. of Glenriddel, lineal descendant and representative of Walter Riddel, who won the whistle, and in whose family it had continued; and Alexander Ferguson, Esq. of Craigdarroch, likewise descended of the great Sir Robert; which last gentleman carried off the hard-won honours of the field.-B. 1 I SING of a whistle,1 a whistle of worth, I sing of a whistle, the pride of the North, Was brought to the court of our good Scottish king, Whistle: Burns was present at this bacchanalian encounter, and wrote the poem in the room. 2 Old Loda,1 still rueing the arm of Fingal, The god of the bottle sends down from his hall— 3 Old poets have sung, and old chronicles tell, 4 Till Robert, the lord of the Cairn and the Skarr,2 5 Thus Robert, victorious, the trophy has gain'd, Which now in his house has for ages remain'd; 6 Three joyous good fellows, with hearts clear of flaw : 7 Craigdarroch began, with a tongue smooth as oil, 6 Or else he would muster the heads of the clan, 8 By the gods of the ancients,' Glenriddel replies, I'll conjure the ghost of the great Rorie More,3 Old Loda:' See Ossian's Caric-thura. — B. — ' Cairn and Skarr : ' tributaries to the Nith. Rorie More:' See Johnson's Tour to the Hebrides.'-B. |