صور الصفحة
PDF
النشر الإلكتروني

Sae now, the dinlin drums, I ween,

Were beat to arms;

And honeft fowk were deav'd bedeen,
Wi' war's alarms.

Syne auld and young, o' ilka callin',
Were a' in order made to fall in;
And, ay the mair to keep the faul in,

And banish wae,

The bony bells made nae devallin,

Wi' joy that day.

-Hech, Sirs! what crouds were gather'd round, To fee them daiker thro' the town!

Lad, lafs and wean-wives, black and brown,

Wi' age grown grey,

Cam, fidging fain, to gi'e their boon

O' praise that day.

E'en blithe to fee them trigly dreft, Auld EPPS was there amang the reft And while, wi' joy, her fides fhe preft,

Like mony mae,

Her approbation was exprest,

In words like thae:

"Wow! but it gars anes heart loup light "To fee auld fowk fae cleanly dight! "E'en now, our GEORDIE looks as tight

"As the first time

"His bluiming haffets blefs'd my fight,

"When in his prime !"

But Silence, on ilk laffie's part,
Spak mair than words cou'd e'er impart.

-Deep fighs, the language o' the heart,
Will aft reveal

A flame, which a' the pow'r o' art

Can fcarce conceal.

Wi' fiddles playing, colours fleeing, And mony a thing weel wordy seeing, Down to the * Craigs, a' weel agreeing,

They gaed awa;

'Twad made ane laugh, tho' they'd been deeing,

To fee them a';

As fierce, I trow, as ony gled,

Ilk deacon march'd afore his trade:

Auld chields, wha had to arms been bred

Lang e'er + Bellisle,

Them a', like ony fodgers led

In rank and file.

Ilk ane had

guns:

there's mony

trimmer,

For maist o' them, I'd lay a brimmer,

Hadna been shot this mony a Simmer,
They gaed fic dints;

And fome, thro' fear, had bits o' timmer

Inftead o' flints.

*About a mile from Dumfries.

†The Gege of Bellise.

Ithers, (for Need maks mony a fen,) Fill'd up their touch-holes wi' a pin ; And, as in twenty there was ten

Worm-eaten ftocks,

Sae here and there, a rozit-end,

Held on their locks.

And then, to fhaw what diff'rence ftands Twieft him that gets and gi'es commands,

Swords, that unfheath'd fin'

Preftonpans,

Neglected lay,

Were now brought out, to deck the hands

O' chiefs, that day.

(But thae were scenes, alaikanie! Fit only FERGUSON, for thee;

For ony ane, wi' ha'f an eie,

Fu' weel may ken,

lt difna fet fic chiels as me,

Sae hiegh to ften.)

The battle of Prestonpans.

Mr. Robert Ferguson, well known for his ingenious com

pofitions in the Scots dialect.

B 3

CANTO II.

YE

E wha ha'e been at

Hallow-Fair,

And feen the pleys that happen there,

Or, aeblins, read its frolics rare,

In RABBIE's lay,

Can only now, wi' it, compare

The fports that day.

Like ony camp, around a hill Were boorick made wi' meikle skill,

Pang'd to the eie wi' mony a jill

O' a kind liquor,

Where fowk might cofhly crack their fill,

Or bend the bicker.

Snug in thae tents, where few could fee, On divet-feats, kuir'd wi' a tree,

Auld birkies innocently flee,

Upo' their dowp,

Were e'en as blithe as blithe cou'd be,

Wi cap and ftowp.

Pleas'd, they'd recount, wi' meikle joy, How aft they'd been at fic a ploy,

* An annual Fair of that name, held at Edinburgh, and humourously described by the ingenious Ferguson.

Wi' a' their names, their eild, employ,

And youthfu' play,

Wha'd ever won this tirley toy

[blocks in formation]

And mony a crack and weel-wail'd tale, 'Bout bauld fore-bears, whilk ne'er does fail Baith faul and body to regale

Wi' matchlefs pow'r,

Wad thro' the lee-lang day prevail,
Till a' was owr.

When wives, or ither cares, perplex us,

When fenfelefs gilligawkies vex, us,
Or, waefuck! eild and poortith gecks us
Wi ragged duds,

De'il haet fae weel frae grief protects us
As reeming fcuds.

Here rowth o' ginge-bread-stawns were seen, Where laffes dancing unco keen,

Aft, winking wi' their pauky ein,

Sic glances ga'e,

As

gart

fome wanton fallows grien

For night, that day,

-When fome auld-farran knackie billie,

Hads to his joe wi' mony a jillie,

* One of the James's is faid to be founder of this mechanical festival.

« السابقةمتابعة »