In vain to me the cowslips blaw, The mavis and the lintwhite sing. The merry plough-boy cheers his team, Wi' joy the tentie seedsman stalks; But life to me's a weary dream, A dream of ane that never wauks. The wanton coot the water skims, The shepherd steeks his faulding slap, I meet him on the dewy hill. And when the lark, 'tween light and dark, Come, Winter, with thine angry howl, And raging bend the naked tree: Ae Fond Kiss. ['These exquisitely affecting stanzas contain the essence of a thousand love-tales.'-Scott.] Ae fond kiss, and then we sever; Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee, I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy, Fare-thee-weel, thou first and fairest ! Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee, My Bonny Mary. Go fetch to me a pint o' wine, A service to my bonny lassie; And I maun leave my bonny Mary. The trumpets sound, the banners fly, The battle closes thick and bloody; A favourite walk of Burns during his residence in Dumfries was one along the right bank of the river above the town, terminating at the ruins of Lincluden Abbey and Church, which occupy a romantic situation on a piece of rising ground in the angle at the junction of the Cluden Water with the Nith. These ruins include many fine fragments of ancient decorative architecture, and are enshrined in a natural scene of the utmost beauty. Burns, according to his eldest son, often mused amidst the Lincluden ruins. There is one position on a little mount, to the south of the church, where a couple of landscapes of witching loveliness are obtained, set, as it were, in two of the windows of the ancient building. It was probably the Calvary' of the ancient church precinct. This the younger Burns remembered to have been a favourite resting-place of the poet. Such is the locality of the grand and thrilling ode, entitled A Vision, in which he hints-for more than a hint could not be ventured upon-his sense of the degradation of the ancient manly spirit of his country under the conservative terrors of the passing era.-Chambers's Burns. By heedless chance I turned mine eyes, And, by the moonbeam, shook to see A stern and stalwart ghaist arise, Attired as minstrels wont to be. Had I a statue been o' stane, His darin' look had daunted me; And on his bonnet graved was plain, The sacred posy-Libertie!' And frae his harp sic strains did flow, As ever met a Briton's ear. He sang wi' joy the former day, He weeping wailed his latter times; But what he said it was nae playI winna ventur't in my rhymes. Man was Made to Mourn-a Dirge. When chill November's surly blast I spied a man whose aged step "Young stranger, whither wanderest thou?' Began the reverend sage: 'Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain, 'The sun that overhangs yon moors, Which tenfold force gives nature's law, But see him on the edge of life, With cares and sorrows worn; Then age and want-O ill-matched pair!Shew man was made to mourn. 'A few seem favourites of fate, Yet think not all the rich and great But, oh! what crowds in every land, And man, whose heaven-erected face Makes countless thousands mourn! 'See yonder poor, o'erlaboured wight, 'If I'm designed yon lordling's slave- E'er planted in my mind? Or why has man the will and power 'Yet let not this too much, my son, The poor, oppressed, honest man, Had there not been some recompense To comfort those that mourn! 'O Death! the poor man's dearest friend- Are laid with thee at rest! ALEXANDER WILSON. ALEXANDER WILSON, a distinguished naturalist, was also a good Scottish poet. He was a native of Paisley, and born July 6, 1766. He was brought up to the trade of a weaver, but afterwards preferred Alexander Wilson. that of a pedler, selling muslin and other wares. In 1789, he added to his other commodities a prospectus of a volume of poems, trusting, as he said, If the pedler should fail to be favoured with sale, He did not succeed in either character; and after publishing his poems, he returned to the loom. In 1792, he issued anonymously his best poem, Watty and Meg, which was at first attributed to Burns.* A foolish personal satire, and a not very wise admiration of the principles of equality disseminated at the time of the French Revolution, drove Wilson to America in the year 1794. There he was once more a weaver and a pedler, and afterwards a schoolmaster. A love of ornithology gained upon him, and he wandered over America, collecting specimens of birds. In 1808, appeared his first volume of the American Ornithology, and he continued collecting and publishing, traversing swamps and forests in quest of rare birds, and undergoing the greatest privations and fatigues, till he had committed an eighth volume to the press. He sank under his severe labours on the 23d of August 1813, and was interred with public honours at Philadelphia. In the Ornithology of Wilson we see the fancy and descriptive powers of the poet. The following extract is part of his account of the bald eagle, and is extremely vivid and striking: *As Burns was one day sitting at his desk by the side of the window, a well-known hawker, Andrew Bishop, went past crying: Watty and Meg, a new ballad, by Robert Burns.' The poet looked out and said: "That's a lee, Andrew, but I would make your plack a bawbee if it were mine.' This we heard Mrs Burns, the poet's widow, relate. [The Bald Eagle.] The celebrated cataract of Niagara is a noted place of resort for the bald eagle, as well on account of the fish procured there, as for the numerous carcasses of squirrels, deer, bears, and various other animals that, in their attempts to cross the river above the falls, have been dragged into the current, and precipitated down that tremendous gulf, where, among the rocks that bound the rapids below, they furnish a rich repast for the vulture, the raven, and the bald eagle, the subject of the present account. He has been long known to naturalists, being common to both continents, and occasionally met with from a very high northern latitude to the borders of the torrid zone, but chiefly in the vicinity of the sea, and along the shores and cliffs of our lakes and large rivers. Formed by nature for braving the severest cold, feeding equally on the produce of the sea and of the land, possessing powers of flight capable of outstripping even the tempests themselves, unawed by anything but man, and, from the ethereal heights to which he soars, looking abroad at one glance on an immeasurable expanse of forests, fields, lakes, and ocean deep below him, he appears indifferent to the little localities of change of seasons, as in a few minutes he can pass from summer to winter, from the lower to the higher regions of the atmosphere, the abode of eternal cold, and from thence descend at will to the torrid or the arctic regions of the earth. In procuring these, he displays, in a very singular manner, the genius and energy of his character, which is fierce, contemplative, daring, and tyrannical; attributes not exerted but on particular occasions, but when put forth, overpowering all opposition. Elevated on the high dead limb of some gigantic tree that commands a wide view of the neighbouring shore and ocean, he seems calmly to contemplate the motions of the various feathered tribes that pursue their busy avocations below; the snowwhite gulls slowly winnowing the air; the busy tringæ coursing along the sands; trains of ducks streaming over the surface; silent and watchful cranes intent and wading; clamorous crows; and all the winged multitudes that subsist by the bounty of this vast liquid magazine of nature. High over all these, hovers one whose action instantly arrests his whole attention. By his wide curvature of wing, and sudden suspension in air, he knows victim of the deep. His eye kindles at the sight, and him to be the fish-hawk, settling over some devoted balancing himself with half-opened wings on the branch, he watches the result. Down, rapid as an arrow from heaven, descends the distant object of his attention, the roar of its wings reaching the ear as it disappears in the deep, making the surges foam around. At this moment the eager looks of the eagle are all ardour; and, levelling his neck for flight, he sees the fish-hawk once more emerge, struggling with his prey, and mounting in the air with screams of exultation. These are the signal for our hero, who, launching into the air, instantly gives chase, and soon gains on the fish-hawk; each exerts his utmost to mount above the other, displaying in these rencontres the most elegant and sublime aërial evolutions. The unencumbered eagle rapidly advances, and is just on the point of reaching his opponent, when, with a sudden scream, probably of despair and honest execration, the latter drops his fish: the eagle, poising himself for a moment, as if to take a more certain aim, descends like a whirlwind, snatches it in his grasp ere it reaches the water, and bears his ill-gotten booty silently away to the woods. By way of preface, 'to invoke the clemency of the reader,' Wilson relates the following exquisite trait of simplicity and nature: 'In one of my late visits to a friend in the country, I found their youngest son, a fine boy of eight or nine years of age, who usually resides in town for his education, just returning from a ramble through the neighbouring woods and fields, where he had collected a large and very handsome bunch of wild-flowers, of a great many different colours; and, presenting them to his mother, said: "Look, my dear mamma, what beautiful flowers I have found growing on our place! Why, all the woods are full of them! red, orange, and blue, and 'most every colour. Oh! I can gather you a whole parcel of them, much handsomer than these, all growing in our own woods! Shall I, mamma? Shall I go and bring you more?" The good woman received the bunch of flowers with a smile of affectionate complacency; and, after admiring for some time the beautiful simplicity of nature, gave her willing consent, and the little fellow went off on the wings of ecstasy to execute his delightful commission. 'The similarity of this little boy's enthusiasm to my own struck me, and the reader will need no explanations of mine to make the application. Should my country receive with the same gracious indulgence the specimens which I here humbly present her; should she express a desire for me to go and bring her more, the highest wishes of my ambition will be gratified; for, in the language of my little friend, our whole woods are full of them, and I can collect hundreds more, much handsomer than these.' The ambition of the poet-naturalist was amply gratified. [A Village Scold.] I the thrang o' stories tellin, Shakin hands and jokin queer, Swith a chap comes on the hallan'Mungo! is our Watty here?' Maggy's weel-kent tongue and hurry 'Nasty, gude-for-naething being! O ye snuffy drucken sow! Bringin wife and weans to ruin, Drinkin here wi' sic a crew! 'Rise! ye drucken beast o' Bethel ! Watty heard her tongue unhallowed, Folk frae every door came lampin, Maggy curst them ane and a', Clapped wi' her hands, and stampin, Lost her bauchels1 i' the snaw. Hame, at length, she turned the gavel, Wi' a face as white's a clout, Ragin like a very devil, Kickin stools and chairs about. 'Ye'll sit wi' your limmers round yeHang you, sir, I'll be your death! Little hauds my hands, confound you, But I cleave you to the teeth!' 1 Old shoes. Watty, wha, 'midst this oration, Sad his wee drap brose he sippet- 'Nane are free frae some vexation, [A Pedler's Story.] I wha stand here, in this bare scowry coat, Ay! thae were days indeed, that gared me hope, I kenned my Kate wad grapple at me than. And thought mysel weel paid wi' twa three kisses: Oh, sir, but lasses' words are saft and fair, |