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THE VISION.

DUAN FIRST.

THE sun had clos'd the winter day,
The curlers quat their roaring play,
An' hunger'd maukin ta'en her way
To kail-yards green,

While faithless snaws ilk step betray
Whare she has been.

The thresher's weary flingin'-tree

The lee-lang day had tired me;

And when the day had clos'd his e'e,

Far i' the west,

Ben i' the spence, right pensivelie,

I gaed to rest.

There, lanely, by the ingle-cheek,
I sat and ey'd the spewing reek,
That fill'd, wi' hoast-provoking smeek,

The auld clay biggin';

An' heard the restless rattons squeak

About the riggin'.

* Duan, a term of Ossian's for the different divisions of a digressive pocm. See his "Cath-Loda," vol. ii. of M'Pherson's translation.

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All in this mottie, misty clime,

I backward mus'd on wasted time,

How I had spent my youthfu' prime,
An' done nae thing,

But stringin' blethers up in rhyme,
For fools to sing.

Had I to guid advice but harkit,
I might, by this, hae led a market,
Or strutted in a bank an' clarkit

My cash-account:

While here, half-mad, half-fed, half-sarkit, Is a' th' amount.

I started, mutt'ring, blockhead! coof!
And heav'd on high my waukit loof,
To swear by a' yon starry roof,

Or some rash aith,

That I, henceforth, would be rhyme-proof

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When, click! the string the snick did draw :

And, jee! the door gaed to the wa';

An' by my ingle-lowe I saw,

Now bleezin' bright,

A tight, outlandish hizzie, braw,

Come full in sight.

Ye need na doubt, I held my whisht;
The infant aith, half-form'd, was crusht;
I glowr'd as eerie's I'd been dusht
In some wild glen ;

When sweet, like modest worth, she blusht,
And stepped ben.

Green, slender, leaf-clad holly-boughs
Were twisted, gracefu' round her brows,
I took her for some Scottish Muse,

By that same token;

An' come to stop those reckless vows,

Wou'd soon been broken.

A "hair-brain'd, sentimental trace"
Was strongly marked in her face;
A wildly-witty, rustic grace

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Her eye, ev'n turn'd on empty space, Beam'd keen with honour.

Down flow'd her robe, a tartan sheen, 'Till half a leg was scrimply seen;

And such a leg! my bonnie Jean

Could only peer it;

Sae straught, sae taper, tight and clean,
Nane else came near it.

Her mantle large, of greenish hue,

My gazing wonder chiefly drew;

Deep lights and shades, bold-mingling, threw A lustre grand;

And seem'd, to my astonish'd view,

A well known land.

Here, rivers in the sea were lost;

There, mountains to the skies were tost:
Here, tumbling billows mark'd the coast,
With surging foam;

There, distant shone Art's lofty boast,
The lordly dome.

Here, Doon pour'd down his far-fetch'd floods; There, well-fed Irwine stately thuds:

Auld hermit Ayr staw thro' his woods,

On to the shore;

And many a lesser torrent scuds,

With seeming roar.

Low, in a sandy valley spread,

An ancient borough rear'd her head;
Still, as in Scottish story read,

She boasts a race,

To ev'ry nobler virtue bred,

And polish'd grace.

By stately tow'r or palace fair,

Or ruins pendent in the air,

Bold stems of heroes, here and there,
I could discern ;

Some seem'd to muse, some seem'd to dare,
With feature stern.

My heart did glowing transport feel,

To see a race heroic wheel,

And brandish round the deep-dy'd steel
In sturdy blows;

While back-recoiling seem'd to reel

Their suthron foes.

His Country's Saviour,† mark him well!
Bold Richardton's heroic swell;

The chief on Sark§ who glorious fell,

In high command;

And he whom ruthless fates expel

*The Wallaces.

His native land.

+ William Wallace.

Adam Wallace, of Richardton, cousin to the immortal preserver of Scottish independence.

§ Wallace, Laird of Craigie, who was second in command, under Douglas, Earl of Ormond, at the famous battle on the banks of Sark, fought Anno 1448. The glorious victory was principally owing to the judicious conduct and intrepid valour of the gallant Laird of Craigie, who died of his wounds after the action.

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