It's now some nine-an'-twenty year, Sin' thou was my guid-father's Meere ; He gied me thee, o' tocher clear,

An' fifty mark;

Tho' it was sma', 'twas weel-won gear, An' thou was stark.

When first I gaed to woo my Jenny, Ye then was trottin wi' your minnie : Tho' ye was trickie, slee, an' funnie,

Ye ne'er was donsie ;

But hamely, tawie, quiet, an' cannie, An' unco sonsie.

That day, ye pranc'd wi' muckle pride,
When ye bure hame my bonny bride:
An' sweet and gracefu' she did ride,
Wi' maiden air!

Kyle Stewart I could bragged wide,
For sic a pair.

Tho' now ye dow but hoyte and hoble, An' wintle like a saumont-coble,

That day ye was a jinker noble,

For heels an' win'!

An' ran them till they a' did wauble, Far, far, behin'!

When thou an' I were young an' skeigh,
An' stable-meals at fairs were dreigh,

How thou wad prance, an' snore, an' skreigh,
An' tak the road!

Town's bodies ran, an' stood abeigh,

An' ca't thee mad.

When thou was corn't, an' I was mellow,
We took the road ay like a swallow:
At Brooses thou had ne'er a fellow,

For pith an' speed;

But ev'ry tail thou pay't them hollow,
Whare'er thou gaed.

The sma', droop-rumpl't, hunter cattle,
Might aiblins waur't thee for a brattle ;
But sax Scotch miles thou try't their mettle,
An' gar't them whaizle:

Nae whip nor spur, but just a wattle

O' saugh or hazle.

Thou was a noble fittie-lan',

As e'er in tug or tow was drawn!
Aft thee an' I, in aught hours gaun,

In guid March-weather,
Hae turn'd sax rood beside our han',

For days thegither.

VOL. II.

D

Thou never braindg't, an' fech't, an' fliskit,
But thy auld tail thou wad hae whiskit,
An' spread abreed thy weel-fill'd brisket,
Wi' pith and pow'r,

"Till spritty knowes wad rair't and risket, An' slypet owre.

When frosts lay lang, an' snaws were deep, An' threaten'd labour back to keep,

I gied thy cog a wee-bit heap

Aboon the timmer;

I ken'd my Maggie wad na sleep

For that, or simmer.

In cart or car thou never reestit;
The steyest brae thou wad hae fac't it;
Thou never lap, and sten't, and breastit,
Then stood to blaw ;
But just thy step a wee thing hastit,

Thou snoov't awa.

My pleugh is now thy bairn-time a' ;
Four gallant brutes as e'er did draw;
Forbye sax mae, I've sell't awa,

That thou hast nurst:

They drew me thretteen pund an' twa,

The vera warst.

Monie a sair daurk we twa hae wrought,
An' wi' the weary warl' fought!
An' monie an anxious day, I thought

We wad be beat!

Yet here to crazy age we're brought,
Wi' something yet.

And think na, my auld, trusty servan',
That now perhaps thou's less deservin,
An' thy auld days may end in starvin,
For my last fou,

A heapit stimpart, I'll reserve ane

We've worn to crazy years thegither;

We'll toyte about wi' ane anither;
Wi' tentie care I'll flit thy tether,

To some hain'd rig,

Whare ye may nobly rax your leather,

Wi' sma' fatigue.

It was the token of a true knight in chivalry to be kind to his charger. the Kyle farmer shares in the same feeling, for he is gentle, both in word and deed, to his “ Auld Mare." He recollects when she bore him triumphantly home when mellow, from markets and other meetings: how she ploughed the stiffest land and faced the steepest brae, and moreover brought home his bonnie bride

"Kyle-Stewart I could hae bragged wide,

For sic a pair."

The farmer's praise of his faithful servant contrasts strangely with Orleans' commendations of his horse in King Henry V.-" He bounds from the earth as if his entrails were hairs. When I bestride him I soar, I am a hawk: he trots the air: the earth sings when he touches it: the basest horn of his hoof is more musical than the pipe of Hermes. It is the prince of palfreys: his neigh is like the bidding of a monarch, and his countenance enforces homage." The Cid's praise of the peerless Bavieca is in a milder strain: in no fewer than one hundred Spanish ballads this noble animal is mentioned. I must have recourse to the fine version of Lockhart :—

"The king look'd on him kindly, as on a vassal true, Then to the king Ruy Diaz spake, after reverence due→ 'O king, the thing is shameful, that any man beside The liege lord of Castille himself, should Bavieca ride.

"For neither Spain nor Araby could another charger bring,
So good as he, and certes, the best befits my king;

But that you may behold him, and know him to the core,
I'll make him go as he was wont, when his nostrils smelt the Moor.'"

"There are three noble sights in nature," says an old

authority: a man thinking, an eagle flying, and a horse at full speed."