WILL AND JEAU.

Part First.

WHA was ance like Willie Gairlace? Wha in neeboring town or farm? Beauty's bloom shone in his fair face, Deadly strength was in his arm!

Wha wi' Will could rin or wrastle? Throw the sledge or toss the bar? Hap what wou'd, he stood a castle, Or for safety, or for war.

Warm his heart, and mild as manfu', Wi' the bauld he bauld could be: But to friends wha had their handfu', Purse and service aye ware free..

Whan he first saw Jeanie Miller,

Wha wi Jeanie cou'd compare?Thousands had mair braws and siller, But ware ony half sae fair?

Saft her smile raise like May morning,
Glintin owre Demait's brow;

Sweet! wi' opening charms adorning
Strevlin's lovely plains below!

Kind and gentle was her nature;
At ilk place she bore the bell;—
Sic a bloom, and shape, and stature!
But her look nae tongue can tell!

Sic was Jean whan Will first, mawing,
Spy'd her on a thraward beast;
Flew like fire, and, just whan fa'ing,
Kepp'd her on his manly breast,

Light he bare her, pale as ashes,
Cross the meadow, fragrant, green,
Plac'd her on the new-mawn rashes,
Watching sad her opening een.

Such was Will, when poor Jean, fainting. Drapt into a lover's arms;

Waken'd to his saft lamenting;

Sigh'd, and blush'd a thousand charms.

Soon they loo'd and soon ware buckl'd, Nane took time to think and rue:Youth and worth and beauty coupl'd, Luve had never less to do.

Three short years flew by fu' canty,

Jean and Will thought them but ane; Ilka day brought joy and plenty,

Ilka year a dainty wean.

Will wrought sair, but aye wi' pleasure; Jean the hale day span and sang; Will and weans her constant treasure,Blest wi' them, nae day seem'd lang.

Trig her house, and oh! to busk aye

Ilk sweet bairn was a' her pride! But at this time NEWS and WHISKY Sprang nae up at ilk roadside.

Luckless was the hour whan Willie,
Hame returning frae the fair,
Ow'rtook Tam, a neebor billie,

Sax miles frae their hame and mair.

Simmer's heat had lost its fury;
Calmly smil'd the sober een;
Lasses on the bleachfield hurry,
Skelping bare-fit owre the green :

Labor rang wi' laugh and clatter,
Canty hairst was just begun,
And on mountain, tree, and water,
Glinted saft the setting sun.

Will and Tam, wi' hearts a' lowpin,
Markt the hale, but could nae bide;
Far frae hame, nae time for stopping,--
Baith wish'd for their ain fireside.

On they travell'd, warm and drouthy,
Cracking owre the news in town;

The mair they crack'd, the mair ilk youth aye
Pray'd for drink to wash news down.

Fortune, wha but seldom listens
To poor Merit's modest pray'r,
And on fools heaps needless blessings,
Harken'd to our drouthy pair.

In a howm, whase bonnie burnie
Whimperin row'd its crystal flood,

Near the road whar travellers turn aye,
Neat and bield a cot-house stood:

White the wa's wi' roof new theekit, Window broads just painted red; Lown 'mang trees and braes it reekit, Haflins seen and haflins hid,

Up the gavel-end thick spreading,
Crap the clasping ivy green,

Back ower, firs the high craigs cleadin,
Rais'd a' round a cozey screen.

Down below, a flow'ry meadow
Join'd the burnie's rambling line;

Here it was that Howe, the widow,
That same day set up her sign.

Brattling down the brae, and near its Bottom, Will first marv'ling sees, "PORTER, ALE, and BRITISH SPIRITS,"

Painted bright between twa trees.