Free'd the hale land o' covenantin' fools,
Wha erst hae fash'd us wi' unnumber'd dools.
Till night we'll tak the swaird aboon our pows,
And then, whan she her ebon chariot rows,
We'll travel to the vau't wi' stealin' stap,
And wauk Mackenzie frae his quiet nap;
Tell him our ails, that he, wi' wonted skill,
May fleg the schemers o' the mortmain bill.

VERSES ON VISITING DUMFRIES.*

THE gods, sure, in some canny hour,
To bonny Nith ha'e ta'en a tour,
Where bonny blinks the caller flow'r
Beside the stream;

And sportive there ha'e shawn their pow'r
In fairy dream!

Had Kirkhill† here but kent the gait,
The beauties on Dumfries that wait,
He'd never turn'd his canker'd pate,
O' satire keen,

When ilka thing's sae trig and feat
To please the een.

*The visit which occasioned these sprightly verses, says Dr. Grosart, was paid in 1773. The poet was accompanied by a Lieutenant Wilson, R.N. The two friends had walked all the way from the Capital to renew their acquaintance with Charles Salmon, a fellow poet, who had left Edinburgh to pursue the business of a printer with Mr. Jackson, the spirited publisher of the Dumfries Weekly Magazine. Proud of his visitors, Salmon introduced the poet to his numerous admirers in Dumfries; and Fergusson was treated with the most flattering and over-kind distinction. In the hour of parting, being asked to leave some memorial of his Nithsdale "visit," he wrote on the instant the present verses.

So far as known, they were first published in the Life of Fergusson in the Lives of the Scottish Poets, 3 vols., 12mo, London, 1822, having been supplied to the editor by John Mayne, the author of "The Siller Gun."

+ Churchill, the satirist.

I ken the stirrah loo'd fu' weel
Amang the drinking louns to reel;
On claret brown or porter sweel,
Whilk he cou'd get;

After a shank o' beef he'd peel,
His craig to whet.

Marshals and Bushbys* then had fund
Some kitchen gude to lay the grund,
And Cheshire mites wi' skill to hund,
And fley awa'

The heart-scad and a scud o' wund
Frae stamack raw!

Had Horace liv'd, that pleasant sinner, Wha lov'd gude wine to synd his dinner, His muse, though dowf, the deil be in her, Wi' blythest sang,

The drink wad round Parnassus rin her Ere it were lang!

Nae mair he'd sung to auld Mecenas,
The blinking een o' bonny Venus,
His leave at ance he wad ha'e ta'en us
For claret here,

Which Jove and a' his gods still rain us
Frae year to year!

O! Jove, man! gie's some orra pence,
Mair siller, and a wee mair sense,
I'll big to you a rural spence,
And bide a' simmer;

And cauld frae saul and body fence
Wi' frequent brimmer!

*Two inn-keepers in Dumfries.

AULD REEKIE.*

AULD REEKIE! wale o' ilka town
That Scotland kens beneath the moon;
Where couthy chiels at e'enin' meet,
Their bizzin' craigs and mous to weet;
And blythely gar auld care gae by
Wi' blinkit and wi' bleerin' eye.
Ower lang frae thee the muse has been
Sae frisky on the simmer's green,
When flowers and gowans wont to glent
In bonnie blinks upon the bent;
But now the leaves o' yellow dye,
Peel'd frae the branches, quickly fly;
And now frae nouther bush nor brier
The spreckled mavis greets your ear;

*This poem, forming a curious memorial of Edinburgh in its old state, was evidently originally intended to be of considerable length. Down to the lines

"While our new city spreads around
Her bonny wings on fairy ground,"

66

it was published in a small tract in 1773, as Canto I.," with the modest dedication:-"To Sir William Forbes, Baronet, this Poem is most respectfully dedicated, by his most obedient and very humble servant, the Author." Dr. David Irving tells (though without stating his authority) that Sir William despised

"The poor ovations of a minstrel's praise,"

and that the result was, that, unencouraged, the design was left uncompleted. The few additions and corrections first appeared in Ruddiman's supplement to Part I. of the Poems, 1779.

As to the origin of the familiar and not inappropriate appellation of "Auld Reekie for Edinburgh, which is as old at least as the reign of Charles II., history and tradition alike are dumb. Of course, we have all heard the story of the old gentleman in Fife who regulated the time of his evening worship in summer by the appearance of the thickening smoke over the city in the late twilight, and who would call in the family, saying, "It's time noo, bairns, to tak' the beuks an' gang to our beds, for yonder's Auld Reekie, I see, putting on her nicht-cap; but we hesitate to believe that the soubriquet was employed there for the first time: hesitate no less, either, although convinced that it was the prevailing smoke that suggested the word "Reekie."

Nor bonnie blackbird skims and roves
To seek his love in yonder groves.

Then, Reekie, welcome! Thou canst charm,
Unfleggit by the year's alarm.

Not Boreas, that sae snelly blows,
Dare here pap in his angry nose;

Thanks to our dads, whase biggin' stands
A shelter to surrounding lands!

Now morn, wi' bonnie purpie-smiles
Kisses the air-cock o' St. Giles;
Rakin' their een, the servant lasses
Early begin their lies and clashes.
Ilk tells her friend o' saddest distress,
That still she bruiks frae scoulin' mistress;
And wi' her joe, in turnpike stair,
She'd rather snuff the stinkin' air,
As be subjected to her tongue,
When justly censured in the wrong.
On stair, wi' tub or pat in hand,
The barefoot housemaids lo'e to stand,
That antrin fouk may ken how snell
Auld Reekie will at mornin' smell:
Then, wi' an inundation big as

The burn that 'neath the Nor' Loch brig is,
They kindly shower Edina's roses,
To quicken and regale our noses.

Now some for this, wi' satire's leesh,
Hae gien auld Edinburgh a creesh:
But without sourin' nought is sweet;

The mornin' smells that hail our street
Prepare and gently lead the way
To simmer canty, braw, and gay.
Edina's sons mair eithly share
Her spices and her dainties rare,
Than he that's never yet been call'd
Aff frae his plaidie or his fauld.

Now stairhead critics, senseless fools,
Censure their aim, and pride their rules,
In Luckenbooths, wi' glowrin' eye,
Their neibour's sma'est faults descry.

If ony loun should dander there,
O' awkward gait and foreign air,
They trace his steps, till they can tell
His pedigree as weel's himsel'.

When Phoebus blinks wi' warmer ray,
And schools at noon-day get the play,
Then bus'ness, weighty bus'ness, comes;
The trader glowers-he doubts, he hums.
The lawyers eke to Cross repair,
Their wigs to shaw, and toss an air;
While busy agent closely plies,
And a' his kittle cases tries.

Now night, that's cunzied chief for fun,
Is wi' her usual rites begun:

Through ilka gate the torches blaze,
And globes send out their blinkin' rays.
The usefu' cadie plies in street,
To bide the profits o' his feet;
For, by thir lads Auld Reekie's fouk
Ken but a sample o' the stock
O' thieves, that nightly wad oppress,
And mak baith goods and gear the less.
Near him the lazy chairman stands,
And wats na how to turn his hands,
Till some daft birkie, rantin' fou,
Has matters somewhere else to do;—
The chairman willing gies his light
To deeds o' darkness and o' night.
It's never saxpence for a lift
That gars thir lads wi' fu'ness rift;
For they wi' better gear are paid,
And whores and culls support their trade.
Near some lamp-post, wi' dowie face,
Wi' heavy een and sour grimace,

Stands she, that beauty lang had kenn'd,
Whoredom her trade, and vice her end.
But see where now she wins her bread
By that which nature ne'er decreed,

And sings sad music to the lugs,

'Mang bourachs o' damn'd whores and rogues.