PART I.

All ye young lovers in Scotland draw near,
Unto the sad story which now ye shall hear,
Concerning two lovers that lived in the north,
Amongst the high mountains that stand beyond Forth.
The maid was the daughter of a gentleman
Of the name of M'Farlane, and of the same clan;
But Grigor was born in a Highland isle,
And by blood relation her cousin we style.

But where riches are wanting we oftentimes see
Few men are esteemed for their pedigree.
His father was forced, when he was a child,

Part III

The knyght has sent hys servyng menne
In secret haste awaie,
To spie some place besyde the sea
Where he mote safelie staie.

The land of Mathers all was hys,
And on the steepie shore
A fearfull rocke looks o'er the waves,
A-lystening to their roar.

So there thae buyld a lordlie kaim
All onne the stonie rock,
Which mote defie the sovereign's arms,

The huntsman's merry horn hath wound
Its call so loud and shrylle;
And manie a knyght and nymble steed
Hath met on Garvock hylle.

Pittarow's gallaunt knyght was there,
And the laird of Laurystoun;
Glenbervy with hys brothers twae
And Edzell with hys sonne.

The wycked Sheriff too was there,
Philip Melvil was hys name;
And twenty more frae the sea coast,
With gloomy Urie came.

Now up thae mount with fleet griehound
And through the forest steer —
Thae thynk nought of the goodlie syght,

PART I

'Twas all within Redcastle's towers,
So merry was the nyght;
Kyng James, our sov'reign liege was there
Wyth peers of stalwart myght.

And they did quaffe the gude brown ale
In cuppes of gold so sheen;
And they did sing the minstrelle's song
Of deeds that erst had been.

Up spake the kyng with kyndlie hearte,
And eke with meikle grace;

Mrs. Bunt's compliments — informs Miss Bunn
That her front drain shall speedily be done,
Provided that Miss Bunn will be so kind
To put her ball-cock in repair behind,
Which lets all Miss Bunn's water overflow
All Mrs. Bunt's back premises below.
Wonders how anything of hers can run
So far into the passage of Miss Bunn.
The man who does her jobs shall see what's wrong,
But thinks Miss Bunn wont find his nails too long.
Knows their partitions are exceeding slight,
From Miss Bunn's parrot calling Pots all night;

Miss Bunn sends compliments to Mrs. Bunt;
Requests she'll cover up her drain in front;
Which looks so ungenteel, and smells so strong,
It makes Miss Bunn go backward all day long.
Also regrets to be obliged to state.
That Mrs. Bunt's deal safe fixed up of late
Has caused a very ugly nail to run
Some inches in the passage of Miss Bunn.
Is sorry their partitions aren't of brick;
Only thin paper — wishes it was thick,
Especially as Mrs. Bunt thinks right
To heat her washing-copper over night;
And Mrs. Bunt's new maid is quite a stranger;

Stretching round England's chief emporium far
(No rage for building quenched by raging war),
What would-be villas, ranged in dapper pride,
Usurp the fields and choke the highway side!

Thither the small-folk of two sorts repair;
The first, as constant dwellers stagnate there;
The second sojourn, wasting cash, to come
On visits to their vulgar Tusculum.

These folly lures to gape in broad retreat,
And lease a cake-house for a country seat;
Those prudence prompts to shrink from London rents,
In sprucer but less costly tenements.

Farewell! Farewell!
Like the chiming of the bells,
Which a tale of triumph tells;
As the news in tuneful notes,
Leaping from the brazen throats,
On the startled ether floats; —
So in freedom, great and glorious,
Over flesh and sense victorious,

PART IV.

Sweet as R OSEBANK'S woods and river
Cool when simmer's sunbeams dart,
Came ilk word, and cooled the fever
That lang burned at W ILLIE'S heart.

Silent stept he on, poor fallow!
Listening to his guide before,
O'er green know and flowery hallow,
Till they reached the cot-house door.

Laigh it was; yet sweet, tho' humble!
Deckt wi' honeysuckle round;

PART III.

Back to B RITAIN'S fertile garden
Will'S returned (exchanged for faes),
Wi' ae leg, and no ae farden,
Friend, or credit, meat, or claise.

Lang through county, burgh, and city,
Crippling on a wooden leg,
Gathering alms frae melting pity;
See! poor G AIRLACE forced to beg!

Placed at length on Chelsea's bounty,
Now to langer beg thinks shame,