And he looked about, like a body half-glaikit, On bonnie sweet Nanny, the youngest of a'. "Ha, laird!" quo' the carlin', "and look ye that way? Fy! let nae sic fancies bewilder ye clean; An elderlin' man, in the noon o' the day, And yearn'd for a sight of his winsome dearie, Raised up the latch and came crousely ben. His coat was new, and his owerlay was white, And his hose and his mittens were cosie and bein; But a wooer that comes in braid daylight Is no like a wooer that comes at e'en. Should be wiser than youngsters that come at He greeted the carlin' and lasses sae braw, e'en." "Na, na," quo' the pawky auld wife; "I trow, You'll no fash your head wi' a youthfu' gilly, As wild and as skeigh as a muirland filly; Black Madge is far better and fitter for you." He hem'd and he haw'd, and he drew in his mouth, And he squeezed his blue bonnet his twa hands between, For a wooer that comes when the sun's i' the south, Is mair landward than wooers that come at e'en. "Black Madge is sae carefu'"-"What's that to me?" "She's sober and eydent, has sense in her noddle She's douce and respeckit." "I carena a bodle; Love winna be guided, and fancy's free." Madge toss'd back her head wi' a saucy slight, And Nanny, loud laughing, ran out to the green; For a wooer that comes when the sun shines bright Is no like a wooer that comes at e'en. Then away flung the laird, and loud mutter'd he, "A' the daughters of Eve, between Orkney and Tweed, O! Black or fair, young or auld, dame or damsel, or widow, May gang in their pride to the de'il for me!" But the auld gudewife and her mays sae tight, Cared little for a' his stour banning, I ween; For a wooer that comes in braid daylight Is no like a wooer that comes at e'en. It fell on a morning when we were thrang- But the auld gudewife, and her mays sae tight, Then the clocksie auld laird of the Warlock Glen, Wha stood without, half cow'd, half cheerie, And his bare lyart pow he smoothly straikit, And lookit about, like a body half glaikit, On bonny sweet Nanny, the youngest of a': "Ha, ha!" quo' the carlin, "and look ye that way? Hoot! let nae sic fancies bewilder ye clean--- "Na, na," quo' the pawky auld wife; "I trow You'll fash na your head wi' a youthfu' gilly, As wild and as skeigh as a muirland filly; Black Madge is far better and fitter for you." He hem'd and he haw'd, and he screw'd in his mouth, And he squeezed his blue bonnet his twa hands between, For wooers that come when the sun's in the south Are mair awkward than wooers that come at e'en. "Black Madge she is prudent." "What's that to me?" "She is eident and sober, has sense in her noddle Is douce and respeckit." "I carena a boddle; I'll bauk na my luve, and my fancy's free." Madge toss'd back her head wi' a saucy slight, And Nanny ran laughing out to the green; For wooers that come when the sun shines bright, Are no like the wooers that come at e'en. Awa' flung the laird, and loud mutter'd he, "All the daughters of Eve, between Orkney and Tweed, 0: Black and fair, young and old, dame, damsel, and widow, May gang wi' their pride to the wuddy for me.' POVERTY PARTS GOOD COMPANY. When my o'erlay was white as the foam o' the lin, And siller was chinking my pouches within; When my lambkins were bleating on meadow and brae, As I went to my love in new cleeding sae gay Kind was she, and my friends were free, How swift pass'd the minutes and hours of delight! When piper played cheerly, and crusie burn'd bright; And linked in my hand was the maiden sae dear! As she footed the floor in her holiday gear. Woe is me; and can it then be, That poverty parts sic company? We met at the fair, and we met at the kirk; The cheering and life of my bosom hae been. At bridal and in fair, I've braced me wi' pride, Sae let it be, for the worldly and slie But the hope of my love is a cure for its smart; And the spaewife has tauld me to keep up my heart; For wi' my last saxpence her loof I hae crossed, Though cruelly we may ilka day see In ribbons and mantuas that gar me gae barely! O, gin my wife wad spend hooly and fairly! Hooly and fairly, hooly and fairly, O, gin my wife wad spend hooly and fairly! I' the kirk sic commotion last Sabbath she made, O, gin my wife wad dress hooly and fairly! O, gin my wife wad dress hooly and fairly! She's warring and flyting frae mornin' till e'en, O, gin my wife wad strike hooly and fairly! O, gin my wife wad strike hooly and fairly! When tired wi' her cantrips, she lies in her bed, O, gin my wife wad work timely and fairly! O, gin my wife wad work timely and fairly! A word o' guid counsel or grace she'll hear none; O, gin my wife wad speak hooly and fairly; O, gin my wife wad speak hooly and fairly! I wish I were single, I wish I were freed; HOOLY AND FAIRLY. (FOUNDED ON AN OLD SCOTCH SONG.) Oh, neighbours! what had I ado for to marry! O, gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly! O gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly! She sups wi' her kimmers on dainties enow, O, gin my wife wad feast hooly and fairly! O, gin my wife wad feast hooly and fairly! To fairs and to bridals and preachings and a', She gangs sae light-headed and buskit sae braw, THE BLACK-COCK. Good morrow to thy sable beak, A maid there is in yonder tower, The rarest things, to light of day Look shortly forth, and shrink away. One fleeting moment of delight, SAY, SWEET CAROL! Say, sweet carol, who are they And the meek maid who binds her yellow hair, Say, sweet carol, who are they Who welcome in the evening gray? The housewife trim, and merry lout, Who sit the blazing fire about; The sage a conning o'er his book; The tired wight, in rushy nook, Who, half asleep, but faintly hears The gossip's tale hum in his cars; The loosen'd steed in grassy stall; The proud Thanes feasting in the hall; But most of all the maid of cheerful soul, Who fills her peaceful warrior's flowing bowl. TO A CHILD. Whose imp art thou, with dimpled cheek, What boots it who, with sweet caresses, First called thee his,-or squire or hind? Since thou in every wight that passes Dost now a friendly playmate find. Thy downcast glances, grave, but cunning, But far afield thou hast not flown; With mocks and threats half-lisp'd, halfspoken, I feel thee pulling at my gown, Of right good-will thy simple token. And thou must laugh, and wrestle too, Thy after-kindness more engaging. The wilding rose, sweet as thyself, But yet, for all thy merry look, Thy frisks and wiles, the time is coming, When thou shalt sit in cheerless nook, The weary spell or horn-book thumbing. Well; let it be!-through weal and woe Thou know'st not now thy future range; Life is a motley, shifting show, And thou a thing of hope and change! THE GOWAN GLITTERS ON THE The gowan glitters on the sward, Oh no! sad and slow, My sheep-bell tinkles frae the west, Oh no! sad and slow, And like a lanely ghaist I stand And croon upon the hill. I hear below the water roar, And Lucky scolding frae her door, Oh no! sad and slow, That noble mind!-But 'tis some passing seizure, Theo. 'Tis Heaven's infliction; let us call it so; Eleanora. Nay, do not thus despair; when she She'll know her friends, and by our kindly soothing Alice. Let me go to her. Theo. Nay; forbear, I pray thee; I will myself with thee, my worthy Hartman, Go in and lead her forth. Theo. Yes; twice I've heard already Orra. Aye, so it is; day takes his daily turn, And will-o'-the-wisp his dancing taper light, (Bending her ear to the ground.) Hark, hark! aye, hark! They are all there: I hear their hollow sound Theo. Be still, poor troubl'd soul! they'll ne'er They are for ever gone. Be well assured Orra. No, no! athwart the wav'ring garish light Orra. "Tis like an old tune to my ear return'd; Hoot owls through mantling fog for matin birds? Orra. Come back, come back! the fierce and That speak to thee; this is a friendly hand fiery light! Theo. Shrink not, dear love! It is the light of day. Orra. Have cocks crow'd yet? That presses thine so kindly. Hart. Oh, grievous state! what terror seizes thee? Orra. Take it away! It was the swathed dead! I know its clammy, chill, and bony touch. I'll bide the trooping of unearthly steps, Hugh. A murd'rer is a guiltless wretch to me. Orra. Take off from me thy strangely-fasten'd I may not look upon thee-yet I must. Elea. Alas! the piteous sight! to see her thus, Theo. Out on thy hateful and ungenerous guile! (Raising ORRA from the ground.) With every studied form of mark'd devotion, No liege man to his crowned mistress sworn, And he who offers to thy alter'd state Hart. Nay,do thou pardon me;-I am to blame: There must be some control. Theo. O none, none, none! but gentle sympathy And watchfulness of love. My noble Orra! Alice. See how she gazes on him with a look Elea. There is a kindness in her changing eye. WILLIAM ROSS. BORN 1762- DIED 1790. WILLIAM ROSS, a young Gaelic poet, who Ross celebrated the praises of uisq-bea in has been styled by some of his admirers "the several spirited lyrics, which continue to be Burns of the Highlands," was born at Broad- popular to this day among his countrymen. ford, isle of Skye, in the year 1762. He In the summer of 1872 the writer heard one of was educated at Forres, to which his parents them sung by a stalwart Highlander when half removed when he was a lad, and obtained his way through the grand and gloomy pass of training as a poet among the wilds of his native Glencoe, and we have since listened to his hills. Having acquired a knowledge of the Gaelic lyrics sung over bumpers of Glenlivet classics, as well as of general literature and in a Canadian cabin near the shores of the learning, young Ross was found qualified and | Saguenay. The chief theme of the young received the appointment of parish school | poet's inspiration was not, however, Highland master at Gairloch. He was a warm admirer of the songs of other poets, which, together with his own compositions, he sang with great skill and beauty in a clear and melodious tenor voice. As a Gaelic scholar he was highly distinguished, and he possessed a thorough acquaintance with the science of music, being able to play on several instruments. whisky, but Mary Ross, a rosy, golden-haired Hebridean, who remained coldly indifferent to all his lyrical attacks. Her indifference and ultimate rejection of his suit are believed to have proved fatal to the too susceptible minstrel, who died at Gairloch in 1790. ""Twas not a life, 'Twas but a piece of childhood thrown away," |