The Brigs of Ayr and letter fragment

'Twas when the stacks get on their winter-hap,
And thach and raep secure the dear toil won crap;
Potatoe-bings are sereen'd snugly frae the coming skaith
O' nipping Winter's biting, frosty breath;
Th' industrious bees, rejoicing owre their stores,
The lazy drones a' banish'd out o' doors,
Are sent by cruel man new hames to seek,
Or die like devild, smoor'd wi' brunstane reek;
Nae mair the flower in field or meadow springs;
Nae The thundering guns are heard on ev'ry side,
The wounded coveys, reeling, scatter wide;
The feather'd field-mates, bound in Nature's tye,
Sires, sons and daughters in one carnage lie;
(What warm, poetic heart but inly bleeds,
And execrates man's savage, ruthless deeds!)
Nae mair the flow'r in field or meadow springs;
Nae mair the grove with airy concert rings;
Except perhaps the Robin's whistling glee,
Proud o' the height o' some bit half-lang tree;
The hoary morns precede the sunny days,
Mild, calm, serene, wide-pours the noontide blaze,
While thick the gosamour waves wanton in the rays.

'Twas in that season, when a simple Bard,
Unknown and poor, Simplicity's reward,
Ae night within the ancient Brugh of Ayr,
By whim inspir'd, or, haply, prest wi' care,
Alang the Brig he took his wayward rout,
And down by Simpson's, wheel'd the left about;
(Whether, rapt up in meditation high,
He wander'd forth he knew not where nor why;
Or, penitential pangs for former sins
Led him to rove by quondam Merran Din's)
The drousy steeple-clock had number'd two,
And Wallace-tow'r had sworn the fact was true

The tide-swoln-Firth, wi' hoarsely-sounding roar,
Thro' the still night, dash'd white along the shore;
All else beside was quiet to h hush'd, as Nature's closed e'e;
The silver silent moon shone high owre tow'r an' tree;
The chilly Frost, beneath the silver beam,
Crept, gently-crusting, o'er the glitt'ring stream.

When lo! before our Bardie's wond'ring een,
The Brigs of Ayr's twa guardian Sprites are seen!
Ane, on th' auld bows, his dusky form uprears,
The tither flutters o'er the rising piers.
(That Bards are second-sighted is nae joke,
And ken the lingo o' the sp'ritual folk;
Fays, Spunkies, Kelpies, a', they can explain them,
An' even the vera Deils, they brawly ken them)

Auld-Brig appear'd of ancient, Pictish race,
The vera wrinkles gothic in his face.
He seem'd as he wi' Time had warssl'd lang,
Yet teughly doure he bade an unco bang.
New Brig was busket in a braw, new coat,
That he at Lonon frae ane Adams got,
In's han' five taper staves as smooth's a bead,
Wi' virls an' whirlygigums at the head.
The Goth was stalking round wi' anxious search,
Viewing the time-worn flaws in ev'ry arch;
It chanc'd his new-come Neebor took his e'e,
An' e'en a vex'd an' angry heart had he;
Wi' thieveless sneer, to see his modish mien,
He, down the water gies him this guideen ----

Auld-Brig.

I doubt na, frien'! ye'll think ye're nae sheep-shan
Ance ye were streekit owre frae bank to bank!
But gin ye be a Brig as auld as me,
Tho faith, I doubt that date ye never be
But if ye do, there'll be, [?] that day come, I'll wad a boddle,

Some fewer whigmaleeries i' your noddle.
Och, waes my heart! for them that's dead an' rotten,
To think how their auld, royal Art's forgotten!
The chiels that bigget me were Masons prime,
Fu' brawly could they bake the stane an' lime,
That ages it would stan't the teeth o' time:
They wrought fie warks that your fine Architects,
They couldna do the like o't for their necks!
New-Brig.
 

Sir,
I am no stranger to your friendly offices in my
publication; and long since I could and had that been the
only debt I owed you, I would long since have acknowledged
it; as the next Merchant's phrase, depressed up a little, would
have served my purpose; but there was is a certain cordial friendly welcome
in my reception when I have had the honour of meeting with
you; an certain apparent heart-warm, honest joy at having
it in your power to befriend a man whose abilities you were











pleased to honour with some degree of applause -- befriending
him too in the very way most agreeable to his feelings, han [page torn]
him up to that dear-lov'd notice of the world' ---- this, Sir [page torn]
I assure you with brim-full eyes this moment I have often wis [page torn]
to acknowledge, but was as often at a loss for expression si[ page torn]
to the state of my heart. ---- God knows I know very lit[page torn]
of Great folks; and I hope He can be my witness that fo [page torn]
mere Greatness I as little care. Worth, in whatever are [page torn]
stanus[?] I ever prize; but Worth conjoined with Greatness [page torn]
has a certain irresistible power of attraction esteem ----
I have taken the liberty to inscribe the enclosed Poem to you
I am the more at ease about this, as it is not the anxiously served
up address of the Poet wishing to flatter conciliate a liberal Patron
but the plain honest sincerity of heartfelt Gratitude. ----