My kurtch I put upo' my head, UNKNOWN. GLENLOGIE. "O, haud your tongue, daughter, ye'll be; "Where will I get a bonnie boy, to win hose and shoon, THREESCORE o' nobles rade up the king's ha', But bonnie Glenlogie's the flower o' them a', Wi' his milk-white steed and his bonnie black e'e, "Glenlogie, dear mither, Glenlogie for Pale and wan was she, when Glenlogie me!" Will gae to Glenlogie, and come again soon?" "O, here am I a bonnie boy, to win hose and shoon, The next line that he read, the tear blindit his e'e; But the last line that he read, he gart the table flee. "Gar saddle the black horse, gar saddle the brown; Gar saddle the swiftest steed e'er rade frae a town": But lang ere the horse was drawn and brought to the green, O, bonnie Glenlogie was twa mile his lane. When he came to Glenfeldy's door, little mirth was there; Bonnie Jean's mother was tearing her hair. "Ye're welcome, Glenlogie, ye 're welcome," said she, "Ye're welcome, Glenlogie, your Jeanie to see. gaed ben, But red and rosy grew she, whene'er he sat down; She turned awa' her head, but the smile was in her e'e, 66 'O, binna feared, mither, I'll maybe no dee." UNKNOWN. JOHN DAVIDSON. JOHN DAVIDSON and Tib his wife "Guidwife!" quo' John, "did ye see that mouse? Whar sorra was the cat?" "A mouse?"—“Ay, a mouse.” — “Na, na, Guidman, It wasna a mouse, 't was a rat." "Oh, oh! Guidwife, to think ye've been Sae lang about the house An' no to ken a mouse frae a rat! Yon wasna a rat, but a mouse!" "I've seen mair mice than you, Guid man, An' what think ye o' that? His truth unquestioned and his soul serene: Of no man's presence Isaac felt afraid; At no man's question Isaac looked dismayed: Shame knew him not, he dreaded no disgrace; Truth, simple truth, was written in his face; Yet while the serious thought his soul approved, Cheerful he seemed, and gentleness he loved; To bliss domestic he his heart resigned, And with the firmest, had the fondest mind. Were others joyful, he looked smiling on, And gave allowance where he needed none; Good he refused with future ill to buy, Nor knew a joy that caused reflection's sigh. A friend to virtue, his unclouded breast No envy stung, no jealousy distressed (Bane of the poor! it wounds their weaker mind To miss one favor which their neighbors find); Yet far was he from stoic pride removed; He felt humanely, and he warmly loved. I marked his action when his infant died, And his old neighbor for offence was tried; The still tears, stealing down that furrowed cheek, Spoke pity plainer than the tongue can speak. If pride were his, 't was not their vulgar pride Who, in their base contempt, the great deride; Nor pride in learning, though my clerk agreed, If fate should call him, Ashford might succeed; Nor pride in rustic skill, although we knew None his superior, and his equals few: But if that spirit in his soul had place, It was the jealous pride that shuns dis grace; A pride in honest fame, by virtue gained, In sturdy boys to virtuous labors trained; Pride in the power that guards his country's coast, And all that Englishmen enjoy and boast; Pride in a life that slander's tongue defied, In fact, a noble passion, misnamed pride. He had no party's rage, no sectary's whim; |
