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Hae ye seen the bird, fast fleein',

Drap, when pierced by death mair fleet?
Then, see Jean, wi' colour deein',
Senseless drap at Willie's feet!

After three lang years' affliction,
(A' their waes now hush'd to rest),
Jean ance mair, in fond affection,
Clasps her Willie to her breast;

Tells him a' her sad-sad sufferings !
How she wander'd, starving, poor,
Gleaning pity's scanty offerings,

Wi' three bairns, frae door to door.

How she served, and toil'd, and fever'd,
Lost her health, and syne her bread;
How that grief, when scarce recover'd,
Took her brain, and turn'd her head.

How she wander'd round the county
Mony a live-lang night her lane ;
Till at last an angel's bounty
Brought her senses back again :

Gae her meat, and claise, and siller,
Gae her bairnies wark and lear;
Lastly, gae this cot-house till her,
Wi' four sterling pounds a year.

Willie, hearkening, wiped his een aye;
"Oh! what sins hae I to rue!

But say, wha's this angel, Jeannie?"

"Wha," quo' Jeannie, "but Buccleuch ?*

* The Duchess of Buccleuch, the unwearied patroness and supporter

of the afflicted and the poor.

"Here, supported, cheer'd, and cherish'd,
Nine blest months I've lived, and mair;
Seen these infants clad and nourish'd,

Dried my tears, and tint despair :

"Sometimes sewin', sometimes spinnin',
Light the lanesome hours gae round;
Lightly, too, ilk quarter rinnin'

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Brings yon angel's helping pound."

'Eight pounds mair," cried Willie, fondly—

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'Eight pounds mair will do nae harm ;
And, oh Jean! gin friends were kindly,
Twall pounds soon might stock a farm.

"There, ance mair, to thrive by pleughin',
Freed frae a' that peace destroys—

Idle waste and drucken ruin,

War, and a' its murdering joys!"

Thrice he kiss'd his lang-lost treasure-
Thrice ilk bairn: but couldna speak:
Tears of love, and hope, and pleasure
Stream'd in silence down his cheek!

Aiken-Drum.

Commonly printed under the title of "The Brownie of Blednoch," the ballad of "Aiken-drum" has wakened the drowsy wits of many a rural Scot. The author, William Nicholson, was a native of the parish of Borgue, in Galloway, and was born in August, 1782. In his youth weak eyesight prevented his progress at school, and afterwards. unfitted him for the occupations of shepherd or ploughman. Consequently he began life as a pedlar, and wandered up and down in his native district for thirty years singing his.

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own songs, and reciting his own tales and ballads. Under the title of "Tales in Verse, and Miscellaneous Poems, descriptive of Rural Life and Manners," he issued in 1814 a collection of his rhymed wares, by which it has been said he cleared the handsome sum of 100. In 1828 a second edition of his poems appeared, with a memoir of the author from the pen of Mr. Macdiarmid of Dumfries. Latterly Nicholson fell into sadly dissipated habits, and became a wandering gaberlunzie. He died at Kildarroch, in Borgue, in May 1849. "We would rather have written these lines," said the late Dr. John Brown, "than any amount of Aurora Leighs, Festuses, or such like, with all their mighty somethingness,' as Mr. Bailey would say. For they, are they not the 'native woodnotes wild' of one of nature's darlings? Here is the indescribable, inestimable, unmistakable impress of genius. Chaucer, had he been a Galloway man, might have written it, only he would have been more garrulous, and less compact and stern. It is like Tam o' Shanter' in its living union of the comic, the pathetic, and the terrible. Shrewdness, tenderness, imagination, fancy, humour, word-music, dramatic power, even wit-all are here. I have often read it aloud to children, and it is worth anyone's while to do it. You will find them repeating all over the house for days such lines as take their heart and tongue."

There cam' a strange wight to our town en',

An' the fient a body did him ken;

He tirled na lang, but he glided ben,
Wi' a weary, dreary hum.

His face did glow like the glow o' the west,
When the drumly cloud has it half o'ercast;
Or the struggling moon when she's sair distrest,
O, sirs! 'twas Aiken-drum.

I trow the bauldest stood aback,

Wi' a gape an' a glower till their lugs did crack,
As the shapeless phantom mumblin' spak'—

"Hae ye wark for Aiken-drum ?"

O! had ye seen the bairns' fright

As they stared at the wild and unearthly wight :
As they skulkit in 'tween the dark an' the light,
And graned out "Aiken-drum!"

"Sauf us!" quoth Jock, "d'ye see sic een?"

Cries Kate, "There's a hole where a nose should ha'

been:

An' the mouth's like a gash that a horn had ri’en ;
Wow! keep's frae Aiken-drum!"

The black dog growlin' cowered his tail,
The lassie swarfed, loot fa' the pail ;
Rob's lingle brak as he men't the flail,
At the sight o' Aiken-drum.

His matted head on his breast did rest,
A lang blue beard wander'd down like a vest ;
But the glare o' his e'e hath nae bard exprest,
Nor the skimes o' Aiken-drum.

Round his hairy form there was naething seen,
But a philabeg o' the rashes green,

An' his knotted knees played aye knoit between-
What a sight was Aiken-drum!

On his wauchie airms three claws did meet,
As they trailed on the grun' by his taeless feet;
E'en the auld gudeman himsel' did sweat,

To look at Aiken-drum.

But he drew a score, himsel' did sain,
The auld wife tried, but her tongue was gane;
While the young ane closer clasped her wean,
An' turned frae Aiken-drum.

But the cantie auld wife cam' till her breath,

An' she thocht the Bible might ward aff scaith,
Be it banshee, bogle, ghaist, or wraith-

But it feared na Aiken-drum.

"His presence protect us!" quoth the auld gudeman;
"What wad ye, whare won ye, by sea or lan'?
I conjure ye-speak-by the beuk in my han'!"
What a grane ga'e Aiken-drum !

"I lived in a land whare we saw nae sky,
I dwalt in a spot whare a burn rins na by;
But I'se dwall now wi' you gin ye like to try--
Hae ye wark for Aiken-drum?

"I'll shiel a' your sheep i' the mornin' sune,
I'll berry your crap by the light o' the mune,
An' ba' the bairns wi' an unkent tune,
If ye'll keep puir Aiken-drum.

"I'll lowp the linn when ye canna wade,
I'll kirn the kirn, an' I'll turn the bread,
An' the wildest filly that ever ran rede,
I'se tame 't," quoth Aiken-drum.

"To wear the tod frae the flock on the fell,
To gather the dew frae the heather bell,
An' to look at my face in your clear chrystal well,
Might gi'e pleasure to Aiken-drum.

"I'se seek nae guids, gear, bond, nor mark;

I use nae beddin', shoon, nor sark;

But a cogfu' o' brose 'tween the light an' the dark,

Is the wage o' Aiken-drum."

Quoth the wily auld wife, "The thing speaks weel
Our workers are scant-we hae routh o' meal;
Gif he'll do as he says--be he man, be he deil--
Wow! we'll try this Aiken-drum.”

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