Frae ev'ry quarter of the sky, With that my hand methocht he schuke, My mind him followit throw the skyes, For joy ran trickling frae myne eyes, dreime; And wakit me frae my Then peiping, half sleiping, Frae furth my ryal beild, It eisit me, and pleisit me To se and smell the feild. For Flora in hir clene array, Quhile heisit and bleisit My heart with sic a fyre, As raises these praises, That do to heaven aspyre. This is evidently the production of Allan Ramsay, and is certainly among the best of his pieces. It was first published in The Ever-Green, and said to be "compylit in Latin be a most lernit Clerk, in tyme of our hairship and opression, anno 1300, and translatit in 1524." As no copy of the Poem has ever been even pretended to have been seen or heard of, previous to the publication by Ramsay himself; as his family knew and have affirmed it to be his; and as it has never been claimed by, or for any other, it would be superfluous to enter into any discussion upon the subject. Should any one entertain doubts upon the matter, I would only advise him to peruse, along with the Pocm, carefully, the acknowledged Works of Ramsay, and I have no doubt that if he is not convinced that it is Ramsay's, he will be satisfied that the writer whoever he was, was a most happy imitator both of his beauties and blemishes. Dr. Beattie of Aberdeen, the elegant and accomplished author of The Minstrel, seems to have seen through the flimsy pretence of antiquity, ascribed to this Poem by its author, for the purpose of avoiding the odium and contempt, which, at that time, attached to the votaries of Superstition and Tyranny, (for it had not yet become fashionable to lose sight of the interests of the present, and of future generations, in an affectation of sympathy for a worthless Vermin, whose highest claim of merit was a towpenny cord, and the first thorn-bush that was high enough to hang him,) and, in a letter to Mr. Pinkerton he says "the best Scottish Poem of modern times that I have seen, (for, though the title pretends it was written four hundred years ago, I have reason to think that it was produced in this century,) is called The Vision. I am inclined to think that the author, whoever he was, must have read Arbuthnot's History of John Bull. But there are noble images in it, and a harmony of versification superior to every thing I have seen in the kind. I suspect that it is the work of some friend of the family of Stuart, and that it must have been composed about the year 1715." Pinkerton in a note to his. Edition of the Poem, says, The principles of this Poem are utterly detested by the editor, as they are by every friend of mankind: he only gives it as a piece of fine writing in its way. The unhappy attachment to the family of Stuart, has wasted the finest estates, and shed some of the best blood in Scotland. It now exists only in the breasts of old women." Could the present dealers in Jacobite ribaldry, bawdry, and blasphemy, plead, in extenuation of their conduct, the weak ness of sex, and the dotage of age, it were certainly very fortunate for their reputations. JOHN GILPIN. JOHN GILPIN was a citizen John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear Though wedded we have been "These twice ten tedious years, yet we "To morrow is our wedding day, "All in a chaise and pair. "My sister and my sister's child, "Myself and children three, "Will fill the chaise; so you must ride "On horseback after we." He soon reply'd—“ I do admire "I am a linen-draper bold, "As all the world doth know; * And my good friend Tom Callender, "Will lend his horse to go." Quoth Mrs. Gilpin-" That's well said; "We will be furnish'd with our own, John Gilpin kiss'd his loving wife; That though on pleasure she was bent, The morning came, the chaise was brought, To drive up to the door, lest all Should say that she was proud. So three doors off the chaise was staid, Six precious souls; and all agog Smack went the whip, round went the wheels, Were never folks so glad; John Gilpin at his horse's side, For saddle-tree scarce reach'd had he, When, turning round his head, he saw So down he came; for loss of time, 'Twas long before the customers "Good lack!" quoth he; " yet bring it me, 66 My leathern belt likewise, "In which I bear my trusty sword "When I do exercise." Now Mrs. Gilpin-careful soul ! Each bottle had a curling ear, And hung a bottle on each side, Then over all, that he might be His long red cloak, well brush'd and neat, Now see him mounted once again Upon his nimble steed, Full slowly pacing o'er the stones, But finding soon a smoother road So" fair and softly," John did cry; So stooping down, as he needs must He grasp'd the mane with both his hands, The horse, who never had before Away went Gilpin, neck or nought, The wind did blow, the cloak did fly, Till, loop and button failing both, |