. Poems and songs . itch part,Wi deils, they say, Lord saves! colleaguin* At some black art. Its tauld he was a sodger bred,And ane wad rather fan than fled ,But now hes quat the spurtle-blade, And dog-skin wallet,And taen the—Antiquarian trade, I think they call it. He has a fouth o auld nick-nackets :Rusty aim caps and jinglin jackets,Wad hand the Lothians three in tackets A towmont gude ;And parritch-pats, and auld saut-backets, Before the Flood. Forbye, he 11 shape you aff, fu gleg,The cut of Adams philibeg ;The knife that nicket Abels craig Hell prove you fully,It was a faulding jocteleg,
. Poems and songs . itch part,Wi deils, they say, Lord saves! colleaguin* At some black art. Its tauld he was a sodger bred,And ane wad rather fan than fled ,But now hes quat the spurtle-blade, And dog-skin wallet,And taen the—Antiquarian trade, I think they call it. He has a fouth o auld nick-nackets :Rusty aim caps and jinglin jackets,Wad hand the Lothians three in tackets A towmont gude ;And parritch-pats, and auld saut-backets, Before the Flood. Forbye, he 11 shape you aff, fu gleg,The cut of Adams philibeg ;The knife that nicket Abels craig Hell prove you fully,It was a faulding jocteleg, Or lancr-kail e;ullie. 48 CAPTAIN GROSES PEREGRINATIONS. But wad ye see him in his glee,For meikle glee and fun has he,Then set him down, and twa or three Guid fellows wi him;And port, O port! shine thou a wee, And then ye11 see him ! Now, by the powrs o verse jnd prose !Thou art a dainty chield, O Grose !Whaeer o thee shall ill suppose, They sair misca thee ;Id take the rascal by the nose Wad say, Shame fa 49 WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL, OVER THE CHIMNEY-riECE IN THE PARLOUR OF THE INN ATKEN MURE, TAYMOUTH. Admiring Nature in her wildest grace, These northern scenes with weary feet I trace ; Oer many a winding dale and painful steep, Th abodes of coveyd grouse and timid sheep, My savage journey, curious, I pursue, Till famd Breadalbane opens to my view.— The meeting cliffs each deep-sunk glen divides, The woods, wild scatterd, clothe their ample sides ; Th outstretching lake, embosomd mong the hills, The eye with wonder and amazement fills ; The Tay, meandering sweet in infant pride, The palace rising on its verdant side; The lawns wood-fringed in Natures native taste ; The hillocks dropt in Natures careless haste ; The arches striding oer the new-born stream ; The village glittering in the noontide beam— ***?**#**Poetic ardours in my bosom swell,Lone wandering by the hermits mossy cell:The sweeping theatre of hanging woods ;Th incessant roar of headlong tumbling flood
Size: 1646px × 1519px
Photo credit: © Reading Room 2020 / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bookauthorburnsrob, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1850, bookyear1858
