A hare-brain’d, sentimental trace, Was strongly markèd in her face; A wildly-witty rustic grace Shone full upon her; Her eye, ev’n turn’d on empty space, Beam’d keen with honour. Down flow’d her robe, a tartan sheen, Till half a leg was scrimply seen; An’ such a leg! my bonnie Jean Could only peer it; Sae straught, sae taper, tight, and clean, Nane else came near it. Her mantle large, of greenish hue, My gazing wonder chiefly drew; Deep lights and shades, bold-mingling, threw A lustre grand; And seem’d to my astonish’d view A well-known land. Here rivers in the sea were lost; There mountains to the skies were tost: Here tumbling billows mark’d the coast With surging foam; There, distant shone Art’s lofty boast, The lordly dome. Here Doon pour’d down his far-fetch’d floods; There well-fed Irwine stately thuds; Auld hermit Ayr staw thro’ his woods, On to the shore; And many a lesser torrent scuds, With seeming roar. Low in a sandy valley spread, An ancient borough rear’d her head; Still, as in Scottish story read, She boasts a race To ev’ry nobler virtue bred, And polish’d grace. By stately tower or palace fair, Or ruins pendent in the air, Bold stems of heroes, here and there, I could discern; Some seem’d to muse, some seem’d to dare, With feature stern. My heart did glowing transport feel, To see a race heroic wheel, And brandish round the deep-dyed steel In sturdy blows; While back-recoiling seem’d to reel Their Suthron foes. His Country’s Saviour, mark him well! Bold Richardton’s heroic swell; The Chief—on Sark who glorious fell, In high command; And he whom ruthless fates expel His native land. There, where a sceptred Pictish shade Stalk’d round his ashes lowly laid, I mark’d a martial race, pourtray’d In colours strong; Bold, soldier-featured, undismay’d They strode along. DUAN SECOND With musing-deep astonish’d stare, I view’d the heavenly-seeming Fair; A whisp’ring throb did witness bear Of kindred sweet, When with an elder Sister’s air She did me greet. ‘All hail! my own inspired bard! In me thy native Muse regard! Nor longer mourn thy fate is hard, Thus poorly low; I come to give thee such reward As we bestow.