Grit[23] daring dartit frae his ee, A braid-sword schogled[24]at his thie,[25] On his left arm a targe; A shinnand[26] speir filld his richt hand, Of stalwart[27] mak, in bane and brawnd, Of just proportions large; A various rainbow-colourt plaid Owre[28] his left spawl[29] he threw, Doun his braid back, frae his quhyte[30] heid, The silver wymplers[31] grew. [Footnote 23: Great.] [Footnote 24: Dangled.] [Footnote 25: Thigh.] [Footnote 26: Shining] [Footnote 27: Strong.] [Footnote 28: Over.] [Footnote 29: Shoulder.] [Footnote 30: White.] [Footnote 31: Waving locks of hair.] His _Tales_ and _Fables_, a species of writing which he himself deemed as "casten for his share," display great ease and readiness of versification, with much comic vivacity. The best of these are the _Twa Cats and the Cheese_; the _Lure_, in which the Falconer's "foregathering with auld Symmie" is excellently described; and the _Monk and the Miller's Wife_, for the story of which he is indebted to Dunbar. As a song writer we are not inclined to give Ramsay a very high place. His mind had not those deep and energetic workings of feeling that fitted Burns so admirably for this difficult species of writing. He is stiff, where passion is required; and is most easy, as usual, where he is comic. Several of his songs yet retain their popularity; but even of these none are without some faults. We prefer the Highland Laddie, Gie me a Lass wi' a Lump o' Land, The Carle he came o'er the Craft, The Lass of Patie's Mill and Jenny Nettles. His _Christ's Kirk_ is no mean effort of his muse; the idea of continuing King James's production was good, and he has executed it happily. Ramsay's humour must, however, be acknowledged to be inferior to the pure, strong, irresistible merriment that shines even through the dim and nearly obsolete language of his royal master. In the _Third Canto_, the morning, with its effect on the crapulous assemblage, is well painted. _Now frae east nook o' Fife the dawn Speel'd[32] westlins up the lift_, Carles wha heard the cock had crawn Begoud, &c. An' greedy wives, wi' girning thrawn, Cry'd lasses up to thrift; Dogs barked, an' the lads frae hand Bang'd[33] to their breeks,[34] like drift, Be break o' day [Footnote 32: Climbed.] [Footnote 33: Started up from bed.] [Footnote 34: Breeches.] Of a character similar to the first two lines of the above stanza, are the following other passages of Ramsay's works, which remind us a little of the Italian poets;-- Now Sol wi' his lang whip gae cracks Upon his nichering coosers'[35] backs, _To gar them tak th' Olympian brae, Wi' a cart-lade o' bleezing day_. [Footnote 35: Stallions.] _Tale of the Three Bonnets._ And ere the sun, though he be dry, Has driven down the westlin sky, To drink his wamefu' o' the sea. _Fables and Tales._