'Tis sweet to hear the music float Along the gloaming lea; 'Tis sweet to hear the blackbird's note Come pealing frae the tree; To see the lambkins lightsome race-- The speckled kid in wanton chase-- The young deer cower in lonely place, Deep in her flowing den; But sweeter far the bonny face That smiles in yonder glen! O, had it no' been for the blush O' maiden's virgin flame, Dear beauty never had been known, An' never had a name; But aye sin' that dear thing o' blame Was modell'd by an angel's frame, The power o' beauty reigns supreme O'er a' the sons o' men; But deadliest far the sacred flame Burns in a lonely glen! There 's beauty in the violet's vest-- There 's hinney in the haw-- There 's dew within the rose's breast, The sweetest o' them a'. The sun will rise an' set again, An' lace wi' burning goud the main-- The rainbow bend outow'r the plain, Sae lovely to the ken; But lovelier far the bonny thing That wons in yonder glen! [58] This song was written at Elleray, Mr Wilson's seat in Westmoreland, where a number of my very best things were written. There was a system of competition went on there, the most delightful that I ever engaged in. Mr Wilson and I had a "Queen's Wake" every wet day--a fair set-to who should write the best poem between breakfast and dinner, and, if I am any judge, these friendly competitions produced several of our best poems, if not the best ever written on the same subjects before. Mr Wilson, as well as Southey and Wordsworth, had all of them a way of singing out their poetry in a loud sonorous key, which was very impressive, but perfectly ludicrous. Wilson, at that period, composed all his poetry by going over it in that sounding strain; and in our daily competitions, although our rooms were not immediately adjoining, I always overheard what progress he was making. When he came upon any grand idea, he opened upon it full swell, with all the energy of a fine fox-hound on a hot trail. If I heard many of these vehement aspirations, they weakened my hands and discouraged my heart, and I often said to myself, "Gude faith, it 's a' ower wi' me for this day!" When we went over the poems together in the evening, I was always anxious to learn what parts of the poem had excited the sublime breathings which I had heard at a distance, but he never could tell me.--_Hogg._ THE FLOWERS OF SCOTLAND. AIR--_"The Blue Bells of Scotland."_ What are the flowers of Scotland, All others that excel-- The lovely flowers of Scotland, All others that excel? The thistle's purple bonnet, And bonny heather-bell, O, they 're the flowers of Scotland, All others that excel!