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Conceited gowk! puff'd up wi' windy pride! *This mony a year l've stood the flood an’tide ; And tho' wi' crazy eild I'm sair forfairn, I'll be a Brig, when ye're a shapeless cairn ! As yet ye little ken about the matter, But twa-three winters will inform ye better. When heavy, dark, continued, a'-day rains, Wi' deepening deluges o’erflow the plains; When from the hills where springs the brawling Coil, Or stately Lugar's mossy fountains boil, Or where the Greenock winds his moorland course, Or haunted Garpal* draws his feeble source, Arous'd by blust'ring winds an' spotting thowes, In mony a torrent down his sna-broo rowes ; While crashing ice, borne on the roaring speat, Sweeps dams, an' mills, an' brigs, a' to the gate ; And from Glenbuck,t down to the Ratton-key, Auld Ayr is just one lengthen'd, tumbling sea; Then down ye'll hurl, deil nor ye never rise ! And dash the gumlie jaups up to the pouring skies. A lesson sadly teaching, to your cost, That Architecture's noble art is lost !
Fine Architecture, trowth, I needs must say't o't! The L-d be thankit that we've tint the gate o't!
* The banks of Garpal Water is one of the few places in the West of Scotland, where those fancy-scaring beings, known by the name of Ghaists, still continue pertinaciously to inhabit. + The source of the river Ayr. | A small landing place above the large key.
Gaunt, ghastly, ghaist-alluring edifices,
Oye, my dear-remember'd ancient yealings, Were ye but here to share my wounded feelings ! Ye worthy Proveses, an'mony a Bailie, Wha in the paths o' righteousness did toil ay ; Ye dainty Deacons, and ye douce Conveeners, To whom our moderns are but causey-cleaners; Ye godly Councils wha hae blest this town; Ye godly Brethren of the sacred gown, Wha meekly gie your hurdies to the smiters ; And (what would now be strange) ye godly Writers :
A'ye douce folk I've borne aboon the broo,
and Harbours !
Now haud you there! for faith ye’ve said enough, And muckle mair than ye can mak to through, As for your priesthood, I shall say but little, Corbies and Clergy are a shot right kittle : But, under favor o'your langer beard, Abuse o' Magistrates might weel be spar'd; To liken them to your auld-warld squad, I must needs say, comparisons are odd. In Ayr, Wag-wits nae mair can hae a handle To mouth “a Citizen,' a term o' scandal: Nae mair the Council waddles down the street, In all the pomp of ignorant conceit; Men wha grew wise priggin owre hops an' raisins, Or gather'd lib'ral views in Bonds and Seisins. If haply Knowledge, on a random tramp, Had shor'd them with a glimmer of his lamp,
Voz, XXXVIII. H
And would to Common-sense, for once betray'd
them, Plain, dull Stupidity stept kindly in to aid them.
What farther clishmaclaver might been said, What bloody wars, if Sprites had blood to shed, No man can tell; but all before their sight, A fairy train appear'd in order bright: Adown the glittering stream they featly danc'd; Bright to the moon their various dresses glanc'd: They footed o'er the wat’ry glass so neat, The infant ice scarce bent beneath their feet: While arts of Minstrelsy among them rung, And soul-ennobling Bards heroic ditties sung. O had MʻLauchlan,* thairm-inspiring Sage, Been there to hear this heavenly band engage, When thro' his dear Strathspeys they bore with
Highland rage, Or when they struck old Scotia’s melting airs, The lover's raptur'd joys or bleeding cares; How would his Highland lug been nobler fir'd, And ev'n his matchless hand with finer touch in
The Genius of the Stream in front appears,
• A well known performer of Scottish music on the violin.
Next came the loveliest pair in all the ring,
For sense they little owe to Frugal Heav'n,-
An' pour your creeshie nations ;
Of a' denominations,