Or nobly die, the second glorious part: (The patriot's God peculiarly thou art, His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward!) O never, never Scotia's realm desert; But still the patriot, and the patriot-bard In bright succession raise, her ornament and guard! ADDRESS TO THE DEIL O Prince! O chief of many throned Pow'rs MILTON. O THOU! Whatever title suit thee- Clos'd under hatches, Spairges about the brunstane cootie, To scaud poor wretches! Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee, Great is thy pow'r an' great thy fame; An' faith! thou's neither lag nor lame, Whiles, ranging like a roarin lion, For prey, a' holes and corners tryin; Tirlin the kirks; Whiles, in the human bosom pryin, Unseen thou lurks. I've heard my rev'rend graunie say, Or where auld ruin'd castles grey Nod to the moon, Ye fright the nightly wand'rer's way, Wi' eldritch croon. When twilight did my graunie summon, To say her pray'rs, douse, honest woman! Aft 'yont the dyke she's heard you bummin, Wi' eerie drone; Or, rustlin, thro' the boortrees comin, Wi' heavy groan. Ae dreary, windy, winter night, The stars shot down wi' sklentin light, Wi' you, mysel' I gat a fright, Ayont the lough; Ye, like a rash-buss, stood in sight, Wi' wavin' sough. The cudgel in my nieve did shake, Each bristl'd hair stood like a stake, When wi' an eldritch, stoor "quaick, quaick," Amang the springs, Awa ye squatter'd like a drake, On whistlin' wings. Let warlocks grim, an' wither'd hags, And in kirk-yards renew their leagues, Owre howkit dead. Thence countra wives, wi' toil and pain, By witchin' skill; An' dawtit, twal-pint hawkie's gane As yell's the bill. Thence mystic knots mak great abuse By cantrip wit, Is instant made no worth a louse, Just at the bit. When thowes dissolve the snawy hoord, By your direction, And 'nighted trav❜llers are allur'd To their destruction. And aft your moss-traversin Spunkies Till in some miry slough he sunk is, Ne'er mair to rise. When masons' mystic word an' grip The youngest brither ye wad whip Aff straught to hell. Lang syne in Eden's bonie yard, When youthfu' lovers first were pair'd, An' all the soul of love they shar'd, The raptur'd hour, Sweet on the fragrant flow'ry swaird, In shady bower;1 Then you, ye auld, snick-drawing dog! 1 The verse originally ran: "Lang syne, in Eden's happy scene When strappin Adam's days were green, And Eve was like my bonie Jean, My dearest part, A dancin, sweet, young handsome quean, An' play'd on man a cursèd brogue, (Black be your fa'!) An' gied the infant warld a shog, 'Maist ruin'd a'. D'ye mind that day when in a bizz 'Mang better folk, An' sklented on the man of Uzz Your spitefu' joke? An' how ye gat him i' your thrall, Wi' bitter claw; An' lows'd his ill-tongu'd wicked scaul', Was warst ava? But a' your doings to rehearse, Down to this time, Wad ding a Lallan tongue, or Erse, In prose or rhyme. An' now, auld Cloots, I ken ye're thinkin, A certain bardie's rantin, drinkin, Some luckless hour will send him linkin To your black pit; But faith! he'll turn a corner jinkin, An' cheat you yet. But fare-you-weel, auld Nickie-ben! Still hae a stake: I'm wae to think upo' yon den, Ev'n for your sake! 2 Vide Milton, Book vi.-R. B. SCOTCH DRINK Gie him strong drink until he wink, An' liquor guid to fire his bluid, Till he forgets his loves or debts, SOLOMON'S PROverbs, xxxi. 6, 7. LET other poets raise a frácas 'Bout vines, an' wines, an' drucken Bacchus, An' crabbit names an' stories wrack us, An' grate our lug: I sing the juice Scotch bear can mak us, O thou, my muse! guid auld Scotch drink! In glorious faem, Inspire me, till I lisp an' wink, To sing thy name! Let husky wheat the haughs adorn, Perfume the plain: Leeze me on thee, John Barleycorn, Thou king o' grain! On thee aft Scotland chows her cood, Or tumblin in the boiling flood Wi' kail an' beef; But when thou pours thy strong heart's blood, There thou shines chief. Food fills the wame, an' keeps us leevin; Tho' life's a gift no worth receivin, |