The night was still, and o’er the hill
     The moon shone on the castle wa’;
     The mavis sang, while dew-drops hang
     Around her on the castle wa’;
     Sae merrily they danced the ring
     Frae eenin’ till the cock did craw;
     And aye the o’erword o’ the spring
     Was “Irvine’s bairns are bonie a’.”

Epigram On Rough Roads

     I’m now arrived—­thanks to the gods!—­
     Thro’ pathways rough and muddy,
     A certain sign that makin roads
     Is no this people’s study: 
     Altho’ Im not wi’ Scripture cram’d,
     I’m sure the Bible says
     That heedless sinners shall be damn’d,
     Unless they mend their ways.

     [Footnote 8:  A compliment to the Montgomeries of Coilsfield,
      on the Feal or Faile, a tributary of the Ayr.]

     [Footnote 9:  Mrs. Stewart of Stair, an early patroness of the poet.]

     [Footnote 10:  The house of Professor Dugald Stewart.]

Prayer—­O Thou Dread Power

Lying at a reverend friend’s house one night, the author left the following verses in the room where he slept:—­

     O Thou dread Power, who reign’st above,
     I know thou wilt me hear,
     When for this scene of peace and love,
     I make this prayer sincere.

     The hoary Sire—­the mortal stroke,
     Long, long be pleas’d to spare;
     To bless this little filial flock,
     And show what good men are.

     She, who her lovely offspring eyes
     With tender hopes and fears,
     O bless her with a mother’s joys,
     But spare a mother’s tears!

     Their hope, their stay, their darling youth. 
     In manhood’s dawning blush,
     Bless him, Thou God of love and truth,
     Up to a parent’s wish.

     The beauteous, seraph sister-band—­
     With earnest tears I pray—­
     Thou know’st the snares on ev’ry hand,
     Guide Thou their steps alway.

     When, soon or late, they reach that coast,
     O’er Life’s rough ocean driven,
     May they rejoice, no wand’rer lost,
     A family in Heaven!

Farewell Song To The Banks Of Ayr

      Tune—­“Roslin Castle.”

“I composed this song as I conveyed my chest so far on my road to Greenock, where I was to embark in a few days for Jamaica.  I meant it as my farewell dirge to my native land.”—­R.  B.

     The gloomy night is gath’ring fast,
     Loud roars the wild, inconstant blast,
     Yon murky cloud is foul with rain,
     I see it driving o’er the plain;
     The hunter now has left the moor. 
     The scatt’red coveys meet secure;
     While here I wander, prest with care,
     Along the lonely banks of Ayr.