Part Sixth. Sweet as Rosebank's' woods and river, Cool when summer's sunbeams dart, Came ilk word, and cooled the fever That lang burned at Willie's heart. Silent stept he on, poor fallow! Laigh it was; yet sweet, though humble; Deckt wi' honeysuckle round; Clear below Esk's waters rumble, Deep glens murmuring back the sound. Melville's towers, sae white and stately, Entering now, in transport mingle, Smiling round a canty ingle, 1 Rosebank, near Roslin, the author's place of nativity. "Soldier, welcome! come! be cheerie Here ye'se rest, and tak your bed— Faint, waes me! ye seem and wearie, Pale's your cheek, sae lately red!" 66 Changed I am," sighed Willie till her; "Changed nae doubt, as changed can be; Yet, alas! does Jeanie Miller Nought o' Willie Gairlace see?" Hae ye markt the dews o' morning Quickly fa', when, without warning, Rough blasts came and shook the spray? Hae ye seen the bird fast fleeting Drap, when pierced by Death mair fleet! Then see Jean wi' color deeing, Senseless drap at Willie's feet! After three lang years' affliction, Clasps her Willie to her breast. Tells him a' her sad, sad sufferings! Gleaning Pity's scanty offerings, Wi' three bairns, from door to door! How she served-and toiled-and fevered, Lost her health, and syne her bread; How that Grief, when scarce recovered, Took her brain, and turned her head. How she wandered round the county Brought her senses back again! Gae her meat-and claise and siller; Wi' four sterling pounds a year! Willie, harkening, wiped his e'en aye; "Oh! what sins hae I to rue! But say, wha's this angel, Jeanie?" แ Wha," quo' Jeanie, "but Buccleugh!' 'Here, supported-cheered-and cherished, "Sometimes serving, sometimes spinning, Brings yon angel's helping pound!" 'Eight pounds mair," cried Willie, fondly, แ There, ance mair, to thrive by plewin, Idle waste and drunken ruin! War, and a' its murdering joys!" Thrice he kissed his lang-lost treasure; Tears of love, and hope, and pleasure, 1 The Duchess of Buccleugh, the unwearied patroness and supporter of the afflicted and the poor. MICHAEL BRUCE. 1746—1767. MICHAEL BRUCE, a young Scottish poet of rich promise, was born at Kineswood, in Kinross-shire. His father was an humble tradesman-a weaver, who was burdened with a family of eight children, of whom the poet was the fifth. The dreariest poverty and obscurity hung over the infancy of the poet. His father was a good and pious man, and trained all his children to a knowledge of their letters, and a deep sense of religious duty. In the summer months Michael was put out to herd cattle. His education was retarded by this employment; but his training as a poet was benefited by solitary communion with nature, amidst scenery that overlooked Lochleven and its fine old ruined castle. At the age of fifteen he was left a legacy of eleven pounds, which was piously devoted to his education, and with which he proceeded to Edinburgh, and was enrolled as a student of the University. Here he was soon distinguished for proficiency in his studies, and for his taste for poetry. Having been three sessions at college, supported by his parents and kind friends, Bruce engaged in teaching school, for which service he received about eleven pounds per annum! His school-room was lowroofed and damp, and the poor youth, confined for five or six hours a day in this unwholesome atmosphere, depressed by poverty and disappointment, soon lost health and spirits. A pulmonary complaint settled on him, and he was forced to return to his father's cottage, which he never again left. With death full in his view, he wrote his Elegy to Spring, the finest of all his productions. He displayed the utmost cheerfulness to the last. After his death, his Bible, found |