My flutes be yours, and she too that's sae nice, Roger. As ye advise, I'll promise to observ't; Patie. But first we'll tak a turn up to the height, And see gif a' our flocks be feeding right: By that time bannocks, and a shave o' cheese PARIING. SPEAK on, speak thus, and still my grief, These fears, that soon will want relief, A gentler face, and silk attire, A lady rich, in beauty's blossom, To steel thee frae thy Peggy's bosom. Nae mair the shepherd, to excell The rest, whase wit made them to wonder, Shall now his Peggy's praises tell: Ah! I can die, but never sunder. Ye meadows where we aften strayed, Ye banks where we were wont to wander, Sweet-scented rucks round which we play'd, You'll lose your sweets when we're asunder. Again, ah! shall I never creep Around the knowe wi' silent duty, Kindly to watch thee while asleep, And wonder at thy manly beauty? Hear, Heaven, while solemnly I vow, Tho' thou shou'dst prove a wandering lover, Thro' life to thee I shall prove true, Nor be a wife to any other. REV. ROBERT BLAIR. 1699-1746. Blair was THE life of a Scottish country clergyman seldom presents materials for biography beyond the record of his active virtues. minister of Athelstaneford in Haddingtonshire, and was an accomplished gentleman as well as an amiable man. His poem The Grave has been one of the most popular in the English language, at least among the people of Scotland. Its stern tone of reflection, its vigorous and hard-featured diction, so different in its unforced simplicity from the strained grandeur of Young; and its sepulchral and terrible imagery,―rank it among the most impressive of religious poems. |