I hear them buzzing deep within my noddle, Like bees that in their hives confus'dly hum and huddle.

How now?-what's this?-my very eyes, I trow,
Drop on my hands their base prosaic scales;
My visual orbs are purged from film, and lo!
Instead of Anster's turnip-bearing vales,
I see old Fairyland's mirac'lous show,

Her trees of tinsel kiss'd by freakish gales, Her ouphes, that cloak'd in leaf-gold skim the breeze,

And fairies swarming thick as mites in rotten cheese.

I see the puny, fair-chinn'd goblin rise

Suddenly glorious from his mustard-pot; I see him wave his hand in seemly wise,

And button round him tight his fulgent coat; While Maggie Lauder, in great surprise,

Sits startled on her chair, yet fearing not; I see him ope his dewy lips; I hear The strange and strict command addressed to Maggie's ear.

I see the Ranter with bagpipe on back,
As to the fair he rides jocundly on;

I see the crowds that press with speed not slack
Along each road that leads to Anster loan;
I see the suitors, that, deep-sheath'd in sack,
Hobble and tumble, bawl and swear, and
groan;

I see but fie, thou brainish Muse! what mean These vaporings, and brags of what by thee is seen?

Go to-be cooler, and in order tell

To all my good co-townsmen list'ning round, How every merry incident befel,

Whereby our loan shall ever be renown'd; Say first, what elf or fairy could impel

Fair Mag, with wit, and wealth, and beauty crown'd,

To put her suitors to such waggish test, And give her happy bed to him that jumped best?

'Twas on a keen December night, John Frost Drove through mid air his chariot, icy-wheel'd, And from the sky's crisp ceiling, star embost, Whiff'd off the clouds that the pure blue conceal'd;

The hornless moon amid her brilliant host

Shone, and with silver-sheeted lake and field; 'Twas cutting cold; I'm sure, each trav'ller's nose Was pinch'd right red that night, and numb'd were all his toes.

Not so were Maggie Lauder's toes, as she

In her warın chamber at her supper sate, (For 'twas that hour when burgesses agree To eat their suppers ere the night grows late). Alone she sat, and pensive as may be

A young fair lady wishful of a mate;
Yet with her teeth held now and then a picking
Her stomach to refresh, the breast-bone of a
chicken.

She thought upon her suitors, that with love
Besiege her chamber all the livelong day,

Then come, let me my suitors' merits weigh,

And in the worthiest lad my spouse select:First there's our Anster merchant, Norman Ray, A powder'd wight with golden buttons deck'd, That stinks with scent, and chats like popinjay,

And struts with phiz tremendously erect: Four brigs has he, that on the broad sea swim ;He is a pompous fool-I cannot think of him.

Next is the malster Andrew Strang, that takes
His seat i' the bailie's loft on Sabbath-day,
With paltry visage white as oaten cakes.
As if no blood run gurgling in his clay;
Heav'ns! what an awkward hunch the fellow
makes,

As to the priest he does the vow repay!
Yet he is rich-a very wealthy man, true--
But, by the holy rood, I will have none of An-
drew.

Then, Maggie, hear, and let my words descend Into thy soul, for much it boots thee to attend.

To-morrow, when o'er th' Isle of May the sun Lifts up his forehead bright with golden crown,

Call to thine house the light-heel'd men, that

run

Afar on messages for Anster Town, Fellows of spirit, by none in speed outdone, Of lofty voice, enough a drum to drown, And bid them hie, post-haste, through all the nation,

And publish, far and near, this famous proclamation:

Let them proclaim, with voice's loudest tone,
That on your next approaching market-day,
Shall merry sports be held in Anster loan,

With celebration notable and gay;
And that a prize, than gold or costly stone

More precious, shall the victor's toils repay, Ev'n thy own form with beauties so replete, -Nay, Maggie, start not thus !-thy marriagebed, my sweet.

First on the loan shall ride full many an ass, With stout whip-wielding rider on his back, Intent with twinkling hoof to pelt the grass, And pricking up his long ears at the crack; Next o'er the ground the daring men shall pass,

Half-coffin'd in their cumbrances of sack, With heads just peeping from their shrines of bag,

Horribly hobbling round, and straining hard for
Mag.

Then shall the pipers groaningly begin
In squeaking rivalry their merry strain,
Till Billyness shall echo back the din,

And Innergelly woods shall ring again;
Last, let each man that hopes thy hand to win
By witty product of prolific brain,
Approach, and, confident of Pallas' aid,
Claim by an hum'rous tale possession of thy
bed.

Such are the wondrous tests by which, my love !

The merits of thy husband must be tried, And he that shall in these superior prove, (One proper husband shall the Fates provide)

Shall from the loan with thee triumphant move Homeward, the jolly bridegroom and the bride,

And at thy house shall eat the marriage-feast, When I'll pop up again:-Here Tommy Puck surceast.

He ceas'd, and to his wee mouth, dewy-wet,
His bagpipe's tube of silver up he held,
And, underneath his down-press'd arm he set
His purple bag, that with a tempest swell'd;
He play'd and pip'd so sweet, that never yet
Mag had a piper heard that Puck excell'd;
Had Midas heard a tune so exquisite,
By Heav'n! his long base ears had quiver'd with
delight.

VOL. II.-33

Tingle the fire-ir'ns, poker, tongs, and grate, Responsive to the blithesome melody; The tables and the chairs inanimate

Wish they had muscles now to trip it high; Wave back and forwards at a wondrous rate,

The window-curtains, touch'd with sympathy; Fork, knife, and trencher, almost break their sloth,

And caper on their ends upon the table-cloth.

How then could Maggie, sprightly, smart, and young,

Withstand that bagpipe's blithe awak'ning air?

She, as her ear-drum caught the sounds, up

sprung

Like lightning, and despis'd her idle chair, And into all the dance's graces flung

The bounding members of her body fair; From nook to nook through all her room she tript,

And whiri'd like whirligig, and reel'd and bobb'd, and skipt.

At last the little piper ceas'd to play,

And deftly bow'd, and said, "My dear, goodnight;"

Then in a smoke evanish'd clean away,
With all his gaudy apparatus bright;
As breaks soap-bubble, which a boy in play
Blows from his short tobacco-pipe aright,
So broke poor Puck from view, and on the
spot

Y-smoking aloes-reek he left his mustard-pot.

Whereat the furious Lady's wriggling feet

Forgot to patter in such pelting wise, And down she gladly sunk upon her seat, Fatigu'd and panting from her exercise; She sat and mus'd a while, as it was meet,

On what so late had occupied her eyes; Then to her bedroom went, and doff'd her gown,

And laid upon her couch her charming person down.

Some say that Maggie slept so sound that night,

As never she had slept since she was born; But sure am I, that, thoughtful of the sprite, She twenty times upon her bed did turn; For still appear'd to stand before her sight

The gaudy goblin, glorious from his urn, And still, within the cavern of her ear, Th' injunction echoing rung, so strict and strange to hear.

But when the silver harness'd steeds, that araw
The car of morning up th' empyreal height,
Had snorted day upon North Berwick Law,
And from their glist'ring loose manes toss a
the light,

Immediately from bed she rose (such awe
Of Tommy press'd her soul with anxious
weight),

And donn'd her tissued fragrant morning vest,
And to fulfil his charge her earliest care addrest.

Straight to her house she tarried not to call
Her messengers and heralds swift of foot,

nigh,

Caparison'd or clouted for the race,

With mounted rider, sedulous to ply

Cudgel or whip, and win the foremost place; Next, shall th' adventurous men that dare to try Their bodies' springiness in hempen case, Put on their bags, and, with ridic'lous bound, And sweat and huge turmoil, pass lab'ring o'er the ground.

"Then shall the pipers, gentlemen o' the drone, Their pipes in gleesome competition screw, And grace, with loud solemnity of groan,

Each his invented tune to th' audience new; Last shall each witty bard, to whom is known The craft of Helicon's rhime-jingling crew, His story tell in good poetic strains,

And make his learned tongue the midwife to his brains.

"And he whose tongue the wittiest tale shall tell,

Whose bagpipe shall the sweetest tune resound,

By laird and knight were light-heel'd asses sought,

So that no ass of any great repute,

For twenty Scots marks could have then been

bought;

Nor e'er, before or since, the long-ear'd brute
Was such a goodly acquisition thought.
The pipers vex'd their ears and pipes, t' invent
Some tune that might the taste of Anster Mag

content.

Each poet, too, whose lore-manured brain

Is hot of soil, and sprouts up mushroom wit, Ponder'd his noddle into extreme pain T'excogitate some story nice and fit: When rack'd had been his skull some hours in vain,

He, to relax his mind a little bit, Plung'd deep into a sack his precious body, And school'd it for the race, and hopp'd around his study.

Such was the sore preparatory care

Of all th' ambitious that for April sigh: