"Should appetite her wish achieve, To herd with brutes her joy would bound; Pleased other paradise to leave, Content to pasture on the ground. "But pride rebels, nor towers alone Beyond that confine's lowly sphere-Seems as from the eternal throne It aim'd the sceptre's self to tear. "Tis thus we trifle, thus we dare; But, seek we to our bliss the way, Let us to Heaven our path refer, Believe, and worship, and obey. "That choice is all-to range beyond Nor must, nor needs; provision, grace, In these he gives, who sits enthroned, Salvation, competence, and peace." The instructive vision pass'd away, But not its wisdom's dreamless lore; No more in shadow-tracks I stray, And fondle shadow-shapes no more. ADAM SKIRVING. BORN 1719-DIED 1803. ADAM SKIRVING, a wealthy farmer of Had-| dingtonshire, was born in the year 1719, and educated at Preston Kirk, in East Lothian. He long held the farm of Garleton, near Haddington, on the road to Gosford. Skirving was a very athletic man, and excelled in all manly sports and exercises. He died in April, 1803, and was buried in the church of Athelstaneford, where his merits are recorded in a metrical epitaph: "In feature, in figure, agility, mind, And happy wit rarely surpass'd. With lofty or low could be plain or refined, Content beaming bright to the last." Skirving composed in 1745 two songs, which have for more than a hundred years held a place in the hearts of his countrymen, and in nearly every collection of Scottish minstrelsy. Among the various personages referred to in one of these, was a certain Lieut. Smith, an Irish man, who displayed much pusillanimity in the battle of Preston, or, as the poet calls it, Tranent Muir. He, however, challenged Skirving for the manner in which he was spoken of. "Gang back," said the rustic poet to the officer who brought the message, "and tell Lieut. Smith that I ha'e nae leisure to come to Haddington; but tell him to come here, and I'll tak' a look o' him, and if I think I'm fit to fecht, I'll fecht him; and if no-I'll do as he did-I'll rin awa." Skirving's other lyric, "Johnnie Cope," doubtless owes much of its popularity to its spirit-stirring air. Perhaps no song in existence has so many variations. Sir John Cope, as is well known, made a precipitate retreat from the field, followed by his dragoons, and did not draw rein till he reached Dunbar. He was tried by court-martial for his "foul flight," as Colonel Gardiner called it, but was acquitted. The Muses, however, did not acquit him; but have immortalized his cowardly and disgrace- | bravery of Prince Charles, aided by the impetu- Cope could not cope, nor Wade wade thro' the snow, TRANENT MUIR1 The Chevalier, being void of fear, The brave Lochiel, as I heard tell, They loos'd with devilish thuds, man; The volunteers prick'd up their ears, And vow gin they were crouse, man; And Simpson keen, to clear the een But gallop'd wi' the thrang, man: 'Mangst a' the gang nane bade the bang Two objectionable verses-the third and fifth-of this song are omitted.-ED. Frae many a spout came running out While he had breath to draw, man. And Major Bowle, that worthy soul, Was brought doun to the ground, man; For to get mony a wound, man: Frae whom he call'd for aid, man, He made sic haste, sae spurr'd his beast, The Scots were rebels a', man: And Cadell drest, amang the rest, With gun and good claymore, man, With pistols set before, man; And never fac'd the field, man. But gallant Roger, like a soger, Stood and bravely fought, man; But mae doun wi' him brought, man: Some Highland rogues, like hungry dogs, Neglecting to pursue, man, Upon the booty flew, man; Are deck'd wi' spoils of war, man, Was ne'er sae pra before, man. At the thorn-tree, which you may see I never saw the like, man; Lost hands and heads cost them their deads, That afternoon, when a' was done, JOHNNIE COPE. Cope sent a challenge frae Dunbar:— If you'll meet wi' me i' the morning. Or are your drums a-beating yet? To gang to the coals i' the morning. And we'll meet Johnnie Cope in the Now, Johnnie, be as good's your word, To flee awa' in the morning. For 'twill be a bluidy morning. When Johnnie Cope to Dunbar came, For I left them a' i' the morning. Now, Johnnie, troth ye are na blate, Oh! faith, quo' Johnnie, I got sic flegs JOHN WILSON. BORN 1720-DIED 1789. The author of "The Clyde," a descriptive | his father compelled him to withdraw. He poem of considerable merit, was born in the parish of Lesmahagow, in Lanarkshire, June 30, 1720. He was the son of a small farmer, who, to maintain his family, was obliged to divide his labours between the anvil and plough a practice not uncommon in Scotland in former times. John was sent to the grammar-school of Lanark, where he remained until his fourteenth year, when the death of had made such rapid progress in his studies that even at this early age he was able to begin instructing others, and from this period till he arrived at manhood he maintained himself by private teaching. In 1746 he was appointed schoolmaster in his native parish, and in this situation he continued many years. His first production as an author was a Dramatic Essay," which he afterwards expanded into the "Earl Douglas," a tragedy. This he published at Glasgow in 1764, with his poem of "The Clyde." before being appointed master of the Greenock school, was published by Dr. Leyden in the first volume of Scottish Descriptive Poems, to which he prefixed a memoir of the author. Wilson had two sons, both of whom gave great promise of poetical talents. "James the eldest," says Dr. Leyden, "was a young man of more than ordinary abilities, displayed a fine taste for both poetry and drawing, and, In the year 1767, on a vacancy occurring in the grammar-school of Greenock, Wilson was offered the situation of master on the singular condition, it is said, that he should abandon "the profane and unprofitable art of poemmaking." With this Gothic proposition the poor poet, having a wife and children to main-like his father, possessed an uncommon share tain, was compelled to comply. He was in a situation not dissimilar to that of the bard of "Bara's Isle," who, to save his Mora from death, made a fire of his harp: "Dark grows the night! and cold and sharp of humour. He went to sea, and after distinguishing himself in several naval engagements, was killed Oct. 11, 1776, in an action on Lake Champlain, in which his conduct received such approbation from his commanding officer, that a small pension was granted by the government to his father. George, who died at the age of twenty-one years, was distinguished for his taste and classical erudition as well as his poetical talents." It is somewhat remarkable that the Greenock magistrates, in placing an embargo on the muse of Wilson, did so in contravention of one of the acts of the General Assembly, that venerable body having in 1645 enacted that, To avoid the temptation of violating his promise, which he esteemed sacred, he took an early opportunity of destroying his unfinished manuscripts. After this he never ventured to replace the forbidden lyre, though the memory of its departed sounds often filled his heart with sadness. Someti nes, when the conver-"for the remedy of the great decay of poesy, sation of friends restored the vivacity of these recollections, he would carelessly pour out some extemporaneous rhymes; but the inspiration passed away, and its fleeting nature palliated the momentary transgression. Wilson died June 2, 1789, in the sixty-ninth year of his age. A few poetic fragments that had escaped the flames were found among his papers. These were chiefly hasty effusions on temporary subjects, or juvenile paraphrases of passages of Scripture. An improved edition of "The Clyde," which he had prepared for the press no schoolmaster be admitted to teach a grammar-school in burghs, or in other considerable parishes, but such as, after examination, shall be found skilful in the Latin tongue, not only for prose, but also for verse.” Of this law, however, the enlightened bailies and skippers of Greenock were (as well as the poet), of course, quite ignorant when they issued their interdict against the cultivation of poetry. Our readers will peruse with pleasure the subjoined opening lines of "The Clyde," together with the brief extracts which follow, taken from the same fine descriptive poem. Formed thy soft breast to melt at human woe, care; But chiefly joys to pour her peaceful strains To Anglia's shores bright Tweed and Annan run, Both lands by turns their heroes lost deplore; But blest Britannia knows these woes no more. Clyde far from scenes of strife and horror fled, And through more peaceful fields his waters led; But ere he issued from their deep abodes, He sagely thus addressed his brother floods: "Full well you know the imperial mandate given, His salutary law who rules in heaven! That, hasting hence, our waters seek the day, And from a thousand fountains force their way, Pour on the plain, and genial moisture yield To verdant pasture, and to golden field; Nurse the fair flowers which on our margins rise, And forests proud which sweep the lofty skies; See populous cities on our banks extend, And through their crowded gates their thousands send; Full mighty fleets on our fair bosoms ride, Along his infant stream, on either side Walls sink to dust, to rapine cities yield. Who numerous flocks o'er every mountain pours, THE CLYDE PERSONIFIED. To whom the parent flood-"My children dear, MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS. By Crookston Castle waves the still green yew, Through earth's dark veins work out their wind- Emboss'd in silver, now its branches green ing way, And fresh to light from countless fountains play. Transcend the myrtle of the Paphian green. sky, The peasant sees broad dancing standards fly, |