With goose-wings, down the wind, such men are given,
To hail, arrest us in our course, and aid

To reef, bear up, and strive as those have striven
Who now ride safe in port, 'gainst currents, trade-
Winds—all by devilish passions, men and devils made.

As old Polonius says,

7.

"where did I leave,"

'Twas 'bout Inchinnan, which I love so well;
The monarchs of the A, B, C, 'twould grieve,

Were I my many truant tricks to tell,

When a poor school-slave, yielding to the spell,
With which the rural nymphs had bound me, chief
Those that love by Cart's blending streams to dwell
Description, at the best, is low-relief;

Go, then, and use your eyes, the walk's most sweet and
brief.

8.

Go, without pausing, to the eastern bridge,
(For there are two, and stately structures both,)
And place yourself upon the very ridge;

When there, to gaze for hours you'll not be loath :
When asked the petty dues,* Oh, be not wroth,
One penny sure is small for a fine view ;

And, O believe me, avarice is a moth

That eats our happiness even through and through, And turns the heart to dust, which time cannot renew.

9.

These bridges were uprear'd some years ago,
And cost, I think, full twenty thousand pound;
The old one, though not old, was builded so,
That, when it fell, it seem'd an earthy mound,

* A penny was exacted from foot passengers.

Or that the stones to powder had been ground;
Too late, alas, that 'twas a sandy pile,

Thin cas'd in ill-built stone, the public found :
'Twas waggish work to build in such a style,
But let us draw some morals from the tale, the while.

10.

And first of all, from hence we're clearly taught That judgment must not rest on outward guise, How oft the man that seems with virtues fraught, When better known, we utterly despise. By works a wise man each man round him tries, Oft by some current deep life's path is cross'd, To some true friend, as bridge, the pilgrim hies He's half way o'er, just when he needs it most, The bridge proves cas'd, and in the centre stream he's lost.

11.

The other morals which we meant to teach,

We must let rest to a more fitting time:
And now the proper point of view we reach,
And 'tis of summer day the cheerful prime;
Look every way, and say if even rhyme

Can tell the gladness which the heart now feels,
Can ring in unison with its full chime :

Ah, there are high and inward rapture-peals,

By nature wak'd, which rhyme, blank verse, nor prose reveals.

12.

What of the poor heart would become, were prose

The only outlet, when its tide swells high;

So pent, how desperate would be its throes!

Prose is a reptile that crawls heavily;

But eagle Poesy mounts to the sky.

Our earthly thoughts in drossy prose remain,
But all that have their fiery source on high,
Mount in the flame of poesy, to gain

Their sphere, the whilst their glory all men's eyes constrain.

13.

No quaint apologies I deign to make,
For these digressions; to digress is law,
For lawyers oft do so—even for the sake
Of glorious liberty, I'd hum and haw,
And, peevishly, at stated rules cry, pshaw.
And, really, when in bondage with these rhymes,
To be the slave of method-that Bashaw-

Would be a punishment no common crimes

Should meet-'twould make still worse these very worst of

times.

14.

Look o'er the northern ledge-a glorious view,
Wood, water, islets, lawns, and meadows green,
Round grassy knolls, brown hills, and mountains blue;
Beneath a rushing, wide-spread stream is seen

To bear a double tribute to the queen,

Or king, if that's preferred, of Scottish rivers:
Clyde is the Thames of Scotland now, I ween,
Not from the water hourly it delivers,

But from the trading bustle which its current fevers.

15.

There, on that green lawn, rather to the right,*

New labours of the architect appear,

By old high trees, half hidden from the sight;

* Renfield House, the residence of Campbell of Blythswood.

C

A noble pile-the castle of good cheer, Whose sunny visag'd lord's known far and near For generous living, and for generous deeds; "Live and let live," his motto-it is queer, So rich and lavish, that he ne'er proceeds Certain small things, to blot one in the Red Book reads.

16.

Still farther to the right, the place is seen, Where great Argyle, playing the patriot's part, Was seized. How has no monument yet been Reared there? Look to the left bank of the Cart. In fancy do you see helm'd warriors, swart, Tilting beside yon green hill-near that spot, From battlements, the pride of Gothic art, The banner of Knights Templars once did float. Yon farther hills are trac'd by the Roman wall and moat.

17.

Look o'er the southern ledge-a goodly sight; The distant Paisley-braes the prospect bound, The Mistilaw towers further on the right; A fleecy cloud its sunny peak floats round; But, nearer, see yon hill with tall spire crown'd, Studded with many a mansion, school, and church, Whilst round its base, a thronging town is wound; A town upon whose merits we would wish to touch, 'Bout which, so great they are, we cannot say too much.

18.

Paisley, it is y'clep'd; of much renown,

Near and far known for many a wondrous deed;
For turning kings, and wooden trenchers round;

For weaving muslin webs of finest reed,
And schemes political that must succeed;
For wealthy tradesmen, and for deep divines;
Wise bailies; prudent matrons, that take heed
To all their neighbours' virtues; chief, it shines
With writers douce, save when Pap-in their wit refines.

19.

Pap-in! thou beveridge of the gods—Pap-in !
That giv'st a soul to him who may have none,
In every club thou swellest every skin
Like Arab bottles. Whatso'er the sun

Can do for earth, by thee, for us, is done.
Beneath thy sway life is both warm and bright;
Like Docks and Dandy-lions, Wit and Fun,

Spread forth their beauties to thy genial light;
Wise saws, like haws and hips, thick clustering to the sight.

20.

This town is noted too, for rhyming men,

Whose fame, o'er all the country wide, has spread,

It has, of living songsters, nine or ten,

And many more have been, alas, now dead;

When Milton is forgot they will be read.

There I myself, endeavour to reside,

Though almost starv'd; my ample sign is spread

In Plunkin, which runs off the Causeyside, Where those, that lie in wait for monied merchants, bide.

21.

This merchant-catching is a cruel trade ;
That 'tis a crime the council must decree.
Some say, that our prosperity would fade,