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Oh! mark him rinnin' frae the tide,
In blue and siller braw, man;
The ticks upon his gawsy side,
Shaw him a new-rin salmon.
An' though he 'scape the Berwick net,
The Duke at Floors an' a' man,
There's mony a chance remainin' yet
To catch that bonnie saumon.

Across the pool the fisher's flee,
Fa's licht as micht a straw, man;
Soops doon the stream, an' syne a wee
Hangs trem'lin' o'er the saumon.
A moment mair, the line is stent-
A rug, and then a draw, man ;
An' noo, the soople tap-piece bent,
He's tackled wi' his saumon.

Frae aff the birling reel the line
Like lichtnin' spins awa', man;
The fisher lauchs, for he kens fine
He's heuked a guidly saumon.

He's up, he's doon, he's here, he's there,
Wi' mony a twist and thraw, man;
Noo deep in Tweed, noo i' the air-
My troth, a lively saumon.

But stren'th an' natur' for a while
Can warsell against a' man;
Yet natur' aft maun yield to guile,
As weel in man as saumon.
An' sae the merry fish that rose
To tak' that flee sae braw, man,
Noo sidelins sowms at his life's close,
A worn an' deein' saumon.

Wi' ready gaff the callant stan's,
The fish ashore to draw, man;

The fisher bids him haud his han's,

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An' no' to hash his saunon.

He's clean dune oot; gae grup the tail,
Just whar it tapers sma', man,

An' lan' him up baith safe an' hale-
My word, a bonnie saumon.

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Gae bid the lass set on the pat,
An' see it 's no owre sma', man,
An' pit twa goupins in o' saut,

To boil my bonnie saumon ;

An' sen' for Jock, an' Rab, an' Tam-
They're fishers ane an' a', man—
An' bid them come to me at hame,

An' eat my bonnie saumon.

The gentry get their cooks frae France,
Wi' mony a queer kickshaw, man;
But, haith, I wadna tak' their chance,
When I ha'e sic a saumon.

Wi' it, an' some o' Scotland's best,
A cheerer-maybe twa, man,
We'll gang like decent folk to rest,
An' dream o' catchin' saumon.

I ance was dinin' i' the toun,
Whar a' thing is sae braw, man,
An' there I saw a Lunnon loon

Eat labster-sauce wi' saumon.
Wae's me that sic a slaister suid
Gang into mortal maw, man,
To fyle the stamac'-spile the fuid,
An' siccan fuid as saumon.

Wi' flesh as pink as rose in June,
Wi' curd as white as snaw, man,
An' sappy broo they boil't him in-
Oh that's what I ca' saumon.
To my best freen' I canna wish
That better suid befa', man,
Than just to ha'e as guid a dish
As we ha'e wi' our saumon.

To Scotland's ilka honest son,

Her dochters fair an' a', man;
To a' wha lo'e the rod and gun,

We'll drink wi' a hurra', man;
May they frae mony sportin' days
Baith health and pleesur' draw, man;
May muircocks craw on a' the braes,
The rivers swarm with saumon.

HUGH BROWN,

'HE author of "The Covenanters," although

T bringing out the first edition of that spirited

poem forty-three years ago, is still alive. He is occasionally yet to be found singing, and, like the fabled swans, sweetest of all at the close of life, for the gifted bard is now a venerable octogenarian,

and fifty-six years ago we find him singing powerfully and well in the Scots Magazine, to which he then contributed a poem on the death of Lord Byron.

Hugh Brown was born about the beginning of the century, in the town of Newmilns, which lies on the beautiful banks of the river Irvine, and is situated in the parish of Loudoun, Ayrshire. After a very ordinary education, he was early put to the muslin weaving trade; but while so engaged he read and learned so well during his evening hours, that he became quite qualified to teach a school himself, his first situation being at Drumclog, in the uplands of Avondale. Previous to this, however, a taste for poetry had grown upon him, and as he wandered around the wilds which lie under the shadow of Loudoun hill, and traversed the ground which had been hallowed by the presence and the praises of the heroes of the covenant, he began, and finished that stirring poem, "The Covenanters," which has long since gained for him no mean place among the poets of Scotland. He had, however, removed to another school-a much better situation-in the town of Galston, before the publication of his poem, which appeared in 1838. Here Mr Brown continued for a length of time greatly respected. Ultimately he removed to Lanark, to a school there, but as old age began to creep upon him he gave up teaching, and went to reside in Glasgow (where he still lives), and found occasional employment in connection with the publishing house of Mr Collins. When resident in Galston, though mingling a good deal in society, which he was so well able to charm by his lively and intelligent conversation, he was noted for his solitary walks among the woods, and by the secluded watercourses which lie around that finely-situated place.

Besides "The Covenanters, and other Poems," which volume has passed through several editions, Mr Brown has contributed a good deal to the perio

dicals, and was a valued writer in the Ayrshire Wreath; and everything he has written shows fine taste and culture, besides bearing the unmistakable stamp of genius upon it. On a greater breadth of canvas, and with all the power and much of the beauty of Graham, he sketches the heroic struggles of the Scottish covenanters in lofty and musical verse. It is a pity that one who has so worthily sung of these champions of liberty and right should be left to close the far-dwindled span of his existence in cheerless pinching penury; and surely were the case of the venerable poet but known a small grant would be given to him from the Royal Bounty fund. Such a thing would not only gladden the heart of the aged bard, but the hearts also of his many intelligent admirers all over the land.

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Our first extract is taken from "The Covenanters, and describes the murder of "the Christian carrier " of Priesthill.

THE MURDER OF JOHN BROWN.

List to the tale of one who faultless fell,

Whose humble tombstone decks the moorland dell.

Far on the moor his lonely cot was placed,

A rude unpolished gem upon the waste.

The smoke curled lonely, 'mid the air on high,

A moment hung and melted in the sky;

Where the brook murmured, and the mountain frowned

Through the far-stretching wilderness around;

The wild winged denizens of ether sung;

The shepherd on the breeze his music flung;

The sweet-toned melody of nature there,

Thrilled in sweet carols through the summer air.

The peaceful inmates of that humble hearth,

Lived like primeval dwellers of the earth,

Summer had smiles that charmed the lingering hour,

With winds perfumed from moss and mountain flow'r;
Cloud, sunshine, stream, the daisy on the sod,
Raised their unbiassed hearts in praise to God.

When Winter swathed the land with unstained snow,
It came the type of holiness below;

When the unfettered tempest high and strong,
Rocked the lone cottage as it swept along,-
Trusting in Him who guides the storm's career,
'Twas God's own music to the listening ear.

Cast on the troubled waters of the time,
When prayer was treason, piety a crime,
When persecution raised her red right hand,
To crush the germ of freedom through the land;
Then oft the cottage-light, though faint and far,
Shone to the wanderer, as a guiding star
Shines to the sailor on the stormy sea,
Beaming with hope of happiness to be.

Summer's first morn had dawned upon the wild,
And Nature's fair and lovely features smiled,
When pious Brown, with day's first beam arose,
And called his slumbering children from repose.
They gathered round the cottage hearth, to raise
The voice of psalms, the simple song of praise,—
The holy, untaught melody of heart-

Dearer to Heaven than all the pomp of art;
Unheard by human ear the cadence dies.

Its last faint murmurs mingling with the skies.
He read of Love from Mercy's hallowed Book ;-
Felt in his heart, and glowing in his look,—
Hoping, exulting o'er the promise given,

That brightened weeping hours with hopes of heaven :-
Knelt with his children at the Eternal throne,

And pleaded with a fervour not his own ;-
Breathed from a holy in-born influence given,
The language of a spirit fit for heaven.
His soul entranced with high devotion's glow,
Forgot he was a sufferer here below :-

When, lo! a shriek !-the startled echoes rang
With neighing war-steeds, and the warriors' clang
Woke him to earth, and drew him from the sky,--
To clasp his weeping family and die.

Firm in spirit of his prayer he stood,

Resigned, yet fearless, calm, but unsubdued.

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Prepare!" the dark and fierce avenger cried;
Prepare!" his language in his hour of pride.

The good man knelt upon the flowery heath,
Soon to be crimsoned with the tide of death;
His farewell pray'r of triumph and repose ;-
Heaven's glories dawning o'er his earthly woes--
In the true, martyr's spirit pled with heaven,
His death, his country's wrongs, might be forgiven;
And more than angels' eloquence imparts-
It touched the tearless soldiers' iron hearts;
And pity checked that dark and bloody horde,
Save one-the bosom of their savage lord.
The martyr rose, with calm unruffled breast,
Like one prepared for everlasting rest:
His weeping little ones were clustered near ;
He kissed each child, and dropped a parting tear;
Breathed a long farewell to his faithful wife;
And Nature for a moment clung to life!

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