AN ECLOGUE

TO THE MEMORY OF DR. WILLIAM WILKIE,

LATE PROFESSOR OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY IN THE UNIVERSITY

OF ST. ANDREWS.

Born 5th October 1721.-Died 10th October 1772.

[Dr. Wilkie was the hapless author of an Epic poem in nine books (founded on the story of the Epigoni in the Iliad,) which, to the confusion and dismay of the literary circles of the day, he named the Epigoniad. It passed through two editions, and received the praises of Hume; but the work was too inartistic and somnolent, and is now consigned, along with his volume of Fables, "to the tomb of all the Capulets." The sough of his eccentricities, however, has not yet departed from St. Andrews. It is still remembered, that his every-day street dress usually consisted of several flannel jackets, waistcoats, and top-coat, and over all a great-coat and gown; and that, from a dread of ague, he was wont to repose under only thirteen pair of blankets, with the carpet doubled up for a bedcover, and a pair of blankets wrapped round his night-gown, &c. &c.: although perhaps the blankets of tradition increase in the ratio of Falstaff's Knights. Underneath this ungainly exterior there beat a warm, human, benevolent heart; nor has his worth as a man, nor his ability as a professor, ever been questioned.-Fergusson does not forget the 'success of Wilkie' as an agriculturist. He had cultivated with great skill a farm in the vicinity of St. Andrews; and we must go back, observes Mr. Chambers, "to the time when our fathers were contented to raise small patches of stunted corn here and there, on the uninclosed moor, in order to appreciate fully the enterprise which merited the youthful poet's compliment—

Lang had the thristles and the dockans been
In use to wag their taps upo' the green,
Where now his bonny rigs delight the view,
And thriving hedges drink the cauler dew."

His farm lies in the parish of Cameron. It was, and continues to be, called 'Morton,' but being now 'leased' along with the neighbouring farm of Cameron, the name is rarely mentioned.

While under grass, which it was for many years, it was called Wilkie's Parks. A very good proof of the Professor's enterprise and enthusiasm is, that although Morton lies four or five miles up in the muirs of Fife, he drove the street manure to it, a thing never done before to any ground however near St. Andrews, nor is it attempted at the present day. Wilkie had likewise a park of land nearer the 'ancient city' on the west, which still retains the name of 'Wilkie's Park,' although it is now in the hands of proprietors of another name, and has a house built upon it. He had likewise various other parks in the vicinage of St. Andrews.-Communicated in substance by John Buddo, Esq., Writer, and John Buist, Esq., Banker, St. Andrews.]

GEORDIE AND DAVIE.

GEORDIE.

BLAW saft, my reed, and kindly to my maen,
Weel may ye thole a saft and dowie strain;
Nae mair to you shall shepherds in a ring,
Wi' blythness skip, or lasses lilt an' sing;
Sic sorrow now maun sadden ilka eie,
An' ilka waefu' shepherd grieve wi' me.

DAVIE.

Wharefor begin a sad an' dowie strain,
Or banish lilting frae the Fifan plain?
Tho' simmer's gane, an' we nae langer view
The blades o' claver wat wi' pearls o' dew,1
Cauld winter's blackest blast we'll eithly cowr,
Our eldin's driven, an' our har'st is owr;
Our rucks fu' thick are stackit i' the yard,
For the Yule feast a sautit mart's prepar'd;

1 The dews that bob like diamonds clear

On bladit corn.

REV. JAMES NICOL.

The ingle-nook supplies the simmer fields,
An' aft as mony gleefu' moments yields.
Swyth man! fling a' your sleepy springs awa',
An' on your canty whistle gie's a blaw:
Blythness, I trow, maun lighten ilka eie,
An' ilka canty callant sing like me.

GEORDIE.

Na, na; a canty spring wad now impart
Just threefald sorrow to my heavy heart.
Thof to the weet my ripen'd aits had fawn,
Or shakewinds owr my riggs wi' pith had blawn,
To this I cou'd hae said, "I carena by,"
Nor fund occasion now my cheeks to dry.
Crosses like thae, or lake o' warld's gear,
Are naething whan we tyne a friend that's dear.
Ah! waes me for you, Willy! mony a day
Did I wi' you, on yon broom-thackit brae,
Hound aff my sheep, an' lat them careless gang
To harken to your cheery tale or sang;
Sangs that for ay, on Caledonia's strand,
Shall sit the foremost 'mang her tunefu' band.
I dream't yestreen his deadly wraith I saw
Gang by my ein as white's the driven snaw;
My colley, Ringie, youf'd an' yowl'd a' night,
Cour'd an' crap near me in an unco' fright,
I waken'd fley'd, an' shook baith lith an' limb;
A cauldness took me, an' my sight grew dim;
I kent that it forspak approachin' wae
When my poor doggie was disturbit sae.
Nae sooner did the day begin to dawn,
Than I beyont the know fu' speedy ran,
Whare I was keppit wi' the heavy tale
That sets ilk dowie sangster to bewail.

DAVIE.

An' wha on Fifan bents can weel refuse

To gie the tear o' tribute to his muse?—
Fareweel ilk cheery spring, ilk canty note,
Be daffin an' ilk idle play forgot;

Bring ilka herd the mournfu', mournfu' boughs,
Rosemary sad, and ever dreary yews;
Thae lat be steepit i' the saut, saut tear,
To weet wi' hallow'd draps his sacred bier,
Whase sangs will ay in Scotland be rever❜d,
While slow-gawn owsen1 turn the flow'ry swaird;
While bonny lambies lick the dews of spring,
While gaudsmen whistle, or while birdies sing.

GEORDIE.

'Twas na for weel-tim'd verse or sangs alane,
He bore the bell frae ilka shepherd swain.
Nature to him had gi'en a kindly lore,
Deep a' her mystic ferlies to explore:
For a' her secret workings he could gie
Reasons that wi' her principles agree.
Ye saw yoursell how weel his mailin thrave;
Ay better faugh'd an' snodit than the lave;
Lang had the thristles an' the dockans been
In use to wag their taps upo' the green,

1 Ouse or owse, an ox, which is still occasionally used in the plough in some of the shires of Scotland: and not unfrequently the 'oussenbow,' a piece of curved wood which was put round the necks of oxen, as a sort of collar, to which the draught was fastened, is to be found kicking about the farm-steads of every shire,-relics of the olden time. Even so recently as Burns the ploughing owsen are introduced. 'My ain kind dearie, O,'

When o'er the hill the eastern star
Tells bughtin-time is near, my jo;

And owsen frae the furrow'd field

Return sae dowf and weary, O.

Thus in

Whare now his bonny riggs delight the view,
An' thrivin' hedges drink the caller dew.1

DAVIE.

They tell me, Geordie, he had sic a gift
That scarce a starnie blinkit frae the lift,
But he wou'd some auld warld name for't find,
As gart him keep it freshly in his mind:
For this some ca'd him an uncanny wight;

The clash gaed round, "he had the second sight;"
A tale that never fail'd to be the pride
Of graunies spinnin' at the ingle side.

GEORDIE.

But now he's gane, an' Fame that, whan alive,
Seenil lats ony o' her vot'ries thrive,

Will frae his shinin' name a' motes withdraw,
And on her loudest trump his praises blaw.
Lang may his sacred banes untroubl'd rest!
Lang may his truff in gowans gay be drest!
Scholars and bards unheard of yet shall come,
And stamp memorials on his grassy tomb,
Which in yon antient kirkyard shall remain,
Fam'd as the urn that hads the Mantuan swain.

HALLOW-FAIR.

[A Market held in November in the outskirts of Edinburgh.]

AT Hallowmas, whan nights grow lang,

And starnies shine fu' clear,

1 Dr. Wilkie had a farm near St. Andrews, in which he made remarkable improvements.-F. See introductory note.