Hard by an arch that spans the way
Where iron-harnessed meteors play,
'Twas here by fell assassin's aim,
Of life was reft young Alfred Græme.

Where once his trim-built cot was seen,

Where neighb'ring swains would blithe convene,
When twilight shades had wrapped the plain,
And rose the harp's entrancing strain;
Where age would weep, and youth would
To hear the tales of ancient days;
Though other trace has long been gone,
As "Harperland"* it still is known.

gaze,

* A farm on the estate of Sir John Cunningham, Bart. of Fairlie, Dundonald.

THE LOUDON CAMPAIGN.*

"O! wad some power the giftie gie us
To see oursells as ithers see us.'

ATTENTION! all ye martial band,
The bulwarks of our native land,
On Albion's shores, on foreign strand,
By Ganges' tide,

Or where Canadian forests grand

Stretch far and wide.

No seas of blood, no hills of slain,

No blazing cities swell my strain;
No widow's tears, nor orphan's mane-

For what are they,

* In the summer of 1823, the Marquis of Hastings, after many years spent in the "Land of the Sun," returned to his seat of Loudon Castle, on which occasion a part of the Ayrshire Cavalry and Kilmarnock Volunteers marched thither to congratulate the worthy nobleman.

When viewed wi' Loudon's great campaign? Mere children's play.

When Hastings back frae India came,
The worthy chief to welcome hame
Our "Dandies" had resolved, and Fame
Said wine and wassail

Profuse, should celebrate the same

At Loudon Castle.

The Cavalry, wi' some persuasion,
Agreed to serve on this occasion;
But, previous, they got intimation

That nae flesh, but

Such as was void of animation,

Was to be cut.

'Twas tauld in Killie a' that week, That five large owsen, fat and sleek,

Were kilt, that Yeomanry might streek

Their jaws wi' pleasure,

And "Dandies' " bellies get a keek

Beyond stay measure.

Besides five score o' sheep, as fat

As ever walloped in a pat,

And routh o' drink, the demon that

Has been man's ruin

Since e'er auld father Noah's vat

Was set a brewin'.

There was a chiel, baith lank and lean,
Wha had at mony a muster been

In bygane time; but on the green,
In war's array,

The sycophant had not been seen

For mony a day.

Whene'er he heard o' the affair,
He went directly unto prayer:

"O Lord!" said he, "my life but spare "Till that great day,

"And thine ain servant shall his share

"O' dainties hae."

The very thought o't made him smile;
He gathered out his kit meanwhile,
And cleaned, wi' perseverin' toil,

His firelock rusty;

And fleas out-flanked in gallant style

On's garments dusty.

Even in his sleep he couldna rest;
For Fancy out the table drest,

An' then he'd roar, like ane possest,

And, starting, cry,

"Slice down the beef; well, I protest;

"Fair play, stand by!"

Anither

ane, wi' Leith-walk face,

A first performer of grimace;

A patent hand at prayer or grace;
But ready he

Was aye (when gain was in the case),
Wi' loop or lee.

As clergy hear o' coming cash,

As gossips seize some new-hatched clash, As trembling drunkards face-ward dash

Their morning dear,

So did this curious moral mash

The tidings hear.

Even, when the hero took the beuk,*
He waled wi' earnest anxious leuk,
Till ance he happened on a neuk

Concerning eatin',

And then he'd read, an' roar, an' smack

Himsel' a-sweatin'.

The drummer o' this warlike corps

Had fasted for a week before

The raid took place; and aften swore

He would lay in

At least a lucky fortnight's store

In his wee skin.

That mornin', when they marched awa', He said that," roasted, boiled, or raw,