tT IN PRAISE OF GARDENS U 



Or in the gloamin' douce an' grey 

 The sweet-throat mavis tunes her lay, 

 The herd comes linkin' doun the brae; 



An' by degrees 

 The muckle sitter miine maks way 



Amang the trees. 



Here aft hae I, wi' sober heart, 

 For meditation sat apairt, 

 When orra loves or kittle art 



Perplexed my mind; 

 Here socht a balm for ilka smart 



O' human kind. 



Here aft, weel neukit by my lane, 

 Wi' Horace, or perhaps Montaigne, 

 The mornin' hours hae come an' gane 



Abiine my head 

 I wad nae gien a chucky-stane 



For a' I'd read. 



But noo the auld city, street by street, 

 An' winter fu' o' snaw an' sleet, 

 Awhile shut in my gangrel feet 



An' goavin' mettle; 

 Noo is the soopit ingle sweet, 



An' liltin' kettle. 



[126] 



