John Longmuir

“ THE BLUE PEAT-REEK.
Tune—"Afton Water."
Again on the mountains, tho' speckled wi' snaw,
Mid the whir o' the pertrick an' ptarmigan's craw;
The mists o' the morning alang their sides streik,
An' mingle their locks wi' the blue Peat-reek.
The wind-flower is blushin', the primrose blinks forth,
As envious Winter maun creep farther north;
The rain frae the hills gies the burn a bit eik,
An it soughs o' the days o' the auld Peat-reek.
When life was a budlet, an' a'thing was new,
An' daily our Glen brought its wonders to view ”

“ THE WIGTOWN MARTYRS.
[Margaret Lanchlison, 63; and Margaret Wilson, 18.]
When Havoe’s hounds, in Seotland's “killing time,”
⁠Deep stained her heather with her martyrs’ blood,
Then soeial worship was a eivil erime,
⁠That filled the dungeon, and abashed the flood.
Two lustrous pearls enrieh Immanuel’s erown,
⁠As these two Marg’rets* join the martyr train;
What tho’ a tyrant’s tool their bodies drown?—
⁠Better they die than Jesus cease to reign. ”

“ What dreads the Crown from those your troopers crush,
⁠What fears the Court from Female Age and Youth?
Will Popish hate in Bladnoch’s billows hush
⁠The elaim of Freedom, or the voice of truth?”
She reads—“No terrors that our path beset
⁠Shall e’er divide us from our Saviour’s love ”