Reader, attend-whether thy soul Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole, Or darkling grubs this earthly hole, In low pursuit,

Know, prudent, cautious, self-controul

Is Wisdom's root.

THE BRIGS OF AYR.

Auld Brig appeard of ancient Pictish race,

The very wrinkles Gothic

in his face.

was buskit in

braw new coat,

Vem Brig we

Th

AN

ILLUSTRATION

OF THE

WORKS

OF

ROBERT BURNS.

THE BRIGS OF AYR.

THE old bridge, which consists of four arches, and, like most bridges of ancient times, rises to a considerable height, was, for several hundred years, the only pass over the Ayr from Kyle, on the way to Carrick. About sixty years ago, no other bridge, for the extent of fifteen miles, existed on that river except the old bridge at Barskimming, the seat of Sir Thomas Miller, one of the Lords of the Court of Session. It is probable that the old bridge at Ayr was built at the expence of the county; but at what time is difficult to determine. It has undergone many repairs; but being extremely inconvenient, both on account of its height and the narrowness of the path along it, (for it was with difficulty that two carriages could pass each other) is now restricted to foot passen

gers; and a new bridge has been built, about a hundred and fifty yards below: this was finished in the year 1789, under the auspices of John Ballantine, esq. provost of the burgh. It is a neat, wellexecuted structure; and consists of five arches, but wants the majestic appearance of the old bridge. The arches are built rather low, on purpose to render the ascent for carriages more easy. The entrance from the north-east is awkward, owing to a row of buildings on the side of Newton, that terminates within a few yards of the bridge, and in a direct line with the passage over it. The other end fronts the town-house and steeple, about a hundred yards distant, which, like Middle-Row, in Holborn, and the Luckenbooths, at Edinburgh, stand in the middle of the street. A little below the new bridge is the harbour. The prospect to the mouth of the river is beautiful: over the expanse of the sea are seen the lofty hills of Arran, whose tops, often covered with snow, are, at times, lost in the clouds. It appears that Burns, in his poem, entituled the Brigs of Ayr, was proceeding along the old bridge from the town of Ayr, to a well-known tavern on the other side, when the genii of the brigs made their appearance. The town steeple, to which the dungeon clock belongs, is seen in the view.