He published three or four volumes of poems; one of these being issued in 1815 by R Armstrong, printer, Hawick, and the last edition contained a few pieces written by some of his admiring contemporaries, such as William Scott and William Deans. No more fitting tribute can be paid to the memory of James Ruickbie than that written by his friend William Scott -

Thou old Son of Song! a long night is descending
In thick gloom around thee, its shade hovers o'er thee
And darkness thy path; but a day never ending
Shall break through the darkness - a long day of glory.

When forgot shall be all thou hast suffered while here,
Like a tale that is told shalt thou look on the past,
Smiles shall dimple the cheek how distained with a tear,
When Heaven shall receive thy pure spirit at last.

Thy end like a mild summer sunset shall be,
Thy grey hairs are to thee a bright halo of glory,
Thou hast walked with thy God, and through faith dost thou see,
Thy seat with the saints, and thy Saviour before thee.

Farewell, then, Old Bard! I have learned by thy fate
That goodness and genius conjoined cannot save
From neglect the possessor, but often await
On him scorn and contempt, til shut out by the grave.

---

ON LAYING THE FOUNDATION STONE
OF THE
PUBLIC ROOMS, HAWICK

This house a public building is design’d
To gratify the curious mind;
Subservient to the parson and the player,
By turns a theatre, and a house of prayer.
Within its walls may sometimes be perchance
The thrilling music, and the graceful dance;
In it the juggler may his tricks reveal,
And in it sometimes masons raise the De’il!
Methinks I hear the superstitious say,
What man would go to such a house to pray ?
A house profan’d by ev’ry thing unholy,
A mere receptacle of sin and folly.
But with your leave, my superstitious brother,
Say, is one place more sacred than another ?
It is the heart that sanctifies the place,
And ‘tis the heart that brings it to disgrace.
We, without breach of charity, may say,
That saints may sometimes dance, and sinners pray;
King David danc’d,-nor of it was asham’d,
And pray’d,-and for his dancing ne’er was blam’d
By any but his witless scolding wife,
Which made her barren all her after life.
Then may this building prosp’rously arise,
Its lofty summit pointing to the skies;
And when ‘tis finish’d height, and breadth, and length.
Its pillars be stability and strength !

by James Ruickbie, c. 1821, Hawick, Roxburgshire, Scotland.

Note: The above poem was written by James to commemorate the laying of the foundation stone of the “Subscription Rooms” at Hawick. The building was erected  to be used for the Arts and as a library, and was totally funded by private local “subscriptions”. The placing of the stone was carried out with full Masonic honours followed by a speech by Robert Wilson and the reading of the above poem.  [LR]

---

To Mr. ______, at ______, on being fined for felling
Ale without Licence.

Sir, you’ll receive my twa pund ten,
Wi’ what you call expenses,
Sometimes misfortunes humbles men,
And brings them to their fenfes.

For now I’m by experience taught,
(The fchoolmasfer of affes),
What ’tis to quaff the illicit draught,
And touch unhallow’d glaffes.

Deil thank your pot to wallop brown,
While mine boils thin and bluely,
When ilka ferawl ye gie’s a crown,
But law doss a’ things truly.

Leeze me on law ! when we gang wrang
It keeps us aye in order,
And never fuffers us to gang
O’er the forbidden border.

The lawyer watches for our wealth,
The patriot for our nation,
The doctor watches for our health,
The prieft for our falvation.

When guarded by this fourfold fence,
Auld Nick can never fang us;
Nor Bonapart’ e’er drive us hence,
Nor villains mint to wrang us.

God fave the Kng ! and Blefs the Law,
With crime-detefting vigour;
May villains underneath its paw,
Be punifhed with rigour.

And here’s ilk honeft lawyer’s health,
Upon my knees I toaft it,
In that fame ale I had by ftealth,
But now hae paid the coft o’t.

     by James Ruickbie, c. 1805, Colterscleuch, Roxburgshire, Scotland.