The Day Was Very Fine, The Sun Bright, And The Sky
Above Us Perfectly Clear; But, As Is Generally The Case In This Country
With An East Wind, The Atmosphere Was Thick With A Kind Of Dry Haze Which
Veils Distant Objects From The Sight.
The sea was to our right, but we
could not discern where it ended and the horizon began, and the mountains
of the island of Arran and the lone and lofty rock of Ailsa Craig looked
at first like faint shadows in the thick air, and were soon altogether
undistinguishable.
We came at length to the little old painted kirk of
Alloway, in the midst of a burying ground, roofless, but with gable-ends
still standing, and its interior occupied by tombs. A solid upright marble
slab, before the church, marks the place where William Burns, the father
of the poet, lies buried. A little distance beyond flows the Doon under
the old bridge crossed by Tam O'Shanter on the night of his adventure with
the witches.
This little stream well deserves the epithet of "bonnie," which Burns has
given it. Its clear but dark current, flows rapidly between banks often
shaded with ashes, alders, and other trees, and sometimes overhung by
precipices of a reddish-colored rock. A little below the bridge it falls
into the sea, but the tide comes not up to embitter its waters. From the
west bank of the stream the land rises to hills of considerable height,
with a heathy summit and wooded slopes, called Brown Carrick Hill.
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