The Skirviivj Drawing. 
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 
 
 CBom 25th January, 1759; Died Slat July, 1796.)
 
 THS 
 
 PEOPLE'S EDITION" 
 
 0? THB 
 
 POETICAL WORKS 
 
 OF 
 
 ROBERT BURNS 
 
 IS CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER OF PPBLICATIOy, 
 AS ARRANGED AND ANNOTATED BY THE LAT* 
 
 \V. SCOTT DOUGLAS. 
 
 REVISED, CORRECTED, AND CONDENSED 
 BY 
 
 D. M'NAUGHT, Kilmaurs. 
 
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 JOHN MENZIES <k CO. 
 
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 V 
 
 "2^ 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 — «♦► — 
 
 ^^ CTHE object which the Publishers have in view in issuing this volume is to 
 
 \. *■ present to the public, in a condensed and cheap form, the mass of valuable 
 
 TV material collected by the late Mr. Scott Douglas and embodied by him in 
 
 the "Kilmarnock Edition," for which there has been such a continuous demand 
 that it has run through nine editions since its first appearance in 1872. They 
 have every confidence that the present issue will be found to be both full and 
 accurate as regards the text, as well as reliable in the annotation— qualities 
 which are not specially characteristic of the "Shilling Edition," as we have 
 hitherto known it. 
 
 ^% The plan and arrangement of the "Kilmarnock Edition" have been carefully 
 
 -^ preserved, and no alteration made on the former readings save where it was 
 
 considered advisable to give effect to the corrections and emendations of the 
 
 "N^ Author himself, or to review the evidence on which certain pieces which appear 
 
 ^ anonymously in Johnson's Museum, Thomson's Collection, and other publications, 
 
 ^-^ have been admitted as part of the authentic text. In every instance in which 
 
 ■^ that evidence has been adjudged insufficient, the composition has been omitted. 
 
 In adopting this line of action, the present Editor does not arrogate to himself 
 
 any exceptional critical insight or superiority of judgment; he has only 
 
 endeavoured, according to his light, to realise the editorial obligation resting 
 
 upon him, and the responsibility which that obligation imposes. 
 
 Mr. Scott Douglas seems to have accepted the dictum of Mr. Stenhouse in the 
 majority of the instances referred to, though he pointedly discredits that writer's 
 testimony in other connections, (See the "Braw Wooer," Vol. II., "Kilmarnock 
 Edition"); and he, moreover, attaches little or no weight to it in his more 
 elaborate Edinburgh Edition which may fairly be presumed to represent his 
 later convictions. 
 
 It was not till about twenty-four years after the death of Bur.ns, and nine 
 years after the death of Johnson, that Mr. Stenhouse turned his attention to 
 the Museum MSS., and he died in 1827, leaving his notes in fragmentary form, 
 to be afterwards incorporated by David Laing and Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe in 
 Blackwood's edition of Johnson, published in 1839. His personal acquaintance 
 with Johnson no doubt falls to be taken into consideration in estimating his 
 value as a Burns annotator, but even when every allowance is made, he cannot 
 be accepted as an infallible authority. Sometimes he is at variance with the 
 Poet himself, for example In his note to "Frae the Friends and Land I Love," 
 where he assigns to Burns the authorship of the entire lyric, whereas Burns 
 himself expressly declares that he added only the last four lines. He evidently 
 wrote in ignorance of the existence of the Poet's MS. notes in the Qlenriddel 
 copy of the Museum, whose authority admits of no question. 
 
 4
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNH. 
 Iv. 
 
 Nor can implicit confidence be placed in either Johnson or Thomson, both of 
 whom adhibited BCRNS'S name to compositions which have since been indubitably 
 proved to be the work of other writers. Johnson appears to have had some 
 personal acquaintance with Burns, but Thomson never saw him. The Poet's 
 connection with both was essentially that of a correspondent, and when it is 
 kept in view that he communicated with both in the dual capacity of author and 
 collector, the diflBculties attaching to those contributions, on the authorship of 
 which the Poet himself ia either ambiguous or altogether silent, will be at one* 
 apparent. The greatest difficulty is with the older pieces, in the amendment 
 of which his master-hand is more or less clearly discernible; in illustration of 
 which it may be pointed out that even the careful and erudite Robert Chambers 
 sets down, "Such a Parcel of Rogues in a Nation," as a production of the Union 
 times, in his Songs of Scotland prior to Bums, and yet ascribes it to Burns in his 
 own edition of the Poet. In all cases of doubt, the present Editor has deferred 
 to the traditions, save in a few instances whose measure of amendment is 
 either too inflnitesmal to merit a claim to formal notice, or whose subject matter 
 is so trivial or objectionable as to admit of excision without detracting in any 
 appreciable degree from the value of a volume purporting to be a complete 
 collection of the Poet's works. 
 
 The notes are mainly a reproduction of the Author's own remarks on his own 
 compositions wherever these were available; where they were not at command, 
 the Editor has endeavoured to convey all necessary information as briefly and 
 comprehensively as possible. A considerable amount of interesting matter hag 
 consequently been left out as not falling within the scope of such a work, but it 
 is hoped that what ia submitted will be found amply sufficient for a proper 
 undenitanding of the Poems and Songs of Burns. In the first part, the 
 Authoi-'s own text has been adhered to, and in the Posthumous Poems, the best 
 authorities have been consulted. The original Glossaries have been preserved, 
 and it may be added that the tail-pieces throughout the work are facsimiles 
 of the typographical ornamentations which appear in the " Kilmarnock Edition " 
 of 1786. 
 
 D. M 'NAUGHT. 
 Benrig, 
 KiLMAURS, June, 1896. 
 
 fk^f^^^
 
 PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. 
 
 CpHE unprecedented success of the First Edition, (the whole impression 
 *■ having been sold off within a few months), has induced the Publishers 
 to re-isaue the work in a more complete form. It is hoped that the new 
 illustrations and additional letterpress will realise that intention. 
 There are limits to a cheap edition beyond which it would not be prudent 
 *o go. In this instance, the Publishers have done their utmost to meet a, 
 felt want and offer to the public full value for their money. 
 
 D. M'KAUGHT. 
 
 Benrig, 
 KiLMAURS, October IZth, 1897. 
 
 1 A
 
 Burns Monument and Statue, Kilmarnock.
 
 SHORT NOTES 
 
 OF THE EVENTS OF THE POET'S LIFE. 
 
 PARENTAGE. 
 
 FAMILY. 
 
 INFANCY AND 
 CHILDHOOD. 
 
 1766. 
 
 1773. 
 
 1773-77. 
 1777 
 
 1778-81. 
 
 1781-82. 
 1783. 
 1784. 
 1784-86. 
 
 William Burnes, father of the Poet, was born at Clochnahill, 
 Kincardine, on Hth November, 1721. AGNES Brown, mother of 
 the Poet, was born in Kirkoswald Parish, Ayrshire, on 17tk 
 March, 1732. They were married, 15th December, 1757. 
 Their children were :— 
 
 Robert, Wie Poet, born 25th January, I7i9. 
 
 Gilbert, ,, , 28th September, 1760. 
 
 Agnes, ,, ' 30th September, 1762. 
 
 Annabella, ,, 14th November, 1764. 
 
 William ,, 30th .July, 1767. 
 
 .John, ,, 10th July, 1709. 
 
 Isabel, ,, 27th June, 1771. 
 
 William Blrnls, at the date of his marriage, rented seven acres 
 ot land from Ferguson of Doonholm, and lived at "The Cottage," 
 AUoway. 
 The Poet's family removed to the farm of Mount Oliphant, about 
 two miles distant from AUoway, when the Poet was in his seventh 
 year. 
 Composed his first song : "O once I loved a bonie lass,"— Nelly 
 
 Kilpatrick. 
 Composed several lyrics, and fragments of a tragedy. 
 Family removed to the farm of Lochlea, Parish of Tarbolton. 
 The Poet spent the summer of this year at Kirkoswald, where h& 
 met Pegsy Thomson, his "charming flllette. ' 
 Episode of Ellison Begbie. Founded the Bachelors' Club, 
 Tarbolton. Becam# a Freemason. Composed some of the best 
 of his early Ijrrics. 
 
 Poet went to Irvine to learn flax-dressing. Intercourse with 
 Richard Brown. Flax experiment a failure. Returns to Lochlea. 
 
 Renewed literary activity. Gilbert and the Poet take the farm 
 of Mossgiel, near .Mauchline, as a refuge for family. 
 
 William Burnes dies on 13th February. Family removes to 
 Mossgiel. Birth of "dear-bought Bess." 
 
 Tlie poetic period, par excellence. Composed most of the pieces 
 which appear in First Edition. Episodeof Jean Armour. Changes 
 his name from " Burness " to Burns. Intended emigration. 
 Parting with Highland Mary. Sojourn at Old Rome Forest. 
 First Edition publislied July 31st, 17S6. Birth of Jean Armour's 
 twins. Visit to llev. George Lawrie of Loudoun. Emigration 
 abandoned. On 28th November, the Poet arrive.s in Edinburgh. 
 Mackenzie's review of the Kilmarnock poems. Earl of Glencairn 
 and Dalrymple of Orangetield become patrons. Lionising in 
 Eilinburgh.
 
 vi. 
 
 17S7. Caledonian Hunt subscribe for Second Edition. Xasmvth painrs 
 
 his portrait. Repair of tomb of Fergusson. Second or Edinburgb 
 Edition issued April 21st. Border Tour from May 5th to June 
 9th. ReturnstoMossgiel. HighlandTour. Returns to Edinburgh 
 Northern Tour from 25th August to 16th September. Tour to 
 Stirling and Ochtertyre. Returns to Edinburgh. Meets Clarinda 
 (Mrs. MacLehose). Clarinda correspondence from 6th December. 
 17S7, to ISth February, 17S8. 
 
 1788. Jean Armour's second twins born, circa March 13th. Second 
 
 volume of Johnson's Muaeum published. August 5th, is rebuked 
 by Session of .Mauchline for irregular raarria^ with Jean Armour. 
 Prepares for entry on Excise duties. Leases the farm of 
 Mlisland, about six miles from Dumfries. Takes up house with 
 Jean at "The Isle." 
 
 1789-90. Enters on active duty as an Exciseman. His fame extends. 
 Many tourist visitors. Composes "Tam o' Shanter." 
 
 1791. Birth of .•\nne Park's child. Removes from EUisland to Dumfries. 
 
 1792. First house in the Wee Vennel. His friendship with Jean 
 
 Lorimer (Chloris). Becomes acquainted with the Riddels. 
 Fourth volume of Johnson'* Museum published. Begins corres- 
 pondence with George Thomson. Poet's political conduct 
 mvestigated by Board of Excise. 
 
 1793. New edition of his poems, in two volumes, published. Removes to 
 
 Burns .Street, then called Mill Vennel. Excursion into Galloway 
 and Wigton with Mr. Syme. 
 
 1794. Quarrels \vith the Riddels. His health begins to fail. Lyrical 
 
 compositions for Thomson. The honrgeois of Dumfries shun him. 
 Publication of last Edition of his poems during his lifetime. 
 
 1795. Joins the Dumfries Volunteers. His only daughter, Elizabeth 
 
 dies at .Mauchline. Serious illness of the Poet. Composes the 
 " Election Ballads." 
 
 1796. Wealth of lyrical production. Visits Brow in search of health. 
 
 Returns to Dumfries. Nursed by Jessie Lewars. Dies on July 21st. 
 
 CHILDREN OF THE POET. 
 
 Robert, born September 3rd, 17S6. Died May 14th, 1S57. 
 Twin Daughters, born March 13th, 17SS. Died in Infancy. 
 Fra.vcis Wallace, born August 18th, 17S9. Died July 9th, 1S03. 
 William Nicol, bom April 9th, 1791. Died February 21st, 1S72. 
 Elizabeth Riddel, born November 21st, 1792. Died September, 1795. 
 James Glencairn, born August 12th, 1794. Died November ISth, 1865. 
 Max-well, born July 26th, 1796. Died April 25th, 1799. 
 
 r^r^^^
 
 CHRONOLOGY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 POETICAL COMPOSITIONS OF ROBERT BURNS. 
 
 (CcmpUed ffom tke t>eH Authorities.) 
 
 MOUNT OLIPHANT PERIOD. 
 
 1766 to Whitsunday, 1777. 
 
 1773. 
 
 (A-e, lV\i>.) 
 
 •nee I lov'd a bonie lass. 
 
 1775. 
 
 SUM.HfcSB, AI KutKOSWALD 
 
 (.4>!e, 16-17.) 
 
 Xow wesUin winda ajid slaugbt'ring gans. 
 
 (First versioH.) 
 Oh nbbie, I hae s»en thtj day. 
 
 1 dpuamed I lay. 
 
 r776. 
 
 (Ag«, 171«.) 
 Tbe ruined Fanner. 
 
 1777. 
 
 (Age, 13-19.) 
 Tragic Fragioefit— AH villain as I axa. 
 
 LOCHLEA PERJCTD. 
 
 Whftsunclay 1777, to Whitsunday 1784. 
 
 1778. 
 
 (Age, 19-20.^ 
 Tlw Tarbalton La.sies. 
 Ah ! woe EB me, my Mother deaf I 
 
 1779. 
 (Age, 30-21.) 
 Montgoinerie's Peggy. 
 1780. 
 
 (Age. -21-22.) 
 
 The Ronalds of the Bemials, 
 Here's to thy healUi, my b<jnie hvae. 
 The lAsiB of Censnook Hiirvfaj. 
 An' I'll kisB tlwe yet, yet. 
 Mary ^aorieon. 
 
 1781. 
 
 .\UTUir.V A.VD Wl.NTBR IK IBTINE. 
 (Age, 22-38.) 
 Winter : a Dirge. 
 A Pi-ayer under the preaenre of violent 
 
 anguish. 
 ParaphT-aae of the First Psajtn. 
 The tiTstsix verses of the Xinetieth Psalm 
 A Prayer in the prnsptiet of Death. 
 >it«in«i(5 on the sauae occasion. 
 
 1782. 
 
 (Age, 2S-d4.) 
 Tliou.^ flckle Fortirae has (ieeecv'd ms. 
 
 laging fortune's wiihering blaat. 
 ril go and be a 80»la;er. 
 
 N<j Churchnaan ajn I. 
 My f itber wa>s a farmer. 
 Joiiu BonleycoiH. 
 
 1783. 
 
 (Age, 24-26.) 
 
 The death and dying words of Poor 3&ifi« 
 
 Poor MaiTle'e Elegy. 
 
 Cms rigs, aa' bawley rigs. 
 
 Xow westlin vhxis. 
 
 My Nanie, O. 
 
 UieMi grow ohe Ra.sfaes. 
 
 Wha is that at my bower door ? 
 
 [l-'inarse— a fiugmeiit. 
 
 fi^pttaph on .Tuaes Oriave. 
 
 MOflSOIEL PERIOD. 
 
 Whitaundiiy 1784, to 2*th 2*ov., 1796. 
 
 1784. 
 
 (Age, 3i-S«.) 
 
 Kpritapb on a celebrated mliag elder. 
 Kpitaph on a friend. 
 Epitaph for the anttii>r >; father. 
 A h-agmenft — on tbe AintMcan War. 
 
 1 iwn a keerpoa- of the kiw. 
 Epwtje to Jo4n Baakine.
 
 Till. 
 
 Address to an illegitimate child. 
 
 O leave novels, yeMaiichliiie belles. 
 
 When tirst I came to Stewart-Kyle. 
 
 My Girl she's airy— a fragment. 
 
 The Belles of Mauchline. 
 
 Epitaph on a noisy Polemic. 
 
 Kpitaph on a henpecked .Squire. 
 
 Epigram on a henpecked Squire. 
 
 Another epigram on a henpecked Squire. 
 
 Tam the Chapman. 
 
 Epitaph on John Rankine. 
 
 Man was made to mourn. 
 
 The Twa Herds ; or the Holy Tulzie. 
 
 1785. 
 
 (Age, :2(J-2-) 
 
 Epistle to Davie, a Brither Poet. 
 
 Holy Willie's Prayer. 
 
 Epitaph on Holy Willie. 
 
 Death and Doctor Hornbook. 
 
 Epistle to J. Lapraik. 
 
 Second Epistle do J. Lapraik. 
 
 Epistle to William .Siniaon. 
 
 One night as 1 ilid wander— a fragment 
 
 Tho' cruel fate should bid us part. 
 
 Rantin', rovin' Robin. 
 
 Elegy on the death of Robert Ruisseaux. 
 
 Letter to John Goudie. 
 
 Third Epistle to J. Lapraik. 
 
 To the Rev. .John M'Math. 
 
 Second Epistle to Davie. 
 
 Young Peggy blooms. 
 
 The liraes o' Ballochmyle. 
 
 Her flowing locks— a fragment. 
 
 Hallowe'en. 
 
 To a Mouse. 
 
 Epitaph on Jolin Dove. 
 
 Epitaph on a wag in JLauchline. 
 
 Adam Armoui's Prayer. 
 
 The Jolly Beggars. 
 
 Tho' women's minds like winter winds. 
 
 The Cotter's Saturday Night. 
 
 Address to the Deil. 
 
 Scotch Drink. 
 
 1786. 
 
 (Age, 27-28.) 
 
 The auld farmer's New • Year - morning 
 
 salutation. 
 The Twa Dogs. 
 
 The .Author's Earnest Cry and Prayer. 
 The Ordination. 
 To .James .Smith. 
 The Vision. 
 
 The Rantin' Dog, the Daddie o't. 
 Address to the Unco Guid. . 
 The Inventory. 
 Epistle to Jolm Kennedy. 
 To Mr. M'Adam of Craigen-Ciillan. 
 To a Louse. 
 
 Thou flattering mark of friendship kind. 
 
 The Holy Fair. 
 
 Again rejoicing Nature sees. 
 
 To ;i mountain daisy. 
 
 To Ruin. 
 
 The Lament, occasioned by the unfortun- 
 ate i.ssue of a friend's amour. 
 
 Despondency — an Ode. 
 
 To Gavin Hamilton, Esq., Mauchline. 
 
 The King's most humble servant, I. 
 
 Will ve go to the Indies, mv Mary? 
 
 The Highland Lassie, O. 
 
 Epistle to a young Friend. 
 
 -■Vddress of Beelzebub. 
 
 A Dream. 
 
 A Dedication —to Gavin Hamilton, Esq. 
 
 Invitation to Dr. Mackenzie, Mauchline. 
 
 The Farewell to the Brethren of St. 
 James's Lodge. 
 
 On a Scotch Bard, gone to the West Indies. 
 
 Prom thee, Eliza, I must go. 
 
 .\ Bard's Epitaph. 
 
 Epitapli for Robert Aitken. 
 
 Epitaph for (iavin Hamilton. 
 
 Kpitapli an " Wee Johnie." 
 The Lass o' Ballochmyle. 
 Stanza prefixed to the Kilmirnock Edition 
 (see/ac-siniile title page). 
 
 Kpistle to yir. .Tohn Kennedy. 
 
 Lines to an old sweetheart. 
 
 Lines written on a Bank-note. 
 
 Stanzas on Naething. 
 
 i''arewell, old Suotias bleak domains. 
 
 The Calf. 
 
 Nature's Law — a Poem. 
 
 On Willie Chalmers. 
 
 Answer to a trimming Epistle received 
 
 from a Tailor. 
 The Brigs of Ayr. 
 The night was still — a, fragment. 
 Epigram on rough roads. 
 O Thou Dread Power. 
 The gloomy night is gathering fast. 
 On dining with Lord Daer. 
 Ye sons of old Killie. 
 Tam .Samson's Elegy. 
 Epistle to Majbr Logan. 
 Rusticity's ungainly form. 
 A Winter Night. 
 Yon w.ld mos.5y mountainr?. 
 
 EDINBURGH PERIOD. 
 
 2Sth Nov. 17S6, to Whitsunday 1788. 
 BoBDER, Highland. .\nd West Countrt 
 
 TOL'RS. 
 
 1786. 
 
 (Age, 27-28 ) 
 
 -A-ddress to Edinburgh. 
 To a Haggis.
 
 1787. 
 
 (Age, 2S--9.) 
 To Mis3 Logan. 
 
 Extempore on the late Willi.im Smellie. 
 Rattliii', Roarin' Willie. 
 Bonie Dundee. 
 
 Extempore in the Court of Session. 
 Inscription on the tomb of Fer-uss.jii. 
 Lines inscribed under Fergusson's Fortr.iit. 
 To the Uudewife of Wauchope House. 
 Verses to be written under a Xoble E, ill's 
 
 Picture. 
 Prologue spoken by Mr. Woods. 
 The bonie moor-hen. 
 My Lady's gown there's gairs upon't. 
 IrapromptLi at Roslin Inn. 
 Epigram addressed to an artist. 
 The bi'.ok-worms. 
 Epigram on Elphinstone's translation of 
 
 Martial. 
 A Bottle and a Friend 
 Lines written under Miss Burns's pictuie. 
 Epitaph for William Nicol. 
 Epigram on a Schoolmaster. 
 Hey ca' thro', ca' thro'. 
 Address to Wm. Tytler of Wojdhouselee. 
 To Miss Ainslie in church. 
 To William Croecli, Publisher. 
 To Mr. Renton of Lame;t m. 
 Epigram at Inverary. 
 On the death of John M'Leod, Esq. 
 On the death of Sir James Hunter Blair. 
 To Miss Ferrier. 
 On Carron Iron- Works 
 On the window of an Inn at Stirling. 
 Reply to a reproof. 
 Rash mortal, and slanderous Poet. 
 Written in the Inn at Kenmore. 
 The Birks of Aherfeldy. 
 The humble petition ■if Bruar Water. 
 Lines on the Fall of Fyers. 
 Impromptu— on a Highland welcome. 
 Strathallan's Lament. 
 Bonie Castle Gordon. 
 Theniel Menzies' bonie Mary. 
 The bonie Lass of Albany. 
 On scaringsome Water-fowl on Locb Turit. 
 Blythe, blythe, and merry was she 
 A Rosebud by !uy early walk. 
 Epitaph i..r Wm. Cruickshaiik. 
 The Banks o' the Devon. 
 Where, braving angry winter's storms 
 My Peggy's charms. 
 The young Highland Rover. 
 -An Ode on the birthday of Prince Charles 
 
 Edward. 
 Klegy on the death of Robert Dundas, Esq. 
 Reply to verses by Clarinda. 
 
 1788. 
 
 Clarinila, mistress of my soul. 
 I'm o'er young to marry yet. 
 
 To the weavers gin ye -jro. 
 
 M'Pherson's Farewell. 
 
 -tay my ('harraer. 
 
 Having winds around her blowing. 
 
 I'p in the morning early. 
 
 How long and dreary is the night. 
 
 .Musing on the roaring ocean. 
 
 To daunton me. 
 
 The bonje lad that's far awa', 
 
 Verses to Clarinda— Fair Empress. 
 
 The Chevalier's Lament. 
 
 Epistle to Hugh Parker. 
 
 THE ELLISLAND PERIOD. 
 
 Whitsunday 17>?, to Xov. 17jl. 
 
 1789-90. 
 
 (Age, 20-30.) 
 Of a' the airts the wind can blaw. 
 I Ii.ae a wife o' my ain. 
 Vritten in F"riar's Carse Hermitage. 
 ■Vnna, thy I'larms. 
 The FHe (hampetre. 
 Epistle t(j (iraham of Fintry. 
 L'lie day leturns. 
 A Mother's Lament. 
 O were I on Paraassus HilL 
 i'he lizy mist hangs. 
 :,ouis, wh-ic reck I by thee. 
 It is na, Jean, thy bonie face. 
 Auld L in;isyiie. 
 (io, fetch to me a pint o' wine. 
 Verses in Friar's Carse Hermitage (2nd 
 
 version.) 
 Klegy on th ? year 1788. 
 The henpeck'd husband. 
 Versicles on Sign-Posts. 
 Robin shure in hairst. 
 Ode to the memory of Mrs. Oswald of 
 
 ■Vuchincruive. 
 With Pegasus upon a day. 
 Liu;w to Clarinda— I burn, I burn. 
 She's fair and fause. 
 To Captain Riddell. 
 To John -M'Murdo, Esq. 
 Reply to a note from Captain Riddell. 
 Beauteous rosebud, young and gay. 
 Beware o' Bonie .\un. 
 Ode to the departed Regency Bill. 
 Letter to .lames Tennant of Glenconner. 
 Anewpsilmfor the Chipelof Kilmarnock 
 
 — O, sing a ne>v song. 
 Fragment inscribed to the Right Hon. C. 
 
 J. Fox. 
 On seeing a wounded hare. 
 The Gardener \vi' his paidle. 
 On a bank of Howers. 
 Young Jockey was the blythejt la 1 
 The banks of Nith. 
 Jamie, come try me. 
 Tibbie Dunbar. 
 Tiie ('aptain's Lady.
 
 X. 
 
 Jokn ABderson, niy jo. 
 
 My love, she's but a lassie yet. 
 
 Tam Glen. 
 
 Carl, an the King come. 
 
 There's a youth in this city. 
 
 Whistle o'er the lave o't. 
 
 Ibpiffram on Francis Grose. 
 
 On the late Captain Grose's peregrinations. 
 
 The Kirk's Alarm. 
 
 Sonnet addressed to Graham of Fintry. 
 
 An Extemporaneous Effusion on being 
 appointed to the Excise. 
 
 ^Villie brewed a peck o' maut. 
 
 Oa' the ewes to Bhe knowes (first ves-sion). 
 
 I gaed a waefu' gate yestreea. 
 
 Jly Harry was a gallant gay. 
 
 The Battle of Sherra-mui». 
 
 KOliecrankie. 
 
 Awa', Whigs, Awa'. 
 
 \ waukvife minnie. 
 
 The captive ribband. 
 
 The ^\1li3Ue-a bftlLwl. 
 
 To Mary in Heavtn. 
 
 To Dr. Blacklock. 
 
 Address *o the Toothache. 
 
 The five Carlins. 
 
 Election Ballad for Westerha'. 
 
 Prologue spoken at the Theatre of Dum- 
 fries. 
 
 Sketch— Xew- Year's Day, 1790. 
 
 Scots Prologue for Mr. Sutheriajid. 
 
 Written to a gentlaman who had sent a 
 newspaper. 
 
 Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare. 
 
 Yestreen I haid a pint o' wime. 
 
 I laurder hate. 
 
 Addrtjas to Graham of Fintry. 
 
 Elegy on Captain Matthew BendeiHon. 
 
 Epitaph OB Captain Matthew Henderson. 
 
 Verses on Capitain Grose. 
 
 Tajn o' Sbanter— » tale. 
 
 On the birth of * posthumous child. 
 
 Elegy on the late Mi8s Burnet. 
 
 tanient of Mary, Queen of Scots. 
 
 TiaeBell never be peace till JajnLe ccgnee 
 hame. 
 
 Out <wer the Forth. 
 
 The Banfcs o' Doon (1st version), 
 do., (ii*! version), 
 
 do., . kSrd versi.in). 
 
 Lament for Jam^s, Earl of Glenoairn. 
 
 lines sent to **: John Whiteioord. 
 
 Craigieburn Wood. 
 
 The bonie wee thing. 
 
 Epigram on Mise Davies. 
 
 Lovrfy Daviae. 
 
 ^^at can a young lassie do ? 
 
 The Posie. 
 
 On GlenriddellB f.)X breaking bis cbaiji. 
 
 Caledonia— a ballad. 
 
 Poem on Pastowil Poetry. 
 
 The Gallant Weavw. 
 
 Verses on the destruction of Drumlanrig 
 
 woods. 
 Epigram at Brownhill Inn— Why always 
 
 Bacon ? 
 You're welcime, Willie Stewart 
 Lovely Polly Stewart. 
 Eppie Macnab. 
 Altho' he has left me. 
 My Tocher's the jewel. 
 O for ane an' twenty, Tam. 
 Turn aaain, thou fair Eliza. 
 Bnnie Bell. 
 Afton Water. 
 
 Address'to the shade of Thomson. 
 Nithsdale's Welcome Hame. 
 Frae the friends and land I love. 
 Ye .Taoobites by name. 
 Kenmnre's on and awa, Willie. 
 To Maxwell of Terraughty. 
 Second Epistle to Graham of Fintcy. 
 The Song of Death. 
 Sessibility, how charming. 
 On an empty fellow. 
 On hearing ser^non in LamLngton Kirk. 
 The Hoalet Pace. 
 A Grace befoie dinner. 
 A Grace after dinner. 
 
 THE DUMFRIES PERIOD. 
 Nov. 1791, to date of death. 
 
 1791. 
 
 (Age, 32-33.) 
 
 O, May, thy mtnrn was ne'er sae sweet. 
 Ke fond Kiss, and then we aever. 
 IJehofd the hour, the boat arrive. 
 Gloomy December. 
 
 sad and heavy should I part. 
 
 1792. 
 
 (Age, S3-34.) 
 Lines on Ftergusson, Wie Poet. 
 
 1 do confess thou ait sae fair. 
 The weary pund o' tow. 
 
 ■When she cam' ben she bobbed fu' law. 
 
 Scroggam, my dearie. 
 
 My collier laddie. 
 
 Wiine WasUe. 
 
 Lady Mary Ann. 
 
 KeHybnrn Braes. 
 
 The deuks dang o'er ray daddie. 
 
 The deiFs awa wi' the exciseman. 
 
 In idmmer, when the liay was niawn 
 
 B6«s and hev spiimiu' wheel. 
 
 Xo ci^d approach— a fragment. 
 
 Loove for loove--a fr.iginent. 
 
 O SAW ye bcmie Lesley. 
 
 .>ry ainijiind dearie, O. 
 
 My wife's a winsome wee thing. 
 
 Ye bawks and braes and sti-eEfms around.
 
 An occasional address spoken by Misa 
 
 Fontenelle. 
 To Miss Fontenelle. 
 Extempore on some commemorations of 
 
 Thomson. 
 Auld Bob Morris. 
 Duncan Gray. 
 Here's a health to them that's awa'. 
 
 1793. 
 
 (Age, 34-35.) 
 
 O poortith cauld and restless love. 
 Braw, braw lads. 
 Sonnet on hearing a thrush sing. 
 Lord Gregory. 
 
 Wandering Willie (1st version). 
 do., (inil version). 
 
 Open the door to me, Oh ! 
 Young Jessie. 
 
 When wild war's deadly blast. 
 Ye true loyal natives. 
 On Commissary Goldie's brains. 
 Lines inscribed in a ladfs pocket-book. 
 Ye hypocritees ! are these your pranks. 
 Lines on Rodney's victory. 
 Ye men of wit and wealth. 
 The greybeard, old Wisdom. 
 Reply to an invitation. 
 Grace after meat. 
 fJrace before and after meat. 
 On General Duniouriez— You're welcome 
 
 to despots. 
 The last time I came o'er the moor. 
 Blythe hae I been on yon hill. 
 Logan Braes. 
 
 O were ray love yon lilac fair. 
 There was a lass and she wsis fair. 
 To .John M'Murdo, Esq. 
 On the death of a lap-dog. 
 
 Epigrams on the Earl of Galloway. 
 
 Epigram on the Laird of Lagg&n. 
 
 Phillis the Fair. 
 
 Had I a cave. 
 
 By Allan stream. 
 
 Whistle an' I'll come to you, my lad. 
 
 A(Iown winding Nith. 
 
 Come, let me take thee to my breast. 
 
 Dainty Davie. 
 
 Scots wha hae. 
 
 Behold the hour, the boat arrive. 
 
 Down the burn, Davie. 
 
 Thou hast left me evei-, Jamie. 
 
 Where are the joys? 
 
 Deluded swain. 
 
 Thine am I, my faithful Fair. 
 
 Impromptu on Mrs. Riddel's birthday. 
 
 Ilushiand, husband, cease your strife. 
 
 Address, spoken by .Miss Fontenelle. 
 
 Complimentary epigram on Maria Riddel. 
 
 Sent to a gentleman wliom he had otf ended 
 
 1794. 
 
 (Age, 35-3G.) 
 
 Wilt thou be my dearie ? 
 
 Amang the trees, where humming bees. 
 
 As I stooil by yon rootless tower. 
 
 O my luve's like a red, red rose. 
 
 Young Jamie, pride of a' the plain. 
 
 Here is the glen. 
 
 Monody on a lady famed for her caprice. 
 
 Epigram pinned to .Mrs. Riddel's carriage. 
 
 Epitaph on .Mr. Walter Riddel. 
 
 Epistle from Esopus to Maria. 
 
 Epitaph on a noted coxcomb. 
 
 Epitaph on Capt. Lascelles. 
 
 Epitaph on Wra. Graham, Esq., of Moss- 
 
 knowe. 
 Epitaph on John ISiishby, Esq. 
 On the death of Robert Riddel. 
 The lovely lass of Inverness. 
 Charlie, he's my darling. . 
 Bannocks o' bear meal. 
 It was a' for our rightfu' King. 
 Ode for General Washington's Birthday. 
 To Miss Graham of Fintry. 
 On the seas and far away. 
 Ca' the ewes t> the knowes (final version) 
 She says she loes me best of a'. 
 To Dr. Maxwell. 
 
 To the beautiful Miss Eliza J n. 
 
 On f 'hloris. 
 
 Lines on seeing Mrs. Kemble as Yarico. 
 
 On a country laird. 
 
 On the country seat of the same. 
 
 Epigram on the Rev. Dr. Babington's looks 
 
 Swearing Burton. 
 
 Extempore Epitaph on "The Marquis." 
 
 Andrew Tinner. 
 
 Ah ! Chloris, since it may na be. 
 
 Saw ye my Phely. 
 
 Howlongand dreary is the night. 
 
 Let not women e'er complain. 
 
 Sleep'st thou, or wak'st thou. 
 
 The winter of life. 
 
 It was the charming month of May. 
 
 Lassie wi' the lint-wliite locks. 
 
 Philly and Willy. 
 
 Contented wi' little and cantie wi' mair. 
 
 Farewell thou stream. 
 
 Canst thou leave me thus, my Katie. 
 
 My Nannie's awa'. 
 
 For the sake o' Somebody. 
 
 1795. 
 
 (Age. 36-37.) 
 
 For a' that and a' that. 
 Craigie-bum Wood (second versi.inl. 
 The Solemn Leagae and Covenant. 
 To Mr. Syme of Ryedale. 
 There's death in the i-up. 
 Extempore to Mr. Syme. 
 Epitaph on Qabisiel Richardson.
 
 Epigram on Mr. James Gracie. 
 
 Inscription at Friar's Carse Hermitage. 
 
 Bonie Peggie Ramsay. 
 
 O ay ray wife she dang me. 
 
 O glide ale comes, and <xm\e ale goes. 
 
 O steer her up and hand her gaun. 
 
 O let me in this ae night. 
 
 I'll ay ca' in by yon town. 
 
 O wat ye wha's in yon town. 
 
 Heron Election ballads. 
 
 Poetical Inscription for an altar 
 
 Independence. 
 The cardin' o't, the spinnin' o't. 
 Does Hau!,'hty Gaul inTasion threat? 
 Address to the woodlark. 
 On Chloris being ill. 
 How cruel are the parents. 
 Mark yonder pomp. 
 'Twas na her bonie blue e'e. 
 Their groves o' sweet myrtle. 
 Korlorn my love, no comfort near. 
 Why, why tell thy lover. 
 Last -May a braw wooer. 
 
 ti 
 
 O this is no ray ain lassie. 
 
 O bonie was yon rosy brier. 
 
 O wha is she that lo'es me. 
 
 To Chloris. 
 
 There's news, lasses, news. 
 
 Crowdie ever mair. 
 
 O Mally's meek, Mally's sweet. 
 
 Jockie's ta'eu the parting kiss. 
 
 To Collector .Mitchell. 
 
 1793. 
 
 (Age, 37-38.) 
 
 The Dean of Faculty. 
 To Colonel De Peyster. 
 Hey ! for a lass wi' a tocher. 
 Heron ballad— The Trogger. 
 To Jessie Lewars. 
 O lay thy loof in mine, lass. 
 Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear. 
 Oh wert thou in the cauld blast. 
 Inscription to Miss Jessy Lewars. 
 Fairest Maid on Devon banlis. 

 
 "i.i^ — >•■► ■>■♦■>■♦■♦■♦■■>•■>■■>•♦•♦■> »»> » >>>»»» »,».».»-»-»-».».»-»_,-».».^ — ^/ 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 I C HIEFLY IN THE 
 
 I SCOTTISH DIALECT, 
 
 B Y 
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 
 
 
 * 
 
 ■ * « «-»•♦•<-■♦. 4 * <-*-<-4-*-*-*-< ■■ 
 
 * THE Simple Bard, unbroke by rules of Art, 
 j He pours the wild effusions of the hart: 
 
 And if inspir'd, 'tis Nature's pow'rs inspire; 
 
 Hen's all the melting thrill, and her*8 the kindling fire. 
 
 Akontmoos. 
 
 KILMARNOCK: 
 PRINTED BY JOHN WILSON. 
 
 M,DCC,LXXXVI. 
 
 I
 
 THE POET'S PREFACE (1786.) 
 
 The following trifles are not the production of the Poet, who, with all the 
 advantages of learned art, and perhaps amid the elegancies and idlenesses 
 •f upper life, looks down for a rural theme, with an eye to Theocritea or 
 Virgil. To the Author of this, these and other celebrated names their 
 countrymen are, in their original languages, ' A fountain shut up, and a 
 ' book sealed.' Unacquainted with the necessary requisites for commencing 
 Poet by rule, he sings the sentiments and manners, he felt and saw in 
 himself and his rustic compeers around him, in his and their native language. 
 Though a Rhj-raer from his earliest years, at least from the earliest impulses 
 of the softer passions, it was not till very lately, that the applause, perhaps 
 the partiality, of Friendship, wakened his vanity, so far as to make him think 
 any thing of his was worth showing ; and none of the following works were 
 ever composed with a view to the press. To amuse himself with the little 
 creations of his own fancy, amid the toil and fatigues of a laborious life ; to 
 transcribe the various feelings, the loves, the griefs, the hopes, the fears, in 
 his own breast ; to find some kind of counterpoise to the struggles of a 
 world, always an alien scene, a task uncouth to the poetical mind ; these 
 were his motives for courting the Muses, and in these he found Poetry to be 
 it's own reward. 
 
 Now that he appears in the public character of an Author, he does it with 
 fear and trembling. So dear is fame to the rhyming tribe, that even he, an 
 obscure, nameless Bard, shrinks aghast, at the thought of being branded 
 as ' An impertinent blo.-^khead, obtruding his nonsense on the world ; and 
 because he can make a shift to jingle a few doggerel, Scotch rhymes together, 
 looks upon himself as a Poet of no small consequence forsooth.' 
 
 It is an observation of that celebrated Poet, * whose divine Elegies do 
 honor to our language, our nation, and our species, that ' Humility has 
 depressed many a genius to a hermit, but never raised one to fame.' If any 
 Cntic catches at the word genius, the Author tells him, once for all, that he 
 certainly looks upon himself as possest of .some poetic abilities, otherwise 
 his publishing in the manner he has done, would be a manceuvre below the 
 worst character, which, he hopes, his worst enemy will ever give him : but 
 to the genius of a Ramsay, or the glorious dawnings of the poor, unfortunate 
 Ferguson, he, with equal unaffected sincerity, declares, that, even in his 
 highest pulse of vanity, he has not the most distant pretensions. These 
 two justly admired Scotch Poets he has often had in his eye in the following 
 pieces ; but rather with a view to kindle at their flame, than for servile 
 imitation. 
 
 To his Subscribers, the Author returns his most sincere thanks. Not the 
 mercenary bow over a counter, but the heart-throbbing gratitude of the 
 Bard, conscious how much he is indebted to Benevolence and Friendship, 
 for gratifying him, if he deserves it, in that dearest wish of every poetic 
 bosom — to be distinguished. He begs his readers, particularly the Learned 
 and the Polite, who may honor him with a perusal, that they will make 
 every allowance for Education and Circumstances of Life: but, if after a 
 fair, candid, and impartial criticism, he shall stand convicted of Dulnessand 
 Nonsense, let him be done by, as he would in that case do by others— let 
 him be condemned, without mercy, to contempt and oblivion. 
 
 * Shenstone.
 
 BURNS'S POETICAL WORKS. 
 
 With the exceptions of the Author's own corrections and the modernising of the 
 
 type, the Kilmarnock and Edinburgh editions, as given here, may be 
 
 taken as veritable fac similes. 
 
 THE TWA DOGS. 
 A TALE. 
 
 'TWAS in that place o' Scotland's i.sle, 
 That bears the name o' auld king COIL, 
 Upon a bonie day in June, 
 When wearing thro' the afternoon, 
 T^va Dogs, that were na thrang at hame, 
 Forgather'd ance upon a time. 
 
 The first I'll name, they ca'd him Ccesnr, 
 Was keepet for His Honor's pleasure ; 
 His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs, 
 Shew'd he was nana o' Scotland's dogs. 
 But whalpet some place far abroad, 
 Where sailors gang to fish for Cod. 
 
 His locked, letter'd, braw brass-collai 
 Shew'd him the gentlpwan an' scholar ; 
 But the' he was o' high degree. 
 The flent a pride na pride had he, 
 But wad hae spent an hour caressan, 
 Ev'n wi' a Tinkler-gipsey's incxsan : 
 At Kirk or Market, >rili or Smiddie, 
 Nae tawted t^ike. tho' e'er sae duddie. 
 But he wad stan't as glad to see him. 
 An' stroant on stanes an' hillocks wi' him. 
 
 The tither was a ploughman's collie, 
 A rhyming, ranting, raving billie, 
 Wha for his friend an' comrade had him, 
 And in his freaks had Luath ca'd him, 
 After some dog in " Uighland nan//. 
 Was made lang syne, lord knows how laiig. 
 
 He was a gash an' faithfu' tyke. 
 As ever lap a sheugh or dyke. 
 His honest, sonsie, baws'nt face. 
 Ay gat him friemls in ilka place ; 
 His breast was white, his towzie back, 
 Weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black ; 
 His gawsie tail, wi' upward curl, 
 Hung owre his hurdles wi' a swirl. 
 
 N.ae doot but they were fain o' ither, 
 An' unco p.ack an' thick thegither ; 
 Wi' social nose whyles snuff'd an' snowket 
 Whyles mice and inuilewurks theyhowket 
 Wliyles scour'd awa in lang excursion, 
 An' worried ither in diversion ; 
 
 Until wi' daffin weary grown, 
 Upon a knowe they sat them down, t 
 An' there began a lang digression 
 About the lords o' the creation. 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 I've aften wcjuder'd, honest Luath, 
 What sort o' life poor dogs like you bare; 
 An' when the gentry's life I saw, 
 What way poor bodies liv'd ava. 
 
 Our Laird gets in his racked rents, 
 His coals, his kane, an' a' his stents : 
 He rises when he likes himsel ; 
 His flunkies answer at the bell ; 
 He ca's his coach ; he ca's his horse ; 
 He draws a bonie, silken purse 
 As lang's my tail, whare thro' the steeks, 
 The yellow letter'd Geordie keeks. 
 
 Frae mom to een it's nought l)ut toiling 
 At baking, roasting, frying, boiling; 
 An' tho' the gentry first are steghan. 
 Yet ev'n the ha' /oik fill their peghan 
 Wi' sauce, ragouts, an' sic liketrashtrie, 
 That's little short o' downright wastrie. 
 Our Whipper-in, wee, blastet wonner, 
 Poor, worthless elf, it eats a dinner. 
 Better than ony Tenant-man 
 His Honor has in a' the Ian' : 
 An' what poor Cot-folk pit their painch in, 
 I own it's past my comprehension. 
 
 LUATH. 
 
 Trowth, Caesar, whiles their fasht enough; 
 A Colter howkan in a sheugh, 
 Wi' dirty stanes biggan a dyke, 
 Bairan a qu.arry, an' sic like, 
 Himsel, a wife, he thus sustains, 
 A smytrie o' wee, duddie w eans. 
 An' nought but his han'-daurk, to keep 
 Them right an' tight in thack an' raep. 
 
 An' when they meet wi' .sair disasters, 
 Like loss o' health or want o' masters. 
 Ye maist wad think, a wee touch langer. 
 An' they maun starve o' cauld an' hunger: 
 
 * Cuchulliii'.s dog in Ossian's Fingal.— (li. B. 
 tThis couplet is different in the editions of 1786 and 17S7 
 Burns amended it as it appears above. 
 
 ITS*; ) 
 In the 1794 edition.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 But how it comes, I never kent yet, 
 They're maistly wonderfu' contented ; 
 An' buirdly chiels, and clever hizzies, 
 Are bred in sic a. way as this is. 
 
 CS&JlR. 
 
 But then, to see how ye're negleket. 
 How hutf' d, an' cuff'd, an' disreapeket 1 
 L — d man, our gentry care as httle 
 For delverg, ditchers, an' sic cattle ; 
 They gang as saucy by poor folk. 
 As I wad Dy a stinkan brock. 
 
 I've notic'd, on our Laird's court-day, 
 An' mony a time my heart's been wae. 
 Poor tenant bodies, scant o' cash, 
 How they maun thole a, factor's snash ; 
 He'll stamp an' threaten, curse and swear, 
 He'll apprehend them, poind their gear ; 
 While they maun stan', wi' aspect humble. 
 An' hear it a', an' fear an' tremble I 
 
 I see how folk live that hae riches : 
 But surely poor-folk maun be wretches ! 
 
 LUATir. 
 
 They're no sae wretched's ane wad think ; 
 Tho' constantly on poortith's brink. 
 They're sae accustom'd wi' the sight, 
 The view ot gies them little fright. 
 
 Then chance and fortune are sae guided, 
 They're ay in less or mair provided ; 
 An' tho' fatigu'd wi' close employment, 
 A blink o' rests a sweet enjoyment. 
 
 The dearest comfort o' their lives. 
 Their grushie weans an' faithfu' wives ; 
 The prattlin;/ thiwis are just their pride. 
 That sweetens a' their fire side. 
 
 An' whyles twnlpennie-worth o' napj>y 
 Can mak the bodies unco happy ; 
 They lay aside their private cares. 
 To mind the Kirk and .^tate affairs ; 
 They'll talk o' patronaoe an' priests, 
 Wi' kindling fury i' their breasts. 
 Or tell what new taxation's comin, 
 An' ferlie at the folk in LOX'ON. 
 
 .\s bleak-fac'd Hallowniass returns, 
 They get the jovial, rantan Kirns, 
 When rural life, of ev'ry station, 
 Unite in common recreation ; 
 Love blinks. Wit slaps, an' social Mirtli 
 Forgets there's care upo' the earth. 
 
 That merry day tlae year begins. 
 They bar the door on frosty win's ; 
 The nappy reeks wi' mantling ream, 
 An' sheds a heart-inspiring steam ; 
 The luntan pipe, an' sneesliin mill. 
 Are handed round wi' right guid will ; 
 The cantie, auld fulks, eraukan crouse, 
 The young anes rantan thro' the house — 
 
 My heart has been sae fain to see them. 
 That I for joy hae barket wi' them. 
 
 ytill it's owre true that ye hae said, 
 Sic game is now owre aften play'd ; 
 There's monie a creditable stock 
 O' decent, honest, fawsont folk. 
 Are riven out baith root an' branch. 
 Some rascal's pridef u' greed to f|uench, 
 Wha thinks to knit himsel the faster 
 In favor wi' some yeiitle Master, 
 Wha aiblins thrang a parliamentin, 
 For Britain's guid his saul indentin— 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 Haith lad ye little ken about it ; 
 For Britain's yuid ! guid faith ! I doubt it. 
 Say rather, gaun as PREMIERS lead him. 
 An' saying aye or no's they bid him : 
 
 j .A.t Operas an' Plays parading. 
 Mortgaging, gambling, masquerading : 
 Or maybe, in a frolic daft, 
 
 I To lIAliUE or CALAIS takes a waft, 
 'Co make a tour an' tak a whirl. 
 To learn bon ton an' see the worl'. 
 
 There, at VIENNA or VERSAILLES, 
 He rives his father's auld entails ; 
 Or by .MADRin he takes the rout. 
 To thrum yuiitars an' fecht wi' nowt ; 
 Or down Italian f^ista startles, 
 
 hunting ainang groves o' myrtles : 
 
 Then bowses ilnmilie (rerinan-water. 
 To mak himsel look fair and fatter. 
 And clear the consequential sorrows. 
 Love-gifts of Carnival Signioras. * 
 h'or Britain's yuid ! for her destruction I 
 Wi' dissipation, feud, an' faction 1 
 
 LL'ATII. 
 
 Hecli man ! dear sirs 1 is that the gate. 
 They waste sae mony a braw estate 1 
 .Are Nve .sae foughten and harass d 
 Eor gear to gang that gate at last 1 
 
 O would they stay aback frae courts. 
 An' please themsels « i' countra sports. 
 It wad for ev'ry ane be better, 
 The Laird, the Tenant, an' the Cotter! 
 Pot thae frank, rantan, vamblan billies, 
 Kient liaet o' them's ill hearted fellows ; 
 lOxcept for breakin o' their timmer. 
 Or speakin lightly o' their Liiioner, 
 Or shootin of a hare or moorcock. 
 The ne'er-a-bit they're ill to poor folk. 
 
 But will ye tell me, master Ccvsar, 
 Sure yreat folk's life's a life o' pleasure? 
 Nae cauld nor hunger e'er can steer them. 
 The vera thought ot need na fear them. 
 
 ♦This couplet hns a different reading in the 1786 edition, 
 above in the Edinburgh edition. 
 
 Burns amendeil it as
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 C-ESAR. 
 
 L — dman, wereyeliiitwhyleswherelam, 
 The gentles ye wad ne'er envy them 1 
 
 It's true, they need na starve or sweat, 
 Thro' Winter's cauld, or Surainer's heat; 
 They've nae sair-wark to ci aze their banes, 
 An' till axdd-age wi' grips an' granes; 
 But human-bodies are sic fools. 
 For a' their colledges an' schools, 
 That when nae real ills perplex them. 
 They mak enow thenisels to vex them ; 
 An' aye the less they hae to sturt them. 
 In like proportion, less will hurt them. 
 
 A country fellow at the pleugh, 
 His acre's till'd, he's rijiht eneugh; 
 A country girl at her wlieel. 
 Her dizzens done, she's unco weel; 
 But Gentlemen, an' Ladies warst, 
 ■yVi' ev'n down leant o' wark are curat. 
 They loiter, lounging, lank an' lazy ; 
 Tho' deil-haet ails them, yet uneasy ; 
 Their days, insipid, dull an' tasteless, 
 Their nights, unquiet, lang an' restless. 
 
 An' ev'n theirsports, their ballsan' races, 
 Their galloping thro' public places. 
 There's sic parade, sic pomp an' art. 
 The joy can scarcely reach the heart. 
 
 The if en cast out in party-watches, 
 Then sowther a' in deep debauches. 
 
 Ae night, they're mad wi' diink an' , 
 
 Niest day their life is past enduring. 
 
 The Ladies arm-in-arm in clusters, 
 As great an' gracious a' as sisters ; 
 But hear their absent thoughts o' ither 
 They're a' run deils an' .iads thegither. 
 Whyles, owre the wee bit cup an' platie, 
 They sip the scandal-yution pretty; 
 Or lee-lang nights, wi crabbet leuks. 
 Pore owre the devil's pictur'd beuks; 
 Stake on a chance a farmer's stackyard. 
 An' cheat like ony unhang'd blackguard. 
 
 There's some exceptions, man an' woman ; 
 But this is tientry'.s life in common. 
 
 By this, the sun was out o' sight. 
 An' darker gloaniin brought the night: 
 The bum-clock hinnm'd wi' lazy drone. 
 The kye stood lowtan i' the loan: 
 When up they gat an' shook their lugs, 
 Rejoic'd they wen' na }i\en but doijs ; 
 An' each took off his several way, 
 Resolv'd to meet some ither day. 
 
 *^fK .yft. V"V 
 
 SCOTCH DRINK. 
 
 Gie him strong Drink until he tcink. 
 
 That's sinking in despair ; 
 An' liquor guid to fire his bluid, 
 j That's prest wi' gritf an' care: 
 There let him bowse an' deep carouse, 
 
 Wi' buinpers fioiving o'er. 
 Till he, forgets his loves or debts. 
 
 An' 7ninds his griefs no mure. 
 
 Solomon'3 Pbovekbs, xxxi. 6, 7. 
 
 Let other Poets raise a fracas 
 
 'Bout vines, an' wines, an' druken Bacchus, 
 
 Au' crabbed names an' stories wrack us, 
 
 An' grate our lug, 
 I sing the juice Scotch bear can mak us, 
 
 In glass or jug. 
 
 O thou, my MITSE ! guid, auld SCOTCH 
 DRINK 1 
 Whether thro' wimplin worms thou jink. 
 Or, richly brown, ream owre the brink. 
 
 In glorious faem. 
 Inspire me, till I lisp an' wink, 
 
 To sing thy name ! 
 
 Let husky Wheat the haughs adorn, 
 .\nd Aits set up their awnie horn. 
 An' Pease an' Beans, at een or m'>rn. 
 
 Perfume the plain, 
 Leeze me on thee John Barleycorn, 
 
 Thou king o' grain ! 
 
 On thee aft Scotland chows her coed. 
 In souple scones, the wale o' food ! 
 Or tumbling in the boiling flood 
 
 Wi' kail an' beef ; 
 But when thou pours thy strong heart's blood, 
 
 There thou shines chief. 
 
 Food fills the wame, an' keeps us livin; 
 Tho' life's a gift no worth receivin, 
 \Vhen heavy-dragji'd wi' pine an' grievin; 
 
 But oiled by thee, 
 The wheels o' life gae down-hill, scrievin, 
 Wi' rattlin glee. 
 
 Thou clears the head o' doited Lear ; 
 Thou chears the heart o' drooping Care; 
 Thou strings the nerves o' Laborsair, 
 
 At's weary toil ; 
 Thou even brightens dark Despair, 
 
 Wi' gloomy smile. 
 
 Aft, clad in massy, siller weed, 
 Wi' (ientk's thou erects thy head; 
 Yet humbly kind, in time o' need. 
 
 The poor mna's wine; 
 His wee drap pirratch,* or his liiead. 
 Thou kitchens tine. 
 
 * Corrected to " parritcli " in 17^7.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 Thou art the life o' public haunts ; 
 But thee, what were our fairs and rants? 
 Ev'n godly meetings o' the saunts, 
 By thee inspir'd, 
 When gasping they besiege the tents, 
 Are doubly flr'd. 
 
 That merry night we get the com in, 
 O sweetly, then, thou reams the horn in ! 
 Or reekan on a New-Year-moniin 
 
 In cog or bicker. 
 An' just a wee drap sp'ritual bum in. 
 
 An' gusty sucker I 
 
 Wien Vulcan gies his bellys* breath. 
 An' Ploughmen gather wi' their graitli, 
 O rare ! to see thee fizz an' fieath 
 
 I' the lugget caup ! 
 Then Bumewin comes on like Death 
 
 At ev'ry chap, t 
 
 Nae mercy, then, for airn or steel ; 
 The brawnie, banie, ploiighman-chiel 
 Brings hard owrehip, wi' sturdy wheel. 
 
 The strong forehammer, 
 Till block an' studdie ring an' reel 
 
 Wi' dinsome clamour. 
 
 When skirlin weanies see the light. 
 Thou maks the gossips clatter brialit, 
 How fumbling coofs tlieir dearies slight, 
 Wae worth the name '. 
 Nae Howdie gets a social night. 
 
 Or plack frae them. J 
 
 When neebors anger at a plea, 
 An' just as wud as wud can be, 
 How easy can the bnrigu-brie 
 
 Cement the quarrel I 
 It's aye the cheapest Lawyer's fee 
 
 To taste the barrel. 
 
 Alake ! that e'er my Muge has reason, 
 To wyte her countrymen wi' treason 1 
 But monie daily weet their weason 
 
 Wi' liquors nice, 
 An' hardly, in a winter season. 
 
 E'er spier her pnVe. 
 
 Wae worth that Brandy, burnan trash f 
 Fell source o' monie a pain an' brash ! 
 Twins monie a poor, doylt, druken hash 
 
 O' half his days ; 
 An' sends, beside, auld Scotland's cash 
 
 To her warst faes. 
 
 Ye Scots wha wish auld Scotland well. 
 Ye chief, to you my tale I tell, 
 Poor, plackless devils like inyxel. 
 
 It sets you ill, 
 Wi' bitter, dearthfu' wines to mell. 
 
 Or foreign gill. 
 
 May Gravels round his blather wrench. 
 An' Gouts torment him, inch by inch, 
 Wha twists his gruntle wi' a glunch 
 
 O' sour disdain. 
 Out owre a glass o' Whinkii-punch 
 Wi' honest men ! 
 
 O Whisky ! soul o' plays an' pranks ! 
 Accept a Bardie's gratefu' § thanks I 
 When wanting thee, what tuneless cranks 
 
 Are my poor Verses I 
 Thou comes— they nttle i' their ranks 
 At itlier's 1 
 
 Thee Ferintosh ! O sadly lost 1 
 Scotland lament frae coast to coast 1 
 Xow colic-grips, an' barkin hoast, 
 
 May kill us a' ; 
 For loyal Forbes' Charter'd boast 
 
 Is ta'en awa 1 
 
 Thae curst hovge-leeches o' th' Excise, 
 Wha mak the Whisky stells their prize ! 
 Haud up thy han' Deil ! ance, twice, thHceF 
 
 Thert', seize the blinkers t 
 An' bake them up in bvunstane pies 
 
 For poor d — n'd Drinkers^ 
 
 Fortune, if thou'll but gie me still 
 Hale breeks, a scone, an' whisky qill. 
 An' rowtli o' rhyme to rave at will, 
 
 Tak a' the rest. 
 An' deal't about as thy blind skill 
 
 Directs thee best. 
 
 • Corrected to " bellows " in 17S7. f Altered to " chaup " in 1787. 
 
 JThe 1786 edition has a different reading, which the Poet amended as above, in 17S7. 
 § Altered, in 1794, to "humble."
 
 THE POEMS AXD SOXGS OF BURX3. 
 
 THE AUTHOR'S 
 
 EARNEST CRY AND PRAYER, 
 
 TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE AND 
 
 HONORABLE, THE SCOTCH REPRE- 
 
 SENTATIVES IN THE 
 
 HOUSE OF COMMONS. 
 
 Dearest of Distillation .' la)>t and best ! 
 
 Uoto art thou lost ! 
 
 Parody on Miltos. 
 
 Ye Irish lords, ye knif/hts an' squiret, 
 Wha represent our Hrwjhs an' Shires, 
 An' dousely manage our affairs 
 
 In Parliament, 
 To you a simple Bardie's t pray'rs 
 
 Ave humbly sent. 
 
 Alas ! my roupet Miise is haerse ! 
 Your Honor'.s hearts wi' grief 'twad pierce. 
 To see her sittan on her 
 
 Low i' the dust, 
 An' acriechan out prosaic verse. 
 
 An' like to brust ! 
 
 Tell them wha hae the chief direction, 
 Scotland an' me's in gre.it affiiction, 
 E'er sin' they laid that curst restriction 
 
 On AQUAVIT.E ; 
 An' rouse them up to strong conviction, 
 
 An' move their pity. 
 
 Stand forth and tell yon PREMIER 
 YOUTH, 
 The honest, open, naked truth: 
 Tell him o' mine an' Scotland's drouth, 
 His servants humble : 
 The muckle devil blaw you south. 
 If ye dissemble ! 
 
 Does ony oreat man glunch an' gloom ? 
 Speak out an' never fasli your thumb. 
 Let posts an' pewionn sink or swoom 
 
 \Vi' them wha grant them : 
 If honestly they caniia come, 
 
 Far better want them. 
 
 In gath'rin votes you were na slack, 
 Now stand as tightly by your tack : 
 Ne'er claw your hit;' an' ridge your back. 
 An' hum an' haw, 
 
 Cut raise your arm, an' tell your crack 
 Before them a'. 
 
 Paint Scotland greetan o wre her thrissle. 
 Her mutchkin stowp as toom's a whissle ; 
 An' d — mn'd Excise-men in a bussle, 
 
 Seizan a Siell, 
 Triumphant crushan't like a muscle t 
 Or laimpet shell. 
 
 Then on the tither hand present her, 
 A blackguard Smwjjlrr, right behint her. 
 An' cheek-for-chow, a chuffie Vintner, 
 
 CoUeaguing join, 
 I'icking her pouch as bai e as Winter, 
 
 Of a' kind coin. 
 
 Is there, that hears the name o' SCOT, 
 But feels his heart's bluid rising hot, 
 To see his poor, auld Mither's pot. 
 
 Thus dung in staves, 
 An' plundered o' her hindmost groat. 
 
 By gallows knaves ? 
 
 Alas ! I'm but a nameless wight, 
 Triiile i' the mire out o' sight ! 
 But could I like MONTGO.MERIES fight. 
 Or gab like BOSWELL, 
 There's some sark-necks I wad draw tight. 
 An' tye some hose well. 
 
 God bless your Honors, can ye see't, 
 The kind, auld, cantie Carlin greet. 
 An' no get warmly to your feet. 
 
 An' gar them hear it. 
 An' tell them, wi' a patriot-heat. 
 
 Ye winna bear it 7 
 
 Some o' you nicely ken the laws. 
 To round the period an' pause. 
 An' with rhetoric clause on clause 
 
 To mak harangues ; 
 Then echo thro' Saint Steplien's wa's 
 
 Auld Scotland's wrang*. 
 
 Dempfter, a true-blue Scot I'se warran ; 
 I'hee, aith-detesting, chaste Kilkerran ; 
 An' that glib-gabbet Highland Baron, 
 
 The Laird o' Graham; 
 And ana, a chap that's d— mn'd auldfarrwi, 
 
 Dundas his name. 
 
 Erskine, a spunkie norland billie ; 
 True Campbell's, Frederick an' llay ; 
 An' Livistone, the bauld Sir WUlit ; 
 An' monie ithera, 
 
 • Foot-note added in 1787 : — " This was wrote before tlie Act anent the Scotch Dis- 
 tilleries, of session 1786; for which Scotland and the Author return their most 
 grateful thanks." 
 
 t Changed, in 1794, to " Poet's.' 
 
 J Corrected to " mussel" in 1787.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 Whom auld Demosthenes or Tully 
 
 Mi^htdwnfor brithers.* 
 
 Arouse my boys ; exert your mettle. 
 To get auld Scotland back her kettle .' 
 Or faith ! I'll wad my new pleugh-pettle, 
 
 Ye'll see't or lang 
 She'll teach you, wi' a reekan whittle, 
 
 Anither sang. 
 
 This while she's been in crankous mood, 
 Her lost Militia tlr'd her bluid; 
 (DeU na they never mair do guid, 
 
 Play'd her that pliskiel) 
 And now she's like to tin red-wud 
 
 About her Whisky. 
 
 An' L — d I if ance they pit her till't. 
 Her tartan petticoat she'll kilt. 
 An' durk an' pistol at her belt. 
 
 She'll tak the streets, 
 An' rin her whittle to the hilt, 
 
 r th' first she meets 1 
 
 For G — d-sake. Sirs ! then speak her fair, 
 An' straik her cannie wi' the hair, 
 An' to the muckle house repair, 
 
 Wi' instant speed, 
 An' striye, wi' a' your Wit an' Lear, 
 To get remead. 
 
 Yon ill-tongu'd tinkler, Charlie Fox, 
 May taunt you wi' his jeers an' mocks ; 
 But gie him't het, my hearty cocks 1 
 
 E'en cowe the cadie ! 
 An' send hira to his dicing box. 
 
 An' sportin lady. 
 
 Toll yon guid bluid o' auld Boconnock's,\ 
 I'll be his debt twa raashlum bonnocks, 
 An' drink his health in auld Nanse 
 Tinnock's X 
 
 Xine times a week. 
 If he some scheme, like tea an' winnocks, 
 Wad kindly seek. 
 
 Could he some commutation broach, 
 I'll pledge my aith in guid braid Scotch, 
 He need na fear their foul reproach 
 
 Nor erudition, 
 Yon mixtie-maxtie, queer hotch-potch. 
 
 The Coalition. 
 
 Auld Scotland has a raucle tongue ; 
 She's just a devil wi' a rung ; 
 An' if she promise auld or young 
 
 To tak their part, 
 Tho' by the neck she should be strung, 
 
 She'll no desert. 
 
 And now, ye chosen FIVE AND FORTY, 
 May still your Mither's heart support ye ; 
 Then, tho' a Minister grow dorty. 
 
 An' kick your place, 
 Ye'll snap your fingers, poor an' hearty, 
 
 Before his face. 
 
 God bless your Honors, a' your days, 
 Wi' sowps o' kail and brats o' claise, 
 In spite o' a' the thievish kaes 
 
 Tliat haunt St. Jam,ie'tT 
 Your humble Bardie sings an' prays 
 
 While Rab his name is. 
 
 POSTSCRIPT. 
 
 Let half-starv'd slaves in warmer skiea^ 
 See future wines, rich-clust'ring, rise ; 
 Their lot auld Scotland ne'er envies. 
 
 But blythe an' frisky. 
 She eyes her freeborn, martial boys, 
 
 Tak atf their Whisky. 
 
 \Vhat tho' their Phoebus kinder warms. 
 While Fragrance blooms an' Beauty 
 
 charms 1 
 \Vhen wretches range, in faraish'd swarm*. 
 
 The scented groves, 
 Or hounded forth, dishonor arms 
 
 In hungry droves. 
 
 *In the early MS. copies of this poem, of which several exist, a ver.se complimentary 
 to Colonel Hugh Montgomery of C'oilsfleld is here introduced :— 
 
 " See, sodger Hugh, my watchman stented, 
 If poets e'er are represented ; 
 I ken if that your sword were wanted, 
 
 Ye'd lend a hand. 
 But when there's ought to say anent it, 
 Ye're at a stand." 
 
 All the " bardies," in this and other poems of 1786, were afterwards altered to "poets" 
 — a more intelligible word. 
 
 t The reference here is to the Prime Minister of State, William Pitt, whose grand- 
 father was Robert Pitt of Boconnock, in Cornwall. 
 
 t A worthy old Hostess of the Author's in Mauchline, where he sometimes studies 
 Politics over a glass of guid, auld Scotch Drink.— {R.B. 1786.)
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 
 ThexT rjun's a burden ou their slioiither; 
 They downa bide the stink o' powther ; 
 Their bauldest thought's a hank'rinu 
 swither, 
 
 To Stan' or rin, 
 Tillskelp-a shot--they're atf, a' throw'ther 
 To save their skin. 
 
 But bring a SCOTCHMAN frae liis hill 
 Clap in his cheek a Hinhland fnll. 
 Say, such is royal GEORGE'S will, 
 
 An' there's the foe. 
 He has nae thought but how to kill 
 
 Twa at a blow. 
 
 Nae cauld, faint-hearted doubtings tease 
 him ; 
 Death comes, wi' fearless eye he sees him ; 
 Wi' bluidy ban' a welcome gies him ; 
 
 An' when he fa's. 
 His latest draught o' breathin lea'es him 
 In faint huzzas. 
 
 Sages their solemn een may steek, 
 An' raise a philosophic reek. 
 An' physically causes seek, 
 
 In clime an' season, 
 But tell me Whuky's name in Greek, 
 
 I'll tell the reason. 
 
 SCOTLAND, my auUl, respected Mither I 
 The' whiles ye moistify your leather. 
 Till, when ye speak, ye aiblins blether. 
 
 Vet, deil mak matter 1 
 Freedom and Whisky gang thecither, 
 
 Tak aff your whitter 1 * 
 
 THE HOLY FAIR, t 
 
 A robe of seeminn truth and trust 
 
 Hid crafty observatinn ; 
 And secret hunn. with poiaon'd crust. 
 
 The. dirk of Dffninatinn : 
 A mask that like the ijoryet shnw'd, 
 
 Dye-varyin'i, on the piijt'on ; 
 And/or a mantle large and broad. 
 
 He wrapt him in Religion. 
 
 HvPdCRISY ALA-MODR. 
 
 Upon a simmer Sunday morn, 
 
 When Nature's tace is fair, 
 I walked forth to view the corn, 
 
 An' snuff the caller air. 
 The rising sun, owre t GALSTON Muirs, 
 
 Wi' glorious light was glintan: 
 The hares were hirpl.an down the furrs, 
 
 The lav'rocks they were chantan 
 
 Fu' sweet that day. 
 
 As lightsomely I glowr'd abroad. 
 
 To see a scene sae gay, 
 Three hizzies, early at the road, 
 
 Cam skelpan up the way. 
 Twa had manteeles o' dolefu' black. 
 
 But ane wi' lyart lining ; 
 The third, that gaed a wee a-back, 
 
 Was in the fashion shining 
 
 Fu' gay that day. 
 
 The twa appear'd like sisters twin. 
 
 In feature, form an' claes ; 
 Their visage wither'd, lang an' thin, 
 
 An' sour as ony slaes : 
 The third cam up, hap-step-an'-loup. 
 
 As light as ony lambie. 
 An' wi' a curchie low did stoop, 
 
 As soon as e'er she saw ine, 
 
 Fu' kind that day. 
 
 Wi' bonnet aff, q\ioth I, " Sweet lass, 
 
 " I think ye seem to ken me ; 
 " I'm sure I've seen that bonie face, 
 
 " But yet I canna name ye." 
 Quo' she, an' laujjhan as she spak. 
 
 An' taks me by the ban's, 
 " Ye, for my sake, hae gien the feck 
 
 " Of a' the ten cumman's 
 
 "A screed some day.'" 
 
 " ^ly name is FUN— your cronie dear, 
 
 " The nearest friend ve hae ; 
 " An' this is SUPERSTITION here, 
 
 " An' that's HYPOCRISY. 
 " I'm gaun to ♦»»<-**♦ holy fair, § 
 
 " To spend an hour in ilatfin : 
 " Gin ye'U go there, yon vunkl'd pair, 
 
 " We will get famous laughin 
 
 " At them this day." 
 
 * This reading is as the Poet amended the text in his edition of 1704. That in the 
 1786 and 1787 editions is the one generally adopted, despite the .Vuthor's own siga- 
 manual. 
 
 t Footnote, added in 17S7 •.—"Ilobj Fair is a common phrase in the West of Scotland 
 for a sacramental occasion." 
 
 X Misprinted "our" in 1786 edition. 
 
 § Manchline.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 quoth I, " With a' my heart, I'U do't ; 
 
 " I'll get my Sunday's saik on, 
 " An' meet you on the holy spot ; 
 
 " Faith, we'se hae tine remarkin I " 
 Then I gaed hame at crowdie-time, 
 
 An' soon I made me ready ; 
 For roads were clad, frae side to side, 
 
 \Vi' monie a wearie body. 
 
 In droves that day. 
 
 Here, farmers gash, in ridin graith, 
 
 Gaed hoddan by their cotters ; 
 There, swankies young, in braw braid- 
 claith. 
 
 Are sprinpan owre the gutters. 
 The lasses, skelpan bareflt, thrang, 
 
 In silks an' scarlets glitter ; 
 Wi' sweet-milk cheese, in monie a whang, 
 
 An' farls, bak'il wi' butter, 
 
 Fu' crump that day. 
 
 When by the /jlnte we set our nose, 
 
 Weel heaped up wi' ha'pence, 
 A greedy glowr black-bonnet throws. 
 
 An' we maun draw our tippence. 
 Then in we go to see the show. 
 
 On ev'rv side they're gath'ran ; 
 Somecarryan dails, some chairs an' stools, 
 
 An' some aie busy bleth'ran 
 
 Riglit loud that day. 
 
 Here stands a shed to fend the sliow'rs. 
 
 An' screen our countra Gentry ; 
 There, racer Jess, an' twa three , 
 
 Are blinkan at the entry. 
 Here sits a raw o' tittlan jads, 
 
 Wi' heaving breasts an' bare neck ; 
 An' there a batch o' WabHer lads. 
 
 Blackguarding frae K*******ck * 
 For/M« this day. 
 
 Here some are thinkan on their sins. 
 
 An' some upo' their claes ; 
 Ane curses feet that fyl'd his shins, 
 
 Anither sighs an' prays : 
 On tliis hand sits an Elect t swatch, 
 
 Wi' screw'd-up, grace-proud faces ; 
 On that, a set o' chaps, at watch, 
 
 Thrang winkan on the lasses 
 
 To chairs that day. 
 
 O happy is that man, an' blest 1 
 
 Nae wonder that it pride him I 
 Wh Lse ain dear lass, that he likes best, 
 
 < 'omes clinkan down beside him t 
 V<\' arm repos'd on the chair-back, 
 
 He sweetly does compose him ; 
 Which, by degrees, slips round her neck, 
 
 An's loof upon her bosom 
 
 Unkend that day. 
 
 Now a' the congregation o'er 
 
 Is silent expectation ; 
 For »♦*♦** speels the holy door, { 
 
 Wi' tidings o' s — Iv — t — n. § 
 Should Uornie, as in ancient days, 
 
 'Mang sons o' G — present him. 
 The vera sight o' «**»*«'s face, II 
 
 To's ain het hame had sent him 
 
 Wi' fright that day. 
 
 Hear how he clears the points o' Faith 
 
 ^Vi' rattlin an' thumpin ! 
 Xow meekly calm, now wild in wrath. 
 
 He's stampan, an' he's jumpan 1 
 His lengthen'd chin, his turn'd up snout, 
 
 His eldritch squeel an' gestures, 
 O how they fire the heart devout. 
 
 Like cantharidian plaisters 
 
 On sic a day ! 
 
 Hut hark ! the tent has chang'd it's voice ; 
 
 There's peace an' rest nae langer ; 
 For a' the real jiuiiies rise. 
 
 They canna sit for anger. 
 ***** opens out his cauld harangues, H 
 
 On -practice and on mnraU ; 
 \ n' aff the godly pour iu thrangs, 
 
 To gie the jars an' barrels 
 
 A lift that day. 
 
 What signifies his barren shine. 
 
 Of moral poiv'rs an' reason f 
 His English style, and gesture fine, * 
 
 Ave a' clean out o' season. 
 Like SOCRATES or ANTOXINE, 
 
 Or some auld pagan heathen, 
 'Ihe mural man he does define. 
 
 But ne'er a word o' faith in 
 
 That's right that day. 
 
 * Kilaiarnock. t Altered, in 1787, to " a chosen." 
 
 X Moodie. 
 § Altered, in 17S7, to " d— mn— t — n," at the suggestion of Dr. Hugh Blair. 
 
 il Moodie's. 1 Smith.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 In guid time comes an antidote 
 
 Against sic pnosion'd nostrum ; 
 For ***♦»*♦, frae the water-fit,* 
 
 Ascends tlie huly rotstrum : 
 See, up he's got the word o' G — , 
 
 An' meek an' mini has view'd it. 
 While COMMOX-SENSE t has taen the 
 road, 
 
 An' aff, an' up the Cowgate \ 
 
 last, fast that day. 
 
 Wee *♦*♦♦* niest, the Guard relieves,! 
 
 An' Orthodoxy raibles, 
 Tho' in his lieart he weel believes. 
 
 An' thinks it auld wives' fables : 
 But faitli ! the l)irkie wants a Mame, 
 
 So, cannilie he hums them ; 
 Altho' his carnal Wit and Sense 
 
 Like hafflins-wise o'ercomes him 
 At times that day. 
 
 Now, butt an' ben, the Change-house fills, 
 
 Wi' yill-caup Commentators: 
 Here's crying out for bakes an' gills, 
 
 An' there the pint-stowp clatters ; 
 While thick an' thrang, an' loud an' lang, 
 
 Wi' Logic an' wi' Scripture, 
 They raise a din, that, in the end. 
 
 Is like to breed a rupture 
 
 O' wrath that day. 
 
 Leeze me on Drink ! it gies us mair 
 
 Than either School or Colledge : 
 It kindles Wit, it waukens Lear, 
 
 It pangs us fou o' Knowledge. 
 Be't whinky-'/ill or penny-wheep. 
 
 Or ony strmiger potion, 
 It never fail-^. on drinkin deep. 
 
 To kittle up our notion. 
 
 By night or day. 
 
 The lads an' lasses, blythely bent 
 
 To mind haith satd an' body. 
 Sit round the table, weel content. 
 
 An' steer about the toddy. 
 On this ane's dress, an' that ane's leuk. 
 
 They've niakin observations ; 
 
 While some are cozie i' the neuk, 
 .Vn' forming assi<ination» 
 
 To meet some day. 
 
 But now the L — 's ain trumpet touts, 
 
 Till a' the hills are rairan. 
 An' echoes back return the shouts; 
 
 Black »♦♦♦** is na spairan: || 
 His piercin words like Highlan swords, 
 
 Divide the joints an' marrow ; 
 His talk o' H — 11, whare devils dwell, 
 
 Our vera ^ " Sauls does harrow " 
 
 Wi' fright that day I 
 
 A vast, unbottom'd, boundless Pit, 
 
 Fill'd fou o' lowan brxnistane, 
 Wliase raging flame, an' scorching heat. 
 
 Wad melt the hardest wliunstane 1 
 The half asleep start up wi' fear. 
 
 An' tiiink they hear it roaran, 
 When presently it does appear, 
 
 ' Twas but some neebnr unoran 
 Asleep that day. 
 
 'Twad be owre lang a tale to tell. 
 
 How monie stories past. 
 An' how they crouded to the yill. 
 
 When they were a' dismist : 
 llow drink gaed round, in cogs an' caups, 
 
 Amang the furms an' benches ; 
 An' cheese an' bread, frae women's laps, 
 
 Was dealt about in hinches 
 
 An' dawds that day. 
 
 In comes a gawsie, gash Guidwife, 
 
 An' sits down by the fire. 
 Syne draws her kebbuck an' her knife ; 
 
 The lasses they are shyer. 
 The auld Guidine^i. about the grace, 
 
 Frae side to side they bother. 
 Till some ane by his bonnet lays, 
 
 An' gies them't, like a tether, 
 
 Fu' lang that day. 
 
 Waesucks! for him that prets nae lass, 
 Or lasses that hae naething ! 
 
 * (The very orthodox Wm. Peebles, minister of Xewton-upon-Ayr, locally styled 
 "The Water-fit.") 
 
 + Many well-informed persons in Mauchline had the idea that the phrase "Common 
 Sense," in this passage — instead of being used allegorically to signify that the sensible 
 portion of the hearers ran away at sight of Mr. Peeldes— referred, in fact, to Mr. 
 Mackenzie, the village surgeon, who had recently published in a local journal, his 
 opinion on some topic of controversy, viVn. the signature Common Sense attached ; but 
 xs we find the poet again adopting the same allegorical phrase in "The Ordination," 
 where it can mean only Xeiv Light Doctrine, we must discard such an idea. 
 
 t Foot-note, added in 1787 :—" A street so called, which faces the tent in ." 
 
 (Mauchline.) 
 §(.Mr. Miller, a short, paunchy minister, suspected of a Neic Light tendency.) 
 II (Russell.) •! Shakespeare's Hamlet.— (R.B. 1786.)
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BUBNS. 
 
 10 
 
 Sma' need haa he to say a grace, 
 Or melvie his braw claithing ! 
 
 O Wives be mindfu', ance yoursel. 
 How bonie lails ye wanted, 
 
 An' dinna, for a kebbitck-heel. 
 Let lasses be affronted 
 
 On sic a day ! 
 
 Now Clinkumbell, wi' rattlan tow, 
 
 Begins to jow an' croon ; 
 Some swagger hame, the best they dow, 
 
 Some wait the afternoon. 
 At slaps the billies halt a blink, 
 
 Till lasses strip their shoon : 
 'Wi' faith an' hope, an' lore an' drink, 
 
 They're a' in famous tune 
 
 For crack that day. 
 
 How monie hearts this day converts, 
 
 O' sinners and o' L;isses 1 
 Their hearts o' stane, gin night are gane, 
 
 As saft as ony flesli is. 
 There's some are fou o' love divine : 
 
 There's some are fou o' brandy 
 An' monie jobs that ilay begin, 
 
 May end in Hoiuihmarjniuiie 
 
 Some ither day. 
 
 ADDRESS TO THE DEIL. 
 
 O Prince, chief nf niaiiy throned pow'rs, 
 That led th' embattid Seraphim to wai — 
 
 Mn.Tox. 
 
 O Thou, whatever title suit thee I 
 Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie, 
 Wha in yon cavern grim an' sootie, 
 
 Clos'd under hatches, 
 Spairges about the brunstane cootie, 
 
 To scaud poor wretches ! 
 
 Hear me, auld Hanpie, for a wee. 
 An' let poor, damned bodies bee :* 
 I'm sure sma' pleasure it can gie, 
 
 Ev'n to a deii. 
 To skelp an' scaud poor dogs like me, 
 
 An' hear us squeel ! 
 
 Great is thy pow'r, an' great thy fame ; 
 Far kend an' noted is thy name ; 
 An' tho' yon lowan beugh's thy hame, 
 
 Thou travels far ; 
 An' faith ! thou's neither lag nor lame. 
 
 Nor blate nor scaur. 
 
 Whyles, ranging like a roaran lion, 
 For prey, a' holes an' corners tryin ; 
 
 Whyles, on the strong-wing'd Terapert 
 tlyin, 
 
 Tirla.n the kirks ; 
 Whyles, in the human bosom pryin. 
 Unseen thou lurks. 
 
 I've heard my rev'rend Grannie say. 
 In lanely glens ye like to stray ; 
 Or where auld, ruin'd castles, gray. 
 
 Nod to the moon, 
 Ye fright the nightly wand'rer's way, 
 
 Wi' eldritch croon. 
 
 ^Vhen twilight did my Grannie summon, 
 Tae say her pray'rs, douse, honest woman ! 
 Aft 'yont the dyke she's heard yoa 
 bum man, 
 
 Wi' eerie drone ; 
 Or, rustling, thro' the boortries coman, 
 Wi' heavy groan. 
 
 Ae dreary, windy, winter night. 
 The stais shot down wi' sklentan light, 
 Wi' you, mysel, I gat a fright, 
 
 A yont the lough ; 
 Ye, like a rash-bnss. stood in sight, 
 
 Wi' waving sugli. 
 
 The cudgel in my nieve did shake. 
 Each bristi'd hair stood like a stake. 
 When wi' an eldritch, stoor qnnick, quaick 
 
 Amang tlie springs, 
 Awa ye squatter'd like a drake. 
 
 On whistling wings 
 
 Let Warlocks grim, an' wither'd Hag* 
 Tell how wi' you on raf;weed nags. 
 They skim the muirs an' dizzy crags, 
 Wi' wicked speed ; 
 And in kirk-yairds renew their leagues, 
 Owre howcket dead. 
 
 Thence, countr.a wives, wi' toil an' pain. 
 May plunge an' plunge tlie kirn in vain ; 
 For Oh I the yellow treasure's taen 
 
 By witching skill ; 
 An' dawtet, twal-pint Haivkie's gane 
 
 As yell's the Bill. 
 
 Thence, mystic knots mak great abuse. 
 On Young-Guidmen, fond, keen an' cronse; 
 When the best ivark-lume i' the house, 
 
 By cantraip wit. 
 Is instant made no worth a louse. 
 
 Just at the bit. 
 
 When thowes dissolve the snawy hoord. 
 An' float the jinglan icy ))onr<l, 
 Then Water-kelpies haunt the foord, 
 
 By your direction. 
 An' nighted Trav'llers are alhir'd 
 
 To tiieir destruction. 
 
 ' Be " in Edinburgh Edition.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURXS. 
 
 11 
 
 An' aft your raoss-traversing Spunki-'.-i 
 Decoy the wight that late an' drunk is : 
 Th'j bleezan, curst, mischievous inonldes 
 
 Delude his eyes, 
 Till in some miry slough he sunk is, 
 
 Ne'er mair to rise. 
 
 When MASONS' mystic word an' grip, 
 In storms an' tempests raise you up, 
 Some cock or cat, your rage maun stop. 
 
 Or, strange to tell I 
 The youngest Brother ve wad whip 
 
 Aff straught to H—ll. 
 
 Lang syne, in EDEN'S bonie yard, 
 When youthfu' lovers first were pair'd. 
 An' all the Soul of Love they shar'd, 
 
 The raptur'd hour. 
 Sweet on the fragrant, flow'vy swaird, 
 
 In shady bow'r.* 
 
 Then you, ye auld, snick-drawing dog 1 
 Ye cam to Paradise incog, 
 An' play'd on man a cursed brogue, 
 
 (Black be your fa' I) 
 An' gied the infant warld a shog, 
 
 'Maist ruin'd a'. 
 
 D'ye mind that day, when in a bizz 
 Wi' reeket duds, an' reestet gizz. 
 Ye did present your smoutie phiz 
 
 '.\Iang better folk, 
 An' sklented on the man of Uzz, 
 
 Your spitefu' joke ? 
 
 An' how ye gat him i' your thrall. 
 An' bruk hiin out o' house an' hal'. 
 While scabs an' botches did him gall, 
 
 Wi' bitter claw, 
 An' lows'd his ill-tongu'd, wicked Scawl 
 
 Was warst ava? 
 
 But a' your doings to rehearse. 
 Your wily snares an' fechtin tierce, 
 8in' that day t MICHAEL did you pierce, 
 
 Down to this time. 
 Wad ding a' Lallan tongue, or J-Jrse, 
 
 In Pi use or Rhyme. 
 
 An' now, auld Clootg, I ken ye're thinkan, 
 A certain Bardie's rautin, rtrinkin. 
 
 Some luckless hour will send him linkan,. 
 
 To your black pit ; 
 But faith ! he'll turn a corner jinkan. 
 
 An' cheat you yet. 
 
 But fare-you-weel, auld Xick-ie-ben! 
 O wad ye tak a thocht an' men '. 
 Ye aiblins might — I dinna ken — 
 
 Still has a ttake — 
 I'm wae to think upo' yon den, 
 
 Ev'n for your sake I 
 
 THE DEATH AND DYING WORD* 
 
 OF POOR MAILIE, 
 THE AUTHOR'S ONLY PET YOWE. 
 
 AN UNCO MOURNFU" TALE. 
 
 As MAILIE, an' her lambs thegither, 
 Was ae day nibbling on the tether, 
 Upon her cloot she coost a hitch. 
 An' owre she warsl'd in the ditch : 
 'Ihere, groaning, dying, slie did ly, 
 When I Hughoc he cam doytan by. 
 Wi' glowrin een, an' lifted ban's, 
 Poor Hughoc like a statue stan's ; 
 He saw her days were near han<l ended, 
 But, waes my heart ! he could na mend it 
 He gaped wide, but naething spak. 
 At length poor Mailie silence brak. 
 
 " O thou, whase lamentable face 
 Appears to mnurn my woefu' case ! 
 My dying wordu attentive hear. 
 An' bear them to my Master dear. 
 
 Tell him, if e'er a<iain he keep 
 As muckle gear as buy a gheep, 
 O, bid him never tye them mair, 
 Wi' wicked strings o' hemp or hair! 
 But ca' them out to park i>r hill. 
 An' let them wander at their will : 
 So, may his flock increase an' grow 
 To scores o' lambs. An' parks of woo'! 
 
 Tell him, he was a >iaster kin'. 
 An' ay was guid to me an' mine ; 
 An' now my dying charge I g:\ei him, 
 .My helpless lambs, I trust them wi' him. 
 
 ' In early MS. copies this verse reads thus ; — 
 
 " Lang syne in Eden's happy scene, 
 
 When strappin Adam's days were green, 
 And Eve was like my bonie Jean, 
 
 My dearest part, 
 A dancin, sweet, young handsome quean 
 
 Wi' guileless heart." 
 
 t Vide Milton, Book 6th.— (R.B. 1786.) J A neibor herd-callan. 
 §.More correctly "gie," in the Kilmarnock MS. 
 
 -(R.B. 1786.>
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 Vi 
 
 O, bid him save their harmless lives, 
 Frae dogs an' tods, an' butchers' knives ! 
 But gie them guiJ coiv-milk their fill, 
 Till they be tit to fend themsel ; 
 An' tent them duely, e'en an' morn, 
 Wi' taets o' hay an' ripps o' corn. 
 
 An' may they never learn the gaets, 
 V{ ither vile, waurestf u' Pels ! 
 To slink thro' slaps, an' reave an' steal, 
 At stacks o' pease, or stocks o' kail. 
 So may they, like their great forbears, 
 For monie a year come thro' the sheers : 
 So tviven will gie them bits o' bread, 
 An'baims greet for them when they 're dead. 
 
 My poor toop-lamb, my son an' heir, 
 O, bid him breed him up wi' care ! 
 An' if he live to be a beast. 
 To pit some havins in his breast ! 
 An' warn him what I winna name,* 
 To stay content wi' yowes at hame ; 
 An' no to rin an' wear his cloots. 
 Like ither menseles.'j, graceless brutes. 
 
 An' neist my yowie, silly thing, 
 Gude keep thee frae a tether string ! 
 O, may thou ne'er forgather up, 
 Wi' onie blastet, nioorlan loop ; 
 But ay keep mind to raoop an' mell, 
 Wi' sheep o' credit like thysel ! 
 
 And now, my bairns, wi' my last breath, 
 I lea'e my bles.sin wi' you baith : 
 An' when ye think upo' your Mither, 
 Mind to be kind to ane anither. 
 
 Now, honest Hughoc, dinna fail, 
 To tell my Master a' my tale ; 
 An' bid him burn this cursed tether. 
 An' for thy pains thou'se get my blather." 
 
 This said, poor itailie turn'd her head, 
 An' closed her een amang tlie dead ! 
 
 POOR MAILIE'S ELEGY. 
 
 Lament in rhyme, lament in prose, 
 
 Wi' saut tears trickling down your nose ; 
 
 Our Bardie's fate is at a close. 
 
 Past a' reniead ! 
 The last, sad cape-stane of his woes ; 
 
 Poor MaiUt-'s dead ! 
 
 It's no the loss o' warl's gear, 
 That could lae bitter draw the tear. 
 Or make our Bardie, dowie, wear 
 
 The mourning weed : 
 He's lost a friend and neebor dear, 
 
 In Mailie dead. 
 
 Thro' a' the town she trotted by him ; 
 \ lang half-mile she could descry him ; 
 Wi' kindly bleat, when she did spy him. 
 
 She ran wi' speed : 
 A friend mair faithfu' ne'er came nigh him, 
 
 Than Mailie dead. 
 
 I wat she was a sheep o' sense. 
 An' could behave hersel wi' mense: 
 I'll say't, she never brak a fence, 
 
 Thro' thievish greed. 
 Our Bardie, lanely.t keeps the spence 
 
 Sin' Mailie's dead. 
 
 Or, if he wanders up the howe, 
 Her living image in her yowe. 
 Comes bleating till him, owre the knowe. 
 
 For bits o' bread ; 
 An' down the briny pearls rowe 
 
 For Mailie dead. 
 
 She was nae get o' moorlan tips, 
 Wi' tauted ket, an' hairy hips ; 
 For her forbears were brought in ships, 
 
 Frae 'yont the TWEED : 
 A homer fleesh ne'er cross'd the clips 
 
 Than Mailie's dead.} 
 
 Wae worth that § man wha' first did 
 shape, 
 Tliat vile, wanchancie thing — a raep! 
 It maks guid fellows girn an' gape, 
 
 Wi' chokin dread ; 
 An' Robin's bonnet wave wi' crape 
 For Mailie dead. 
 
 O, a' ye Bards on bonie DOON 1 
 An' wha on AIRE II your chanters tuael 
 (.'ome, join the mebincholious croon 
 
 O' Uubin's reed I 
 His heart will never get aboon 1 
 
 His Mailie's dead 1 
 
 *The 17S6 edition has a different reading. 
 
 t "Robin" in Kilmarnock MS. There are a few other unimportant verbal variations. 
 
 i In the Kilmarnock MS. this verse reads as follows, but is cancelled by the Poet:— 
 
 " She was nae get o' runted rams, 
 Wi' woo' Uke goat's, an' legs like trams ; 
 She was the flower o' Faiilee lambs, 
 
 A famous breed : 
 Xow Robin, greetin' chows the hams 
 U' Mailie dead." 
 
 § Altered, in 1787, to " the. 
 
 i Altered, in 1787, to "Ayr."
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 13 
 
 TO J. S'«**.* 
 
 Friendship, mysterious cement of the soul i 
 Sweet'ner of Life, and solder of Society ! 
 I owe thee much 
 
 Blair. 
 
 Dear S****, the sleest, pawkie thief, 
 That e'er attempted stealth or rief, 
 Ye surely hae some warlock-breef 
 
 Owre human hearts ; 
 For ne'er a bosom yet was prief 
 
 Against your arts. 
 
 For me, I swear by sun an' moon, 
 And ev'ry star that blinks aboon, 
 Ye've cost me twenty pair o' shoon 
 
 Just gaun to see you ; 
 An' eT'ry ither pair that's done, 
 
 Mair taen I'm wi' you. 
 
 That auld, capricious carlin, Nature, 
 To mak amends for sorimpet stature, 
 She's turn'd you off, a human-creature 
 
 On "her first plan, 
 And in her freaks, on ev'ry feature. 
 
 She's wrote, the Man. 
 
 Just now I've taen the fit o' rhyme, 
 My barmie noddle's working prime, 
 My fancy yerket up sul)lime 
 
 Wi' hasty summon : 
 Hae ye a leisure-moment's time 
 
 To hear what's comin ? 
 
 Some rhyme a neebor's name to lash ; 
 Some rhyme, (vain thought I) for needfu' 
 
 cash ; 
 Some rhyme to court the countra clash, 
 
 An' rai.se a din ; 
 For me, an aim I never fash ; 
 
 I rhyme i or fun. 
 
 The star that rules my luckless lot. 
 Has fated me the russet coat. 
 An' damn'd my fortune to the cjroat ; 
 
 But, in requit. 
 Has blest me with m, random-shi.t 
 
 O' couutra wit. 
 
 This while my notion's taen a sklent. 
 To try my fate in Ruid, l)lick pre.nl; 
 But still the mair I'm tliat way bent. 
 
 Something cries " lloolie 1 
 " I red you, honest Tuan, tak tent 1 
 
 " Ye'U sliaw your folly. 
 
 " There's ither Poets, much your betters^ 
 " Far seen in Greek, deep men o' letters, 
 " Hae thought they had ensur'd their 
 debtors, 
 
 " A' future ages ; 
 " Now moths deform in shapeless tatters, 
 " Their unknown pages." 
 
 Then farewel hopes of Laurel-boughs, 
 To garland my poetic brows 1 
 Henceforth, I'll rove where busy ploughs- 
 Are whistling thrang. 
 An' teach the lanely heights an' howes 
 My rustic sang. 
 
 I'll wander on with tentless heed. 
 How never-halting moments speed. 
 Till fate shall snap the brittle thread ; 
 
 Then, all unknown, 
 I'll lay me with th' inglorious dead. 
 
 Forgot and gone! 
 
 But why, o' Death, begin a tale ? 
 
 Just now we're living sound an' hale; 
 
 Then top and maintop croud the sail, 
 j Heave Car« o'er-sidet 
 
 And large, before Enjoyment's gale, 
 ' Let's tak the tide. 
 
 This life, sae far's I understand, 
 Is a' enchanted fairy-land. 
 Where Pleasure is the Magic-wand, 
 
 That, wielded right, 
 Maks Hours like Minutes, haml in hand. 
 Dance by fu' light. 
 
 The magic-wand then let us wieM ; 
 For, ance'that Ave an' forty's speel'd. 
 See, crazy, weary, joyless Eild, 
 
 Wi' wrinkl'd face. 
 Comes hostan, hirplan owre the tield, 
 
 Wi' creeping pace. 
 
 When ance life's day draws near th» 
 gloamin, 
 Then fareweel vacant, careless roaniiu; 
 An' fareweel chearfu' tankards loaniin, 
 
 An' social noise ; 
 An' fareweel dear, deluding wmnan. 
 The joy of joys ! 
 
 O Life! how pleasant in thy morning. 
 Young Fancy's rays the hills ailorniiiL; 1 
 Cold-pausing Caution's lessfiu SL-orniug, 
 
 We frisk away, 
 Like school-boys, at th' e."cpected warning. 
 
 To joy and play. 
 
 We wander there, we wander here. 
 We eye the mse upon the brier. 
 
 * James Smith. Merchant, Mauchline.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 M 
 
 tJnmindf ul that the thorn is near, 
 
 Among the leaves; 
 
 And tho' the puny wound appear, 
 
 Short while it grieves. 
 
 Some, lucky, tind a flow'ry spot, 
 For which they never toil d nor swat; 
 They drink the xu'eet and eat the/at, 
 
 But care or pain ; 
 And hap'ly, eye the barren hut. 
 
 With high disdain. 
 
 With steady aim. Some Fortune chase ; 
 Keen hope does ev'vy sinew brace ; 
 Thro' fair, thro' foul, they urge the race, 
 
 And seize the prey: 
 Then canie, in some cozie place, j 
 
 They close the day. 
 
 And others, like your humble servan', ; 
 Poor ivights ! nae rules nor roads observin ; j 
 To right or left, eternal swervin, i 
 
 They zig-zag on; \ 
 
 Till curst with Age, obscure an' starvin, 
 
 They af ten groan. 1 
 
 Alas! what bitter toil an' straining — 
 But truce with peevish, poor complaining ! 
 Is Fortune's fickle Lima waning? 
 
 E'en let her gang! 
 Beneath what light she has remaiidng, 
 
 Let's sing our Sang. 
 
 My pen I here fling to the door, 
 And kneel, 'Ye Pow'r>i, and warm implore, 
 ' Tho' I should wander Terra o'er, 
 
 'In all her climes, 
 ' Grant me but this, I ask no more, 
 
 'Ay rowth o" rhymes. 
 
 ' Gie dreeping roasts to countra Lairds, 
 'Till icicles hing frae their beards; 
 'Gie tine biaw claes to fine Life-guards, 
 
 ' And Maids of Honor ; 
 'And yUl an' whisky gie to Cairds, 
 
 ' Until they sconner. 
 
 'A Title, DEMPSTER merits it; 
 'A Garter gie to WILLIE PIT ; 
 'Gie Wealth to some be-ledger'd Cit, 
 
 ' In cent per cent; 
 'But give me real, sterlini: Wit, 
 
 ' And I'm content. 
 
 ' \Vhile ye are pleas'd to keep me hale, 
 'I'll sit down o'er my scanty meal, 
 'Be 't uater-brose, or mudlin-hail, 
 
 ' Wi' chearfu' face, 
 'As lang's the Muses dinna fail 
 
 ' To say the grace.' 
 
 An anxious e'e I never throws 
 Behint my lug, or by my nose : 
 I jouk beneath Misf'ortnne'.s blows 
 
 As weel's I may; 
 Sworn foe to sorrow, care, and prose, 
 
 I rhyme away. 
 
 O ye, douse folk, that live by rule, 
 Grave, tideless-blooded, calm and cool, 
 Compard wi' you— O fool ! fool! fool! 
 
 How much unlike ! 
 Your hearts are just a standing pool, 
 
 Your lives, a dyke ! 
 
 Nae hare-brain'd, sentimental traces, 
 In your unletter'd, nameless faces 1 
 In arioso trills and graces 
 
 Ye never stray, 
 But gravissimo, solemn basses. 
 
 Ye hum away. 
 
 Ye are sae grave, nae doubt ye're wise; 
 Nae ferly tho' ye do despise 
 The hairum-scairum, ram-stam boys, 
 
 The rambling * squad : 
 I see ye upward cast your eyes — 
 
 — Ye ken "the road — 
 
 Whilst I— but I shall hand me there — 
 Wi' you I'll scarce gang oiuj where — 
 Then Jamie, I shall say nae mair, 
 
 But quat my sang. 
 Content with YOU to mak a ijair, 
 Whare'er I gang. 
 
 A DREAM. 
 
 Thoughts, words and deeds, the Statute 
 
 blames ivith reasnn; 
 But surely Dreams were ne'er indicted 
 
 Treason. 
 
 ON READING, I.V THE PUBLIC PAPEKS, TH8 
 LAUREATE'S ODE, WITH THE OTHER 
 PARADE OF JUNE 4th, 17SG, THE AUTHOR 
 WAS NO SOONER DKOPT ASI.HEP, THAV HE 
 IMAGINED HIMSELF TRAN;^POKTED TO 
 THE BIRTH-DAV LEVEE; AND, IN HIS 
 DREAMING FANCY, MADE THE FOLLOWING 
 ADDRESS. 
 
 GUID-MORNIN to your MAJESTY! 
 
 May heaven augment your blisses. 
 On ev'ry new Birth-day ye see, 
 
 A humble Bardie f wishes 1 
 
 *Altered, in 1787, to "rattling." 
 
 t Altered, in 1734, to "Poet."
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 15 
 
 My Bardship here, at your Levee, 
 
 On sic a day as this is, 
 [s sure an uncouth sight to see, 
 
 Amang thae liirth-day dresses 
 
 i?ae tine this day. 
 
 I see ye're complimented thrang. 
 
 By many a lord an' lady ; 
 " <Tod save the King " 's a cukoo sang 
 
 That's unco easy said ay : 
 The Poets too, a venal gang, 
 
 Wi' rhymes weel-turn'd an' ready. 
 Wad gar you trow ye ne'er do wrang, 
 
 But ay unerring steady, 
 
 On sic a day. 
 
 For me ! before a Monarch's face, 
 
 Ev'n there I winna datter ; 
 For neither Pensinn, Post, nor Place, 
 
 Am I your humble debtor : 
 So, nae reflection on YOUR GRACE, 
 
 Your Kingship to bespatter ; 
 There's monie icaur been u' the Race, 
 
 And aiblins aae been better 
 
 Than You this day. 
 
 'Tis very true, my sovereign King, 
 
 My skill may weel be doubted ; 
 But Facts are cheels that winna ding. 
 
 An' downa be disputed : 
 Your royal nest, beneath Voxir wing. 
 
 Is e'en right reft an' clouted, 
 And now the third part o' the string, 
 
 An' less, will gang aliout it 
 
 Than did ae day. * 
 
 Far be't frae me that I aspire 
 
 To blame your Legislation, 
 Or say, ye wisdom want, or tire, 
 
 To rule this mighty nation ; 
 But faith ! I muckle doubt, my SIRE, 
 
 Ye've trusted 'Ministration, 
 To chaps, wha, in a bam or byre, 
 
 Wad better flll'd their station 
 
 Thau courts yon day. 
 
 And now Ye've gien auld Bn(am peace, 
 
 Her broken shins to plaister ; 
 Your sair tnxation does her fleece. 
 
 Till she lias scarce a tester : 
 For me, thank (Jod, my life's a lease, 
 
 Xae baraain wearing faster. 
 Or faith I 1 fear, tiial, wi' the geese, 
 
 I shortly boost ti. pasture 
 
 I' the craft some day. 
 
 I'm no mistrusting Willie Pit, 
 
 When taxes he enlarges, 
 (An' Wilis a true guid fallow's get, 
 
 A Name not Envy spairges) 
 That he intends to pay your debt. 
 
 An' lessen a' your char<7es; 
 But, G — d-sake ! let nae saving-Jit 
 
 Abridge your bonie Barges 
 
 An' Boats this day. 
 
 Adieu, my LIEGE; may Freedom geek 
 
 Beneath your high protection ; 
 Au' may Ye rax Corruption's neck, 
 
 And gie her for dissection ! 
 But since I'm here, I'll no neglect, 
 
 In loyal, true affection. 
 To pay your QUEEN, with due respect, 
 
 My "fealty an' subjection 
 
 This great Birth-day. 
 
 Hail, Majesty most Excellent ! 
 
 While Nobles strive to please Ye, 
 Will Ye .accept a Compliment, 
 
 A simple Bardie t gies Ye? 
 Thae bonie Bairntime, Heav'n has lent, 
 
 Still higher may they heeze Ye 
 In bliss, till Fate some day is sent, 
 
 For ever to release Ye 
 
 Frae Care that day. 
 
 For you, young Potentate o' W — , 
 
 I tell your Highness fairly, 
 Down Pleasure's stream, wi' swelling sails, 
 
 I'm tauld ye're driving rarely ; 
 But some day ye may gnaw your nails, 
 j An' curse your folly sairly, 
 That e'er ye lirak Di^uia's pales. 
 Or rattl'd dice wi' Charlie 
 
 By night or day. J 
 
 Yet aft a ragged Coyote's been known, 
 
 To mak a noble Airer; 
 So, ye may dousely till a Throne, 
 
 For a' their Clish-ma-claver: 
 There, Him § at Agrncuurt wha shone 
 
 Few better were or braver ; 
 And yet, wi' funny, queer ^ir tl John, 
 
 He was an unco shaver 
 
 For monie a day. 
 
 For you, right rev'rend () , "] 
 
 Nane sets the laicii-s'.i'eve sweeter, 
 
 Altho' a ribban .at your lug 
 Wad been a dress compleater: 
 
 ♦Alluding to the loss of our American Colonies, itc. t Altered, in 17L»4, to "Poet." 
 
 J Tlie I'rince of Wales was then of the Whig, or Fox Party. 
 
 § Foot-note, 17S7, "King Henry." 
 
 I| Sir .John Falstatf, Vide Shakespeare.— (R. B. 1786.) 
 
 H Frederick, the second son of George III., at first Bishop of Osnaburg, afterwards 
 Duke i.f York.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 16 
 
 As ye disown yon paughty flog;, 
 That bears the Keys of Peter, 
 
 Then swith ! an' get a ivife to hug, 
 Or trouth ! ye'U stain the Mitre 
 
 Some luckless day. 
 
 Young, royal TARRY-BREEKS, I learn, 
 
 Ye've lately come athwart her ; 
 A glorious * Galley, stem and stern, 
 
 Weel rifjg'd for Venus barter ; 
 But first hang out that she'll discern. 
 
 Your hymeneal Charter, 
 Then heave aboard your grapple aim. 
 
 An', large upon her quarter. 
 
 Come full that day. 
 
 Ye lastly, bonie blossoms a', 
 
 Ye royal Lasses dainty, 
 Heav'n mak you guid as weel as braw. 
 
 An' gie you lads a plenty : 
 But sneer na British-buys awa ; 
 
 For King's are unco scant ay. 
 An' German-Gentles are but stna'. 
 
 They're better just than tcant ay 
 On onie day. 
 
 God bless you a' ! consider now, 
 
 Ye're unco muckle dautet; 
 But ere the course o' life be through. 
 
 It may be bitter sautet : 
 An' I hae seen their corgie fou, 
 
 That yet hae tarrow'c at it. 
 But or the day was done, I trow. 
 
 The laggen they hae olautet 
 
 Fu' clean that day. 
 
 THE VISION. 
 
 DU.^.V riRST. t 
 
 The sun had clos'd the winter-day, 
 The Curlers qiiat their roaring play. 
 And hunger'd Maukin taen her way 
 
 To kail-yards sreen. 
 While faithless snaws ilk step betray 
 
 Whare she has been. 
 
 The Thresher's y!en.ry fiingin-tree, 
 The lee-lang day had tir'd me; 
 And when the Day bad clos'd hi^ e'e. 
 
 Far i' the West, 
 Ben I' the Spence, ri:;!it pensivehe, 
 I gaed to rest. 
 
 There, lanely, by the ingle-cheek, 
 I sat and ey'd the spewing reek. 
 That flll'd, wi' hoast-provoking smeek, 
 
 The auld, clay biggin; 
 And beard the restless rattons squeak 
 
 About the riggin. 
 
 All in this mottie, mistie clime, 
 I backward mua'd on wasted time. 
 How I had spent my youthfu' prime. 
 
 An' done naething. 
 But stringing blethers up in rhyme 
 For fools to sing. 
 
 Had I to guid advice but harket, 
 I might, by this, hae led a market. 
 Or strutted in a Bank and claiket 
 
 My Cash Account; 
 While here, half-mad, half-fed, half sarket. 
 Is a' til' amount. 
 
 I started, mutt'ring blockhead ! coof 1 
 And heav'd on high my wauket loof, 
 To swear by a' yon starry roof. 
 
 Or some rash aith. 
 That I, henceforth, would be rhyme-proof 
 
 Till my last, breath — 
 
 When click ! the string the snick did 
 draw ; 
 And jee 1 the door gaed to the wa' ; 
 And oy my ingle-lowe I saw, 
 
 Now bleezan bright, 
 A tight, outlandish Hizzie, braw. 
 
 Come full in sight. 
 
 Ye need na doubt, I held my whisht; 
 The infant aith, half-form'd, was crusht; 
 I glowr'd as eerie's I'd been dusht, 
 
 In some wild glen ; 
 When sweet, like modest H'ort/i.sheblusht, 
 
 And stepped ben. 
 
 Green, slender, leaf-clad Holly-boughs 
 Were twisted, gracefn'. round her brows, 
 I took her for some SCOTTISH MUSE, 
 
 By that same token ; 
 And come to stop those reckless vows. 
 
 Would soon been broken. 
 
 A "hare-brain'd, sentimental trace" 
 Was strongly marked in her face ; 
 A wildly-witty, rustic gnce 
 
 Shone full upon her; 
 Her eye, ev'n turn'd on empty space, 
 
 Beam'd keen with Honor. 
 
 * Alluding to the Newspaper accountof a certain royal Sailoi-'s Amour.— (R.B. 17S6.> 
 [His alliance with Mrs. Jordan, the actress.] 
 
 t Duan, a term of Ossian's for the different divisions of a digressive Poem. See his 
 Cath-Loda, Vol. -2 of M'Pherson's Translation. (R.B. 17S6.)
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 17 
 
 Down floWd her robe, a tartan sheen, 
 Till hali a leg was scriinply seen ; 
 And such a leg ! my bonny Jean, * 
 
 Could only peer it ; 
 Sae straught, sae taper, tiglit and clean, 
 Nane else came near it. 
 
 Her Mantle large, of greenish hue, 
 My gazing wonder chiefly drew; 
 Deep lights and shades, bold-mingling, 
 threw 
 
 A lustre grand ; 
 And seem'd, to my astonish'd view, 
 
 A well-knuiun Land. 
 
 Here, rivers in the sea were lost ; 
 There, mountains to the skies were tost : 
 Here, tumbling billows mark'd the coast, 
 
 With surging foam; 
 There, distant shone. Art's lofty boast. 
 The lordly dome. 
 
 Here, DOON pour'd down hisfar-fetch'd 
 floods ; 
 There, well-fed IRWINE stately thuds: 
 Auld, hermit AIRE t staw thro' his woods. 
 
 On to the shore; 
 And many a lesser torrent scuds. 
 
 With seeming roar. 
 
 Low, in a sandv vallev spread, 
 An ancient BOROUCiH rear'd her head : 
 StUl, as in Scottish Stor>i read. 
 
 She boasts a Race, 
 To ev'ry nobler virtue bred. 
 
 And polish'd grace. 
 
 DU.^N SECOND. 
 
 With musing-deep, astonish'd stare, 
 I view'dthe heavenly-seeming Fair; 
 A whisp'ring throb did witness bear 
 
 Of kindred sweet, 
 When with an elder Sister's air 
 
 She did me greet. 
 
 ' All hail ! my own inspired Bard I 
 ' In me thy native Muse regard ! 
 'Nor longer mourn thy fate ia hard, 
 
 'Thus poorly low ! 
 'I come to give thee such reirnnl, 
 
 'As we bestow. 
 
 ' Know, the great Genius of this Land, 
 ' Has many a light aerial band, 
 'Who, all beneath his high command, 
 
 ' Harmoniously, 
 'As Arts or Arms they understand, 
 'Their labours ply. 
 
 'They SCOTIA'S Race among them 
 share; 
 'Some fire the Sodger on to dare; 
 ' Some rouse the Patriot up to bare 
 
 ' Corruption's heart : 
 'Some teach the Bard, a <iarling care, 
 'The tuneful Art. 
 
 "Mong swelling floods of reeking gore, 
 'They ardent, kindling spirits pour; 
 'Or, mid the venal Senate's roar, 
 
 'They, sightless, stand, 
 ' To mend the honest Patriot-lore, 
 
 ' And grace the hand.J 
 
 'Hence FULLARTOX, the brave and 
 voung ; 
 'Hence, DEMPSTER'S truth-prevailing § 
 
 tongue ; 
 ' Hence, sweet harmonious BEATTIB sung 
 
 ' His " Minstrel lays ;" 
 'Or tore, with noble ardour stung, 
 
 'The Sceptic's bays. 
 
 ' To lower Orders are assign'd. 
 The humbler ranks of Human-kind, 
 'The rustic Bard, the lab'ring Hind, 
 
 'The Artisan; 
 'All chuse, as, various they're inclin'd, 
 'The various man. 
 
 'When yellow waves the heavy grain, 
 'The threat'ning Storm, some, strongly, 
 
 rein ; 
 'Some teach to meliorate the plain, 
 
 ' With tillage-skill ; 
 'And some instruct the Shepherd-train, 
 •Blythe o'er the hill. 
 
 'Some hint the Lover's harmless wile; 
 '.Some grace the Maiden's artless smile; 
 'Some soothe the Lab'rer's weary toil, 
 
 ' For humble gains, 
 ' And make his cottage scenes beguile 
 
 'His cares and pains. 
 
 * " My BESS, I ween," in 1786 edition. 
 
 1 A verse introduced here, in 1787 :— 
 
 " And when the Bard, or hoary Sage, 
 Charm or instruct the future age, 
 Tliey bind the wild Poetic rage 
 
 In energy. 
 Or point the inconclusive page 
 
 Full on the eye." 
 § Altered, in 17S7, " zeal-inspired." 
 
 Ti 
 
 t Altered, in 17S7, to " Ayr."
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 18 
 
 'Some, bounded to a district-space, 
 'Explore at large Man's infant race, 
 'To mark the embryotic trace, 
 
 'Of rnstic Bard; 
 'And careful note each op'nin^ grace, 
 
 ' A guide and guard. 
 
 'Of these am 7— COILA my name; 
 'And this district as mine I claim, 
 ' Whereonce the Camjyhell's " chiefs of fame, 
 
 'Held ruling pow'r : 
 'I mark'd thy embryo-tuneful flame, 
 ' Thy natal hour. 
 
 ' With future hope, I oft would gaze, 
 'Fond, on thy little, early ways, 
 'Thy rudely-caroU'd, chiming phrase, 
 
 'In uncouth rhymes, 
 ' Fir'd at the simple, artless lays 
 'Of other times. 
 
 'I saw thee seek the sounding shove, 
 'Delighted with the dashing roar; 
 'Or when the North his tleecy store 
 
 'Drove thro' the sky, 
 'I saw grim Nature's visage hoar, 
 
 'Struck thy young eye. 
 
 'Or when the deep-green-mantl'd Earth, 
 'Warm-cherish'd ev'ry floweret's birth, 
 'And joy and music pouring forth, 
 
 ' In ev'ry grove, 
 'I saw thee eye the gen'ral mirth 
 
 'With boundless love. 
 
 ' \Vhen ripen'd fields, and azure skies, 
 'Call'd forth the Roaper's rustling noise, 
 •J saw thee leave their ev'ning joys, 
 'And lonely stalk, 
 'To vent thy bosom's swelling rise, 
 ' In pensive walk. 
 
 ' Misled by Fancy's meteor-ray, 
 
 ' By Passion driven ; 
 
 'But yet the light that led astray, 
 
 ' Was light from Heaven. 
 
 "I taught thy manners-painting strains, 
 'The liives, the ways of simple swains, 
 'Till now, o'er all my wide domains, 
 
 'Thy fame extends; 
 'And some, the pride of Coila's plains, 
 
 'Become thy friends. 
 
 'Thou canst not learn, nor I can show, 
 'To paint with T/ioinsovi's landscape-glow 
 'Or wake the bosom-melting throe, 
 
 'With Shenstone's art; 
 'Or pour, with Gray, the moving flow, 
 
 ' Warm on the heart. 
 
 ' Yet all beneath th' unrivall'd Rose, 
 'Tlie Icwly Daisy sweetly blows; 
 'J ho' large the forest's Monarch throws 
 
 'His army shade, 
 ' Vet green the juicy Hawthorn grows, 
 
 ' Adown the glade. 
 
 I 'Then never murmur nor repine ; 
 I 'Strive in thy humble sphere to shine; 
 ! '.-Viul trust me, not Potosi'smiyie, 
 ) ' Nor Kin^s regard, 
 
 ' (an give a bliss o'ermatchmg thine, 
 'A rustic Bard. 
 
 'To give my counsels all in one, 
 riiy tuneful jlams still careful fan; 
 I ' Preserve the dignity of Man, 
 
 • \Vith Soul erect ; 
 'And trust, the UNIVERSAL PLAN 
 ' Will all protect. 
 
 'When youthful Love, warm-blushing, 
 strong, 
 'Keen-shivering shot thy nerves along, 
 'Those accents, grateful to thy tongue, 
 
 ' Th' adored Name, 
 'I taught thee how to pour in song, 
 
 'To soothe thy flame. 
 
 'I saw thy pulse's maddening play, 
 *Wild-send thee Pleasure's devious way. 
 
 'And wear thou this' — She solemn said, 
 And bound the Holly round my head : 
 The polish'd leaves, and berries red. 
 
 Did rustling play; 
 And, like a passing thought, she fled, 
 
 In light away. 
 
 * Mossgiel and its neighbourhood belonged to the Earl of Loudoun : family surname, 
 Campbell.
 
 THE POEMS AND SOXGS OF BURXS. 
 
 10 
 
 The {ollo>ving POEM will, by many 
 Readers, be well enough understood ; 
 but, for the sake of those who are 
 unacquainted with the manners and 
 traditions of the country where the scene 
 is cast, Notes are added, to give some 
 account of the principal Charms and 
 Spells of that Night, so big with Pro- 
 phecy to the Peasantry in the West of 
 Scotland. The passion of prying into 
 Futurity makes a striking part of the 
 history of Human-nature, in its rude 
 state, in all ages and nations ; and it may 
 be some entertainment to a philosophic 
 mind, if any such should honor the 
 Author with a persual, to see the remains 
 of it, among the more unenlightened in 
 our own. — (R. H. 17S6.) 
 
 HALLOWEEN. • 
 
 Yes .' let the liich deride, the Prcntd disdain, 
 The simple pleastnrs of the hmiii train; 
 To me more dear, congenial to my heart. 
 One native charm, than all the gloss of art. 
 
 Goldsmith. 
 
 Upon that night, when Fairies light. 
 
 On Cassilis Dnniiansi dance, 
 Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze, 
 
 On sprightly coursers prance; 
 Or for Cohan, the rout is taen, 
 
 Beneath the moon's pale beams ; 
 There, up the Cove, { to stray an' rove, 
 
 Amang the rocks an' streams 
 
 To sport that night. 
 
 Amang the bonie, winding banks. 
 
 Where Doon rins, wimplin, clear. 
 Where Bruce S ancerul'd the martial ranks, 
 
 An' shook his Carrick spear, 
 Some merry, friendly, countra folks, 
 
 Together did convene. 
 To bum their nits, an' pou their stocks, 
 
 An' haud their Halluween 
 
 Fu' blythe that night. 
 
 The lasses feat, an' cleanly neat, 
 
 Mair braw than when they're fine ; 
 Their faces blythe, fu' sweetly kythe. 
 
 Hearts leal, an' warm, an' kin' : 
 The lads sae trig, wi' wooer-babs, 
 
 Weel knotted on their garten. 
 Some unco blate, an' some wi' gabs, 
 
 Car lasses hearts gang startin 
 
 Whyles fast at night. 
 
 Then, first an' foremost, thro' the kail, 
 
 Their stocks \\ maun a' be sought ance : 
 They steek their een, an' grape an' wale. 
 
 For muckle anes, an' straught anes. 
 Poor hav'rel Will fell atf the drift. 
 
 An' wander'd thro' the Bow-kail, 
 An' pow't, for want o' better shift, 
 
 A runt was like a sow-tail 
 
 Sae bow't that nigiic. 
 
 Tlien, straught or crooked, yird or nane, 
 
 They roar an' cry a' throw'ther; 
 Tlie \CTa,7vee-things, toddlan, rin, 
 
 Wi' stocks out owre their shouther : 
 Au' gif the custock's sweet or sour, 
 
 Wi' joctelegs they taste them : 
 Syne coziely, aboon the door, 
 
 Wi' cannie care, they've plac'd them 
 To Ive that night. 
 
 *Is thought to be a night when Witches, Devils, and other mischief-making beings, 
 are all abroad on their baneful, midnight errands: particularly, those aerial people, 
 the Fairies, are said, on that night, to hold a grand Anniversary.— (R. B. 17S6.) 
 
 + Certain little, romantic, rocky, green hiUs, in the neighbourhood of the ancient 
 seat of the Earls of Cassilis.— (R. B. 17S6.) 
 
 ; A noted cavern near Colean-house, called the Cove of Colean ; wliich, as well as 
 Cassilis Downans, is famed, in country story, for being a favourite haunt of Fairies.— 
 (R.B. 17SC.) 
 
 ^The famous fiunily of that name, the ancestors of ROBERT tlie great Deliverer of 
 his country, were ICarls of Carrick.— (R. B. 1786.) 
 
 11 The first ceremony of Halloween, is, pulling each a Stock, or plant of kail. They 
 must go out, hand in'hand, with eyes shut, and pull tlie first they meet with : its bein" 
 big or little, straight or rronked, is prophetic of tlie size and shape of the grand object 
 of all their Spells— the luishand or wife. If any pird, or earth, stick to the root, that 
 is tocher, or fortune; and the taste of the custoc, that is, the heart of the stt-ni. \i 
 indicative of the natural temper and disposition. Lastly, the stems, or to give tlie:u 
 tiieir ordinary npfiellation, the rants, are placed somewhere above the head (if the 
 door; and tlie christian names of the people whom chance brings into the house, are, 
 according to the prinrity nf placing the runts, the names in ([uestion. — (R. B. 17SG.)
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 
 20 
 
 The lasses staw frae 'mang them a', 
 
 To pou their stalks o' com;* 
 But Rah slips out, an' jinks about, 
 
 Behint the muckle thorn: 
 He grippet Nelly hard an' fast ; 
 
 Loud skirl'd a' the lasses ; 
 But her tap-pickle maist was lost, 
 
 When kiutlan in the Fause-house f 
 Wi' him that night. 
 
 The auld Guid wife's weel-hoordet i"'^ 
 
 Are round an' round divideil, 
 An' monie lads an' lasses fates 
 
 Are there that nij^ht decided : 
 Some kindle, couthie, side by side, 
 
 An' bum thegither trimly ; 
 Some start awa, wi' saucy pride, 
 
 An' jump out o^vTe the chimlie 
 
 Fu' high that night. 
 
 Jean slips in twa, wi' tentie e'e; 
 
 Wha 'twas, she wadna tell; 
 But this is Jock, an' this is me. 
 
 She says in to horsel : 
 He bleez'd owre her, an' she owre him 
 
 As they wad never raair part. 
 Till fufE ! he started up the luni. 
 
 An' Jean had e'en a sair heart 
 
 To see't that night 
 
 Poor Willie, wi' his hmv-kail runt. 
 
 Was brunt wi' primsie Malli.e ; 
 An' Marri, nae doubt, took the diuut. 
 
 To be compared to Willie: 
 ball's nit lap out, wi' pridefu' fling, 
 
 An' her ain fit, it brunt it; 
 While Willie lap, an' swoor by jinr/, 
 
 "Twas just the way he wanted 
 
 To be that ui-lit. 
 
 Xell had the Fause-house in her min", 
 
 She pits her361 an' Rob in ; 
 In loving bleeze they sweetly join. 
 
 Till white in ase they're sobbin : 
 Nell's heart was dancin at the view ; 
 
 She whisper'd Rob to leuk for't : 
 Rob, stownlins, prie'd her bonie mon. 
 
 Fu' cozie in the neuk for't, 
 
 Unseen that night 
 
 But Merran sat behint their backs, 
 
 Her thoughts on Andrew Bell; 
 She lea'es them gashan at their crack-. 
 An' slips out by hersel : 
 I She thro' the yard the nearest taks. 
 An' for the kiln she goes then. 
 An' darklins grapet for the bauks. 
 And in theblue-clue § throws then. 
 
 Right feart that ni^hi 
 
 An' ay she win't, an' ay she swat, 
 
 I wat she made nae jaukin : 
 Till something held within the pat, 
 
 Guid L— d ! but she was quaukin '. 
 But whether 'twas the Deil himsel. 
 
 Or whether 'twas a bauk-en'. 
 Or whether it was Andrew Bell, 
 
 She did na wait on talkin 
 
 To spier that nigbt. 
 
 Wee Jenny to her Grannie says, 
 
 ' Will ye go wi' me Grannie? 
 'I'll eat the apple II at the glaas, 
 
 ' I gat frae Uncle Johnie :' 
 She fuff't her pipe wi' sic a hint, 
 
 In wrath she was sae vap'riii. 
 She notic't na, an aizle brunt 
 
 Her braw, new, worset apron 
 
 Out thro' that night 
 
 *They go to the barn-yard, and pull each, at three several times, a stalk of Oats. If 
 the third stalk wants tlie top-pickle, that is the grain at the top of the stalk, the party 
 in question will come to the marriage-bed anything but a maid.— (R. B. 17S6-87.) 
 
 tWhen the corn is in a doubtful state, by being green, or wet, the Stack-builder, by 
 means of old timber, li-c. makes a large apartment in his stack, with an opening in the 
 side which is fairest exposed to the wind : this he calls a Fattse-house.—(R. B. 1786.) 
 
 t Burning the nuts is a favourite charrn. They name_ the lad and lass to each 
 particular nut, as they lay tliem in the fire; and according as they burn quietly 
 together, or start from beside one an ther, the course and issue of the Courtship will 
 be.— (R.B. ]7«G.) 
 
 § Whoever would, with success, ti y 
 Steal out, all alone, to the ki/n. anil, 
 wind it in a new clew off the old one 
 the thread: ileiua.nd, ivha haudu^ i. 
 the kilnpot, by naming the christ 
 1786.) 
 
 II Take a candle, and go, alone, tu 
 traditions say you should comb ynur 
 panion, to be, will be seen in the glas 
 
 this spell, must strictly observe these directions, 
 darkling, throw into the put, a clew of blue yarn : 
 
 and towards the latter end, something will hold 
 e. who holds? and answer will be returned from 
 :an and sirname of your future Spouse.— ;RB. 
 
 a looking-glass : eat an apple before it, and some 
 hair all the time ; the face of your conjugal com- 
 s, as if peeping over your shoulder.— (R. B. 17S6. ,■■
 
 TEE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 21 
 
 ' Ye little Skelpie-liinmer's-face 1 
 
 'I daur you try sic sportin, 
 'As seek tno foul Thief onie place, 
 
 ' For him to spae your fortune : 
 ' Nae doubt but ye may get a sight ! 
 
 ' Great cause ye hae to fear it ; 
 ' For monie a ane has gotten a fright, 
 
 'An' liv'd an' di'd deleeret, 
 
 'On sic a night. 
 
 'Ae Hairst afore the Sherra-moor, 
 
 ' I mind't as weel's yestreen, 
 'I was a gilpey then, I'm sure, 
 
 ' I was na past fyfteen : 
 ' The Simmer had been cauld an' wat, 
 
 ' An' Stu/T was unco green ; 
 ' An' ay a rantan Kim we gat, 
 
 ' An' just on Hallmveen 
 
 'It fell that night. 
 
 ' Our Stibhle-rig was Rah M'Graen, 
 
 'A clever, sturdy fallow ; 
 'His Sin ^at Eppie Siin wi' wean, 
 
 'That liv'd in Achinacalla: 
 'He gat hemp-seed,* 1 mind it weel, 
 
 ' An' he made unco light o't ; 
 ' F)Ut monie a day was bji himsel, 
 
 ' He was sae sairly frighted 
 
 'That vera night.' 
 
 Then up gat fechtan Jamie Fleck, 
 
 An' he swoor liy his conscience. 
 That he could saw hemp-seed a peck ; 
 
 For it was a' but nonsense: 
 The auld guidman raught down the pock, 
 
 An' out a handfu' gied him ; 
 Syne bad him slip frae 'mang the folk. 
 
 Sometime when nae ane see'd him. 
 An' try't that night. 
 
 He marches thro' amang the stacks, 
 Tho' he was something sturtan ; 
 
 The graip he for a harroiv taks, 
 An' haurls at his curpan : 
 
 And ev'ry now an' then, he says, 
 ' Hemp-seed I saw thee. 
 
 ' An' her that is to be my lass, 
 ' Come after me an' draw thee 
 
 'As fast this night.' 
 
 lie whistl'd up lord Lenox' march, 
 
 To keep his courage cheary ; 
 Altho' his hair began to arch, 
 
 He was sae fley'd an' eerie. 
 Till presently he hears a squeak, 
 
 An' then a grane an' gruntle ; 
 lie by his showther gae a keek, 
 
 An' tumbl'd wi' a wintle 
 
 Out owre that night. 
 
 lie roar'd a horrid murder-shout, 
 
 In dreadfu' desperation ! 
 .\n' young an' aiild come rinnan out, 
 
 .■\n' hear the sad narration: 
 He swoor 'twas hilchan Jean M'Craw, 
 
 Or crouchie Merran Humphie, 
 Till stop! she trotted thro' them a'; 
 
 An' wha was it but Grumphie 
 
 Asteer that night? 
 
 I Meg fain wad to the Barn gaen. 
 To winn three wechts a' naething ;j 
 I!ut for to meet the Deil her lane. 
 
 She pat but little faith in : 
 She gies the Herd a pickle nits. 
 
 An' twa red cheeket apples. 
 To watch, while for the Bam she sets, 
 In hopes to see Tarn Eipples 
 
 That vera night. 
 
 She turns the key, wi' cannie thraw, 
 
 An' owre the threshold ventures; 
 Cut first on Saumie gies a ca'. 
 
 Syne bauldly in she enters : 
 A ratton rattl'd up tlie wa'. 
 
 An' she cry'd, L — d preserve hei*I 
 .An' ran thro' midden hole an' a', 
 
 An' pray'd wi' zeal and fervour, 
 
 Fu' fast that night. 
 
 They hoy't out WiH, wi' sair advice 
 They hecht him some tine braw ane; 
 
 * Steal out, unperceived, and sow a hamlfid of hemp seed; harrowing it with any 
 thing you can conveniently draw after you. Repeat, now and tlien, 'Hemp seed I saw 
 thee, Hemp seed I saw thee; and him (or her) that is to be my true-love, come after me 
 and pou thee.' Look over your left shoulder, and you will see the appearance of the 
 person invoked, in the attitude of pulling hemp. Some traditions say, 'come after me 
 and shaw thee,' that is, show thyself; in which case it simply appears. Others omit 
 the harrowing, and .say, 'come after me and harrow thee.'— (U. B. 1786.) 
 
 t This charm must likewise be performed, unperceived and alone. You go to the ham. 
 and open both doors ; taking tliem otf the hinges, if possible ; for there is danger, thai 
 the Being, about to appear, may shut the doors, and do you some mischief. Then take 
 that instrument used in winnowing the corn, which, in our country-dialect, we call a 
 wecht; and go thro' all the attitudes of letting down corn against the wind. Repeat 
 it three times; and the third time, an apparition will pass tliro' the barn, in at the 
 windy door, and out at the other, having both the figure in question and the appear- 
 ance or retinue, marking the employment or station in life.— (R. B. 1786.)
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 22 
 
 It chanc'd the Stack hefaddom't thrice,* 
 Was timmer-propt for thrawin: 
 
 He taks a swirlie, auld moss-oak. 
 For some black, grousome Carlin; 
 
 An' loot a winze, an' drew a stroke, 
 Till skin in blj-pes cam haurlin 
 
 Aff's nieves that night. 
 
 A wanton widow Leezie was, 
 
 As cantie as a kittlen ; 
 But Och ! that night, amang the shaws, 
 
 She gat a fearfu' settlin ! 
 She thro' the whins, an' by the cairn. 
 
 An' ovH'e the hill gaed scrievin, 
 ^Vha^e three Lairds' lan's met at a bum, t 
 
 To dip her left sark-sleeve in, 
 
 Was bent that night. 
 
 Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays, 
 
 A.s thro' the glen it wimpl't; 
 Whiles round a rocky scar it strays; 
 
 Whiles in a wiel it dimpl't ; 
 Whiles glitter'd to the nightly rays, 
 
 Wi' bickerin, dancin dazzle; 
 "Whyles cooket underneath the braes. 
 
 Below the spreading hazle 
 
 Unseen that night. 
 
 Amang the brachens, on the brae, 
 
 Between her an' the moon, 
 The Deil, or else an cutler Quey, 
 
 Gat up an' gae a croon : 
 Poor Leezie's heart maist lap the hool ; 
 
 Near lav'rock-height she jumpet. 
 But mist a fit, an' in the pool. 
 
 Out owre the lugs she plumpet, 
 
 Wi' a plunge that night. 
 
 In order, on the clean hearthstane, 
 The L\(rjgies I three are ranged : 
 
 And ev'ry time great care is taen, 
 "To see them duely changed : 
 
 Auld, uncle John, wha wedlock's joys, 
 Sin' ilar's-year did desire. 
 
 Because he gat the toom dish thrice, 
 He heaT'd them on the fire. 
 
 In wrath that night. 
 
 Wi' merry san^s, an' friendly cracks, 
 
 I wat they did na weary ; 
 And unco tales, an' funnie jokes. 
 
 Their sports were cheap an' cheary: 
 Till butted So'ns,% wi' fragrant lunt, 
 
 Set a' their gabs a steerin ; 
 Syne, wi' a social glass o' strunt, 
 
 They parted aff careerin 
 
 Fu' blvthe that night. 
 
 THE AULD FARMER'S 
 
 NEW-YEAR-MORNING SALUTATION 
 
 TO HIS AULD MARE, MAGGIE, 
 
 ON GIVING HER THE ACCUSTOMED 
 
 RIPP OF CORN TO n.\NSEL 
 
 I.N THE NEW-YEAR. 
 
 A Guid Nexp-year I wish you Maggie ! 
 Hae, there's a ripp to thy auld baggie : 
 Tho' thou's howe-backet, now, an' knaggie, 
 
 I've seen the day. 
 Thou could hae gaen like ony staggie 
 
 Out owre the lay. 
 
 Tho' now thou's dowie, stiff an' crazy. 
 An' thy auld hide as white's a daisie, 
 I've seen thee dappl't, sleek an' glaizie, 
 
 A bonie giay : 
 He should been tight that daur't to raize 
 thee, 
 
 Ance in a day. 
 
 Thou ance was i' the foremost rank, 
 A filly bnirdly, steeve an' swank, 
 
 *Take an opportunity of going, unnoticed, to a Bear-stack, and fathom it three time.^ 
 round. 'The last fathom of the la.st time, you will catch in your arms, the appear- 
 ance of your future conjugal yokefellow.— (R. B. 1786.) 
 
 t You go out, one or more, for this is a social spell, to a south-running spring or 
 rivulet, where 'three Lairds' lands meet,' and dip your left shirt-sleeve. Go to bed in 
 sight of a fire, and hang your wet sleeve before it to dry. Ly awake; and sometime 
 near midnight, an apparation, having the exact figure of the grand object in question, 
 will come and turn the sleeve, as if to dry the other side of it.— (R. B. 17S6.) 
 
 t Take three dishes; put clean water in one, foul water in another, and leave the 
 third empty: blindfold a person, and lead him to the hearth where the dishes are 
 ranged; he (or she) dips the left hand: if by chance in the clean water, the future 
 husband or wife will come to the bar of Matrimony, a Maid; if in the foul, a widow; 
 if in the empty dish, it foretells, with equal certainty, no marriage at all. It is repeat- 
 ed three times ; and every time the arrangement of the dishes is altered. — (R. B. 178(5 ) 
 
 § Sowens, with butter instead of milk to them, is alwavs the Ilalbnceen Supper. 
 — <E.B 1786.)
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 An' set weel down a shapely shank. 
 As e'er tread yinl: 
 
 An' could hae flown out owre a'stank, 
 Like onie bird. 
 
 Aft thee an' I, in aught hours g^aun. 
 
 On guld March- weather, 
 
 Hae turn'd sax rood beside our ban', 
 For days thegither. 
 
 It's now some nine-an'twenty-year, 
 Sin' thou was my Guidfather's Meere; 
 He gied me thee, o' tocher clear. 
 
 An' fifty mark; 
 Tho' it was sma', 'twas 7veel-rcoii gear, 
 
 An' thou was stark. 
 
 Thou never braiiig't, an' fetch't,an' flisket, 
 But thy auld tail thou wad hae whisket. 
 An' spread abreed thy weel-till'd brisket, 
 
 Wi' pith an' pow'r, 
 Till sprittie knowes wad rair't an' risket. 
 
 An' slypet owre. 
 
 When first I gaed to woo my Jenny, 
 Ye then was trottan wi' your ^Minnie; 
 Tho' ye was trickle, slee an' funnie. 
 
 Ye ne'er was donsie ; 
 But hamely, tawie, quiet an' cannie. 
 An' unco sonsie. 
 
 That day, ye pranc'd wi' muckle pride. 
 When ye bure hame my bonie Bride: 
 An' sweet an' gracefu' she did ride 
 Wi' maiden air ! 
 
 For sic a pair. 
 
 de, 
 
 Tbo' now ye dow but hoyte and hoble. 
 An' wintle like a saumont-coble, 
 That day, ye was a jinker noble, 
 
 For heels an' win' ! 
 An' ran them till they a' did wauble. 
 
 Far, far behin' ! 
 
 ^Vhen thou an' I were young an' skiegh, 
 An' Stable-meals at Fairs were driegh. 
 Ho w thou wad prance, an' snore, an' scriegh, 
 
 An' tak the road ! 
 Toums-bodieg ran an' stood abiegh. 
 
 An' ca't thee mad. 
 
 When thou was corn't, an' I was mellu» , 
 We took the road ay like a Swallow : 
 At Brooseg thou had ne'er a fellow. 
 
 For pith an' speed ; 
 But er'ry tail thou pay't tliem hollow, 
 Whare'er thou gaed. 
 
 The sma', droot-rumpl't, hunter cattle. 
 Might aiblins waur't thee for a ))iattle ; 
 hat sax Scotch mile, 't\ii in try' t their mettli', 
 
 An' gart them whaizle: 
 Na« whip nor spur, but just a wattle 
 
 O' saugh or hazle. 
 
 Thou was a noble Filtie-lan' , 
 As e'er in tug or tow wa.s drawn ! 
 
 When frosts lay lang, an' snaws were 
 deep. 
 An' threaten'd labor back to keep, 
 I gied thy coj a wee-bit heap 
 
 Aboon the timmer; 
 I ken'd my Maggie wad na sleep 
 
 For that, or Simmer. 
 
 In cart or car thou never reestet ; 
 The steyest brae thou wad hae fac't it ; 
 Thou never lap, an' sten't, an' breastet, 
 
 Then stood to blaw ; 
 But just thy step a wee thing hastet, 
 
 Thou snoov't awa. 
 
 My Pleugh is now thy bairn-time a' ; 
 Four gallant brutes, as e'er did draw ; 
 Forby sax mae, I've seU't awa. 
 
 That thou hast nurst : 
 They drew me thretteen pund an' twa. 
 The vera warst. 
 
 Monie a sair daurk we twa hae wrought. 
 An' wi' the weary warl' fought ! 
 An' monie an anxious day, 1 thought 
 
 We wad be beat ! 
 Yet here to crazy Aqe we're brought, 
 
 Wi' something yet. 
 
 An' think na, my auld, trusty Servan', 
 That now perhaps thou's less deservin. 
 An' thy auld days may end in starvin'. 
 
 Fur my last fow, 
 A heapet Stimpart, I'll reserve ana 
 Laid by for you. 
 
 We've worn to crazy years thegither ; 
 We'll toyte about wi' ane anither; 
 Wi' tentie care I'll Hit thy tether, 
 
 To some hain'd rig, 
 Whare ye may nobly rax your leather, 
 
 Wi' sma fatigue. 
 
 ** Altered, la 17S>7, to "miles.
 
 THE POEMS AND SOXGS OF BURNS. 
 
 24 
 THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. 
 
 IN8CRIBED TO E. A»»»», Esq.,* 
 
 Ltt not Ambition mock their xisefid toil, 
 Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; 
 
 Nor Grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile, 
 The short and simple annals of the Poor. 
 
 Grat. 
 
 My lov'd, my honor'd, much respected friend, 
 
 No mercenary Bard his homage pays; 
 With honest pride I scovn each selfish end, 
 
 My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and praise: 
 To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays. 
 
 The lowly train in life's sequester'd scene; 
 The native feelings strong, the guileless ways. 
 
 What A**** in a Cottage would have been ; 
 Ahl tho' his worth unknown, far happier there I ween I 
 
 November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh ; 
 
 The short'ning winter-day is near a close ; 
 The miry beasts retreating frae tha pleugh ; 
 
 The black'ning trains o' craws to their repose: 
 The toil-worn COTTER frae his labour goes, 
 
 This night his weekly moil is at an end, 
 Collects his spades, his mattocks and his hoes, 
 
 Hoping the mom in ease and rest to spend, 
 And weary, o'er the moor, his course does hameward bend. 
 
 At length his lonely Cot appears in view, 
 
 Beneath the shelter of an aged tree ; 
 The expectant wee-things, toddlan, stacher through 
 
 To meet their Dad, wi' flichterin noise and glee. 
 His wee-bit ingle, blinkan bonilie, 
 
 Hii clean hearth-stane, his thrifty Wijie's smile. 
 The lisping in/ant, prattling on his knee, 
 
 Does a' his weary carking cares t beguile, 
 And makes him quite forget his labor and his toil. 
 
 Belyve, the elder bairns come drapping in. 
 
 At Service out, amang the Farmers roun' ; 
 Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, some tentie rin 
 
 A cannie errand to a neebor town : 
 Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman-grown. 
 
 In youthfu' bloom, Love sparkling in her e'e. 
 Comes hame, perhaps, to shew a braw new gown, 
 
 Or deposite her sair-won penny-fee, 
 To help her Parents dear, if they in hardship be. 
 
 AVith joy unfeign'd, brothers and sisters meet. 
 And each for other's weelfare kindly spiers: 
 
 The social hours, swift-wing'd unnotic'd fleet; • 
 
 Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears. 
 
 •Robert Aiken, writer in Ayr, one of the poet's early friends and patrons. 
 t The Kilmarnock and Edinburgh editions read, "kiaugh and care."
 
 THE POEMS AND SOXGS OF BURNS. 
 
 25 
 
 The Parents partial eye their hopeful years ; 
 
 Anticipation forward points the view; 
 The Mother, wi' her needle an' her sheers, 
 
 Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new ; 
 The Father mixes a' wi' admonition due. 
 
 Their Master's and their Mistress's command, 
 
 The t/ounijkers a' are warned to obey ; 
 And mind their labors wi' an eydent hand. 
 
 And ne'er, tho' out o' sight, to jauk or play : 
 * And O ! be sure to fear the LORD ahvay ! 
 
 'And mind your duty, duely, morn and night! 
 ' Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray, 
 
 'Implore his coiinsel and assisting might : 
 'They never sought in vain that sought the LORD aright. 
 
 But hark ! a rap comes gently to the door ; 
 
 Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same, 
 Tells how a neebor lad came o'er the moor, 
 
 ■ro do some errands, and convoy her hame. 
 The wily Mother sees the conscious Jlamn 
 
 Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek. 
 With heart-struck, anxious care enquires his name. 
 
 While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak ; 
 Weelpleas'd the Mother hears, it's nae wild, worthless Rakt. 
 
 With kindly welcome, Jenny brings him ben ; 
 
 A strappan xjouth; he takes the Mother's eye; 
 Blythe Jenny sees the visit's no ill taen; 
 
 i'he Father cracks of horses, pleughs and kye. 
 The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy, 
 
 But blate and laithfu', scarce can weel behave ; 
 The Mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy 
 
 What makes the youth sae bashfu' and sae grave, 
 Weel-pleas'd to think her bairn's respected like the lave. 
 
 O happy love ! where love like this is found ! 
 
 O heart-felt raptures! bliss beyond compare ! 
 I've paced much this weary, mortal round. 
 
 And sage EXPERIENCE bids me this declare— 
 'If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare, 
 
 'One cordial in this melancholy Vale, 
 "Tis when a youthful, loving, modest Pair, 
 
 'In other's arms, lireathe out the tender tale, 
 'Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the ev'ning gala." 
 
 Is there in human form, that beais a heart— 
 
 A Wretch I a Villain ! lost to love and truth t 
 That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art. 
 
 Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth? 
 Curse on his perjur'd arts! dissembling smooth! 
 
 Are Honor, Virtue, Conscience, all exil'd 1 
 Is there no Pity, no relenting Ruth, 
 
 Points to the Parents fondling o'er their Child? 
 Then paints the ruin'd Maid, and their distraction ^vild i 
 
 But now the Supper crowns their simple board, 
 The healsorae J-'orritch, chief of SCOTIA'S food : 
 
 The soupe their only llawkie does afford. 
 That 'yont the hallan snugly chows her cood r 
 
 The Dame brings forth, in compliniental mood. 
 To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd kebbuck, fell,
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 26 
 
 And aft he's prest, and aft he ca's it guid ; 
 
 The frugal Wifie, garrulous, will tell. 
 How 'twas a towmond auld, sin' Lint was i' the beU 
 
 The chearfu' Supper done, wi' serious face, 
 
 They, round the ingle, form a circle wide; 
 The Sire turns o'er, with patriarchal grace, 
 
 The big ha'-Bible, ance his Blather's pride : 
 His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside. 
 
 His lyart haffets wearing thin and bare ; 
 Those strains that once did sweet in ZION glide. 
 
 He wales a portion with judicious care ; 
 'And let lis worship GOD !' he says with solemn air. 
 
 They chant their artless notes in simple guise ; 
 
 They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim : 
 Perhaps Duyidee's wild warbling measures rise. 
 
 Or plaintive ifartyrg, worthy of the name; 
 Or noble Elgin beets the heaven-ward flame, 
 
 The sweetest far of SCOTIA'S holy lays : 
 Compar'd with these, Italian trills are tame ; 
 
 The tickl'd ears no heart-felt raptures raise; 
 Xae unison hae they, with our CREATOR'S praise. 
 
 The priest-like Father reads the sacred page. 
 
 How Abram was the Friend of GOD on high ; 
 Or, Moses bade eternal warfare wage, 
 
 With Amaleh's ungracious progeny ; 
 Or how the royal Bard did groaning lye, 
 
 Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ire ; 
 Or Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry ; 
 
 Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic tire; 
 Or other Ilvly Seers that tune the sacred lyre. 
 
 Perhaps the Christian Voluine is the theme, 
 
 How guiltless blood for guilty tjwji was sliud ; 
 How HE, who bore in heaven the second name, 
 
 Had not on Earth whereon to lay His head : 
 How His &Tst follo^cers and servants sped; 
 
 The Precepts sage they wrote to many a land : 
 How he, who lone in Patinas banished. 
 
 Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand ; 
 And heard great Bab'lon's doom pronounced by Heaven's command. 
 
 Then kneeling down to HEAVEN'S ETERNAL KINO, 
 
 The Saint, the Father, and the Husband prays: 
 Hope 'springs exulting on triumphant wing,'" 
 
 That thus they all shall meet in future days : 
 There, ever bask in uncreated rays, 
 
 No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear. 
 Together hymning their CREATOR'S praise, 
 
 In such society, yet still more dear ; 
 While circling 'Time moves round in an eternal sphere. 
 
 Compar'd with this, how poor Religion's pride, 
 
 In all the pomp of method, and of art, 
 When men display to congregations wide, 
 
 Devotion's ev'ry grace, except the heart ! 
 The POWER, incens'd, the Pageant will desert, 
 
 The pompous strain, the sacredotal stole; 
 
 •Pope's Windsor Forest. (R. B. 1786.)
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 
 27 
 
 But haply, in some Cottage far apart, 
 
 May hear, well pleas'd, the language of the Svul; 
 And in His Book of Life the Inmates poor enroll. 
 
 Then homeward all take off their sev'i-al way ; 
 
 The yo\:ngling Cottagers retire to rest; 
 The Parent-pair their secret homage pay, 
 
 And proffer up to Heaven the warm request, 
 That HK who stills the raven's clam'rous nest, 
 
 And decks the lily fair in tlow'ry pride, 
 Would, in the way His Wisdom sees the best. 
 
 For them and for their little ones provide ; 
 But chiefly, in their hearts with Grace divine preside. 
 
 From scenes like these, old SCOTIA'S grandeur springs. 
 
 That makes her lov'd at home, rever'd abroad : 
 Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, 
 
 'An honest man's the noblest* work of GOD;' 
 And certes, in fair Virtue's heavenly road. 
 
 The Cottage leaves the Palace far behind : 
 What is a lordling's pomp? a cumbrous load. 
 
 Disguising oft the wretch of human kind, 
 Studied in arts of Hell, in wickedness refined. 
 
 O SCOTIA ! my dear, my native soil ! 
 
 For whom my warmest wish to heaven is sent! 
 Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil. 
 
 Be blest with health, and peace, a)id sweet content ! 
 And O may Heaven their simple lives prevent 
 
 From Luxury's contagion, weak and vile ! 
 Then howe'er croicns and coronets be rent, 
 
 A virtuous Populace may rise the while, 
 And stand a wall of fire around their much-lov'd ISLE. 
 
 THOU I who pour'd the patriotic tide. 
 
 That stream'd through Wallace's undaunted heai t ; t 
 Who dar'd to, nobly, stem tyrannic pride, 
 
 Or nobly die, the second glorious part: 
 (The Patriot's GOD, peculiarly thou art. 
 
 His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward!) 
 O never, never SCOTIA'S realm desert. 
 
 But still the Patriot, and the Patriot-Bard. 
 In bright succession raise, her Ornament and Guard! 
 
 ^S^ 
 
 ^G.^ 
 
 'Misprinted "noble," in the edition of 1786. 
 
 tThe Kilmarnock and Edinburgh editions read:— 
 
 "That stream'd thro' great, unhappy WALLACE' heart.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 28 
 
 TO A MOUSE, 
 
 ©N TURNING HER UP IN HER NEST, 
 WITH THE PLOUGH, NOVEMBER, 1785. 
 
 Wee sleeket, cowran, tim'rous beastie, 
 O, what a panic's in thy breastie ! 
 Thou need na start awa sae hasty, 
 
 Wi' bickering brattle ! 
 I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee, 
 
 Wi' murd'ring pattle ! 
 
 I'm truly sorry Man's dominion 
 Has broken Nature's social union, 
 An' justifies that ill opinion. 
 
 Which makes theestartle. 
 At me, thy poor, earth-born companion, 
 Xn' fellow-mortal ! 
 
 I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve. 
 What then? poor beastie, thou maun livel 
 A daimen-ieker in a thrave 
 
 'S a sraa' request : 
 I'll get a blessin wi' the lave. 
 
 An' never miss't ! 
 
 Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin ! 
 It's silly wa's the win's are strewin ; 
 An' naething, now, to big a new ane, 
 
 O' foggage green ! 
 An' bleak December's irinds ensuin, 
 
 Baith snell an' keen 1 
 
 Thou saw the fields laid bare an' wast, ♦ 
 An' weary Winter comin fast. 
 An' cozie here, beneath the blast, 
 
 Thou thought to dwell. 
 Till crash I the cruel coulter past 
 
 Out thro' thy cell. 
 
 That wee-bit heap o' leaves an' stibble, 
 Has cost thee monie a weary nibble ! 
 If ow thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble, 
 
 But house or hald. 
 To thole the Winter's sleety dribble. 
 
 An' cranreuch cauld I 
 
 But Mousie, thou art no thy-lane, 
 In proving foresight may be vain : 
 The best laid schemes o' Mice an' Men, 
 
 Gang aft agley. 
 An* lea'e us nought but grief an' pain. 
 
 For promis'd joy 1 
 
 Still, thou art blest, compar'd wi' me/ 
 The present only toucheth thee : 
 But Och 1 I backivard cast my e'e, 
 
 On prospects drear ! 
 An' forward, tho' I canna see, 
 
 I tjuess an' /car.' 
 
 EPISTLE TO DAVIE, A BROTHER 
 
 POET.* 
 
 Janitary- 
 
 While winds frae off BEN-LOMOND 
 
 blaw. 
 And bar the doors wi' driving snaw. 
 
 And hing us owre the ingle, 
 I set me down, to pass the time. 
 And spin a verse or twa o' rhyme, 
 
 In hamely, u-estlin iingle. 
 Wliile frosty winds blaw in the drift, 
 
 Jien to the chimla lug, 
 I grudge a wee the Great-folk's gift. 
 That live sae bien an' snug : 
 I tent less, and want less 
 
 Their roomy fireside; 
 But hanker, and canker. 
 To see their cursed pride. 
 
 It's hardly in a body's pow'r. 
 
 To keep, at times, frae being sour, 
 
 To see how things are shar'd; 
 Hi)W best o' chiels are whyles in want. 
 While Coofs on countless thousands rant 
 
 And ken na how to wair't : 
 But D.WIE lad, ne'er fash your head, 
 
 Tho' we hae Uttle gear, 
 We're fit to win our daily bread. 
 As lang's we're hale and fier : 
 'Mair spier na, nor fear na,' f 
 .\uld age ne'er mind a feg ; 
 The last o't, the warst o't. 
 Is only but to beg. 
 
 To lye in kilns and bariij at e'en, 
 
 When banes are craz'd, and bluid is thin. 
 
 Is, doubtless, great distre.ssl 
 Yet then content could make us blest; 
 Evn then, sometimes we'd snatch a taste 
 
 Of truest happiness. 
 The honest heart that's free frae a' 
 
 Intended fraud or guile. 
 However Fortune kick the ba', 
 Has ay some cause to smile : 
 And mind still, you'll find still, 
 
 A comfort this nae sma'; 
 Nae mair then, we'll care then, 
 TSa.e farther we can /a'. 
 
 What tho', like Commoners of air, 
 We wander out, we know not where, 
 
 But either house or hal' ? 
 Yet Nature's charms, the hills and woods, 
 The sweeping vales, and foaming floods. 
 
 Are free alike to all. 
 In days when Daisies deck the ground. 
 
 And Blackbirds whistle clear, 
 
 •David SiUar, a Mauchline comrade. 
 
 t Ramsay.— (R. B. 17S6.) 
 
 t "Waste" in Edinburgh Edition.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 29 
 
 With honest joy, our hearts will IxiunJ, 
 To see the coining year : 
 On braes when we please then, 
 
 We'll sit ami sowth a tune; 
 Syne rhyme till't, we'll time till't. 
 And sing't when we liae done 
 
 It's no in titles nor in rank ; 
 
 It's no in wealth like Lon'on Bank, 
 
 To purchase peace and rest ; 
 It's no in makin niiickle, mair : 
 It's no in books ; it's no in Lear, 
 
 To make us truly blest : 
 If happiness hae not her seat 
 
 And center in the breast, 
 We may be iirixe, or rich, or great, 
 But never can be blest: 
 Nae treasures, nor pleasures 
 Could make us happy lang; 
 The heart ay's the part ay, 
 That makes us right or wraii^. 
 
 Think ye, that sic as you ami /, 
 
 Wha drudge and drive thro' wet and ili y, 
 
 Wi' never-ceasing toil ; 
 Think ye, are we less blest than tliey, 
 Wha scarcely tent us in their way. 
 
 As hardly worth their while? 
 Alas! how aft, in haughty mood, 
 GOD'S creatures they oppress ! 
 Or else, neglecting a' that's guid, 
 They riot in excess ! 
 Baith careless, and fearless, 
 Of either Heaven or Hell; 
 Esteeming, and deeming, 
 It a' ail idle tale! 
 
 Then let us cliearfu' acquiesce ; 
 Nor make our scanty Pleasures less. 
 
 By pining at our state : 
 And, ev'n should Misfortunes come, 
 I, liere wha sit, hae met wi' some, 
 
 An's thankfu' for them yet. 
 They gie the wit of Age to Youth ; 
 
 They let us ken oursel ; 
 They make us see the naked truth, 
 The real guid and ill. 
 Tho' losses, and crosses. 
 
 Be lessons right severe. 
 There's ivit there, ye'll get there, 
 Ye'll find nae otlier where. 
 
 But tent me, DAVIE, Ace o' Hearts! 
 (To say auglit less wad wrang the cartes, 
 
 And flatl'ry I detest) 
 This life has .joys for you an<l I; 
 And joys that riches ne'er could buy ; 
 
 And joys the very best. 
 There's a' the Plpamirea o' the Heart, 
 
 The Lover and tlie Frien' ; 
 Ye hae your ME(i, your dearest part, 
 
 And I my darling JEAN ! 
 
 It warms me, it charms m&^ 
 To mention but her name: 
 
 It heats me, it beets me. 
 And sets me a' on flame ! 
 
 O, all ye Pow'rs who rule above ! 
 O THOU, whose very self art love f 
 
 THOU know'st my words sincere I 
 The life blood streaming thro' mv hearti. 
 Or my more dear Iiiunortal pari. 
 
 Is not more fondly dear ! 
 When heart-corroding care and grief 
 
 Deprive my soul of rest. 
 Her dear idea brings relief, 
 And solace to my breast. 
 Thou BEING, Allseeing, 
 
 O hear my fervent pray'r I 
 
 Still take her, and make her, 
 
 THY most peculiar care ! 
 
 All hail ! ye tender feelings dear! 
 The smile of love, the friendly tear, 
 
 The sympathetic glow 1 
 Long since, this world's thorny way» 
 Had number'd out my weary days, 
 
 Had it not been for you ! 
 Fate still has blest me with a friend. 
 
 In ev'ry care and ill ; 
 And oft a more endearing band, 
 A tye more tender still. 
 It lightens, it brightens. 
 
 The tenebritic scene. 
 To meet with, ami greut with, 
 .My DAVIE or my JEAN ! 
 
 O, how that name inspires my stylet 
 The words come skelpan, rank and til», 
 
 Amaist before I ken ! 
 The ready measure rins as fine. 
 As Phoebus and the famous .Vi?i« 
 
 Were glowran owre my pen. 
 My spavet Pe^rasus will "limp, 
 
 Till ance he's fairly het; 
 And then he'll hilch, and stilt, and jim|^. 
 And rin an unco tit : 
 But least then, the beast then, 
 
 Should rue tnis hasty lide, 
 
 I'll light now, and dight now, 
 
 His sweaty, wizen'd hide. 

 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 
 30 
 
 THE LAMENT. 
 
 OCCASIONED BY THE UNFORTUNATE ISSUE 
 OF A FRIEND'S AMOUR. 
 
 Mail how oft does goodness ivound itself! 
 And sweet Affection prove the s^tring of Woe! 
 
 Home. 
 
 Thou pale Orb, that silent shines, 
 While care-untroubled mortals sleep I 
 
 Thou seest a wretch, who inly pines, 
 And wanders here to wail and weep ! 
 
 With Woe I nightly vigils keep, 
 Beneath thy wan, unwarming beam; 
 
 And mourn, in lamentation deep. 
 How life and love are all a dream ! 
 
 1 joyless view thy rays adorn, 
 
 The faintly-marked, distant hill : 
 I joyless view thy trembling horn, 
 
 Reflected in the gurgling rill. 
 My fondly-fluttering heart, be still ! 
 
 Thou busy pow'r. Remembrance, cease ! 
 Ah! must the agonizing thrill. 
 
 For ever bar returning Peace! 
 
 Xo idly-feign'd, poetic pains. 
 
 My sad, lovelorn lamentiiigs claim : 
 Xo shepherd's pipe— Arcadian strains ; 
 
 Xo fabled tortures, quaint and tame. 
 The plighted faith; the mutual flame; 
 
 The oft-attested Poivers above; 
 The promis'd Father's tender name ; 
 
 These were the pledges of ray love ! 
 
 Encircled in her clasping arms. 
 
 How have tlie raptur'd moments flown! 
 How have I wish'd for Fortune's charms, 
 
 For her dear sake, and her's alone I 
 And, must I think it! is she gone, 
 
 My secret-heari's exulting boast? 
 And does she heedless hear ray groan? 
 
 And is she ever, ever lost? 
 
 Oh ! can she bear so base a heart, 
 
 So lost to Honor, lost to Truth, 
 As from ihefonlest lover part, 
 
 The pliqhted husband of her youth? 
 Alas ! Life's p icli may be unsmootli I 
 
 Her way may lie thro' rougli distress ! 
 Then, who her pangs and pains will soothe, 
 
 Her sorrows share and make them less ? 
 
 Ye winged Hours that o'er us past, 
 Enraptur'd more, the more eiijoy'd. 
 
 Your dear remembrance in my breast. 
 My fondly-treasur'd thoughts employ'd. 
 
 That breast, how dreary now, and void. 
 For her too scanty once of room 1 
 
 Ev'n ev'ry ray of Hope destroyed. 
 And not a Wish to gild the gloom t 
 
 The morn that warns th'approaching day, 
 
 Awakes me up to toil and woe : 
 I see the hours, in long array, 
 
 That I must suffer, lingering, slow. 
 Full many a pang, and many a throe. 
 
 Keen Recollection's direful train, 
 .Must wring my soul, ere Phoebus, low, 
 
 Shall kiss the distant, western main. 
 
 .\nd when my nightly cnuch I try, 
 
 Sore-harass'd out, with care and gi-ief, . 
 My toil-beat nerves, and tear-worn eye. 
 
 Keep watchings with the nightlv thief: 
 Or if I slumber. Fancy, chief. 
 
 Reigns, hagard-wild, in sore afright : 
 Ev'n day, all-bitter, brings relief. 
 
 From such a horror-breathing night. 
 
 <)! thou brightQueen, who, o'erth'expanse, 
 
 Xow highest reign'st, with boundless 
 sway ! 
 (-)it has thy silent-marking glance 
 
 Observ'd us, fondly-wand'ring, stray ! 
 The time, unheeded, sped away. 
 
 While Love's luxurious pulse beat high, 
 Beneath thy silver-gleaming ray. 
 
 To mark the mutual-kindling eye. 
 
 Oh ! scenes in strong remembrance set ! 
 
 Scenes, never, never to return ! 
 Scenes, if in stupor I forget. 
 
 Again I feel, again I burn ! 
 From ev'ry joy and pleasure torn. 
 
 Life's weary vale I'll wander thro'; 
 -Vud hopeless, comfortless, I'll mourn 
 
 A faithless woman's broken vow. 
 
 DESFOXDEN'CY, 
 
 AN ODE. 
 
 Oppress'd with grief, oppress'd with care 
 A burden more tlian I can bear, 
 
 I set me down and sigh ; 
 O Life ! tliou art a galling load. 
 Along a rough, a weary road, 
 
 To wretches such as 1 1 
 Dim-backward as I cast ray view, 
 Wliat sick'ning Scenes appear ! 
 Wliat Sorrows yet may pierce me thro'. 
 Too justly I may fear ! 
 Still caring, despairing, 
 
 Mu.st be my bitter doom ; 
 My woes liere, shall close ne'er, 
 But with the closing tomb!
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 SI 
 
 Happy 1 ye sons of Busy-life, 
 Who, equal to the bustling strife. 
 
 No other view regard ! 
 Ev'n when the wished end's deny'd, 
 Yet while the busy m^ans are ply'd. 
 
 They bring their own reward : 
 Whilst I, a hopeabandon'd wight, 
 
 Unfitted with an aim. 
 Meet ey'ry sad-returning night, 
 And joyless morn the same. 
 You, bustling and justling, 
 
 Forget each grief and pain 
 I, listless, yet restless, 
 Find ev'ry prospect vain. 
 
 How blest the Solitary's lot. 
 Who, all-forgetting, all-forgot. 
 
 Within his humble cell. 
 The cavern wild with tangling roots, 
 Sits o'er his newly-gather'd fruits 
 
 Beside hb crystal well ! 
 Or haply, to his ev'ning thought, 
 
 By unfrequented stream, 
 The loays of men are distant brought, 
 A faint-collected dream : 
 While praising, and raising 
 
 His thoughts to Heavenon high. 
 As wand'ring, me.and'ring. 
 He views the solemn sky. 
 
 Tlian I, no lonelti Hermit plac'd 
 Where never human footstep trac'd. 
 
 Less fit to play the part. 
 The lucky momeiit to improve. 
 And iitst to stop, and jiist to move, 
 
 With self-respecting art : 
 But ah ! those pleasures, Loves and Joys, 
 
 Which I too keenly taste. 
 The Sulitary can despise, 
 Can want, and yet be blest ! 
 He needs not, he heeds not, 
 
 Or human love or hate ; 
 Whilst I here, must cry here. 
 At perfidy ingrate ! 
 
 Oh, enviable, early days. 
 
 When dancing thoughtless Pleasure'smaze, 
 
 To Care, to Guilt unknown ! 
 How ill exchang'd for riper times. 
 To feel the follies, or the crimes. 
 
 Of others, or my own ! 
 Ye tiny elves that guiltless sport, 
 
 Like linnets in the bush, 
 Ye little know tlie ills ye court. 
 When Manhood is your wish ! 
 The losses, the crosses. 
 
 That actii-e man engage ; 
 The fears all. the tears all, 
 Of dim declining Aije ! 
 
 -MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN, 
 
 A DIRGE. 
 
 When chill November's surly blaat 
 
 -Made fields and forests bare. 
 One ev'ning, as I wand'ied forth, 
 
 Along the banks of AIRE, 
 I spy'd a man, whose aged step 
 
 Seem'd weary, worn with care; 
 His face was furrow'd o'er with years. 
 
 And hoary was his hair. 
 
 \'"iing stranger, whither wand'rest thou? 
 
 Began the i ev'rend Sage ; 
 D.ies thirst of wealth thy step constrain. 
 
 Or youthful Pleasure's rage? 
 1 1 1- h,aply, prest with cares and woes, 
 
 Too soon thou hast began, 
 iVi wander forth, with me, to mourn 
 
 The miseries of Man. 
 
 Ilie Sun that overhangs yon moors, 
 
 Out-spteading far and wide, 
 \vhere hundreds labour to support 
 
 A haughty lordling's pride ; 
 I've seen yon weary winter-sun 
 
 Twice forty times return ; 
 Vnd ev'ry time has added proofs. 
 
 That Man was made to mourn. 
 
 I ) Man ! while in thy early years. 
 
 How prodigal of time ! 
 Mispending all thy precious hours. 
 
 Thy glorious, youthful prime! 
 Alternate Follies take the sway ; 
 
 Licentious Passions burn ; 
 Which tenfold force gives Nature's law. 
 
 That Man was made to mourn. 
 
 Look not alone on youthful Prime, 
 
 Or Manhood's active might; 
 Man then is useful to his kind, 
 
 Supported is his right : 
 But see him on the edge of life, 
 
 With Cares and Sorrows worn. 
 Then Age and Want, Oh 1 ill-match'd pair 1 
 
 Show Man was made to mourn. 
 
 ] .A. few seem favourites of Fate, 
 
 1 In Pleasure's lap carest; 
 
 j Vet, think not .all the Rich and Great, 
 
 Are likewise truly blest. 
 I I'.ut Oh ! vvhat crouds in ev'ry land, 
 I All wretched and forlorn, 
 I Thro' weary life this lesson learn, 
 
 That Man was made to mourn 1 
 
 Many and sharp the num'rous Ills 
 
 Inwoven with our frame! 
 .More pointed still we make ourselves, 
 
 Regret, Remorse and Shame 1
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 32 
 
 And Man, whose heav'n-erected face, 
 
 The smiles of love adorn, 
 Man's inhumanity to Man 
 
 Makes countless thousands mourn 1 
 
 See, yonder poor, o'erlabour'd wight. 
 
 So abject, mean and vile, 
 Who begs a brother of the earth 
 
 To give him leave to toil ; 
 And see his \oxd\y fellow-u-orm, 
 
 The poor petition spurn, 
 Unmindful, tho' a weeping wife, 
 
 And helpless offspring mourn. 
 
 If I'm design'd yon lordlini;'s slave, 
 
 By Nature's law design il, 
 Why was an independent wish 
 
 E'er planted in my mind? 
 If not, why am I subject to 
 
 His cruelty, or scorn? 
 Or why has Man the will and pow'r 
 
 To make his fellow mourn? 
 
 Yet, let not this too much, my Son, 
 
 Disturb thy youthful breast : 
 This partial view of humankind 
 
 Is surely not the last .' 
 The poor, oppressed, honest man 
 
 Had never, sure, been born. 
 Had there not been some recompence 
 
 To comfort those that mourn 1 
 
 O Death ! the poor man's dearest friend. 
 
 The kindest and the best ! 
 Welcome the hour, my aged limbs 
 
 Are laid ^vith thee at rest ! 
 The Great, the Wealthy fear thy blow, 
 
 From pomp and pleasure torn ; 
 But Oh ! a blest relief for those 
 
 That.weary-laden mourn 1 
 
 The Tempest's howl, it soothes my soul. 
 
 My !jrii>/s it seems to join ; 
 The leafless trees my fancy please, 
 
 Their fate resembles mine ! 
 
 Thou POWR SUPREME, whose mighty 
 
 Scheme, 
 
 These woen of mine fulfil; 
 Here, firm, I rest, they must be best. 
 
 Because they are Thy Will! 
 Then ail I want (Oh, do thou grant 
 
 This one request of mine I) 
 Since to enjoy Thou dost deny. 
 
 Assist me to resign ! 
 
 WINTER, 
 A DIRGE. 
 
 THE Wintry West extends his blast, 
 
 And hail and rain does blaw ; 
 Or, the stormy North sends tlriving forth. 
 
 The bUnding sleet and snaw : 
 While, tumbling brown, the Burn comes 
 down, 
 
 And roars frae bank to brae ; 
 And bird and beast, in covert, rest, 
 
 And pass the heartless day. 
 
 'The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast," ' 
 
 The joyless winter-day. 
 Let others fear, to me more dear, 
 
 Than all the pride of May : 
 
 A PRAYER, IN THE PROSPECT OF 
 DEATH. 
 
 O Tiioir unknown, .A.lmighty Cause, 
 
 Of all my hope and fear 1 
 In whose dread Presence, ere an hour, 
 
 Perhaps I must appear 1 
 
 If I have wander'd in those paths 
 
 Of life I ouglit to shun ; 
 As Somethinff. loudly, in my breast, 
 
 Remonstrates I have done; 
 
 Thou know'st that Thou hast formed m«, 
 With Passions wild and strong; 
 
 And list'ning to their witching voice 
 Has often led me wrong. 
 
 Where human weakness has come short, 
 
 Or frailtii stept aside. 
 Do Thou, ALL-GOOD, for such Thou art. 
 
 In shades of darkness hide. 
 
 Where with intention I have err'd, 
 
 No other plea I have. 
 But, Thou art good; and Goodnesa sliU 
 
 Deliahteth to forgive. 
 
 TO -A. .MOUNTAIN-DAISY, 
 
 ON TURNING O.NE DOWN WITH THE 
 PLOUGH, IN .\PRIL 1736. 
 
 Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r, 
 Thou's met me in an evil hour ; 
 For I maun crush amang the stoure 
 
 Thy slender stem: 
 To spare thee now is past my pow'r. 
 
 Thou bonie gem. 
 
 *Dr. Young.-iR. li. ITSti.)
 
 TEE POEMS AND SONOS OF BDRXS. 
 
 33 
 
 Alas ! it's no thy neebor sweet, I 
 The bonie Lark, companion meet ! 
 
 Bending thee 'nianu the dewy weet! ' 
 
 \Vi' sprecki'd breast,* 1 
 When upward-sprindng, blythe, to greet 
 
 The purpling East. J 
 I 
 
 Cauld ble''V the bitter-biting yorth 
 Vpon thy early, huml'le >)irth; 
 Yet chearfully thou siinted forth 
 
 .Ninid the storm. 
 Scarce rear'd above tlie Parent--arth 
 
 Thy tender form. 
 
 The flaunting /•/!('« our Gardens yield, 
 nigh-shelfring woods and wa's maun 
 
 shield. 
 But thou, beneath the random bield 
 
 O' clod or stane, 
 Adorns the histie x': bole-field, 
 
 Inseeii, alane. 
 
 There, in thy scanty mantle clad. 
 Thy snawie bosom sun-ward spread, 
 Thou lifts thy unassuming head 
 
 In humble guise; 
 But now the share untears thy bed, 
 
 And low thou lies ! 
 
 Such is the fate of artless Maid, 
 Sweet jloiv'>-"t of the rural shade ! 
 By Love's simplicity betray'd, 
 
 And guileless trust. 
 Till she, hke thee, all soil'd, is laid 
 
 Low 1' the dust. 
 
 Such is the fate of simple Bard, 
 On Life's rough oce.m luckless starr'd ! 
 Unskilful he to note the card 
 
 Of iJTudent Lore, 
 Till billows rage, and uales blow hard, 
 
 And w helm him o'er '. 
 
 Such fate to B^ifferim; worth is giv'n. 
 Who long with wants and woes has striv'n, 
 By human pride or running driv'n 
 
 To Mis ry's brink, 
 Till wrench'd of cv'ry staybut HEAV'N, 
 
 He, ruin'd, sink! 
 
 Ev'n thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate. 
 
 That fate is thine- no distant date; 
 
 Stern Rxiin's plou^ili-yhnre drives, elate. 
 
 Full on thy bloom, 
 Till crnsh'd beneath thefurroiv's weight, 
 
 Shall be thy doom ! 
 
 TO RUIN. 
 
 All hail ! inexors.ljle lord ! 
 
 At whose destruction-breathing word. 
 
 The mightiest empires fall ! 
 Thy cruel, woe-delighteil train. 
 The ministers of Grief and Pain, 
 
 A sullen welcome, all I 
 With stern-resolv'd despairing eye, 
 
 I see each aimed dart ; 
 For one has cut my dearest tye 
 And quivers in my heart. 
 Then low'ring, and pouring, 
 
 The Storm no more I dread ; 
 Tho' thick'ning, and black'ning, 
 Rounil my devoted head. 
 
 And thou grim Pow'r, by Life abhorr'<l. 
 While Life n.pleaxnre can afford. 
 
 Oh I hear a wretch's pray'r I 
 No more I shrink appall'd, afraid ; 
 I court, 1 beg thy friendly aid. 
 
 To close this scene of care ! 
 When shall my soul, in silent peace. 
 
 Resign Life's ;<i.v/>',« day? 
 My weary heart its throbbings cease, 
 Cold-mould'ring in the clay ! 
 No fear more, no tear more. 
 
 To stain my lifeless face, 
 Enclasped, and grasped, 
 Within thy cold embrace ! 
 
 EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND. 
 May 178& 
 
 I La.vq hae thought, ray youthfu' friend, 
 
 A Something to have sent you, 
 Tho' it should serve nae other end 
 
 Than just a kind memento; 
 But how the subject theme may gang, 
 
 Let time and chance determine; 
 Perhaps it may turn out a Sang; 
 
 Perhaps, turn out a Sermon. 
 
 Ye'U try the world soon my lad. 
 
 And ANDREW dear believe me, 
 Ye'll find mankind an unco squad. 
 
 And muckle they may grieve ye : 
 For care and trouble set your thought, 
 
 Ev'n when your end's attained; 
 And a' your views may come to nought, 
 
 Where ev'ry nerve is strained. 
 
 ni no say, men are villains a' ; 
 
 The real, liarden'd wicked, 
 Wha hae nae check but human law, 
 
 Are to a few restricked : 
 
 *In 17aO, " Wi's sprecki'd breest.' 
 C
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 y 
 
 34 
 
 But Och, iiiaiikiiid are unco weak, 
 
 An' little to be trusted ; 
 If 5c(/the \vavei'in<!; balance shake, 
 
 It's rarely right adjusted 1 
 
 Yet they wha fa' in Fortune's strife, 
 Their fate we should na censure, 
 
 F'T still th' impmtaiit end of life. 
 They equally may answer: 
 
 A uiaii may hae an hiineH heart, 
 'l"ho' Poortith hourly stare him ; 
 
 A man may tak a neebor's part, 
 
 . Yet hae nae cash to spare him. 
 
 Ay free, afF han'. your story tell. 
 
 When wi' a bosom ci ony ; 
 But still keep somethinc; to yoursel 
 
 Ye scarcely tell to ony. 
 Conceal yoursel as weel's ye can 
 
 Fr le critical dissection ; 
 r>ut keek thro' ev'ry other man, 
 
 AVi' sharpen'd, sly inspection. 
 
 The snrred Inice o' weel plac'd love, 
 
 Luxiiriautly iudul^e if ; 
 But never tempt th'iUicit rove, 
 
 Tho' naethiiig should divulge it : 
 I wave the quantum o' the sin; 
 
 The hazard of concealing; 
 But Och ! it harileus a' within, 
 
 And petrifies the feeling!* 
 
 To catch Dame Fortune's golden smile, 
 
 Assiduous wait upon her; 
 .A.nd gather gear by ev'ry wile, 
 
 That's justifyd by Honor: 
 N'ot for to hide it in a hrihje. 
 
 Nor for a train-attendant ; 
 But for the glorious priviledge 
 
 Of being independant. 
 
 The fear n' TlelVi a hangman's whip, 
 
 T' 1 liaud the wretch in order ; 
 But where ye feel your Honor grip, 
 
 Let that ay be your bonier: 
 It's slightest touches, instant pause — 
 
 Debar a' side-preteuces; 
 And resolutely keep its laws, 
 
 Uncaring consequences. 
 
 1 he great CRE.\TOR to revpre, 
 Must sure become the Creature; 
 
 fut still the preaching cant forbear, 
 And ev'n the rigid feature : 
 
 Yet ne'er v ith Wits prophane to range, 
 
 Be complaisance extended ; 
 An athieHt-lauijh's a poor e.Kchango 
 
 For Deity vffeiided ! 
 
 When ranting round in Pleasure's ring, 
 
 lleligion may be blinded ; 
 Or if she gie a random-gtin'j. 
 
 It may be little minded ; 
 Rut when on Life we're tempest-driv'n, 
 
 A Conscience but a canker— 
 A correspondence fix'd wi' Heav'n, 
 
 Is sure a noble anchor ! 
 
 Adieu, dear, amiable Youth 1 
 
 Your heart can ne'er be wanting! 
 May Hrudt'uce, Fortitude and Truth 
 
 Kreot your brow undaunting! 
 In <'/'<)iif7/i?nan/;/iras? 'GOD send you speed. 
 
 Still daily to grow wiser; 
 And may ye better reck the rede. 
 
 Than ever did th' Adviser ! 
 
 OX A SCOTCH BARD COXE TO THE 
 
 WEST INDIES. 
 
 A' YK wha live by sowps n' drink, 
 j -A.' ye wha live by crambo-clink, 
 ! .A' ye wha live and never think. 
 
 Come, mourn wi' me 
 I Our hillie's glen us a' a jink, t 
 I .\n' owre the Sea. 
 
 Lament him a' ye rintan core, 
 j Wha dearly like a random-splore; 
 I Xae mair he'll join the mcrrti roar. 
 
 In social key; 
 I For now he's taen anither >hore. 
 
 An' owre tlie Sea! 
 
 The iKiide lasses we^.l may wiss him. 
 And in their dear peti'ions plac:! him : 
 I'he widows, wives, an' a' may bless him, 
 I Wi' tearfu e'e; 
 
 For weel I wat they'll sairly miss him 
 That's owre the Seal 
 
 O Fortune, they hae room tn grumble! 
 Hadst thnii taen atf someilrowsy bummle, 
 Wiia can do nought hut fyke an' fumble, 
 
 'Twad been nae plea; 
 But he was gleg as onie wuuible. 
 
 That's owre the Seal 
 
 'Here, in the MS. occurs this additional stanza: — 
 
 "If ye hae made a step aside, some hap nustake o'ertane you. 
 Yet still keep up a decent pride, and ne'er o'er far demean you : 
 Time comes wi' kind oblivious shade, and daily darker sets it, 
 And if nae mair mistakes are made, the world .soon forgets it." 
 
 t In the MS.— "Our hillie Rob has taen a jink."
 
 TEE POEMS AND SONQS OF BURNS. 
 
 35 
 
 Auld, cantie KYLE * may weepers wear, 
 An' stain them \vi' the saiit, saut tear: 
 'Twill mak her poor, avilil heart, I fear, 
 
 In flinders flee: 
 He was her Laurent monie a year. 
 
 That's owre the Sea. 
 
 He saw Misfortune's cauld Nor-west 
 Lang-mustering t up a bitter blast; 
 A Jillet brak his heart at last, 
 
 111 may she be ! 
 So, took a birth afore the mast, 
 
 An' owre the Sea I 
 
 To tremble under Fortune's cummock, 
 On scarce a bellyfu' o' druinmoch, 
 Wi' his proud, iiidependant stomach. 
 
 Could ill agree; 
 So, row't his hurdles in a hmnmock. 
 An' owre the Sea. 
 
 He ne'er was gien to great misguidin, 
 Yet coin his pouches wad na hide iu ; 
 Wi' him it ne'er was under hidin; 
 
 He dealt it free : 
 The iluie was a' that he took pride in, 
 
 That's owre the Sea. 
 
 Jamaica bodies, use him weel, 
 An' hap him in a cozie biel : 
 Ye'll find him ay a dainty chiel. 
 
 An' fou o' glee : 
 He wad na wrang'd the vera Deil, 
 
 That's owre the Sea. 
 
 Fareweel, my rhyme-composina hillie ! J 
 Your native soil was right ill-willie; 
 But may ye flourish like a lily. 
 
 Now bonilie ! 
 I'll toast you in my hind-most gillie, 
 
 Tho' owre the Sea 1 
 
 
 A DEDICATION 
 
 TO G**" II***. .*»^ jr^q II 
 
 F.XPICCT na. Sir, in this narration, 
 .\ fletfchan, fleth'ran Dedication. 
 Td roose you up, an' ca you guid. 
 An' sprung o' great an' noble bluid ; 
 Because ye're sirnarn'd like His Grace, 
 Perhaps related to the race: 
 Then w hen I'm tir d— and sae are ye, 
 Wi' monie a fulsome, sinfu' lie. 
 Set up a face, how I stop short. 
 For fear your modesty be hurt. 
 
 This may do — maun do. Sir, wi' them wha 
 .Maun please the Great-folk for a wamefou ; 
 For me 1 sae laigh I need na bow. 
 For, LORD be thanket, I can plough; 
 ' And when I downa yoke a naig. 
 Then, LORD be thanket, / can beg ; 
 Sae I shall say, an' that's nae flatt'rin. 
 It's just sic Poet an' iic Patron. 
 
 The Poefe, some guitl Angel help him. 
 Or else, I fear, some ill ane skelp him! 
 He may do weel for a' he's done yet. 
 But only— he's no just begun yet. 
 
 The Patron, (Sir, ye maun forgie me, 
 I winna lie, come what will o' me) 
 On ev'ry hand it will allow'd be. 
 He's just — nae better than he should be. 
 
 I readily and freely grant. 
 He downa see a poor man want : 
 , What's no his ain, he winna tak jt; 
 I What ance he says, he winna break it; 
 1 Ought he can lend he'll no refus't, 
 rill aft his guiduess is abus'd ; 
 And rascals whiles that do him wrang, 
 : ..v'n that, he does namind it lang: 
 I .\s Master, Landlord, Husband. Father, 
 I He does na fail his part in either. 
 
 But then, nae thanks to him for a' that ; 
 I Nae gndl'j nyinpt'nn ye can ca' that ; 
 I It's naething but a milder feature, 
 I Of our poor, sinfu', corrupt Nature: 
 ] Y<-'ll get the best o' moral works, 
 ! '.\Iang black Gentons, and Pagan Turks, 
 ] Or Hunters wild on Ponotaxi, 
 Wha never 'leanl of Orth-d-xv. 
 
 •"Kyle." — The district of Kyle in .Ayrshire. Some editors, liave noted this to mean 
 Kilmarnock, the contraction for which is "Killie." 
 
 t "Lang-mustering."— The hyphen here is evidently a printer's error, which waa 
 eorrected in subsequent editions. 
 
 tin the MS. — "Then fare-ye-weel, my rhymin billie." 
 H Gavin Hamilton, the Poet's landlord and friend.
 
 THE POE.VS AXD SOXGS OF BUJiXS. 
 
 That he's the poor man's friend in need, 
 The GENTLEMAN in word and deed, 
 It's no throu2;h terror of D-mn-t-n ; 
 It's just a carnal inclination. * 
 
 Morality, thou deadly bane. 
 Thy tens o' thousands thou hast slain ! 
 Vain is his hope, whase stay an' trust is. 
 In Tnoral Mercy, Truth and Justice ! 
 
 No — stretch a point to catch a plack ; 
 Abuse a Brother to his back ; 
 
 Steal thro' the winnook frae a , 
 
 But point the Rake that taks the door ; 
 Be to the Poor like onie whunsiane. 
 And haud their noses to the grunstane; 
 Ply ev'ry art o' legal thieving ; 
 No matter — stick to snund believing. 
 
 Learn three-mile pray'rs, an' half-mile 
 graces, 
 Wi' weel spread looves, an' lang, wry faces ; 
 Grunt up a solemn, lengthen'd groan. 
 And damn a' Parties but your own ; 
 I'll warrant then, ye're nae Deceiver, 
 A steady, sturdy, staunch Believer. 
 
 O ye wha leave the springs o' C-lv-n, 
 For gumlie dubs of your ain delvin ! 
 Ye sons of Heresy and Error, 
 Ye'U some day squeel in quaking terror! 
 MTien Vengeance draws the sword in wrath, 
 And in the tire throws the sheath; 
 M'hen Ruin, with his sweeping besom. 
 Just frets till Heav'n commission gies him ; 
 While o'er the Harp pale Misery moans. 
 And strikes the ever-deep'ning tones. 
 Still louder shrieks, and heavier groans '. 
 
 Your pardon. Sir, for this digression, 
 I maist forgat my Dedication; 
 But when Divinity comes cross me. 
 My readers then are sure to lose me. 
 
 So Sir, you see 'twas nae daft vapour. 
 But I maturely thought it proper, 
 AVhen a' my works I did review, 
 To dedicate them, J^ir, to YOU : 
 Because (ye need na tak it ill) 
 1 thought them something like yourtel. 
 
 Then patronize them wi' your favor, 
 And your Petitioner shall ever — 
 I had amaist said, ever yray. 
 But that's a word I need na say : 
 For prayin I hae little skill o't ; 
 I'm baith dead-sweer, an' wretched ill o't; 
 But I'se repeat each poor man's pray'r. 
 That kens or hears about you, Sir 
 
 'May ne'er Misfortune'.s unwU-ig liark, 
 'Howl thro' the dwelling o' the CLERK r 
 ' May ne'er his gen'rou.s, honest heart, 
 ' Fur that same gen'rous spirit smart ! 
 'May K****'*'st far-honor'd name 
 'Lang beet his hymeneal flame, 
 'Till H***"*''3, at least a dizn, 
 'Are frae their nuptial labors risen: 
 'Five bonie Lasses round their table, 
 'And sev'n braw fellows, stout an' able, 
 'To serve their King .an' Country weel, 
 'By word, or pen, or pointed steel! 
 ' May Health and Peace, with mutual rays^, 
 'Shine on the ev'ning o' his days; 
 'Till his wee, curlie John's ier-oe, 
 ' When ebbing life nae mair shall flow, 
 'The last, sad, mournful rites bestow!' 
 
 I will not wind a lansr conclusion, 
 : With complimentary effusion : 
 
 But whilst your wi.shes and endeavours, 
 , Are blest with Fortune's smiles and favour* 
 ' I am. Dear Sir, with zeal most fervent. 
 
 Your much indebted, humble servant. 
 
 But if, which Pow'rs above prevent, 
 That iron-hearted Carl, \Va»t, 
 I Attended, in his grim advances, 
 ' By sad mistakes, and black mischances. 
 While hopes, and joys, and pleasures flp 
 
 him. 
 Make you as poor a dog as I am. 
 Your humble servant then no more; 
 For who would humbly serve the Poor? 
 But by a poor man's hopes in Heav'n ! 
 While recollection's pow'r is giv'n, 
 If, in the vale of humble life. 
 The victim sad of Fortune's strife, 
 I, through the tender- gushing tear, 
 Should recognise my Master dear, 
 If friendless, low, we meet together. 
 Then, Sir, your hand— ray FRIEND an* 
 BROTHER. 
 
 TO A LOUSE, 
 
 0> SEEING ONE ON A LADY'S BONNET 
 AT CHURCH. 
 
 Ha! whare ye gaun, ye crowlan ferliel 
 Your impudence protects you sairly : 
 I canna say but ye strunt rarely, 
 
 Owre (jawze and lace; 
 The' faith, I fear ye dine but sparely. 
 
 On sic a place. 
 
 * Another line " And Och ! that's nae r-g-n-r-t-n," occurs here in the Kilmarnock 
 edition, which was omitted in the Edinburgh Edition (1787). 
 
 t Kennedy was the surname of Hamilton's wife's family.
 
 TEE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURN3. 
 
 37 
 
 Ye Hgly, ereepan, blastet wonner, 
 Petested, shunn'ti, by saunt an' siiiner, 
 How daur ye set ynur tic upon her, 
 
 iSae tine a LaUy ! 
 Gae somewhere else and seek your dinner, 
 
 On some poor body. 
 
 Swith, in some beggar's haffet squattle ; 
 There ye may creep, and sprawl, and 
 
 sprattle, 
 Wi' ither kindred, jumping cattle. 
 
 In shoals and nations; 
 Whare horn nor bane ne'er daur unsettle, 
 Your thick plantations. 
 
 Now haud you there, ye're out o' sight, 
 Below the fatt'rels, snug and tight, 
 Is'a faith ye yet 1 ye'U no be right. 
 
 Till ye've got on it, 
 "She very tapraost, towrin height 
 
 O' Miss'd b'tnnet. 
 
 My sooth 1 right bauld ye set your no-se 
 out. 
 As plump an' gray as onie grozet : 
 O for some rank, mercurial rozet. 
 
 Or fell, red smeddum, 
 I'd gie you sic a hearty dose o't, 
 
 Waddressyourdrodduml 
 
 I wad na been surpriz'd to spy 
 You on an auld wife's _/fain«n tuy; 
 Or aibliiis some bit duildie boy, 
 
 On's wylecoat ; 
 But Miss's tine Lunardi* fye ! 
 
 How daur you d'ot? 
 
 O Jenny dinna toss your head, 
 An set your beauties a' abread ! 
 Ye little ken what cursed speed 
 
 The blastie's makin! 
 Thae winks a.nd fiii<ier-ends, I dread. 
 
 Are notice takiu ! 
 
 O wad some Pow'r the giftie gie us 
 Td see (larsels at others see us! 
 It wad frae monie a blunder free us 
 
 An' foolish notion : 
 What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us. 
 
 And ev'n Devotion I 
 
 r^^f^4'^^^^ 
 
 \ EPISTLE TO J. L***»»K, t 
 
 A.N OLD SCOTCH BARD. 
 
 April 1st, 176,j. 
 
 NVhii.E briers an' wuodbines buddinggreen 
 An' Paitricks scraichan loud at e'en, 
 And morning Poossie whiddan seen, 
 
 Inspire my Muse, 
 This freedom, in an unknown frien', 
 
 I pray excuse. 
 
 On Fasteneen we had a rockin. 
 To ca' the crack and weave our stockin ; 
 And t'nere was muckle fun and jokin, , 
 
 Ye need na doubt; 
 At length we had a hearty yokin, 
 j At samj about. 
 
 There was ae saw;^, amang the rest. 
 .Vboon them a' it pleas'd me best, 
 That some kind husband had addrest, 
 ! To some sweet wife : 
 
 ; It thirl'd the heart-string.s thro' the breast, 
 A' to the life. 
 
 I've scarce heard ought describ'd sae 
 weel, 
 What gen'rous, manly bosoms feel ; 
 Thought I, 'Can this he Pupe, or Steele, 
 I Or Beat tie's wsiTk;' 
 
 ; They tald me 'twas an odd kind chiel 
 i About Muu-kirk. 
 
 i 
 I 
 
 It pat me tidgean-fain to hear't, 
 .An' sae about him there I spier't ; 
 Then a' that kent him rounil declar'd, 
 
 He had ingine, 
 That nane excell'd it, few cam near't, 
 It was sae tine. 
 
 : That set him to a pint of ale, 
 [ .\n' either douse or merry tale, 
 
 Or rhymes an' sangs he'd m.ade himsel, 
 j Or witty catches, 
 
 I 'Tween Inverness and Tiviordale, 
 
 He had few matches. 
 
 Then up I gat, an' swoor an' aith, 
 , 'I'ho' I should pawn my pleugli an' graitb, 
 ' t >r die a cadger pownie's death. 
 
 At some ilyke-back, 
 A pint an' (jill I'd gie tliem b'uilh. 
 
 To hear your crack. 
 
 *A peculiarly shaped bonnet, worn by ladies of fashion, named in honour of Vincertzo 
 Lunardi, who, in I'm, introduced the spectacle of balloon ascents into Britain. la 
 1785, he displayed his aerial feats in several parts of Scotland. 
 
 t John I«ipraik, Farmer, Muirkirk.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURN8. 
 
 33 
 
 But first an' foremost, I should te!l, 
 Amaist as soon as I could spell, 
 I to the crambo-jingl'' fell, 
 
 The' rude an' rough. 
 Yet crooning to a body's sel. 
 
 Does weel eneugh. 
 
 I am nae Poet, in a sense, 
 But just a Iih>/iner like by chance, 
 An' hae to Learning nae pretence, 
 
 Yet, what the matter? 
 Whene'er my Muse does on me ;:lance, 
 I jingle at hei-. 
 
 Your Critic-follc may cock theiv nose, 
 And say, ' Hnw can you e'er propose, 
 'You wha ken hardly ivrs*; frae pruse, 
 
 'To mak a satii/^' 
 But by your leave's, my learned foes, 
 
 ■^e're maybe wrang. 
 
 What's a' your jargon o' your Schools, 
 Your Latin names for horns an' stools ; 
 If honest Nature made you /oo/»'. 
 
 What sairs your Granmiars ? 
 Ye'd better taen up spades and slwuls. 
 Or knappin-hanihiers. 
 
 A set o' dull, conceited Hashes, 
 Confuse their brains in ColU'il<je-classes .' 
 ■They gang in Stirks, and come out Asses, 
 
 Plain truth to speak; 
 An' syne they think to climb Parnassus 
 
 By dint o' Greek ! 
 
 Gie me ae spark o' Nature's fire. 
 That's a' the learning I desire; 
 Then tho' I drudge thro' dub an' miie 
 
 At pleugh or cart, 
 My Muse, tho' hamely in attire. 
 
 May touch the heart. 
 
 O for a spunk o' ALLAN'S glee. 
 Or FERGUSON'S, the bauld an' slee. 
 Or bright L*****K'S, my frieml to be, 
 
 If I can hit it 1 
 That would be tear enough for me, 
 If I could get it. 
 
 Now, Sir, if ye hae friends enow, 
 Tho' real friends I b'lieve are few, 
 Yet if your catalogue be fow, 
 
 I'se no insist ; 
 
 But git ye want ae friend that's true, 
 I'm on your list. 
 
 I winna blaw about mysel, 
 As ill I like my fauts to tell ; 
 But friends an' folk that wish me well, 
 
 They sometimes roi ise me ; 
 Tho' I maun own, as monie still, 
 As far abuse me. 
 
 There's ae iveefaut they whiles lay to me, 
 I like the lasses — Gude forgie me I 
 For monie a Plack they wheedle frae me 
 
 At dance or fair : 
 Maybe some ither thing they gie me 
 
 They weel can spare. 
 
 But MAUCHLINE Race or MAUCII- 
 LINE Fair, 
 I should be proud to meet you there ; 
 We'se gie ae night's dischargeto care. 
 
 If we forgather, 
 An' hae a swap o' rhymin'-ware, 
 
 Wi' ane anither. 
 
 The fnur-gi 11 chap, we'se gar him clatter. 
 An' kirs'n him wi' reekin water; 
 Syne we'll sit down an tak our whitter, 
 
 To chear our heart ; 
 An' faith, we'se be acquainted better 
 
 Before we part. '* 
 
 Awa ye selfish, waily race, 
 Wha think that bavins, sense an' grace, 
 Ev'n love an' frieiulship should give place- 
 To catch-the -plack! 
 I dinna like to see your face. 
 
 Nor hear your crack. 
 
 But ye whom social pleasure charms. 
 Whose hearts the tide oj kindness warms. 
 Who hold your being on the terms. 
 
 'Each aid the others," 
 Come to my bowl, come to my arms, 
 
 My friends, my brothers I 
 
 f 
 But to conclude my lang epistle. 
 As my auld pen's worn to the grissle ; 
 Twa lines frae you wad gar me fissle. 
 
 Who am, most ferven 
 While I can either sing, or whissle. 
 
 Your friend and serva ^ 
 
 * The following verses, first printed in tlie lleliques{\i:^^'S),iroli\ the Kilinburgh Common 
 place Book, may have originally formed part of his Epistle to John Goldic, dated Angu 
 1785. It has been asserted that they form.ed part of the above E()istle. 
 
 "There's naething like the honest nappy I 
 Whaur'U ye e'er see men sae happy. 
 Or women sonsie, saft and sappy, 
 
 'Tween morn an' morn. 
 As them wha like to taste the lirappy 
 In jjlass or horn'? 
 
 I've seen me daez't upon a time ; 
 I scarce could wink or see a styme ; 
 Just ae half mutchkin does me prim 
 
 Ought less is little. 
 Then back I rattle on the rhyme 
 
 As glee's a whittle I '•
 
 TEE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 ■m 
 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 April -Zlst, ITS'.. 
 
 WiiYLE new-ca'd kye rowte at the stake. 
 An' pownies reek in pleugh or braik, 
 Thia hour on e'enin's e'lge I take. 
 
 To own I'm ilf-bt.ir, 
 To honest-hearted, an!d I,*""'K. 
 
 Fi>r his kind letter. 
 
 Forjesket ?air, with weary leis, 
 Rattlin the coin out-uwre the riys, 
 Or dealing thro' amang the naigs 
 
 'I heir ten-hours bite. 
 My awkart ^luse sair pleads and begs, 
 
 I would na write. 
 
 The tapotless, ramfeezl'd hizzie. 
 She's saft at Itest an' something lazy, 
 Quo' she, 'Ye ken we've been sae biusy 
 
 'This month an' mair, 
 'That trouth, my head is grown right dizzie, 
 
 'An' something sair.' 
 
 Her dowf excuses pat me mad ; 
 'Conscience,' says I, 'ye thowless javl ! 
 ' I'll write, an' that 9, hearty blaud, 
 "This vera night; 
 'So dinna ye ailront your trade, 
 
 'But rhyme it right. 
 
 'Shall bauld L*****K, the kingo' hearts, 
 'Tho' mankiv.d were a. pack 0' cartes, 
 'Roose ye sae veel for your deserts, 
 
 ' In terms sae friendly, 
 'Yet ye'U neglect to shaw your parts 
 
 '.A.n" thank him kindly? 
 
 Sae I gat p". per in a blink, 
 An' down gaed xtumine in the ink : 
 Quoth I, • Eefore I leep a wink, 
 
 'I vow I'll close it; 
 ' An' if ye wir.na mak it clink, 
 
 ' By jove I'll prose it!' 
 
 Sae I'Te begun to scrawl, but whether 
 In rhyme, or prose, or baith thesither, 
 Or somehotcnpotch that's rightly neitlier, 
 
 Let time mak proof ; 
 But I shall scribble down some bletlier 
 
 .Just clean atf-loof. 
 
 My worthy friend, ne'er grudge an' carp, 
 Tho' Fortune use you hard an' sharp; 
 Come, kittle up your Trumrlun harp 
 
 \Vi' gleesome touch ! 
 Ne'er mind huw Fortune waft an' uarp; 
 She's but a b-tch. 
 
 She's gien me monie a jirt an' fleg, 
 Sin' 1 could striddle owre a rig ; 
 But by the L— d, tho' I should beg 
 
 Wi' lyart pow, 
 I'll laugh, an' sing, an' shake my leg, 
 As lang's I dow 1 
 
 Now comes the sax an' tweyitieth simmer, 
 I've seen the bud \ipo' the timraer. 
 Still persecuted by the linmier 
 
 Frae ye;i i to year ; 
 But yet despite the kittle kimmer, 
 
 /, Rob, am here. 
 
 Do ye envy the cit^inent, 
 Behint a kist to lie an sklent. 
 Or purse-proud, big wi' cent per cent, 
 
 An' muckle wame. 
 In some bit Bncgh to represent 
 
 A BailUe's name? 
 
 Or is't the paughty, feudal Thaae, 
 Wi' rufH'd sark an' glancin cane, 
 Wha thinks himsel nae sheep-shank baiie, 
 
 But lordly stalks. 
 While caps an' bonnets alf are taon. 
 
 As by he walks'." 
 
 ' O Thun wha gies us each guid gift I 
 'Gie me o' ivit an' sense a lift, 
 ' Then turn me, if Thou please, adrift, 
 
 'Thro' Scotland wide; 
 ' Wi' dts nor lairilx I wadna shift, 
 
 'In ,a' their pride I' 
 
 Were this the charter of our state, 
 'On pain o' hell be rich an' great,' 
 Damnation then would be our fate. 
 Beyond remead ; 
 But, th.anks to Ileav'n, that's no the gate 
 We learn our crud. 
 
 For thus the royal Mandate ran, 
 
 When first the human race began, 
 
 'The social, friendly, honest man, 
 
 ' Whate'er he be, 
 
 "Tis he fulfils great Sature's plan. 
 
 'And none but he.' 
 
 O Mandate, glorious and divine! 
 The foUoweis o' the ragged Nine, "^ 
 Poor, thoughtless devils ! yet may sliine 
 
 In glorious light, 
 While sordid .sons o' Mammon's line 
 
 Are dark as night ! 
 
 *This line stands so in all the author's editions. Hamilton Paul, .\ll.in Cunning- 
 bam, and Motherwell concur in adopting the following alteration :— 
 "The ragged followers of the Nine "
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 40 
 
 Tho' here they scr;ipe, an' squeeze, an' 
 growl, 
 Their worthless nievefu' of a send. 
 May in some futurf carcase howl, 
 
 The forest's fright ; 
 Or in some day-detesting owl 
 
 May shun the light. 
 
 Then may L****'K and B**** arise,* 
 
 To reach their native, kindred skies, 
 Aad sing their pleasures, hopes an" joys. 
 
 In some mild sphere, 
 Still closer knit in friendship's ties 
 
 Each passing year ! 
 
 TO W. S"****N, + 
 OCHILrn.EE. 
 
 May ■ 
 
 1785. 
 
 I GAT your letter, winsome AVillie ; 
 Wi' gratefu' heart I thank you brawlie ; 
 Tho' I maun say't, I wad be silly, 
 
 An' unco vain. 
 Should I believe, my coaxin billie. 
 
 Your tlatterin strain. 
 
 But I'se believe ye kindly meant it, 
 I jud be laith to think ye hinted 
 Ironic satire, sidelins sklented. 
 
 On my poor Musie; 
 Tho' in sic phraisin terms ye've penn'd it, 
 I scarce excuse ye. 
 
 My senses wad be in a creel, 
 Should I but dare a hope to speel, 
 Wi' AUan, or wi' Gilhertfield, 
 
 The braes o' fame ; 
 Or Ferguson, the writer-chiel, 
 
 A deathless name. 
 
 (O Ferguson ! thy glorious parts. 
 Ill-suited latv s dry, musty arts I 
 My curse upon yovir whunstane hearts. 
 
 Ye Enbrugh Gentry ! 
 The tythe o' what ye waste at cartes 
 
 \Vad stow'd his pantry '.) 
 
 Yet when a tale comes i' my head, 
 Or lasses gie my hearc a screed, 
 As whiles they're like to be my dead, 
 
 (O sad disease !) 
 I kittle up my rustic reed; 
 
 It gies me ease. 
 
 -Vuld COILA, now, may fidce fu' fain. 
 She's gotten Bardies o her ain, 
 I C'hiels wha their chanters wiima hain. 
 But tune their lays. 
 Till echoes a' resound again 
 ' Her weel-sung praise. 
 
 I Nae Poet thought her worth his while, 
 I To set her name in nieasur'd style ; 
 ; She lay like some unkend-of isle 
 
 Beside New Holland, 
 ' Or whare wild-meeting oceans boil 
 
 Besouth Magellan. 
 
 I Ramsap an' famous Ferguson 
 Gied Forth an' Tag a lift aboon ; 
 Yarrow an' Tweed, to monie a tune, 
 
 Owre Scotland rings, 
 ■ While Irwin, Lugar, Aire an' Doon, 
 Xaebody sings. 
 
 I Th' lUissus, Tiber, Thames an' Seine, 
 \ Glide sweet in monie a tunefu' line ; 
 j But Willie set your fit to mine, 
 
 An' cock your crest. 
 We'll gar our streams an' burnies shine 
 
 Up ^i' the best. 
 
 ^Ve'llsing auld COILA'S plains an' felb; 
 Her moors red-brown wi' heather bells. 
 Her banks an' braes, her dens an' dells. 
 
 Where glorious WALLACE 
 Aft bure the gree, as story tells, 
 
 Frae Suthron Ijillies. 
 
 At WALL.ACE' name, what .Scottish 
 
 blood. 
 But boUs up in a spring-tide flood'. 
 Oft have our fearless fathers strode 
 
 By WALLACE' side. 
 Still pressing onward, red-wat-shod, 
 
 Or glorious dy'd '. 
 
 O sweet are COILA'S haughs an' wootla. 
 When lintwhites chant aniang the buds. 
 And jinkin hares, in amorous whids, 
 Their loves enjoy. 
 While thro' the braes the cushat creeds 
 With u ailfu' cry '. 
 
 I Ev'n winter bleak has chaims to me, 
 , When winds rave thro' the naked tree; 
 ' Or frosts on hills of Ochiltree 
 I Are hoary gray; 
 
 i Or blinding drifts wild-furious tl'ee, 
 ; Dark'ning the day I 
 
 * In the Ccnimon-place Bonk in possession of John Adam, Esq., Greenock, 
 (privately printed, 1372); this poem is recorded under date "June, 17S5." The 
 lUth verse does not appear there, and in the closing stanza the tirst line stands 
 thus: — "Lapiaik and Burness then may rise." When he came to publish the poem a 
 year thereafter, he altered its construction, in order to fit the contracted pronimciatisn 
 of his name then adopted. 
 
 t William Simpson, Schoolmaster.
 
 THE POE.V.^ AXD FOXOS OF BURN!^. 
 
 41 
 
 O NATURE : a' thy shews an' forms 
 To feeling, pensive hearts hae charms 1 
 ^Vhether the Summer kindly warms, 
 
 Wi' life an' iisht, 
 Or Winter howls, in gusty storms. 
 
 The lang, dark night I 
 
 The Muse, nae Poet ever fand her. 
 Till by himsel he learn'd to wander, 
 Adown some trottin burn's meander. 
 
 An' no think lang; 
 O sweet, to stray an' pensive ponder 
 A heart-felt sang I 
 
 The warly race may drudge an' drive. 
 Hog-shouther, jundie. stretch an' strive. 
 Let me fair NATURE'S face descrive. 
 And I, wi' pleasure. 
 Shall let the busy, grumbling hive. 
 
 Bum owre their treasure. 
 
 In thae auld times they thou^'ht the 
 Mocm, 
 .Tust like a sark, or pair o' shd^n, 
 Woor by degrees, rill he» jast rnnn 
 
 (jaed past their viewin. 
 An' shortly after slie was done 
 
 'Khey gat a new ane. 
 
 This past for certain, undisputed; 
 It ne'er cam i' thoir heads to doubt it, 
 Till chiels gat up an' wad confute it, 
 An' ca'd it wrang; 
 An' muckle din there was about it, 
 
 Baith loud an' lang. 
 
 Some herds, weel learn'd up»' the beut. 
 Wad threap auld folk the tiling misteuk : 
 For 'twas the auld moon tuin'd a newk 
 
 An' out o' sight, 
 An' backlins-comin, to the leuk, 
 
 Slie grew niair bright. 
 
 F:ireweel, ' my rliyme-composing ' brither I 
 We've been owre lang unkenn'd to ither : 
 Now let us lay our heads thegither, 
 In love fraternal : 
 May Envy wallop in a tether. 
 
 Black fiend, infernal! 
 
 This was deny'd, it was affirmed; 
 The herds an' /ft'..'x^?s were alarm'd ; 
 The rev'rend gra y-beards rav'd an' storm'd. 
 
 That beardless laddies 
 Should think they better were inform'd, 
 
 Than their auld dadies. 
 
 While Highlandmen hate tolls an' taxes ; 
 While moorlan herds like guid, fat braxies; 
 While Terra tirma, on her axis. 
 
 Diurnal turns. 
 Count on a friend, in faith an' practice. 
 In ROBERT BURNS. 
 
 POSTSCRIPT. 
 
 My memory's no worth a preen ; 
 I had amaist forgotten clean. 
 Ye bad me write you what they mean 
 
 By this new-iinht,* 
 'Bout which our herds sae aft hae been 
 
 Maist like to tight. 
 
 In days when mankind were but callans, 
 At Gratmnar, Lugie, an' sic talents. 
 They took nae pains their speech to 
 balance, 
 
 Or rules to gie. 
 But spak their thoughts in plain, braid 
 lallans. 
 
 Like you or me. 
 
 Frae less to mair it gaed to sticks; 
 Frae words an aiths to clours an' nicks ; 
 An' monie a fallow gat his licks, 
 
 Wi' hearty crunt ; 
 An' some, to learn them for their tricks, 
 
 Were hang'd an' brunt. 
 
 This game was play'd in monie lands. 
 An' auld-light caddies bure sic hands, 
 That faith, the yotmnsters took the sands 
 
 Wi' nimlUe shanks. 
 Till Lairds forbad, by strict commands. 
 
 Sic liluidy pranks. 
 
 But nfxc-Ught herds gat sic a cowe. 
 Folk thought them ruin'd stick-an-stowe. 
 Till now amaist on ev'ry knou-e 
 
 "ife'Ilfind ane plac'd; 
 An' some, their Kew-li'iht fair avow. 
 
 Just quite barefac'd. 
 
 Nae doubt the auld-light flocks are 
 bleatan; 
 Their zealous herds are vex'd an' sweatan ; 
 Mysel, I've ev'n seen them greetan 
 Wi' girnan spite. 
 To hear the Moon sae sadly lied on 
 By word an' write. 
 
 *A cant-term for those religious opinions, 
 defended so strenuously.— (R. ji. 1786.) 
 
 which Dr. Taylor of Norwich has
 
 THE POEMS AND SOXGS OF BURNS. 
 
 42 
 
 But shortly they will cowe the louns! 
 Some avlii-!i iht herds in neebor towns 
 Are mind':, in things they ca' balloons. 
 
 To tak a flight. 
 An' stay ae month amang the Moons 
 
 An' see them right. 
 
 Guid oh-prvation they mil gie them ; 
 An' when rlie nuld Moon's ga\in to lea'e 
 
 them, 
 The hin(lni-'>t shaird, they'll fetch it wi' 
 thcnl, 
 
 Just i' their pouch. 
 An' when the new-liijht hillies see them, 
 I think they'll crouch ! 
 
 Sae, ye observe that a' this clatter 
 Is naethiii^ hut a 'moonshine matter;' 
 But tho' d'dW pmse-folk latin splatter 
 
 In logic tulzie, 
 I hope we, Bardies, ken some hetter 
 
 ■Phati miiui sic brulzie. 
 
 EPISTLK TO J. R'»****,* 
 
 ENCr.OSINiJ SOME POEMS. 
 
 O ROUGH, rude, ready-witted R**»***, 
 The wale o' cocks for fun an' drinkin 1 
 There's nionie godly folks are thinkin, 
 
 Your dreams f an' tricks 
 Will send yon, Korahdike, a sinkin, 
 
 Straught to auld Nick's. 
 
 Ye hae sae monie cracks an' cants, 
 And in your vickeil, druken rants, 
 Ye raak a devil o' the Saunts, 
 
 An' till them fou ; 
 And then their failings, flaws an' wants, 
 
 Are a' seen thro'. 
 
 Hypocrisy, in mercy sp.are it ! 
 That holy r'-''". O dinua tear it ! 
 Spare't for their sakes wha aften wear it. 
 
 The lads in black ; 
 But your curst wit, when it comes near it, 
 
 Rives't aff their back. 
 
 Think, wicked Sinner, wha ye're skaith- 
 ing : 
 It's just the r.lne-Qiiivn badge an' claithing, 
 O' Saunts ; tal: that, ye lea'e them naething, 
 
 To ken them by, 
 Frae ony nn: egeneiate Heathen, 
 Like you or I. 
 
 I've sent you here, some rhymin ware, 
 A' that I bargain'd for, an' mair ; 
 Sae when ye hae an hour to spare, 
 
 I will expect. 
 Yon Sang { ye'U sen't, wi' cannie care, 
 
 And no neglect. 
 
 Tho' faith, sma' heart hae I to sing ! 
 My Muse dow scarcely spread her wing : 
 I've play'd mysel a bouie spring, 
 
 An' danc'd niy fill ! 
 I'd better gaen an' sair't the king. 
 
 At Bunker's hill. 
 
 'Twas ae night lately, in my fun, 
 I gaed a rovin wi' the gun, 
 An' brought a Paitrick to the grMi', 
 
 A honie hen. 
 And, as the twilight was begun, 
 
 " Thought nane wad ken 
 
 The poor, wee thing was little hurt ; 
 I straikrt it a wee for sport. 
 Ne'er thinkan they wad fash me for't ; 
 
 But, Deil-ma-care 1 
 Somebody tells the Poacher-Court, 
 The hale affair. 
 
 Some auld, us'd hands had taen a note. 
 That sic a lien had got a shot ; 
 I was suspected for the plot ; 
 
 I scorn'd to lie ; 
 So gat the whissle o' ray groat. 
 
 An' pay't the/ee. 
 
 But by my gun, o' guns the wale, 
 Xn' by my pouther an' my hail. 
 An' by ray hen, an' by her tail, 
 
 I vow an' swear ! 
 The Game shall Pay, owre moor an' dail. 
 
 For this, niest year. 
 
 As soon's the clockin-time is by, 
 An' the ivee powts begun to cry, 
 L d, I'se hae sportin by an' by, 
 
 For my i/oivd guinea ; 
 Tho' I should herd the buckskin kye 
 
 For't, in Virginia '. 
 
 Trowth, they had muckle for to blame 1 
 'Twas neither broken wing nor limb. 
 But twa-three draps about the warne 
 
 .Scarcethro' the/eathers; 
 An' baith a yellow George to claim. 
 
 An' thole their blethers ! 
 
 It pits me ay as mad's a hare ; 
 So I can rliyme nor write nae mair ; 
 But pennijnvrths again is fair, 
 
 When time's expedient : 
 Meanwhile I am, respected Sir, 
 
 Your most obedient. 
 
 •John Rankine of .\damhill. 
 I A certain humorous (fjrn??! of his was then making a noise in the world.— (R. B. 
 } A Song he had promised the Author.— (R. B. 1756.) 
 
 1736.>
 
 THE rOEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 43 
 
 SONf;. 
 
 Tune— C'>r>!. rvjs are b'mie. 
 
 It was upon a Lammas ni-lit, 
 
 When corn . igs are honie, 
 Beneath the moon's iinclondeil ]ight, 
 
 I held awa to Annie : 
 The time flew by, wi' tentless head. 
 
 Till 'tween the late and early; 
 Wi' sma' persuasion ^he asrreed, 
 
 To see me thro' the hai ley. 
 
 The sky was Idue, the wind was stdl. 
 
 The moon was shiuintr clearly; 
 I set her down, wi' r'sht good will, 
 
 Amant; tl:e rigs o' liarley : 
 I ken't her heart was a' my ain ; 
 
 I lov'd her most sincerely ; 
 I kiss'd her owre and owve again, 
 
 Amang the rigs o' barley. 
 
 I lock'd her in my fond embrace ; 
 
 Her heart was heating rarely : 
 My lilessinis on that happy place, 
 
 Aniang the rigs o' barley I 
 But by the moon and stais so bright, 
 
 That shone that night so clearly '. 
 •She ay shall bless that happy night, 
 
 Amang the rigs o' barley. 
 
 I hae been blythe wi' Comrades dear ; 
 
 I hae been merry drinking; 
 I hae been joyfu' uath'rin gear; 
 
 I hae been "happy thinking ; 
 But a' the pleasures e'er I .--aw. 
 
 The' three times doubl'd fairly, 
 That happy night was worth them a', 
 
 Amang the rigs o' barley. 
 
 cnours. 
 
 Corn riss, an' barley rigs. 
 An' corn rigs are honie : 
 
 I'll ne'er forget that happy night, 
 Amang the rigs wi' Annie. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Now waving grain, wide o'ei the plain, 
 
 Delights the weary Faimer ; 
 And the moon shines bright when I rovs 
 at night, 
 To'muse upon my Charmer. 
 
 The Partriilge loves the fruitful fells ; 
 
 The Plover loves the mountains ; 
 The Woodcock haunts the lonely dell.s ; 
 
 The soaring Hern the fountains : 
 Thro' lofty groves, the ("ushat rnves. 
 
 The path of man to shun it ; 
 The hazel bush o'erhangs the Thrush, 
 
 The spreading thorn the Linnet. 
 
 Thus ev'ry kind their pleasure tiud, 
 
 Tlie savage and the tender ; 
 Some social join, and leagues (-(.iidjine ; 
 
 Some solitary wander : 
 Avaunt, away '. the cruel sway, 
 
 Tyrannic man's dominion ; 
 The Sportsra.an's joy, the nuird'ring cry. 
 
 The tiutt'ring, gory pinion: 
 
 But PEGr;Y dear, the ev'ning's clear, 
 
 Thick flies the skimming Swiillow ; 
 The sky is blue, the fields in view. 
 
 All fading-green and yellow : 
 Come let us stray our gladsome way. 
 
 And view the charms of Nature ; 
 The rustling corn, the fruited thorn, 
 
 And ev'ry happy creature. 
 
 We'll gently walk, and sweetly talk, 
 
 Till the silent moon shine clearly ; 
 I'll grasp thy waist, and fondly pn-st, 
 
 .Swear how I love thee ilearly : 
 Not vernal show'rs to budiling flow'rs. 
 
 Not -Autumn to the Farmer, 
 So dear can be, as thou to me, 
 
 My fair, my lovely Charmer '. 
 
 coMPO.si.n i.N .\r<;r.sr. 
 Tune—/ had a horse, I had nan mair. 
 
 Now westlin winds, and slaught'ring * guns 
 Bring Autunui's pleasant v.eatlier; 
 
 And the moorcock springs, on whirring 
 wings, 
 Amang the blooming heather : 
 
 SO NO. 
 
 Tl'^E—GiUleroy. 
 
 FliOM thee, ELIZ.\, T must go. 
 
 And from my native shore : 
 The cruel fates between us throw 
 
 A boundless ocean's roar ; 
 But boundless oceans, roaring wide. 
 
 Between my Love and me. 
 They never, never can divide 
 
 My he.irt and soul from thee. 
 
 Farewell, f.irewell, KLlZAdear, 
 
 The maid that I adore I 
 A l)oding voice is in mine ear. 
 
 We part to meet no more ! 
 
 'Sportmen'a" in Thomson. Tlie 'Jnd ami 3rd verses are onutted in his collection.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 44 
 
 But the latest throb that leaves ray heart, 
 WhUe Death stands victor by, 
 
 That throb, ELIZA, is thy part, 
 And thine that latest sigh ! 
 
 THE FAREWELL. 
 
 TO THE BRETHREN OF ST. JAMES'S LODGE, 
 TAHBOLTO.N. 
 
 Tune — Ouodnujht and joy be wi' you a'. 
 
 Adieu! a heart- warm, fond adieu ! 
 
 Dear brothers of the mystic tye! 
 Ye favored, ealhjhteiid Few, 
 
 Companions of my social joy 1 
 Tho' I to foreign lands nmst hie. 
 
 Pursuing Fortune s slidd'ry ba', 
 With melting heart, and brimful eye, 
 
 I'll mind yon still, tho' far awa. 
 
 Oft have I met your social Band, 
 
 And spent the chearful, festive night ; 
 Oft, honor'd witli supreme coraraanu, 
 
 Presided o'er the Sons o/ light : 
 And by that Hieroglyphic briglit. 
 
 Which none but Craftsmen ever saw ! 
 Strong Mem'ry on my heart shall write 
 
 Those happy scenes when far awa ! 
 
 ^lay Freedom, Harmony and Love 
 
 Unite you in tlie grand Design, 
 Beneath th' Omniscient Eye above. 
 
 The glorious ARCHITECT Divine ! 
 That you may keep th' unerring line, 
 
 .Still rising by the plummet's law. 
 Till Order bright, completely shine. 
 
 Shall be my Pray'r when far awa. 
 
 And YOU, fare^all I whose merits claim. 
 
 Justly that highest badge to wear 1 
 Heav'n bless your honor'd, noble Name, 
 
 To MASONRY and SCOTIA dear 1 
 A last request, permit me here. 
 
 When yearly ye assemble a'. 
 One round, I ask it witli a tear, 
 
 To him, the Bard, that's far awa. 
 
 EPITAPH ON A HENPECKED 
 COUNTRY SQUIRE.* 
 
 As father Adam first was fool'd, 
 A case that's still too common. 
 
 Here lyes a man a woman rul'd. 
 The devil rul'il tlie woman. 
 
 EPIGRAM ON SAID OCCASION. 
 
 O Death, hadst thou but spar'd his life. 
 
 Whom we, this day, lament ! 
 We freely wad exchang'd the wife, 
 
 An' a' been weel content. 
 
 Ev'n as he is, cauld in his graff, 
 
 The awat) we yet will do't ; 
 Tak thou the Carlin's carcase aff, 
 
 Thou'se get the saul o' boot. 
 
 ANOTHER. 
 
 One Queen Artemisa, as old stories tell. 
 When depriv'd of her husband she loved so 
 
 well. 
 In re.spect for the love and afiection he'd 
 
 show'd her. 
 She reduc'd him to dust, and she drank up 
 
 the Powder. 
 But Queen n **********, of a difl'rent 
 
 complexion. 
 When call'd on to order the fun'ral dir- 
 ection. 
 Would have eat her dead lord <<ii a slender 
 
 pretence. 
 Not to show her respect, but — lo save the 
 
 expence. 
 
 EPITAPHS. 
 ON A CELEBRATED RULING ELDER.t 
 
 Here Sowter**** in Death does sleep ; 
 
 To H— 11, if he's gane thither, 
 Satan, gie him thy gear to keep, 
 
 He'll baud it weel thegither. 
 
 ON A NOISY POLEMIC. X 
 
 Below thir stanes lie Jamie's banes ; 
 
 O Death, it's my opinion. 
 Thou ne'er took sucii a bleth'ran b— tch. 
 
 Into thy dark dominion ! 
 
 ON WEE JOHNIE.§ 
 
 Hie jacet wee Johnie. 
 
 Whoe'er thou art, O reader, know, 
 That Death has nmrder'd Johnie ; 
 
 An' here his body lies fu' low 
 
 For said he ne'er had ony. 
 
 * Campbell of Netherplace. 
 
 t William Hood, Shoemaker, Tarbolton. X James Humphrey, .Mason. 
 
 § This individual was a Cow-feeder in Mauchline, and not John Wilson, the Poefs 
 publisher, as has been erroneously asserted and reiterated to weariness.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 
 45 
 
 FOR THE AUTHOR'S FATHER. 
 
 O YE whose cheek the tear of pity stains, 
 Draw near with pious rev'rence and 
 attend! 
 Here lie the loving Husband's dear remains, 
 The tender Father, and the gen'^ou^^ 
 Friend. 
 The pitying Heart that felt for human Woe ; 
 The dauntless heart that fear'd no 
 human Pride ; 
 The Friend of Man, to vice alone a foe; 
 ' For evn his failings lean'd to Virtue's 
 side.' * 
 
 FOR R. A. ESQ. 
 
 [A compliment to his friend and early 
 patron, Robert Aiken, writer in Ayr, to 
 whom the Cotter's Saturday Sight is 
 inscribed.] 
 
 Know thou, O stranger to the fame 
 Of this much lov'd, much honor'd name I 
 (For none that knew him need be told) 
 A warmer heart Death ne'er made cold. 
 
 FOR G. H. ESQ. 
 
 [A tribute to the worth of the poet's 
 early frieml and associate, Gavin Hamil- 
 ton, writer in Mauchline.] 
 
 The poor man weeps— here G N sleeps. 
 
 Whom canting wretches blam'd : 
 
 But with such as he, where'er he be, 
 May I be sav'd or d 'd I 
 
 A BARD'S EPITAPH. 
 
 [This poem formeil the appropriate 
 finale to the wonderful volume which was 
 issued from the Kilmarnock Press in July, 
 1786.] 
 
 Is there a whim-inspir'd foul, 
 
 Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule, 
 
 Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool. 
 
 Let liim draw near; 
 And o'er this grassy heap sing dool, 
 
 And drap a tear. 
 
 Is there a Bard of rustic song. 
 Who, noteless, steals the crouds among, 
 That weekly this area throng, 
 
 O, pass not by ! 
 But with a frater-feeling strong. 
 
 Here, heave a sigh. 
 
 Is there a man whose judgment clear. 
 Can others teach the course to steer, 
 Yet runs, himself, life's mad career. 
 
 Wild as the wave. 
 Here pause — and thro' the starting tear. 
 
 Survey this grave. 
 
 The poor Inhabitant below 
 Was quick to learn and wise to know, 
 And keenly felt the friendly glow. 
 
 And snfter jlame; 
 But thoughtless follies laid him low. 
 
 And stain'd hia name t 
 
 Reader attend — whether thy soul 
 Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole, 
 Or darkling grubs tliis earthly hole. 
 
 In low pursuit. 
 Know, prudent, cautious, self-omtroul 
 
 Is Wisdom's root. 
 
 "^^Wf 
 
 •Goldsmith.— (R. B. 17SC.)
 
 THE ORIGINAL NASMYTH PORTRAIT. 
 
 Rki'Uodlckd 1 ROM "TnK Burns Ciikomllk" j-ok ifeSd. 
 (Bi) Special Permission of the Pv.blUhcr.)
 
 ,^0i^ 
 
 POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 ADDED TO THE FOREGOING BY THE AUTHOR, 
 
 IN HIS NEW EDITION PUBLISHED AT 
 
 EDINBURGH IN APEIL, 1787
 
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 as 

 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 TO THE NOBLEMEN AND GENTLEMEN OF THE CALEDONIAN 
 
 HUNT. 
 
 Mv Lords, and Gentlemen, 
 
 A Scottish Bard, proud of the name, and wliose highest ambition is to sing in his 
 Country's service, where shall he so properly look for patronage as to the illustrious 
 Names of his native Land; those who bear the honours and inherit the virtues of 
 their Ancestors?— The Poetic Genius of my Country found me as the prophetic bard 
 Elijah did Klisha— at the plough; and threw her '.iispiring mantle over me. She 
 bade me sing the loves, the joys, the rural scenes and rural pleasures of my natal 
 Soil, in my native tongue: I tuned my wild, artless notes, as she inspired.— She 
 whispered me to come to this ancient metropolis of Caledonia, and lay my Songs 
 under your honoured protection : I now obey her dictates. 
 
 Though much indebted to your goodness, I do not approach you, my Lords and 
 Gentlemen, in the usual stile of dedication, to thank you for past favours ; that path 
 is so hackneyed by prostituted Learning, that honest Rusticity is ashamed of it.— 
 Nor do I present this Address with the venal soul of a servile Author, looking for a 
 continuation of those favours: I was bred to the Plough, and am independent. I 
 come to claim the common Scottish name with you, my illustrious Countrymen; and 
 to tell the world that I glory in the title. — I come to congratulate my Country, that 
 the blood of her ancient heroes still runs uncontaminated ; and that from your 
 courage, knowledge, and public spirit, she may expect protection, wealth, and 
 liberty.— In the last place, I come to proffer my warmest wishes to the Great 
 Fountain of Honour, the Monarch of the Universe, for your welfare and happiness. 
 
 When you go forth to waken the Echoes, in tlie ancient and favourite amusement 
 of your Forefathers, may Pleasure ever be of your party; and may Social-joy await 
 your return \ When harassed in courts or camps with the justlings of bad men and 
 bad measures, may the honest consciousness of injured Worth attend your return 
 to your native .Seats ; and may Domestic Happiness, with a smiling welcome, meet 
 you at your gates 1 May Corruption shrink at your kindling indignant glance ; and 
 may tyranny in the Ruler and licentiousness in the People equally find you an 
 inexorable foe ! 
 
 I have the honour to be. 
 
 With the sincerest gratitude and highest respect, 
 
 My Lords and Gentlemen, 
 
 Your most devoted humble servant, 
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 
 Edinburgh, April i, 17S7.
 
 THE BEUGO ENGRAVING. 
 
 RKl'IiOUUCED FROM "TlIK lil'RNS ClIROMCI.E ' FOR lSi)(i. 
 (Bi/ Special PTinis.'iioH <i/ tlic PiililUhcr.)
 
 POEMS, 
 
 CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 
 
 DEATH AND DOCTOR HORNBOOK. 
 
 A TRUE STORY. 
 
 [On the authority of the poet's own note, i 
 and also a memorandum by Gilbert Burns, 
 we learn that this satire was composed in 
 the springof 178.5. Theauthor, then resident 
 at Mossgiel, had been attending a meeting 
 of St. James's Lodge of Freemasons at Tar- 
 bolton, of which .John Wilson, the parish- | 
 school teacher, was a Brother. The I 
 dominie then eked out his small income 
 by keeping a grocery shop, where he sold 
 drugs as well as edibles, and announced 
 by a card in liis window, that he gave 
 "medical advice gratis." lie took every 
 opportunity of expatiating on his self- ] 
 acquired skill as a practilioner. and so 
 tickled Burns on the night referred to, j 
 with his Ksculapian prerensions, thaton his 
 way home he conceived the present com- 
 position, and next day, ^vhiIe wen king 
 with liis brother in the tields, he recited 
 the poem, very much like that which he 
 afterwards published. 
 
 In the year 1793, Wilson removed to 
 Glasgow, where he died in easy circum- 
 stances, in 1839.) 
 
 Some books are lies frae end to end. 
 And some great lies were never penn'd : 
 Ev'n Ministers they hae been kenn'd, 
 
 In lioly rapture, 
 A rousing whid, at times, to vend, * 
 
 And nail't wi' Scripture. 
 
 But this that I am ga\iu to tell. 
 Which lately on a night betel. 
 Is just as true's the Deil's in , 
 
 Or Dublin city: 
 That e'er he nearer comes oursel 
 
 'S a mnckle pity. 
 
 The Claclian yill had made me canty, 
 
 I was na fou, but just had plenty; 
 
 I stacher'd whyles, but yet took tent ay 
 
 To free the ditches; 
 An' hillocks, stanes, an' bushes kenn'd ay 
 
 Fraeghaistsan' witches. 
 
 The rising Moon began to glowr 
 Tlie distant Cumnod: hilLs out-owre ; 
 To count lier iKjrns, wi' .i' my pow'r, 
 
 I set mysel. 
 But whether she had three or four, 
 
 I cou'd na tell. 
 
 I was come round a]iout the hill, 
 .\nd todlin down on Willie-s uiill. 
 Setting my st.tff wi' a' my skill, 
 
 To keep me sicker; 
 Tho' leeward whyles, against my will, 
 I " I tcnk a bicker. 
 
 i I there wi' Soinctluivj does forgather, 
 That pnt me in an eeiie swither; 
 .\n awfu' scythe, out-owre ae shouther, 
 Clear-dangling, hang; 
 A tliree-tae'd leister on the ither 
 
 Lay, large an' lang. 
 
 Its stature seem'd lang Scotch ells twa. 
 The queerest shape that e'er I saw, 
 For tient a w.ame it h:\d ava, 
 
 -Vud tlien its shanks, 
 They were as thin, as sh.irp an' sma' 
 
 As cheeks o' branks. 
 
 'Guid-een,' quo' I; 'Friend! hae ye been 
 
 mawin, 
 'When ither folk are busy sawin?'t 
 It seem'd to raak a kind o' stan'. 
 
 But naething spak; 
 .Vt length, says I, ' Friend, whare ye gaun, 
 
 'Will ye go back?' 
 
 It spak right howe — 'My name is Death, 
 'But l)e na' Hey'd.' — Quoth I, 'Guid faith, 
 ' Ye're maybe come to st.ap my breath ; 
 
 'But tent nie billie; 
 'I red ye weel, t.ak care o' skaith, 
 
 ' See, there's a gully 1' 
 
 *The 1st, 2nd, and 3rd editions read:— "Great lies and nonsense baith to vend." 
 Altered in 1794. 
 
 tThis rencounter happened in seed-time 1785.— (R. B. 17S7.)
 
 THE POEMS AND SOXGS OF BURNS. 
 
 52 
 
 'Gudeman,' quo' he, 'put up your whittle, 
 'I'm no (iesign'd to trv its mettle ; 
 ' But if I did, I wad be kittle 
 
 'To be inislear'd, 
 'I wad na' mind it, no that spittle 
 
 •Out-ovsre my beard.' 
 
 ' Weel, weell' says I, 'a bargain be't ; 
 
 ' Come, gies your hand, an' sae we're gree't ; 
 
 'We'll ease our shanks an' tak a seat, 
 
 ' Come, gies your news 1 
 ' This while ' ye hae been mony a gate, 
 
 'At mony a house." 
 
 'Ay, ay I quo' he, an' shook his head, 
 'It's e'en a lang, lang time indeed 
 'Sin' I began to nick the thread, 
 
 ' An' choke the breath : 
 ' Folk maun do something for their bread, 
 
 'An' sae maun Death. 
 
 'Sax thousand years are near hand fled 
 
 ' Sin' I was to the hutching bred, 
 
 'And mony a scheme in vain's been laid, 
 
 ' To stap or scar ine ; 
 'Till ane Hornbook's t taen up tlie trade, 
 
 ' And faith, he'll waur me. 
 
 'Ye ken Jock Hornbook i' the Clachan, 
 'Dell mak his king's-hood in a spleuchan I 
 'He's grown sae weel acquaint wi' Buchan, { 
 
 'And ither chaps, 
 •The weans baud out their Angers laughin, 
 
 'And pouk my hips. 
 
 'See, here's a scythe, and there's a dart, 
 'They hae pierc'd mony a gallant heart ; 
 ' But Doctor Hornbook, wi' his art 
 
 ' Ami cursed skill, 
 ' Has made them baith no worth a 
 
 'D haet they'll kill! 
 
 "Twaa but yestreen, nae farther gaen, 
 
 'I threw a noble throw at ane ; 
 
 'Wi' less, Fm sure, I've hundreds slain ; 
 
 ' But deil-ma-care ! 
 'It just play'd dirl on the bane, 
 
 'But did nae mair. 
 
 ' Hiymbook was by, wi' ready art, 
 'And had sae fortify'd the part, 
 'That when I looked to my dart, 
 
 'It was .sae blunt, 
 ' Fient haet o't wad hae pierc'd the heart 
 
 'Of a kail-runt. 
 
 'I drew ray scythe in sic a fury, 
 'I nearhand cowpit wi' my hurry, 
 'But yet the bauld Aoothecary 
 
 ' Withstood the shock ; 
 ' I might as weel hae try'd a quarry 
 
 'O' hard whin-rock. 
 
 ' Ev'n them he canna get attended, 
 'Altho' their face he ne'er had kend it, 
 'Just in a kail-blade and send it, 
 
 'As soon 's he smells 't, 
 ' Baith their disease, and what will mend it, 
 
 ' At once he tells 't. 
 
 ' And then a' doctor's saws and whittle.s, 
 'Of a' dimensions, shapes, an' mettles, 
 'A' kinds o' boxes, mugs, an' bottles, 
 
 ' He's sure to hae ; 
 'Their Latin names as fast he rattles 
 
 'As AB C. 
 
 'Calces o' fossils, earths, and trees; 
 'True Sal-marinum o' the seas; 
 'The Farina of beans and pease, 
 
 'He has't in plenty; 
 'Aqua-fontis, what you please, 
 
 ' He can content ye. 
 
 ' Forbye some new, uncommon weapons, 
 
 ' Urinus Spiritus of capons; 
 
 'Or Mite-horn shavings, filings, scrapings, 
 
 'DistiU'd per se; 
 'Sal-alkaU o' Midge-tail clippings, 
 
 'And mony mae.' 
 
 ' Waes me for Johnny Ged's Hole^ now,' 
 
 Quoth I, ' if that thae news be true I 
 
 ' His braw calf- ward whare gowans grew, 
 
 ' Sae white an' bonie, 
 'Nae doubt they'll rive it wi' the plew ; 
 
 'They'll ruin Johnie!' 
 
 The creature grain'd an eldritch laugh. 
 And says, ' Ye needna yoke the pleugh, 
 'Kirk-yards will soon be till'd eneugh, 
 
 ' Tak ye nae fear : 
 'They'll a' be trench'd wi' mony a sheugh, 
 
 ' In twa-three year. 
 
 ' Whare I kiU'd ane, a fair strae-death, 
 'By loss o' blood, or want o' breath 
 'This night I'm free to tak my aith, 
 
 'That Hornbook's skill 
 'Has clad a score i' their last claith, 
 
 'By drap and pill. 
 
 * An epidemical fever wis then raging in that country. — (R. B. 1787.) 
 tThis gentleman. Dr. Hornbo ik, is, professionally, a brother of the sovereign Order 
 of the Ferula; but, by intuition and inspiration, is at once an Apothecary, Surgeon, 
 and Physician.— (R. B. 1787.) 
 tBuchan's Domestic Medicine.— (R. B. 1737.) §The grave-digger.- (R. B. 1787.)
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BORN&. 
 
 53 
 
 'An honest Wabster to his trade, 
 'Svhase wife's twa nieves weie scarce weel- 
 
 breil, 
 'Gat tippence-woith to mend her head, 
 
 'When it was sair; 
 'The wife slade cannie to her bed, 
 
 ' But ne'er spak mair. 
 
 ' A countra Laird had ta'en the batts, 
 'Or some curmurring in his guts, 
 ' His only son for Hornbook sets, 
 
 * 'And pays him well, 
 
 ' The lad, for twa guid gimmerpets, 
 ' Was Laird himsel. 
 
 ' A bonie lass, ye kend her name, 
 'Someill-brewn drink had hov'dherwame, 
 'She trusts hersel, to hide the shame, 
 
 ■ In Homhonk's care ; 
 'Horn sent her aff to her lang hame, 
 
 'To hide it there. 
 
 ' That's just a swatch o' BornhooVt way, 
 'Thus goes he on from day to day, 
 'Thus does he poison, kill, an' slay, 
 
 ' An's ^veel pay'd for't ; 
 'Yet stops me o' mv lawfu' prey, 
 
 ' Wi' hisd dirtl 
 
 'But hark! I'll tell you of a plot, 
 'Tho' dinna ye be speakin o't; 
 'I'll nail the self-conceited Sot, 
 
 'As dead's a herrin: 
 'Niest time we meet, I'll wad a groat, 
 
 ' He gets his fairin !' 
 
 But just as he began to tell. 
 
 The auld kirk-hamnier strak the bell 
 
 Some wee, short hour ayont the heal. 
 
 Which rais'd us baith : 
 I took the way that pleas'd mysel. 
 
 And sae did Death. 
 
 THE BRIGS OF AYR. 
 
 A POEM. 
 
 IN3CRIDRD TO J. B***«-«**-'< Esq,, AYS.* 
 
 The simple Bard, rough at the rustic plough. 
 
 Learning his tuneful trade from ev'ry bough; 
 
 The chanting linnet, or the mellow thrush, 
 
 Hailing the setting sun, sweet, in the green thorn bush, 
 
 Tlie soaring lark, the perching red-breast shrill. 
 
 Or deep-ton'd plovers, erey, wild-whistling o'er the hill; 
 
 Shall he, nurst in the Peasant's lowly shed. 
 
 To hardy Independence bravely bred, 
 
 By early Poverty to hardship steel'd. 
 
 And train'd to arms in stern Misfortune's field, 
 
 Shall he be guilty of their hireling crimes, 
 
 The servile, mercenary Swiss of rhymes? 
 
 Or labour hard the panegyric close. 
 
 With all the venal soul of dedicating Prose? 
 
 No I though his artless strains he rudely sings, 
 
 And tlirows his hand uncouthly o'er the strings, 
 
 He glows with all the spirit of the Bard, 
 
 Fame, honest fame, his great liis dear reward. 
 
 Still, if some Pitron's gen'rous care he trace, 
 
 Skill'd in the secret, to best w with grace; 
 
 When R. ♦*»«♦♦«» befriends his humble name, 
 
 And hands the rustic Stranger up to fame. 
 
 With heartfelt throes his grateful bosom swells. 
 
 The godlike bliss, to give, alone excels. 
 
 'Twas when the stacks get on their winter-hap, 
 And thack and rape secure the toil- won crap; 
 Piititoe-bings are snugged up frae skaith 
 Of coining Winter's biting, frosty breath ; 
 
 "John Ballantyne, Banker, .\yr.
 
 THE POEMS AND SOXOS OF BURNS. 
 
 54 
 
 The bees, rejoicing o'er their summer-toils, 
 UniiumherM buds an' flow'rs' delicious spoils, 
 Seal'il up with frugal care in massive, waxen piles, 
 Are doom'd by Man, that tyrant o'er the weak, 
 The death o' devils, smoor'd wi' brimstono reek: 
 The tbund'ring pins are heard on ev'ry side. 
 The wcjundeil roveys. reeling, scatter wide; 
 The feather'd tield-mates, bound by Nature's tie, 
 Sires, mothers, children, in one carnage lie : 
 (What warm, poetic heart but inly bleeds, 
 And execrates man's savage, ruthless deeds I) 
 Nae raair the fiow'r in field or meadow springs; 
 Nae mair the grove with airy concert rings, 
 Except perhaps the Robin's whistling glee, 
 I'roud o' the height o' some bit half-lang tree: 
 The hoary morns precede the sunny days. 
 Mild, calm, serene, wde-spreads the noontide bl.ize, 
 While thick the gossamour waves wanton in the rays. 
 
 'Twas in that season: ^^hen a simple Bard, 
 Unknown and poor, simplicity's reward, 
 Ae night, witliin the ancient Ijrugh of Aur, 
 By whim iuspir'd, or haply prest wi' care. 
 He left his bed and took his wayward rout. 
 And down by Simpson's* wheel'd the left about: 
 (Whether iinpell'd by all-diiecting Fate, 
 To witness what I after shall narrate; 
 Or whether, rapt in meditation high. 
 He wandereil out lie knew not where nor why.) 
 The drowsy Dnn(ieon-dock\ had number'd two. 
 And Wallace T(m'r\ had sworn the fact was true: 
 Tb.e tide-swoln Fiith, with sullen-sounding roar, 
 Tlinueh the still night dash'd hoarse along the shoret 
 All else was hush'd as Nature's closed e'e; 
 The silent moon shone high o'er tow'r and^tree : 
 The chilly Frost, beneath the silver beam, 
 Crept, gently-crusting, o'er the glittering stream, 
 
 When, lo! on either hand the list'iiing Bard, 
 
 The clanging t-ugh of whistling wings is heard; 
 
 Two dusky forms dart thro' the midnight air. 
 
 Swift as the GosX drives on the wheeling liare ; 
 
 Ane on th' Auld Brig his airy shape uprears, 
 
 The ither flutters o'er the rising piers: 
 
 Our warlock Rhymer instantly descry'd 
 
 The Sprites that owre the Brigs of Ayr preside. 
 
 (Thnt Bards are second-sighted is nae joke. 
 
 And ken the lingo of the sp'ritual folk; 
 
 Fays, Spunkies, Kelpies, a', they can explain them, 
 
 And ev'n the vera deils they brawly ken them.) 
 
 Auld Brij appear'd of ancient Pictish race, 
 
 The vera wrinkles Gothic in his face : 
 
 He seem'd as he wi' Time had warstl'd lang, 
 
 Yet, teughly doure, he bade an unco bang. 
 
 New Brig was buskit in a braw, new coat. 
 
 That he. at Lon'on, frae ane Adams got; 
 
 In's hand five taper staves as smooth's a bead, 
 
 Wi' virls an' whirlvgigums at the head. 
 
 *A noteil tavern at the Auld Brig end. — (R. B. 17S7.) 
 t The two steeples.— (U. B. 1737.) {The goa-hawk, or falcon.— (E. B. 1737.)
 
 THE POEMS AND SOXOS OF BUBNS. 
 55 
 
 The Goth was stalkinji: ronml with anxious search. 
 Spying the time-worn dawn in ev'ry arch ; 
 It chanc'd his new-cume neeb'ir took his e'e, 
 Anil e'en a vex'd ami angry heart liad he ! 
 Wi' thieveless sneer to see his modish mien, 
 He, down the water, gies him this guideen 
 
 ALI.U BKIi;. 
 
 I doubt na, frien', ye'll think ye're nae sheep-shank, 
 Ance ye were streekit owre frae bank to l.iank 1 
 But gin ye lie a Crig as auld a-; me, 
 Tho' faith, that day, I tlnuht, ye'll never see; 
 There'll be, if that date come, I'll wad a boddle, 
 Some fewer whigmeleeries in your noddle. * 
 
 NEW BKIG. 
 
 Auld Vandal, ye but show your little menae, 
 Just much about it wi' your scanty sense; 
 Will your poor, narrow foot-path of a street. 
 Where twa wheel-liarrows tremble when they meet. 
 Your ruin'd, formless bulk o' staneand lime. 
 Compare wi' bonie lirigs o' modern time'? 
 Theie's men of taste wou'd tak the Ducat-stream, \ 
 Tho' they sliouUl cast tlie vera sark and swim, 
 Ere they wnuld grate tlieir feelings wi' the view 
 Of sic an ugly, Gothic liulk as you. 
 
 .VLLD BRIG. 
 
 Conceited gowkl putf'd up wi' windy pride! 
 
 This mony a ye.ar I've stood the flood an' tide; 
 
 And tho' wi' crazy eild I'm sair forfairn, 
 
 I'll be a Briij when ye're a shapel-ess cairn ! 
 
 As yet ye little ken about the matter, 
 
 3ut twa-three winters will inform ye better. 
 
 When heavy, dark, continued, a'-day rains 
 
 Wi' deepening deluges o'erflow the plains; 
 
 When from the hills where springs the brawling Coil, 
 
 Or stately Lwjar's umssy fountains boil, 
 
 Or where the Greenock winds his moorland course, 
 
 Or haunted Garpalt draws his feeble source, 
 
 Arous'd by blustering winds an' spotting thowes. 
 
 In mony a turrent down the snaw-broo rowes; 
 
 While crashing ice, borne on the roaring speat. 
 
 Sweeps dams, an' mills, an' brigs, ,a' to the gate; 
 
 .Vnd from Gl-'ii'nir':,i: down to the Rattoa-ke>j,\\ 
 
 .\ulil Ajir is just one lennthen'd, tumbling sea ; 
 
 Then down ye'll hurl, deil nor ye never rise I 
 
 And dash tlie gumlie jaups up to the pouring skies. 
 
 A lesson sadly teaching, to your cost, 
 
 Th.at Architecture's noble art is lost 1 
 
 •In the 1737 edition, the words '"date," and "day" in this couplet are transposed. 
 
 t A noted ford, just above the Auld Brii/.—{R. ]i. 17S7.) 
 
 tThe banks of Garpat Water is one of the few places in th« West of .Scotland where 
 those f.ancy scaring beings, known by the name of Ghaists, stillcontinue pertinaciously 
 to inhabit.— (U. B. 1787.) 
 
 §The source of the river of Ayr— ill. B. 17S7.) 
 
 II A small landing-place above the Ur;;e 'icey. — (R. I). 17S7.)
 
 THE POEMS AND SOXOS OF BURNS. 
 
 5fi 
 
 NKW RRIG. 
 
 Fine architect ur'', trowth, I needs must say't o't! 
 
 Tlie L — -(I lie thnnkit that we've tint the gate o't I 
 
 Gaunt, ghastly, ghaist-alluring edifices. 
 
 Hanging with threat'ning jut lil<e precipices; 
 
 O'er-archlng, mouldy, gloom-inspiring coves, 
 
 Supporting roofs, fantastic, stony groves : 
 
 Windows and doors in nameless sculptures drest, 
 
 With order, symmetry, or taste unhlest; 
 
 Forms like some bedlam Statuary's dream, 
 
 The craz'd creations of misguided whim; 
 
 Forms might be worshipp'd on the bended knee, 
 
 And still the second dread command be free. 
 
 Their likeness is not found on earth, iu air, or sea. 
 
 Mansions that would disgrace the building taste 
 
 Of any mason reptile, bird, or beast ; 
 
 Fit only for a doued .Monkish race. 
 
 Or frosty maiils forsworn the dear embrace, 
 
 Or Cuifs of later times, wha held the notion. 
 
 That sullen gloom wns sterling, true devotion : 
 
 Fancies that our gui 1 Hiugh denies protection, 
 
 And soon may they expire, unblest with resurrection ! 
 
 AULD BRIG. 
 
 ye, my dcar-remember'd, ancient yealings. 
 Were ye but here to share my wounded feelings 1 
 Ye worthy Proveses, an' niony a Bailie, 
 
 Wha in the paths o' righteousness did toil ay; 
 
 '\'e dainty Deacnnn, an' ye douce Conveeners, 
 
 To whom our moderns are but causey-cleaners ; 
 
 Ye godly Cmincils wha hae lilest this town ; 
 
 Ye godly Brethren o' the sacred gown, 
 
 ft'ha meekly gae your hurdies to the smiters: 
 
 And (what would now be strange) ye godly Writers: 
 
 A' ye douce folk I've borne aboon the broo, 
 
 Were ye but here, what would ye say or do ! 
 
 How would your spirits groan in deep vexation, 
 
 To see each melancholy alteration ; 
 
 And, agonising, curse the time and place 
 
 When ye begat the base, degen'rate race'. 
 
 Nae langer Rev'rend Men, their country's glory, 
 
 In plain, braid Scots hold forth a plain, braid story : 
 
 Nae langer thrifty Citizens, an' douce. 
 
 Meet owre a pint, or in the Council-house ; 
 
 But staumrel, corky-headed, graceless Gentry, 
 
 The herryment ami ruin of th>^ country ; 
 
 Men, three-parts made by Taylora and by Barbers, 
 
 Wha waste your weel-hain'd gear on d 7iew Brigs and Harhownl 
 
 NEW ItRIG. 
 
 Now baud you there! for faith ye've saiil enough, 
 And muckle mair than ye c ui niak to through. 
 As for your Priesthood, I shall say but little, 
 Corbies and Clergy are a shot right kittle : 
 But, under favor o' your langer beard. 
 Abuse o' Magistrates might weel be spar'd ; 
 To liken them to your auld-warld squad, 
 
 1 must needs say, comparisons are odd. 
 
 In Ayr, Wag-wits nae mair can have a handle 
 To mouth 'A Citizen," a terra o' scandal;
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 57 
 
 Nae mair the Council waddles down the street, 
 
 In all the pomp of ignorant conceit; 
 
 Men wha grew wise priggin owre hops an' rasins, 
 
 Or gather'd lib'ral views in Bonds and Seisins. 
 
 If haply Knowledge, on a random tramp, 
 
 Had shor'd them with a glimmer of his lamp, 
 
 And would to Common-sense for once betray'd them, 
 
 Plain, dull Stupidity stept kindly in to aid them. 
 
 What farther clishmaclaver might been said, 
 What bloody wars, if Sprites had blood to shed, 
 No man can" tell; but, all before their sight, 
 A fairy train appear'd in order bright : 
 Adown the glittering stream they featly danc'd : 
 Bright to the moon their various dresses glanc'd|: 
 They footed o'er the wat'ry glass so neat. 
 The infant ice scarce bent beneath their feet: 
 While arts of Minstrelsy among them rung. 
 And soul-ennobling Bards heroic ditties sung. 
 
 O had M'Lauckl'a7i,* thairm-inspiring Sage, 
 
 Been there to hear this heavenly band engage. 
 
 When thro' his dear Strathspeys they bore'with Highland rage; 
 
 i)T when they struck old Scotia's melting airs, 
 
 The lover's raptur'd joys or bleeding cares ; 
 
 How would his Highland lug been nobler fir'd, 
 
 And ev'n his matchless hand with finer touch inspir'dl 
 
 No guess could tell what instrument appear'd, 
 
 But all the soul of Music's self was heard ; 
 
 Harmoni(jus concert rung in every part, 
 
 While simple melody pour'd moving on the heart. 
 
 The Genius of the Stream in front appears, 
 
 A venerable Chief advanc'd in years ; 
 
 His hoary head with water-lilies crown'd. 
 
 His manly leg with garter tangle bound. 
 
 Next came the lovliest pair in all the ring, 
 
 Sweet Female Beauty hand in hand with Spring; 
 
 Then, crown'd with tlow'ry hay, came Rural .Joy, 
 
 And Summer, with his fervid-beaming eye : 
 
 All-chearing Plenty, with her flowing horn. 
 
 Led yellu^v Autumn wreath'd with nodding corn; 
 
 Then Winter's time-bleach'd locks did hoary show, 
 
 By Hospitality with cloudless brow. 
 
 Next follow'dCourage with his martial stride. 
 
 From wliere the Feal wild-woody coverts hide : 
 
 Benevolence, with milil, benignant air, 
 
 A female form, came from the tow'rs of Stair: 
 
 Learning and Worth in equal measures trode. 
 
 From simple Catrinc, their long-lov'd abode: 
 
 Last, white-rob'd Peace, cro>vn'd with a hazle wreath. 
 
 To Rustic Agriculture did bequeath 
 
 The broken, iron instruments of Death, 
 
 At sight of whom our Sprites forgac their kindling wrath. 
 
 •ij}' •'^ -i?- 
 
 •A well known performer of Scottish music on the violin.— (R. B. 1787.)
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 58 
 
 THE ORDINATION. 
 
 Fffr sense they little owe to frugal lleav'n— 
 To please the Mob they hide the little giv'n. 
 
 [On Feb. 27, 1786, the poet penned a 
 letter to his companion, John Richmond, 
 then in Edinburgh, in which inter alia, he 
 says — "I have been very busy with the 
 Muses since I saw you, and have composed 
 among several others. The Ordination, a 
 poem on Mr. Mackinlay's being called to 
 Kilmarnock." 
 
 Mr Lindsay of the Laigh Kirk died in 
 1774, and was succeeded by the Rev. John 
 Mutrie, another Xew Light preacher, whi' 
 died in June, 17s5. and his death closed 
 the career of "cauld moderation" in thi- 
 Laigh Ivirk of Kilmarnock. Lord Glen- 
 cairn, on the occasion of this vacancy, 
 filled it up to the satisfaction of the Ola 
 Light party, by presenting; the Rev. James 
 Mackinlay, whose appointment occasioned 
 the present poem. He was ordained April 
 6th, 1786.] 
 
 Kilmarnock Wabsters, fldge an' claw, 
 
 An' pour your creeshie nations; 
 An' ye wha leather rax an' draw, 
 
 Of a' denominations ; 
 Swith to the Laigh Kirk, ane an' a', 
 
 An' there tak up your stations ; 
 Then aff to Begbie'n in a raw, 
 
 An' pour divine libations 
 
 For joy this day. 
 
 Curst Common-sense, that imp o' , 
 
 Cam in wi' Maggie Lauder:* 
 But Oliphant aft made her yell, 
 
 An' Russell sair misca'd her : 
 This day M'Kinlay taks the flail. 
 
 An' he's the boy will blaud her I 
 IIo'll clap a shangan on her tail. 
 
 An' set the bairns to daud her 
 
 W'i' dirt this day. 
 
 Mak haste an' turn king David owre. 
 
 An' lilt wi" holy clangor; 
 O' double verse come gie us four, 
 
 An' skirl up the Bangor : 
 
 This day the Kirk kicks up a stoure, 
 Nae mair the knaves shall wrong her. 
 
 For Heresy is in her pow'r, 
 And gloriously she'll whanjj her 
 Wi' pith this day. 
 
 Come, let a proper text be read. 
 
 An' touch it atf wi' vigour, 
 How gr.aceless Ilam t leugh at his Dad, 
 
 Which made Canaan a nigger; 
 Or PhineasX drove the murdering blade, 
 
 Wi' abhorring rigour; 
 
 Or /Cippornh,i the scauldin jad, 
 
 Was like a bluidy tiger 
 
 r th' inn that day. 
 
 There, try his mettle on the creed, 
 
 And bind him down wi' caution. 
 That Stipend is a carnal weed 
 
 He takes but for the fashion ; 
 And gie him o'er the flock, to feed. 
 
 And punish each transgression ; 
 Especial, rams that cross the breed, 
 
 Gie them sufficient threshin. 
 
 Spare them nae day. !| 
 
 Now auld Ivihnarnock, cock thy tail. 
 
 An' toss thy horns fu' canty ; 
 Nae mair thou'lt rowte out-owre the dale, 
 
 Because thy pasture's scanty ; 
 For lapf u's large o' gospel kail 
 
 Shall till thy crib in plenty. 
 An' runts o' grace the pick an' wale, 
 
 No gi'en by way o' tiainty 
 
 But ilka day. 
 
 Nae mair by BabeVs streams we'll weep. 
 
 To think upon our Zion; 
 And hing our fiddles up to sleep, 
 
 Like baby-clouts a-dryin : 
 Come, screw the pegs wi' tunefu' cheep, 
 
 And o'er the thaiims be tryin ; 
 Oh, lare! to see our elbucks wheep, 
 
 And a' like lamb-tails flyin 
 
 Fu' fast this day ! 
 
 Lang, Patrona{/e, wi' rod o' airn, 
 
 Has shor'd the Kirk's undoin. 
 As lately Fenwick, sair forfairn. 
 
 Has proven to its ruin : 
 Our Fatron, honest man 1 Glencairn, 
 
 lie saw mischief was brewin ; 
 And like a godly, elect bairn. 
 
 He's wal'd us out a true ane. 
 
 And sounil ihia day. 
 
 'Alluding to a scoffing ballad which w\s made on the admission of the late 
 Reverend and worthy Mi- L — - — • to the Laigh Kirk. ~i^R. B. L7S7.) 
 t Genesis, ch. is. vers. 22.— (R. B. 1787.) : Numbers, ch. xxv. vers. 3.— (R. B. 1787,) 
 § Exodus, ch. iv. vers. 25.— (R. B. 1787.) 
 
 H Variations in the verbiage of this and the precedirig stanza occur in an early MS. 
 and these have been reprehensibly copied in some editions.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 59 
 
 Now Rr)hinsnn harangue nae mair, 
 
 But steek yuur gab for ever; 
 Or try th-^ wicked town of Ayr, 
 
 For there tlieyU thinlc you clever; 
 Or, nai.' retlectii n on your lear, 
 
 Ye miy cutumence a Shaver; 
 Or to tile Nidherton repair, 
 
 And tr.rn a Carpet-weaver 
 
 Aff-hand this day. 
 
 Mutrie md you were just a match, 
 
 We never h;ul sic twa drones; 
 Auld //■ /■/!(> did the Laiijh Kirk watch, 
 
 Just '.ike a winkiu baudions: 
 And ay he eate.h'd tlie tither wretch, 
 
 To fry them in his c.iui-lrons; 
 But now his Honor maun detach, 
 
 Wi' a' his brimstone sqauih-ons, 
 
 Fast, fast this day. 
 
 See, see auld Orthodoxy's faes 
 
 She's jwinsein thro' the city! 
 Hark, h^w the iiiiie-taild cat she plays'. 
 
 I vow it's unco pretty: 
 There, Learning, with his Oreekish face, 
 
 Grunts out sume Latin ditty; 
 And Common Sense is gaun, she says, 
 
 To mak to Jamie Beattic 
 
 Iler plaint this day. 
 
 But there's Morality himsel, 
 
 Embrieing all opinions ; 
 Hear, how he gies tlie tither yell, 
 
 Between his twa companions ! 
 See, how she peels tlie skin an' fell, 
 
 As ane were peelin onions ! 
 Now there, they're packed aff to , 
 
 And banish'd our dominion.^. 
 
 Henceforth this day. 
 
 O happy lay! rejoice, rejoice! 
 
 Come !ii (Use about tlie porter I 
 Morality's demure decoys 
 
 Shall nere nae mair tintl quarter: 
 M'Kinl.iy, Russell, are the boys 
 
 That Heresy can torture; 
 They'll 'S:a her on a rape a hoyse, 
 
 And c^ ■. e her mea.sure shorter 
 
 By th' head some day. 
 
 Come, bring the tither mutchkin iu 
 
 And ht-re's, for a concluaion. 
 To ev'ry Xi'iv-li'jid mother's son. 
 
 From :!iis time forth, Confusion: 
 If mair they do ive us wi' their din, 
 
 Or Pat'.onage intrusion, 
 We'll li;,;ht a spunk, and, ev'ry skin, 
 
 "We'll rin them atf in fusion 
 
 Like oil, some Jay. 
 
 THE CALF. 
 
 TotheRev.Mr- 
 
 -, on his text, M.^LACHI 
 
 ch. iv. vers. 2. — 'And they shall go 
 
 forth, and grow up, like 
 
 Calves of the stall.' 
 
 [The preacher was the liev. James 
 Steven, afterwards of the Scotch Church 
 in London, and ultimately minister of 
 Kilwinning in Ayrshire. On the morning of 
 Sunday, 3rd September, 17SS, the Poet had 
 called for Gavin Hamilton on his way to 
 the church at Mauchline, and that gentle- 
 man being indisposed to go, reciuested him 
 to bring him back a note of the sermon. 
 He called on returning, and produced this 
 poem aXxno^l I'xtempore.} 
 
 Right, sir! your text I'll prove it true, 
 
 Tho' Heretics may laugh; 
 For instance, there's yoursel just now, 
 
 God knows, an unco Calf! 
 
 And should some Patron be so kind. 
 
 As bless you wi' a kirk, 
 I doubt na. Sir, but then we'll find, 
 
 ■Ye're still as gieat a Stirk. 
 
 But, if the Lovei's raptur'd hour 
 
 Shall ever be your lot. 
 Forbid it, ev'ry heavenly Power, 
 
 You e'er should be a Slot .' 
 
 Tho', when some kind, connubial Dear 
 
 Your But-and-ben adorns, 
 The like has been that you may wear 
 
 A noble head of honui. 
 
 And, in your lug, most reverend J , 
 
 To hear you roar and rowte, 
 
 Few men o' sense will doubt your claima 
 To rank amang the Xoivte. 
 
 And when ye're number'd wi' the de;i,d, 
 
 Below a grassy hillock, 
 Wi' justice they may mark your head— 
 
 'liere lies a famous Ballock!' 
 
 yik Jit
 
 THE POE.\rs AXD SOyOS OF BURNS. 
 
 tu 
 
 THE VISION. 
 
 STANZAS INTRODUCED AT CLOSE OF DUAN 
 FIRST, IN TKE AUTHOR'S SECOND 
 EDITION, AND RETAINKD THEREAFTER 
 A6 A PORTION OK THE TEXT. 
 
 See "The Vision," ante page IG. 
 
 [The poet in his letter to Mrs. Dunlop 
 of 15th January, 17S7, refers to the follow- 
 ing seven stanzas, a copy of which he 
 encloses to her witli these words: — "I 
 have not composed anytiiing on the great 
 Wallace, except what you have seen in 
 print and the enclosed, which I will print 
 in this edition. When I composed ray 
 Vision long ago, I had attempted a des- 
 cription of Kyle, of which these stanzas 
 are a part as it originally stood." The 
 entire poem, in the poet's hand- writing, is 
 inserted in a MS. of ten leaves, which 
 he transcribed and presented to Mrs. 
 Stewart of Stair, about the month of 
 August, 17S6. The intuitive literary taste 
 of Burns is nowliere more apparent than 
 in the suppression of theredundant stanzas 
 of this poem. What he consigned to 
 oblivion may well be allowed to rest there.] 
 
 By stately tow'r, or palace fair, 
 
 Or ruins pendent in the air. 
 
 Bold stems of Heroes, here and there, 
 
 I could discern; 
 Some seem'd to muse, some seem'd to dare. 
 
 With feature stern. 
 
 My heart did glowing transport feel, 
 
 To see a Race* heroic wheel, 
 
 And brandish round the deep-dy'd steel 
 
 In sturdy IjIows; 
 While back-recoiliug seem'd to reel 
 
 I'lieir Suthron foes. 
 
 His COUNTRY'S Saviour, t mark him well 
 Bold Richardton s I heroic swell ; 
 The Chief on Sark § who glorious fell, 
 
 In high command ; 
 And He whom ruthless Fates expel 
 
 His native land, il 
 
 There, where a sceptr'd Picfishl shade 
 Stalk'd round his ashes lowly laid, 
 I mark'd a martial Race, pourtray'd 
 
 In colours strong ; * ' 
 Bold, soldier-featur'd, undismay'd 
 
 They strode along, f t 
 
 Thro' many a wild, romantic grove, J I 
 Near many a hermit-fancy'd cove, 
 (Fit liaunts for Friendship or for Love, 
 
 In musing mood) 
 An afjed Jnd<je, I saw him rove. 
 
 Dispensing good. § § 
 
 H'ith deep-struck, reverential awe, H II 
 I'he learned Sire and Son I saw, 
 To Nature's God and Natures law 
 
 They gave their lore, 
 This, all its source and end to draw. 
 
 That, to adore «I1I 
 
 Brydon's brave Ward*** I well could spy, 
 Btjneath old Sculian smiling eye ; 
 Who call'd on Fame, low standing by. 
 
 To hand him on, 
 Wtiere many a Patriot-name on high 
 
 .4nd Hero shoue. 
 
 'The W.illace.s.— (,K. B. 1787.) t Wilhaui Wallace.— \R. B. 1737.) 
 
 t -^dam Wallace of Richirdton, cousin to the immortal Preserver of 'Scottish 
 Independence. — (R. B. 1787.) 
 
 § Wallace Laird of Craigie, who was second in command, under Douglas Earl of 
 Ormond, at the famous battle on the banks of Sark, fought annu 1448. I'liat glorious 
 victory was principally owing to the judicious conduct and intrepid valour of the 
 gallant Laird of Craigie, who died of his wounds after the action.— v. 11. B. 17S7.) 
 
 ilHere, in the Stair .MS., four suppressed stanzas are introduced. 
 
 •JCoilus King of the Picts, from whom the district of Kyle is said to take its name, 
 lies buried, as tradition says, near the family-seat of the -Montgomeries of Coilsrield, 
 where his burial place is stiil shown.— (R. B. 1787.) 
 
 ** The Montgomeries of CoilsSeld. tt Var. in MS. — "stalked alon;;." 
 
 t i Barskimming, the seat of the Lord Justice Clerk.— (R. B. 17S7.) 
 
 §§ Here, in the Stair .MS., four suppressed stanzas are introduced. 
 
 II ;| Catrine, the seat of the late Doctor, and present Professor Stewart. — (R. B. I7S7.) 
 
 ^1[ Here, in the Stair MS., five suppressed stanzas are introduced. 
 
 ""Colonel Kullaiton. — (R. B. 17a7.)
 
 THE POEMS AND SOSGS OF BURNS. 
 
 61 
 
 ADDRESS TO THE UNCO QUID, OR 
 THE RIGIDLY RIGHTEOUS. 
 
 ily 6on, these maxims make a rule, 
 
 And lump them ay thegither ; 
 The Rigid Ritthteous is a fool, 
 
 The Rigid Wise anither: 
 The cleanest com that e'er was dicjht 
 
 May hae some pijles o' caff in ; 
 So near a /I'lloiv-creature sliijht 
 
 For random fits o' dajfin. 
 
 Solomon. — Kcclea. ch. vii. vers. 16. 
 
 [We find in the Poet's early Common- 
 place Book, under date March, 1784, the 
 following passage, which is really the first 
 rough-draught ot thepoem :— "Ihaveofteu 
 ob.served, in the course of my experience 
 of human life, that every man — even the 
 worst— has something good about him ; 
 though very oiten nothing else than a 
 happy temperament of conr:titution inclin- 
 ing liini to tliis or that virtue. For this 
 reason, no man can say in what degree any 
 other person besides himself can be, witli 
 strict justice, called wicked. Let any <,il' 
 the strictest character for regularity of 
 conduct aii...':ig us, e.vauiine impartially 
 how many vi.es he has never been guilty 
 of, not from ,iny care or vigilance, but for 
 want of op;!Lirtunity, or some accidental 
 circumstance intervening — how many of 
 the weaknes^esof mankind he has escaped, 
 because he was out of the line of sucli 
 temptation ; and, what often, if not always, 
 weighs more than all the rest, how much 
 he is indebte' 1 to the world's good opinion, 
 hecau.se the world does not know all;— I 
 say, any man who can thus think, will 
 scan the jaiVitgs — nay, the favitg and 
 crimes of UiC.nkind around him, with a 
 brother's eye.'] 
 
 O YE wha are sae guid yoursel, 
 
 .S.ae pious and sae holy, 
 Ye've nou:;ht to do but mark and tell 
 
 Your Xeeljijur's fauts and folly ! 
 ■Whase liie is like a weel-gaun mill, 
 
 .Suiiply'd wi' store o' water. 
 The liei|iiil liapper's ebbing still, 
 
 And still the clap plays clatter. 
 
 Hear me, ye venerable Core, 
 
 As counsel for poor mortals, 
 That frequint pass douce Wisdom's door 
 
 For glaikit Folly's portals; 
 
 I, for their thoughtless, careless sakes 
 W'ould here propone defences, 
 
 Their donsie tricks, their black mist^ikes 
 Their failings and mischances. 
 
 Ye see your state wi' their's compar'd, 
 
 And shudder at the nirt'er, 
 But cast a moment's fair regard 
 
 What niaks the mighty ditfer ; 
 Discount what scant occasion gave, 
 
 That purity ye pride in, 
 And (what's aft raair than a' the lave) 
 
 Your belter art o' hiding. 
 
 Think, when your castigated pulse 
 
 Gies now and then a waliup. 
 What ragings must his veins convulse, 
 
 That still eternal gallop : 
 Wi' wind and tide fair i' your tail, 
 
 Right on ye scud your sea-way ; 
 But, in the teeth o' baith to sail, 
 
 It maks an unco leeway. 
 
 See Social-life and Glee sit down. 
 
 All joyous and unthinking, 
 TUl, quite transmugrify'd, they're grown 
 
 Debauchery and Drinking: 
 O would they stay to calculate 
 
 Th' eternal consequences; 
 Or your more dreaded to state, 
 
 of txpences. 
 
 Ye high, exalted, virtuous Dames, 
 
 Ty'd up in godly laces. 
 Before ye gie poor Frailty names. 
 
 Suppose a change o' cases; 
 A dear-lov'd lad, convenience snug, 
 
 A treacherous inclination 
 
 But, let me whisper i' your lug, 
 
 Ye're aiblins nae temptation. 
 
 Then gently scan your brother Man, 
 
 Still gentler sister Woman ; 
 Tho' they may gang a kennin wrang, 
 
 To step aside is human : 
 One point must still be greatly dark, 
 
 The moving IK/iv they'do it; 
 And just as l.imely can ye mark. 
 
 How far perhaps they rue it. 
 
 Who made the heart, 'tis He alone 
 
 Decidedly can try us. 
 He knows each chord its various tone, 
 
 Each spring its various bias: 
 Then at the balance let's be nmte, 
 
 W'e never can adjust it ; 
 What's done we partly may compute. 
 
 But know not what's resisted. 
 
 &r<}^
 
 TEE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 62 
 
 TAM SAMSONS* ELEGY. 
 
 An honegt man's the noblest work of God.— 
 
 POPB. 
 
 [Burns became acquainted with the hero 
 of this admired production, while super- 
 intending the printing of liis poems in 
 Kilmarnock dining the spring or summer 
 of 178C. The tirst mention we have of it 
 is in a letter to Robert Muir, dated ISth 
 Xov., 1786 :—" Enclosed you have 'Tain 
 Samson,' as I intend to print him. I am 
 thinking for my Edinburgh expedition on 
 Monday or Tuesday come se'ennight, for 
 pos." Thomas >ainson, nurhci yinan, Rose- 
 bank, Braehead, Kilniarmnk, belonged 
 to a circle of the poet's early patrons in 
 that town; he subscribed and aideil in 
 procuring subscript ions for the Kilmarnock 
 sdition,and his nameis on the subscription 
 liacfortwo copies of the Edinburgh edition. 
 Hediediu December, 1795.) 
 
 When Winter muffles up his cloak, 
 And binds the mire like a rock; 
 When to the loughs the Curlers flock, 
 
 Wi' gleesonie speid, II 
 Wha will they station at the cock, 
 
 Tam Samson's dead ? 
 
 He was the king of a' the Core, 
 To guard, or draw, or wick a bore, 
 Or up the rink like Jehu roar 
 
 In time o' need; 
 But now he lags on Death's hori-score, 
 
 Tam Samson's dead I 
 
 Now safe the stately Sawmont sail, 
 And Trouts bedropp'd wi' crimson hail, 
 .A.nd Eels weel kend for souple tail. 
 
 AikI fleds for j;reed, 
 Since dark in Doiuh's jish-cieel wo wail 
 
 Tam Samson dead I 
 
 Rejoice, ye birring Paitricks a' ; 
 
 Ve cootie Moorcocks, crousely craw; 
 
 Ye Maukins, cock your fuds fu' Lraw, 
 
 Vvithoutten drt ad ; 
 Your mortal Fae is now awa', 
 
 Tam Samson's Tit-ad ! 
 
 Has auld Jvilmanmck seen the Deil? 
 Or great M'Kiidayt thrawn his heel? 
 Or Robinson J again grown weel, 
 
 To preach an' read? 
 'Xa, waur than a' 1' cries ilka chiel, 
 
 ' Ta >n Samson's dead ! ' 
 
 Kilmarnock lang may grunt an' grane, 
 An' sigh an' sab, § an' greet her lane, 
 An' deed her bairns, man, wife, an' wean. 
 
 In mourning weed ; 
 To Death she's dearly pay'd the kane, 
 
 Tam Samson's dead! 
 
 The Brethren o' the mystic L'vel, 
 May hing their head in wofu' bevel. 
 While by their nose the tears will revel, 
 
 Like ony bead; 
 Death's gien the Lodge an unco devel, 
 
 Tam Samson's dead I 
 
 That woefu' morn be ever mouru'd 
 s iw him in shootin graith adorn d, 
 While pointers round impatient l>uru'd, 
 
 Erae couples freed; 
 B'.'.t, Ocli I ho gaed and ne'er return'd 1 
 
 Tam Samsons dead '. 
 
 In vain Auld-age his body batters ; 
 
 III vain the (iuut his aid<les fetters; 
 
 iu vain tlie burns cam down like waters, 
 
 An acre-braid I 
 Xow ev'ry auld wife, greetin, clatters, 
 
 'Tam Samson's dead !' 
 
 Owre monie a weary hag lie liiupit. 
 An' ay the tither shot he thumpit. 
 Till coward Death behind him juuipit, 
 
 Wi' deadly feide ; 
 Now he proclaims, wi' tout u' trumpet, 
 
 Tam Samson's dead I 
 
 * When tills worthy old Sportsman went out last muir-fowl season, he supposed it 
 ■was to be, in Ossian s phra-~e, 'the last of his fields;' and expressed an ardent wish t<) 
 die and be burieAin the muiis. On this hint the Author composed his Elegy and 
 Epitaph.— (R. B. 1787.) 
 
 t A certain Preacher, a great favourite with the Milhon.—(R. B. 1787.) Vi'b; The 
 Ordination, page .^8. 
 
 J Another Preacher, an equal favourite with the Few, who was at that time ailing. 
 — (B. B. 1787.) For him see also The Ordination, stanza 9. 
 §"Sob" in the 1787 edition. II "Spied," (evidently a misprint) in the 1787 edition.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 63 
 
 When at his heart he felt the dagger, 
 He reel'd hia wonted bottle-swagger, 
 But yet he drew the mortal trigger 
 
 Wi' weel-aim'd heed ; 
 'L — d, five!' hecry'd,andowredid stagger; 
 
 Tam Samson's dead ! 
 
 I There, low he lies in lasting rest ; 
 I Perhaps upon his mould'ring breast 
 Some spitefu' muirfowl bigs her nest, 
 
 To hatch and breed . 
 Alas! nae mair he'll them molest — 
 
 Tam Samson's dead 1 
 
 Ilk hoary Hunter mourn'd a brither; When August winds the heather wave, 
 
 Ilk Sportsman-youth bemoan'd a father ; i And Sportsmen wander by yon grave. 
 Yon auld gray stane, amang the heather, i Three voUies let his mem'ry crave 
 
 Marks oat his head, ! (i' pouther an' lead. 
 
 WhareBum«haswrote,inrhymingblether, Till Echo answer frae her cave, 
 
 Tam Sarn.'irm's dead.'* Tam Samson's dead! 
 
 ITeiivn rest his saul, whare'er he be 1 
 Is th' wish o' mony mae than me : 
 He had twa fauts, or maybe three, 
 
 Yet what remead? 
 Ae social, honest man want we : 
 
 Tam Samson's dead ! 
 
 THE EPITAPH, t 
 
 Tam Samson's weel-worn clay here lies, 
 Ye canting Zealots, spnve him ! 
 
 If Honest Worth in heaven rise, 
 Ye'll mend or ye win near him. 
 
 PER CONTRA. 
 
 Oo, Fame, an' canter like a filly 
 
 Thro' a' the streets an' neuks o' Killie, I 
 
 Tell ev'ry social, honest billie 
 
 To cease his grievin. 
 For yet. unskaith'd by Death's gleg guUie, 
 
 Tam Samson's Uvin ! 
 
 A WINTER NIGHT. 
 
 Poor naked wretches, u-herenoe'er yov are. 
 That bide the pelting of this pitjiless storm .' 
 now shall your hivseless heads, and vnff-d sides. 
 Your loop'd a?!d irindoiifd ragf/edness, defend you 
 From seasims such as these 
 
 SHAKXSPEAna 
 
 [The Bard has headed this production with a motto from Eiiifj Lear's sublime 
 exclamations during the storm on the heath, at the door of the hovel, and the poem 
 throughout shows that he had been studying Shakespeare: indeed, the pas.sage 
 commencing— "Blow, blow, ye winds, with heavier gust I" is little else than a fine 
 paraphrase of the well-known song on "Man's Ingratitude" in As You Like it.] 
 
 Whk.n biting Boreas, fell and douve, 
 sharp shivers thro' the leafless bow'r; 
 When Phoebus gies a short-liv'd glow'r, 
 
 Far south the lift, 
 Dim-dark'ning thro' the flaky show'r, 
 
 Or whirling drift. 
 
 *In the 1793 edition, the Poet introduced the stanza which follows. 
 
 t Engraved on Tarn's tombstone in the Laigh Kirk biirying-ground, Kilmarnock. 
 
 1 KiUie is a phrase the countryfolks sometimes use for the name of a certain tov 
 in the West.— (R. B. 1787.)
 
 THE POEMS AND SOXOS OF BURXS. 
 
 a 
 
 Ae night the Storm the steeples rocked, 
 Poor Labour sweet in sleep was locked, 
 While burns, wi' snawy wreeths up-choked, 
 
 Wild-eddyina; swirl, 
 Or thro' the minins; outlet bocked, 
 
 Down headlong hurl. 
 
 List'ning. the doors an' winnocks rattle, 
 I thought me rtn the ourie cattle, 
 Or silly sheep, wha bide this brattle 
 
 O' winter war. 
 And thro' the drift, deep-lairing, sprattle. 
 
 Beneath a scar. 
 
 Ilk happing bird, wee, helpless thing! 
 That, in the merry months o' spring. 
 Delighted me to hear thee sing. 
 
 What comes o' thee? 
 Whare wilt thou cow'r thy chittering wing, 
 
 An' close thy e'e? 
 
 Ev'n you on murd'ving errands toil'd, 
 Lone from your savage homes exil'd, 
 The blood-stain'd rocst, and sheep-cote spoil'd. 
 
 My heart forgets. 
 While pityless the tempest wild 
 
 Sore on you beats. 
 
 Now Phrvfip, in her midnight reign, 
 Dark-muffl'd, view'd the dreary plain; 
 Still crouding thoughts, a pensive train, 
 
 Rose in my soul. 
 When on my ear this plaintive strain, 
 
 Slow-solemn, stole — 
 
 'Blow, blow, ye Winds, with heavier gust! 
 'And freeze, thou bitter-biting Frost ! 
 'Descend, ye chilly, smothering Snows! 
 'Not all your rage, as now, united shows 
 
 'More hard unkindness, unrelenting, 
 
 'Vengeful malice, unrepenting, 
 'Than heaven-illumin'd 'Sla.n on brother Man bestowif 
 
 'See stern Oppression's iron grip, 
 'Or mad Ambition's gory hand, 
 
 'Sending, like blood-hounds from the slip, 
 'Woe, Want, and MunWr o'er a land! 
 
 'Ev'n in the peaceful rural vale, 
 
 'Truth, weeping, tells the mouiTiful tale, 
 •How pamper'd Luxury, Flatt'ry by her side, 
 
 'The parasite empnisonins her ear, 
 
 ' With all the servile wretches in the rear, 
 'Looks o'er proud Property, extended wide; 
 
 'And eyes the simple, rustic Hind, 
 'Whose toil upholds the glitt'ring show, 
 
 ' A creature of another kind, 
 
 'Some coarser substance, unrefln'd, 
 'Plac'd for her lordly use thus far, thus vile, below 1
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 'Where, where is Love's fond, tender throe, 
 'With lordly Honor's lofty brow, 
 'The pow'rs you proudly own? 
 'Is there, beneath Love's noble name, 
 'Can harbour, dark, the aelfish aim, 
 
 'To bless himself alone ! 
 'Mark Maiden-innocence a prey 
 
 'To love-pretending snares, 
 'This boasted Honor turns away, 
 'Shunning soft Pity's rising sway, 
 'Regardless of the tears, and unavailing pray'rs ! 
 'Perhaps, this hour, in Mis'ry's squalid nest, 
 'She strains your infant to her joyless breast, 
 •And with a Mother's fears shrinks at the rocking blaat t 
 
 'Oh ye ! who, sunk in beds of down, 
 ' Feel not a want but what yourselves create, 
 'Think, for a moment, on his wretched fate, 
 
 'Whom friends and fortune ([uite disown! 
 'Ill-satisfy'd, keen Nature's clam'rous call, 
 
 'Stretch'd on his straw he lays himself to sleep, 
 'While thro' the ragged voof and chinky wall, 
 
 'Chill, o'er his slumbers, piles the drifty heapl 
 
 'Think on the Dungeon's grim confine, 
 
 'Where Guilt and poor Misfortune pine ! 
 
 'Guilt, erring Man, relenting view! 
 
 ' But shall thy legal rage pursue 
 
 'The Wretch, already crushed low 
 
 'Bv cruel Fortune's undeserved blow? 
 'Affliction's sons are brothers in distress; 
 'A Brother to relieve, how exquisite the bliss !' 
 
 I heard nae mair, for Chanticleer 
 
 Shook ot? the pouthery snavr, 
 And hail'd the morning with a cheer, 
 
 A cottage-rousing craw. 
 
 But deep this truth impress'd my mind — 
 
 Thro' all his works abroad. 
 The heart benevolent and kind 
 
 The most resembles God. 
 
 STANZAS ON THE SAME OCCASION 
 AS THE POEM E.NTITLED 
 
 "A PRAYER IN THE PROSPECT OF DEATH. " 
 
 [These stanzas .are given in the Stair MS. under the title of "Misgivings of 
 Despondency on the approach of the Gloomy Monarch of the Grave."] 
 
 Why am I loth to leave this earthly scene? 
 
 Have I so found it full of pleasing charms? 
 Some drops of joy with draughts of ill between ; 
 
 Some gleams of sunshine mid renewing storms; 
 
 E
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 66 
 
 Is it departing pangs my soul alarms ? 
 
 Or Death's unlovely, dreary, dark abotie T 
 For guilt, for guilt, my terrors are in arms ; 
 
 I tremble to approach an angry God, 
 And justly smart beneath his sin-avenging rod. 
 
 Fain would I say, 'Forgive my foul offence 1' 
 
 Fain promise never more to disobey ; 
 But, should my Author health again dispense, 
 
 A^ain I might desert fair Virtue's way; 
 Again in Folly's path might go astray ; 
 
 Again exalt the brute and sink the man ; 
 Then how should I for Heavenly Mercy pray. 
 
 Who act so counter Heavenly Mercy's plan ? 
 Who gin so oft have mourn'd, yet to temptation ran? 
 
 O Thou, Great Governor of all below I 
 
 If I may dare a lifted eye to Thee, 
 Thy nod can make the tempest cease to blow, 
 
 Or still the tumult of the raging sea : 
 With that controuling pow'r assist ev'n me. 
 
 Those headlong, furious passions to conKne; 
 For all unfit I feel my powers to be,* 
 
 To rule their torrent in th' allowed line ; 
 O, aid me with Thy help. Omnipotence Divine! 
 
 LYING AT A REVEREND FRIENDS HOLSK 
 
 ONE NIGHT, THE AUTHOR LEFT 
 
 THE FOLLOWING 
 
 VRR'^ES 
 
 IN THE ROOM WHERE HE SLEPT. 
 
 [This "Reverend Friend" was George 
 Lawrie, D.D., minister of Loudoun, who, 
 at this time, was 57 years old. A note, 
 dated Mossgiel, 13th November, 1786, 
 addressed by the poet to Mr. Archibald 
 (afterwards Rev. Dr.) Lawrie— referred to 
 in the verses as the 
 
 " Darling youth, in inaahood's dawning blush," 
 
 — g ives us some idea of the date of the verses, 
 as the following words in the noteevidently 
 refer to them : — "A poet'.s warmest wishes 
 for the happiness of the young ladies, 
 particularly the fair musician, whom I 
 think much better qualified than ever 
 David was, or could be, to charm an evil 
 spirit out of a Saul. Indeed, it needs not 
 the feelings of a poet to be interested in 
 the welfare of one of the sweetest scenes 
 of domestic peace and kindred love that 
 ever I saw, as I think the peaceful unity 
 of St. Margaret's Hill can only be excelled 
 by the narmonious concord of the 
 Apocalyptic Zion."] 
 
 O THOU dread Pow'r, who reign'st above ' 
 
 I know Thou wilt me hear; 
 When for this scene of peace and love, 
 
 I make my pray'r sincere. 
 
 The hoary Sire— the mortal stroke. 
 Long, long be pleas'd to spare ; 
 
 To bless his little filial flock. 
 And show what good men are. 
 
 She, who her lovely Offspring eyes 
 
 With tender hopes and fears, 
 O bless her with a Mother's joys, 
 
 But spare a Mother's tears ! 
 
 Their hope, their stay, their darling youth. 
 In manhood's dawning blush ; 
 
 Bless him, Thou God of love and truth. 
 Up to a Parent's wish. 
 
 The beauteous, seraph Sister-band, 
 
 With earne.st tears I pray. 
 Thou know'st the snares on ev'ry hand. 
 
 Guide Thou their steps alway. 
 
 When soon or late they raach that coast, 
 O'er life's rough ocean driven, 
 
 .May they rejoice, no wand'rer lost, 
 A Family in Heaven 1 
 
 "In the 17S7 edition "to " is omitted.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 67 
 
 THE FIRST PSALM. 
 
 (This, and the two following pieces, are 
 evidently juvenile productions, apparently 
 composed while resident at Irvine, in 
 17S1.] 
 
 The man, in life wherever plac'd. 
 
 Hath happiness in store, 
 Who walks not in the wicked's way, 
 
 Xor learns their guilty lore 1 
 
 Nor from the seat of scornful Pride 
 
 Casts forth his eyes abroad, 
 But with humility and awe 
 
 Still walks before his God. 
 
 That man shall flourish like the trees 
 Which by the streamlets grow; 
 
 The fruitful top is spread on high, 
 And firm the root below. 
 
 But he whose blossom buds in guilt 
 
 Shall to the ground be cast, 
 And like the rootless stubble tost. 
 
 Before the sweeping blast. 
 
 For why? that God the good adore 
 Hath giv'n them peace and rest. 
 
 But hath decreed that wicked men 
 Shall ne'er be truly blest. 
 
 A PRAYER. 
 
 UNDER THE PRESSURE OF VIOLENT 
 A.NGLISH. 
 
 [In the poet's Scrap-Book, of March, 
 1784, this piece is entered under the 
 followinghead-note:— "There wasaperiod 
 of my life that my spirit was broken by 
 repeated losses and di.sasters, which 
 threatened, and indeed effected the utter 
 ruin of my fortune. My body, too, was 
 attacked by that most dreadful distemper, 
 a hypochondria, or confirmed melancholy! 
 In this wretched state, the recollection of 
 which makes me yet shudder, I hung my 
 harp on the willow trees, except in .some 
 lucid intervals, in one of which I composed 
 the following:"] — 
 
 O IHOU great Being! what Thou art. 
 
 Surpasses me to know : 
 Vet sure I am, that known to Thee 
 
 Are all Thy works below. 
 
 Thy creature here before Thee stands 
 ^ All wretched and distrest ; 
 Yet sure those ills that wring my soul 
 Obey Thy high behest. 
 
 Sure Thou, Almighty, canst not act 
 
 From cruelty or wrath ! 
 O, free ray weary eyes from tears. 
 
 Or close them fa.st in death ! 
 
 But if I must afflicted be. 
 
 To suit some wise design ; 
 Then, man my soul with firm resolves 
 
 To bear and not repine ! 
 
 THE FIRST SIX VERSES OF THE 
 NINETIETH PSALM. 
 
 O Thou, the first, the greatest friend 
 
 Of all the human race I 
 Whose strong right hand has ever been 
 
 Their stay and dwelling-place ! 
 
 Before the mountains heav'd their heads 
 
 Beneath Thy forming hand, 
 Before this ponderous globe itself 
 
 Arose at Thy command : 
 
 That PoVr which rais'd and still uphold* 
 
 This universal frame. 
 From countless, unbeginning time 
 
 Was ever still the same. 
 
 Those mighty periods of years 
 
 Which seem to us so vast. 
 Appear no more before Thy sight 
 
 Than yesterday that's past. 
 
 Thou givst the word ; Thy creature, man 
 Is U) existence brouirht; ' 
 
 Again Thou say'st, 'Ye sons of men 
 'Return ye into nought I' 
 
 Thou layest them with all their cares 
 
 In everlasting sleep ; 
 As with a flood Thou tak'st them off 
 
 W ith overwhelming sweep. 
 
 They flourish like the morning flow'r 
 In beauty's pride array'd ; ' 
 
 But long ere night cut down it lies 
 All wither'd and decay'd. 
 
 •f + -f
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 68 
 
 TO MISS L- 
 
 WITH BEATTIE'S POEMS FOR A NEW-YEAR'S 
 
 GIFT. 
 
 JAN. 1, 17S7. 
 
 Again the silent wheels of time 
 Their annual round have driv'n, 
 
 And you, tho' scarce in maiden prime, 
 Are 30 much nearer Heav'n. 
 
 No gifts have I from Indian coasts 
 
 The infant year to hail; 
 I send you more than India boasts 
 
 In Edunn's simple tale. 
 
 Our Sex with guile and faithless love 
 
 Is charged, perhaps too true ; 
 But may, dear Maid, each Lover prove 
 
 An Edwin still to you. 
 
 TO A HAGGIS. 
 
 [This noted production was composed 
 within a fortnight after the poet's arrival 
 in Edinburgh, and was printed in the 
 pages of the Caledonian Mercury, Decem- 
 ber, 20th, 17S6.] 
 
 Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, 
 Great Ctiieftan o' the Puddin-race ! 
 Aboon them a' ye tak your place, 
 
 Painch, tripe, orthairm : 
 Weel are ye wordy of a grace 
 
 As lang's my arm. 
 
 The groaning trencher there ye till, 
 Your hurdles like a distant hill, 
 Your pin wad help to mend a mill 
 
 In time o' need. 
 While thro' your pores the dews distil 
 
 Like amber bead. 
 
 His knife see Rustic-labour dight, 
 An' cut yen. up wi' ready slight. 
 Trenching your gushing entrails bright 
 
 lake onie ditch ; 
 And then, O what a glorious sight, 
 
 Warm-reekin, rich I 
 
 Then, horn for horn they stretch an' strive, 
 Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive. 
 Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve 
 
 Are bent like drums; 
 Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive, 
 
 Bethankit hums. 
 
 Is there that owie his French ragout. 
 Or olio that wad staw a sow. 
 Or fricassee wad mak her spew 
 
 Wi' perfect sconner, 
 Looks down wi' sneering, soornfu' view 
 
 On sic a dinner? 
 
 Poor devil I see him owre his trash, 
 
 As feckless as & wither'd rash, 
 
 His spindle shank a guid whiplash. 
 
 His nieve a nit ; 
 Thro' bluidy flood or field to dash, 
 
 O how untit! 
 
 But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed. 
 
 The trembling earth resounds his tread. 
 
 Clap in his walie nieve a blade. 
 
 He'll mak it whissle ; 
 An' legs, an' arms, an' heads will sned. 
 
 Like taps o thrissle. 
 
 Ye pow'rs wha mak mankind your care, 
 And dish them out their bill o' fare, 
 Auld Scotland wants nae skinkingt ware 
 
 That jaups in luggies; 
 But, if you wish her gratefu' pra/r, 
 
 Gie her a Haggis ! 
 
 ADDRESS TO EDINBURGH. 
 
 [Burns enclosed this poem along with 
 another piece unnamed, to Mr. William 
 Chalmers, writer, Ayr, so early as 27th 
 December, 1786, thus showing the rapidity 
 with which he had composed it ; for he had 
 then been only three weeks in the city. 
 He says, "I enclose you two poems, whfch 
 I have carded and spun since I passed 
 Glenbuck. One blank in the Address to 
 
 Edinburgh, 'Fair B ,' is heavenly Miss- 
 
 Burnet, daughter to Lord Monboddo, at 
 whose house I have had the honour to be 
 more than once. There has not been any- 
 thing nearly like her in all the combinations 
 of beauty, grace, and goodness the Creator 
 has formed, since Milton's Eve on the first 
 day of her existence."] 
 
 Edina ! Scotia's darling seat ! 
 
 All hail thy palaces and tow'rs. 
 Where once beneath a ilonarch's feet 
 
 Sat Legislation's sov'reign pow'rs I 
 From marking wildly-acatt'red tlow'rs, , 
 
 As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd. 
 And singing, lone, the ling'ring hours, 
 I shelter in thy honor'd shade. 
 
 *Miss Loi;an, sister of Major Logan, Ayr. 
 tMisprinted "stinking ' in the London edition and part of the Edinburgh.
 
 TEE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 69 
 
 Here Wealth stiM swells the golden tide. 
 
 As busy Trade his labours plies; 
 There Architecture's noble pride 
 
 Bids elegance and splendor rise; 
 Here Justice, from her native skies. 
 
 High wields her balance and her rod ; 
 There Learning, with his eagle eyes, 
 
 Seeks Science in her coy abode. 
 
 Thy Sons, Edina, social, kind, 
 
 With open arms the Stranger hail ; 
 Their views enlarg'd, their hb'ral miivd. 
 
 Above the narrow, rural vale : 
 AUentive stiU to Sorrow's wail, 
 
 Or modest Merit's silent claim ; 
 And never may their sources fail ! 
 
 And never envy Idot their name! 
 
 Thy Daughters bright thy walks adorn, 
 
 Gay as the gilded summer sky. 
 Sweet as the dewy, milk-whjt« thorn, 
 
 Dear as the raptur'd thrill of joy ! 
 Fw'k B strikes th' adorin.; eye, 
 
 Heftv'n's beauties on my fancy shin*?; 
 I see the Sire of Love on high. 
 
 And own his work indeenl divine ! 
 
 There, watching high the leaJt aJarms, 
 Thy rough, rude Fortress gleanis afar ; 
 
 Like some bold Vet'ran, gray in arms, 
 And mark'd with many a seamy scar: 
 
 The pond'rous wall and massy bar, 
 Grim-risina; o'fer the rugged rock, 
 
 Have of» withstood assailing War, 
 And oft tepell'd th' Invader's shock. 
 
 With awe-stnick thought, and pitying tears, 
 
 I view that noble, stately Dome, 
 Where Scotia's kings of other years, 
 
 Fam'd heroes! had their royal home: 
 Alas, how chang'd the times to cornel 
 
 Their royal Name low in the dust! 
 Their hapless Race wild-wand'ring roam : 
 
 Tho' rigid Law cries o*, 'twas just ! 
 
 Wild-beats my heart, t-o trace your steps, 
 
 Whose ancestors, rn days of yore. 
 Thro' hostile ranks and ruin'd gaps 
 
 Old Scotia's bloody lion bore : 
 Kv'n / who sing in rustic lore, 
 
 Haply iny Sires have left their shed, 
 .\nd fac'd grim Danger's loudest roar, 
 
 Bold-following where your Fathers ledl 
 
 Edina! Scotia's darling seat ! 
 
 All hail thy palaces a<nd tow'ra. 
 Where once, beneath a Monarch's feet, 
 
 Sat Legisl.ation's sov'reign powers ! 
 From marking wiUlly-scatt'red flow'rs. 
 
 As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd, 
 A»id s^iginti, Ifme, the liug'ring hours, 
 
 I shelter in thy hunor'd shade. 
 
 ^'fi- 
 
 
 '7,P' 
 
 ^^k 
 
 W 

 
 Mrs. burns (Jean x^rmour.) 
 
 Reproduced from " The Burns Chromcle " for 1896. 
 (Bn Special Permission nf the Publisher.)
 
 SONGS. 
 
 JOHN BARLEYCORN.* 
 
 A BALLAD. 
 
 [It is curious that the Poet never cor- 
 rected the defective grammar in the first 
 line of this ballad. There can be no doubt 
 that Burns liked the antique euphony of 
 was in this line, otherwise he must have 
 changed it in the course of his various 
 revisals. 1 
 
 There was three kings into the east, 
 Three kings both great and high, 
 
 And they hae sworn a solemn oath 
 John Barleycorn should die. 
 
 They took a ploughand plough'd him down, 
 
 Put clods upon his head, 
 And they hae sivorn a solemn oath 
 
 John Barleycorn was dead. 
 
 But the chearful Sprint; came kimdly on, 
 
 And shuw'rs began to fall ; 
 John Barleycorn got up again, 
 
 And sore surpris'd them all. 
 
 The sultry suns of Summer came, 
 And he grew thick and strong, 
 
 His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears. 
 That no one should him wrung. 
 
 The sober Autumn enter'd mild. 
 
 When he grew wan and pale; 
 His bending joints and drooping head 
 
 Show'd he began to fail. 
 
 His colour sicken'd more ami more, 
 
 He faded into age ; 
 And then his enemies began 
 
 To show their ileadly rage. 
 
 They've taen a weapon, long ami 
 And cut him by the knee ; 
 
 Then ty'd him fast upon a cart, 
 Like a rogue for forgerie. 
 
 sharp, 
 
 They laid him down upon his back. 
 
 And cudgell'd him full sore ; 
 They hung him up before the storin, 
 
 And turn'd him o'er and o'er. 
 
 They tilled up a darksome pit 
 
 With water to the brim, 
 They heaved in John Barleycorn, 
 
 There let him sink or swiin. 
 
 They laid him out upon the tioor. 
 
 To work him farther woe. 
 And still, as signs of life appear'd, 
 
 They toss'd him to and fro. 
 
 They wasted, o'er a scorching flame. 
 
 The marrow of his bones; 
 But a Miller us'd him worst of all. 
 
 For he crush'd him between two stones 
 
 And they hae taen his very heart's blood, 
 And drank it round and' round ; 
 
 And still the more and more they drank, 
 Their joy did more abound. 
 
 John Barleycorn was a hero bold. 
 
 Of noble enterprise. 
 For if ye do but taste his blood, 
 
 'Twill make your courage rise. 
 
 'Twill make a man forget his woe ; 
 
 'Twill heighten all his joy : 
 'Twill make the widow's heart to sing, 
 
 Tho' the tear were in lier eye. 
 
 Then let us toast John Barleycorn, 
 
 Each man a glass in hand; 
 And may his great posterity 
 
 Xe'er fail in old .Scotland. 
 
 ^ 
 -1-^-^ 
 
 i* 
 
 •This is partly comp'ised 
 (R. B. 1787.) 
 
 ■ n the plan of an olil song known l)y the same name.—
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 vi 
 
 A FRAGMENT, 
 
 TvSE—GilUcrnnkte. 
 
 [This is a ballad on the American War 
 of Independence. Thomson prints it after 
 a song, by Mrs. Grant, in the same measure, 
 entitled:— "When Willie Pift, as he 
 tTiought fit."] 
 
 When Guilford good our Pilot stood, 
 
 An' did our hellim thraw, man, 
 Ae night, at tea, began a plea, 
 
 U'itliin America, man: 
 Then up they gat the maskin-pat, 
 
 And in the, sea did jaw. man; 
 An' did nae less, in full Congress, 
 
 Thau ([ufbe refuse oir law, man. 
 
 Then tliro' the lakes itontgomeni takes, 
 
 I wat he was na slaw, man ; 
 Down LoH-rie's binn he tock a turn, 
 
 .■ind Carleton did ca', man : 
 But yet, whatreck, he, at Quebec, 
 
 Montgomery-like did fa', man, 
 Wi' sword in hand, before his band, 
 
 Amang his en'mies a', man. 
 
 Poor Tammy Gage within a cage 
 
 Was kept at Buston-ha' , man ; 
 Till WitUe lluice took o'er the knowe 
 
 For Philadelphia, man : 
 Wi' sword an' gun he thought a sin 
 
 Guid Christian bluid to draw, man ; 
 But at yew-York, wi' knife an' fork, 
 
 Sir Loin he hacked sm,a', man. 
 
 Burgoyne gaed up, like spur and whip, 
 
 Till Fra«er brave did fa', man ; 
 Then lost his way, ae misty day. 
 
 In Saratoga shaw, man. 
 Oorrvwallis fought as lang's he dought, 
 
 An' did the Buckskins claw, man ; 
 But Clintiin'8 glaive frae rust to save 
 
 He hung it to the wa', man. 
 
 Then M(>nta;}.ue, an' Guilford too, 
 
 Be^an to fear a fa', man ; 
 And ISachcille doure, wha stooil the stoure, 
 
 ■The German Chief to thraw, man : 
 For Paddy Bi<rke, like ony Turk, 
 
 Nae mercy had at a', man ; 
 An' Charlie Fnx threw by the box. 
 
 An' lows'd his tinkler jaw. m;ui. 
 
 Then Rockingham took up the game ; 
 
 Till Deathdid on him ca', man; 
 When Shelbunie meek held up his cheek, 
 
 Conform to Ciospel law, man : 
 Saint Stephen's boys, wi' jarring noise. 
 
 They did his measures thraw, man, 
 For North an' Fox united stocks. 
 
 An' bore him to the wa', man. 
 
 Then Clubs an" Hearts were C/iarii^ cartes, 
 
 He swept the stakes awa', man. 
 Till the Diamwid's Ace, of Indian race, 
 
 Led him a snXv faux pas, man : 
 The Saxon lads, wi' loud placads, 
 
 On Chatham' i Bon did ca', man; 
 An' Scotland drew her pipe an' blew, 
 
 'Up, Willie, waur them a', man I' 
 
 Behind the throne then GrenviUe's gone, 
 
 A secret wonl or twa, man ; 
 While slee Diauias arou-sd the class 
 
 Be-north the Roman wa', man : 
 An' Chatha)n's wraith, in heav'nly graith, 
 
 (Inspiied Bardies saw, man) 
 Wi' kindling eyes cry'd, ' Willie, rise I 
 
 ' Would I hae fear'd them a', man !' 
 
 But, word an' blow, Iforth, Fox, and Co. 
 
 Gowtf' d Willif like a ba', man. 
 Till SiithriDi r.ai.-<e, an' coost their claise 
 
 Behind him in a raw, man: 
 An' Caledon threw by the drone. 
 
 An' did her « hittle draw, man ; 
 .\n' swoor fu' rude, thro' dirt an' blood, 
 
 To mak it guid in law, man. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Tune— J/j/ Xanit, 0. 
 
 [This is noticed by the author as ha 
 
 Ir' 
 
 laving 
 
 been composed before he went to Trvine, 
 
 in his twenty-third year. He well knew 
 
 its merits, for in his early Scrap-Book, 
 
 under date 17S4, in referring to it, he says ; 
 
 ' " Whether Sli/ Nanie will stand fhe test, 
 
 I I will not pretend to say, because it is my 
 
 I own ; only, I can say it was at the time 
 
 ! genuine from the heart." 
 
 ' Bf.11 I ND yoii hills where Stinchar flows,* 
 I '.Mang moors an' mosses many, O, 
 The wintry sun the day has clos'd, 
 .\nd I'll awa to Nauie, O. 
 
 *In 1792, the poet gave George Thomson liberty to adopt this song in his 
 collection, and to alter the name of the river to Liuiar for the sake of euphony; 
 observing, at same time, that Girvan would better suit the idea intended. From this 
 remark the guess has been hazarded that Peggy Thomson is the heroine. Ramsay's 
 sons. Xanny Oh, in the same m«i.«ure, was published circu 171S.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 73 
 
 The westlin winil blaws loud an' shill ; 
 
 The night's haith mirk and rainy, O; 
 But I'll get my plaid an' out I'll steal, 
 
 An' owre the hill to Xanie, O. 
 
 My Nanie'3 charming, sweet an' young ; 
 
 Nae artfu' wiles to win ye, O : 
 May ill befa' the flatterintr tongue 
 
 That wad beguile my Nanie, O. 
 
 Her face is fair, her lieart is true, 
 As spotless as she's bonie, O ; 
 
 The op'ning ^owan, wat wi' dew, 
 Xae purer is than Xanie, O. 
 
 A country lad is my degree. 
 An' few there be that ken me, O ; 
 
 But what care I how few they be, 
 I'm welcome ay to Xanie, O. 
 
 My riches a's my penny-fee, 
 An' I maim guide it cannie, O ; 
 
 But warl's gear ne'er troubles me. 
 My thoughts are a', my Xanie, O. 
 
 Our auld Guidman delights to view 
 His sheep an' kye thrive bonie, O ; 
 
 But I'm as blythe that bauds his pleugh. 
 An' has nae care bu» Xanie, O. 
 
 Come weel come woe, I care na by, 
 I'll tak what Heav'n will sen' me, 
 
 Xae ither care in life have I, 
 Bnt live, an' love my Xanie, O. 
 
 O: 
 
 (;rei:x grow the rashes. 
 
 A FRA(iME.NT. 
 
 \ Edinburgh. He seems to have borrowed 
 the conceit from an ancient source.] 
 
 CHORUS. ' 
 
 Green grow the rashes, O; 
 Green grow the rashes, ; 
 The sweetest hours that e'er I spent,* 
 Were spent amang the lasses, 0. 
 
 There's nought but care on ev'ry han', 
 In ev'ry hour that passe.s, O : 
 
 What signifies tie life o' man, 
 An' 'tr«ere na for the lasses, O. 
 Green grow, &c. 
 
 The warly race may riches chase. 
 An' riches still may fly them, O ; 
 
 An' tho' at last they catch them fast. 
 Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O. 
 Green grow, &c. 
 
 But gie me a canny hour at e'en. 
 My arms about my Dearie, O ; 
 
 An' wftrly cares, an' warly men. 
 May a' gae tapsalteerie, 1 
 
 Green grow, &.C. 
 
 For you sae douse, ye sneer at this, 
 Ye're nought but senseless asses, O : 
 
 The wisest >Wn the warl' e'er saw, t 
 HjB deaiJy lov'd the lasses, O. 
 
 Green grow, &c. 
 
 Aulil Xature swears, the lovely Dears 
 Her noblest work she classes, O, 
 
 Her prentice ban' she try'd on man. 
 An' then she made the lasses, O. 
 Green grow, &c. 
 
 [This is one of the most characteristic of 
 all Burns's songs, although one of his 
 earliest. In August, 17S4, he sets it down 
 in his Commonplace-Book, with some 
 rambling remarks on "the various species 
 of young men," whom he divides into two 
 glasses — "the grave and the merry." It 
 appears in Thomson's fourth volume (1815 
 Edition). The last stanza is not included 
 in the copy inserted in the Poet's first 
 Coniiuonplace Book; therefore, the pre- 
 sumption is that he added it while in 
 
 .•^ G X ( J . 
 
 TvyB— Jockey's Gray Breeks. 
 
 [Thomson's note to this song is as 
 follows: — "For the sake of even stanzas 
 to suit the air, the 4th verse is omitted. 
 In the Poet's works, a chorus-verse beginn- 
 tng 'And maun I scill,' is also printed 
 \vith the song. But it has been remarked 
 by a very able critic, that the insertion of 
 that chorus-verse serves only to interrupt 
 the train of sentiment which the song 
 excites, and it is therefore l»ere omitted. 
 
 * In the Edinburgh edition, "spend," appears for "spent," in the third line, and 
 'are," for "were," in the fourth. He adopted the above reading in the 1793 edition. 
 
 tin the earlier editions, the word "e'er" is (miitted.
 
 TEE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 Burns himself says :— "The chorus is part 
 of a song composecl by a gentleman in 
 Edinburgh, a particular friend of the 
 author's?" This "gentleman " may have 
 been Burns himself.] 
 
 Again rejoicing Nature sees 
 
 Her robe assume its vernal hues, 
 
 Her leafy locks wave in the breeze 
 All freshly steep'd in morning dews. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 And maun I still on Menie* doat. 
 And bfnr the scorn that's in h-er e'e! 
 
 For it's jet, jet black, an' it's like a hawk, 
 An' it ivinna let a body be I 
 
 In vain to me the cowslips blaw, 
 In vain to me the vi'lets spring; 
 
 In vain to me, in glen or shaw, 
 The mavis and the lintwhite sing. 
 
 The merry Ploughboy cheers his team, 
 Wi' joy the tentie Seedsman stalks, 
 
 But life to rae's a weary dream, 
 A dream of ane that never wauks. 
 
 The wanton coot the water skims, 
 Amang the reeds the ducklings cry, 
 
 The stately swan majestic swims. 
 And ev'ry thing is blest but I. 
 
 The Sheep-herd steeks his faulding slap. 
 And owre the moorlands whistles shill, 
 
 Wi' wild, unequal, wand'ring step, 
 1 meet him on the dewy hill. 
 
 And when the lark, 'tween light and dark, 
 Blythe waukens by the daisy's side. 
 
 And mounts and sings on flittering wings, 
 A woe-worn ghaist I hameward glide. 
 
 Come Winter, with thine angry howl, 
 And raging bend the naked tree ; 
 
 Thy gloom will soothe my chearless soul. 
 When Nature all is sad like me I 
 
 SONG. 
 Tune — Roslin Castle. 
 
 [Thomson inserts this in his second 
 volume, with the note: — "Written by 
 Burns at a time when he was meditating to 
 leave hi§ native country." Burns himself 
 says : — " I composed this song as I convoyed 
 my chest so far on the road to Greenock, 
 where I was to embark in a few days for 
 Jamaica. I meant it as my farewel 
 Dirge to my native land." In his letter to 
 Dr. Moore he repeats this statement ] 
 
 The gloomy night is gath'ring fast, 
 Loud roars the wild, inconstant blast. 
 Yon murky cloud is foul with rain, 
 I see it driving o'er the plain; 
 The Hunter now has left the moor. 
 The scatt'red coveys meet secure, 
 While here I wander, pressed with care, 
 Along the lonely banks of Ayr. 
 
 The Autumn mourns her rip'ning corn 
 By early Winter's ravage torn; 
 Across her placid, azure sky. 
 She sees the scowling tempest fly; 
 Chill runs my blood to hear it rave, 
 I think upon the stormy wave. 
 Where many a danger I must dare. 
 Far from the bonie banks of Ayr. 
 
 "Tis not the surging billows roar, 
 Tis not that fatal, deadly shore ; 
 Tho' Death in ev'ry shape appear. 
 The Wretched have no more to fear : 
 But round my heart the ties are bound. 
 That heart transpierc'd with many a wound; 
 These bleed afresh, those ties I tear. 
 To leave the bonie banks of Ayr. 
 
 Farewell, old Coila's hills and dales. 
 Her heathy moors and winding vales ; 
 The scenes where wretched Fancy roves. 
 Pursuing past, unhappy loves ! 
 Farewell, my friends ! farewell my foes I 
 >ry peace with these, my love with those — 
 The bursting tears my heart declare, 
 Farewell, the bonie banks of Ayr t 
 
 % ® 
 
 * Menie is the common abbrevation of Mariarnne.—(R. B. 17S7.)
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 75 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Tune— Prepare, my d^ar brethren, to the tavern let's fly, &c. 
 
 [The Poet tells us that a Collection of English Songs was his vade mecum wherever 
 he went, and in a Standard collection, dating from the year 1751, called "Yair's 
 Charmer," we find (at page 293, Vol. I.) a song which Tery likely was in Burns's eye aa 
 a model for tliis one. ] 
 
 N'o Churchman am I for to rail aud to write, 
 Xo Statesman nor Soldier to plot or to fight, 
 No sly man of business contriving a snare, 
 For a big-belly'd bottle's the whole of my care. 
 
 The Peer I don't envy, I give him his bow ; 
 
 I scorn not the Peasant, tho' ever so low; 
 
 But a club of good fellows, like those that are there. 
 
 And a bottle like this, are my glory and care. 
 
 Here passes the Squire on his brother — his horse ; 
 There Centum per Centum, the Cit with his purse; 
 But see you the Crown how it waves in the air. 
 There a big-belly'd bottle still eases my care. 
 
 The wife of my bosom, alas ! she did die ; 
 For sweet consolation to church I did fly ; 
 I found that old Solomon proved it fair, 
 That a big-belly'd bottle's a cure for all aare. 
 
 I once was persuaded a venture to make; 
 A lL'tt€r inform'd me that all was to wreck; 
 But the pursy old landlord just waddl'd up stairs, 
 With a glorious bottle that ended my cares. 
 
 'Life's cares they are comforts'*— a maxim laid down 
 By the Bard, what d'ye call him, that wore the black g0WB| 
 And faith I atrree wiili th' old prig to a hair; 
 For a big belly'd bottle's a heav'n of a care. 
 
 A Stanza added in a Mason Lodge: 
 
 Then fill up a bumper and make it o'erflow, 
 And honours masonic prepare for to throw; 
 May ev'ry true Brother of th' Compass and Square 
 Have a big-belly'd bottle when harassed! with cars. 
 
 
 •Young's Night Thoughts.— (R. B. 17S7.) 
 t" Pressed" in the Kilinburgh Edition.
 
 SONGS PRODUCED BY BURNS, 
 
 IN THE FIRST FOUR VOLUMES OF "JOHNSON'S SCOTS MUSICAL MUSEUM.' 
 
 FROM 22nd may. 1787. TO 13th AUGUST. 1792. 
 
 INTRODUCTORY NOTE 
 
 The poet, in one of his letters, says— "The son^s marked Z in the Museum, I have 
 given to the world as old verses to their respective tunes; but, in fact, little more 
 than the chorus, of a good many of them, is ancient, though there is no reason for 
 telling everybody this piece of intelligence." A much more definite guidance than 
 this, however, is supplied to us in the many interesting notes on Scottish Song which 
 the poet inserted in an interleaved copy of the first four volumes of the Museum, 
 which belonged to his friend Captain Riddel of Glenriddel, and in the couriBe of 
 these rera-arks he generally noted what anonymous songs amd additions to lyrics, 
 there printed, had been composed by himself. Where that source of information 
 stops short, the authority of Mr. Wm. Stenhouse ha^s been quoted by many 
 annotators without t^e slighest examination or question; but his dictum cannot 
 be received as final, for the reasons given in our preface. Neither can Johnson nor 
 Thomson be implicitly relied on as unerring guides to the authorship of the pieces 
 they prirjt. The Poet's admission in the above quotation has unfortunately opened 
 wide ttie door for haphazard assertion and mere guess work, against which every 
 conscientious editor ought to be on his guard. Mr. Stenhouse, who was an account- 
 ant in Edinburgh, and compiler of a set of tables of Interest and Exchange, still 
 highly valued, was an enthusiast in Scottish music, and a personal friend of 
 Jehnson the publisher of the Museum, and of Clarke the organist, who harmonized 
 the airs in that work. Johnson died in 1811, and a few years thereafter, the whole 
 of the music-plates of the Musexnn, and the manuscripts and copy connected there- 
 with, wqie purchased from his widow by Mr. Wm. Blackwood, bookseller, who 
 engaged Mr. Stenhouse to supply elaborate notes and illustrations for a new edition 
 of Johnson's work. These interesting notes were in type in 1821, but, from some 
 unexplained cause, the publication of the work was delayed for several years, (Mr. 
 Stenhouse having meanwhile died in 1S27.) In 1S39, however, the new edition of 
 Johnson was published by William Blackwood & Sons, and, besides containing all 
 Mr Stenhouse's observations, it was further enriched by notes, preface, and 
 introduction by Mr. David Laing, assisted by Mr. C. K. Sharpe, a distinguished 
 connoisseur io such matters.
 
 SONGS BY BURNS, IN JOHNSONS FIRST VOL., MAY 22. 1787. 
 
 YOUXG PEGGY.* 
 
 Tune— LocA Eroch-side. 
 
 [This stands No. 7S ia the work, with 
 Bums's name attached, immediately pre- 
 ceded by another song of his— Green Grow 
 the Rashes— ai\Tea.dy given at page 73.] 
 
 Young Peggy blooms our boniest lass, 
 
 Her blush is like the morning. 
 The rosy dawn, the springing grass. 
 
 With early gems adorning : 
 Her eyes outshine the radiant beams 
 
 That gild the passing shower. 
 And glitter o'er the crystal streams. 
 
 And cheer each fresh'ning tlower. 
 
 Her lips more than the cherries bright, 
 A richer die has grac'd them; 
 
 They chaim th' admiring gazer's sight 
 And sweetly tempt to taste them: 
 
 Her smile is as the ev'ning mild. 
 When feather'd pairs are courting, 
 
 And little lambkins wanton wild. 
 In pla>-ful bands disporting. 
 
 Were Fortune lovely Peggy's foe, 
 
 Sucfa sweetness woiiild relent her, 
 As blooming spring unbends the brow 
 
 Of surly, savage winter. 
 Detraction's eye no aim can gain 
 
 Her winning pow'rs to lessen ; 
 And fretful Envy grins in vain. 
 
 The poison'd tooth to fasten. 
 
 Ye Pow'rs of Honor, Love and Truth, 
 
 From ev'ry ill defend her; 
 Inspire the highly-favor'd Viuth 
 
 Tne destinies intend her : 
 Still fan the sweet connubial flame 
 
 Responsive in each bosom ; 
 And bless the dear parental name . 
 
 With many a filial blossom. 
 
 BONIE DUNDEE. 
 
 [In Chambers's "Songs Prior to Burns," the old version oflthe first stanza is quoted, 
 from which it appears that it was amend€»d by Burns. Bums enclosed this song to 
 Cleghorn, with the following note :— " Dear Cleghorn,— You will see by the above that 
 
 I have added a stanza to Bonie Dundee."] 
 
 WHAR did ye get that hauver-meal bannock? 
 O silly blind body, O dinna ye see; 
 
 1 gat it frae a young brisk Sodger Laddie, 
 Between Saint Johnston and bonie Dundee. 
 
 O gin I saw the laddie that gae me't ! 
 
 Aft has he doudl'd me up on his knee; 
 May Heaven protect my bonie Scots laddie, 
 
 And send him safe hame to his babie and me 1 
 
 My blessin's upon thy sweet, wee lippie! 
 
 My blessin's upon thy bonie e'e brie ! 
 Thy smiles are sae like my blythe Sodger laddie, 
 
 Thou's ay the dearer, and dearer to me ! 
 But 111 big a bow'r on yon bonie banks, 
 
 Whare Tay rins wimplin by sae clear ; 
 And I'll deed thee in the tartan sae fine, 
 
 And makthee a man like thy daddie dear. 
 
 •.Miss Peggy Kennedy, the reputed heroine of Ye Banks and Braes. She waa niec» 
 to Mrs. (iavin Hamilton.
 
 SONGS PRODUCED IN VOL. II. OF "MUSICAL MUSEUM," FEB. 14, 1788. 
 
 TO THE WEAVERS GIN YE GO. 
 
 [The Poet says in his MS. notes—" The 
 chorus of this song is old, the rest is mine. 
 — Here, once for all, let me apolo^se for 
 rr^ny .silly compositions of mine in this 
 work. Many beautiful airs wanted words, 
 and, in the hurry of other avocations, if I 
 could string a parcel of rhymes together 
 anything nearly tolerable, I was fain to let 
 them pass. He must be an excellent poet 
 indeed, whose every performance is excell- 
 ent." Pieces like the following, therefore, 
 occupy no higher level than authentic 
 triyialities.] 
 
 My heart was ance as blythe and free 
 
 .\8 simmer days were lang, 
 But a bonie, westlin weaver lad 
 
 Has gart me change my .sang. 
 
 CHORIS. 
 
 To the weavers gin ye go, fair maids. 
 To the weavers gin ye go, 
 
 I rede you right, gang ne'er at night. 
 To the weavers gin ye go. 
 
 My mither sent me to the town 
 
 To warp a plaiden wab ; 
 But the weary, weary warpin' o't 
 
 Has gart me sigh and sab. 
 To the weavers, &c. 
 
 A bonie, westlin weaver lad 
 
 Sat working at his loom ; 
 He took my heart as wi' a net 
 
 In every knot and thrum. 
 To the weavers, &c. 
 
 I sat beside my warpin'-wheel, 
 
 And ay I ca'd it roun' ; 
 But every shot and every knock, 
 
 My heart it gae a stoun. 
 To the weavers, &c. 
 
 The moon was sinking in the west 
 
 Wi' visage pale and wan. 
 As my bonie, westlin weaver lad 
 
 Convoy'd me thro' the glen. 
 To the weavers, &c. 
 
 But what was said, or what was done, 
 
 Shame fa' me gin I tell ; 
 But Oh ! I fear the kintra .soon 
 
 Will ken as weel's mysel' ! 
 To the weavers, &c. 
 
 I'M O'ER YOUNG TO MARRY YET. 
 
 [The author's note, in the Glenriddel 
 
 copy, is as follows:— "The chorus of 
 
 this song is old ; the rest of it, such as 
 it is, is mine."] 
 
 I AM my mammy's ae bairn, 
 
 Wi' unco folk I weary. Sir, 
 And lying in a man's bed, 
 
 I'm fley'd it make me eerie, Sir. 
 
 CHOHU.S. 
 
 I'm o'er young, I'm o'er young, 
 I'm o'er young to marry yet ; 
 
 I'm o'er young, 'twad be a sin 
 To tak me frae my mammy yet. 
 
 Hallowmass is come and gane. 
 The nights are lang in winter, Sir ; 
 
 And you an' I in ae bed, 
 In trowth, I dare na venture. Sir. 
 I'm o'er young, &c. 
 
 Fu' loud and shill the frosty wind 
 Blaws through the leafless timmer, Sir ; 
 
 But if ye come this gate again, 
 I'll aulder be gin simmer, Sir. 
 I'm o'er young, &c. 
 
 THE BIRKS OF ABERFELDY. 
 
 Tvn^—Birhg 0/ Abergeldie. 
 
 [Acknowledged in the iluneum. The 
 author notes here— "I composed these 
 stanzas standing under the Falls of 
 Aberfeldy, at or near Moness." This, as
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 we learn from the diary he kept of his 
 northern tour, was on Thursday, 3iJth 
 August, 17S7. Thomson states that the 
 chorus is borrowed from the old song, 
 "The Birks of Abergeldie."] 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Eonie lassie, will ye go, 
 Will ye go, will ye go, 
 Bonie lastie, ivill ye go 
 
 To the birks of Aherfeldie ? 
 
 Now Simmer blinks on flow'ry braes, 
 And o'er the crystal streamlets plays ; 
 Come let us spend the lightaome days 
 In the birks of Aberfeldy. 
 Bonie lassie, dec. 
 
 The little birdies blythely sing, 
 While o'er their heads the hazels hing, 
 Or lightly flit on wanton wing 
 In the birks of Aberfeldy. 
 Bonie lassie, &c. 
 
 The braes ascend like lofty wa's. 
 The foamy stream deep-roaring fa's, 
 O'erhung vii' fragiant-spreading shaws, 
 The birks of Aberfeldy. 
 Bonie lassie, &c. 
 
 The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi' flowers, 
 White o'er the linns the burnie pours. 
 And rising, weets wi' misty showers 
 The birks of Aberfeldy. 
 Bonie lassie, &c. 
 
 Let Fortune's gifts at random flee. 
 They ne'er shaJl draw a wish frae me; 
 Supremely blest wi' love and thee 
 In the birks of Aberfeldy. 
 Bonie lassie, &c. 
 
 M'PHERSON'S FAREWELL. 
 
 (Acknowledged in the Mumum. 
 fhomson in a somewhat lengthy not« 
 informs us that "the wild stanzas are 
 grounded upon some traditional reraainB," 
 and in another edition he says that the 
 whole is "written by Burns, the first stanza 
 and the chorus excepted." James M'Pher- 
 son, a Highland freebooter, was executed 
 at Banff in Noteinber, 1700.] 
 
 Farewell, ye dungeon's dark and strong. 
 
 The wretch's destinie! 
 M'Pherson's time will not be long. 
 
 On yonder gallows-tree. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Sae rantingly, sae wantonly, 
 
 Sae dauntonly gae'd he : 
 He play'd a spring, and danc'd it round, 
 
 Below the gallows-tree. 
 
 () what is death but parting breath? 
 
 On many a bloody plain 
 I've dar'd his face, and in this place 
 
 I scorn hira yet again 1 
 Sae rantingly, &.c. 
 
 I'ntie these bands from off my hands, 
 
 And bring to me my sword ; 
 And there's no a man in all Scotland, 
 
 But I'll brave him at a word. 
 
 Sae rantingly, I'tc. 
 
 I've liy'd a life of sturt and strife; 
 
 I die by treacherie: 
 It burns my heart I must depart. 
 
 And not avenged be. 
 Sae rantingly, &c. 
 
 Now farewell light, thou .sunshine bri| 
 
 And all beneath the sky 1 
 May coward shame distain his name. 
 
 The wretch that dares not die ! 
 Sae rantingly, &c. 
 
 :ht. 
 
 THE HIGHLAND LASSIE, 0. 
 
 [Published anonymously in Johnson, 
 but the Poet, in the GlenriddelMS. notes, 
 says— "This was a composition of mine in 
 very early life, before I was at all known 
 in the world." Thomson notes regarding 
 this song :— " This was an early production, 
 and seems to have been written on the 
 Poet's Highland Mary." 
 
 Nae gentle dames, tho' ne'er sae fair, 
 .Shall ever be my muse's care ; 
 Their titles a' are empty show ; 
 Gie me my Highland Lassie, O. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Within the glen sae bushy, O, 
 Aboon the plain sae raahy, O, 
 I set me down wi' right gude will. 
 To sing my Highland Lassie, O.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 SO 
 
 were yon hills and valleys mine, 
 Yon palace and yon gardens tine ! 
 The world then the love should know 
 
 1 bear my Highland Lassie, O. 
 
 Within the glen, &c. 
 
 But fickle fortune frowns on me. 
 And I maun cross the raging sea,; 
 But while my crimson currents tlow, 
 I love my Highland Lassie, O. 
 Within the glen, &c. 
 
 Altho' thro' foreign climes I range, 
 I know her heart will never change, 
 For her hnsom burns with honor's glow, 
 My faithful Highland Lassie, O. 
 Within the glen, &c. 
 
 For her I'll dare the billow's roar ; 
 For her I'll trace a distant shore ; 
 That Indian wealth may lustre throw 
 Around my Highland hassie, O 
 Within the glen, &c. 
 
 S'he has my heart, she has my hand, 
 By secret truth and honor's band I 
 Tiil the mortal stroke shall lay me low, 
 I'm thine, my Highlanil Lassie, O. 
 
 Farewell, the glen sae bushy, O ; 
 Farewell, the plain sae rashy, O '. 
 To other lands I now must go 
 To sing my Highland Lassie, O 1 
 
 STAY, MY CHARMER, CAN YOU 
 LEAVE ME. 
 
 Tune— .4n Gille duhh ciar dhuhh. 
 
 [BuTns's name is given as the author of 
 this piece.] 
 
 Stay, my charmer, can you leave me? 
 
 Cruel, cruel to deceive me ! 
 
 Well you know how much you grieve me : 
 
 Cruel charmer, can you go ! 
 
 Cruel charmer, can you go ! 
 
 By my love so ill requited : 
 
 By the faith you fondly plighted ; 
 
 By the pangs of lovers slighted ; 
 
 Do not, do not leave me so ! 
 
 Do not, do not leave me so I 
 
 THO' CRUEL FATE SHOULD BID 
 US PART. 
 
 TVSZ— The Northern Lass. 
 
 [It is very remarhable that this fragment 
 appears in Johnson's pages in juxta- 
 position with the preceding; it has the 
 author's name attached, while the other 
 is unacknowledged.] 
 
 Tho' cruel fate should bid us part. 
 
 Far as the pole and line ; 
 Her dear idea round my heart . 
 
 Should tenderly entwine. 
 The' mountains rise, and deserts howl. 
 
 And oceans roar between ; 
 Yet, dearer than my deathless soul, 
 
 I still would love my Jean. 
 
 STRATH ALLANS LAMENT. 
 
 [Acknowledged in the Museum. The 
 Poet's MS. note says of the preseitt 
 lyric— "This air is the composition of one 
 of the worthiest and best men living — 
 .\llan Masterton, schoolmaster in Edin- 
 burgh. As he and I were both sprouts of 
 Jacobitism, we agreed to dedicate the 
 words and air to that cause." Thomson 
 notes: — "The speaker is supposed to be 
 lying concealed in some cave of the High- 
 lands, after the defeat .and dispersion of 
 his party, in following the fortunes of the 
 Chevalier de St. George."] 
 
 Thickest night, surround my dwelling! 
 
 Howling tempests, o'er me rave 1 
 Turbid torrents, wintry swelling. 
 
 Roaring by my lonely cave. 
 Crystal streamlets gently flowing. 
 
 Busy haunts <>f base mankind, 
 Western breezes softly blowing, 
 
 Suit not my distracted mind. 
 
 In the cause of Right engaged, 
 
 Wrongs injurious to redress. 
 Honor's war we strongly waged, 
 
 But the heavens deny'il success : 
 Ruin's wheel has driven o'er us, 
 
 Not a hope that dare attend. 
 The wide world is all before us — 
 
 But a world without a friend.
 
 THE POEMS AND SOXGS OF BURN'S. 
 
 81 
 
 LP IN' THE MORMXG EARLY. 
 
 [The Poet sa\s in his GlenridJel notes— 
 "The chorus of this song is old; tlie 
 two stanzas are mine." It may be inter- 
 esting to note that Thomson (Vol. ii, page 
 59) gives the old version of these stanzas 
 as follows : — 
 
 Cauld blaws the wind frae north to south, 
 
 The drift is driving sairly ; 
 The sheep are coAvrin in the heugh. 
 
 Ol .Sirs, 'tis winter fairly. 
 
 Xae liiities lilt on hedge or bush, 
 Poor tilings! they suffer sairly; 
 
 In cauldrife quarters a' the night, 
 A' day they feed but spairly. 
 
 The author given is John Hamilton.] 
 
 C.tULD blaws the wind frae east to west, 
 
 The drift is driving sairly ; 
 Sae loud and shill's I hear the blast, 
 
 I'm sure it's winter fairly. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Up in the morning's no for me. 
 
 Up in the morning early; 
 When a' the hills arecover'd wi' snaw, 
 
 I'm sure it's winter fairly. 
 
 The birds sit chittering in the thorn, 
 
 A' day they fare hut sparely; 
 And lang's the night frae e'en to morn, 
 
 I'm sure it's winter fa'ily. 
 
 Up in the morning's, &c. 
 
 THE YOUNG HIGHLAND ROVKR. 
 TvtiK—ilorag. 
 
 [.Acknowledged in the Musevm. In 
 February, 17S3, he presented Mrs. Rose 
 of Kilravock with the first two vols, 
 of .Johnson; and in his accompanying 
 letter he says :— " Every air worth preserv- 
 ing is to l)e included : among others I 
 have given Morag—&nd some few Highland 
 airs which pleased me most — a dress 
 which will be more generally known."] 
 
 Loud blaw the frosty breezes, 
 Tlie snaws the mountains cover. 
 
 Like winter on me seizes, 
 .Since my young Highland Rover, 
 Far wanders nations over. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Where'er he go. where'er he stray, 
 May Heaven be his warden : 
 
 Return him safe to fair Str.athspey, 
 And bonie Castle Gordon ! 
 
 The trees now naked groaning, 
 Shall soon w i' leaves be hinging, 
 
 The birdies dowie moaning. 
 Shall a' be blythely singing. 
 And every flower be springing. 
 
 Sae I'll rejoice the lee-lang day. 
 When by his mighty Warden 
 
 My youth's refurn'd to f.iir Strathspey, 
 And bonie Castle Cordon. 
 
 I DREAM'D I LAY, ic. 
 
 [The Poet has noted that he composed 
 these verses when he was 17 years old, and 
 that they are the oldest n'i his printed 
 pieces. Mrs. Cockburn's Flowers of the 
 Forest was evidently the Poet's model in 
 tliis instance.] 
 
 I DRE.iM'D I lay where flow ers were 
 springing, 
 
 Gaily in the sunny beam ; 
 List'ning to tlie wild birds singing, 
 
 By a falling, crystal stream : 
 Straight the sky grew black and daring; 
 
 Thro' the wix^ds the whirlwinds rave ; 
 Trees with age. I arms were warring, 
 
 O'er the swelling, drumlie wave. 
 
 Such was my life's deceitful morning, 
 
 Such the pleasures I enjoy'd; 
 But langornoon, loud tempests storming — 
 
 A' my flowery liiiss destroy'd. 
 Tlio' fickle F'ortune has deceiv'd me. 
 
 She promis'd fair, ami perforni'd but ill ; 
 Of mony a joy and hope liere.av'd me — 
 
 I bear a heart shall support me still. 
 
 ?s-
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 82 
 
 THKNIEL MENZIE6' BOXIE MARY. 
 
 TV'SE—Ruflan'n Rant. 
 
 (In the Museum, this song is marked 
 " Z," meaning an old song revised. How 
 iiHich it owes to Burns cannot now be 
 'i-i_wt:iined.] 
 
 In confuiK by the briL' o' Dye, 
 At Darlet we a blink did tarry; 
 
 As dav was da win in the sky, 
 We drank i health to bonie Mary. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Tlieniel .Menzies' bonie Mary, 
 Theniel Menzies' bonie Mary; 
 
 Charlie Gregor tint his plaidie, 
 Kissin' Theniel's bonie Mary. 
 
 Her een sae bright, her brow sae white, 
 Her hiffeb bjcks as brown's a berry; 
 
 And ay they dimpl't wi' a smile, 
 The rosy cheeks o' bonie Mary. 
 Theniel -Menzies', &c. 
 
 I We lap and danc'd the lee-lang day. 
 
 Till Piper lads were wae and weary: 
 I But Charlie gat the spring to pay 
 I For kissin' Theniel's bonie Mary. 
 Theniel Menzies', &c. 
 
 THE BAXK3 OF THE DEVOX. 
 I'L'.NE — Bhannerach dhon na chri. 
 
 [Acknowledged in the Mu.ie"in. In the Glenriddel notes, the Poet says :— •' These 
 verses wei-e composed on a charming girl, a Miss Charlotte Hamilton, who is now 
 married to James M'Kitrick Adair, Esq., physician. .She is sister to my worthy 
 friend, Gavin Hamilton of Mauchline, and was born on the banks of Ayr, but was, at 
 the time I wrote these lines, residing at Harvieston, on the romantic banks of th? 
 little river Devon." Thomson has a note to the same etfect.] 
 
 How pleasant the banks of the clear-winding Devon, 
 With green-spreading bushes and tlow'rs blooming fair 1 
 
 But the boniest tlow'r on the banks of the Devon 
 Was once a sweet bud on the braes of the Ayr. 
 
 Mild be the sun on this sweet-blushing Flower, 
 In the say, rosy morn as it bathes in the dew ; 
 
 And gentle the fall of the soft vernal shower. 
 That steals on the evening each leaf to resew I 
 
 O spare the dear blossom, ye orient breezes, 
 With chill, hoary wing as ye usher the dawn ! 
 
 And far be thou distant, thou reptile that seizes 
 The verdure and pride of the garden or lawn : 
 
 Let Bourbon exult in his gay, gilded Lilies, 
 
 .\nd England triumphant display her proud Rose; 
 A fairer than either adorns the green valleys 
 ' \\'liere Devon, sweet Devon, meandering flows. 

 
 THE POE.VS AND SOXGS OF BURyS. 
 
 83 
 
 HAVING WINDS AROUND HER 
 BLOWING. 
 
 TvrfBr—M'Gretjor of Roro's Lament. 
 
 [Acknowledged in the Mns/'um. Burns'a 
 note on this song is as follows : — " I com- 
 posed these verses on Miss Isabella M'Leod 
 of Raasay, alluding to her feelings on the 
 death of her sister, and the still more 
 melancholy death (in ITSt^) of her sister's 
 husband, the late I'.rtI of Loudoun, who 
 shot himself out of sheer heart-break at 
 some mortifications he suffered owing to 
 the deranged state of his finances." 
 
 Raving winds around her blowing. 
 Yellow leaves the woodlands strewing, 
 By a river hoarsely roaring, 
 Isabella stray'd deploiing. 
 Farewell, hours rhat late did measure 
 Sunshine days of joy and pleasure; 
 Hail, thou gloomy night of sorrow — 
 Cheerless night that knows no morrow. 
 
 O'er the Past too fondly wandering, 
 f>n the hopeless Future pondering, 
 Chilly Gi ief my Iife-bl0')d freezes. 
 Fell Despair my fancy seizes. 
 Life, fhou soul of every lilessing, 
 L<ad to Misery most distressing, 
 Gladly how would I resign thee, 
 \nd to dark Oblivion join thee I 
 
 KOW LONG AND DRE.A.Ry IS THE 
 
 NIGHT. 
 
 A Gaelic Air. 
 
 iThis song was written by Burns, in 
 178". to suit one of those Gaelic melodies 
 which he picked up during his Highland 
 tour. In Octolier, 1794, he altered the 
 gong for George Thontson, adding a chorua 
 So tit the air of Caiild Eaii.] 
 
 Uow long and dreary is the night, 
 When I am frae my dearie! 
 
 I sleepless lye frae e'en to looni, 
 ■J'ko' I wenre ne'er so weary, 
 I .-^eepleija lye frae e'em, Ac. 
 
 Wlien I think on the happy days 
 I spent wi' you, my dearie; 
 
 And now what lands between us lie. 
 How can I be but eerie ! 
 And now what lands, &c. 
 
 How slow ye move, ye heavy hour?. 
 As ye were wae and we.ary 1 
 
 It was na sae, ye glinted by, 
 When I was wi' my dearie, 
 It was iiae sae, Ac. 
 
 THE THOJfSOy VERSION. 
 
 [The Erlitor's note is: — '" Written for this 
 work by Burns." We give this version out 
 of chronological order for comparison.; 
 
 How lang and dreary is the night 
 When I am frae my dearie ! 
 
 I restless lie frae e'en to morn. 
 Though I were ne'er sae weary. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 For oh, her landi/ nights are laiirj ! 
 
 And oh, her dreanin are eerie.' 
 And oh, her ividotivd heart is $air, 
 
 That's absent frae her dearie! 
 
 When I think on the lightsome days 
 I spent wi' thee, my dearie, 
 
 .\nd now what seas between us roar, 
 How can I be but eerie? 
 For oh, <tc. 
 
 How slow ye move, ye heavy hours! 
 
 The joyless day, how dren.ry ! 
 It was na sae — ye glinted by, 
 
 Whea I was wi' my dearie I 
 For oh, (ke. 
 
 #-v?5
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 
 84 
 
 ML'SINO ON THE ROARING OCEAN. 
 
 Tune— /)rt(Jmio?i duhh. 
 
 [Acknowledged in the Museum. Burns 
 notes regarding this song:— "I composed 
 these verses out of compliment to a Mrs. 
 Maclachlan, whose husband is an officer 
 in the East Indies."] 
 
 Musing uu the roaring ocean, 
 Which divides my love and me ! 
 
 Wear>ing Heav'u in warm devotion, 
 For his weal where'er he be. 
 
 Hope and Fear's alternate billow 
 Yielding late to Nature's law, 
 
 Whisp'ring spirits round my pillow 
 Talk of him that's far awa. 
 
 Ye vifhom Sorrow never wounded, 
 Ye who never shed a tear, 
 
 Care-untroubled, joy-surrounded. 
 Gaudy Day to you is dear. 
 
 Gentle Night, do thou befriend me ; 
 
 Downy Sleep, the curtain draw ; 
 Spirits kind, again attend me. 
 
 Talk of him that's far awa ! 
 
 BLYTHE "WAS SHE. 
 
 Tine— .4.nrfro and his Cutty Gun. 
 
 [Acknowledged in the Museum. This 
 song was composed in October, 17S7. 
 The Poet's Glenriddel note is as follows : 
 — " I composed these verses while I stayed 
 at Ochtertyre with Sir William Murray. 
 This lady who was also at Ochtertyre at 
 the same time, was a well-known toast, 
 Miss Euphemia Murray of Lintrose, who 
 was called, and very justly, The Flower of 
 Strathmore."] 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Blt/th€, blythe and merry was she, 
 Blythe was she butt and ben ; 
 
 Blythe by the banks uf Earn, 
 And blythe in Glenturit glen. 
 
 By Ochtertyre grows the aik, 
 On Yarrow banks, the biiken shaw; 
 
 But Phemie was a bonier lass. 
 Than biaes o' Yarrow ever saw. 
 Blythe, &c. 
 
 Her looks were like a flow'r in May, 
 Her smile was like a simmer morn ; 
 
 She tripped by the banks of Earn, 
 As light's a bird upon a thorn. 
 Blythe, &c. 
 
 Her bonie face it was as meek 
 
 As ony lamb upon a lea ; 
 The evening sun was ne'er sae sweet 
 
 As was the blink o' Phemie'se'e. 
 Blythe, &r. 
 
 The Highland hills I've wander'd wide 
 And o'er the Lawlands I hae been; 
 
 But Phemie was the blythest lass 
 That ever trode the dewy green. 
 Blvthe, &c. 
 
 TO DAUNTON ME. 
 
 [That Burns is the author of this song is 
 a justifiable inference from his note in the 
 Glenriddel copy. The old stanza.3 he 
 quotes are as unlike the following as may 
 be.] 
 
 The blude-red rose at Yule may blaw, 
 The simmer-lilies bloom in snaw. 
 The frost may freeze the ileepest sea ; 
 But an auld man shall never daunton me. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 To daunton me, and me sae young, 
 Wi" his fause heart and flatt'ring tongue 1 
 That is the thing you ne'er shall see, 
 Koran auld man shall never daunton me. 
 
 For a' his meal and a' his uiaiit. 
 For a' his fresh beef and his saut, 
 For a' his gold and white raouie, 
 An auld man shall never daunton me. 
 ■To dauuton me, iVc. 
 
 His gear may buy him kye and yowes, 
 His gear may buy him glens and knowes. 
 But me he shall not buy nor fee. 
 For an auld man shall never daunton me. 
 To daunton me, &c.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 85 
 
 He hirples twafauld as he dow. 
 
 Wi' his teethless gab and his auld beld po w, 
 
 And the rain rains down f rae his red blear'd 
 
 e'e ; — 
 That auld man shall never dauntnn me. 
 
 To daunton me, &c. 
 
 A ROSEBUD BV MY EARLY WALK. 
 
 [Acknowledged in the Museum. In the 
 Glenriddel copy Burns has noted:— "This 
 song I composed on Miss Jenny Cruick- 
 ihank, only child to my worthy friend, 
 Mr. Wm. Cruickshank of the High School, 
 Edinburgh. The air is by David .Sillar, 
 quondam merchant, and now schoolmaster 
 at Irvine." Thomson states that it was 
 composed in ITS".] 
 
 A ROSE-BUD by my early walk, 
 Adown a corn-inclosed hawk, 
 Sae gently bent its thorny stalk. 
 All on a dewy morning. 
 
 Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fled, 
 In a' its crimson glory spread. 
 And drooping rich the dewy head, 
 It scents the early morning. 
 
 Within the bush, her covert nest, 
 A little linnet fondly prest, 
 The dew sat chilly on her breast, 
 Sae early in the morning. 
 
 She soon shall see her tender brood, 
 The pride, the pleasure o' the wood, 
 Amang the iresh green leaves bedew'd, 
 Awauk the early morning. 
 
 So thou, ilear bird, young Jenny fair! 
 On trembling string or vocal air, 
 Shalt sweetly pay the tender care 
 That tents thy early morning. 
 
 So thou, sweet rose-bud, young and gay, 
 Shalt beauteous bl.i/.e upon the day. 
 And bless the parent's evening ray 
 That watch'tl thy early morning. 
 
 AN' ILL KISS THEE YET. 
 
 TVUE— Bram n' Balqnhidch'r. 
 
 [Burns did not acknowle(l''e this song in 
 the ilunfum. It is marked "/," which 
 
 means an old song with additions. The 
 Poet remodelled this song for George 
 Tliomson's collection, to answer the tunt' 
 of Cauld Kail, for which Thomson seems 
 to have had a great penchant. He encloseil 
 it in a letter, under date August, 1793, in 
 which he .says, "The last stanza of the 
 song I now send vuu contains the very 
 words that Coila taught me many years 
 ago, and which I set to an old Scots reel 
 in Johnson's Museum." It does not 
 appear in any edition of Thomson's we 
 have examined. Cromek gives an addit 
 ional introductory stanza as follows : 
 
 Ilk care and fear, when thou art near, 
 
 I ever mair defy them, O : 
 Young kings upon their hansel throne 
 
 Are nae sae blest as I am, O.) 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 An' I'll ki.is thee yet, yet, 
 An' I'll hiss thee o'er again; 
 
 An I'll kiss thee yet, yet. 
 My bonie Pegjy Alison. 
 
 When in my arms, wi' a' thy charms, 
 I clasp my countless treasure, O 1 
 
 I seek nae mair o' Heav'n to share. 
 Than sic a moment's pleasure, O I 
 When in my .irms, &.C. 
 
 And by thy een sae bonie blue, 
 I swear I'm thine fur ever, O ! 
 
 And on thy lips I seal my vow. 
 And break it shall I never, O 1 
 And by tliy een, Xc. 
 
 UATTLIX', ROARIN" WILLIE. 
 
 [Burns notes this production thus:— 
 "The la^t stanza of this song is mine: it 
 was composed out of compliment to one of 
 the worthiest fellows in the world, William 
 Dunbar, Esq., writer to the signet, Edin- 
 burgh, antl Colonel of tlie Crochallan corps 
 —a club of wits who tonk that title at the 
 time of raising the fencible regiments." It 
 must be classed as one of the authentic 
 trivialities.] 
 
 O KATTLIN', roarin' Willie, 
 O he held to tlie fair; 
 
 .\n' for to sell his tiddle, 
 .'Vnd buy some other ware;
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 86 
 
 isut parting wi' his fiddle, 
 The saut tear blin't his e'e; 
 
 And rattlin', roarin' Willie, 
 Ye're welcome liame to me ! 
 
 O Willie, come sell your fiddle, 
 
 sell your fiddle sae fine : 
 
 O Willie, come sell your fiddle. 
 
 And buy a pint o' wine. 
 If I should sell my fiddle, 
 
 The warld would think I was mad. 
 For mnnie a rantin' day 
 
 My fiddle and I liae had. 
 
 As I cam by Crochallan, 
 
 1 cannily keekit ben : 
 Rattlin', roarin' Willie 
 
 Was sitting at yon l)ourden' — 
 Sitting at yon boorden'. 
 
 And amang gude companie; 
 Rattlin', roarin' Willie, 
 
 Ve're welcome hanie to me 1 
 
 WHERE BRAVING ANGRY 
 
 WINTER'S STORMS. 
 
 Tune— 
 Neil Goip'i Lamentation for Abercairny. 
 
 [Acknowledged in the Miiseum. The 
 note to this song in the Glenriddel copy 
 is: — "This I composed on one of the most 
 accomplished of women. Miss Peggy 
 Chalmers that was, now Mrs. Lewis Hay, 
 of Forbes & C'o.'s Bivnk, Edinburgh."] 
 
 Where, braving angry -winter's storms, 
 
 The lofty Ochils rise ; 
 Far in their shade, my Peggy's charms 
 
 First blest my wondering eyes, — 
 As one, who, by some savage stream, 
 
 A lonely gem surveys, 
 Astonish'd, doubly marks it beam. 
 
 With art's most polish'd l)laze. 
 
 Blest be the wild, sequester'd shade. 
 
 And Idest the day and hour. 
 Where Peggy's charms I first survey'd, 
 
 When first I felt their pow'rl 
 The tyrant death, with grim control, 
 
 May seize my tieeting breath ; 
 But tearing Peggy from my soul 
 
 Must be a stronger death. 
 
 TIBBIE, I HAE SEEN THE T>A\ 
 TvtiE—Invprrnuhr!: P-eH. 
 
 [Acknowledged in the Afuseum. The 
 Poet, in his notes, tells us that he composed 
 this song "about the age of seventeen." 
 Mrs. Begg states that Tibbie Steven, a 
 fanner's daughter, who resided in the 
 neighbourhood of Lochlea, was the 
 heroine. It has also been associated with 
 the name of one of the Ronalds of the 
 Bennals.] 
 
 CHOKLS. 
 
 Oh Tibbie, I hae seen the dav. 
 Ye would na been sae ubi/ ; 
 
 For laik o' near ye lightly ine, 
 But, troivlh, 1 care na by. 
 
 Yestref.n I met ye on the moor. 
 Ye spak na, but aaed by like stnure ; 
 Ye geek at me because I'm poor. 
 But fient a hair care I ! 
 Tibbie, I hae, &c. 
 
 * ^Vhen comin' hame on Sunday last, 
 Upiin the road as I cam past. 
 Ye snufi't and gae your head a cast, 
 But trowth I caretna by. 
 
 I doubt na, lass, but ye may think. 
 Because ye hae the name o' clink. 
 That ye can please me at a wink, 
 Whene'er ye like to try. 
 Tibbie, I hae, &c.] 
 
 But sorrow tak him that's sae mean, 
 Altho' his pouch o' coin were cloan, 
 Wha follows ony saucy quean 
 That looks sae proud and high. 
 Tibbie, I hae, &c. 
 
 Altho' a lad were e'er sae smart ; 
 If that he want the yellow dirt, 
 Ye'll cast your head anither airt. 
 And answer him fu' dry. 
 Tibbie, I hae, <ic. 
 
 But if he hae the name o' gear, 
 Ye'll fasten to him like a brier ; 
 The' hardly he for sense or lear 
 Be better than the kye. 
 Tibbie, I hae, &c. 
 
 •This stanza is here inserted in the Poet's Common-place Book, under date 
 September, 17S4.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 SI 
 
 But, Tibbie, lass, tak my advice : 
 Your daildie's gear maks you sae nice ; 
 The deil a ane wad speir ynur price, 
 Were ye as poor as I. 
 Tibbie, I hae, Ac* 
 
 CLARINDA. 
 
 I 
 
 fAcknowIedcred in the Mxiseum. This! 
 was Burns's parting; song to Mrs. MT,ehose ' 
 on his leaving Edinburgh in February, ' 
 17S8, Thomson prints it witli the name'^ 
 omitted:— " Fare wel, dear mistress of my 
 soul, Ac."] ' 
 
 Clarinda, mistress of my soul, 
 
 The measur'd time is run 1 
 The wretch Vieneatb the dreary pol--. 
 
 So maiks his latest sun. 
 
 To what dark cave of frozen night 
 
 Shall poor Sylvander hie ; 
 Depriv'd of thee, his life and light, 
 
 The Sun of all liis j.iy. 
 
 We part— b\it bvtliese precious dropi. 
 
 That till thy lovely eyes; 
 Xo other liyht shall guide my steps, 
 
 Till thy liii'^ht beams arise. 
 
 Slie. the fair Sun of all her sex, 
 Has blest my glorious day : 
 
 And shall a glimmering Planet lix 
 My Worship to its ray? 
 
 *Stania, in MS., omitted by ■Tohn.>on : — 
 
 " There lives a lass in yonder park, 
 I wadna gie her in her sark, 
 For thee, wi' a' thy thousand merk ; 
 V'e need na look sae high."
 
 SONGS CONTRIBUTED BY BURNS TO VOL. III. OF JOHNSON, FEB. 2. 1790 
 
 TIBBIE DUNBAR. 
 
 Ti->;e— Johnny M'Gill. 
 
 [Acknowledged in the Museii,m.\ 
 
 O wir.T thou 2:0 wi' me, sweet Tibbie Dunbar? 
 
 wilt tliou go wi' me, sweet Tibbie Dunbar? 
 Wilt thou ride on a horse, or be drawn in a car, 
 Or walk by my side, O sweet Tibbie Dunbar? 
 
 1 care na thy daddie, his lands and his money, 
 I care na thy kin, sae hiyh and sae lordly; 
 But say thou wilt hae me for better for waur. 
 And come in thy coatie, sweet Tibbie Dunbar. 
 
 MY HARUY WAS A GALLANT GAY. 
 
 Tv^E— Highlander's Lament. 
 
 [In the Glenriddel notes the Poet says : 
 — "The chorus I picked up from an old 
 woman in Dunlilane ; the rest of the song 
 is mine."] 
 
 My Han-y was a gallant gay, 
 Fu' stately strade he on the plain ; 
 
 B«t now he's banish'd far awa', 
 I'll never see him back again. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 for him back again ! 
 O for him back again I 
 
 1 wad gie a' Knockhaspie's* land 
 For Highland Harry back again. 
 
 When a' the lave gae to their bed, 
 I wander dowie up the glen ; 
 
 I set me down and greet my till. 
 And ay I wish him back again. 
 O for him, &c. 
 
 O were .some villains hangit high. 
 And ilka boily had their ain! 
 
 Then I might, see the joyfu' sight— 
 My Highland Harry back again. 
 O for liim, &c. 
 
 BEWARE O' BONIE AXN. 
 
 [The following is the note in the 
 Glenriddel copy:— "I composed this song 
 out of compliment to Miss Ann Mast^rton, 
 the daughter of my friend, Allan 
 Masterton."] 
 
 Yf. gallants bright I rede ye right, 
 
 Beware o' bonie Ann ; 
 Her ci'mely face sae fu' o' grace, 
 
 Your hearts she will trepan. 
 
 Her een sae bright, like stars by night, 
 
 Her skin is like the swan; 
 Sae jimply lac'd her genty waist, 
 
 ■That sweetly ye might span. 
 
 Youth, grace and love attendant move, 
 And pleasure leads the van; 
 
 In a' their charms and conquering arms, 
 They wait on bonie Ann. 
 
 The captive bands may chain the hands, 
 But Love enslaves the man : 
 
 Ye gallants braw, I rede you a', 
 Beware o' bonie Ann. 
 
 'Part of the lands of Mossgiel was called "Knockhaspie."
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 89 
 
 TUB GARDKXER WI' HIS PAIDLE. 
 
 IBmns notes in the GlenriJdel copy : — 
 "The title of the -song only is old; the 
 rest; if* mine." In Auy;ust, 1793, he re- 
 inodelleil it for Thomson, which improved 
 version immediately follows, out of its 
 chronological order.] 
 
 When rosy May comes in wi' flowers. 
 To deck hur ^ay green-spreading bowers ; 
 Then busy, busy are his hours — 
 The Gardener wi' his paidle. 
 
 The crystal waters gently fa' ; 
 The merry birds are lovers a' ; 
 The scented breezes round him blaw — 
 The Gardener wi' his paidle. 
 
 When purple morning starts the hare, 
 To steal upuii hei- early fare ; 
 Then thro' the dews he maun repair — 
 The Gardener wi' his paiille. 
 
 When day, expiring in the west, 
 The curtain diaws of Xature"s rest; 
 He flies to her .arms he lo'es the best — 
 Th.e Gardener wi' his paidle. 
 
 Theu lliiuut;h the dews I will repair, 
 To meet my faithfu' Davie. 
 Meet me, itc. 
 
 When day, expiring in the west, 
 Tlie curtain dr.iws o' Nature's rest, 
 1 rtee to his arms I lo'e best— 
 .\nd that's my ain dear Davie. 
 Meet me, Jcc. 
 
 DAINTY DAVIE. 
 
 [Thomson's note is:— "Written for this 
 ■woik by Burns." The song is almost a 
 verbatim copy of the preceding one.] 
 
 Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers. 
 To deck her gay, green-spreading bowers; 
 And now come in my happy hours, 
 To wander wi' my Davie. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 .V''"' mi> iin thr wnrhick hiwwe, 
 D'lintti JJavii'. iiainty Davie; 
 
 There I'll xpend the datj wi' you, 
 ily ain dear dainty Davie. 
 
 The crystal waters round us fa'. 
 The merry birds arc lovers a'. 
 The scented breezes round us l)Iaw, 
 A-wandering wi' my Davie. 
 Meet ine, ikc. 
 
 When purple morning starts the hare. 
 To steal upon her early fare, 
 
 ON A BANK OF FLOWERS. 
 
 [This has Burns's name attached to it in 
 the Museum; but in reality, it is only an 
 older song remoilelled and improved. The 
 original, by Mr. Theobald, will be fouml 
 in the Tea Table Miscellanv, Vol. III. 
 (17-27.) Thomson's note is :— " The subject 
 taken from an old song, beginning in the 
 same manner."] 
 
 O.N' a bank of tiowers, in a summer day. 
 
 For summer lightly drest. 
 The youthful, blooming Nelly lay, 
 
 With love and sleep opprest : 
 When Willie, wand'ring lUro' the wood — 
 
 Who for her favour oit had sued,— 
 He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd, 
 
 And trembled where he stood. 
 
 Her closed eyes, like weapons sheath'd. 
 
 Were seal'd in soft repose ; 
 Her lips, with fragrance as she breath'd, 
 
 .Still richer dyed the rose : 
 The springing lilies sweetly prest, 
 
 Wild-wanton kiss'd her rival breast; 
 He {ja/.'d, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd— 
 
 His bosom ill at rest. 
 
 Her robes, light-waving in the breeze. 
 
 Her tender limbs embrace ; 
 Her lovely form, her native ease. 
 
 All harmony and grace: 
 Tumultuous tides his pulses roll, 
 
 A f.iltering, ardent kiss he stole ; 
 He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear d, he blush'd. 
 
 And sigh'd his very soul. 
 
 As flies the partridge from the brake, 
 
 On fear-inspiied winsrs ; 
 So, Nelly starting, half-awake. 
 
 Away aflfrighted springs : 
 But Willie follow'd, — as he should: 
 
 He overtook her in the wood ; 
 He vow'd, he pray'd, he found the maid 
 
 Forgiving all and good.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 no 
 
 THE DAY RETURNS, MY BOSOM 
 BURNS. 
 
 TV'S'E— Seventh r>f Xorember. 
 
 [Acknowledged in the Mmeuw. Burns 
 says: — "I composed this song out of 
 compliment to one of the happiest and 
 worthiest married couples in the world- 
 Robert Riddel, Esq. of Glenriddel. and his 
 lady."] 
 
 We're a' dry wi' drinking o't, 
 We're a' dry wi' drinking o't: 
 The minister kiss'd the tiddler's wife. 
 He could na preach for thinkin' o't. 
 My love, itc. 
 
 JAMIE, COME TRY ME. 
 
 [Admitted by Burns to be his composition 
 in the Glenriddel .MS. notes. He says : — 
 "The air is Oswald's; the song is mine."} 
 
 The dav returns, my bosom burns, 
 
 The blissful day we twa did meet; 
 Tho' winter wild in tempest toil'd, 
 
 Ne'er summer-sun was half sae sweet. 
 Than a' the pride that loads the tide, 
 
 And crosses o'er the sultry line; 
 Than kingly robes, than crowns and globes. 
 
 Heav'n gave me more — it made thee mine! 
 
 While day and night can bring delight. 
 
 Or nature aught of pleasure give ; 
 While joys above, my mind can move. 
 
 For thee, and thee alone I live ! 
 When that erim foe of life below, 
 
 Comes in oetween to make us part ; 
 The iron hand that breaks our band. 
 
 It breaks my bliss— it breaks my heart ! 
 
 MY LOVE SHE'S BUT A LASSIE YET. 
 
 [This song is of doubtful authenticity, 
 though generally regarded as a production 
 of Bums.) 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 My love she's hut a lassie yet, 
 My love she's but a lat:sie yet; 
 We'll let her stand a year or twa, — 
 She'll no' be half sae saucy yet. 
 
 I RUE the day I sought her, O, 
 I rue the day I sought her, O ; 
 Wha gets her needs na say he's woo'd, 
 But he may say he's bought her, O. 
 My love, <i-c. 
 
 Come draw a drap o' the best o't yet. 
 Come draw a drap o' the best o't yet, 
 Gae seek for pleasure whare ye will. 
 But here I never miss'd it yet. 
 My love, etc. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Jamie, come try me, 
 Jamie, come try me; 
 If thou would win my lort 
 Jamie, come try me .' 
 
 If thou should ask my love, 
 
 Could I deny thee? 
 If thou would win my love, 
 
 Jamie, come try me I 
 Jamie, come try me, ttc. 
 
 If thou should kiss me, love, 
 Wlia could espy thee'- 
 
 If thou wad be my love, 
 .Jamie, come try me I 
 Jamie, come try me, Jcc. 
 
 MY BONIE .MARY. 
 
 [The Glenriddel note to this song is a.s 
 follows: — "Tlie first half stanza is old, the 
 rest mine." In his letter to .Mis. Dunlop, 
 of 17th December, 17S8, he speaks of 
 "two stanzas" of the song being old. 
 Thomson altered the first word to "Come." 
 The first line is often printed, "Gae, bring." 
 In Thomson's 1801 edition no name is 
 attached to this production.] 
 
 Go, fetch to me a pint o' wine, 
 
 And till it in a silver tassie. 
 That I may drink before I go, 
 
 A service to my bonie lassie. 
 The boat rocks at the Pier o' Leith, 
 
 Fu' loud the wind blaws fi-ae the Feriy: 
 The ship rides by the Berwick-law, 
 
 And I maun leave my bonie Mary.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURXS. 
 
 91 
 
 Tlie trumpets sound, the banners fly, 
 The glittering spears are ranlcfed ready 
 
 The shouts o' war are heard afar. 
 The battle closes deep and bloody : 
 
 It's not the roar o' sea or shore, 
 Wad make me langer wish to tarry ; 
 
 Nor shouts o' war thus heard afar, — 
 It's leaving thee, my bonie Mary 1 
 
 THE LAZY MIST.^ 
 
 [It is stranse that this piece was represented by George Thomson in his collection 
 to beaproducti.in of Dr. Blacklock; for, in the Museutn, Burns'snameis attached to it, 
 and in the Glen riddel notes, he says, "This song is mine." Thomson's note is as 
 follows:— "This song is given by Dr. Currieasone of Burns's, and his name was accord- 
 ingly pretised to it in a former edition of this work. It appears, however, from the 
 Bellques of Burns, p '2-18, that it was written by Dr. Blacklock."]' 
 
 The lazy mist hangs from the brow of the hill. 
 ConcealinT the course of the dark winding rill ; 
 How languid the scenes, late so sprightly, appear. 
 As Autumn to Winter resigns the pale year. 
 The forests are leafless, the meadows are brown, 
 .\nd all the gay foppery of summer is flown : 
 Apart let me wander, apart let me muse, 
 How quick Time is flying, how keen Fate pursues. 
 
 How lon^r I have liv'd— but how much liv'd in vain ; 
 
 How little of life's scanty span may remain ; 
 
 What aspects, old Time, in his progress, has woiii ; 
 
 What ties, cruel Fate, in ray bosom has torn; 
 
 How fooUsh, or worse, till our summit is gain'd ! 
 
 And dotvnward, how weaken'd, how darken'd, how pain'dl 
 
 Life is not worth having with all it can give, — 
 
 For something beyond it poor man sure must live. 
 
 THE CAPTAIN'S LADY. j 
 
 [This seems to be an old song recast by 
 Burns.] 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 mount, and fi", 
 
 Mount and make you read;/ ; 
 mount ami go, 
 
 And be the Vnptain's Lady. 
 
 Whe.n the drums do beat. 
 And the cannons rattle; 
 
 Thou shalt sit in state. 
 And see thy love in battle. 
 mount, i-c. 
 
 When the vanquish'd foe 
 Sues for peace and quiet; 
 
 To the shades we'll go, 
 And in love enjoy it. 
 mount, Jcc. 
 
 
 *See " Rfiliqrm" p. rns
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 OF A' THE AIRTS. 
 
 Tune— .Vis« Admiral Gordon's Strathspey. 
 
 [Acknowledged in the .Uu.sew)u. In his notes the Poet says:— "This song, I com- 
 posed out of compHment to Mrs. Burns. X.B.— It was during the honeymoon." The two 
 excellent stanzas following, which are usually added to thi.s song, were composed by 
 John HamiltonVmusicseller in Edinburgh, who died in ISU. They have been frequently 
 taken for a portion of Burns's song : — 
 
 " O blaw, ye westlin' winds, blaw saft, amang the leafy trees; 
 \V1' balmy gale, frae muir and dale, bring hame the laden bees; 
 And bring the lassie back to me that's aye sae neat and clean ; 
 Ae blink o' her wad banish care, sae charming is my Jean. 
 
 What sighs and vows amang the knowes, hae passed atween us twa ! 
 How fond to meet, how wae to part, the day she gaed awa' ! 
 The powers aboon can only ken, to whom the heart is seen. 
 That nane can be sae dear to me as my sweet, lovely Jean." 
 
 Thomson prints a similar addendum by Rich.ardson, beginning : — " Her lips are like the 
 red rose-bud," (vol. iv. p. 159). Another addition by Reid, of Brash and Reid, Glasgow, 
 be^ns : — "Upon the banks o' flowing Clyde." It is amusing to ob.serve Hamilton's 
 and Reid's addenda given as integral parts of Burns's song in a cheap edition issued 
 in April, 1896.] 
 
 Of a' the airts the wind can blaw, 
 
 I dearly like * the west ; 
 For there the bonie lassie lives, 
 
 The lassie I lo'e best : 
 There wild-woods grow, and rivers row, 
 
 And mony a hill between ; 
 But, day and night, my fancy' .s flight 
 
 Is ever wi' my Jean. 
 
 I see her in the dewy flowers, 
 
 I see her sweet and fair ; 
 I hear her in the tunefu' birds, 
 
 I hear her cliarm the air : t 
 There's not a bonie flower, that springs 
 
 By fountain, shaw, or green ; 
 There's not a bonie bird that sings. 
 
 But minds me o' my Jean. 
 
 CARL, AX THR KI\(i COME. 
 
 [Chambers, in his "Songs Prior to 
 Burns," says that this is an old song 
 amendedby Burns, the second stanza being 
 beheved to be wholly his.] 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Carl, an the king comv, 
 Carl, an the kin;; come ; 
 Thou Shalt dance and I will siivj, 
 Carl, an the kinj come. 
 
 An somebodie were come again. 
 Then somebodie maun cross the main ; 
 And every man shall hae his ain, 
 Carl, an the king come. 
 Carl, an the king come, J:c. 
 
 I trow we swappt;d for the warse, 
 We gae the boot and better horse ; 
 And that we'll tell them at the cross, 
 Carl, an the king come. 
 Carl, an the king come, Jcc. 
 
 Coggie, an the king come, 
 Coggie, an the king come, 
 Ise be fou and thou's be toom, 
 Coggie, an the king come. 
 Coggie, an the king come, etc. 
 
 WHISTLE OER THE LAVE O'T. 
 
 [In the Jolly Beggars there is also a song 
 to tlie same tune. Thomson printed this 
 version in his fourth volume.] 
 
 * The word " like" afterw n-ds changed to " lo'e." 
 t This line was afterwards changed to—" Wi' music charm tlie air."
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 93 
 
 First whan Maggy was my care. 
 Heaven, I thought, was in her air ; 
 >'ow we're married, spier nae mair 
 But whiatle o'er the lave o't, 
 
 Meg was meek and Meg was mild, 
 Sweet and harmless .as a child ; * 
 Wiser men than me's beguil'd — 
 So whistle o'er the lave o't. 
 
 How we live, my Meg and me, 
 How we love .and how we gree ; 
 I carena by how few may see- 
 Whistle o'er the lave o't. 
 
 Wha I wish were maggots' meat, 
 Dish'd up in her winding-sheet ; 
 I could write, but Meg maun see't- 
 Whistle o'er the lave o't. 
 
 O, WERE I ON PARNASSUS HILL. 
 
 Tune— 3/1/ love is lost to me. 
 
 [Acknowledged in the Museum. 
 followins is the Glenriddel note :— ' 
 
 song I made out of compliment to Mr». 
 Burns,"] 
 
 WERE I on Parnassus hill, 
 Or had o' Helicon my till, 
 That I might catch poetic skill, 
 
 To sing how dear I love thee ! 
 
 But Nith maun be my Muse's well, 
 
 My muse maun be thy bonie sel' : 
 
 I On Corsincon I'll glowr and spell, 
 
 I And write how dear I love thee 1 
 
 ' Then come, sweet Muse, inspire my lay t 
 
 For a' the lee-lang simmer's day, 
 I I couldna sing, I couldna say, 
 
 How much, how dear, I love thee. 
 
 1 see thee d.mcing o'er the green — 
 i Thy wai.->t sae jimp, thy limbs sae clean, 
 I Thy tempting lips, thy roguish een,— 
 ; By Heaven and earth I love thee 1 
 
 By night, by day, a-field, at hame, 
 I The thoughts o' thee my breast inflame ; 
 And ay I muse and sing thy name, 
 ! I only live to love thee ! 
 Tho' I were doora'd to wander on, 
 Beyond the sea, beyond the sun; 
 The Till my last, weary sand was run, — 
 ' This Till then— and then I love thee! 
 
 THERE'S A YOUTH IN THIS CITY". 
 A Gaelio Air. 
 
 [The poet has the following note, in the Glenriddel copy, to this song:— "This air i» 
 claimed by Neil Gow, who calls it the Lament /or his Brother. The first stanza of 
 the song is old— the rest is mine."] 
 
 There's a youth in this city, it were a great pity 
 ■That he from our lasses should wander aw x' ; 
 
 For he's bonie and braw, weel-favour'd witha', 
 And his hair has a natural buckle and a'. 
 
 His coat is the hue of his bonnet sae blue. 
 His fecket is white as the new-driven snaw. 
 
 His hose they are blae, and his shoon like the slae, 
 And his clear siller buckles they dazzle us a'. 
 
 For beauty and fortune the laddie's been courtin'; 
 
 Weel-featur'd, weel-tocher'd, weel mounted and bravr; 
 But chiefly the siller, that gars him gang till her,— 
 
 The Penny's the jewel that beautifies a*. 
 
 There's Meg wi' the mailin that fain wad a haen him. 
 And Susie wliase daddy was laird 0' the Ha' ; 
 
 There's lang-tocher'd Nancy raaist fetters his fancy; 
 But th' laddie's dear sel' he lo'es dearest of a". 
 
 •Afterwards altered thus;— "Bonie Meg was Nature's child.'
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 94 
 
 MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS. 
 
 Tune — Failte na miofg. 
 
 [The Poet's note on this song is as follows: — "The first half stanza is old — »he 
 is mine."] 
 
 My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here, 
 My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer — 
 A-chasins the wiM deer, and fullowins; the roe: 
 My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go. 
 
 Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the Xorth — 
 The birth place of Valour, the country of Worth : 
 Wherever 1 wander, wherever I rove. 
 The hills of the Highlands for ever I love. 
 
 Farewell to the mountains high cover'd with sni'w; 
 Ffirewei; 'j the straths and green valleys below; 
 Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods; 
 Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods. 
 
 My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here, 
 My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer — 
 Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe : 
 My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go. 
 
 JOHN ANDERSOX MY JO. 
 
 AWA", WHIGS, AWA'. 
 
 [Chambers, in his "Songs Prior to 
 Burns," states that the second and fourth 
 
 [Acknowledged in the Musexirn. In 
 Theimon's Collection two older stanzas stanzas are bv Bnr-i^ ' 
 precede those by Burns.] " ' ' 
 
 John Anderson my jo, John, 
 
 When we were first acquent ; 
 Your locks were like the raven, 
 
 Your bonie brow was brent; 
 But now your brow is held, John, 
 
 Your locks are like the snaw ; 
 But blessings on your frosty pow, 
 
 John Anderson my jo ! 
 
 John Anderson my jo, John,^ 
 
 We clamb the hill thegither ; 
 And niony a canty day John, 
 
 We've had wi' ane anither : 
 Now we maun totter down, John, 
 
 And hand in hand we'll gD; 
 An4 sleep thegither at the foot, 
 
 J»hn Anderson my jo! 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Aica', Whiijs, awa' ! 
 
 Awa', Whigs, awa'! 
 Ye're hut a pack o' traitor lount, 
 
 Veil do nae gude at a' ! 
 
 Our thrissles flourish'd fresh and fair, 
 
 And bonie bloom'd our roses; 
 But Whigs cam hke a frost in June, 
 And wither'd a' our posies. 
 Awa, Whigs, itc. 
 
 Our ancient crown's fa'n in the dust, — 
 iJeil Win' them wi' the stoure, o'tl 
 
 Ami write their names in his blac-k Heuk, 
 Wha gao the Whigs the power •'t '. 
 Awa', Whiijs, iti;.
 
 THB POEMS AND SOXOS OF BURXS. 
 
 95 
 
 Uur sad decay in Church and State, | 
 
 Surpasses uiy descriving: 
 
 The Whi^s cam o'er us for a curse, I 
 
 Aud we hae done wi' thriving. j 
 
 Atva', Whijs, ifcc. ; 
 
 Grim Vengeance Ian? has taen a nap; ' 
 But we may ^ee him wauken : 
 
 Gude help the day whoa royal heads 
 Are hunted like a maukin 1 
 An-n' , 1)7/) /.>■, dx'. 
 
 If ye'll but stand to what ye've said. 
 I>e ,^ang wi' you, my shepherd lad. 
 Ami ye may rowe me in your plaid. 
 And I .s.ail be your dearie. 
 Ca' the ewes, d-c. 
 
 While waters wimple to the sea, 
 While day blink- in the lift sae hie. 
 Till clay-cauld death sail blin' my e'e, 
 Ye sail be my dearie ! 
 Ca' the ewes, d-r. 
 
 CA' THE EWES TO THE KXOWES. 
 
 THE TUO-MSOy VKRilOy 
 
 [Mrs. Burns, who was fond of singing 
 this song, used to point out that the second 
 verse, beginning—" Will ye gang down the 
 water side," and the closing verse, were by 
 the poet. He remodelled it for Thomson's 
 Collection. This later version we give here, 
 for comparison, though out of chronologi- 
 cal order. Tibbie Paiian. "f Muirkirk, is 
 the reputed authoress of the old set 
 amended by Burns.] 
 
 CHORU.S. 
 
 Ca' the ewea to the. knowes, 
 Ca' them whare the heather groivs, 
 Ca' them whare the burnie rowea, 
 My bonie dearie. 
 
 As I gaed down the water-side 
 There I met my shepherd lad : 
 He row'd me sweetly in his plaid. 
 An' he ca'd me his dearie. 
 Ca' the ewes, d;c. 
 
 Will ye gang down the water-side, 
 And see the waves sae sweetly glide 
 Beneath the hai^els spreading wide? 
 The moon it shines fu' clearly. 
 Ca' the ewes. <i:c. 
 
 I was bred up at nae s»c school, 
 My shepherd lad, to play the fool, 
 And a' the day to .-it in dool. 
 And uaebody to cheer mo. 
 Ca' th« cues, J:e. 
 
 Ye sail get gowns and ribbons meet — 
 Cauf-leather shoon upon your feet, 
 Aud in my arms ye'se lie and sit- ep, 
 And ye sail be my dearie. 
 
 Ca' the eues, itc. 
 
 [Thomson takes liberties with the 
 chorus to suit tie air, "The maid that 
 tends the goats," — a much inferior melody 
 to the beautiful one which is now conjomed 
 with this song.] 
 
 CIIORLTS. 
 
 Ca' the tjoiV€.i tu the knoavs, 
 Ca' them whare the hea'her grows, 
 Ca' them whare the burnie roives. 
 My bnnie dearie. 
 
 H.4RK, the mavis' evening sang 
 Sounding Clouden's* woods aniangl 
 Then a faulding let us gang, 
 .My bonie dearie. 
 Ca' thi\ Jl-c. 
 
 We'll ^ae down by Clouden side. 
 Thro' the hazels spreading wide. 
 O'er the waves, that sweetly glide 
 To the moon sae clearly. 
 Ca' the, ii-c. 
 
 Yonder Clouden's silent towers, 
 Where at moonshine midnight hours, 
 O'er the dewy bending flowers. 
 Fairies dance sae chearie. 
 Ca' the, tt.',. 
 
 Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear ; 
 Thou rt to love aud heaven sae dear, 
 Noeht of ill may come chee near. 
 My bonie dearie. 
 Ca' the, ii:c. 
 
 Fair and lovely as thou art, 
 Thou hast stown my vtjry heart ; 
 I can die— 'out canna pait, 
 My bonie di-arie. 
 Ca' the, iL-c. 
 
 *The river Clouden, a tributary of the Ni>k.
 
 THE FORMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 96 
 
 ▲ MOTHER'S LAMENT FOR THE 
 DEATH OF HER SON. 
 Tune — Finlaijston House. 
 
 [Acknowledged in the Museum. The 
 Poet's letter to Mrs. Diinlop, dated 
 Mauchline, -iTth September, 17S8, ^ves 
 the following account of these elegant 
 verses: — "I was on horseback this morn- 
 ing by three o'clock: for between my wife 
 and my farm is just forty-six miles. As I 
 jogged on in the dark, I was taken with a 
 poetic fit us follows : — ilrs. Ferrjuson oj 
 Craigdarroch's Lamentation fur the Death 
 of her Son." The Poet also acknowledges 
 it in the (Jlenriddel notes] 
 
 FA.TE gave the word— the arrow sped. 
 
 And pieri^'d my darling's heart; 
 And with lii;ii all tlie joys are fled, 
 
 Life can to me impart. 
 By cruel hands the sapling drops, 
 
 In dust dishonor'd laid; 
 So fell the pride of all my hopes — 
 
 My age's future shade. 
 
 The mother linnet in the brake, 
 
 Bewails her ravish'd young ; 
 So I, for my lost darHng's sake, 
 
 Lament the live-day long. 
 Death 1 oft I've fear'd thy fatal blow; 
 
 Now, fond, I bare my breast : 
 O, do thou kindly lay me low 
 
 With him I love at rest! 
 
 THE BRAES O' BALLOCHMYLE. 
 
 (Acknowledged in the Museum. The 
 Poet, in his tilenriddel notes, says :—" I 
 composed these verses on the amiable and 
 excellent family of Whitefoord leaving 
 Ballochmyle, when Sir John's misfortunes 
 obliged him to sell his estates." The Maria 
 of the song was Miss Whitefoord, who 
 afterwards became Mrs. Cranston.] 
 
 The Catrine woods were yellow seen. 
 The flowers decay'd on Catrine lea; 
 
 Nae lav'rock sang on hillock green. 
 But nature sicken'don the ee : 
 
 Thro' faded groves Maria sang, 
 
 Hersel' in beauty's bloom the while; 
 
 And aye the wild-wood echoes rang — 
 Fareweel the braes o' Ballochmyle! 
 
 Low in your wintry beds, ye flowers. 
 
 Again yell flourish fresh and fair ; 
 Ye birdies dumb, in with'ring bowers, 
 
 Again ye'U charm the vocal air ; 
 But here, alas ! for me nae mair 
 
 Shall birdie charm, or floweret smile, — 
 Fareweel the bonie banks of Ayr I 
 
 Fareweel! fareweel! sweet Ballochmyle! 
 
 THE RANTIN DOG, THE DADDIE O'T. 
 
 Ti:>iE— East nook o' Fife. 
 
 [The Poet's Glenriddel note on this 
 humorous effusion, is as follows: — "Icom- 
 posed this song pretty early in Ufe, and 
 sent it to a young girl, a very particular 
 acquaintance of mine, who was at that 
 time under a cloud."] 
 
 O \VH.\ my babie-clouts will buy? 
 O wha will tent me when I cry ? 
 Wha will kiss me where I lie ? 
 The rantin dog, the daddie o't. 
 
 O wha will own he did the faut? 
 wha will buy the groanin' raaut? 
 O wha will tell me how to ca't? 
 The rantin dog, the daddie o't. 
 
 When I mount the creepie-chair, 
 Wha will sit beside me there? 
 Gie me Rob, I'll seek nae mair — 
 The rantin dog, the daddie o't. 
 
 Wha will crack to me my lane ? 
 Wha will inak me fidgin fain? 
 Wha will kiss me o'er again? 
 The rantin dog, the daddie o't. 
 
 MY MARY, DEAR DEPARTED 
 
 SHADE. 
 
 Tvt^E— Captain Cook's Death. 
 
 [Acknowledged in the Museum. On 
 13th December, 1789, he addressed one of 
 his dreamy, melancholy letters to Mrs.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 07 
 
 Dunlop, in which he seems to make his 
 very first reference to "Mary in Heaven;" 
 and he quotes the opening four lines of 
 the present poem at the close of a long 
 rhapsody about meeting his pre-deceased 
 friends in the better world, particularly 
 his venerated father, and his Kilmarnock 
 friend, Robert Muir ; and thus he con- 
 cludes : — " There should I, with speechless 
 agony of rapture, again recognise my lost, 
 my ever-dear Mary, whose bosom was 
 fraught with truth, honour, constancy, 
 and love. 
 
 ' My Mary, dear departed shade ! 
 Where is thy place of heavenly rest?'] 
 
 Thou ling'ring star, with less'ning ray. 
 
 That lov'st to greet the early morn. 
 Again thou usher'st in the day 
 
 My Mary from my soul was torn. 
 O Mary ! dear departed shade ! 
 
 Where is thy place of blissful rest? 
 See'st thou thy lover lowly laid? 
 
 Hear'st thou the groans that rend his 
 breast? 
 
 That sacred hour can I forget, 
 
 C»n I forget the hillow'd grove. 
 Where by the winding Ayr we met, 
 
 To live one day of pirting love! 
 Eternity can not eflftce 
 
 Those records dear of transports past; 
 Thy image at our last embrace, — 
 
 Ah ! little thought we 'twas our last \ 
 
 Ayr, gurgling, kiss'd his ])ebbled shore. 
 
 O'erhung with wild woods thick'ning 
 green ; 
 The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar 
 
 Twin'd amorous round the raptur'd scene; 
 The flowers sprang wanton to be prest. 
 
 The birds sang love on every spray ; 
 Till too, too soon, the glowing west 
 
 Proclaim'd the speed of winged day. 
 
 Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes, 
 
 And fondly broods with miser care I 
 Time but th' impression stronger makes. 
 
 As streams their channels deeper wear. 
 My Mary I dear departed shade ! 
 
 Where is thy place of blissful rest? 
 See'st thou thy lover lowly laid? 
 
 Hear'st thou the groans that rend his 
 breast? 
 
 -» ^ '^ 
 
 THE BATTLE OF SHERRA-MOOR. 
 Tune — Cameronian Rant. 
 
 [Burns has attached his name to this 
 clever paraphrase of the original ballad 
 written by the Rev. John Barclay, founder 
 of the religious sect naraeil Bereans (born 
 1734, died 179S).] 
 
 ' O CAM ye here the fight to shun, 
 Or herd the sheep wi' me, man ? 
 Or were you at the Sherra-moor, 
 
 Or did the battle see, man ?' 
 ' I saw the battle, sair and teugh, 
 And reekin red ran mony a sheugh. 
 My heart, f<jr fear, gae sough for sough. 
 To hear the thuds, and see the cluds, 
 O' Clans frae woods, in tartan duds, 
 \Vha glaum'd at kingdoms three, man. 
 
 ' The red-coat lads, wi' black cockauds. 
 
 To meet them were na slaw, man ; 
 They rush'd and push'd, and blude out- 
 gush'd, 
 And mony a bouk did fa', man : 
 The great Argyle led on his tiles, 
 I wat they glanc'd for twenty miles : 
 ■J'hey hough'd the Clans like nine-pin kyles; 
 They hack'd and hash'd, whUe braids words 
 
 clash'd. 
 And thro' they dash'd, and hew'd, and 
 smash'd, 
 Till fey men dee'd awa', man. 
 
 'But had ye seen the philibegs 
 
 And skyrin tartan trews, man ; 
 When in the teeth they dar'd our Whigs, 
 
 And covenant true-blues, man; 
 In lines extended lang and large, 
 Wlien baiginets o'erpower'd the targe, 
 .•\nd thousands hasten'd to the charge ; 
 Wi' Highland wrath they frae the sheath. 
 Drew blades o' death, till out o' breath. 
 They fled like frighted dows, man.' 
 
 'O how deil Tam can that be true? 
 
 The chase gaed frae the Nortli. man ; 
 I saw niysel', they ilid pursue 
 
 The horsemen back to Forth, man; 
 And at Dunblane, in my ain sight. 
 They took the brig wi' a' their might, 
 Andstraughtto.Siirlingwiiig'd tht'ir Hight; 
 But, cursed lot ! the gates were shut ; 
 And mony a huntit, poor red-coat. 
 
 For fear .imaist did swarf, man.'
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 08 
 
 'My sister Kate cam up the Rate 
 
 \Vi' ciuwdie unto uie, luan; 
 She swoor she saw some rebels run 
 
 To Perth, and to Dundee, man: 
 Their left-hand general had nae skill ; 
 The Angus lads had nae gude will 
 That day their neebours' blude to spill. 
 For fear, by foes, that they should lose 
 Their cogs o' bios i— they scar'd at blows. 
 
 And hameward fast did flee, man. 
 
 'They've lost some gallant gentlemen 
 
 Amang the Highland cl;ins, man: 
 I fear my Lord Panmuir is slain, 
 Or in his en'mie's hands, man : 
 Now wad ye sing this double-Hight, 
 Some fell for wiang, and some for vn:ht. 
 And mony bade the warld gude-night; 
 Say pell and mell, wi' muskets' knell, 
 
 How Tories fell, and Whigs to , 
 
 Flew oti' in frighted bands, man. 
 
 FOR A' THAT, AN' A' THAT. 
 
 YOUNG JOCKEY WAS THK 
 BLYTHEST LAD. 
 
 [This is marked by the letter "Z"— 
 indicating an old song with additions : but 
 as we have already seen. Burns admits that 
 several of his entire compositions are .m' 
 marked in the Mwvm. Its authenticity 
 is doubtful, unless the dichua of Stenhouse 
 be received as infallible.) 
 
 YoiNf, Jockey was the hlythest lad 
 
 In a' our town or here awa' : 
 Fu' blvthe he whistled at the gaud, 
 
 Fu' "lightly danc'd he in the ha'. 
 He roos'd my een, sae bonie blue. 
 
 He roos'd my w;ii=t, sae genty sma' ; 
 An' ay my heart came to my mou', 
 
 When ne'er a body heard or saw. 
 
 My Jockey toils upon the plain, 
 Thro' windand weet,throfrostandsnaw; 
 
 Anil o'er the lea I leuk fu' fain 
 
 When Jockev's owsen hameward ca . 
 
 An' ay the night comes round again, 
 When in his arms he ta'ss me a' ; 
 
 An' ay he vows he'll be my ain. 
 As laiig's he has a breath to draw. 
 
 
 I [Burns says:— "This song is mine, all 
 ! except the 'chorus," and his name is 
 i attached to it in the Miiseum. It is simply 
 
 the Bard's song in the Jolly Beggart, 
 ! omitting the first two verses, and sub- 
 I stituting for these the present opening 
 
 verse and a fresh chorus.) 
 
 Tiio' women's minds, like winter winds, 
 May shift and turn, and a' that. 
 
 The noblest breast adores them maist, 
 A consequence I draw that. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 For a' that, and a' that, 
 And twice as meikte's a' that ; 
 
 The bonie lass that I lo'e best. 
 She'll be my ain for a' that. 
 
 Great love I bear to all the fair. 
 Their humble slave, an' a' that . 
 
 But lordly will, I h<jld it still, 
 A mortal sin to thraw that. 
 For a' that, ic. 
 
 In rapture sweet, this hour we meet, 
 Wi' mutual love, an' a' that; 
 
 But for how lang the flie may stang. 
 Let inclination law that. 
 For a' that, it'C. 
 
 Their tricks and craft hae put me daft, 
 
 They've taen me in, an' a' that; 
 But clear your decks, and here's— 'The 
 Se-Kl' 
 I like the jads for a' that 1 
 For a' that, etc. 
 
 WILLIE BREW'D A PECK O' MALT. 
 
 [Acknowledged in the M"seuin. Burns's 
 note regarding this song is as follows:— 
 "The air is Masterton's, the song mine. 
 The occasion of it was this :— Mr. William 
 Nicol, of the High School, Edinburgh, 
 during the autumn vacation being at 
 Motfat, honest Allan— who was at that 
 time on a visit to Dalswinton— and I, went 
 to pay Nicol a visit. We hail such a joyous 
 meeting, that Mr. Masterton and I agreed, 
 each in our own way, that we should 
 celebrate the business."]
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 99 
 
 O Willie brew'd a peck o' raaut, 
 And Rob and Allan cam to see:* 
 
 Three blyther hearts, that lee-lang night, 
 Ye wad na found in Christendie. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 If> are na/uu, we're nae that fou. 
 But just a drappie in our e'e ; 
 
 The cnck may craw, the dnii may daw, 
 And ay we'll taste the barley bree. 
 
 Here are we met, three merry boys, 
 Three merry boya, I trow, are we ; 
 
 Auii iniiny a nisht we've merry been, 
 And luony mae wo hope to lie 1 
 H'e are na/ou, d-c. 
 
 It is the moon, I ken her horn. 
 That's blinkin' in the lift sae hie; 
 
 She shines sae bright to wyle ns hanie, 
 But, by my sooth, she'll wait a wee! 
 We are na/ou, etc. 
 
 Wlia first shall rise to gang awa', 
 A cuckold, coward loan is he 1 
 
 Wha last beside his chair shall fa', 
 He is the king amang us three ! 
 We are na/ou, etc. 
 
 KILLIECKANKIE. 
 
 [This is marked "Z" in the Museum. 
 The proVjability is that it is a genuine 
 Burns production on the model of an older 
 Sling.] 
 
 NVhare hae ye been sae braw, lad? 
 
 Whare hae ye Ijeen sae brankie, O? 
 Whare hae ye been sae braw, lad ? 
 
 C.ini ye by Killiecrankie, C 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 ^)i ye had been whare I hae been. 
 Ye wad na been nae canty, ; 
 
 An lie had seen what I hae seen, 
 Oa th' braes u Killiecrankie, 0. 
 
 I f aught at land, I fau:;ht at sea; 
 
 .\t hame I faught ray auntie, O ; 
 But I met the Devil and Dundee, 
 
 On til' braes o' Killiecrankie, O. 
 .•1 n ye had been, itc. 
 
 The bauld Pitcur fell in a furr 
 An' Clavers gat a clankie, O 
 
 Or I had fed an Athole gled. 
 On th' biaes o' Killiecrankie, O 
 An ye had been, <i:c. 
 
 THE BLUE-EYED LA.SslE. 
 
 [The Poet has put his name to this in 
 tlie iluseum. The heroine was a beauti- 
 ful maiden, the daughter of the Rev. Mr. 
 ■ leffrey of Lochinaben, at whose house the 
 iiard was an occasional guest in the course 
 <if his E.Kcise journeys. She was married 
 I'ventually to a gentleman of the name of 
 Renwick, resident in Liverpool, and after- 
 wards in New York. Thomson indicates 
 this in his note to the song.] 
 
 I G.A.ED a waefu' gate yestreen, 
 
 A gate, I fear, I'll dearly rue ; 
 I gat my death frae twa sweet een, 
 
 Twa lovely een o' bonie blue. 
 'T^vas not her golden ringlets bright — 
 
 Her lips, like roses wat wi' dew — 
 Her heaving bosom, lily-white, — 
 
 It was her een sae bonie blue ! 
 
 Shetalk'd, she smil'd, my heart she wii'd. 
 
 She charm'd ray soul — I wist na how ; 
 And ay the stound. the deadly wound. 
 
 Cam frae her een sae bonie blue. 
 But, spare to speak, and spare to speed ; 
 
 She'll aiblins listen to my vow : 
 Should she refuse, I'll lay my dead 
 
 To her twa een sae bonie blue ! 
 
 THE BANKS OF NITH. 
 
 [The Poet's name is attached to thi-i 
 song in the Museum.] 
 
 The Thames tlows proudly to the sea. 
 Where royal cities stately stand ; 
 
 But sweeter tlows the Nith, to me, 
 Where Cummins ance had high comma nd : 
 
 When shall I see that honor'<l land, 
 That winding stream I love si^ dear I 
 
 Must wayward fortune's adverse hand. 
 For ever— ever keep me here'.' 
 
 -Vnother reading is "prie.'
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 100 
 
 How lovely. Nith, thy fruitful vales. 
 
 Where bounding hawthorns gaily bloom; 
 And sweetly spread thy sloping dales, 
 
 Where lambkins wanton through the 
 broom ! 
 The' wandering, now, must be my doom, 
 
 Far from thy bonie banks and braes ; 
 M ly there my latest hours consume, 
 
 Amang the friends of early days I 
 
 TAM GLEN. 
 
 [Acknowledged in the Mxiteum, and in 
 Thoirison' i Collection.] 
 
 ^Tv heart is a-breaking, dear tittle. 
 Some counsel unto me come len' ; 
 
 To anger tliem a' is a pity, 
 But what will I do wi' Tam Glen ? 
 
 I'm thinking, wi' sic a braw fellow. 
 In poortith I might mak a fen' : 
 
 What care I in riches to wallow, 
 If I maunna marry Tam Glen? 
 
 There's Lowrie, the laird o' Dumeller — 
 'Gude-day to you brute!' — he comes ben; 
 
 He brags and he blawso' hi^ siller; 
 But when will he dance like Tam Glen? 
 
 My minnie does constantly deave me. 
 And bids me lieware o' young men ; 
 
 They flatter, she says, to deceive me, 
 But wha can think sae o' Tam Glen? 
 
 My daddie says, gin I'll forsake him. 
 He'll gie me gude hunder marks ten; 
 
 But if its ordain'd I maun take him, 
 O wha will I get but Tam Glen? 
 
 Yestreen at the valentines' dealing, 
 My heart to my mou' ^ied a sten; 
 
 For thrice I drew ane without failing. 
 And thrice it was written — Tam Glen ! 
 
 The last Halloween I was waukin 
 My drouket sark-sleeve, as ye ken ; 
 
 Ilis likeness cam up the house staukin — 
 The very grey breeks o' Tam Glen : 
 
 Come counsel, dear tittie! don't tarry; 
 
 I'll gie you my bonie black hf n, 
 Gif ve will advise me to marry 
 
 The lad I lo'e dearly— Tam Gleu I
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 SONGS BY BURNS IN JOHNSON, VOL. IV.. AUGUST 13, 1792. 
 
 CRAIGIEBURN WOOD. 
 
 [Acknowledged in the Musetim. The 
 author's note is as follows:— "This song 
 was composed on a passion which a Mr. 
 Gillespie, a particular friend of mine, had 
 for a Miss Lorimer, afterwards a Mrs. 
 Whelpdale. The young lady was born at 
 Craigieburn Wood. The chorus is part of 
 an old, foolish ballad."] 
 
 Sweet closes the evening on Craigie-burn 
 Wood, 
 .4.nd blythely awaukens the morrow; 
 But the pride of the spring in the Craigie- 
 burn Wood, 
 Can yield me notliing but sorrow. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Beyond thee, dearie, beyond thee, dearie, 
 And 0, to be lying beyond thee! 
 
 sweetly, soutidly, iveel may he sleep, 
 That's laid in the bed beyond thee! 
 
 I see the spreading leaves and flowers, 
 
 1 hear the wild birds sinning; 
 But pleasure they hae nane for me, 
 
 While care ray heart is wringing. 
 Beyond thee, i-e. 
 
 I canna tell. I raaunna, tell, 
 
 I darena for your anger; 
 But secret lovo will break my heart, 
 
 If I conceal it langer. 
 Beyond thee, ifcc. 
 
 I see thee gracefu', straight, and tall, 
 
 I see thee sweet and bonio ; 
 But oh ! what will my torments be, 
 
 If thou refuse thy Johnny 1 
 Beyond thee, itc. 
 
 To see thee in another's arms, 
 
 In love to lie and languish : 
 'Twad be my dead, that wUl be seen, 
 
 .My heart wad burst wi' anguish. 
 Beyond thee, <ic. 
 
 But, Jeanie, say thou wilt be mine, 
 Say, thou lo'es nane before me; 
 
 And a' my days o' life to come, 
 I'll gratefully adore thee. 
 Beyond thee, d:c. 
 
 SWEET FA'S THE EVE. 
 TvtIE— Craigieburn. 
 
 [This amendment was sent to Thomsun 
 in December, 1794. The chorus which 
 disfigures the former version is withdrawn, 
 and the versification is smoothed con- 
 siderably.] 
 
 Sweet fa's the eve on Craigieburn, 
 
 And blythe awakes the uiorrow; 
 But a' the pride o' spring's return 
 
 Can yield me noclit Ijut sorrow. 
 I see the flowers and spreading trees, 
 
 I hear the wild biiils singing; 
 But what a weary wight can please. 
 
 And care his bosom wringing'? 
 
 Fain, fain would I my griefs impart. 
 
 Yet darena for your anger ; 
 But secret love will break my heart 
 
 If I conceal it langer. 
 If thou refuse to pity me; 
 
 If thou shalt love anither; 
 When yon green leaves fade frae the tree, 
 
 Around my grave they'll wither. 
 
 FRAE THE FRIENDS AND LAND 
 
 I LOVE. 
 
 Tu.NK— Ca/Tou Side. 
 
 [Burns's note to this effusion is as 
 follows: — "I added the Inst four lines by 
 way i)f giving a turn to the theme of the 
 poem, such as it is." Stenhouse. however, 
 remarks: — "The wholesongisin the hand- 
 writing of the Foet, and / have reascm, to 
 bfUeve it is all his own." The Poet him- 
 self here discredits Stenliouse. We print 
 the whole song to show the connei;tion.]
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 
 102 
 
 Frak the friends and land I love, 
 
 Driv'n by fortune's felly spite ; 
 Frae my best belov'd I rove, 
 
 Never mair to taste delight,— 
 Never mair maun hope to flml 
 
 Ease frae toU, relief frae care ; 
 ■\VTien remembrance wracks the mind, 
 
 Pleasures but unveil despair. 
 
 Brightest climes shall mirk appear, 
 
 Desert ilka blooming shore ; 
 Till the Fates, nae mair severe. 
 
 Friendship, love, and peace restore. 
 Till Ravenge, wi' laurell'd head, 
 
 Bring our banished, harae again; 
 And ilk loyal, bonie lad 
 
 Cross the seas and win his ain. 
 
 MY TOCHER'S THE JEWEL. 
 
 [The Poet's name is attached to this production in the Museum and in Thomson's 
 CoUection. By comparison with the old fragment he sent to Lord Woodhouselea, 
 it would appear that he merely retouched and adiled to an older song.] 
 
 O MEIKLE thinks my luve o' ray beauty. 
 
 And meikle thinks my luve o' my kin ; 
 But little thinks my luve I ken bniwly 
 
 My tocher's the jewel has charms for him. 
 It's a' for the apple he'll nourish the tree ; 
 
 It's a' for the hiney he'll cherish the bee ; 
 My laddie's sae meikle in luve wi' the siller. 
 
 He canna hae luve to .spare for me. 
 
 Your proffer o' luve's an airle-penny. 
 
 My tocher's the bargain ye wad buy ; 
 But an ye be crafty, I am cunnin'; 
 
 Sae ye wi' anither your fortune maun try. 
 Ye're like to the timmer o' yon rotten woml, 
 
 Ye're like to the bark o' yon rotten tree ; 
 Yell slip frae me like a knotless thread, 
 
 And ye'll crack your credit wi' mae nor me. 
 
 THEN GUDEWIFE, COUNT THE | 
 LA WIN. 
 
 [ " Landlady, count the La win," is the title 
 of an old song on which Burns modelled the 
 following, the original MS. of which is in 
 the British Museum. The Poet remarks : 
 — "The chorus is part of an old song, one 
 stanza of which I recollect:— 
 
 Every day my wife tells me 
 Tliat ale and brandy will ruin me; 
 But if gude liquor be my dead. 
 This shall be written on my head, — 
 O gudewife, count, &c." 
 
 Johnson adhibits Bums's name to this 
 
 piece.] 
 
 OA.NK is the day and mirk's the night. 
 But we'll ne'er stray for fau't o' light ; 
 
 For ale and brandy's stars and moon, 
 And bludered wine's the lisin' sun. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Then gudeioife, count the lawin, 
 
 The lawin, the lawin; 
 Then gudewife, count the lawin, 
 
 And bring a coggie mair. 
 
 There's wealth and ease for gentlemen. 
 And semple folk maun fecht and fen' ; 
 But here we're a' in ae accord. 
 For ilka man that's drunk's a lord. 
 Then gudewi/e, count, d:c. 
 
 My coggie is a haly pool. 
 That heals the wounds o' care and dool; 
 .\nd pleasure is a wanton trout. 
 An ye drink it a', ye'll And him out. 
 Then gudewife, count, d-c.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 1U3 
 
 PROSE HISTORY OF THE WHISTLE. 
 
 As the authentic prose history of the Whistle is curious, we sliall here subjoin it. — 
 In the train of .A.nne, Princess of Denmark, when she came to Scotland with her 
 husband, James the Sixth, there came over also a Danish gentleman of gigantic 
 stature and great prowess, and a matchless devotee of Bacchus. He had a 
 curious ebony Ca' or Whistle, which, at the beginning of the orgies, he laid on Che 
 table, and whoever was last able to blow the Whistle, everybody else being dis- 
 abled by the potency of the bottle, was to carry off the Whistle as a trophy of virtory. 
 TheDaneproducedcredentialsof hisvictories-without a single defeat-at the Courts 
 of Copenhagen, .Stockholm, Moscow, Warsaw, and several of the petty Courts of 
 Oermany, and challenged the Scottish Bacchanalians to the alternative of trying 
 his prowess, or else of acknowledging their inferiority. After many overthrows 
 on the part of the Scots, the Dane was encountered by Sir Robert Lowrie of Max- 
 welton, ancestor to the present Sir Robert, who— after three days and nights' 
 claret-shed— left the Scandinavian dead-drunk, "And blew on the Whistle his 
 requiem shrill." 
 
 Sir Walter Lowrie, son to Sir Robert before mentioned, afterwards lost the Whistle to 
 Walter Riddel of Gleiiriddel, who had married the sister of Sir Walter. On 
 Friday, the Sixteenth of October, 1790, the Whistle was once more contended for 
 — as related in the Ballad— by the present Sir Robert Lowrie of Maxwelton ; 
 Robert Riddel, Esq., of Glenriddel, lineal descendant and representative of 
 Walter Riddel, who won the Whistle, and in whose family it had continued; and 
 -Alexander Ferguson, Esq., of Craigdarroch, likewise descended of the great S;r 
 Robert; which last gentleman carried off the hard-won honours of the Held.— 
 (R. B. 1792.) 
 
 THE WHISTLE. 
 
 [Acknowledged in the Muneum. The Poet, in the foregoing introdu«tion makes 
 an error of one year in the date, which was really 17S9,] 
 
 I SING of a whistle, a whistle of worth, 
 I sing of a whistle, the pride of the North- 
 Was brought to the court of our good Scottish king, 
 And long with this whistle all Scotland shall ring. 
 
 Old Loda,* still rueing the arm of Fingal, 
 The cod of the bottle sends down from his hall — 
 ' This whistle's your challenge— to Scotland get o'er, 
 And drink them to hell, sir ! or ne'er see me more !' 
 
 Old poets have sung, and old chronicles tell, 
 What champions veiitur'd, what champions fell; 
 The son of great I.oda was conqueror si'\\\, 
 And blew on the whistle their requiem shrill. 
 
 Till Rcihert, the lord of the Cairn and the Scaur, 
 Unmatcli'd at the bottle, unconquer'd in war, 
 He drank his poor godship as deep as the ^ea, — 
 No tide of the Baltic e'er drunker tlvan he. 
 
 "See Ossi.in's Caructhura.— (R. B. 17'.):i.)
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 104 
 
 Thus Robert, victorious, the trophy has gain'd, 
 Wliicli now in his house has for aees remain'd; 
 Till three noble chieftains, and all of his blood, 
 The jovial contest again have renew'd. 
 
 Three joyous good fellows— with hearts clear of flaw: 
 Craigilarroch, so famous for wit, worth, and law; 
 And trusty Glenriddel, so vers'd in old coins ; 
 And gallant Sir Robert, deep-read in old wines. 
 
 Craigdarroch began, with a tongue smooth as oil, 
 Desiiing Glenriddel to yield up the spoil; 
 Or else he would muster the heads of the clan. 
 And once more, in claret, try which was the man. 
 
 'By the gods of the ancients I ' Glenriddel replies, 
 'Before I surrender so glorious a prize, 
 I'll conjure the ghost of the great Rorie More,* 
 And bumper his horn with Inm twenty times o'er!' 
 
 Sir Robert, a soldier, no speech would pretend, — 
 But he ne'er turn'd his back on his foe— or his friend. 
 Said, Toss down the whistle, prize of the field. 
 And knee deep in claret, he'd die or he'd yield. 
 
 To the board of Glenriddel our heroes repair. 
 
 So noted for ilrowning of sorrow and care ; 
 
 But for wine and for welcome not more known to fame. 
 
 Than the sense, wit, and taste of a sweet lovely dame. 
 
 A bard was selected to witness the fray, 
 And tell future ages the feats of the day,— 
 A bard who detested all sadness and spleen. 
 And wish'd that Parnassus a vineyard had been. 
 
 The dinner being over, the claret they ply, 
 
 And every new cork is a new spring of joy, 
 
 In the bands of old friendship and kindred so set, 
 
 And the bands grew the tighter the more they were wet 
 
 Gay Pleasure ran riot as bumpers ran o'er, 
 Bri^iht PhcEbus ne'er witness'd so joyous a corps. 
 And vow'd that to leave them he was quite forlorn, 
 Till Cynthia hinted he'd find them next morn. 
 
 Six bottles a piece had well wore out the night, 
 When gallant Sir Robert, to finish the tight. 
 Turned o'er in one bumper, a bottle of red. 
 And swore 'twas the way that their ancestors did. 
 
 Then worthy Glenriddel, so cautious and sage. 
 No longer the warfare ungodly would wage ; 
 A h)f;h ruling-elder to wallow in wine 1 
 He left the foul business to folks less divine. 
 
 The gallant Sir Robert fought hard to the end ; 
 But who can with fate and quart bumpers contend ? 
 Tho' Fate said, a hero should perish in light, — 
 So up rose bright Phoebus— and down fell the Knight. 
 
 « See Johnson's tour through Scotland.— (R. B. 1792.)
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 105 
 
 Next uprose our Bard, like n prophet in drink : 
 ' Craigdarroch, thou'lt soar «hen creation shall sink I 
 But if thou wouldst flourish immortal in rhyme, 
 Come, one bottle more, and have at the sublime I 
 
 Thy line, that have struggled for freedom with Bruce, 
 Shall heroe-i and patriots ever produce : 
 So thine be the laurel, and mine be the bav,— 
 The field thou hast won, by yon bright god of day 1' 
 
 THERE'LL NEVER BE PEACE TILL JAMIE COMES HAME. 
 
 [In the Glenriddel notes, he says :— " I never have been able to meet in with any- 
 thing else of this song than the title." He transcribed it in a letter to Cunnineham 
 nth March, 1791.] 
 
 By yon castle wa', at the close of the day, 
 I heard a man sing, tho' his head it was grey ; 
 And as he was singing, the tears down came— 
 There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. 
 The Church is in ruins, the State is in jars : 
 Delusions, oppressions, and murderous wars; 
 We darena weel say't, but we ken wha's to blame. 
 There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. 
 
 My seven braw sons for Jamie drew sword, 
 
 Aiid now I greet round their green beds in the yard" 
 
 It brak the sweet heart of my faithfu' auld dame, ' 
 
 There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. 
 Now life is a burden that bows me down. 
 Sin' I tint my bairns, and he tint his crown ; 
 But till my last moments my words are the same— 
 There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. 
 
 WHAT CAN A YOUNG LASSIE DO \VI' AN AULD MAN? 
 
 [Buros's nime is given in the Museum as the author of this production] 
 
 What can a young lassie, what shall a young lasgie, 
 
 What can a young lassie do wi' an auld man? 
 Bad luck on the penny that tempted my minnie, 
 
 To sell her poor Jenny for siller an' Ian' I 
 
 He's always compleenin frae mornin' to o'enin', 
 Ue boasts anii he hirples the weary lang day; 
 He's doyl't and he's dozin, his blude it is frozen, 
 
 dreary's the night wi' a crazy auld man! 
 
 He hums and he hankers, he frets and he cankers, 
 
 1 never can please him, do a' that I can ; 
 
 He's peevish, and jealous of a' the young fellows, 
 O dool on tlie day I met wi' an auld manl
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 My auld auntie Katie upon me taks pity, 
 I'll do my endeavour to follow her olan; 
 
 I'll cross him, and wrack him, until I heart-break him, 
 And then his auld brass will buy me a new pan. 
 
 THE BONIE L.4D THAT'S FAR AW A' 
 
 [Burns's name is not given as the author 
 of this song in the Museum, but Thomsnu 
 ascribes it to Burns in his Collecticu. 
 The song in the Museum is not complete, 
 for he afterwards introduced .he second 
 stanza as it appears here] 
 
 O HOW can I be blythe and glad. 
 Or how can I gang brisk and braw ; 
 
 When the bonie lad that I lo'e best. 
 Is o'er the hills and far awa'? 
 
 Its no' the frosty winter wind. 
 It's no' the driving drift and snaw; 
 
 But aye the tear comes in my e'e. 
 To think on him that's far awa'. 
 
 My father pat me frae his door. 
 My friends they hae disown'd me a' ; 
 
 But there is ane will tak my part— 
 The bonie lad that's far awa'. 
 
 A pair o' gloves he bought to me. 
 And silken snoods he gae me twa. 
 
 And I will wear them for his sake— 
 The bonie lad that's far awa'. 
 
 O weary winter soon will pass, 
 And spring will deed the birken shaw 
 
 And my young babie will be born. 
 And he'll be hame that's far awa'. 
 
 I DO CONFESS THOU AET SAE FAIR. 
 
 [This is marked with the letter "Z" in 
 the Museum — indicating that it is an old 
 song with alterations. In the Glenriddel 
 note, the Poet says :— " This song is altered 
 from a poem by Sir Robert Ayton, private 
 secretary to Mary and Anne, Queens of 
 Scotland. I do think that I have improved 
 the simplicity of the sentiments by giving 
 them a bcots dress.") 
 
 I DO confess thou art sae fair, 
 
 I wad been o'er the lugs in luve. 
 Had I na found the slightest prayer 
 
 That lips could speak thy heart could 
 muve : 
 I do confess thee sweet, but find 
 
 Thou art sae thriftless o' thy sweets — 
 Thy favors are the silly wind 
 
 That kisses ilka thing it meets. 
 
 See yonder rose-bud, rich in dew, 
 
 Amang its native briers sae coy ; 
 How sune it tines its scent and hue 
 
 When pu'd and worn a common toy ! 
 Sic fate, ere lang, shall thee betide, 
 
 Tho' thou m.iy gaily bloom a while; 
 Yet sune thou shalt he thrown aside. 
 
 Like onv common weed and vile. 
 
 SENSIBILITY, HOW CHARMING. 
 
 [Tlie Poet's name is attached to this 
 piece in the .V!(s?«m,andalsoin Thomson's 
 Collection. Abovit the beginning of Dec- 
 ember, 1791, just after he came to reside 
 permanently in Dumfries, in a letter to 
 Clarinda, he transcribes these verses. 
 It is a curious fact that the Poet enclosed 
 the verses also to Mrs. Dunlop, with the 
 title— "On 8EN.SIBILITY.— To mrt dear and 
 much honoured friend, Mrs. Dunlop of 
 Dunlop."] 
 
 Sensibility, how charming. 
 
 Dearest Nancy, thou canst tell ; * 
 But distress, with horrors arming, 
 
 Thou liast also known too well. 
 Fairest Hower, behold the lily, 
 
 Blooming in the sunny ray; 
 Let the blast sweep o'er the valley, — 
 
 See it prostrate on the clay. 
 
 Hear the wood-lark charm the forest. 
 
 Telling o'er his little joys : 
 Hapless bird I a prey tlie surest 
 
 To each pirate of the skies. 
 Dearly bought the hidden treasure. 
 
 Finer feelings can bestow : 
 Chords that vibrate sweetest pleasure. 
 
 Thrill the deepest notes of woe. 
 
 ' Variation:— "Thou, my friend, canst truly tell.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BDR^^S. 
 107 
 YON WILD, MOSSY MOUNTAINS. 
 
 [The Poet's own note on this production is as follows:— "This song alludes to a part 
 of my private history, which it is of no consequence to the world to know."] 
 
 Yo\ wild, mossy mountains sae lofty and wide, 
 
 That nurse in their bosom the youth o' the Clyde, 
 
 Where the grouse lead their coveys thro' the heather to feed, 
 
 And the shepherd tends his flock as he plays on his reed. 
 
 Not Cowrie's rich valley, nor Forth's sunny shores, 
 To me hae the charms o' yon \vild, mossy moors ; 
 For there, by a lanely, sequestered stream, 
 Resides a sweet lassie, my thought and my dream. 
 
 Araang thae wild mountains shall still be my path. 
 Ilk stream foaming down its ain green, narrow strath, 
 For there, wi' my lassie, the day lang I rove. 
 While o'er us unheeded flee the swift hours o' love. 
 
 She is not the fairest, altho' she is fair, 
 O' nice education but sma' is her share. 
 Her parentage humble as humble can be ; 
 But I lo'e the dear lassie because she lo'es me. 
 
 To beauty what man but maun yield him a prize. 
 In her armour of glances, and blushes, and sighs ; 
 And when wit and reflnement hae polish'd her darts. 
 They dazzle our een, as they flee to our hearts. 
 
 But kindness, sweet kindness, in the fond sparkling e'e, 
 Has lustre outshining the diamond to me ; 
 And the heart beating love as I'm clasp'd in her arms, 
 O, these are my lassie's all-conquering charms 1 
 
 IT IS NA, JEAN, THY BONIE FACE. 
 
 [Burns's name is attached to this lyric in the Museum, liut he says himself regard- 
 ing it — " These were originally English verses : I gave them their Scots dress."] 
 
 It is na, Jean, thy bonis face 
 
 Xor shape that I admire; 
 Altho' thy beauty and thy Rraco, 
 
 Mi^'ht weel awauk desire: 
 Something, in ilka part o' thee, 
 
 To praise, to love, I find ; 
 But dear as is thy foira to me, 
 
 Still dearer is thy mind. 
 
 Nae mair ungen'rous wish I hae, 
 
 Nor stronger in my breast. 
 Than, if I caniia mak tliee sae. 
 
 At least to see thee blest. 
 Content am I, if Heaven shall give 
 
 But happiness to thee : 
 And as wi' thee I'd wish to live, 
 
 For thee I'd bear to dee. 
 
 n*^k£i^*i^ 
 
 / :■'
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 108 
 
 EPPIE MNAB. 
 
 [The Poet's note on this sketch is as follows:— "The old song with this title haa 
 more wit than delicacy." It is therefore more than probable that he recast It entirely. 
 In October, 1794. Burns remodelled this song for George Thomson, who set it to a 
 different air, under the title of "Saw ye my Phely ?"] 
 
 O SAW ye my dearie, my Eppie M'Nab? 
 O saw ye my dearie, my Eppie M'Nab? 
 She's down in the yard, she s kissin' the Laird, 
 She winna come hame to her ain Jock Rab. 
 O come thy ways to me, my Eppie M'Nab ; 
 O come thy ways to me, my Eppie M'Nab; 
 Whate'er thou has done, be it late, be it soon, 
 Thou's welcome again to thy ain Jock Bab. 
 
 What says she, my dearie, my Eppie M'Nab? 
 What says she, my dearie, my Eppie M'Nab? 
 She lets thee to wit, that she has thee forgot, 
 And for ever disowns thee, her ain Jock Rab. 
 O had I ne'er seen thee, my Eppie M'Nab I 
 O had I ne'er seen thee, my Eppie M'Nab ! 
 As light as the air, and fause as thou's fair, 
 Thou's broken the heart o' thy ain Jock Rab. 
 
 WHA IS THAT AT MY BOWER 
 DOOR. 
 
 [Acknowledged in the Museum. Cromek 
 notes that Gilbert Burns informed him 
 that this song was suggested to his brother 
 by the " Auld Man's Address to the 
 Widow," printed in Ramnay's Tea Table 
 Miscellany. ] 
 
 Wha is that at my bower door ? 
 
 O wha is it but Findlay I 
 Then gae your gate, ye'se nae be here ; 
 
 Indeed maun II quo' Findlay: 
 What mak ye, sae like a thief? 
 
 O come and see! quo' Findlay: 
 Before the morn ye'll work mischief ; 
 
 Indeed will 1 1 quo' Findlay. 
 
 Gif I rise and let you in ; 
 
 Let me in 1 quo' Findlay : 
 Ye'U keep me wauken wi' your din; 
 
 Indeed will 1 1 quo' Findlay : 
 In my bower if ye should stay ; 
 
 Let me stay ! quo' Findlay : 
 I fear ye'll bide till break o' day ; 
 
 Indeed will I ! quo' Findlay. 
 
 Here this night if ye remain ; 
 
 I'll remain I quo' Findlay : 
 I dread ye'll learn the gate again; 
 
 Indeed will I ! quo' Findlay. 
 What may pass within this bower; 
 
 Let it pass ! quo' Findlay : 
 Ye maun conceal till your last hour ; 
 
 Indeed will I ! quo' Findlay. 
 
 THE TEARS I SHED. 
 
 [The song in the Museum under this 
 title is by Miss Cranston, afterwards Mrs. 
 Dugald Stewart. Burns notes regarding 
 it, "It wanted four lines to make all the 
 stanzas suit the music, which I added, and 
 are the first four of the last stanza."] 
 
 No cold approach, no alter'd mien. 
 Just what would make suspicion start; 
 No pause, the dire extremes between. 
 He made me blest — and broke my heart I 
 From hope, the wretched's anchor, torn. 
 Neglected, and neglecting all. 
 Friendless, forsaken, and forlorn, 
 The tears 1 shed must ever fall.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 109 
 
 THE BONIE WKE THING. 
 
 [Acknowledged in the Museum. The 
 note Burns penned in reference to this 
 song 13 as follows: — "Composed on my 
 little idol, 'the charming, lovely Davies.'" 
 Miss Davies was a connection of Captain 
 Riddel, and the Poet was introduced to 
 her at Friars' Carse. She was of small 
 stature, but so exquisitely handsome that 
 she was welcomed to the Nith as "one of 
 the Graces in miniature."] 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Bonie ivee thing, cannie wee thing, 
 Lovely wee thing, wert Ihou mine, 
 
 I would ivear thee in my bosom. 
 Lest my jewel I should tine ! 
 
 Wishfully I look and languish, 
 
 In that bonie face of thine ; 
 And my heart it stounds wi' anguish. 
 
 Lest my wee thing be na mine. 
 Bonie wee, .C-c. 
 
 Wit, and Grace, and Love, and Beauty, 
 
 In ae constellation shine ; 
 To adore thee is my duty. 
 
 Goddess o' this soul o' mine I 
 Bonie wee, d-c. 
 
 THE TITHER MORN. 
 
 [There is no mark in the Museutn to 
 indicate the authorship of these verses. 
 The Poet, in his notes, merely says— "The 
 tune is originally from the Highlands. \ 
 have heard a Gaelic song to it, which I 
 was told was very clever ; but not by any 
 means a lady's song." There is no direct 
 proof of the authenticity of the words, but 
 It is a justifiable inference from the fore- 
 going.] 
 
 The tither morn, wlun I forlorn, 
 
 Aneath an aik sat moaning; 
 I did na trow, I'd see my jo 
 
 Beside me, gin the gloaming; 
 But he sae trig, lap o'er the ng. 
 
 And dawtingly did cheer me; 
 When I, what reck, did least expect. 
 
 To see my lad sae near me. 
 
 I His bonnet he, a thought ajee, 
 i Cock'd sprush when first he clasp'd me; 
 And I, I wat, \v\' fainness grat, 
 ; While in his grips he press'd me : 
 Deil tak' the war! I late and air, 
 
 Hae wish'd, since Jock departed; 
 But now as glad I'm wi' my lad. 
 As short syne broken-hearted. 
 
 Fu' aft at e'en wi* dancing keen, 
 
 NVTien a' were blythe and merry; 
 I car'dna by, sae sad was I, 
 
 In absence o' my deary; 
 But, praise be blest, my mind's at re.st, 
 
 I'm happy wi' my Johnny: 
 At kirk and fair, Ise ay be there, 
 
 And be as canty's ony. 
 
 AE FOXD KIS.S, AND THEN WE 
 SEVER. 
 
 Tune— flnr.v Ball's Port. 
 
 [This immortal lyric has Burns's name 
 attached to it in the Museum. Clarinda 
 (Mrs. M'Lehose), sailed for Jamaica from 
 Leith in Feb.. 179-2, in "The Roselle"— the 
 same ship which Burns had intended to 
 sailinfromtheCIydein 1786. Meeting with 
 unkindness from her husband, she return- 
 ed to Scotland in the same vessel, arriving i n 
 Edinburgh in August, 179-2. Burns never 
 saw her again, although a few letters 
 passed between them. The present com- 
 position is Burns's poetical farewell to her. ) 
 
 Ae fond kiss, and then we sever, — 
 j Ae fareweel, and then — for ever 
 
 Deep in heart- wrung tears I'll pledge thee I 
 i Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee I 
 
 AVho shall say that fortune grieves him. 
 While the star of hope she leaves him ? 
 Me, nae chearfu' twinkle lights me,— 
 Dark despair around benights me. 
 
 I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy, 
 Naething could resist my Nancy ; 
 But to see her, was to love her — 
 Love but her, and love for ever. 
 
 Had we never lov'd sae kindly — 
 Had we never lov'd sae blindly — 
 Never met— or never parted. 
 We had ne'er been broken-hearted I
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 110 
 
 Fare-thee-weel, thou first and fairest! 
 Fare-thee-weel. thou best and dearest ! 
 Thine be ilka juy and treasure. 
 Peace, Enjoyment, Love, and Pleasure! 
 
 Ae fond kiss, and tlien we sever! 
 
 Ae fareweel, alas ! for ever ! 
 
 Deep in heart-wrunc; tears I'll pledge thee 
 
 Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee. 
 
 AS I WAS A WAND'RING. 
 Tune— iJmn m' eudial mo mhealladh. 
 
 [This song will be found, almost word for word, in Herd's C^Ui'ctwn (vol. II., p. 165), 
 under the title:— "I'll never lay ,a' my love upon ana." Stenhouse notes it as a 
 composition of Burns, which shows that he cannot be depenileil upon. Burns 
 substituted the following for the conclutling stanza.] 
 
 STANZA ADDED BV BURNS. 
 
 ALTHOUGH he has left me for greed o' the siller, 
 
 I dinna envie him the gains he can win; 
 I rather wad bear a' the lade o' my sorrow, 
 
 Than ever hae acted sae faithless to him. 
 Weel, since he's left me, may pleasure gae wi' himl 
 
 I may be distress'd, but I winna complain ; 
 I'll flatter my fancy I may get another,— 
 
 My heart it shall never be broken for ane. 
 
 LOVELY DAVIES. 
 Tune — Miss Muir. 
 
 [This was composed in honour of the 
 lady who inspired the song entitled—" The 
 Bonie Wee Thing.] 
 
 O HOW shall I, unskilfu", try 
 
 The poet's occupation— 
 ("he tunefu' powers, in happy hours, I 
 
 That whisper inspiration ? 
 Kven they maun dare an effort mair, 
 
 Than aught they ever gave us, 
 Ere they rehearse, in equal verse. 
 
 The charms o' lovely Davies. 
 
 'ilach eye it cheers when she appears, 
 
 Like "Phnebus in the morning— 
 vVhen past the shnw'r. and every flower 
 
 The garden is adorning. 
 As the wretch looks o'er Siberia's shore. 
 
 When winter-bound the wave is; 
 Sae droops our heart when we maun part 
 
 Frae charming, lovely Davies. 
 
 Her smile's a gift frae 'boon the lift. 
 
 That maks us mair than princes— 
 A scepter'd hand— a king's command. 
 
 Is in her darting glances : 
 The man in arms 'cainst female charms. 
 
 Even he her willing slave is; 
 He hugs his ch.ain, and owns the reij:n 
 
 Of conquering, lovely Davies. 
 
 My Muse to dream of such a theme. 
 
 Her feeble powers surrender ; 
 The eagle's gaze alone surveys 
 
 The sun's meridian splendour : 
 I wad in vain essay the strain, 
 
 The deed too daring brave i> ; 
 I'll drap the lyre, and unite, admire, 
 
 The charms o' lovely Davies. 
 
 THE WEARY PUND O' TOU' 
 
 [There is no mark of authorship to this 
 song in the olden style ; but it is probable 
 that it is a composition of Burns in whole 
 or in part. No name is attached to it in 
 Thomson's Collection.]
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 Ill 
 
 CHOKUS. 
 
 Tlie weary pund. the weary jmnd, 
 
 The weary pund o' low ; 
 I think mil wife will end h>-r life 
 
 Before she spin her tow. 
 
 I BOUGHT tny wife a stane o' lint, 
 As guJe as e'er did grow ; 
 
 And a' tliat she has made o' that, 
 Is ae poor pund o' tow. 
 The weary, ic. 
 
 There sat a bottle in a bole, 
 
 Beyont the ingle lowe ; 
 And "ay she took the tither souk, 
 
 To droak the stourie tow. 
 The weary, etc. 
 
 Quoth I, for shame, ye dirty dame, 
 Gae spin your tap o' tow I 
 
 She took the rock, and \vi' a knock, 
 6he brak it o'er lay pow. 
 'The weary, ii:c. 
 
 At last her feet— I sang to see't— 
 Gaed foremost o'er the knowe ; 
 
 And 'or I wad anither jad, 
 I'll wallop in a tow. 
 The weary, ic. 
 
 I HAE A WIFE O' MY AIN. 
 
 [Burns's name is attached to this.) 
 
 I HAE a w'lfe o' my ain, 
 I'll partake wi' naebody; 
 
 I'll tak cuckold frae nane, 
 I'll gie cuckold to naebody. 
 
 I hae a penny to spend- 
 There— thanks to naebody; 
 
 I hae naetliing to lend, 
 111 borrow frae naebody. 
 
 I am naebody's lord, 
 I'll be slave to naebody ; 
 
 I hae a gude braid sword, 
 I'll tak dunts frae naebody. 
 
 I'll he merry and free, 
 I'll be sad for naebody; 
 
 Naebody cares for me, 
 I care for naebody. 
 
 WHEN SHE CAM BEN SHE BOBBED. 
 
 [No name is attached to this piece in 
 l,ulid o' Cockpen," by Lady Nairne,] 
 
 the Museum. It doubtless inspired "The 
 
 () WHEN she cam ben she bobbed fu' law, 
 O when she cam ben she bobbed fu' law ; 
 .'lud when she cam ben she kiss'd Cockpen, 
 And syne deny'd she did it at a'. 
 
 And wasna Cockpen right saucy witlia", 
 And wasna Cockpen right saucy witha', 
 In leaving the dochter of a lord, 
 And kissin' a collier lassie, an' a'. 
 
 O never look down, my lassie, at a', 
 () never look down, my lassie, at a"; 
 Tliy lips are as sweet, and thy figure complete, 
 .Vs the finest dame in castle or ha'. 
 
 rho' thou has nae silk and holland sae sma', 
 Tlio' thou has nae silk and holland sae sma'; 
 Thy coat and thy saik are thy ain handywark- 
 A:id Ladv .Jti.in was never sae braw. 
 
 4* t'!'-* J*
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 112 
 
 O FOR ANE-AMD-TWENTY, TAM. 
 Tune— r/i€ Moudiewort. 
 
 [Acknowledged in the Muse-^m, and in 
 Thomson's Collection.] 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 An' for ane-and-twenty. Tarn I 
 And hey, sweet ane-and-twenty, Tam .' 
 
 I'll learn my kin a rattlin' sang, 
 An 1 saw ane-and-twenty, Tam. 
 
 They snool me sair, and haud me down, 
 
 And gar me look like bluntie, Tam ; 
 But three short years will soon wheel 
 roun' — 
 And then comes aneand-twenty, Tam. 
 An' for, ic. 
 
 A gleib o' Ian', a claut o' gear, 
 Was left me by my auntie, Tam ; 
 
 At kith or kin I need na spier, 
 An I saw ane-and-twenty, Tam. 
 An' Ofor, ttc. 
 
 They'll hae me wed a wealthy coof, 
 Tho' I mysel' hae plenty, Tam; 
 
 But hear'st thou, ladtlie— there's ray loot — 
 I'm thine at ane-and-twenty, Tam ! 
 An' Ofor, d:c. 
 
 O KENMUEE'S ON AND AWA', 
 WILLIE. 
 
 [This is a Jacobite song in honour of 
 William Gordon (Viscount Kenmure), who 
 was beheaded on Tower-hill in 1716, for 
 his share in the rebeOion of the previous 
 
 year.] 
 
 O Kenmure'S on and awa', Willie 1 
 O Kenmure'S on and awa' ; 
 
 An' Kenmure'S lord's the bravest lord 
 That ever Galloway saw. 
 
 Success to Kenmure'S band, Willie 1 
 Success to Kenmure'S band ; 
 
 There's no' a heart that fears a Whig, 
 That rides by Kenmures hand. 
 
 Here's Kenmure'S health in w ine, WiUie ! 
 
 Here's Kenmure's health in wine ; 
 There ne'er was a coward o' Kenmure's 
 blude, 
 
 Nor yet o' Gordon's line. 
 
 O Kenmure's lads are men, WiUie I 
 
 O Kenmure's lads are men; 
 Their hearts and swords are metal true, 
 
 And that their faes shall ken. 
 
 They'll live or die wi' fame, WiUie 1 
 
 They'll live or die wi' fame ; 
 But soon, wi' sounding victorie. 
 
 May Kenmure's lord come hame. 
 
 Here's him that's far awa', Willie 1 
 
 Here's him that's far awa' ; 
 And here's the flower that I lo'e best,— 
 
 The rose that's like the snaw ! 
 
 BESS AND HF,R SPINNING-WHEEL. 
 
 [Burns's name is given as the author of 
 
 this song in the Museum.] 
 
 O LEEZE me on my spinning-wheel. 
 And leeze me on my rock and reel, 
 Frae tap to tae that deeds me bien, 
 And haps me fiel and warm at e'en I 
 I'll set me down and sing and spin. 
 While laigh descends the simmer sun : 
 Blest wi' content, and milk and meal, — 
 O leeze me on my spinning-wheel ! 
 
 On ilka hand the burnies trot. 
 
 And meet below my theekit cot; 
 
 The scented birk and hawthorn white. 
 
 Across the pool their arms unite, 
 
 Alike to screen the birdie's nest, 
 
 And little tishes' caller rest: 
 
 The sun blinks kinilly in the biel', 
 
 Where blythe I turn my spinning-wheel. 
 
 On lofty aiks the cushats wail. 
 And echo cons the doolfu' tale; 
 The lintwhites in the hazel braes. 
 Delighted, rival ithei's lays : 
 The craik ainang the clover hay. 
 The paitrick whirrin' o'er the ley. 
 The swallow jinkin' round my shiel. 
 Amuse me at my spinning-wheel. 
 
 Wi' sma' to sell, and less to buy, 
 Aboon distress, below envy; 
 O wha wad leave this humble state> 
 For a' the pride of a' the great?
 
 TEE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS, 
 
 113 
 
 Amid their flaring, idle toys, 
 Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys, 
 Can they the peace and pleasure feel 
 Of Bessy at her spinning-wheel? 
 
 MY COLLIER LADDIE. 
 
 [This is unclaimed by the Poet, who says 
 regarding it in his notes :— " I do not know 
 a biyther old song than this :" yet it was 
 never seen in print until he produced it in 
 the Museu)!}.] 
 
 Whare live ye, my bonie lass? 
 
 And tell me what they ca' ye ? 
 My name, she says, is Mistress Jean, 
 
 And I follow the Collier Luddie. 
 
 See you not yon hills and dales 
 The sun shines on sae brawlie ; 
 
 They a' are mine, and they shall be thine. 
 Gin ye'll leave your Collier Laddie. 
 
 Ye shall gang in gay attire, 
 
 Weel buskit up sae gaudy ; 
 And ane to wait on every hand, 
 
 Uin ye'll leave your Collier Laddie. 
 
 Tho' ye had a' the sun shines on, 
 And the earth conceals sae lowly ; 
 
 I wad turn my back on you and it a', 
 And embrace my Collier Laddie. 
 
 Love for love is the bargain for me, 
 Tho' the wee cot-house should hand mn, 
 
 And the warld before me to win my bread. 
 And fair fa' my Collier Laddie ! 
 
 NITH.SDALE'S WELCOME HAME. 
 
 [.Acknowledged in the Museum. This 
 was produced as a welcome to Lady 
 Winifred Maxwell, descended from the 
 forfeited Earl of Nithsdale, on her return- 
 ing to Scotland, and re-building the old 
 Castle of Terreagles, the ancient seat of 
 her family.] 
 
 The noble Maxwells and their powers 
 .\re coming o'er the border; ' 
 
 And they'll gae big Terre.agles towers, 
 I And set them a' in order": 
 
 And they declare Ten eagles fair, 
 For their abode they chiise it; ' 
 
 There's no a heart in a' the land, 
 But's lighter at the news o't. 
 
 Tho' stars in skies may disappear,- 
 
 .\nd angry tempests gather; 
 The happy hour may soon be near 
 
 That brings us pleasant weather: 
 The weary night o' care and grief 
 
 May hae a joyfu' morrow ; 
 So dawning day has brought relief— 
 
 Fareweel our night o' sorrow. 
 
 COUNTRY LASSIE. 
 
 [The authorship of this is stated in the 
 Museum. It also appears in Thomsi'ti'a 
 Collection as "Written by Burns."] 
 
 I.N' simmer, when the hay was mawn. 
 
 And corn wav'd green in ilka field ; 
 While clover blooms white o'er the lea. 
 
 And roses blaw in ilka biekl ; 
 Blythe Bessie in the milking- shiel. 
 
 Says, 'I'll lie wed, come o^t what will. 
 Out spak a dame in wrinkled eild : 
 
 'O' gude advisement comes nae ill. 
 
 'It's ye hae wooers mony ane. 
 
 And, lassie, ye're but young, ye ken; 
 Then wait a wee, and c;uinie wale, 
 
 A routhie butt, a routhie hen : 
 There's Johnny o' the Buskie-glen, 
 
 Fu' is his barn, fu' is his liyre ; 
 Tak this frae me, my bonie hen. 
 
 It's plenty beets the luver's fire.' 
 
 ' For Johnny o' the Buskie-glen, 
 
 I dinna care a single Hie; 
 He lo'es sae weel his craps and kye. 
 
 He has nae love to spare for me ; 
 But blythe s the blink o' Robie's e'e, 
 
 .Vnd weel I wat he lo'es me dear: 
 Ae blink n' him I wadna gie 
 
 For Buskie-glen and a' his gear.' 
 
 ' O thoughtless lassie, life's a faught, 
 Ihe canniest gate, tlie strife is sair; 
 
 But ay fu'-han't is feclitin best, — 
 A hungry care's an unco care:
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 114 
 
 But some will speiKl, and some will spare, 
 An' wilfu' folk maun hae their will ; 
 
 Syne as ye brew, my maiden fair. 
 Keep mind that ye maun drmk the yill. 
 
 'O gear will buy me rigs o' land. 
 
 And gear will buy me sheep and kye ; 
 But the tender heart o' leesome luve. 
 
 The gowd and siller canna buy : 
 We may be poor— Robie and I— 
 
 Lii'ht is the burden luve lays on ; 
 Content and luve brings peace and loy,— 
 
 What mair hae queens upon a throne ; 
 
 FAIR ELIZA. 
 
 A Gaelic Air. 
 
 The 
 
 [Acknowledged in the Museum. 
 first line was originally written— 
 "Turn again, thou fair Rabina." 
 
 In the original MS. the Poet has a note 
 annexed to the song, thus:— "So much 
 for your Rabina— how do you like the 
 verses? I assure you I have tasked my 
 muse to the top of her performing." 
 
 These words were addressed to Johnson. 
 See letter of 15th November, 1788, for 
 further information.] 
 
 Turn again, thou fair Eliza,— 
 
 Ae kind blink before we part ; 
 Rue on thy despairing lover !. 
 
 Canst thou break his faithfu' heart? 
 Turn again, thou fair Eliza : 
 
 If to lorn thy heart denies. 
 For pity hide the cruel sentence 
 
 \jm\er friendship's kind disguise'. 
 
 Thee, dear maid, hae I offended,- 
 
 The offence is loving thee ; 
 Canst thou wreck his peace for ever, 
 
 Wha for thine wad gladly die'? 
 O, while the life beats in my bosuin. 
 
 Thou shalt mix in ilka throe : 
 Turn again, thou lovely maiden, 
 
 Ae sv/eet smile on me bestow. 
 
 Xot the bee upon the blossom, 
 
 In the pride o' sunny noon ; 
 Not the little sporting fairy, 
 
 All Vieneath the simmer moon ; 
 Not the poet, in the moment 
 
 Fancy lightens in his e'e. 
 Kens the pleasure, feels the rapture, 
 
 That thv presence gies to me. 
 
 YE JACOBITES BY NAME. 
 
 TThis is probably by Burns, although it is not claimed for him by name or mark in 
 the Kwm The Poet's original MS. is said to be stiU in existence, but that of 
 itself is not conclusive proof of its authenticity.] 
 
 Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear, give an ear,— 
 Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear ; 
 Ye Jacobites by name. 
 Your fau'ts I will proclaim. 
 Your doctrines I maun blame- 
 Yon shall hear. 
 
 What is right, and what is wrang, by the law, by the law? 
 What is right, and what is wrang, by the law? 
 What is right, and what is wrang?— 
 A short sword, and a lang, 
 A weak arm, and a Strang 
 For to.draw. 
 
 What makes heroic strife, fam'd afar, fam'd afar? 
 What makes heroic strife, fam'd afar? 
 What makes heroic strife?— 
 To whet th' assassin's knife, 
 Or hunt a parent's life, 
 Wi' bluidie war.
 
 TSS POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 115 
 
 Then let your schemes alone, in the state, in the state} 
 Then let your schemes alone, in the state ; 
 Then let your schemes alone : 
 Adore the rising sun. 
 And leave a man undone 
 To his fate. 
 
 THE POSIE. 
 
 [Acknowledged in the Museum. This lyric was suggested by a doggerel ballad 
 which his wife used to sing to him, beginning — There ivas a pretty May, and a-milkin' 
 she went.] 
 
 O LUVE will venture in where it daurna weel be seen ; 
 O Inve will venture in where wisdom ance has been ; 
 But I will down yon river rove, amang the woods sae green — 
 And a' to pu' a posie to my ain dear May. 
 
 The primrose I will pn', the firstling o' the year, 
 And I will pu' the pink, the emblem o' my dear ; 
 For she is the pink o' womankind, and blooms without a peer— 
 And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 
 
 I'M pu' the budding rose, when Phoebus peeps in view, 
 For it's like a baumy kiss o' her sweet, bonie mou' ; 
 The hyacinth's for constancy wi' its unchanging blue — 
 And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 
 
 The lily it is pure, and the lily it is fair. 
 And in her lovely bosom I'll place the lily there; 
 The daisy's for simpMcity and unaffected air— 
 And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 
 
 The hawthorn I will pu', wi' it's locks o' siller grey. 
 Where, like an aged man, it stands at break o' day ; 
 But the songster's nest within the bush I winna tak away^ 
 And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 
 
 The woodbine I will pu' when the e'ening .star is near, 
 And the diamond draps o' dew shall be her een sae clear; 
 The violet's for modesty, which weel she fa's to wear — 
 And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 
 
 ni tie the posie round wi' the silken band o' luve. 
 And I'll place it in her breast, and I'll swear by a' above, 
 That to my latest draught o' life the band shall ne'er remoT*, 
 And this will be a posie to my ain dear May.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BUBNS. 
 
 116 
 
 THE BANKS O' DOON. 
 
 [Acknowledged in the Museum. We 
 give the first version of this song from 
 Paterson's edition, edited by Mr. Scott 
 Douglas. It was sent to Alexander Cun- 
 ningham, on 11th March, 1791, a fact of 
 which Currie was apparently aware 
 though he did not print the version. The 
 connection of this song with the unfortu- 
 nate Peggy Kennedy is mere conjecture.] 
 
 [FIRST VERSION.] 
 
 Sweet are the banks— the banks o' Doon, 
 
 The spreading flowers are fair, 
 And everything is blythe and glad. 
 
 But I am fu' o' care. 
 Thou'Il break my heart, thou bonie bird, 
 
 That sings upon the bough ; 
 Thou minds me o' the happy days 
 
 When my fause luve was true : 
 Thou'Il break my heart, thou bonie bird. 
 
 That sings beside thy mate ; 
 For sae I sat, and sae I sang. 
 
 And wist na o' my fate. 
 
 Aft hae I rov'd by bonie Doon, 
 
 To see the woodbine twine ; 
 And ilka bird sang o' its Luve, 
 
 And sae did I o' mine : 
 Wi' hghtsome heart I pu'd a rose, 
 
 Upon its thorny tree ; 
 But my fause Luver staw ray rose. 
 
 And left the thorn wi' me : 
 Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose 
 
 Upon a morn in .June ; 
 And sae I flourish'd on the morn. 
 
 And sae was pu'd or' noon 1 
 
 [SECOND VERSION.] 
 
 Ye flowery banks o' bonie Doon, 
 
 How can ye blume sae fair! 
 How can ye chant, ye little birds, 
 
 And I sae fu' o' care 1 
 
 Thou'Il break my heart, thou bonie bird, 
 
 That sings upon the bough; 
 Thou minds me o' the happy days 
 
 When my fause luve was true. 
 
 Thou'Il break my heart, thou bonie bird, 
 
 That sings beside thy mate ; 
 For sae I sat, and sae I sang. 
 
 And wist na o' my fate. 
 
 Aft hae I rov'd by bonie Doon, 
 
 To see the woodbine twine; 
 And ilka bird sang o' it's luve, 
 
 And sae did I o' mine. 
 
 Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, 
 
 Frae aff its thorny tree ; 
 And my fause luver staw the rose. 
 
 But left the thorn wi' me. 
 
 [THIRD VERSION.] 
 Tu.N'E — Caledonian Ihint's delight. 
 
 Ye banks and braes o' bonie Doon, 
 How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair I 
 
 How can ye chant, ye little birds, 
 And I sae weary fu' o' care ! 
 
 Thou'Il break my heart, thou warbling bird, 
 That wantons thro' the flowering thorn; 
 
 Thou minds me o' ileparted joys, 
 Departed never to return. 
 
 Oft hae I rov'd by bonie Doon, 
 To see the rose and woodbine twine; 
 
 And ilka bird sang o' its luve, 
 And fondly sae did I o' mine. 
 
 Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, 
 Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree; 
 
 And my fause luver staw my rose. 
 But, ah 1 he left the thorn wi' me. 
 
 SIC A WIFE AS WILLIE HAD. 
 
 [This humorous song has Bums's name 
 given to it in the Museum. It has been 
 hinted that 'Willie and his wife' were 
 neighbours of the Poet at Ellisland. 
 There is a Linkumdoddie in the vicinity of 
 Biggar.] 
 
 Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed, 
 
 The spot they ca'd it Linkumdoddie ; 
 Willie was a wabster gude, 
 
 Cou'd stown a clue wi' ony bodie; 
 He had a wife was dour and din, 
 
 O, Tinkler Maidgie was her mither,— 
 Sic a \viie as Willie had, 
 
 I wadna gie a button for her ! 
 
 She has an e'e— she has but ane — 
 
 The cat has twa the very colour ; 
 Five rusty teeth, forbye a stump, 
 
 A clapper-tongue wad deave a miller; 
 A whiskin' beard about her mou'. 
 
 Her nose and chin they threaten ither, 
 
 Sic a wife as Willie had, 
 
 I wadna gie a button for her t
 
 TEE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 117 
 
 She's bow-hough'd, she's heinshin'd, i AulJ baudrons by the ingle sits, 
 
 Ae lirapin' leg a hand-breed shorter; ! An' wi' her loof her face a-washin' 
 She's twisted ri^ht, she's twisted left, i But Willie's wife is nae sae trig, 
 
 To balance fair in ilka quarter : 
 She has a hump upon her lireast, 
 
 The twin o' that upon her ahouther, — 
 Sic a wife as Willie had, 
 
 I wadna gie a button for her 1 
 
 She dights her grunzie wi' a hushion: 
 Her walie nieves like midden-creels. 
 
 Her face wad fyle the Logan-water ; 
 Sic a wife as Willie had, — 
 
 I wadna gie a button for her ! 
 
 LADY MARY ANN. 
 
 ["The Poet's name is not at this production, nor is there any external mark to 
 indicate that it is his ; at same time it appears in his hand-writing among the copy 
 supplied by him for the Museum. Its authenticity is therefore doubtful. His own 
 note is:— "The starting verse should be restored," the ballad apparently beginning, 
 " O father?" in the old version.] 
 
 O, Lady Mary Ann looks o'er the castle wa' ; 
 Sha saw three bonie boys playing at the ba' ; 
 The youngest he was the flower amang them a',— 
 My bonie laddie's young, but he's growin' yet. 
 
 O father ! O father ! an ye think it fit. 
 We'll send him a y«ar to the college yet ; 
 Well .sew a green rihban round about his hat. 
 And that will let them ken he's to m.arry yet. 
 
 Lady Mary Ann was a flower In the dew. 
 Sweet was its smell, and bonie was its hue, 
 And th« langer it blossom'd, the sweeter it grew ; 
 For the lily in the bud will be bonier yet. 
 
 Young Charlie Cochran was the sprout of an aik, 
 Bonie, and bloomin' and straught was its make: 
 Hie sun took delight to shine for its sake. 
 And it will be the brag o' the forest y&t. 
 
 The simmer is gane, when the leaves th»y were green. 
 And the days are awa' that we hae seen ; 
 But far better days I trust will come a^'ain, 
 For my bonie laddie's yovmg, but he's growin' yet. 
 
 KELLYBURN BRAES. 
 
 [Acknowledged in the Musewn. Thomson remark* v— "This song, whidi ia said to 
 be old, ytSLH oommnnicated by linms, and probably received some tooches from hiw." 
 fiums hhuself says:— "These word* are mine, I compus»U them from the old tradi- 
 tionary ve»«e3.''j 
 
 Thkre lived a carl i^ Kellyburn hraes, 
 
 (Jley, and the i ue grows bonie wi' thyme,) 
 AikI he had a wife was the plague of his day»: 
 
 And the thyme il ie wittier'd, artl >ae is in prime.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS, 
 
 118 
 
 Ae day as the carl gaed up the lan^ glen, 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi' thyme,) 
 
 He met wi' the devil ; says, ' How do ye fen ?' 
 And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prima. 
 
 'I've got a bad wife, sir, that's a' my complaint; 
 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi'tliyme,) 
 For, saving your presence, to her ye' re a saint : 
 
 And the tiiyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime.' 
 
 'It's neither your stot nor your staig I shall crave; 
 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi' thyme,) 
 But gie me your wife, man, for her I must have; 
 
 And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime.' 
 
 'O welcome most kindly!' the blythe carl said, 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi' thyme,) 
 
 'But if ye can match her, ye're waur than ye're ca'd : 
 And the thjine it is wither'd, and rue is in prime.' 
 
 The devil has got the auld wife on his back, 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi' thyme,) 
 
 And, like a poor pedlar, he's carried his pack : 
 And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 
 
 He's carried her hame to his ain hallan-door; 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi' thyme,) 
 Syne bade her gae in, for a an<l a • 
 
 And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 
 
 Then straight he makes fifty, the pick o' his band, 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi' thyme,) 
 
 Turn out on her guard, in the clap of a hand : 
 And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 
 
 The carlin gaed thro' them like ony wnd bear, 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi' thyme,) 
 
 Whae'er she gat hands on cam near her nae mair: 
 And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 
 
 A reekit wee deevil looks over the wa' ; 
 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi' thyme,) 
 'O, help ! master, help 1 or she'll ruin us a : 
 
 And the thyme it is wither'd, and me is in prinML 
 
 The devil he swore by the edge o' his knife, 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi' thyme,) 
 
 He pitied the man that was ty'd to a wife : 
 And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prima. 
 
 The devil he swore by the kirk and the bell, 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi' thyme,) 
 
 He was not in wedlock, thank Heaven, but in i 
 
 And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in primai 
 
 Then Satan has travell'd again wi' his pack, 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi' thyme,) 
 
 And to her auld husband he's carried her back; 
 And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prima 
 
 *I hae been a" devil the feck o' my life ; 
 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi' thyme,) 
 But ne'er was in till I met wi' a wife : 
 
 And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prima.'
 
 TEE POEMS AND SOXOS OF BVRXS. 
 
 119 
 THE SLAVE'S LAMENT. 
 
 [Both words and ma«ic of this African lyric \7ere communicated to the Uiueum by 
 Burns.] » 
 
 It was in sweet Senegal that my foes did me enthral, 
 
 For the lands of Virpnia-ginia, O; 
 Torn from that lovely shore, and must never see it more, 
 
 And, alas ; I am weary, weary, O ! 
 
 All on that charming coast is no bitter snow and frost. 
 
 Like the lands of Virginia-ginia, O; 
 There streams for ever tiow, and there flowers for ever blow, 
 
 And, alasl I am weaiy, weary, 1 
 
 The burden I must bear, while the cruel scourge I fear, 
 
 In the lands of Virginia-ginia, O; 
 And I think on friends most dear, with the bitter, bitter tear. 
 
 And, alas: I am weary, weaiy, O! 
 
 THE SONG OF DEATH. 
 
 Tune— Orau an Aci'j. 
 
 [Acknowledged in the Mus'.um. Burns transcribed this patriotic lyric in a letter to 
 Mrs. Dunlop, dated 17th December, 1791, in which he says:— "I have just finished 
 the following song, which, to a lady, the descendant of Wallace, and many heroes of 
 his illustrious line— and herself the mother of several soldiers— needs neither 
 preface nor apology. 
 
 SONG OF DEATH. 
 
 Scene— X Field of Battle— Time of the day. Evening— The wounded and dying of the 
 victorious army are supposed to join in the following song."] 
 
 Farewell, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies, 
 
 Now gay with the broad setting sun; 
 Farewell loves and friendships, ye dear tender ties— 
 
 Our race of existence is run 1 
 
 Thou grim King of Terrors, thou life's gloomy foe 1 
 
 Go, frighten the coward and slave ; 
 Go, teach them to tremble, fell tyrant ! but know. 
 
 No terrors hast thou to the brave ! 
 
 Thou strik'st the dull peasant— he sinks in the dark. 
 
 Nor saves e'en tiie wreck of a name : 
 Tliou .strik'st the young hero— a glorious mark I 
 
 He falls in the blaze of his fame I 
 
 In the field of proud honour— our swords in our handx 
 
 Our king and our country to save— 
 While victory shines on life's last ebbing sands, 
 
 O 1 who woald not die with the brave?
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 120 
 
 AFTON WATER. 
 
 [Acknowledged in the Mvseum. Mr. George Thomson, in 1S50, forwarded to Mr. 
 Robert Chambers a iiitmorandum of several songs by Burns which, in the year 181^, 
 had been sent by him to Mr. Gilbert Burns, with the re<luest that he would kindly 
 insert the names of their respective heroines, and return the paper to him ; all which 
 was promptly complied with by the Poet's brother. The memorandum regarding 
 A/ton Water is as follows :— 
 
 "Mr. T. — ' Flow fiently, sweet Afton, ic. — Who was the Mary of this Song?' 
 
 "G. B. — 'The Poet's Highland Mary ; but Dr. Currie gives a different account of it, 
 at page 332, Vol. IV., 7th edition, where hesays— ' Afton Wateris the stream on which 
 stands Afton Lodge, to which Mrs. .Stewart removed from Stair. .\ft(in Lodge was 
 Mrs. Stewart's property from her father : the song was presented to her in return for 
 her notice — the first he ever received from any person in her rank of life." 
 
 " 'G. B. thinks Dr. C. was misinformeil in several of the above particulars; but Dr. 
 Currie must not be contradicted I' "] 
 
 Flow gently, sweet .4.fton, among thy green braes. 
 Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise; 
 My Mary's asleep liy thy miirnniring stream. 
 Flow gently, sweet Aftnn, di.stiirb not her dream. 
 
 Thiiu stock-dove whose echo resoumls thro' the glen, 
 Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den. 
 Thou green-crested lapwing thy .screaming forbear,* 
 I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair. 
 
 How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring liitls. 
 Far mark'd with the courses of clear, winding rills; 
 rhare daily I wander as noon rises liigh. 
 My docks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye. 
 
 How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below. 
 Where wild in the wo^xllands the primroses blow; 
 There oft as mild ev'ning vreepe over the lea. 
 The sweet scented birk shades my Mary and me. 
 
 Thy crystil stream, .\fton, how lovely it glid'Cg, 
 
 And winils by the cot where my .Mary resides; 
 
 How wanton thy w.aters her snowy feet lave. 
 
 As gatherins? sweet flowerets she stesns thy clear wave. 
 
 Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy gre«n bi-aes. 
 Flow gently, gw«9t river, the theme <H my lays; 
 My Mary's awleep by thy uiurmurmg stream. 
 Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. 
 
 ^T^- 
 
 *The lapwing is what we in Scotland call the "peaseweep" or "pe vit."
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS, 
 121 
 BONIE BELL. HEY, CA' THRO'. 
 
 [The Poet's name is given to 
 descriptive lyric in the Museum,.] 
 
 this 
 
 The smiling spring comes in rejoicing, 
 
 And surly winter grimly flies; 
 Now crystal clear are the falling waters, 
 
 And bonie blue are the sunny skies. 
 Fresh o'er the inuuntains breaks forth the 
 mornin}!. 
 
 The ev'ning gilds the ocean's swell; 
 All creatures joy in the sun's returning, 
 
 And I rejoice in my bonie Bell. 
 
 The flowery spring leads sunny summer, 
 
 And yellow autumn presses near, 
 Then in his turn comes gloomy winter. 
 
 Till smiling spring again appear. 
 Thus seasons dancing, life advancing. 
 
 Old Time and Nature their changes tell ; 
 But never ranging, still unckanging, 
 
 I adore my borne Bell. 
 
 THE GALLANT WEAVER. 
 
 [Acknowledged in the Museum. It will 
 be recollected that in the early spring of 
 17S6. when Jean's parents broke off the 
 private marriage between the Poet and 
 her, she was packed off to Paisley ; and, in 
 the confse of a month or two, news 
 reached Alauchline that she was about to 
 be married to one Robert Wilgon, a 
 weaver.] 
 
 Where Cart rins rowim' to the sea. 
 By niony a flow'r and spreading tre«, 
 There lives a lad, the lad for me, 
 He is a gallant wesiver. 
 
 Oh, I bad wooers aught or nine, 
 Th»y gied me rings and rilihons fine ; 
 And I was feard my heart wou^lI tine. 
 And I giecl it to the w<vaver. 
 
 My dad(R6 signd my tocher-band. 
 To gie the lad that has the land ; 
 But to my heart I'll add niy hand. 
 
 >UL It) Illy iie;ti t i ii iiuti iii> 
 And give it to the weaver. 
 
 While birds rejoice in leafy bo^wers ; 
 While bees delight in opening flowers; 
 While corn grows green m simmer showers, 
 I love my gallant woiwer. 
 
 [The song was never seen in print before 
 it appeared in Johnson's volume, and 
 tradition has supplied another verse as 
 follows :— 
 
 " Ne'er break your heart for love: 
 
 Just turn the boat about : 
 
 There's as giide tish i' the sea 
 
 As ever yet cam out. 
 
 Hey, ca' thro', Ji-c." 
 
 Its authenticity is very doubtful. 1 
 
 Up wi' the carls of Dysart, 
 And the lads o' Buckhaven, 
 
 And the kimmers o' Largo, 
 And the lasses o' Leven. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Hey, ca' thro', ca' thro'. 
 For we hoe mickle ado; 
 
 Ui'tj, ca' thro', ca' thro', 
 b'or ice hae mickle cfdo. 
 
 We hae tales to tell, 
 
 Ami we hrte sangs to sing; 
 We hae pennies to spend, 
 
 And we hae pints to bring. 
 He]i, ea' thro', A-c. 
 
 We'll live a' our days. 
 
 And them that comes behin', 
 Let them do the Uke ; 
 
 And spend the gear they win. 
 /i(*y, ca' tftnj . Ac. 
 
 THE DEUKS DANG O'ER MY 
 DADDIE. 
 
 (Fhe Poet has aflftxed his name in the 
 Museiun, to Ihis prodnctinn. Tlie title, 
 aind a few phrases preserved in the song 
 are old.] 
 
 The bairns gat out wi' an unco sljoat, 
 
 The deiiks tlang o'er my daddie, O! 
 The fien-ma-care, g^uo' the leirrieaiild wirfe. 
 
 Ho was but a puidlLn body, O I 
 He paidlefi out, and he paidles In, 
 
 An' he paidles late and ea^ly, O ! 
 This seven lang years i hae lain by his .side, 
 
 An' he ie biU i fusioides* carlie, Ol
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 12! 
 
 O baud your tongue, my feirrie aulj wife, 
 
 O baud your tongue, now, Nansie, O : 
 I've seen the day, and sae hae ye, 
 
 Ye wadna been sae donsie, O. 
 I've seen the day ye butter'd my brose, 
 
 And cuddled me late and early, O ; 
 But downa do's come o'er me now, 
 
 And, oh, I tind it sairly, O! 
 
 SHE'S FAIR AND PAUSE. 
 
 [Acknowledged in the Museum. Com- 
 
 Eosed on an unfortunate love affair of 
 is friend, Alexander Cunningham, W.S., 
 Edinburgh, afterwards a goldsmith and 
 jeweller.] 
 
 She's fair and fa use that causes my smart, 
 
 I lo'ed her meikle and lang ; 
 She's broken her vow, she's broken my 
 heart, 
 
 And I may e'en gae hang. 
 A coof cam in wi' routh o' gear, 
 
 And I hae tint my dearest dear ; 
 But women is but warld's gear, 
 
 Sae let the bonie lass gang. 
 
 Whae'er ye be that woman love, 
 
 To this be never blind, 
 Xae ferlie 'tis tho' fickle she prove, 
 
 A woman hast by kind : 
 O woman, lovely woman fair ! 
 
 An angel form's faun to thy share. 
 'Twad been o'er meikle to gien thee niair— 
 
 I mean an angel mind. 
 
 THE DEIL'S AWA' WI' TH' EXCISEMAN. 
 
 [Acknowledged in the Museum.] 
 
 The deil cam fiddling thro' the town, 
 And danc'd awa' wi' th' Exciseman; 
 
 And ilka wife cries, auld Mahoun, 
 I wish you luck o' the prize, man. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 The deiVs awa', the deil's awa'. 
 The deil's aua' wi th' Exciseman ; 
 
 He's danc'd awa', he's danc'd awa', 
 lie's danc'd awa' wi' th' Exciseman. 
 
 ■We'll mak our maut, ana we'll brew our drink, 
 We'll laugh, sing, and rejoice, man; 
 
 And mony braw thanks to the meikle black deil, 
 That danc'd awa' wi' th' Exciseman. 
 The deil's awa', <tc. 
 
 There's threesome reels, there's foursome reels, 
 Ttere's hornpipes and strathspeys, man, 
 
 But the ae best dance e'er cam to the laml, 
 Was the deil's awa' wi' th' Exciseman. 
 The deil's awa', d-c. 
 
 ss?. 
 
 ^'^:^,
 
 r^f^^^^ 
 
 ADDITIONAL POEMS, 
 
 FIRST INCLUDED TN THE 
 
 AUTHOR'S EDITION, APRIL, 1793. 
 
 "*^Wf
 
 
 ON THE NITH. 
 
 Reproduced from "The Buhas Chronici-e' i-ou 1896. 
 
 (B't Spi'cml Permission of the Pvl)lishfr.)
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 126 
 
 WRITTEN IN FRIARS CARSE 
 
 HERMITAGE, 
 
 ON MTH-SIDE. 
 
 [The first draft of these verses bears 
 date '28th June, 1788, and he scratched the 
 six opening lines, with his diamond, on a 
 pane of glass in the "ivied cot." Not 
 being quite satisfied with his effort, he 
 re-wrot« the poem, retaining only a few 
 of the opening lines and the closing 
 couplet. The first version was printed 
 in Currie's second edition, ISOl. The 
 later version immediately follows, as ! 
 it appeared in the Poet's own edition of I 
 1703.1 
 
 Thou whom chance may hither lead. 
 Be thou clad in russet weed. 
 Be thou deckt in silken stole, 
 Grave these counsels on thy soul. 
 
 Life is but a day at most. 
 Sprung from night, in darkness lost; 
 Hope not sunshine every hour. 
 Fear not clouds will always lour. 
 
 As Youth and Love with sprightly dance, 
 
 Beneath thy morning star advance, 
 
 Pleasure wth her siren air 
 
 May (lehule the thoughtless pair; 
 
 Let Prudence bless EnjojTiient's cup, 
 
 Then raptured sip and sip it up. 
 
 As thy day grows warm and high, 
 
 Life'.s meridian flaming nigh, 
 
 Dost thou spurn the humble vale? 
 
 Life's proud summits wouldst thou scale? 
 
 Check thy climbing step, elate, 
 
 EviLs lurk in felon wait : 
 
 Dangers, eagle-pinioned, bold, 
 
 Soar around each cliffy hold, 
 
 While chearful peace, with linnet song, 
 
 Chants the lowly dells among. 
 
 As thy shades of evening close, 
 
 ISeck'uing thee to long repose; 
 
 As life itself becomes disease. 
 
 Seek the cliinmey-nouk of ease. 
 
 There ruminate with sober thought. 
 
 On all thou'st seen, and hoard, and wrought; 
 
 And teach the sportive younkers round, 
 
 Saws of experience, sage and sound. 
 
 Say, man's true, genuine estimate, 
 
 The grand criterion of his fate, 
 
 Is not, art thou high or low? 
 
 Did thy fortune ebb or flow? 
 Did many talents gild thy span? 
 Or frugal Nature grudge thee one ? 
 Tell them, and press it on their mind. 
 As thou thyself must shortly find. 
 The smile or frown of aweful Heaven, 
 To Virtue or to Vice is given. 
 Say, to be just, and kind, and wise, 
 There solid self-enjoyment lies; 
 That foolish, selfish, faithless ways, 
 Lead to be wretched, vile, and base. 
 
 Thus, resigned and quiet, creep 
 
 To the bed of lasting sleep ; 
 
 Sleep, whence thou shalt ne'er awake. 
 
 Night, where dawn shall never wake, 
 
 Till Future Life, future no more, 
 
 To light and joy the good restore. 
 
 To light and joy unknown before. 
 
 Stn-vnger, go ! Heaven be thy guide ! 
 Quod the Beadsman of Nith-slde. 
 
 CURRIE'S VERSWy. 
 
 Thou whom chance may hither lead. 
 Be thou clad in russet weed. 
 Be thou deckt in silken stole. 
 Grave these maxims on thy soul : — 
 
 Life is but a day at most, 
 Sprung from night, in darkness lost;* 
 Hi:)pe not sunshine every hour. 
 Fear not clouils will always lour; 
 Happiness is but a name, 
 Make content and ease thy aim; 
 Ambition is a meteor-gleam. 
 Fame— a restless, airy dream. 
 Peace— the tenderest flower in spring. 
 Pleasures — insects on the wing; 
 Those that sip the dew alone, 
 Make, like butterflies, thine own : 
 Those that would the l)loom devour, — 
 Crush the locusts ! save the flower. 
 For the future he prepar'd. 
 Guard, wherever thou canst guard; 
 But thy utmost duly done, 
 Welcome what thou canst not shun: 
 Follies past, give thou to air, 
 Make their consequence thy care. 
 Keep the name of man in mind. 
 And dishonour not thy kind: 
 Reverence with lowly heart 
 Him whose wondrous work thou art; 
 Keep His Goutiness still in view. 
 Thy trust — and thy example too. 
 
 Stranger, go 1 Heaven be thy guide 1 
 Quod the Beadsman of Nithside. 
 
 'In some editions, the following couplet is here inserted : — 
 " Day, how rapid is it's flight — 
 Day, how few may see the night I"
 
 TEE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 126 
 
 ODE, 
 
 SACRED TO THE MEMORY OP 
 
 MRS. OF .' 
 
 [This is a production of January, 1789. 
 His own account of it is adrlressed to Dr. 
 Moore on '23rd March thereafter.] 
 
 Dweller in yon dungeon dark, 
 Hangman of creation, mark ! 
 Who in widow weeds appears. 
 Laden wth unhonoured years. 
 Noosing with care a bursting purse, 
 Baited with many a deadly curse? 
 
 STROPHE. 
 
 View the wither'd beldam's face — 
 Can thy keen inspection trace 
 Aught of Humanity's sweet melting grace ? 
 Note that eye, 'tis rheum o'ertiows, 
 Pity's flood there never rose. 
 See those hands, ne'er stretch'd to save. 
 Hands that took— but never gave. 
 Keeper of Mammon's iron chest, 
 Lo, there she goes, unpitied and unblest, 
 She goes, but not to realms of everlasting 
 rest ! 
 
 ANTISTROPHE. 
 
 Plunderer of Armies, lift thine eyes, 
 (A while forbear, ye torturing tiends), 
 Seest thou whose step, unwilUng, hither 
 bends ? 
 
 No fallen angel, hurled from upper skies ; 
 "Tis thy trusty quondam Mate, 
 Doomed to share thy tiery fate, 
 
 She, tardy, hell-ward pUes. 
 
 EPODE. 
 
 And are they of no more avail. 
 
 Ten thousand glittering pounds a year ? 
 In other worlds can Mammon fail, 
 
 Omnipotent as he is here? 
 O, bitter mockery of the pompous bier. 
 While down the wretched vitai part is 
 driven ! 
 The cave-lodged beggar, with a conscience 
 clear. 
 Expires in rags, unknown, and goes to 
 Heaven. 
 
 ELEGY ON CAPT. M- 
 
 H- 
 
 A GE.NTLEMAN WHO HELD THE PATENT 
 
 FOR HIS HONOURS IMMEDIATELY 
 
 FROM ALMIGHTY GOD. 
 
 But noic his radiant course is run, 
 For Matthew's course was bright; 
 
 His soul was like the glorious sun, 
 A matchlest Heavenly Light ! 
 
 [The name of this gentleman (Capt. 
 Matthew Henderson) is found in the list 
 of subscribers to the poet's Edinburgh 
 edition of April, 17S7, thus:— " Matthew 
 Henderson, Esq., i copies." It would 
 appear that the pretix, " Captain," was a 
 mere bye-name bestowed on him by his 
 familiars and club-associates ; for he was 
 a member of a select society in Edinburjrh, 
 called the Capillaire Club, which held its 
 meetings in Fortune's Tavern, Writers' 
 Court. The first notice we have of this 
 poem is in a letter dated August 
 '2, 1790, addressed to Mr. M'Murdo, 
 chamberlain to the Duke of Queensberry, 
 in which he says : — "Permit a rustic muse 
 of your acquaintance to do her best to 
 soothe you with a song. You knew Hen- 
 derson — I have not flattered his memory." 
 
 O DEATH I thou tyrant fell and bloody ! 
 
 The meikle devil \vi' a woodie 
 
 Haurl thee hame to his black smiddie, 
 
 O'er hurcheon hides. 
 And like stock-fish come o'er his studdie 
 
 Wi' thy auld sides ! 
 
 He's gane ! he's gane ! he's frae us torn, 
 
 The ae best fellow e'er was horn ! 
 
 Thee, Matthew, Nature's sel' shall mourn 
 
 By wood anil wild, 
 Where, haply, Pity strays forlorn, 
 
 Frae man exil'd. 
 
 Ye hills, near neebors o' the starns. 
 That proudly cock your cresting cairns ; 
 Ye cliffs, the haunts of sailing yearns. 
 
 Where Echo slumbers. 
 Come join, ye Nature's sturdiest bairns. 
 
 My wailing numbers. 
 
 Mourn, ilka grove the cushat kens ; 
 Ye hazelly shaws and briery dens ; 
 
 • Mrs. Oswald of Auchencruive.
 
 TEE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 
 1-27 
 
 Ye burnies, wimplin down your glens, 
 Wi' toddlin din, 
 
 Or foaming, Strang, wi' hasty stens, 
 Frae lin to lin. 
 
 Mourn little harebells o'er the lea; 
 Ye stately foxgloves fair to see ; 
 Ye woodbines hanging bonilie. 
 
 In scented bowers ; 
 Ye roses on your thorny tree. 
 
 The tirst o' flowers. 
 
 At dawn, when every grassy blade 
 
 Droops with a diamond at his head. 
 
 At even', when beans their fragrance shed, 
 
 I' th' rustling gale. 
 Ye maukins whiddin thro' the glade, 
 
 Come join my wail. 
 
 Mourn, ye wee songsters o' the wood ; 
 Ye grouse that crap the heather bud ; 
 Ye curlews calling thro' a clud ; 
 
 Ye whistling plover; 
 And mourn, ye whirring paitrick brood ; 
 
 He's gane for ever 1 
 
 Mourn, sooty coots, and speckled teals; 
 Ye fisher herons, watching eels ; 
 ife duck and drake, wi' airy wheels 
 
 Circling the lake : 
 Ye bitterns, till the quajimire reels, 
 
 Rair for his sake. 
 
 Mourn, clamouring craiks at close o' day, 
 'Mang fields o' flowering clover gay; 
 And when ye wing your annual way 
 
 Frae our cauld shore. 
 Tell thae far warlds, wha lies in clay, 
 
 Wham we deplore. 
 
 Ye houlets, frae your ivy bower. 
 In some auld tree, or eldritch tower, 
 What time the moon, wi' silent glowr. 
 
 Sets up her horn. 
 Wail thro' the dreary midnight hour 
 
 Till wauknfe morn. 
 
 O rivers, forests, hills, and plains! 
 Oft have ye heard my cauty strains : 
 But now, what else for me remains 
 
 But tales of woe? 
 And frae my een the drapping rains 
 
 Maun ever flow. 
 
 Mourn, Spring, thou darling of the year! 
 Ilk cowslip cup shall kep a tear: 
 Thou, Simmer, while each corny spear 
 
 Shoots up its head. 
 Thy gay, green, flowery tresses shear, 
 
 Forhim that's dead. 
 
 Thou, Autumn, wi' thy yellow hair, 
 In grief thy sallow mantle tear; 
 Thou, Winter, hurling thro' the air 
 The roaring blast, 
 
 Wide o'er the naked world declare 
 
 The worth we ve lost. 
 
 Mourn him, thou Sun, great source of light t 
 Mciurn, Empress of the silent night! 
 And you, ye twinkling starnies bright. 
 
 My Matthew mourn ; 
 For through your orbs he's ta'en his flight. 
 
 Ne'er to return. 
 
 OH***-*****! the man! the brother! 
 And art thou gone, and gone for ever? 
 And hast thou crost that unknown river. 
 
 Life's dreary bound? 
 Like thee, where shall I And another. 
 
 The world around ? 
 
 Go to your sculptur'd tombs, ye Great, 
 In a' the tinsel trash o' state ! 
 But by thy honest turf I'll wait. 
 
 Thou man of worth ! 
 And weep the ae best fellow's fate 
 
 E'er lay in earth. 
 
 THE EPITAPH. 
 
 Stop, passenger !— my story's brief. 
 And truth I shall relate, man; 
 
 I tell nae common tale o' grief — 
 For Matthew was a great man. 
 
 If thou uncommon merit ha>;t. 
 Yet spurn'd at Fortune's door, man ; 
 
 A look of pity hither cast — 
 For Matthew was a poor man. 
 
 If thou a noble sodger art. 
 That passest by this grave, man. 
 
 There moulders here a gallant heart — 
 For Matthew was a brave man. 
 
 If thou on men, their works and ways. 
 Canst throw uncommon light, man. 
 
 Here lies wha weel had won thy praise — 
 For Matthew was a bri;;ht man. 
 
 If thou at Friendship's sacred ca' 
 
 Wad life itself resign, man. 
 Thy sympathetic tear maun fa' — 
 
 For Matthew was a kind man. 
 
 If thou art staunch without a stain, 
 Like the unchanging blue, man, 
 
 This was a kinsman o' thy ain — 
 For Matthew was a true man. 
 
 If thou hast wit, and fun, and fire. 
 And ne'er gude wine did fear, man. 
 
 This was thy l)illie, dam, and sire — 
 For Matthew was a queer man. 
 
 If ony whiggish whingin' sot, 
 To blame poor Matthew dare, man. 
 
 May dool and sorrow be his lotl 
 For Matthew was a rare man.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 128 
 
 LAMENT OF MARY, QUEEX OF 
 
 SCOTS, 
 
 ON THE APPROACH OF SPRING. 
 
 [In February, 1791, the Poet enclosed 
 this beautiful composition to Mrs. Graham 
 of Fintry, with the following remarks: — 
 "Whether it is that the story of our Mary, 
 Queen of Scots, has a peculiar effect on 
 the feelinjrs of a poet, or whether I have 
 in the enclosed Ijallad succeeded beyond 
 ray usual poetic success, I know not; but 
 it has pleased me beyond any effort of my 
 Muse for a good while past. On that 
 account, I enclose it particularly to you." 
 
 Burns enclosed these verses to Clarinda, 
 with the folIuwin<r remarks: — "Such, my 
 dearest Clarinda, were the words of the 
 amiable but unfoitunate Mary. Mis- 
 fortune seems to take a peculiar pleasure 
 in darting her arrows against 'honest men 
 and bonie lasses.' Of this you are too, too 
 just a proof ; but may your future fate be 
 a bright exception to the rule."] 
 
 Now Nature hangs her mantle green 
 
 On every blooming tree, 
 And spreads her sheets o' daisies white 
 
 Out o'er the grassy lea : 
 Now Phoebus cheers the crystal streams. 
 
 And glads the azure skies ; 
 But nought can glail the weary wight 
 
 That fast in durance lies. 
 
 Now laverocks wake the merry morn. 
 
 Aloft on dewy wing; 
 The merle, in his noontide bower, 
 
 Makes woodland echoes ring ; 
 The mavis mild wi' many a note, 
 
 Sings drowsy day to rest : _ 
 In love and freedom they rejoice, 
 
 Wi' care nor thrall opprest. 
 
 Now blooms the lily by the bank. 
 
 The primrose down the brae; 
 The hawthorn's budding in the glen. 
 
 And milk-white is the slae : 
 The meanest hind in fair Scotland 
 
 May rove their sweets amang; 
 But I, the Queen of a' Scotland, 
 
 Maun lie in prison Strang! 
 
 I was the Queen o' bonie France, 
 
 Where happy I hae been ; 
 Fu' lightly rase I on the morn, 
 
 As blythe lay down at e'en : 
 And I'm the Sinereign of .Scotland, 
 
 And mony a traitor there; 
 Yet here I lie in foreign bands. 
 
 And never-ending care. 
 
 But as for thee, thou fal.se woman I 
 
 My sister and my fae. 
 Grim vengeance yet shall whet a sword 
 
 That thro' thy soul shall gae ! 
 The weeping blood in woman's breast 
 
 Was never known to thee ; 
 X(irth' balm that drops on wounds of wo© 
 
 Frae woman's pitying e e. 
 
 My son ! my son ! may kinder stars 
 
 Upon thy fortune shine ! 
 And may those pleasures gild thy reign, 
 
 That ne'er wad blink on mine! 
 (iod keep thee frae thy mother's faes, 
 
 Or turn their hearts to thee : 
 And where thou meet'st thy mother's 
 friend. 
 
 Remember him for me ! 
 
 O soon, to me, may summer suns 
 
 Nae mair light up the morn ! 
 Nae mair, to me, the autumn winds 
 
 Wave o'er the yellow corn! 
 And in the narrow house o' death 
 
 Let winter roimd me rave ; 
 And the next Howers, that deck the spring. 
 
 Bloom on my peaceful grave. 
 
 r^r^^S^^^^^
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF B0RX8. 
 
 129 
 
 TO R***** G*****, OF F*****, Esq.* 
 
 [The reference in the opening line is to a recent atciilent he had sustained by his 
 horse falling with him. In January, 17S!). he transcriberi some portions of this epistle 
 to Professor Dugald Stewart, with these remavks : — "This poem is a species of com- 
 position new to me, hnt I do not intend it shall he my last essay of the kind. These 
 fragments, if my design succeeds, are but a small part of the intended wtiole : 1 pro- 
 pose it shall be the work of my utmost exertions, ripened by years."] 
 
 Late crippled oi an arm. and imw a leg, 
 About to beg a pass for leave to beg ; 
 Dull, listless, teased, dejected, and deprest, 
 (Nature is adverse to a cripple's rest); 
 Will generous (.;*-*** list to his Poet's wail? 
 (It soothes poor Misery, heaikening to her tale). 
 And hear him curse the liuht he tirst surveypd. 
 And doubly curse the luckless rhyming trade. 
 
 Thou, Nature, partial Nature! I arraign; 
 
 Of thy caprice maternal I complain: 
 
 The lion and the bull thy care have found. 
 
 One shakes the forest, and one spurns the grnuml : 
 
 Thou giv'-^t the ass his hiile. the snail his shell. 
 
 Til' envenoiiied wasp, victorious, guards his rull ; 
 
 Thy minions, kings defend, controul, devour. 
 
 In ail th' oiunipotence of rule and power; 
 
 Foxe.s and stati-smen, subtle wiles ensure ; 
 
 The cit and pole'-at stink, and are secure; 
 
 Toads with their poison, d.^ctors with tlieir drug, 
 
 The priest and hednelmg in their robes, are snug: 
 
 Kven silly woman has her warlike arts. 
 
 Her tongue and eyes, her dreaded spear ami darts. 
 
 But. oh! thou bitter step-mother and hard. 
 
 To thy poor, fenceless, naked chibl— the Bard ! 
 
 A thing unteachable in world's skill. 
 
 And half an idiot too, more helpless still ; 
 
 No heels to bear him from tlie opening ilun; 
 
 No claws to dig. his hiteil -ight to shun : 
 
 No horns, but those by luckless Hymen "orii, 
 
 And those, alas! not Amalthea's horn: 
 
 No nerves olfact'ry, Mammon's trusty cur, 
 
 Clad in rich Dulness' comfortable fur; — 
 
 In naked feeling, and in aclung pride. 
 
 He bears the unbroken blast from every side: 
 
 Vampyre booksellers drain him to the heart, 
 
 And scorpion Critics cureless venom dart : — 
 
 Critics! — appalled, I venture on the name — 
 Those cut-throat bandits in the p.atlis of fame! 
 Bloody dissectors, worse than ten .Monroes! 
 He hacks to teach, they mangle to expose : — 
 His heart by causeless want<jn malice wrung, 
 By blockheads' daring into madness stung; 
 His well-won bays, than life itself more dear. 
 
 * Robert Graham, of Fintry. 
 t
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 
 130 
 
 By miscvpn.iits torn, who ne'er one sprij must wear: 
 K.iik'd. lik-eilini;, tortured, in the nnequal strife, 
 The h.ipless Poet Hounders on thro' lite; 
 Till Hed each hope that once his bosom tired. 
 And fled each .Muse that filorious once inspired, 
 Low-sunk in squalid, unprotected age, 
 Dead even resentment for his injured page, 
 He heeds or feels no more the ruthless Critic's rage I 
 
 So, by some hedge, the generous steed deceased, 
 For half-starved snarling curs a dainty feast ; 
 By toil and famine wore to skin and bone. 
 Lies, senseless of each tugging bitch's son. 
 
 Dulness! portion of the truly blest! 
 Calm sheltered haven of eternal vest 1 
 
 Thy sons ne'er madden in the tierce extremes 
 Of Fortune's polar frost, or torrid beams. 
 If mantling high she fills the golden cup. 
 With sober seltisli ease they sip it up: 
 Conscious the bcjunteotis meed th<'y well deserve. 
 They only wuiuler "some folks" do not starve. 
 The grave sage hern thus easy picks his frog. 
 And thinks the mallard a sad worthless dog. 
 ^Vhen disappointment snaps the clue of hope. 
 And thro' disastrous night they darkling grope. 
 With deaf '-nduiance sluggislily they brar, 
 And just conclude that " fouls are fortune's care." 
 So, heavy, passive to the tempest's shocks, 
 Strong on the sign-post stands the stupid ox. 
 
 Not so the idle Mu-es' mad-cap train. 
 
 Nor sucli the workings of their moon-struck brain ; 
 
 In equanimity they never dwell. 
 
 By turns in soaring heaven, or vaulted hell. 
 
 1 dread thee, Fate, relentless and severe. 
 With all a poet's, husband's, father's fear I 
 Already one strong hold of hope is lost, 
 Glpiicaini, the truly nolde. lies in dust; 
 (Fled, like the sun eclips'd as noon appears. 
 And left us darkling in a world of tears :) 
 
 O hear my ardent, grateful, selfish prayer ! — 
 F****"*, my other stay, long bless and spare ! 
 Thro' a loiig life his hopes and wishes crown. 
 And bright in cloudless skies his sun go down ! 
 May bliri^ domestic, smooth his private path; 
 Give energy to life ; and soothe his latest bieath. 
 With manv a filial tear circling the bed of deatli I 
 
 LAMENT FOR .lA.MlvS, KARL OF , elder brother, Willi im, a I.ieut, -Colonel in 
 
 the Fast ladia Compiuy's service, and 
 
 GLRNCAIRN. 
 
 died at Dumfries, in l.sU5, aged 71.] 
 
 [The Poet remembered Glencairn. On i IHE wind blew hollow frae the hills, 
 August 1'2, 1794, when his fourth son was By tits ilie sun's departing beam 
 born, he named hira James Glencairn Look'd on t lie fading yellow woods 
 Bums. That son was afterw.irds, like his 1 Tliat wav'd o'er Lugar's winding stream;
 
 TEE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 
 131 
 
 Beneath a craigy steep, a Banl. 
 
 Laden with years, and meikle pain, 
 In loud lament bewail'd his lord, 
 
 Whon: death had all untimely ta'en. 
 
 He lean'ri him tc an ancient aik. 
 
 Whose trunk was niouldring down with 
 years ; 
 His locks were bleached white with time. 
 
 His hoary cheek was wet wi' tears : 
 And as he touch'd his trembling harp. 
 
 And as he tuned his doleful sang;, 
 The winds, lamenting thro' their caves, 
 
 To echo bore the note> alang ! 
 
 "Ye scatter'd birds that faintly sing 
 
 "The reliques of the vernal quire"; 
 "Ye woods thai shed on a' the winds 
 
 "The honour.' of the aged year! 
 "A few short months, and glad and gay, 
 
 " Again ye'll charm the ear and e'e ; 
 "But nochr in all revolving time 
 
 "Can gladnesi bring again to me. 
 
 " I am a bending aged tree, 
 
 " That long has stood the wind and rain; 
 "But now has come a cruel blast, 
 
 " And my last haln of earth is gane : 
 " Nae leaf o' mine shall greet the spring. 
 
 " Nae sim.mer sun exalt my bloom : 
 " But I maun lie before the storm, 
 
 " And ithers plant thetr in my room. 
 
 '■ I've seen sae mony changefu' years, 
 
 " On earth I am a strangei grown ; 
 " I wander in the ways of men, 
 
 " Alike unknowing and unknown : 
 "Unheard, unpitied, unreliev'd, 
 
 " I bear alane my lade o care, 
 " For silent, low, on beds of ibist, 
 
 " Lie a' that would my sonows share. 
 
 " And last, (the sum of a' ray griefs :) 
 " My noblfc master lie.s in clay ; 
 
 " The flower amang our barons bold, 
 " His country's priile, his country's stay: 
 
 "In weary lieing now I pine, 
 " For all the life of life is dead, 
 
 "And hope has left my aged ken, 
 "On forward wing for ever fled. 
 
 "Awake thy last sad voice, my harp! 
 
 "The voice of woe and wild despair! 
 " Awake 1 resound thy latest lay— 
 
 "Then sleep in silence evermair ! 
 "And thou, my last, best, only friend, 
 
 "That tillest an untimely tomb, 
 ".\ccept this tribute from the Bard 
 
 " rhou brought from fortune's mirkest 
 gloora. 
 
 'In Poverty's low barren vale, 
 "Thick mists, obscure, involv'd me 
 
 round ; 
 "Though oft I tiuiied the wistful eye, 
 
 "Xae ray of fame was to be found : 
 "Thou found'st me, like the morning sun 
 
 "That melts tlie fogs in limpid air, 
 "The friendless Bard and rustic song 
 
 •'Became alike thy fostering care. 
 
 " O why has Worth so short a date? 
 
 ■■ While villains ripen gray with time ; 
 ' .lust thou, the noble, generous, great, 
 
 ■' Fall in bold manhood's hardy prime ! 
 ■■ Why did 1 live to see that day ? 
 
 " A day to me so full of woe ! 
 " O had i met the mortal shaft 
 
 " Which laid my benefactor low ! 
 
 " The bridegroom may forget the bride, 
 " Was inaile his wedded wife yestreen; 
 
 " The monaich may foiget the crown 
 i " Th.at on his head an hour has been ; 
 I " Tlie mother may forget the child 
 I " I'hat smiles sae sweetly on her knee ; 
 I " But I'll rememlier thee, Glencairn, 
 ' " .\nd a' that thou h ist done for me !" 
 
 LINES, 
 
 SENT TO SIR JOHN WHITEFOORD OF WHITEFOORD, BART., WITH THE 
 
 FOREGOING POEM. 
 
 (There exists a letter of Burns to Alex. Fraser Tytler, Esq., (afterwards Lord 
 Woodhouselee), dated 6th Dec, 1792, in which the following passage occurs :— 
 
 "I am much indebted to you for taking the trouble of correcting the press-work. 
 One instance, indeed, may be rather unlucky, if the lines to Hir John Whitejoord are 
 printed. They ought to end thus :— 
 
 'And treail the shadowy p.ith to that dark world unknown.' 
 
 Shadowy, instead of " dreary," as I believe it stands at present. 1 wish this could be 
 noticed in the Errata. This comes of writing, as I generally do, from memory. —R.B."]
 
 THE POEMS AND SOX OS OF BURNS. 
 
 132 
 
 Thou, who thy honour as thy God rever'st, 
 
 Who, save thy mind's reproach, nought earthly fear'st, 
 
 To thee this votive off'ring I impart, 
 
 The tearful tribute of a broken heart. 
 
 The Friend thou valued'st, I the Patron lovM; 
 
 His worth, his honour, all the world approvM. 
 
 We'll mourn till we too go as he has gone, 
 
 And tread the shadowy path to that "dark world unknown. 
 
 TAM U' SIIANTER. 
 
 A TAM-;. 
 
 Of Brovjnyis and of BogiUsjuli is this hiij;e. 
 Gawix dolglas. 
 
 [In a letter to Mrs. Duulop. dated 
 .\pril. 1701, announcing the birtli of 
 hi.s third son, William Xicol Burns, 
 the following remarks occur : — " On 
 Saturday morning last, .Mrs. Burns 
 niaile me a present of a tine lioy — rather 
 Ktcuter, but not so handsome as your god- 
 s' 'U was at his time of life. Indeed, I look 
 nil y^ur namesake to be ray chi'/ d'ceurre 
 iti that <pecies lit manufacture, as I look 
 on Tain o' Shaater to be my standard 
 performance in the poetical line. 'Tis 
 true, iioth the one and the other discover 
 a spice of roguish waggery, that might 
 pel haps be as well spared ; but then they 
 also show, in my opinion, a force of genius, 
 a <i.d a lintshing 2'olish, that 1 despair of 
 ever excelling.] 
 
 When chapmen Indies leave the street, 
 And drouthy neebors, neelmrs meet, 
 As market-days are wearing late. 
 An' folk begin to tak the gate ; 
 V/hile we sit bousing at the nappy, 
 And getting fou and unco happy. 
 We think na on the lang .Scots miles, 
 The mos.ses, waters, slaps, and styles. 
 That lie between us ami our hame, 
 Whare sits our sulky sullen dame, 
 CMthering her brows like gathering storm, 
 Xursing her wrath to keep it warm. 
 
 This truth fand honest Tain u' skanter, 
 As he frae Ayr ae night did canter, 
 (Auld .A.yr, wham ne't^r a town surpasses 
 For honest men and bonie lasses.) 
 
 O Tmn .' hailst thou but been sae wise, 
 A.S ta'eii thy .lin wife Kate's advice 1 
 She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum, 
 A blethering, blustering, drunken Idelluai 
 That frae November till October, 
 Ae mirket-day tliou was nae solier ; 
 That ilka nielder, wi' the mider. 
 Thou sat as lang as thou liad siller ; 
 That every naig was ca'd a shoe nn. 
 The sniitli and thee gat roaring fnu on ; 
 That at the L — d's house, even on Sunday, 
 Thou drank wi' Kirkton jean till .Monday. 
 Slie prophesied that late or soon. 
 Thou wouM be found deep drown'd in 
 
 Doon ; 
 Or catch'd wi' warlocks in the mirk. 
 By AUoicay's auld hauntedkiik. 
 
 Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet. 
 To think how mony counsels sweet, 
 How mony lengthen'd, sage advices. 
 The husband frae the wife despises ! 
 
 Bus to our tale :— Ae market-night, 
 Tam had got planted unco right ; 
 Fast hy an ingle, bleezing finely, 
 Wi' reaming swats, that drank'divinely : 
 And at his elbow, Souter Johtiny, 
 His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony; 
 Tam lo'ed him like .a vera brither — 
 They had been fou for weeks thegitlua 1 
 The night drave on wi' sangs ami clatter 
 And ay the ale was growiui: better: 
 The landlady and Tam gxaw gracious, 
 Wi' favours, secret, sweet and precious: 
 The Souter tauld his queerest stories ; 
 The landlord's laugh was ready chorus ;* 
 The Sturm without might rair and rustle, 
 Tam did na mind the storm a whistle. 
 
 *In the "Life and Letters of C. R. Leslie, R.A. 
 MS., this unpublished couplet occurs here,— 
 
 "it is stated that, in the Abbotsfon" 
 
 The cricket joined his chirping cry, 
 
 The kittling chased its tail with joy."
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 
 loo 
 
 Care, mad to see a man sae happy, 
 E'en drown'd himsel' amang the nappy ! 
 As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure. 
 The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure: 
 Kings may he blest, but Tain was glorious. 
 O'er a' the ills o' life victorious ! 
 
 I 
 But pleasures are like poppies spread. 
 You seize the flower, its bloom is shed ; 
 Or like the snow falls in the river, 
 .V moment white— then melts for ever; i 
 Ur like the burealis race, I 
 
 That flit eie you can point their place; ' 
 Or like the rainbow's lovely form 
 Kvanishing amid the storm. — 
 Xae man can tether time or tide; 
 Ihe hour approaches Tain maun ride ; 
 That hour, o' night's black arch the key- 
 
 stane, 
 That dreai y hour he mounts his beast in ; 
 And sic a night he taks tlie roaii in 
 As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. j 
 
 The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last; 
 The rattling showers rose on the blast; 
 The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'il ; j 
 Loud, deep, and lang, the tbunder 1 
 bellow'd : I 
 
 That night, a child might understand. 
 The Deil had business on his hand. 
 
 Weel mounted on his gray mare, Meg — 
 A better never lifted leg — 
 7'am skelpit on thro' dub and mire, 
 Despising wind, and rain, and tire; 
 Whiles holding fast his gude blue bonnet ; 
 Whiles crooning o'er some aiild Scots 
 
 sonnet; 
 Whiles glowring round wi' prudent cares. 
 Lest bogles catch Iiim unawares: 
 Kirk-AUhu-ay was tUawing nigh, 
 Whare ghaists and houleCs nightly cry. 
 
 By this time he was cross the ford, 
 Whare, in the snaw, the chapman smoor'd ; 
 And past the biiks and lueikle stane, 
 Whare drunken CUairlie brak's neck-bane ; 
 
 .Vnd thro' the whins, and by the cairn, 
 Whare hunters fand the murder'd bairn ; 
 .A.nd near the thorn, aboon the well, 
 Whare Mtinao's mither hang'd hersel'.— 
 Before him Onnn pours all his floods; 
 The doubling storm roars thro' the woods; 
 The lightnings flash from pole to pole ; 
 Near ;ind more near tlie thunders roH : 
 When, gliumierLng thro' the groaning trees, 
 Kirk-AUoway seem'd in a bfeeze ; 
 Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing ; 
 And loud resounded mirth and ikncing. 
 
 Inspiring bold John Barleycorn! 
 
 What dangers thou canst make us scorn 1 
 
 \Vi' tippeny, we fear nae evil; 
 
 Wi' usciuabae, we'll face the devill — 
 
 The swats sae ream'd im Taniinie's nodilie, 
 
 Fair play, he car'd na deils a lioddle. 
 
 But Mayiie stoud, riglit sair astoni.^h'd, 
 
 rill, by the heel and hajid admonish'd, 
 
 she ventured forward on the light ; 
 
 .\nd, wiiw I Tata saw an unco sight! 
 
 Warlocks and witches in a dance ; 
 
 Xae cotilliiin brent-sew tjvie France, 
 
 But hornpipes, jigs, stratli>peys. and rt'tls. 
 
 Put life and mettle in their heels. 
 
 A winnock-bunker im the ea^t, 
 
 I'here sat auld Nick, in shape o' beast; 
 
 .V towzie tyke, black, griui, and large, 
 
 To gie them music was his ^large : 
 
 He screw'd the pipes and gart them skirl, 
 
 Till roof and rafters a' did ilirl. — * 
 
 Cotfins stood round, like cpen presses, 
 
 That shaw'd the dead iu their last 
 
 dresses; 
 And by some devilish caatraip sligtit, 
 Kach in its cauld hand held a light. — 
 r,y which heroic Tuia \Tas able 
 To note upon the haly table, 
 A murderer's banes in gibbet-airns; 
 Twa span-Ian^, wee, unchristen'd bairns; 
 A thief, new-cut ted frae a rape, 
 Wi' his last ga^p his gab did gape ; 
 Five tomahawks, wi' I dude red-rusted; 
 Five scyraitars, wi' murder crusted ; t 
 A garter, which a babe had strangled; 
 A knife, a father's tliioat had mangled, 
 
 •In the Kilmarnock MS., two lines occur here which are deleted:— 
 
 "The torches climb around the wa'. 
 Infernal fires blue-bleezing a' ;" 
 
 tin the Kilmarnock MS., the following two lines are here deleted:^ 
 
 'Seven gaLl(;w3 pins; three hangman's whittles; 
 A raw o' weel seal'd Doctor's bottles ;"
 
 THE rOEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 131 
 
 Whom his ain snn o' life bereft, 
 i'he grey liaiv.^ yet stack to the heft;* 
 SVi' inair o' horrible and awfu', 
 Which even to name wad be nnlawfu'. 
 
 As Tammie glowr'd, amazM, and curious, 
 The inicth and fun grew fast and furious: 
 The piper loud and louder blew ; 
 The dancers quick and quicker flew; 
 They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they 
 
 cleekit, 
 Till ilkacarliu swat and reekit, 
 And coost her duddies to the wark, 
 And linket at it in her sark ! 
 
 Xow Tarn, O Tarn ! had thae been queans, 
 A' plump and strappins; in their teens, 
 Their sarks, insteail o' creeshie flaunen. 
 Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linnenl 
 Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair. 
 That ance were plush, o' gude blue hair, 
 I wad hae pri'en them off my hurdles. 
 For ae blink o' the tionie hurdles! 
 
 But wither'il beldams, auld and droll, 
 Rigwoodie ha::s wad spean a foal, 
 Lowping and flinging on a crummoek, 
 I wonder didna turn thy stomach. 
 
 But Tain ken'd what was whatfu' brawlie. 
 There was ae winsome wench and waulie, 
 That night enlisted in the core, 
 (Lang after ken'd on Carrick shore; 
 For mony a beast to dead she shot. 
 And perish'd monie a bonie boat, 
 And shook baith meikle corn and bear, 
 And kept the country-side in fear.) 
 Her cutty-sark, o' Paisley barn. 
 That while a lassie she had worn. 
 In longitude tho' sorely scanty. 
 It was her best, and she was vauntie. — 
 Ah I little ken'd thy reverend grannie. 
 That sark she coft for her wee Nannie, 
 Wi' twa pund Scots, ('twas a' her riches). 
 Wad ever grac'd a dance of witches I 
 
 But here my Muse her wing maun cour ; 
 Sic flights are far beyond her pow'r ; 
 
 To sing how Nannie lap and flang, 
 (.\ souple jade she was, and stia'c,'). 
 And how ram stood, like ane bewitch'd, 
 And thought his very een enricb'd; 
 Kven Satan glowr'd, and tiilg'd fu' fain. 
 And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main: 
 Till first ae caper, syne anither. 
 Tarn tint his reason a' thegither, 
 And ro.irs out, "Weol done, Cutty-sark!" 
 And in an instant all was dark : 
 And scaicely had he Maggie rallied, 
 When out the hellish legion sallied. 
 
 As bees bizz out wi' a::gry tyke. 
 
 When plundering herds a.ssail their byke; 
 
 As open pussie's mort.al foes, 
 
 When, pop! she starts before their nose; 
 
 As eager runs the market-crowd. 
 
 When " Catch the thief 1" resounds aloud; 
 
 So .Maggie runs, rlie witches follow, 
 
 Wi' mony an eldritch skriech and hollo. 
 
 Ah, Tain .' ah. Tarn ! thou'll get thy fairin' 1 
 In iiell they'll roast thee like a henin' ! 
 In vain thy Kate awaits thy comiu' 1 
 Kate soon will be .a woefu' woman '. 
 Now, do thy speedy utmost, .Meg, 
 And win the key-stane t o' the brig ; 
 There at them tliou thy tail may toss, 
 A running stream they dare na cross. 
 But ere the key-stane she could m ike, 
 The Hent a tail she had to shake ! 
 For Nannie, far before the rest, 
 Hard upon noble Maggie prest, 
 .And flew at Tarn wi' furious ettle; 
 But little wist she Maggie's mettle — 
 Ae spring brought off her master hale. 
 But left behinti her ain gray tail : 
 The carlin claught her by the rump. 
 And left poor Maggie scarce a stump. 
 
 Now, wh.a this tale o' truth shall read. 
 Ilk man and mother's son take heed : 
 Whene'er to drink you are inclin'd. 
 Or cutty-sarks run in your mind. 
 Think I ye may buy tlie joys o'er dear- 
 Remember Tam o' Shanter's mare. 
 
 'Here, as originally printed in Grass's Antiquities of Scotiand, are introduced lour 
 lines, which were afterwards struck out by the author, at the suggestion of Ale.xander 
 Fraser Tytler, Ksq., as interrupting the etfect intended by the Poet in the context. 
 They are as follows :— 
 
 " Three lawyers' tongues, turn'd inside out, 
 Wi' lies seam'd like a beggar's clout ; 
 Three priests' hearts, rotten, black as muck, 
 Lay stinking, vile in every neuk." 
 
 tit is a well known fact that witches, or any evil spirits, have no power to follow a 
 poor wight any farther than the middle of the next running stream. — It may be proper 
 likewise to mention to the benighted traveller, that when he falls in with bo'jles, 
 whatever danger m:yr be in his going forward, there is much more hazard in turning 
 back.-(R. B. ITOa.)
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 135 
 ON SEEING A WOUNDED HARE LIMP BY ME, 
 WHICH A FELLOW HAD JLST SHOT AT. 
 
 [The Poet sent this production to his friend Alexander Cunningham, in a letter 
 dated from Kllisland, 4th May, 17s'.', malcinir the^e observations:—"! liave just put 
 tlie last hand to a little poem", which I thiidc will be something to your taste. One 
 morning; lately, as I was out jaetty early in tlie fields, sowing some grass seeds, I he.ard 
 the burst of i shot from a ne;glibouring plantation, and presently a poor little wounded 
 hare came crippling by nie. You will uuess my indignation at the inhuman fellow 
 who could .-hoc it a hare at this season, when all of them have young ones. Indeeil, 
 there is son.ething in tliat business of destroying for our >port, individuals in the 
 animal creation that ilo not injure us materially, which I couUl never reconcile to my 
 ideas of virtue. Let me know how you like my poem. I arn doubtful whether it would 
 not be an iniprovenieiit lo keep out the last stanza but one altogether."] 
 
 I.MIUMAN man! curse on thy barb rous art. 
 
 And blasted be tliy murder-aiming eyel 
 
 May never pity soothe thee witli a siyh, 
 Nor never p'easuie glad thy cruel heart 1 
 
 Go live, poor wanderer of the wood and Held, 
 
 'I'lie bitter little that of life remains: 
 
 No move the thickening brakes and verdant plains 
 To thee shall lioiiie, or food, or pastime yield. 
 
 Seek, mangled wretch, some place of wonted rest, 
 No more of rest, l)ut now thy dying bed ! 
 The sheltering rushes wliistling o'er thy head, 
 
 The cold earth with thy bloody bosom prest. 
 
 Oft as by winding Nilh I, musing, wait 
 The sober e^e, or hail the chearful dawn, 
 I'll miss thee sjiorting o'er the dewy lawn. 
 
 And curse the rutKau's aim and ni<Hini thy hapkss fate. 
 
 ADDRESS TO THE SHADE 
 
 OF THO.MSON, 
 
 ON CROWNING III.S I'.LST AT EDNAM, 
 
 ROXUL'RGHSIIIKi:, wrni KaVS. 
 
 [The Earl of Buchan, about the end of 
 August, l"r»l, wrote to Hums intimating 
 that, on the ai'proaching anniversary of 
 the poet Thomson's birth-ilay (Sept. 7th)a 
 tem))le which he had, erected to liis memory 
 at Ednam, near I\'eI>o, woidd l)e inaugur- 
 ated. He invited I'.iuns to be present, and 
 hiided that an Ode from 1dm Wduld be 
 expected for the ircia-ion. The Poet 
 replied as follows:— ".\ »eik <ir twns 
 
 absence, in tlie very miiidle of my harvest, 
 is what I mucli d,(.ubt I dare not venture 
 on. Your loidsliip hints at an Ode for the 
 occasion; but who would wiite after 
 Collins? I read over his veises to the 
 memory of Thomson, and despaired. I 
 got indeed to tl;e length of three or four 
 stanzas, in the way of address to the 
 shade of the bard, on crowiung his bust. 
 I shall trouble your lordship with a copy 
 of them, which, I am afraid, will lie liut 
 too convincing a proof how uneipial I am 
 to the task." 
 
 The Bust was not crowned on this 
 occasion. From the European Magazin'', 
 for Novendier, 1791, we learn that in the 
 abaenrf of thi' Bust the Eail of Buchan at 
 the conclusion of his speech laid a garland 
 of bays upon a copy of the poet's works 
 that had been presented to his father by
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 133 
 
 Tliomson. Fallowing the speech is given 
 Burns's poem, which was probably thd 
 first occasio« of its appearing in print.] 
 
 While virgin Spring, by Eden's flood, 
 Unfolds her tender mantle green, 
 
 Or pranks the sod in frolic mood. 
 Or tunes Eolian strains between : 
 
 While Summer with a matron grace 
 Retreats to Dryburgh's cooling shade, 
 
 Tet oft, delighted, stops to trace 
 The progress of the spiky blade : 
 
 While Autumn, benefactor kind. 
 
 By Tweed erects his aged head. 
 And sees, with self approving mind, 
 
 Each creature on lii.-< bounty fed : 
 
 While maniac Winter rages o'er 
 The hills whence classic Yarrow Hows, 
 
 Bousing the turbid torrent's roar, 
 (Jr sweeping, wild, a waste of snows : 
 
 So l«ng, sweet Poet of the Year ! 
 
 Shall bloom that wreath thou well hast 
 won ; 
 WUile Scotia, with exulting tear, 
 
 ProclaiuK that Thonmoa was her son. 
 
 ON THE LATE CAPTAIX GROSE': 
 
 PEREGRINATIONS THRO' 
 
 SCOTLAND, 
 
 A chield's amang you taking notes, 
 
 And, faith, he'll prent it 
 
 If in your bounds ye chance to light 
 
 L'pon a. tine, fat, fodgel wight, 
 
 O' stature short, but gejiius bright, 
 
 That's he, mark weel — 
 And wow I he has an unco slight 
 
 O' cauk and keel. 
 
 By some auld, hou let-haunted, biggin,* 
 
 Or kirk deserted by its riggin, 
 
 It's ten to ane ye'll find him snug in 
 
 Some eldritch part, 
 \V1' deils, they say, L—d safe's! colleaguiM 
 
 At some black art.— 
 
 Ilk ghaist that haunts auld ha' or chaiaer, 
 
 Ve gipsy-gang that deal in glamor. 
 
 And you, (loop read in hell's Ijl.rckgraunua*', 
 
 Warlocks and witofaes ; 
 Ye'll qu-ike at his conjuring liaramer, 
 
 Te midnight 
 
 It's tauld he was a scxlger bred. 
 And ane wad rather Jh'n than fled ; 
 But now he's quat the spurtle-blade, 
 
 And dug-skin wallet. 
 And ta'en Vae— Antiquarian trade. 
 
 I think tliey call it. 
 
 He has a fouth o' auld nick-nackels : 
 Rusty airn caps and jinglin jackets, t 
 Wad hand the Lothians three in cackets, 
 
 A towiuont gude : 
 And parritch pats, and auld saut-bixckets 
 
 Before the Flood. 
 
 COLLECTING THE ANTIQUITPES OF THAT 
 IvI.NGDOM. 
 
 [Francis Grose, we are told by Mr. R, 
 Chambers, was a broken-down English 
 gentleman, who, under the pressure of 
 poverty, took to antiquarian literature, 
 and published several works, embellished 
 with etchings from his own drawings. 
 Poor Grose died suddenly of .apoplexy in 
 Dublin on May 18th, 1731", at the age o'f 60, 
 as we lenrn from l;is tombstone in Drum- 
 condra Cliurch 1 
 
 He.\r, Land o' Cakes, and britlier Scot*. 
 Frae Maidenkirk to Johnny Groats! — 
 If there's a hole in a' your coats. 
 
 I rede you tent it: 
 
 Of Eve's first fire he has a cinder ; 
 Auld Tubalcain's Hre-shool and fender ; 
 That which distinguished the gender 
 
 O' Balaam's ass ; 
 A broom-stick o' the witch of Endor, 
 
 Weel shod wi' brass. 
 
 Forbye, he'll shape you atf fu' gleg 
 
 The cut of .-Vdam's philibeir ; 
 
 The knife that nicket Abel's craig 
 
 He'll prove you fully, 
 It was a faulding jocteleg. 
 
 Or lang-kail gullie.— 
 
 But wad ye see him in his glee. 
 For meikle glee and fun has he. 
 Then set him down, and twa or three 
 
 Gude fellows wi' him; 
 And purt, port ! shine tliou a wee. 
 
 And THE.N- ye'll see him j 
 
 * Vid« his Antiquities of Scotland.— (R. B. l"93.j 
 t Vide his treatise on ancient armour and weapons. — (R. B. 1793.)
 
 THE POEMS AND SONQS OF BURNS. 
 
 137 
 
 Vow, by the Powers o' Verse and Prose 1 
 Thou art a flainty chieUI, () Grose I — 
 Whae'er o' thee shall ill suppose, 
 
 They sair luisca' thee ; 
 I'll take the rascal by the nose. 
 
 Wad say, Shame fa.' thee 
 
 SONG, 
 
 TO MISS c*******'***,* 
 
 A VERY YOUNG LADY. 
 
 n |;iTTE:« O.N THE BLA.NK LEAF OF A nuOIC, 
 
 PRESENTED TO HER BY THB AUTHOR. 
 
 (The following reference to "The Rose- 
 bud" is found in a letter from the poet 
 to her father, written from i:ili>]and, at 
 Chrjstmas, IrSS :— " .Vlaiiy happy returns 
 of seasons to you, with your de;uest and 
 worthiest friend, and the lovely little 
 jdedge of your happy union. .AJay the 
 great Author of life, and of every enjoy- 
 ment that can render life delightful, make 
 hev that comfortable blessing to you both 
 which you so ardently wish fur, and which 
 vwu so well ileserve ! "1 
 
 P.F.AUTEOUS rose-bud, young and gay, 
 Klooming on thy early May. 
 N'ever may'st thou, lovely Flower, 
 Chilly shrink in sleety shower 1 
 Never P>iireas' hoary path, 
 Never Kurus' pois'nous breath, 
 Never baleful stellar lights, 
 Taint thee with untimely blights! 
 Never, never leptile tlrief 
 Riot on thy virgin leaf I 
 Nor even .Sol too fiercely view 
 Thy liosom blushing still with dew! 
 .May'st thou long, sweet crimson nem, 
 Ilirhly deck thy native stem ; 
 Till some evening, .sober, calm, 
 Diopping dews and breathiii',' b ilm. 
 While all around the woodland rings, 
 And every liird thy rcciuiem sings; 
 Thou, amid the dirgeful sound. 
 Shed thy dying honours round, 
 And le'^iiin to parent earth 
 The loveliest form she e'er gave birth. 
 
 [The heroine of these stanzas was Anne 
 >tewart, daughter of John Stewart, Esq., 
 "f East Craigs, the inarnvrata of hi.s 
 friend Cunningham. They -ippear in the 
 
 cyoand 1794 editions, andalsu in r/io>ftj-ou'f 
 Collection. ] 
 
 A.VNA, thy charms my bosom Are, 
 And waste my soul with care; 
 
 But ah! how bootless to admire. 
 When fated to despair \ 
 
 Yet in thy presence, lovely Fair, 
 To hope may be forgiven ; 
 
 For sure 'twere impious to despaic 
 So much in sight of Heaven. 
 
 O.N KliADI.NG, l.N A .Ni;\VSI>APER, 
 
 THE DEATH OF J M'L , E.=Q.,t 
 
 , BROtHER TO A YOU.NG L.VDV, A 
 
 i PARTICULAR FRIE.ND OF IIU. AUTHORS. 
 
 I [In the Glenriddel MS. the present 
 
 I poem is included, and the Poet has 
 
 ajipended to it the iidlowing reiuark : - 
 
 "This poetic compliment wa.s (what few 
 
 poetic compliments are) from the heart."] 
 
 Sad thy tale, th..u i.lle page, 
 
 And rueful thy alarms : 
 Death tears the brother of her love 
 
 From Isabella's arms. 
 
 Sweetly deckt with pearly dew 
 The moiniiig rose may Idow; 
 
 But cold successive noontide blasts 
 May lay its beauties low. 
 
 Fair on Isabella's morn 
 The sun propitious smil'd; 
 
 But, long ere noon, succeeding clouds 
 Succeeding hopes beguil'd. 
 
 •Miss Cruickshank, daughter of William Cruickshank, High School, Ediabuigh. 
 t John >M,eod, Esq., of Raasay.
 
 TEE POEMS AND SOXOS OF BURNS. 
 
 13S 
 
 Fate oft tears the bosom chords 
 That Nature finest strung : 
 
 S<i Tsahella's heart was foniiM, 
 And so that heart was wrung. 
 
 Dread Omiupotence, alone, 
 Can heal the wounil He sa^e; 
 
 Can point the brimful grief- worn eyes 
 To scenes beyond the grave. 
 
 Virtue's; blossoms there shall blo\r, 
 And fear no withering l)last; 
 
 There Isabella's spotless worth 
 Shall happy be at last. 
 
 THK LOVKLY ISABELL.A.. 
 
 We here introduce a piece inscribed to 
 Miss M'Leod, the original MS. of which is 
 in the possession of ^Irs. Scott, Adelaide, 
 Australia, who receiveditfromhermotlier, 
 Mrs. P.. W. Hutchinson, Clieltenh.ini, 
 gi-and-d.inu'bter of tlie Poet. It was pu'i- 
 lished in tlie Burns Chronicle for 1895. 
 
 TllR crimson blossom charms the bee. 
 The summer sun the swallow. 
 So dear this tuneful gift to me* 
 
 From lovely Isabella. 
 
 Her portrait fair upon my mind, 
 Revolving time shall mellow; 
 And mem'ry's latest effort find, 
 
 The lovely Isabella. 
 
 No bard, nor lover's rapture this, 
 In fancies vain and shallow, 
 She is, so come my soul to bliss. 
 
 The lovely Isabella. 
 
 THE nCMBLE PETITION OF 
 
 BRUAR WATP:R.t 
 TO THE NOBLE DUKE OF ATHOLE. 
 
 (On 5th September, on reaching Inver- 
 nes.s, he wrote to Mr. Josiah Walker, 
 tutor to the Duke's family (afterwards 
 
 Professor Walker of Glasgow University), 
 enclosing the poem, with these remarks: — 
 "I have just time to write the foregoing, 
 and to tell you that it was — at least most 
 part of it— the effusion of ,a half-hour I 
 spent at Bruar."] 
 
 Mv Lord, I know your noble ear 
 
 Woe ne'er assails in vain ; 
 Emb(dden'il thus. I beg you'll hear 
 
 Vour humble slave complain, 
 How saucy Plicebus' scorching beams, 
 
 In flaming summer-pride, 
 Dry-withering, waste ray foamy streams, 
 
 And drink my crystal tide. 
 
 The lightly-jumping, glowrin' trouts, 
 
 Tliat tliro' my waters play, 
 If, in their random, wantf>n spouts. 
 
 They near the mirj;iu stray. 
 If, hapless chance 1 they linger lang, 
 
 I'm scorchins up so shallow. 
 They're left the whitening staues among, 
 
 In gasjiing death to wallow. 
 
 Last day I trrat wi' spite and teen, 
 
 As Poet B**** came by. 
 That, to a Bard. I should be seen 
 
 Wi' half my channel dry: 
 A panegyric rli>ine, I ween. 
 
 Even as I was he shor'd me ; 
 But, had I in my glory been. 
 
 He, kneeling, wad ador'd me. 
 
 Here, foaming down the skelvy rocks, 
 
 In twisting'strength I rin; 
 There, high my boilina; torrent smokes. 
 
 Wild-roaring o'er a linn : 
 Enjoying large each spring and well 
 
 As Nature gave them me, 
 I am, altho' I say't mysel'. 
 
 Worth gauu i mile to see. 
 
 Would then my noble master please 
 
 To grant my highest wishes, 
 He'll shade my banks wi' towering trees. 
 
 And bouie spreading bushes.; 
 Delighteil doubly then, ray Lord, 
 
 You'll wander on my banks. 
 And listen mony a 2;rateful l)ird 
 
 Return you tuneful thanks. 
 
 The sober laverock, warbling wild, 
 
 Shall to the skies aspire; 
 The gowd^spink, .Music's .aayest child, 
 
 Shall sweetly join the choir : 
 
 * A volume of songs. 
 
 tBniar Falls, in .A.thole, are exceedingly picturesque and beautiful; but their effect 
 is much impaired by the want of trees and shrubs.— (R. B. 1793.) 
 
 IThispart of the petition has been successful, and tlie banks are now clothed as 
 verdantly as the Poet could desire.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 139 
 
 Tlie blackhirfl stronc;, the lintwhite clear, 
 
 The mavis inilrt and mellow; 
 The riiliin pensive Autumn chear, 
 
 In all her loclcs of yellnw. 
 
 This too, a covert shall ensure. 
 
 To shieM them from the storm; 
 Anil coward m uikin sleep secure. 
 
 Low in her grassy form : 
 Here shall the shepherd make his seat. 
 
 To weave his crown of tlowers ; 
 Or find a sheltering, safe retreat. 
 
 From prone-descending showers. 
 
 And here, by sweet endearing stealth, 
 
 Shall meet the loving pair, 
 Despising worlds with all their wealth 
 
 As t-mpty idle c^ire : 
 The tlowers shall vie in all tl:eir cliarms 
 
 The hour of heaven to gi-ace, 
 And birks extend their fi.igiant arms 
 
 To screen the dear embrace. 
 
 Here haply too, at vernal dawn. 
 
 Some musing banl may sti ay. 
 And eye the smokincr. dewy l.iwn. 
 
 And misty mountain, irrey ; 
 Or, by the reaper's nightly beam. 
 
 Mild-chequering thro' the trees. 
 Rave to my darkly-dashing stream. 
 
 Hoarse-swelling on the breeze. 
 
 Let lofty firs, and ashes cool. 
 
 My lowly banks o'erspread. 
 And view, ileep-hendiiig in the pool, 
 
 Their shadows' wat'ry bed : 
 Let fragrant birks, in woodbines dreet. 
 
 My craggy cliffs ailorn ; 
 And, for the little soni;stev's nest, 
 
 The close embowering thorn. 
 
 So may Old Scotia's darling In 'pe. 
 
 Your little angel band, 
 Sprimr, like their fathers, up to prop 
 
 Their honour'd. native lajid '. 
 So may, thro' Albion's farthest kin. 
 
 To social-flowing glasses, 
 The trace be— '' Athole's honest men 
 
 " An<l Athole's bonie lasses \" 
 
 It I' Mr 
 
 Oy SCARING SOME WATER FO\%'L 
 
 I.N LOCH-Tl'RIT, .\ WILD SCE.NE 
 AMONG THE IIILI.S OF OUiUITERTYRE. 
 
 [This was composed in October, 1787, on 
 the same visit which produced the song— 
 Blytha, blythe and mernjv:as she.] 
 
 Why, ye tenants of the lake. 
 For ine your wat'ry haunt forsake? 
 Tell me, fellow-creatures, why 
 j\t my presence thus you rty? 
 Why lUsturb your social joys, 
 Parent, filial, kindred ties? — 
 Common friend to you and me, 
 Nature's gifts to all are free : 
 Pe:!ceful keep your dimpling wave, 
 Busy feed, o; wanton lave; 
 Or, beneath the t^heltering rock. 
 Bide the surging billow's shock. 
 
 Conscious, blushing for our race. 
 Soon, toil soon, your fears I trace: 
 Man. your proud usurping foe, 
 Woid^l be lord of all below: 
 Plumes himselt in Freedom's pride, 
 Tyrant stern to all lieside. 
 
 The eagle, from the cliffy brow, 
 
 Marking you his prey below, 
 
 In his breast no pity dwells. 
 
 Strong Necessity compels. 
 
 But Man, to whom alone is given 
 
 A ray direct from pitying Heaven, 
 
 (ilories in his heart liuniane — 
 
 And creatures fur his pleasure slain. 
 
 In these savage, liquid plains. 
 Only known to w.aiulering swains, 
 Where the lufissy riv'let strays. 
 Far from human haunts and ways ; 
 All on Nature you depend. 
 And life's poor season peaceful spend 
 
 < 'r, if man's superior might 
 Dare invade your native right, 
 On the lofty etlier borne, 
 Man with all his jiowers you scorn : 
 Swiftly seek, on clanging wings. 
 Other lakes and other springs; 
 And the foe you c innot brave, 
 Scorn at least to he his sla\e.
 
 TEE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 
 140 
 
 WRITTEN" WITH A PENCIL 
 
 OVER THH CIUMXEYPIKCE, IX THE PARLOUR OF THE INX AT 
 
 KEXMORE, TAYMOUTH. 
 
 (The likely (late of this very truthful description of the scene presented to the visitor 
 at KeHmnre, and appropriate reflections arising therefrom, is Wednesday, August 21, 
 1787, as we learn from the Poet's journal of his tour. The authenticity of the coiB- 
 position ia open to question.] 
 
 ADMIRlNff Nature in her wildest f;r»ce, 
 
 These northern scenes with weary feet I trace; 
 
 O'er many a windins; dale and painful steep, 
 
 Th' abodes of coveyed grouse and timid sheep, 
 
 My .-aviQie journey, curious, I pursue, 
 
 Till fam'd Breadall.iaine opens on my view. — 
 
 The meeting cliffs each deep-sunk glen ilivides. 
 
 The woods, wild-scattered, clot!ie their ample -iidas; 
 
 Th' outstretching lake, embosomed 'moiig the hills, 
 
 'I"he eye with whnder and amazement tills ; 
 
 The Tay, meandering sweet in infant pride. 
 
 The palace, rising on his verdant side; 
 
 Ttie lawns, wood-fringed in Nature's native taste; 
 
 The hillocks, dropt in Nature's careless haste ; 
 
 The arches, striding o'er the new-horn stream ; 
 
 The village, glittering in the noontide beam — 
 
 * * ♦ * 
 
 Piiefeic ardours in my bosom swell, 
 
 Lone wand'ring by the hermit's mossy cell : 
 
 Tlie sweeping theatre of hanging woods; 
 
 Tiie incessant roar of headlong tumbling floods — 
 
 * * * *■ 
 
 Here Poesy might wake her heaven-taught lyre, 
 
 And look through Nature with creative fire; 
 
 Here, to the wrongs of Fate half reconcil'd. 
 
 Misfortune's lightened seeps Tuiiiht wander wild; 
 
 And Disappointment, in these lonely bounds, 
 
 F^nil balm to soothe her bitter rankling,' wounds: 
 
 Here heart-struck Grief might heavenward stretch her scan. 
 
 And injured Worth forget and pardon ii»in. 
 
 ■WRITTEN WITH A PEVCIL, 
 
 STANDING BY THE FALL OF FVERS, 
 
 NEAR LOCH-NESS. 
 
 [This bold sketch was written in 17o7.] 
 
 Aho.ng the heathy hills and ragged woods 
 The roaring Fyers pours his mossy floods; 
 Till full he dashes on the rocky mounds, 
 Where, thro' a shapeless breach, his 
 stream resounds. 
 
 As high in air the hur-^ting torrents flow. 
 As deep recoilinj; ,suri:e-i fo un below, 
 Prone ilown the rock the whitening sheet 
 
 descends. 
 And viewless Echo's ear. astonished, rends. 
 Dim-seen, through rising mists and cease- 
 less showers. 
 The hoary cavern, wide- surrounding, 
 
 lowers. 
 Still thro' the gap the struggling river toils, 
 And still, below, the horrid caldron boils —
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 141 
 
 ON THE BIRTH OF A POSTHUMOUS 
 CHILD, 
 
 BORN IN PECULIAR CIRCUMSTANCES OF 
 FAMILY-DISTRESS. 
 
 [This was composed in Nnvembei', 17<10, ■ 
 at Ellisland, on receiving a letter from I 
 Mrs. Dunliip, announcing that her i 
 daughter, Mrs. Henri, whose husband 
 had died about live montlis previously, 
 had borne a son] 
 
 SwETiT floTv'ret, pledge o' meikle love. 
 And ^vard o' mnny a prayer. 
 
 What heart o' stane wad thou na move, 
 Sae helpless, sweet, and fair. 
 
 November hirples o'er tlie lea. 
 
 Chill, on thy lovely form; 
 And gane, alas! the shelt'iing tree, 
 
 Should shield thee frae the storm. 
 
 May He who gives the rain to pour. 
 And wings the blast to blaw, 
 
 Protect thee frae the driving shower. 
 The bitter frost and snaw". 
 
 May He, the friend of woe and want. 
 Who heals life's various stonnds, 
 
 Protect and guard the mother plant. 
 And heal her cruel wounds. 
 
 But late she flourislied, rooted fast, 
 Fair on the sunnnt'r morn : 
 
 Now, feebly bends slie, in the blast. 
 Unsheltered and forlorn. 
 
 Blest be thy bloom, thou Invely gera, 
 Unscathed dy rutiian handl 
 
 And from tiiee many a parent stem 
 Arise to (lei-k our l.in<l.
 
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 THE NASMYTH Whole Length. 
 
 REPROnUCED FROM ",THE BURNS CHRONICLE" FOR 1896. 
 
 [(By Special Permisxion of the Publisher.)
 
 rif^^^ 
 
 SONGS WRITTEN BY BURNS, 
 
 FOR GEORGE T HO MS OX'S COL LECTIO X, 
 WHICH WERE 
 
 PUBLISHED DURING THE AUTHOR'S LIFETIME. 
 
 ^T}is Preface to first haif-vulume dated First May, 17D3.J 

 
 xMIERS SILHOUITTE. 
 
 Repkoduced from "The Burns Chronicle" for 1896, 
 (Bij Special Permission of the Publisher.)
 
 TEE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 145 
 
 WANDERING WILLIE. 
 
 TvsT.—Here aica', there awa'. 
 
 b f^g^^ij^g^""'"'"'"*' Thomson appends the note to this song:-" Written for this work 
 
 The old ditty that suggested this fine effusion is to be found in David Heid's coUp.-. 
 tion : It consists of one verse and a chorus, repeated with a variation. The first draft 
 Thomsori^^ngS^ pubhshed by Carrie, in ISUO; the following improved verlioX 
 
 Here awa', there awa', wandering Willie, 
 
 Here awa', there awa', haud awa' hame; 
 Come to my bosom, my ain only dearie, 
 
 Tell me thou bring'st me my WUlie the same. 
 
 Winter winds blew loud and canld at our parting- 
 Fears for my Willie brought tears in my e'e : 
 
 Welcome now simmer, and welcome my Willie • 
 The simmer to nature, my Willie to me. 
 
 Rest, ye wild storms, in the CAve of your slumbers 
 How your dread howling a lover alaims I * 
 
 Wauken ye breezes, row gently ye billows. 
 And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms. 
 
 But oh, if he's faithless, and minds na his Nannie, 
 Flow still between us thou wide-roaring main ■ 
 
 May I never see it, may I never trow it, 
 But, dying, believe that my WLllie's my ain 
 
 CURRIES VERSIOX. 
 
 Here awa', there awa', wandering Willie, 
 Now tired with wandering, haud awa' hame; 
 
 Come to my bosom my ae only dearie. 
 And tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the .same. 
 
 Loud blew the cauld winter winds at our parting; 
 
 It wasna the blast brought the tear in my e'e: ' 
 Now welcome the simmer, and welcome my Willie 
 
 The simmer to nature, my Willie to me. * 
 
 Ye hurricanes rest in the cave o' your slumbers! 
 
 O how your wild horrors a lover alarms I 
 Awaken ye hreeze.s, row gently ye billows. 
 
 And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms. 
 
 But if he's forgotten his faithfullest Nannie, 
 O still flow between us thou wide-roaring main; 
 
 May I never see it, may I never trow it, 
 Dut, dying, believe that my Willie's my ain 1 
 
 ■^ -^
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 146 
 
 GALLA WATER. 
 
 [Thomson appends to this :—" Written for this work by Burns." Burns wrote to 
 Thomson:— "The business of many of ouv tunes wanting at the beginning what 
 fiddlers call a starting-note, is often a rub to us poor rhymers. You may alter : 
 
 There's braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes, 
 That wander through the blooming heather, 
 
 to- 
 
 Braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes, 
 
 Ye wander through \ 
 or - the blooming heather." 
 
 They rove amang ) 
 
 The ancient song of Galla Water which had to make way for that of Burns, was not • 
 without its own kind of merit.] 
 
 Braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes, 
 Ye wander thro' the blooming heather; 
 
 But Yarrow braes, nor Ettric shaws, 
 Can match the lads o' Galla water. 
 
 But there is ane, a secret ane, 
 Aboon them a' I lo'e him better ; 
 
 And I'll be his, and he'll be mine, 
 The bonie lad o' Galla water. 
 
 Altbo' his daddie was iiae laird, 
 And tho' I hae na meikle tocher; 
 
 Yet rich in kindest, truest love. 
 We'll tent our flocks by Galla water. 
 
 It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth 
 That coft contentment, peace, or pleasure; 
 
 The bands and bliss o' mutual love, 
 O that's the chiefest warld's treasure I 
 
 AULD ROB MORRIS. 
 
 [In his Collection, Thomson appends :—" Written for this work by Burns." The 
 letter which encloses this song, along with Dxincan Gray, is dated 4th December, 1792.] 
 
 There's auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen. 
 He's the king o' gude fellows, and wale of auld men ; 
 He has gowd in his coffers, he has sheep, he has kine, 
 And ae bonie lassie, his darling and mine. 
 
 She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May; 
 Slie's sweet as the ev'ning amang the new hay ; 
 As blythe and as artless as the lambs on the lea, 
 And dear to my heart as the light to my e'e.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 147 
 
 But O I she's an heiress, auld Robin's a laird, 
 
 And my daddie has nought but a cot-house and yard; 
 
 A wooer like me maunna hope to come speed ; 
 
 The wounds I must hide which will soon be my dead. 
 
 The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane ; 
 The night comes to me, but my rest it is gane : 
 I wander my lane, like a night-troubled ghaist. 
 And I sigh as my heart it wad burst in my breast. 
 
 had she but been of a lower degree, 
 
 1 then might hae hop'd she wad smil'd upon met 
 O, how past descriving had then been my bliss, 
 As now my distraction no words can express 1 
 
 OPEN THE DOOR TO ME, OH ! 
 
 [To this, Thomson appends the note:— "Altered for this work by Barns." iC is a 
 well-known Irisli ballad which Thomson had requested him to amend. The nature 
 and extent of his amendments have not been certainly ascertained.] 
 
 Oh, open the door, some pity to shew, 
 
 Oh, open the door to me, oh; 
 Tho' thou hast been false, I'll ever prove tni«, 
 
 Oh, open the door to me, oh. 
 
 Oh, cold is the blast upon my pale cheek, 
 
 But colder thy love for me, oh : 
 The frost that freezes the life at my breast, 
 
 Is nought to my pains from thee, oh. 
 
 The wan moon is setting behind the white wava. 
 
 And time is setting with me, oh : 
 False friends, false love, farewell! for more 
 
 I'll ne'er trouble them, nor thee, oh. 
 
 She has open'd the door, she has open'd it wide, 
 She sees his pale corse on the plain, oh : 
 
 My true love ! she cried,— and sank down by his side, 
 Never to rise again, oh. 
 
 WHEN WILD WAR'S DEADLY , wild wars deadly blast,' Ac, to the tune 
 
 of the The Mill At ill 0; but the third and 
 
 BLAST, Ac. 
 Air— The Mill Mill 0. 
 
 (This ballad was furnished to Thomson 
 in .April, 179:5, and on the liOth of that 
 month he acknowledged receipt of it in 
 these terms: — "I will jrladly appropriate 
 your most interesting now ballad — ' When 
 
 fourth lines of the tirst verse must under- 
 go some little alteration in order to .suit 
 the music." The alteration referred to, 
 was the removal of those beautiful lines in 
 the text, and substituting for them the 
 common-place couplet : — 
 
 "And eyes again with pleasure beam'd. 
 That had been blear'd wi' mourning:" 
 and the misfortune was that these vicar- 
 ious lines were engraved on the plate, and
 
 THE POEMS! AND flON'OS OF BURyS. 
 
 148 
 
 the requisite number of impressions thrown 
 off for publication, before receipt of the 
 following reply from Burns, dated June, 
 1793:—" I cannot alter the disputed lines 
 in The iliU Hill 0. What you think a 
 defect, I esteem as a positive beauty ; so 
 you see how doctors differ." Thomson 
 notes it as:— "Written for this work by 
 Burns."] 
 
 When wild War's deadly blast was blawn, 
 
 And gentle Peace returning, 
 Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless, 
 
 And mony a widow mourning : 
 I left the lines and tented field. 
 
 Where lang I'd been a lodger, 
 My humble knapsack a' my wealth, 
 
 A poor and honest sodger. 
 
 A leal, light heart was in my breast, 
 
 .\Iy hand unstain'd wi' plunder ; 
 And for fair Scotia, hame again, 
 
 I cheery on did wander. 
 I thought upon the banks o' Coil, 
 
 I thought upon my Nancy, 
 I thought upon the witching smile 
 
 That caught my youthful fancy : 
 
 At length I reach'd the bonie glen, 
 
 Where early life I sported ; 
 I puss'd the mill, and trysting thorn, 
 
 Where N:incy aft I courted : 
 Wha spied I but my ain dear maid, 
 
 Down by her mother's dwelling 1 
 And tum'd me round to hide the flood 
 
 rhat in my een was swelling. 
 
 Wi' alter'd voice, quoth I, sweet lass, 
 Sweet as yon hawthorn's bloisom, 
 
 O I happy, happy may he be, 
 That's dearest to thy bosom : 
 
 My purse is light, I've far to gang, 
 
 And fain wad be thy lodger ; 
 I've serv'd my king and country lang, 
 
 Take pity on a sodger. 
 
 Sae wistfully she gaz'd on me. 
 
 And lovelier was than ever; 
 Quo' she, a sodger ance I lo'ed. 
 
 Forget him shall I never ; 
 Our humble cot, and hamely fare. 
 
 Ye freely shall partake it. 
 That gallant badge, the dear cockado, 
 
 Ye're welcome for the sake o't. 
 
 She gaz'd — she redden'd like a rose^ 
 
 Syne pale like ony lily,' 
 She sank within my arms, and cried. 
 
 Art thou my ain dear Willie? 
 By dim who maile yon sun and sky — 
 
 By whom true love's regarded, 
 I am the man— and thus may still 
 
 True lovers be rewarded. 
 
 The wars are o'er, and I'm come hame. 
 
 And find thee stUl true-hearted; 
 Tho' poor in gear, we're rich in love. 
 
 And mair, we'se ne'er be parted. 
 Quo' she, my grandsire left me gowd, 
 
 A mailin pleniah'd fairly ; 
 And come, my faithful sodger lad, 
 
 Thou'rt welcome to it dearly 1 
 
 For gold the merchant ploughs the maia. 
 
 The farmer ploughs the manor; 
 But glory is the sodger's prize, 
 
 The sodger's wealth is honor : 
 The brave, poor sodger ne'er despise, 
 
 Nor count him as a stranger — 
 Remember he's his country's stay 
 
 In day and hour of danger. 
 
 
 *In MS., "Syne wallow't like a lily," i.e., turned pale; faded. This verse is 
 imitated by Burns from one in a tine old ballad called Geordie, which he recovered and 
 gent to Johnson's Museum, Vol. IV. The stanza we refer to is as foUows; — 
 " When first she looked the letter on, she was baith red and rosy : 
 But she had na read a word or twa, till she wallow't like a lily."
 
 THE AUTHOR'S OWN GLOSSARIES; 
 
 mCORPORATI.NG 
 
 THE GLOSSARIES OF HIS KILMARNOCK AND EDINBURGH EDITIONS. 
 
 Th4 vtordt and postages within brackets are given from th* Author's Kilmamoek 
 
 Glossary, 1786. 
 
 The th and gh have always the guttural sound. The sound of the English diphthong 
 00, is commonly spelled ou. The French u, a sound which often occurs in the 
 Scotch language, is marked oo or ui. The a in genuine Scotch words, except when 
 forming a diphthong, or followed by an « mute after a single consonant, sounds 
 generally like the broad English a in wall. The Scotch diphthongs, ae, always, 
 and ea, very often, sound like the French « masculine. The Scotch diphthong ey, 
 sounds like the Latin ei. 
 
 [The past time and participle past are usually made by shortening the ed to 't. The 
 participle present, instead of terminating in ing, ends in the Scotch dialect, 
 in an or in.] 
 
 A', all. 
 
 Aback, away, aloof, [behind.] 
 
 Aboon, above, up. 
 
 Abeigh, at a shy distance. 
 
 Abreed, in breadth. 
 
 Abread, abroad, in sight. 
 
 Ae, one. 
 
 Aft, oft. 
 
 Aften, often. 
 
 Aff, off; aff-loof, unpremeditated. 
 
 Afore, before. 
 
 Agley, off the right line, wrong, [wide of 
 
 the aim.] 
 Aiblins, perhaps. 
 Aits, oats. 
 Aim, iron. 
 Aith, an oath. 
 Ain, own. 
 
 Aiver, an old horsa 
 Aizle, a hot cinder, [a red emb«r.) 
 Alake, alas. 
 Alane, alone. 
 Amang, among. 
 Amaist, almost. 
 Ad', and, if. 
 Ane, one, an. 
 Ance, once. 
 
 sagacious. 
 
 Anither, another. 
 
 Artfu', artful. 
 
 Ase, ashes. 
 
 A steer, abroad, stirring. 
 
 Auld, old. 
 
 Auld-farran, or auld-farrant, 
 
 cunning, prudent. 
 Aught, eight, possession, as in a' my aught 
 
 — in all ray possession. 
 Ava, at all, [of all.] 
 Awa', away. 
 
 Awn, the beard of barley, oats, 4c. 
 Awnie, bearded. 
 Awfu", awful. 
 Awkart, aukward. 
 Ayont, beyond. 
 
 B 
 BA', balL 
 Baws'nt, having a white stripe down the 
 
 face. 
 [Bairan, baring.] 
 Barkit, barked. 
 Barkin, barking. 
 Baith, both. 
 Bane, bone. 
 Bainie, [or banie,] having large bones; 
 
 stout. 
 Bardie, diminutive of bard.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 150 
 
 Bauld, bold ; bauldly, boldly. 
 
 Bareflt, bare-footed. 
 
 Batch, a crew, a gang. 
 
 Batta, botta. 
 
 Bade, endured, did stay. 
 
 Bang, an effort. 
 
 Bairn, a child. 
 
 Baimtime, a family of children, a brood. 
 
 Baudrons, a cat. 
 
 Bannie, of, or like barm. 
 
 Bauk, a cross-beam ; bauken', the end of 
 
 a beam. 
 Bad, did bid. 
 Baggie, the belly. 
 Bashfu', bashful. 
 
 Backlins-comin, coming back, returning. 
 Be, to let bi>y to give over, to cease, [to 
 
 leave in quiet.] 
 Beuk, a book. 
 Behint, or behin', behind. 
 Be't, be it. 
 Ben, into the spence or parlour ; [but and 
 
 ben, the country kitchen and parlour.] 
 Belyve, by and by. 
 [Bellys, bellows.] 
 Beet, to aild fuel to fire. 
 Beastie, diminutive of beast. 
 Benlomond, a noted mountain in Dum- 
 bartonshire. 
 Belly-fu', belly-full. 
 Bethankit, the grace after meat. 
 Befa', to befal. 
 
 Billie, a brother, a young fellow. 
 Big, to build ; biggit, builded. 
 Biggin, building, a house. 
 Bicker, a kind of wooden dish, a short race. 
 Birkie, a clever fellow. 
 Bing, a heap of grain, potatoes, <fcc. 
 Bill, buU. 
 
 Bizz, a bustle, to buzz. 
 Birring, the noise of partridges, &c., 
 
 when they spring. 
 Bit, crisis, nick of time. 
 Bien, wealthy, plentiful 
 Biel, or bield, shelter. 
 Blastit or blastet, blasted, [worthless.] 
 Blastie, a shrivell'd dwarf, a term of 
 
 contempt. 
 Blink, a little while, a smiling look, to 
 
 look kindly, to shine by tits, [a glance, 
 
 an amorous leer.] 
 Blinker, a terra of contempt. 
 Blinkin, smirking. 
 Bluid, blood ; bluidy, bloody. 
 Blather, the bladder. 
 Blaw, to blow, to boast. 
 Blether, to talk idly, nonsense. 
 Bleth'rin, talking idly. 
 Blaud, a Hat piece of anything, to slap. 
 Blate, bashful, sheepish. 
 Bleezin, blazing. 
 Blessin, blessing. 
 
 Blushfc, did blush. 
 
 Blype, a shred [of cloth,] a large piece. 
 
 Bleatin, bleating. 
 
 Blue-gown, one of those beggars who get 
 
 annually, on the King's birthday, a bin* 
 
 cloke or gown, with a badge. 
 Bonie, or bony, handsome, beautifuL 
 Bonihe, handsomely, beautifully. 
 Bonnock, a kind of thick cake of bread. 
 Bother, to pother. 
 Bodle, a small, old coin. 
 Boortrie, the shrub elder, planted much 
 
 of old in hedges of barn-yards, &c. 
 Boord, a board. 
 Botch, an angry tumour. 
 Boost, behoved, must needs. 
 Bow-kail, cabbage. 
 Bow't, bended, crooked. 
 Bock, to vomit, to gush intermittently. 
 Bocked, gushed, vomited. 
 Braw, tine, handsome. 
 Brawly, or brawlie, very well, finely, 
 
 heartily. 
 Breakin, breaking. 
 Brawnie, stout, brawny. 
 Brie, juice, liquid. 
 Brash, a sudden illness. 
 Brunstane, brimstone. 
 Breeks, breeches. 
 Brugh, a burgh. 
 Brust, to burst. 
 Brither, a brother. 
 Braid, broad. 
 
 [Brat, a worn shred of cloth.) 
 Brats, coarse clothes, rags. 
 Breathin, breathing. 
 
 Branks, a kind of wooden curb for horses. 
 Brig, a bridge. 
 Broo, broth, liquid, water. 
 Brewin, brewing. 
 
 Brogue, a hum, a trick, [an affront] 
 Brak, broke, made insolvent. 
 Breef, an invulnerable or irresistible spell 
 
 [or charm.] 
 Brunt, did burn. 
 Brae, a declivity, a precipice, the slope of 
 
 a hUl. 
 Brachens, ferns. 
 Broose, a race at country weddings — who 
 
 shall first reach the bridegroom's house 
 
 on returning from cliurch. 
 Brattle, a short race, hurry, fury. 
 Braindge, [or brainge,] to run rashly 
 
 forward, [to draw unsteadily.] 
 Braindg't, reeled forward. 
 Brisket, the breast, the bosom. 
 Breastit, did spring up or forward. 
 Breastie, diminutive of breast. 
 Braik, a kind of harrow. 
 Braxie, a morkin sheep, &c. 
 Bruilzie, a broil, a combustion. 
 Buirdly, stout-made, broad-builfc.
 
 TEE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 151 
 
 Bum-clock, a humming beetle that flies in \ 
 
 the summer evening. 
 Bummin, humming as bees. 
 Burn, water, a rivulet. 
 Burnie, diminutive of burn. 
 Burne win, i.e. bum the wind, a blacksmith 
 Busle, a bustle, to bustle. 
 But an' ben, the country kitchen ant 
 
 parlour. 
 Buskit, dressed. 
 Bummle, to blunder. 
 Bummler, a blunderer. 
 Buckskin, an inhabitant of Virginia. 
 But, without. 
 Bure, did bear. 
 Byre, a cow-stable. 
 By himsel, lunatic, distracted. 
 
 CA', to call, to name, to drive. 
 
 Ca't or ca'd, called, driven, calved. 
 
 Caressin, caressing. 
 
 Cauld, cold. 
 
 Cantie, or canty, chearful, merry. 
 
 Caup, a wooden drinking vessel [with two 
 
 lugs or handles.] 
 Carlin, a stout old woman. 
 Cannie, gentle, mild, dextrous. 
 Cannilie, dextrously, gently. 
 Cadie, or caddie, a person, a young fellow. 
 Caller, fresh, sound. 
 Cam, did come. 
 Canna, cannot. 
 Carryin, carrying. 
 
 Cantharidian, made of cantharides. 
 Calf- ward, a small inclosure for calves. 
 Cairn, a loose heap of stones. 
 Caudron, a caldron. 
 Cantraip, a charm, a spell. 
 Cape-stane, cope-stone, keystone. 
 Caird, a tinker. 
 Catf, chaff. 
 Careerin, chearfully. 
 Cartes, cards. 
 Cadger, a carrier. 
 Callan, a boy. 
 
 Chap, a person, a fellow, a blow. 
 Chiel, or cheel, ai young fellow. 
 Chow, to cliew; cheek for chow, side by 
 
 side. 
 Chuflfie, fat-faced. 
 Chantin, chanting. 
 Chanter, a part of a bagpipe. 
 Cheep, a chivp, to chirp. 
 Chokm, choking. 
 Chearfu', chearful. 
 Chimla, or chinilie, a fire grate. 
 Chimla-lug, the fireside. 
 Cheekit, cheeke<l. 
 Chittering, shivering, trembling. 
 Clash, an idle tale, the story of tlie day. 
 
 flaw, to scratch. 
 
 Claise, or claes, cloaths. 
 
 Claith, cloth; claitliing, cloathing. 
 
 Clinkin, jerking, clinking. 
 
 Clinkumbell, who rings the church bell. 
 
 Clachan, a small village about a church, a 
 
 hamlet. 
 Clishraaclaver, idle convers.ation. 
 (''loot, the hoof of a cow, sheep, &c. 
 Clootie, an old name for the Devil. 
 Clips, sheers. 
 Claut, to clean, to scrape. 
 Clauted, scraped. 
 Clarklt, wrote. 
 Clap, clapper of a mill. 
 Cleed, to clothe. 
 Clatter, to tell little idle stories, an idle 
 
 story. 
 Clour, a bump or swelling after a blow, 
 ^lock, to hatch, a beetle. 
 Clockin, hatching. 
 
 Collie, a general and sometimes a particu- 
 lar name for country curs. 
 Comin, coming. 
 Countra, country. 
 Cotter, the inhabitant of a cot-house or 
 
 cottage. 
 Cood, the cud. 
 
 Cog, a wooden dish [without handles.] 
 Coggie, diminntire of cog. 
 Cowe, to terrify, to keep under, to lop, a 
 
 fright, a brancli of furze, broom, &c. 
 Commaun, command. 
 Cozie, snug; coziely, snugly. 
 Cowp, to barter, to tumble over, a fall, 
 
 a gang. 
 Cowpit, tumbled. 
 Cove, a cavern. 
 Cootie, [pretty large] wooden kitchen dish, 
 
 also those, .foivU whose legs are clad icith 
 
 feathers are said to be cootie. 
 Coost, did cast. 
 Cowte, a colt. 
 
 Coof, a blockhead, a ninny. 
 Core, corps, party, clan. 
 Couthie, kind, loving. 
 Cookit, appeared and disappeared by fits. 
 Coble, a tishing boat. 
 Corn't, fed with oats. 
 Cowrin, cowering. 
 Coaxin, wheedling. 
 COILA, from Kyle, a district of Ayrshire, 
 
 so called, saitli tradition, from Coil or 
 Coilus, a Picti.^li monarch. 
 Crack, ccmver.sation, to converse. 
 Crackin, conversing. 
 Crabbit, crabbed, fretful. 
 Crouse, chearful, courageous. 
 Crously, chearfully, courageously. 
 Crank, the noise of an uiigreased wheel, 
 
 [a harsh, grating sound.] 
 Crankous, fretful ; captious, [peevish.l
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 152 
 
 Crushin, crushing;; crusht, crushed. 
 
 Orap, a crop, the top. 
 
 Cronie, crony. 
 
 Crowdie time, breakfast time. 
 
 Cramp, hard and brittle, spoken of bread. 
 
 Croon, a hollow continued moan, to make 
 
 a noise like the continued roar of a bull, 
 
 to hum a tune. 
 Crooning, humming. 
 Creeshie, greasy. 
 Craft, or croft, a field near a house, in old 
 
 husbandry. 
 Creel, a basket ; to have one's wits in a 
 
 creel, to be ciaz'd, to be fascinated. 
 Craw, a crow of a cock, a rook. 
 Crouchie, crook-backed. 
 Cranreuch, the hoar frost. 
 Crambo-clink, or crambo-jingle, rhymes, 
 
 doggerel verses. 
 Crowlin, crawling [or creeping.] I 
 
 Creepin, creeping. ' 
 
 Crood, or croud, to coo as a dove. \ 
 
 Crunt, a blow on the head with a cudgel, i 
 Cuif, a blockhead, a ninny. 
 Curchie, a courtesy. 
 Curmurring, murmuring, sliglit rumbling 
 
 noise. 
 Curling, a well known game on ice. 
 Curler, a player at ice. 
 Curpin, [or curpan,] the crupper. 
 Cummock, a short staff with a crooked 
 
 head. 
 Curlie, curled, whose hair falls naturally 
 
 in ringlets. 
 Cushat, the dove or wood pigeon. 
 
 D 
 
 DAFT, merry, giddy, foolish. 
 
 Daffin, merriment, foolishness. 
 
 Darg, or daurk, a day's labour. 
 
 Dawd, for daud.] a large piece, [the noise 
 of one falling flat. ] 
 
 Daud, to thrash, to abuse. 
 
 |t)aut, to caress, to fondle.] 
 
 Dawtit, or dautet, fondled, caressed. 
 
 Dainty, pleasant, good humoured, agree- 
 able. 
 
 Bancin, dancing. 
 
 Darklins, darkling. 
 
 Daur, to dare ; daur't, dared. 
 
 Dappl't, dappled. 
 
 Deimen.r are, now and then; daimen-icker, 
 an ear of corn now and then. 
 
 Daddie, a father. 
 
 (Dead-sweer, very loath, averse.] 
 
 Dearies, dimi7iutive of dears. 
 
 Dearthfu', dear. 
 
 Deil-ma-care ! no matter ! for all that, 
 
 Deave, to deafen. 
 
 Devel, a stunning blow. 
 
 Deleeret, delirious. 
 
 Deservin, deserving. 
 
 Delvin, delving. 
 
 Descrive, to describe. 
 
 Disrespecket, disrespected. 
 
 Dizzen, or diz'n, a dozen. 
 
 Dirl, a slight tremulous stroke, or pain. 
 
 Ding, to worst, to push. 
 
 Dinna, do not. 
 
 Dight, to wipe, to clean com from chaff, 
 
 cleaned from chaff. 
 Dimpl't, dimpled. 
 Dizzie, dizzy, giddy. 
 Doited, stupihed, hebetated. 
 Doylt, stupitied, crazed. 
 Douce, or douse, sober, wise, prudeat. 
 Doucely, soberly, prudently. 
 Dorty, saucy, nice. 
 Dow, am or are able to, can. 
 Downa, am or are not able, cannot. 
 Dought, was or were able. 
 Dolefu', doleful. 
 
 Doure, stout, durable, stubborn, sullen. 
 Dowie, worn with grief, fatigue, [crazy aad 
 
 dull.] 
 Donsie, unlucky, [dangerous]. 
 Dowff, pithless, wanting force. 
 Dool, sorrow ; to sing dool, to lament, t« 
 
 mourn. 
 Drap, a drop, to drop. 
 Drapping, dropping. 
 Drumlie, muddy. 
 Druken, drunken. 
 Drouth, thirst, drought. 
 Drinkin, drinking. 
 Dryin, drying. 
 Dreep, to ooze, to drop. 
 Dreeping, oozing, dropping. 
 Drift, a drove. 
 Drunt, pet, sour humour. 
 Dreadfu", dreadful. 
 Droop or droot rumpl't, thatdroopaat tiie 
 
 crupper. 
 Dribble, drizzling, slaver. 
 Drummock, meal and water mixed raw. 
 Droddum, the breech. 
 Dub, a small pond. 
 Duds, rags [of] clothes. 
 Duddie, ragged. 
 Dung, worsted, pushed, driveB. 
 Dush, to push as a [bull] ram, &«, 
 Dusht, pushed by a ram, ox, &e. 
 
 E'E, the eye; een, the eyes. 
 
 Eerie, frighted, dreading spwiti. 
 
 E'enin, evening. 
 
 Eild, old age. 
 
 Elbuck, the elbow. 
 
 Eldritch, ghastly, frightful, (horrid.] 
 
 En', end. 
 
 Enbrugh, Edinburgh. 
 
 Eneugb, enough.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 
 163 
 
 Ensuin, ensnin^. I 
 
 Esperia], e=ppcially. 
 
 Eydent, diligent, [constant, busy.] 
 
 FA', faU, lot, to fall. 
 
 Fae, a foe. 
 
 Faithfu', faithful. 
 
 Fash, trouble, care, to trouble to care for. 
 
 Fash't, troubled. 
 
 Fawsont, decent, seemly, [orderly.] 
 
 Faem, foam. 
 
 Farl, a cake of bread. 
 
 Fairin, a fairing, a present. 
 
 Fareweel, faiewell. 
 
 Fallow, fellow. 
 
 Faut, fault. 
 
 Faddorat, fathomed. 
 
 Fac't, faced. 
 
 Fatterels, ribbon ends, &0, 
 
 Fa.sten-een, Fastens- Eren. 
 
 Fand, did find. 
 
 Fauld, a fold, to fold. 
 
 Faulding, folding. 
 
 Ferlie, or feily, to wonder, a wonder; 
 
 [also] a term of contempt. 
 Fecht, to fight; fechtin, Hghting. 
 Fend, to live comfortably. 
 Feid, feud, enmity. 
 Feat, neat, spruce. 
 Feayt, frighted. 
 Fearfu', frightful. 
 Fetch, to pull by fits, [to stop suddenly in 
 
 the draught, and then come on too 
 
 hastily.] 
 Fetch't, pulled intermittently. 
 Feg. a fig. 
 
 Feckfu', large, brawny, stout. 
 Feckless, puny, weak, silly. 
 Fell, keen, biting, the flesh immediately 
 
 under the skin; a field pretty level on 
 
 the side or top of a hill. 
 Fient, fiend, a pftty oath. 
 Fizz, to make a hissing noise like fermen- 
 tation. 
 Fit. a foot. 
 Fittie-lan", the near horse of the hindmost 
 
 pair in the plough. 
 Fier, sound, healthy; a brother, a friend. 
 Fidge, to fidget. 
 Fidgin, fidgeting. 
 Fii ;le, to make a rustling noise, to tidget, 
 
 a bustle. 
 Flatterin', flattering. 
 Fleg, a kick, a random blow. 
 Flunkie, a servant in livery. 
 Fley, to scaice, to frighten. 
 Fley'd, frighted, scared. 
 Flyin. flying. 
 Fleesn, a fleece. 
 
 Flingin-tree, a piece of timber hung by 
 
 way of partition between two horses ia 
 
 a stable, a flail. 
 Flisk, to fret at the yoke. 
 Fliskit, fretted. 
 Flichter, to flutter as young nestUngg when 
 
 their dam. approaches. 
 nichterin, fluttering. 
 Flinders, shreds, broken pieces. 
 Fleech, to supplicate in a flattering 
 
 manner. 
 Fleechin, supplicating. 
 Flainen, flannel. 
 Flether, to decoy by fair words. 
 Fletherin, flattering. 
 Flitter, to vibrate like the wings of small 
 
 birds. 
 Flittering, fluttering, vibrating. 
 Forgather, to meet, to encounter mth. 
 Fou, full, drunk. 
 Foughten, troubled, harassed. 
 Formin, forming. 
 Forbye, besides. 
 
 Forfairn, distressed, worn out, jaded. 
 Foord, a ford. 
 
 Forbears, forefathers, [ancestors.] 
 Foamin, foaming. 
 Fow, a bushel, lic, [full, drunk.] 
 Forgie, to forgive. 
 For,;esket, jaded with fatigue. 
 Frae, from. 
 Freath, froth. 
 Frien', friend. 
 Fu", full. 
 Fur, a furrow. 
 Furm, a form, a bench. 
 Fud, the scut of the hare, comey, &e. 
 Fuff, to blow intermittently. 
 FuS't, did blow. 
 Funnie, full of merriment. 
 Fyle, to soil, to dirty. 
 Fyl't, soiled, dirtied. 
 Fyfteen, fifteen. 
 Fyke, trifling cares, to piddle, to be in a 
 
 fuss about trifle'. 
 
 GAB, the mouth, to speak boldly or pertly. 
 
 Gang, to go, to walk. 
 
 Gash, wise, sagacious, talkative, to con- 
 verse. 
 
 Gashin, conversing. 
 
 Gaucy, [or gawsie,] jolly, large. 
 
 Gae, to go; gaeil, went; gaen or gane, 
 gone; gaun, going. 
 
 Gaet, or gate, way, manner, road. 
 
 Gatherin, gathering. 
 
 Gar, to make, to force to. 
 
 Gar't, forced to. 
 
 Garten, a garter. 
 
 Geordie, a guinea. 
 
 Gear, riches, good* of any kind.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 154 
 
 Gentles, great folks. 
 
 Get, a chiid, a young one. 
 
 Geek, to toss the head in wantonness or 
 
 scorn. 
 Gert, a pike. 
 
 Gie, to give; gied, gave; gi'en, given. 
 [Gilpey, a young girl.] 
 Gimmer, a ewe from one to two years old. 
 Gin, if, against. 
 Gi2z, a periwig. 
 Gim, to grin, to twist the features in rage, 
 
 agony, &c. 
 Girnin, grinning. 
 Gipsy, a young girl. 
 Gillie, diminutive of gill. 
 Giftie, diminutive of gift. 
 Ghaist, a ghost. 
 Gloamin, the twilight. 
 Glunch, a frown, to frown. 
 Glib-gabbet, that speaks smoothly and 
 
 readily. 
 Glint, to peep; glinted, peeped; glintin, 
 
 peeping. 
 Glowr, to stare, to look, a stare, a look. 
 Glowr'd, looked, stared. 
 Glowrin, staring. 
 Glaikit, inattentive, foolish. 
 Gleg, sharp, ready. 
 Glaizie, gbttering, smooth like glass. 
 Gley, a squint, to squint; agley, off at a 
 
 side, wrong. 
 Gowan, the flower of the daisy, dandelion, 
 
 hawk-weed, &c. 
 Gowk, a cuckoo, a term of contempt. 
 Gowl, to howl 
 Gowling, howling. 
 Gowd, gold. 
 Gowg, the game of golf ; to strike, as the 
 
 bat does the ball at golf. 
 GowfFd, struck. 
 
 Grane, or grain, a groan, to groan. 
 Grain'd, groaned. 
 Graining, groaning. 
 Grushie, thick, of thriving growth. 
 Great, intimate, familiar. 
 Grievin, grieving. 
 
 Graith, accoutrements, furniture, dress. 
 Gruntle, the phiz [or vi.sage,] a grunting 
 
 noi.se. 
 Gracefu', graceful. 
 Greet, to shed tears, to weep. 
 Greetin, crying, weeping. 
 Gree't, agreed. 
 Graunie, a grandmother. 
 Grape, to grope ; grapit, groped. 
 Grippet, catched, seized. 
 Graip, a pronged instrument for cleaning 
 
 stables. 
 Grumphie, a sow. 
 Grumph, a grunt, to grunt. 
 Grousome, loathsomely grim. 
 Grunstane, a grindstone. 
 
 ; Grozet, a gooseberry. 
 ' Grissle, gristle. 
 I Gratefu', grateful. 
 
 ' Gree, to agree ; to bear the gree, to he 
 [ decidedly victor. 
 Grun', ground. 
 QToa.t,to<jetthe whistle of one's groat, to play 
 
 a losing game. 
 GuDE, the Supreme Being; good. 
 Gusty, tasteful. 
 Gully, or gullie, a large knife. 
 Guid, good ; guid-mornin, good morrow; 
 
 guid-een, good evening. 
 Quidman and Guidwife, the master and 
 mistress of the house ; Young Ouidman, 
 a man newly married. 
 Guidfather, Guidmither, father-in-law and 
 
 mother-in-law. 
 Gumlie, muddy. 
 
 H 
 HA', hall. 
 Hae, to have. 
 Haen, had, the participle. 
 Hame, home; hameward, homeward. 
 Hamely, homely, affable. 
 Han', or haun', hand. 
 Haith, a petty oath. 
 Haet, jiejit haet, a petty oath of negation, 
 
 nothing. 
 Haughs, low-lying rich lands, valleys. 
 Hash, a sot, [a term of contempt.] 
 Haud, to hold. 
 Hale, whole, tight, healthy. 
 Hap-step-an'-lowp, hop-skip-and-leap. 
 Hap, an outer garment, mantle plaid, &c., 
 
 to wrap, to cover, to hop. 
 Happing, hopping. 
 HafHins, nearly half, partly. 
 Hain, to spare, to save ; hain'd, spared. 
 Hawkie, a cow, properly one with a white 
 
 face. 
 Hal', or hald, an abiding place. 
 Havins, good manners, decorum, good 
 
 sense. 
 Harkit, hearkened. 
 Happer, a hopper. 
 
 Hag, a scar or gulf in mosses and moors. 
 Haverel, a half-witted person, half-witted. 
 Hairst, harvest. 
 Haurl, to drag, to peel. 
 Haurlin, peeling. 
 Hastit, hastened. 
 Hallan, a particular partition wall in a 
 
 cottage. 
 Ha' bible, the great bible that lies in the 
 
 hall. 
 Haffet, the temple, the side of the head. 
 BEaggis, a kinil of pudiling boiled in the 
 
 stomach of a cow or sheep. 
 Hech ! oh ! strange 1 
 Hearse, hoarse. 
 Het, hot.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 iss 
 
 Hersel, herself. 
 
 Herrin, a hei-ring. 
 
 Herry, to plunder, most properly to plunder 
 
 tnrd-nestg. 
 Herrjment, plundering, devastation. 
 Heugh, a crag, a coal-pit. 
 Heeze, to elevate, to raise. 
 Heather, heath. 
 Hecht, to fortell, [or forbode] something 
 
 that is to be got or given, foretold, the 
 
 thing foretold. 
 Heapit, heaped. 
 
 Herd, to tend flocks, one who tends flocks. 
 Healsome, healthful, wholesome. 
 Hear't, hear it. 
 Hellim, the rudder or helm. 
 Himsel, himself. 
 Hizzie, hussy, a young girl. 
 Hirpl, to walk crazily, to creep; hirplin, 
 
 creeping. 
 Hing, to liang. 
 Hitch, a loop, a knot. 
 Hilch, to hobble, to halt. 
 Hilchin, halting. 
 Histie, dry, chapt, barren. 
 Hissel, so many cattle as one person can 
 
 attend. 
 Howk, to dig ; howkit, digged ; howkin, 
 
 digging. 
 Howdie, a midwife. 
 Hoddin, the motion of a sage country man 
 
 riding on a cart horse. 
 Hornie, one of the many names of the 
 
 Devil. 
 Houghmagandie, fornication. 
 Howe, hollow, a hollow or dell. 
 Howe-hackit, sunk in the back, spoken of 
 
 a horse, &c. 
 Hove, to heave, to swell. 
 Hov'd, heaved, swelled. 
 Hoyse, a pull upwards. 
 Hoord, a hoard, to hoard. 
 Hoordet, hoarded. 
 Hoolie, slowly, leisurely; hooliel take 
 
 leisure 1 stop! 
 Host, or hoast, to cough; hostin, coughing. 
 Hog-score, a kind of distance line, in 
 
 curling, drawn across the rink. 
 Hoy, to urge [incessantly]; hoy't, urged. 
 Hool, outer skin or case. 
 Hoyte, to amble crazily, [a motion between 
 
 a trot and a gallop.] 
 Housie, diminutive of house. 
 Horn, a spoon made of horn. 
 Hog-shouther, a kind of horse play by 
 
 justling with the shoulder, to justle. 
 Hurdles, the loins, the crupper. 
 Hughoc, diminutive of Hugh. 
 
 I 
 r, in. 
 ler-oe; a great-grandchild. 
 
 Icker, an ear of com. 
 
 Ilk or ilkii, each, every. 
 
 Ill- Willie, ill-natured, malicious, niggardly, 
 
 [unkind.] 
 Indentin, indenting. 
 Ingle, tire, fire-place. 
 Ingine, genuis, ingenuity. 
 I'se, I shall or will. 
 Ither, other, one another. 
 
 JAD, jade; also a familiar term, among 
 country folks, for a giddy young girl. 
 
 Jaup, a jerk of water, to jerk as agitated 
 water. 
 
 Jauk, to dally [at work,] to trifle. 
 
 Jaukin, trifling, dallying. 
 
 Jaw, coarse ralUery, to pour out, to spurt, 
 to jerk, as water. 
 
 Jink, to dodge, to turn a corner, a sudden 
 turning a corner. 
 
 Jinkin, dodging. 
 
 Jinker, that turns quickly, a gay sprightly 
 girl, a wag. 
 
 Jimp, to jump, slender in the waist, hand- 
 some. 
 
 Jillet, a jilt, a giddy girl. 
 
 Jirt, a jei k. 
 
 .linglin, jingling. 
 
 Jow, tojow, a verb, which includes both 
 the swinging motion and pealing sound 
 of a large bell. 
 
 Jouk, to stoop, to bow the head. 
 
 .Jocteleg, a kind of knife. 
 
 Jokin, Joking. 
 
 Joyfu', joyful. 
 
 .Jundie, to justle. 
 
 .Jumpit, did jump. 
 
 Jumpin, jumping. 
 
 K 
 
 KAE, a daw. 
 
 Kain, fowls, &c., paid as rent by a farmer. 
 
 Kail, coleworts, a kind of broth. 
 
 Kail-runt, the stem of the colewort. 
 
 Kebbuck, a cheese. 
 
 Ken, to know; kend or ken't, knew. 
 
 Kennin, a small matter. 
 
 Keek, a peep, to peep. 
 
 Keepit, kept. 
 
 Kelpies, a sort of mischievous spirits, 
 
 .said to haunt fords and ferries at night, 
 
 especially in storms. 
 Ket, a matted, hairy fleece of wool. 
 Kin', kind. 
 
 Kilt, to truss up the clothes. 
 Kirn, the harvest supper, achurn, tochurn. 
 Kitchen, anything that eats with bread, 
 
 to serve for soup, gravy, &c. 
 Kittle, to tickle; ticklish, likely.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 150 
 
 Kittlin. a young cat. 
 
 King's hood, a certain part of the entrails 
 
 of an ox, &c. 
 Kin, kindred. 
 
 Kiutle, to cuddle, [to caress, to fondle.] 
 Kiutlin, cuddling. 
 Kiaugh, carking anxiety. 
 Kirsen, to christen. 
 Kimmer, a young girl, a gosalp. 
 Kist, chest, a shop-counter. 
 Knaggie, like knagg or points of rocks. 
 Enappin-bammer, a hammer for breaking 
 
 (tones. 
 Knowe, a small round hillock. 
 Kye, cows. 
 
 Xythe, to discover, to show one's self. 
 KYLE, a district of Ayrshire. 
 Kyte, the belly. 
 
 LAN', land, estate. 
 
 Lang, long; to think l&ng, to long, to 
 
 weary. 
 Lap, did leap. 
 
 Lampit, a kind of shell-fish. 
 Laverock, the lark. 
 Lambie, dimiiwtive of lamb. 
 Laughin, laughing. 
 Lawfu', lawful. 
 Lapfu', lapful. 
 Laigb, low. 
 Lane, lone; my lane, thy lane, Ac., myself 
 
 alone, &c., thyself alone, &c. 
 Lanely lonely. 
 
 Lallan, Lowland; Lallans, Scotch dialect. 
 Laggen, the angle between the side and 
 
 bottom of a wooden dish. 
 Lave, the rest, the remainder, the others. 
 Laith, loth. 
 
 Laithfu", bashful, sheepish. 
 Lairing, wading and sinking in snow, 
 
 mud, (fee. 
 Laddie, diminutive of lad. 
 Lee-lang, live-long. 
 Leuk, a look, to look. 
 Leeze me, a phrase of congratulatory en- 
 dearment. 
 Lear, pronounce lare, learning. 
 Lea'e, to leave. 
 L«ister, a three-pronged dart for striking 
 
 fish. 
 Leugh, did laugh. 
 Leal, loyal, true, faithful. 
 Lightly, sneeringly, to sneer at. 
 Limmer, a kepi-mistresa, a stnuHpet, [a 
 
 woman of easy virtue.] 
 Livin, living, 
 lankj to trip along. 
 Linkin", tripping. 
 Limpit, limp d, nobbled. 
 Linn, a wat«r-falL 
 
 Lint, flax ; lint in the bell, flax in flower. 
 
 Lift, the sky. 
 
 Lilt, a ballad, a tune, to sing. 
 
 Lintwhite, a linnet. 
 
 Loan, the place of milking. 
 
 Loof, the palm of the hand. 
 
 Looves, plural of loof. 
 
 Li I we, a flame, to flame. 
 
 Lowin, flaming. 
 
 Lowse, to loose. 
 
 Lows'd, loosed. 
 
 Loot, did let. 
 
 Loun, a fellow, a ragamufi9n, a woman «< 
 
 easjr virtue. 
 Lowne, abbreviation of Lawrence. 
 Lug, the ear, a handle. 
 Lugget, having a handle. 
 Luggie, a small wooden dish with a handle. 
 Lunt, a column of smoke, to smoke. 
 Luntin, smoking. 
 
 Lunch, a large piece of cheese, flesh, Sta. 
 Lum, the chimney. 
 Lyart, of a mixed colour, grey. 
 
 M 
 
 MAE, more. 
 
 Maist, most, almost. 
 
 Maistly, mostly. 
 
 Maun, must. 
 
 Mair, more. 
 
 Mak, to make ; makin, making. 
 
 Mashlum, meslin, mixed com. 
 
 Manteele, a mantle. 
 
 Maw, to mow; ma win, mowing. 
 
 Maukin, a hare. 
 
 .Mallie, Molly. 
 
 Mar's year, the rebellion, a.d. 1715. 
 
 Mark, marks, thi^, and several other nmiin 
 which in English require an s to form tht 
 plural, are in Sc<itch like the words sheep 
 deer, the same in both numbers. 
 
 Mask, to raa.sh, as malt, die. 
 
 Maskin-pat, a teapot. 
 
 Mang, among. 
 
 Mavis, the thnish. 
 
 Mell, to meddle. 
 
 Men', to mend. 
 
 Messin, a small dog. 
 
 Melvie, to soil with meaL 
 
 Mense, good manners, decorum. 
 
 Menseless, ill-bred, rude, impudent. 
 
 -Melancholious, mournful. 
 
 Meere, a mare. 
 
 .Mither, a mother. 
 
 Mixtie-maxtie, confusedly, mixed. 
 
 Mim, prim, atfect-edly meek. 
 
 Mindfu', mindful. 
 
 Mislear'd, mischievous, unmannerly. 
 
 Misca', to abuse, to call names. 
 
 Misca'd, abused. 
 
 Min', mind, remembrance.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 
 157 
 
 Mind't, mind ifc, resoWed, intending. 
 
 Middin, a dunghill. 
 
 Midden-hole, a gutter at the bottom of 
 
 the tlunghill. 
 Minnie, mother, dam. 
 Misteuk, mistook. 
 Morn, the next day, to-morrow. 
 Moudiewort, [or modewurk,] a mole. 
 Mony, or monie, many. 
 Moistify, to moisten. 
 Mournfu", moumfuL 
 Moop, to nibble as a sheep. 
 Mottle, full of motes. 
 Mou, the mouth. 
 Mousie, diminutive of monse. 
 Moorlan, of or belonging to moors. 
 -Muckle, or meikle, great, big, much. 
 Mutchkin, an English pint. 
 Muslin-kail, broth composed simply of 
 
 water, shelled barley, and greens. 
 Musie, diminutive of muse. 
 Mysel, myself. 
 
 N 
 
 NA, no, not, nor. 
 
 Nae, no, not any. 
 
 Nane, none. 
 
 Naething, or naithing, nothiiiK. 
 
 Naig, a horse. 
 
 Neebor, a neighbour. 
 
 Needfu', needful. 
 
 Negleckit, neglected. 
 
 Neuk, nook. 
 
 Niest, next. 
 
 Nieve, the Bst. 
 
 Nievefu', handfoL 
 
 Niger, a negro. 
 
 Nine-tailed-cat, a hangman's whip. 
 
 Niffer, an exchange, to exchange, to 
 
 barter. 
 Nit, a nut. 
 Nowte, black cattle. 
 Norland, of oi belonging to the North. 
 Notic't, noticed. 
 Nor-west, north-west. 
 Notele.ss, unnoticed, unknown. 
 
 O', .,f. 
 
 Observin, observing. 
 
 Ony, or onie, any. 
 
 Or, is often ufied for ere, before. 
 
 O't, of it. 
 
 Ourie, shivering, drooping. 
 
 Our.sel, or oursels, ourselves. 
 
 Outler, not housed, [lying in the fields at 
 
 night.] 
 Owre, over, too. 
 Owre hip, a way of fetching a blow with a 
 
 hammer over the arm. 
 
 PACK, intimate, familiar, twelve stonea 
 
 of wool. 
 Painch, paunch. 
 Parliamentin, at parliament. 
 Parritch, [pirratch, or porritch, pottage,) 
 
 oatmeal pudding, a well-known Scotch 
 
 di.sh. 
 Pang, to cram. 
 Paukie, cunninjf, sly. 
 Paughty, proud, haughty, [saucy.] 
 Paitrick, a partridge. 
 Pat, did put, a pot. 
 Pay't, paid, beat. 
 Pattle, or pettle, a plough-staff. 
 Pech, to fetch the breath short at in an 
 
 asthma. 
 Pechan, the crop [of fowls,] the stomach. 
 [Penny-wheep, small-beer.] 
 Pettle, to cherish, a plough-staff. 
 Pet, a domesticated sheep, &c. 
 Peelin, peeling. 
 Pensivelie, pensively. 
 Phraise, fair speeches, flattery, to flatter. 
 Phraisin, flattery. 
 Pit, to put. 
 
 Pine, pain, uneasiness. 
 Pickle, a small quantity. 
 Platie, diminutive of plate. 
 Plack, an old .Scotch coin. 
 Plackless, pennyless. 
 PUskie, a trick. 
 Plew, or pleugh, a plough. 
 Plunipit, did plump. 
 Placad, a public proclamation. 
 Poortith, poverty. 
 Powther, or pouther, powder. 
 Pouthery, like powder. 
 Pouk. to pluck. 
 
 Pou, to pull. 
 Pou't, did p\ill. 
 
 Poassie, a hare or cat. 
 
 Pownie, a little horse. 
 
 Pow, the head, the skulL 
 
 Pout, a poult, a chicken. 
 
 Prayin, praying. 
 
 Priilefu', proud, saucy. 
 
 Proveses, provosts. 
 
 Prig, to cheapen, to dispute. 
 
 Priggin, cheapening. 
 
 Pryin, prying. 
 
 Pnef, proof. 
 
 Prent, print. 
 
 Propone, to lay down, to propose. 
 
 Prim.sie, demure, precise, [aSectedlynloe.) 
 
 Prie, to taste. 
 
 Prie'd, tasted. 
 
 Preen, a pin. 
 
 Pund, pound, pounds. 
 
 Puddin, pudding. 
 
 Pyle, apyie o' caf, a single grain of ehafl.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 153 
 
 QUAT, to quit. 
 
 Quak, to quake. 
 
 (^uakin, quaking. 
 
 Quey, a cow from one to two years old. 
 
 R 
 
 RAM-FEEZL'D, fatigued, overspent. 
 
 [Raep, or rape, a rope.] 
 
 Bantin. ranting. 
 
 Ramblin, rambling. 
 
 Rattlin, rattling. 
 
 Raucle, rash, stout, fearless. 
 
 Raw, a row. 
 
 Raible, to rattle nonsense, [to repeat by 
 rote.] 
 
 Rair, to roar ; rair't, roared ; rairing, roar- 
 ing. 
 
 Rax, to stretch. 
 
 Hash, a rush; rash-buss, a bush of rushes. 
 
 Ram-stam, forward, thoughtless. 
 
 Rarely, excellent, very well. 
 
 Ragweed, the plant ragwort. 
 
 Ration, a rat. 
 
 Raught, reached. 
 
 Raize, to madden, to enflame. 
 
 Ree, half-drunk, fuddled. 
 
 Ream, cve.im. 
 
 Reek, smoke, to smoke ; reekin, smoking ; 
 reekit, smoked, smoky. 
 
 Receivin, receiving. 
 
 Red-wud, stark-mad. 
 
 Remead, remedy. 
 
 Remarkin, remarking. 
 
 Reest, to stand restive. 
 
 Reestit, [or reestet,] stood restive, stunted, 
 withered, [shrivelled.] 
 
 Reave, to rob. 
 
 Requit, requital. 
 
 Reft, torn, ragged. 
 
 Restricked, restricted. 
 
 Reck, to [take] heed. 
 
 Rede, counsel, to counsel. 
 
 Refus't, refuse it. 
 
 (Rief, reaving.] 
 
 Rin, to run, to melt; rinnin, running. 
 
 Ridin, riding. 
 
 Rip, a handful ot unthreshed com, &c. 
 
 Rink, the course of the stones, a term in 
 curling. 
 
 Riskit, [or risk,] made a noise like the tear- 
 ing of [small] roots [with the plough.] 
 
 Rig, a ri'lge. 
 
 Rowte, to low, to bellow. 
 
 Rowtin, lowing. 
 
 Rowth, plenty. 
 
 Roupet, hoarse, as with a cold. 
 
 Riiwe, to roll, to wrap. 
 
 Row't, rolled, wrapped. 
 
 Roamin, roaming. 
 
 Rood, stands likeivuefor the plural roods. 
 
 Roun', round, in the circle of neighbour- 
 hood. 
 Roose, to praise, to commend. 
 Rozet, rosin. 
 
 Roon, a shred, a remnant. 
 Rung, a cuilgel. 
 Runkl'd, wrinkled. 
 
 Runt, the stem of colewort or cabbage. 
 Rustlin, rustling. 
 Rhymin, rhyming. 
 [Rockin, a meeting on a winter evening,] 
 
 'S, is. 
 
 Sae, so. 
 
 Sang, a song. 
 
 Sair, to serve, sore. 
 
 Sairly, or sairlie, sorely. 
 
 Sair't, served. 
 
 Saul, soul. 
 
 .Saunt, a saint. 
 
 Sark, a shirt. 
 
 Sarkit, provided in shirts. 
 
 Saft, soft. 
 
 Saw, to sow. 
 
 Sawin, sowing. 
 
 Sa.\, six. 
 
 Saut, salt; sautet, salted. 
 
 Saumont, salmon. 
 
 Saugh, the willow. 
 
 Scone, a kind of bread. 
 
 Scrieve, to glide swiftly along, [to run 
 
 smoothly.] 
 Scrievin, gleesomely, swiftly. 
 [Scriegh, to cry shrilly.] 
 Screechin, screeching. 
 .Screed, to tear, a rent. 
 Scar, to scare. 
 
 Scauld, to scold; scaulding, scolding. 
 Scawl, a scold. 
 .Scaud, to scald. 
 Scaur, apt to be scared. 
 Scornfu', scornful. 
 Scrimp, to scant; scrimpet, did scant, 
 
 scanty. 
 Sconner, a loathing, to loathe. 
 Scraich, to scream as a hen, partridge, &c. 
 Scraichin, screaming. 
 Sel, self ; a body's sel, one's self alone. 
 Sets, sets aff, goes away. 
 See'd, did see. 
 Settlin, settling ; to get a settlin, to be 
 
 frighted into quietness. 
 Sell't, did sell. 
 Seizin, seizing. 
 Servan', servant. 
 Sen', to send; sen't, send it. 
 Sliaw, to show, a small wood in a hollow 
 
 place. 
 Sheugh, a ditch, a trench. 
 Shoot in, shooting. 
 Shouther, the shoulder.
 
 TFIE POEM^ AND SOXGS OF BURNS. 
 
 159 
 
 Shoon, shoes. 
 
 Slieepshank, to think one's self nae sheep- 
 shank, to be conceited. 
 
 Shore, to offer, to threaten. 
 
 Shor'd, offered. 
 
 Shangan, a stick cleft at one end, for put- 
 ting the tail of a dog, &c., into, by way 
 of mischief, or to frighten him away. 
 
 Shaver, a humorous [mischievous] wag, a 
 barber. 
 
 Shog, a shock. 
 
 Sheen, bright, shining. 
 
 SheiT.a-muor, Sherifi-moor, the famous 
 battle fouqht in the rebellion, A.D. 1715. 
 
 Shool, a shovel. 
 
 Shaird, a shred, a shard. 
 
 Shill, shriU. 
 
 Sic, .such. 
 
 Simmer, summer. 
 
 Siller, silver, money. 
 
 Sittin, sitting. 
 
 Sin', since. 
 
 .Sin, a son. 
 
 Sicker, sure, steady. 
 
 Sinfu', sinful. 
 
 Sidelins, sidelong, slanting. 
 
 Sinkin, sinking. 
 
 Skriegh, a .scream, to scream. 
 
 Skaith, to damage, to injure, injury. 
 
 Sklent, slant, to run aslant, to deviate 
 from truth, [to tib.] 
 
 Sklented, ran or hit in an oblique direction. 
 
 Sklentin, slanting. 
 
 Skelpie-limmer, a technical term in female 
 scolding. 
 
 Skeigh, proud, nice, high-mettled, [liery.] 
 
 Skirl, to shriek, to cry shrilly. 
 
 Skirl't, shrieked. 
 
 Skirling, shrieking, crying. 
 
 Skelp, to strike, to slap, to walk with a 
 smart tripping step, a smart stroke. 
 
 skelpin, slapping, walking smartly. 
 
 Slaw, slow. 
 
 Slae, sloe. 
 
 Slap, a gate, a breach in the fence. 
 
 Slade, did slide. 
 
 Slee, sly ; sleest, slyest. 
 
 Slype, to fall over as a xoet furrow from the 
 pli ugh. 
 
 Slypot, fell. 
 
 Sleekit, sleek. 
 
 sliddery, slippery. 
 
 Sma', small. 
 
 ."^iiiiddy, smithy. 
 
 Stiiytrie, a numerous collection of small 
 individuals. 
 
 Snioor, to smother; smoor'd, smothered. 
 
 Smoutie, smutty, obscene, ugly. 
 
 Sniedduni, dust, powder, mettle, sense. 
 
 Snaw, snow, to snow. 
 
 Snawie, snowy. 
 
 Snawbroo, melted snow. 
 
 Snash, abuse, Billingsgate. 
 
 Sneeshin, snuff; sneeshin-mill, snuff-box. 
 
 Snowk, to scent or snuff as a dog, horse, 
 
 &c. 
 Snowkit, scented, snuffed. 
 Snick (hawing, trick-contriving. 
 Snick, the latchet of a door. 
 Snoove, to go smoothly and constantly, to 
 
 sneak. 
 Snoov't, went smoothly. 
 Snell, bitter, biting. 
 Sned, to lop, to cut off. 
 Snool, one whose spirit is broken with 
 
 oppressive slavery, to submit tamely, to 
 
 sneak. 
 Sonsie, having sweet, engaging looks, 
 
 lucky, jolly. 
 Sowther, solder, to solder, to cement. 
 Souple, flexible, swift. 
 Soom, to swim. 
 
 Sowp, a spoonful, a small quantity of any- 
 thing liquid. 
 Sootie, sooty. 
 Sobbin, sobbing. 
 Sowth, to try over a tune with a low 
 
 whistle. 
 Sooth, truth, a petty oath. 
 Souter, a shoemaker. 
 .Spaul, a limb. 
 .Speakin, speaking. 
 Spier, to ask, to enquire. 
 Spier't, enquired. 
 Spunk, fire, mettle, wit. 
 Spunkie, mettlesome, liery. Will o' Wisp, 
 
 or ignis fat mis. 
 Sportin, sporting. 
 Spak, (lid speak. 
 Springiu, springing. 
 Speel, to climb. 
 Spleuchan, a tobacco pouch. 
 Speat, a sweeping torrent after rain or 
 
 thaw. 
 Spairge, to dash, to soil as ivith mire, [to 
 
 spurt about like water.] 
 Spitefu', spiteful. 
 Spence, the country parlour. 
 Spae, to prophesy, to divine. 
 Sprit, a tough-rooted plant something 
 
 like rushes. 
 Sprittie, full of sprit.s, [rushy.] 
 Spialtle, to scramble. 
 Sparin, spirin'j:. 
 Sjiiviet. inviiig tlie spavin. 
 SprecklM, spotted, speckled. 
 Splore, a frolic, a riot, a u(jise, [a ramble.) 
 Splatter, .a splutter, to splutter. 
 Spring, .1 quick air in music, a .Scotch reel. 
 Squad, a crew, a party. 
 S(iueel, a scream, n. screech, to scream. 
 Squatter, to flutter in water as a wild 
 
 duck, &c. 
 Squattle, to sprawl.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 160 
 
 Stan', to stand ; stan't, did stand. 
 
 Stane, a stone. 
 
 Stroan, to spout, to piss, [to pour out like 
 
 a spout.] 
 Stroan't, spouted, pissed. 
 Stents, tribute, dues of any kind. 
 Steek, to shut, a stitch. 
 Stech, [or stejh,] to cram the belly. 
 Stechin, cramming. 
 
 Startle, to run as cattle stung by the gad- 
 fly- 
 Steer, to molest, to stir. 
 Sturtj trouble, to molest. 
 Sturtin, frighted. 
 Studdie, an anvil. 
 Stell, a still. 
 Stoup, or stowp, a kind of jug or dish with 
 
 a handle. 
 Straik, to stroke ; straikit, stroked. 
 Stampin, stamping. 
 Stacher, to stagger. 
 Stap, to stop. 
 Strae, straw, to die a fair ttrae death, to 
 
 die in bed. 
 Strack, dirt strike. 
 Stack, a rick of corn, hay, &c. 
 Streek, stretched, to stretch; streekit, 
 
 stretched. 
 Slaumrel, half-witted. 
 Stoure, dust, more particularly dust in 
 
 motinn. 
 Stirk, a row or bullock a year old. 
 Stot, an ox. 
 
 Stoor, sounding hollow, strong and hoarse. 
 Straught, straight. 
 
 Stock, a plant of colewort, cabbage, &c. 
 Starvin, starving. 
 Stiingin, stringing. 
 Startin, starting. 
 Staw, did steal, to surfeit. 
 Stown, stolen. 
 Stownlins, by stealth. 
 StufI, corn or pulse of any kind. 
 Stibble, stubble; stibble rig, the reaper, 
 
 in harvest, who takes the lead. 
 Strunt, spirituous liquor of any kind, to 
 
 walk sturdily. 
 Staggie, diminutive of stag. 
 Steeve, firm, compacted. 
 Stank, a pool of standing water. 
 Stark, stout. 
 
 Stey, steep ; steyest, steepest. 
 Sten, to rear as a horse. 
 Sten't, reared. 
 Stimpart, the eighth part of a Winchester 
 
 bushel. 
 Strappan, tall and handsome. 
 Strewm, strewing. 
 Stilt, a crutch, to halt, to limp. 
 Stockin, stocking. 
 Stumpie, diminutive of stump. 
 Stridttle, to straddle. 
 
 Stick an' stow, totally, altogether. 
 
 .Sucker, sugar. 
 
 Sugh, the continued rushing noise of 
 wind or water. 
 
 Suthron, southern, an old name for tk* 
 English nation. 
 
 Sud, should. 
 
 Swap, an exchange, to barter. 
 
 Swirl, a curve, an eddying blast or pool, a 
 knot in wood. 
 
 Swirlie, knaggy, full of knots. 
 
 Swither, to hesitate in choice, an irresol- 
 ute wavering in choice. 
 
 Swank, stately, jolly. 
 
 Swankie, or swanker, a tight, strapping 
 young fellow or girl. 
 
 Swatch, a sample. 
 
 Swith 1 get away I 
 
 Swinge, to beat, Ito whip. 
 
 Swingein, beating, whipping. 
 
 Swaird, sward. 
 
 Swat, did sweat. 
 
 Swervin, swerving. 
 
 Swoor, swore, did swear. 
 
 Swall'd, swelled. 
 
 Sweer, lazy, averse; dead-sweer, «<■ 
 tremely averse. 
 
 Sweatin, sweating. 
 
 Syne, since, ago, then. 
 
 TAE, a toe; three tae'd, having three 
 
 prongs. 
 [Taet, a small quantity.] 
 Tauted, [tawtet,] or tautie, matted t*. 
 
 gether, tptiken of hair or wool. 
 Tak, to take; takin, taking. 
 Tangle, a sea weed. 
 Tauld, or tald, told. 
 Tarrow, to murmur at one's allowance. 
 Tarrow't, murmured. 
 Talkin, talking. 
 Tawie, that allows itself peaceably to be 
 
 handled, spoken of a horse, cow, &c. 
 Tap, the top. 
 Taupie, a foolish, thoughtless young 
 
 person. 
 Tapetless, heedless, foolish, [unthinking.] 
 Tapsalteerie, topsy-turvy. 
 Tarry-breeks, a sailor. 
 Tent, a field pulpit, heed, caution, to take 
 
 heed. 
 Tentie, heedful, cautious. 
 Tentless, heedless. 
 Teush, tough ; teughly, toughly. 
 Teat, a small quantity. 
 Tearfu', tearful. 
 Ten hours' bite, a slight feed to the horses 
 
 while in the yoke in the forenoon. 
 Thack, thatch ; thack an' rape, cloathins, 
 
 necessaries.
 
 THE POEMS AND SOXGS OF BURNS. 
 
 161 
 
 Thrang, throng, a crowd. 
 
 Thegither, together. 
 
 Thick, intimate, familiar. 
 
 Thole, to suffer, to endure. 
 
 Thae, these. 
 
 Thrissle, thistle. 
 
 Throuther, pell-mell, confusedly. 
 
 Thinkin, thinking. 
 
 Thumpit, thumped. 
 
 Thumpin, thumping. 
 
 Thieveless, cold, dry, spited, spoken o/ a 
 fjerson's demeanour. 
 
 Thowe, a thaw, to thaw. 
 
 Thankit, thanked. 
 
 rhriiugh, to go on with, to make out. 
 
 rhreshin, tlirashing. 
 
 Thairms, .small guts, fiddle-strings. 
 
 Them-iel, themselves. 
 
 Thysel, thyself. 
 
 Thud, to make a loud, intermittent noise ' 
 
 Tliraw, to sprain, to twist, to contradict 
 
 Thrawn, sprained, twisted, contradicleil. i 
 
 Thrawin, twistinii, &c. \ 
 
 Tlireteen, thirteen. I 
 
 Tliankfu', thankful. 
 
 Thril, to thrill. 
 
 Thirl'd, tluilled, vibrated. , 
 
 Thowless, slack, lazy, [pithless.] i 
 
 Threap, to maintain by dint of a.ssertion. 
 
 Thir, the.se. 
 
 Tither, the other. ! 
 
 Timmer, timber; timmer-propt, propped] 
 witli timber. i 
 
 Tiirt, to it. 
 
 Tinkler, a tinker. 
 
 Tine, to lose; tint, lost. 
 
 Tippeiice, twopence. 
 
 Tittle, to whisper. 
 
 Tittlin, whispering. 
 
 Tirl, to make a slight noise, to uncover. 
 
 Tirlin, unci>vering. 
 
 Tip, a ram. 
 
 Towzie, rough, shaggy. 
 
 Toom, empty. 
 
 Tout, the blast of a horn or trumpet, to 
 blow a horn, &c. 
 
 Tow, a rope. 
 
 Toddle, to totter like the walk of a child. 
 
 Toddlin, tottering. 
 
 Tod, a fox. 
 
 Toop, a ram. 
 
 Toun, a handet, a farm-house. 
 
 Tocher, marriage portion. 
 
 Toyte, to totter like old age. 
 
 Towmond, a twelvemonth. 
 
 Toy, a very old fashion of female head- 
 dres.'i. 
 
 Trashtrie, trash. 
 
 Trowth, truth, a petty oath. 
 
 Trow, to l)elieve. 
 
 Transmugrify'd, transmigrated, metamor- 
 phosed. 
 
 Tryin, trying. 
 
 Trig, spruce, neat. 
 
 Trimly, e.Kcellently. 
 
 Trottin, trotting. 
 
 Trickle, full of tricks. 
 
 Try't, tryed 
 
 Tunefu', tuneful. 
 
 Tug, raw hide, of ichich, in old tim«t, 
 
 plough traces were frequently made. 
 Tulzie, a quarrel, to quarrel, to fight. 
 Twa, two. 
 Twa-three, a few. 
 Twal, twelve ; twalpennie- worth, a small 
 
 quantity, a penny-worth. 
 Twin, to part. 
 'Twad, it would. 
 Tyke, a dog. 
 
 u 
 
 UNCOS, news. 
 
 Unco, strange, uncouth, very, very greaS, 
 
 prodigious. 
 Undoin, undoing. 
 Un.'ikaith'd, und:imaged, unhurt. 
 Uncaring, disregarding. 
 Unkenn'd, unknown. 
 Upo', upon. 
 
 V 
 
 V.^PRIX, vapouring. 
 
 Vera, very. 
 
 V'irl, a ring round a column, &c. 
 
 W 
 
 WA', wall; wa's, walls. 
 
 W.ie, woe, sorrowful. 
 
 Wad, would, to bet, a bet, a pledge. 
 
 Wadna, would not. 
 
 Wastrie, prodigality. 
 
 Warl, or warld, world. 
 
 Warly, worldly, eager on amassing wealth 
 
 Wark, work. 
 
 Wark-Iume, a tool to work with. 
 
 Warst, worst. 
 
 Wale, choice, to chuise. 
 
 Wal'd, chose, chosen. 
 
 W:ime, the belly; wamefou', a belly full. 
 
 Warran, a warrant, to warrant. 
 
 Walister, a weaver. 
 
 Wiiuken, to awake. 
 
 Waesucks ! or waes me ! alas ! O the pity '. 
 
 Waur, worse, to worst. 
 
 \V;nir't, worsted. 
 
 Warlock, a wizzard. 
 
 Warstl'd, or warsl'd, wrestled. 
 
 Wanre-itfu', restless. 
 
 Wat, wet ; I wat, 1 wot, I know, 
 
 Wanchancie, unlucky.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 1C2 
 
 Water-brose, brose made of meal ami 
 water simply, without the addition of 
 Hiilk, butter, &c. 
 
 [Water-kelpies, a sort of mischievous spirits 
 that are said to haunt fords.] 
 
 Waukit, thickened, as fullers do cloth. 
 
 Wauble, to swing, to reel. 
 
 Wattle, a twig, a wand. 
 
 Wair, to lay out, to expend. 
 
 Walie, ample, large, jolly, also an inter- 
 jection of distress. 
 
 Waft, the woof. 
 
 Wailfu', wailing. 
 
 Wee, little; wee-things, little ones; wee- 
 bit, a small matter. 
 
 Weel, well ; weelfare, wellfare. 
 
 Wean, or weanie, a child. 
 
 Weason, weasand. 
 
 We'se, we shall. 
 
 Wearie, or weary, monie a wearU body, 
 many a different person. 
 
 Weet, rain, witness. 
 
 Wha, who. 
 
 Whase, whose. 
 
 Whare, where ; whare'er, wherever. 
 
 Whyles, whiles, sometimes. 
 
 Whissle, a whistle, to whistle. 
 
 Whang, a leathern string, a piece of 
 cheese, bread, &c., to give the strap 
 pado. 
 
 Wheep, to fly nimbly, to jerk ; penny- 
 wheep, small beer. 
 
 Whun-stane, a whin-stone. 
 
 Whirlygigums, useless ornaments, trifling 
 appendages. 
 
 Whigmeleeries, whims, fancies, crotchets 
 
 Whislit! silence! to hold one's whisht, tn 
 be silent. 
 
 Whaizle, to wheeze. 
 
 Whisk, to sweep, to lash. 
 
 Whiskit, lashed. 
 
 Whid, the motion of a hare running but 
 not frighted, a lie. 
 
 Whiddin, running as a hare or coney. 
 
 Whitter, a hearty draught of liquor. 
 
 Whatreck, nevertheless. 
 
 Whalpit, whelped. 
 
 Wi', with. 
 
 Win', wind; win's winds. 
 
 Wimple, to meander. 
 
 Wimpl't, meandered. 
 
 Wimplin, waving, meandering. 
 
 Winna, will not, 
 
 W'innock, a window. 
 
 Winkin, winking. 
 
 Wick, to strike a stone in an oblique 
 
 direction, a term in curling. 
 Withoutten, without. 
 Win, to wind, to winnow. 
 Win't, winded, as a bottom of yarn. 
 Wintle, a staggering motion, to stagger, 
 
 to reel. 
 Winze, an oath. 
 Wiel, a small whirlpool. 
 Witie, a diminutive or endearing term for 
 
 wife. 
 Wizen'd, hide-bound, dryad, shrunk. 
 Wiss, to wish. 
 
 Winsome, gay, hearty, vaunted. 
 Waetu', woeful. 
 Wonner, a wonder, a contemptuous 
 
 appellation. 
 Wonderfu', wonderful, wonderfully. 
 Woo', wool. 
 Wooer-bab, the garter knotted below the 
 
 knee with a couple of loops [and ends.] 
 Worset, worsted. 
 Wordy, worthy. 
 
 Wrack, to tease, to vex, [to trouble.] 
 Wrang, wrong, to wrong. 
 Wreeth, a drifted heap of snow. 
 Wraith, a spirit, a ghost, an apparition 
 
 exactly like a living person whose 
 
 appearance is said to forbode the 
 
 person's approaching death. 
 Wud, mad, distracted. 
 Wumble, a wimble. 
 Wyte, blame, to blame. 
 Wyliecoat, a flannel vest. 
 
 YE.A.R, is used for both singular and 
 
 plural years. 
 Yell, barren, that gives no milk, [dry.] 
 Yerk, to lash, to jerk. 
 Yerkit, jerked, lashed. 
 Yestreen, yesternight. 
 Yealings, born in the same year, coevala. 
 Ye, this pronoun is frequently used for 
 
 thou. 
 Yill, ale. 
 
 Yoursel', yourself. 
 Yont, beyond. 
 Youthfu', youthful. 
 Yokin, yoking, a bout. 
 Yowe, a ewe. 
 
 Yowie, diminutive of yowe. 
 Yule, Christmas. 
 [Young Guidman, a new married man.]
 
 ADDENDA TO THE AUTHOR'S GLOSSARIES. 
 
 (From Dr. Carrie's Edition, 1800.^ 
 
 INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 
 
 In Dr. Carrie's eilitiong, the author's Glossary is considerably abridged ; but, on th« 
 other hand, a number of words in the Scottish dialect, gathered from the posthumous 
 poems and songs of Burns, are there inserted. These we append, by way of supple 
 ment; and to such of Currie's explanations as we consider inaccurate or incomplete, 
 we have added [within brackets] what further elucidation seemed requisite. 
 
 AIRL-PEXNY, earnest-money. 
 Asklent, asquint, aslant. 
 Athort, athwart. 
 
 Auld lang syne, olden time, days of other 
 years. 
 
 B 
 
 BAWK, bank, [This explanation Is errone- 
 ous : it means a footpath through a 
 com-fleld.] 
 
 Beld, bald. 
 
 Birk, birch. 
 
 Birken-shaw, birchen-woodshaw, a small 
 wood. 
 
 Bleert and blin, bleered and blind. 
 
 Bleerit, bleared, sore with rheum. 
 
 Biuntie, snivelling. [Or rather, it means 
 soft, easily imposed on, stupid.] 
 
 Bogles, spirits, hobgoblins. 
 
 Brent, smooth. 
 
 Bughtin-time, the time of collecting the 
 sheep in the pens to be milked. 
 
 Bught, a pen [for sheep.] 
 
 Buskie, bushy, [well-dressed.] 
 
 Busks, dresses. 
 
 Buss, shelter; [bush.] 
 
 CESSES, taxes. 
 CHavers, idle stories, 
 deeds, cloaths. 
 Cluds, clouds. 
 
 Cockernony, a lock of hair tied up on a 
 
 girl's head, a cap. 
 Coft, bought. 
 CoUieshangie, quarreling. 
 Craik, name of a bird : [also, as a verb, to 
 
 whine, to importune incessantly.] 
 Crowdie, a dish made of oatmeal. 
 Cutty, short. 
 
 DAVOC, David. 
 
 Doos, doves. 
 
 Doup, the posteriors. 
 
 Doup-skelper, one that strikes the post- 
 eriors. 
 
 Doure and din, sullen and sallow. 
 
 Douser, more prudent. 
 
 Draunting, drawling. 
 
 Drone, part of a bagpipe, [a tiresome 
 speaker.] 
 
 Droukit, wet [and dripping.] 
 
 Dunted, boxt, [well-beaten.] 
 
 FA'S, does fall, waterfalls. 
 Fecket, waistcoat, [a vest of woolen stuflf.] 
 Feckly, weakly, [or rather, mostly, almost.] 
 Fen', successful struggle, fight; (to fend, 
 
 is to dffend one's self against obstacles.] 
 Fiel, soft, smooth. 
 Flickering, to meet, to encounter with; 
 
 [to Dicker, is to coax, to flirt.] 
 Fother, fodder.
 
 THE POEAfS AND SOXGS OF BURNS. 
 
 164 
 
 GABERLUNZIE, an old man [who takes 
 
 to begging. Literally it means a wallet 
 
 carried at the loins.] 
 Gadsman, ploughboy, the boy that drives 
 
 the horses in the plough. 
 Giglets, playful girls. 
 Glauni'd, aimed, snatched at, [with greed. ] 
 Gleib, glebe. 
 Glen, dale, deep valley. 
 Gowauy, gowany glens, daisied dales. 
 Grained and gaunted, groaned andgrunted, 
 
 [yawned.] 
 Grunzie, mouth, face. 
 
 H 
 
 HALY, holy. 
 
 Hecht, ottered; [promised.] 
 
 Heckle, a board in which are fixed a num- 
 ber of sharp wires, used in dressing 
 hemp, flax, ic. 
 
 Hiney, honey; [also, a term of endearment, 
 a sweet creature.) 
 
 Howtf. a landlady, a house of resort [a 
 h.iunt, a place of shelter.] 
 
 Howlet, an owl. 
 
 Hushion, a cushion, [or rather, an old 
 footless stocking— hose-shin.] 
 
 K 
 
 KENSPECKLE, well-known, [strongly 
 
 marked.] 
 Kiiitr.i ccoser, country stallion, [cooser, 
 
 courser.] 
 Knurl, dwarf. 
 Kith, kindred. 
 
 LAWIX-SHOT, reckoning-bill. 
 Lea-rit:, grassy ridge. 
 Leesome, pleasant, [sheltered.] 
 Libbet, gelded. 
 Loup, jump, leap. 
 
 M 
 
 MAILEX, farm, [ground for which mail 
 
 or rent is exacted.] 
 Mirk, or mirkest, dark, darkest. 
 
 O 
 
 OCHILS, name of mountains [between 
 
 Clackmannan and Perthshire.] 
 O haith : faith I an oath. 
 
 PARLE, speech. 
 
 Philibegs, short petticoats worn by the 
 Highlandmen. 
 
 BEW, repent [Rue is the proper spelling! 
 
 Rief randies, sturdy beggars. 
 
 Routhie, plentiful. 
 
 Routh o' gear, plenty of goods. 
 
 SCAITH, to damage, to injure, injury. 
 
 Shiel, a shed, [a bothy.] 
 
 Skinking; thin, watery; (skink, soup 
 made with the shin-bone.) 
 
 Skinklin, a small portion, [shining, glitter- 
 ing.] 
 
 Snapper, stumble, [diverge from the path.] 
 
 Sough, a sigh, a sound dying on the ear. 
 
 Spates, swollen streams. 
 
 Stalwart, strong, stout. 
 
 Stoyte, stumble. 
 
 Swarf, swoon. 
 
 Swats, Liquor, [strong ale.] 
 
 T 
 
 TAIRGE, target. 
 
 Tamtallon, the name of a mountain. [No: 
 the name of a promontory in East Lothian, 
 on which Ta[n]tallon castle is built.) 
 
 Tedding, .spreading after the mower. 
 
 Theekit, thatched. 
 
 Tint the gate, lost the way. 
 
 Trysted, appointed, [arranged.] 
 
 Trews, trowsers 
 
 u 
 
 UXWEETING, unwotting, unknowing. 
 Unsicker, unsure, unsteady. 
 Urchin, a hedgehog, [applied to a mis- 
 chievous boy.) 
 
 W 
 
 WAUGHT, draught, [a copious libation; 
 
 '"a right gude-willie waught," a right 
 
 hearty bumper. ) 
 Weird, fate. 
 
 Wicker, willow, (the smaller sort.) 
 Wow ; an exclamation of pleasure or 
 
 wonder. 
 Wons, dwells. 
 Wyle, beguile. 
 
 Y 
 
 YAE, one, spelled ae in Scots, but gen- 
 erally pronounced as with y prefixed.) 
 
 Yett, a sate, such as is usually at the 
 entrance into a farm-yard or tield. 
 
 [Yin, one, generally spelled ane in Scots, 
 although almost always pronounced 
 with y prefixed, as in "yill," for ale, 
 "yirtli," or "yird," for earth, "yowe," 
 for eive.] 
 
 [Yince, once, generally spelled ance, but 
 usually sounded as with y.] 
 
 (Yirl, earl.) 
 
 [Yits, oats; yit-cake, oatmeal cake.]
 
 4^^^^^^^ 
 
 POSTHUMOUS POEMS AND SOxXGS 
 
 OF 
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 
 
 ^^^w?"
 
 THE WATSON REID PORTRAIT. 
 Reprodl'ced from "The Burns Chronicle" for 1S96. 
 (By Special Permisaion of the Pvhlisher.)
 
 SONGS BY BURNS, IN JOHNSON'S FIFTH VOL. 
 
 (published, DECEMBER, 1796.) 
 
 August, 1792, was the date of .Jc'hnaon's Fourth Vol., and in February, 17P4, we 
 find Burns writing to the publisher as follows: — "I send you, by my friend Mr 
 Wallace, forty-one songs for your tifth volume. Mr. Clarke has also a good many. 
 if he have not, with his usual indolence, cast them at the cocks. I have still a good 
 parcel among my hands in scraps and fragments; so that I hope we will make a 
 shift for our last volume." On .July 4th, 1796, little more than a fortnight prior to 
 his death, he wrote as follows to Johnson : — "How are you, my dear friend, and how 
 comes on your fifth volume? You may probably think that for some time past 1 
 have neglected you and your work; but, alas! the hand of pain, and sorrow, and 
 care, has these many months lain heavy on nic. Personal and domestic affliction have 
 almost entirely banished that alacrity and life with which I used to woo the rural 
 Muse of Scotia. In the meantime, let us finish what we have so well begun. Mr. 
 Lewars, a particular friend of mine, will bring out any proofs (if they are ready), or 
 any message you may have. I am extremely anxious for your work, as, indeed I am, 
 for everything concerning you and your welfare. You are a worthy, honest fellow, 
 and have a good right to live in this world— because you deserve it. Many a merry 
 meeting this publication has given us, and possibly it may give us more, though 
 alas ! I fear it. This protracting, slow, consuming illness which hangs over me, will, 
 I doubt much, my ever-dear friend, arrest my sun before he has well reached his 
 middle career, and «iU turn over the poet to far more important concerns than 
 studying the brilliancy of wit or the pathos of sentiment. However, hope is the 
 cordial of the human heart, and I endeavour to cherish it as well as 1 can. Let me 
 hear from you as soon as convenient." 
 
 [From the foregoing, it will be readily apprehended that Johnson's V. and VI. 
 volumes did not receive the same measure of revisal by the Poet as the previous 
 ones. Johnson's unsupported statements with regard to authorship caimot, there- 
 fore, be implicitly relied upon.]
 
 ON 
 
 CO 
 
 GO 
 
 ■■^ -s 
 
 z 2 
 
 o 
 
 -j> ~ 
 
 
 
 =3- 
 
 S
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 109 
 
 THE LOVELY LASS OF INVERNESS. 
 
 [Thomson adhibits Burns's name to this 
 piece. Burns himself says, — "The first 
 half stanza of this ballad la nld." The 
 poet found this title in a collection of 
 music by Oswald, made himself master of 
 the air, and composed the following tender 
 verses, bearing reference to the dis- 
 astrous tield of butchery at Culloden in 
 1746.) 
 
 The lovely lass o' Inverness, 
 
 Nae joy nor pleasure can she see ; 
 For e'en and morn she cries, alas ! 
 
 And ay the saut *c:\r blin's her e'e. 
 DruDBOssie moor — Dnimossie day — 
 
 A waefu' day it was to me! 
 For there I lost my father dear. 
 
 My father dear, and brethren three. 
 
 Their winding-sheet the bluidy clay. 
 
 Their graves are growing green to see; 
 And by tliem lies the dearest lad 
 
 That ever blest a lover's e'e! 
 Now wae to thee thou cruel lord, 
 
 A bluidy man I trow thou be; 
 For mony'a heart thou has made sair. 
 
 That n«'er did wrang to tlune or thee ! 
 
 A RED, RED ROSE. 
 
 [The song in the Museum has Burns's 
 name attached to it, and is set to two 
 different airs, but neither of these have 
 satisfied the public, who, by common con- 
 8«nt, sing it to the tune of "Low down he's 
 in the broom," which fits it cliarmingly. 
 Thomson does not give it as a composition 
 of Burns. His note is :— "From a MS. in 
 the Editor's possession."] 
 
 O MY luve's like a red, red rose 
 That's newly sprung in June ; 
 
 O my luve's like the melodie 
 That's sweetly play'd in tune. 
 
 As fair art thou, my bonie lass, 
 
 So deep in luve am I ; 
 And I wdl luve thee still, my dear, 
 
 Till a' the seas gang dry. 
 
 Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear. 
 And the rocks melt wi' the sun : 
 
 O I will love thee still, my dear, 
 While the sands o' life shall run. 
 
 And fare-thee-weel, my only luve 1 
 And fare-thee-weel awhile I 
 
 .\nd I will come again, my luve. 
 The' 'twere ten thousand mile ! 
 
 O my luve's like a red, red rose 
 That's newly sprung in June; 
 
 O my luve's like the melodie 
 That's sweetly play'd in tune. 
 
 A LAS>IE ALL .4L0NE. 
 TusE—Cuinnock Psalois. 
 
 [The "roofless tower" of this noble 
 ballad is understood to have been the 
 ruins of liineluden Al)bey, a favourite 
 haunt of Burns during his latter years in 
 Dumfries. 
 
 Dr. Currie, from the M.SS. of the Poet, 
 printed this ballad under the title of 
 "A Vision," — the chorus being omitted, 
 and the fifth verse somewhat varied, ami 
 followed by a fresh stanza. In our text, 
 that stanza is inserted in its place wirhin 
 brackets, to avoid the interruption of a 
 foot-note. 
 
 Johnson adhibits the Poet's name to 
 this piece. Thomson adds a quotation 
 from Currie, to the effect that Johnson's 
 version is imperfect, and that his own 
 contains the hist collections of the Poet.] 
 
 .AS I stood by yon roofless tower, 
 
 Where the wa flower scents the dewy air. 
 
 Where the houlet mourns in her ivy bower. 
 And tells the midnight moon her care. 
 
 CUOKUS. 
 
 A lassie all alone was making her moan, 
 Lamenting mir lads, beyimd the sea; 
 
 In the bluidij wars they fa' and our honer't 
 gane and a', 
 A nd broken-hearted we maun die. 
 
 The winds were laid, the air was still. 
 The stars they sliot alang the sky; 
 
 The tod was howling on the liill. 
 And the distant eclioing glens reply.
 
 TEE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 
 170 
 
 The burn, adown its hazelly path, 
 Was rushing by the ruin'd wa , 
 
 Hasting to join the sweeping Nith, 
 Whase roarings seem'd to rise and fa'. 
 
 The cauld blae nortli was streaming forth 
 Her lights, wi' hissing, eerie din; 
 
 Athort the lift they start and shift, 
 Like Fortune's favors, tint as win. 
 
 Now, looking over firth and fauld, 
 Her horn the pale-fac'd Cynthia rear'd, 
 
 When, lo ! in form of minstrel aiild, 
 A stem and stalwart ghaist appear'd !* 
 
 [Had I statue been o' stane, 
 His darin' look had daunted me ; 
 
 And on his bonnet grav'd was plain, 
 The sacred posy— 'Libertie '.'] 
 
 And frae his harp sic strains did flow, 
 Might rous'd the slumbering Dead to 
 hear; 
 
 But, oh I it was a tale of woe. 
 As ever met a Briton's ear. 
 
 He sang wi' joy his former day. 
 He, weeping, wail'd liis latter times ; 
 
 But what he said it was nae p!ay 
 
 I winna ventur't in my rhymes. 
 
 HERE'S 
 
 A HEALTH TO THE.M 
 THAT'S AW A'. 
 
 (An Imperfect fragment of this political 
 effusion is given by Johnson. Burns's 
 name is not attached to the fragment 
 in the Museum. The following version 
 is from the copy sent by the Poet 
 to Capt. William Johnstone of the 
 "Gazetteer." It appeared in the Scots 
 Magazine, for January, ISIS.] 
 
 Here's a health to them that's awa'. 
 Here's a health to them that's awa' ; 
 And wha winna wish guds luck to our cause, 
 May never gude luck be their fa' ! 
 
 It's gude to be merry and viise, 
 It's gude to be honest and true; 
 It's gude to support Caledonia's cause, 
 And bide by the buff and the blue.t 
 
 Here's a health to them that's awa', 
 Here's a health to them that's awa ; 
 Here's a health to Charlie the chief o' the 
 
 clan, t 
 Altho' that his band be sma' ! 
 -May Liberty meet wi' success! 
 .■May Prudence protect her frae evil ! 
 May tyrants and tyranny tine i' the mist. 
 And wander their way to the devil ! 
 
 Here's a health to them that's awa'. 
 Here's a health to them that's awa' ; 
 Here's a he.ilth to Tammie, the Norlan 
 
 laddie, § 
 That lives at the lug o' the law. 
 Here's freedom to them that wad read. 
 Here's freedom to them that would write. 
 There's nane ever fear'd that the truth 
 
 should be heard. 
 But they whom the truth would indite. 
 
 Here's a health to them that's awa'. 
 
 And here's to them that's awa' ! 
 
 Here's to Maitland and Wycombe, II let 
 
 wha does na like 'em 
 Be built in a hole in the wa'. 
 Here's timmer that's red at the heart. 
 Here's fruit that is sound at the core; 
 And may he that would turn the buff and 
 
 blue coat. 
 Be turn'd to the back o' the door. 
 
 Here's a health to them that's awa', 
 Here's a health to them that's awa' ; 
 Here's chieftain M'Leod, a chieftain worth 
 
 gowd, ^ 
 Tho' bred amang mountains o' snaw. 
 Here's friends on baith sides o' the firth. 
 And friends on baith sides o' the Tweed, 
 And wha wad betray old Albion's right. 
 May they never eat of her bread ! 
 
 
 
 C« 
 
 * Var. — By heedless chance I turn'd my eyes. 
 And, by the moonbeam, shook to see 
 A stern and stalwart ghaist arise, 
 Attired as ministrels wont to be. 
 
 t The Whig Livery. J Charles James Fox. §Lord Erskine. 
 
 n Two distinguished Liberals of that day. 
 
 H M'Leod of Dunvegan, Skye, M.P. for Inverness, and one of the Reformers of that day.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 171 
 
 AULD LANG SYNE. 
 
 [Burns's name is not nfRxed to this 
 world-famous sons;. He admitted to John- 
 son, that the two verses beginning 
 respectively, "We twa hae ran about the 
 braes," and "We twa hae paidl'd in the 
 burn," were his own, altliough in sending 
 the song to Mrs. liunlop, in December, 
 1788, and also in writing about it to 
 Thomson, in September, 1793, bespeaks of 
 it aa ancient. Thomson (Vol. II. p. tiS,) 
 says, that it was sent to him by Burns as 
 an old song of the ulden times, which had 
 never been in print norevenin manuscript, 
 until he tock it down from an old man's 
 singing. " It seems not improbable, how- 
 ever," continues Thomson, "that he said | 
 this metely in a playful humour, for the 
 Editor cannot help thinking that the song 
 affords evidence of our Bard himself being 
 the author." We may also notice that the 
 present arrangement of the verses, being 
 that of the Poet's own MS., seems pre- 
 ferable to that given by Currie.] 
 
 Should auld acquaintance be forgot 
 
 And never brought to mind? 
 Should auld acquaintance be forgot. 
 
 And auld lang syne? 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 For auld lanr/ syne, my jo, ' 
 
 For auld lang m/ne. 
 We'll tak^ a cvp o' kindness yet. 
 
 For auld lang syne. 
 
 And surely ye'll he your pintstoup, 
 
 And surely I'll be mine; 
 And we'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet, 
 
 For auld lang syne. 
 For auld, itc. 
 
 ■We twa hae run about the braes, 
 
 And pou'd the gowans fine; 
 But we've wander'd mony a weary fit, 
 
 Sin' auld lang syne. 
 For auld, <tc. 
 
 We twa hae paidl'd in the bum, 
 
 Frae mornmg sun till dine; 
 But seas lietween us braid hae roar'd, 
 
 Sin' auld lang syne. 
 For auld, ii-c. 
 
 And there's a hand, my trusty Here ! 
 
 And gie's a hand o' thine! 
 And we'll tak' a right gude-wiUie waught, 
 
 For auld lang syne. 
 Fur auld, ii-c. 
 
 LOUIS, WHAT RECK I BY THEE? 
 
 [The Poet's name is affixed by Johnson 
 to this improwptu. The date of the 
 effusion would, no doubt, be 17SS, before 
 the French Revolution commenced. In 
 his notes, Burns says:— "These words are 
 mine." 
 
 Louis, what reck I by thee. 
 Or Geonlie on his ocean? 
 
 Dyvor, beggar loons to me — 
 I reign in Jeanie's bosom? 
 
 Let her crown my love her law, 
 And in her breast enthrone me : 
 
 Kings and nations — swith, awa' 1 
 Reif randies, I disown ye 1 
 
 COMIN' THRO' THE RYE. 
 
 [In the Museum, Johnson has put 
 Burns's name to this song, It is an old 
 ribald song amended.] 
 
 COMiN' thro' the rye, poor body, 
 
 Comin' thro' the rye ; 
 She draigl't a' her petticoatie, 
 
 Comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Oh, Jenny's a' met, poor body, 
 
 Jenny's seldom dry ; 
 She draigl't a' her petticoatie, 
 
 Comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 Gin a body meet a body 
 
 Cumin' thro' the rye; 
 Gin a body kiss a body. 
 
 Need a body cry ? 
 O, Jenny's a' iveet, <t-c. 
 
 Gin a body meet a body 
 Comin' thro' the glen ; 
 
 Gin a body kiss a body. 
 Need the warld ken? 
 Oh, Jenny's a' ueet, etc.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 
 172 
 
 YOUNG JAMIE, PRIDE OF A' THE 
 
 PL A IX. 
 
 Tune— rA« Carlin of the Glen. 
 
 [There is no indicating mark in the 
 Museum of the authorship of this sonj?; it 
 is therefore of questionable authenticity, 
 despite the duitum of Stenhouse.] 
 
 YODNG Jamie, pride of a' the plain, 
 Sae gallant and sae gay a swain ; 
 
 Thro' a' our lasses he did rove. 
 And rei^'d resistless king of love; 
 But now, \vi' sighs and starting tears, 
 He strays aniang the woods and briers; 
 Or in the glens and rocky caves. 
 His sad complaining dowie raves. 
 
 I wha sae late did range and rove. 
 And chang'd with every moon ray love . 
 I little thought the time was near; 
 Repentance I should buy sae dear: 
 The slighted maids my torments see, 
 And laugh at a' the pangs I dree; 
 \Vhile she, my cruel, acornfu' Fair, 
 Forbids me e'er to see her mair ! 
 
 OUT OVER THE FORTH. 
 
 [This fragment is first haard tell of in a. letter from the Poet So Alexander Cunning- 
 im, dated from Ellisland, li2th March, 1791.] 
 
 bam 
 
 Out over the Forth, I look to the north ; 
 
 But what is the north and its Highlands to me? 
 The south nor the east gie ease to my breast — 
 
 The far foreign land, or the wide rolling sea : 
 But 1 look to the west when I gae to rest, 
 
 That happy my dreams and my slumbers may be ; 
 For far in the west lives he I lo'e be«t. 
 
 The man that is dear to my babie and me. 
 
 CHARLIE, HE'S MY DARLIXG. 
 
 [This Jacobite song was communicated 
 by Burns to Johnson, and, never having 
 been seen in print before, is presumed to 
 b« bia own.] 
 
 'TwAS on a Monday morning. 
 Right early in the year. 
 
 That Charlie came to our town- 
 The young Chevalier. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 An' Charlie, he's my darling. 
 My darling, 7m/ darling ; 
 Charlie, he's my darling — 
 The young Chevalier. 
 
 As he was walking up the strset. 
 
 The city for to view ; 
 O there he spied a bonie lass 
 
 The window looking thro'. 
 An' Charlie, <i.-tf. 
 
 Sae light's he jimped up the stair, 
 
 And titled at the pin ; 
 And wha sae ready as hersel' 
 
 To let the laddie in? 
 An' Charlie, <i:c. 
 
 He set his Jenny on his knee. 
 All in his Highland dress; 
 
 For brawlie weel he ken'd the way 
 To please a bonie lass. 
 An' Charlie, Ji;c. 
 
 It's up yon heathery mountaia, 
 Ana down yon scroggy glen, 
 
 We daurna gang a-milking 
 For Charlie and his men 1 
 An' Charlie, d-c.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 
 173 
 
 FOR THE SAKE O' SOMEBODY. 
 
 [This song is given in the Museum with 
 Burns's name attached to it.] 
 
 My he.art is sair— I ilare na tell — 
 My heart is sair for suinebody ; 
 I could wake a winter ni^ht 
 For the sake o' somebudy : 
 Oh-honI for somebody, 
 uh-hey! for somebody: 
 I could range the world around, 
 For the sake o' somebody I 
 
 Ye powers that smile on virtuous love, 
 
 O, sweetly smile on somebody ! 
 Frae ilka danger keep him free, 
 And send me safe my somebody : 
 Oh-hon ! for somebody, 
 Oh-hey! for somebody: 
 I wad do — what would I not? 
 For the sake o' somebody 1 
 
 THE CARDIN' O'T. 
 
 [Ko name is attached to this piece.] 
 
 I COFT a st;ine o' haslock woo. 
 To male' a wat* to Jnhnie o't; 
 
 For Johnie is my only jo, 
 I lo'e him best of onie yet. 
 
 CHORDS. 
 
 The. cnrdin' n't, the spinnin' o't, 
 Thf ivarpin' o't, the u'innin' o't; 
 
 When ilha ell cott me a groat. 
 The taylur staiv the lynin o't. 
 
 For though his locks be lyart gray, 
 And tho(ii;h his brow be bekl aboon 
 
 Yet I hae seen him on a day. 
 The pride of a' the parishen. 
 The carjin', dx. 
 
 ?5S 
 
 SHE SAYS SHE LO'ES ME BEST 
 OF A'. 
 
 An Irish Air. 
 
 [Johnson adhibits I'.urns's name to this 
 song, and so iloes Thomson. It was 
 inspired by the fascinating glamour of 
 Jean Lorimer. The measure is peculiar, 
 in consequence of the air for which it was 
 composeil, an Irish one, called Onwih't 
 Waterfall, which the Poet had a great; 
 fancy for. In September, 1794, lie com- 
 mended the air to Thomson's attention, 
 remarking thus: — "The air is charming, 
 and I have often regretted the want of 
 decent verses to it. It is too much, ac 
 least for my humble, rustic muse, to 
 expect that every effort of hers shall have 
 merit; still, I think that it is better to 
 have mediocre verses to a favourite air, 
 than none at all. On this principle I hava 
 all along proceeded in the •S'cofu Muaical 
 Museum; and, as that publication is at 
 its last volume, I intend the following 
 song, to the air above-mentioned, for that 
 work."] 
 
 Sae flaxen were her ringlets. 
 
 Her eyebrows of a darker hue, 
 Bewitchingly o'erarching 
 
 Twa laughing een o' bonie blue. 
 Her smiling, sae wylins. 
 
 Wad make a wretch forget his woe I 
 What pleasure, what treasure. 
 
 Unto these rosy lips to grow ! 
 Such was my Chloris' l)onie face. 
 
 When first her bonie face I saw ; 
 And ay my Chloris' dearest chann. 
 
 She sayg she lo'es me best of a' 1 
 
 Like harmony her motion. 
 
 Her pretty ankle is a spy, 
 Betraying fair proportion. 
 
 Wad make a saint forget the sky 1 
 Sae warming, sae charming. 
 
 Her fautless form and gtacefu' air, 
 nk feature— auld Nature 
 
 Declar'd that she could dae nae mair! 
 Her's are the willing chains o' love. 
 
 By conquering beauty's sovereign law; 
 And ay my Chloris' dearest charm, 
 
 She says she loe's me best of a' 1 
 
 'Obscure. " Want," the selvage or border of the web.
 
 TEE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 174 
 
 Let others love the city, 
 
 And gaudy show at sunny noon; 
 Gie me the lonely valley, 
 
 The dewy eve, and rising moon : 
 Fair beamin?;, and streaming. 
 
 Her silver light the boughs amang ; 
 While falling, recalling, 
 
 The amorous thrush concludes his sang; 
 There, dearest, Chloris, wilt thou rove 
 
 By wimpling burn and leafy shaw, 
 And hear ray vows o' truth and love. 
 
 And say thou lo'es me best of a'? 
 
 SAE FAR AWA'. 
 
 [Burns's name is attached to this song 
 in the Museum.] 
 
 O SAD and heavy should I part, 
 
 But for her sake, sae far awa' ; 
 Unknowing what my way may thwart— 
 
 My native land sae far awa'. 
 Thou that of a' things Maker art. 
 
 That formed this Fair sae far awa', 
 Gie body strength, then I'll ne'er start 
 
 At this ray way sae far awa'. 
 
 How true is love to pure desert ! 
 
 So mine to her sae far awa' ; 
 And nocht can heal ray bosom's smart, 
 
 ^Vhile, oh ! she is sae far awa' : 
 Nane other love, nane other dart 
 
 I feel, but her's sae far awa' ; 
 But fairer never touched a heart. 
 
 Than her's, the Fair sae far awa'. 
 
 I'LL AY CA' IN BY YON TOWN. 
 
 [This has no name attached to it in the 
 iluseum. It and the more elaborate 
 effort immediately following were sent by 
 the Poet to Johnson in the spring of 1795. 
 There can be little doubt that Jean 
 Lorimer was the inspirer of both.] 
 
 I'LL ay ca' in by yon town, 
 And by yon garden green again ; 
 
 I'll ay ca' in by yon town. 
 And see ray bonie Jean again. 
 
 There's nane sail ken, there's nane sail 
 guess, 
 
 What brings me back the gate again 
 But she, my fairest, faithf u' lass ; 
 
 And stownlins we sail meet again. 
 
 She'll wander by the aiken tree. 
 
 When trystin' time draws near again; 
 
 And when her lovely form I see, 
 O haith ! she's doubly dear again. 
 
 O WAT YE WHA'S IN YON TOWN. 
 
 [This piece has the Poet's name attached 
 to it. It was when the Poet was storm- 
 stayed for a cou pie of nights at Ecclef echan, 
 on 7th and 8th February, 1795, that he 
 first conceived this beautiful lyric. He 
 thus wrote tu Thomson about it:— "Do 
 you know an air — I'm sure you must know 
 it — We'll gang nae viair to yon town? I 
 think, in slowish time, it would make an 
 excellent song. I am highly delighted with 
 it; and if you should think it worthy of 
 your attention, I have a fair dame in ray 
 eye, to whora I will consecrate it. Try it 
 with this doggerel, until I give you a 
 better : — 
 
 O wat ye wha's in yon town. 
 
 Ye see the e'ening sun upon? 
 Tlie dearest maid's in yon town. 
 That e'ening sun is shining on : 
 O sweet to me yon spreading tree, 
 
 Where Jeanie wanders aft her lane; 
 The hawthorn flower that shades her 
 bower, 
 O when shall I behold again?" 
 
 In the month of May following, he for- 
 warded the finished song to Thomson, sub- 
 stituting the name "Lucy" for "Jean" in 
 the following version supnhad to Johnson. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 wat ye wha's in yon town 
 Ye see the e'enin' sun upon ? 
 
 The dearest maid's in yon town. 
 That e'enin' sun is shining on. 
 
 Now haply, down yon gay green shaw. 
 She wanders by yon spreading tree : 
 
 How blest ye flow'rs that round her blaw 
 Ye catch the glances o' her e'e ! 
 wat ye wha's, d:c. 
 
 How blest ye birds that round her sing, 
 And welcome in the blooming year !
 
 TEE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 175 
 
 And doubly welcome be the spring— 
 The season to my Jeanie dear. 
 uut ye wha's, itc. 
 
 The sun blinks blythe on yon town, 
 Aman^ the broomy braes sae green; 
 
 But my delight in yon town, 
 And dearest pleasure, is my Jean.* 
 wat ye wha's, itc. 
 
 Without ray fair, not a' the charms 
 O' Paradise could yield me joy; 
 
 But gie me Jeanie in my arms. 
 And welcome Lapland's dreary sky! 
 wat ye wha's, &c. 
 
 My cave wad be a lover's bower, 
 Tho' raging winter rent the air ; 
 
 And she a lovely little flower. 
 That I wad tent and shelter there. 
 ivat ye wha's, <s:c. 
 
 sweet is she in yon town. 
 
 The sinkin' sun's gane down npon ; 
 A fairer than's in yon town. 
 His setting beam ne'er shone upon. 
 wat ye wha's, i:c. 
 
 If angry fate is sworn my foe, 
 And suffering I am doora'd to bear ; 
 
 1 careless quit aught else below ; 
 
 But, spare me— spare me Jeanie dear I 
 wat ye wha's, ic. 
 
 For while life's dearest blood is warm, 
 -Ae thought frae her shall ne'er depart : 
 
 And she— as fairest is her form. 
 She has the truest, kindest heart. 
 ivnt ye wha's, li-c. 
 
 O MAY, THY MORN. 
 
 [Johnson adhibits the Poet's name to this 
 piece, which may be a warm reminiscence 
 of the memorable parting interview be- 
 tween the poet and his " Clarinda," in 
 Edinburgh, on 6th December, 1791, but 
 that is by no means certain.] 
 
 O May, thy morn wa.s ne'er sae sweet 
 As the mirk night o' December ; 
 
 For sparkling was the rosy wine. 
 And private was the chamber ; 
 
 And dear was she I darena name, 
 
 But I will ay remember : 
 And dear was she I dai ena name, 
 
 But I will ay remember. 
 
 And here's to them that, like oursel'. 
 
 Can push about the jorum ; 
 And here's to them that wish us well,— 
 
 May a' that'.> gude watch o'er them ! 
 And here's to them we darena tell, 
 
 The dearest o' the quorum ! 
 And here's to them we darena tell, 
 
 The dearest o' the quorum ! 
 
 WILT THOU BE MV DEARIE? 
 
 [This has Burns's name attached to it. 
 On 3rd March, 1793, he thus wrote regard- 
 ing this sons to Alexander Cunningham: — 
 "Do you know the much-admired old 
 Highland air called The Sutor's Dochter? 
 It is a first rate favourite of mine, and I 
 have WTitten what I reckon one of my best 
 songs to it."] 
 
 Wilt thou be my dearie? — 
 When sorrow wrings thy gentle heart, 
 
 O wilt thou let me cheer thee? 
 By the treasure of my soul, 
 
 That's the love I bear thee ! 
 I swear and vow that only thou 
 
 Shall ever be my dearie ! 
 Only thou, I swear and vow. 
 
 Shall ever be my dearie. 
 
 Lassie, say thou lo'es me ! — 
 Or if thou wilt na be my ain, 
 
 Say na thou'lt refuse me ! 
 If it winna, canna be, 
 
 Thou, for thine may chuse me, 
 Let me, lassie, quickly tlie. 
 
 Trusting that thou lo'es me ! 
 Lassie, let me quickly die, 
 
 Trusting that thou lo'es me? 
 
 LOVELY POLLY STEWART. 
 Tune — Te're welcome Charlie Steunrt. 
 
 [This has Burn.s's name attached to it. 
 The chorus, the Poet inscribed cm a pane 
 of glass in the Globe Tavern, Dumfries. 
 
 Var. — The sun blinks blythe on yon town, 
 And on yon bonie braes of Ayr; 
 But my delight in yon town. 
 And dearest bliss, is Lucy fair.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 
 176 
 
 Miss Stewart was the daughter of "Willie 
 Stewart," factor, Closeburn.) 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 lovely Polly Stewart. 
 charming Polly Steirarf, 
 There's ne'er a flower that blnnm^ in May 
 That's half so fair as thou art. 
 
 The flower it blaws, it fades, it fa's, 
 
 And art can ne'er renew it; 
 But worth, and truth, eternal youth 
 
 Will gie to Polly Stewart. 
 lovely, (See. 
 
 May he, whase arms shall fauld thy charms 
 Possess a leal and tiue heart ! 
 
 To him be given to ken the Heaven, 
 He grasps in Polly Stewart 1 
 lovely, ikc. 
 
 BANNOCKS 0' BEAR MEAL. 
 
 (Xo name attached to this in the Mtiseum.] 
 
 Bannocks o' bear meal, Iiannocks o' bailey. 
 Here's to the Highlandraan's bannocks o' barley I 
 Wha, in a brulzie, will first cry a parley? 
 Never the lads wi' the bannocks o' barley ! 
 Bannocks o', d:c. 
 
 Bannocks o' bear meal, bannocks o' barley, 
 Here's to the Highlandman's bannocks o barley I 
 Wha in his wae days, were loyal to Charlie'? 
 Wha but the lads wi' the bannocks o' barley 1 
 Bannocks o', d-c. 
 
 WAE IS MY HEART. 
 
 [No name is attached to this in the Afuseum.] 
 
 Wae is my lieart, and the tear's in my e'e ; 
 Lang, Jang joy's been a stranger to me: 
 Forsaken and friendless my burden I bear, 
 And the sweet voice o' pity ne'er sounds in my ear. 
 
 Love, thou hast pleasures— and deep hae I lov'd ; 
 Love, thou hast sorrows— and sair hae I proved ; 
 But this bruised heart that now bleeds in my breast, 
 I can feel by it's throbbings will soon be at rest. 
 
 O, if I were where happy I hae been, 
 Down by yon stream, and yon bonie castle-green; 
 For there he is wand'ring and musing on me, 
 Wha wad soon dry the tear frae his Phillis' e'e.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 177 
 
 THE WINTER OF LIFE. 
 
 [In the yTuseum, Burns's name is given 
 as the author. In Thnmson'g Colleclion, 
 the fifth line of the tirst stanza is altereil 
 to: — " Tho' now all Nature's sweets are 
 fled," to suit the air.] 
 
 But lately seen in siladsouie green, 
 
 The woods rejoiced the day ; 
 Thro' gentle showers, the laughing flowers 
 
 In double pride were say : 
 But now our joys are fied 
 
 On winter blasts awa' ; 
 Yet maiden May, in rich airay, 
 
 Again shall bring them a' : 
 
 But my white pow— nae kindly thowe 
 
 sihall melt the snaws of Age ; 
 My trunk of eild, but buss or heild, 
 
 Sinks in Time's " intry rage. 
 Oh 1 Age has weary days, 
 
 -■Vnd nights o' sleepless pain : 
 Thou golden time o' Youthfu' prime, 
 
 Why comes thou not again ? 
 
 HERE'S TO THY HEALTH, .MY 
 BONIE LASS. 
 
 TvyR—Loqie Burn. 
 
 [This song has the name of Burns 
 attached to it in the Mjixfuin. It is not 
 known to have been seen in print before 
 it appeared there. Mrs. Begg considered 
 it to l)e an old production.] 
 
 IIi:RE'?i to thy health, my honie lass, 
 
 (luile-night anil joy he wi' thee 1 
 111 come nae niair to thy bower-door. 
 
 To tell thee that I lo'e thee : 
 (» (linna think, my prefty pink. 
 
 But I can live without thee : 
 I vdW and sv.-ear, I dinua care 
 
 lluw lang ye look about ye I 
 
 lliiiu'rt ay sae free informing me 
 
 I'hoii hast nae mind to marry ; 
 111 1)6 as free informing thee 
 
 Nnc time liao I to tarry: 
 T ken thy friends try ilka means 
 
 Frau wedlock to delay thee, 
 O'-pendini,' on some higher chance— 
 
 iUit fortune m.iy betray theel 
 
 I ken they scorn my low estate. 
 
 But that does never grieve ine ; 
 For I'm as free as any he, 
 
 Sma' siller will relieve me. 
 I'll count my health my greatest wealth, 
 
 Sae lang as I eiijny it : 
 I'll fear nae scant, I'll bode nae want, 
 
 Sae lang's I get employment! 
 
 But far off fowls hae feathers fair, 
 
 .4ntl ay until ye try them ; 
 Tho' they seem fair, still have a care. 
 
 They may prove as l)ad as I am ! 
 But at twal' at night, when the moon 
 shines bright. 
 
 My dear, I'll come and see thee ; 
 For the man that loves his mistress weel, 
 
 Nae travel makes him weary I 
 
 IT WAS A' FOR OUR RIGHTFU* 
 KINO. 
 
 [This very fine ballad, with its beautiful 
 air, was supplied by Burns to the Museum, 
 but no name is attached to it. One of its 
 verses, and perhaps the best,— "He turned 
 him right and round about," <l-c.,— is 
 found in copies of a stall-ballad of no 
 value, called Malbj Stewart; and Burns's 
 authorship has been questioned on this 
 slender pretext.] 
 
 It was .a' for our riuhtfu' king. 
 We left fair Scotlnnd's >trand ; 
 
 It was a' for our riglitfu' king. 
 We e'er saw Iri>h laii.l, my dear, 
 We e'er saw Irish laud. " 
 
 Now a' is done that mr-n can do. 
 
 And a' is done in vain; 
 My love, and native land, fareweel. 
 
 For I luauu cross the main, my dear. 
 For I maun cross the main ! 
 
 He turn'il him ri^dit :ind round about, 
 
 Upon the Irish sliore, 
 .\nd g:ie his bridle reins a shake. 
 
 With, adieu for evermore, my dear. 
 With adieu for evermore ! 
 
 The soger frae the wars returns, • 
 
 The saihir frae the main ; 
 But I hae parteil frae my love. 
 
 Never to meet again, my dear. 
 Never to meet asainl 
 
 M
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BUJiNS. 
 
 178 
 
 When (lay is gane, and night is come, 
 
 Ami a' folk bound to sleep; 
 I think on him that's far awa, 
 
 The lee-lang night and weep, my dear. 
 The lee-lang night and weepl 
 
 GLOOMY DECEMBER. 
 
 [Johnson states that Burns is the author of this piece. Ifc doubtless refers to his 
 parting with Clarinda, on 6th December, 1791, the celebration of anniversaries being 
 % characteristic ot" his Muse.l 
 
 Ance mair I hail thee, thou gloomy December! 
 
 Ance mair I hail thee wi' sorrow and care; 
 Sad was the parting; thou makes me remember, 
 
 Parting wi' Xaiicy, oil ! ne'er to meet mair. 
 Fond lovers parting is sweet painful pleasure — 
 
 Hi'pe beaming mild on the soft paiting hour; 
 But the dire feeling— O farewell fur ever! 
 
 Anguish unmingl'd and agony pure. 
 
 Wild as the winter now tearing the forest, 
 
 Till the last leaf o' the summer is Hown ; 
 Sui-h is the tempest has shaken my bosom. 
 
 Till my last hope and last comfort is gone : 
 .Still as I hail thee, tlmu gloomy December 1 
 
 Still shall I hail thee wi' smiow and care; 
 For sa<l was the parting thou makes me remember. 
 
 Parting wi' Nancy, oh! ne'er to meet mail*.
 
 SONGS FIRST PUBLISHED IN THOMSON'S SECOND HALF-VOL.. AUG., 1798. 
 
 BONIE LESLEY. 
 
 [Thomson notea that this was "Written 
 for this work by Burns." Miss Lesley 
 Baillie, whom the Poet celebrated in 
 another song, beginning— "Blythe hae I 
 been on yon hill," became Mrs. Cumming 
 ofLogie.and latterly resided in Edinburgh, 
 where she died in 1843.] 
 
 O S4W ye bonie Lesley, 
 
 As she gaed ower the Border? 
 She's gane, like Alexander, 
 
 To spread her conquests farther. 
 
 To see her is to love her. 
 And love but her for ever ; 
 
 For nature made her what she ia, 
 And never made anither 1 
 
 Thou art a queen, fair Lesley, 
 Thy subjects we, before thee; 
 
 Thou art divine, fair Lesley, 
 The hearts o' men adore thee. 
 
 The deil he couldna skaith thee. 
 Or aught that wad belang thee ; 
 
 He'd look into thy bonie face, 
 And say, 'I canna wrang thee I' 
 
 The powers aboon wiU tent thee, 
 Mi.sfortiine sha' na steer thee; 
 
 Thou'rt like themselves sae lovely, 
 That ill they'll ne'er let near the*. 
 
 Return again, fair Lesley, 
 
 Return to Caledonie! 
 That we may brag, we hae a lass 
 
 There's nane again sae bonie. 
 
 DUNCAN GRAY. 
 
 [This song was sent to Thomson in De- 
 cember, 1792. In acknowledging receipt 
 of it, the Hon. Andrew Erskine — a coad- 
 jutor with Thomson in his speculation — 
 
 wrote thus to Burns :—" Duncan Grau 
 possesses native, gfniiine humour— '."^pak' 
 o' lowpin' ower a linn,' is a line of itself 
 that should make you immortal." Thom- 
 son prints it as " Written for this work by 
 Burns."] 
 
 Duncan Gray cam' here to woo. 
 
 Ha, ha, the wooing ot, 
 On blithe Yule-night when we were fou', 
 
 Ua, ha, the wooing ot. 
 Mag;,'ie coost her head fu' high, 
 Looked asklent and unco skiegh, 
 Gart poor Duncan stand abiegh ; 
 
 Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 
 
 Duncan fleechd, and Duncan prayed ; 
 
 Ha, ha, &c. 
 Meg was deaf as .Ailsi Craig,* 
 
 Ha, ha, ic. 
 Duncan sighed baith out and in, 
 Grat his een baith bleert and blin', 
 .Spak o' lowpin' ower a linn ; 
 
 Ha, ha, &c. 
 
 Time and chance are but a tide. 
 
 Ha, ha, &c. 
 Slighted love is sair to bide. 
 
 Ha, ha, &c. 
 Shall I, like a fool, quoth he. 
 For a haughty hizzie die? 
 She may gae to— France for me I 
 
 Ha, ha, Ac. 
 
 How it comes let doctors tell. 
 
 Ha, ha, &c. 
 Meg grew sick— as he grew hale, 
 
 Ha, ha, ic. 
 Something in her bosom wrings. 
 For I elief a sigh she brings ; 
 And oh ! her een, they spak' sic things 1 
 
 Ha, ha, Ac. 
 
 Duncan was a lad o' grace, 
 
 Ha, ha, &c. 
 Maggie's was a piteous ease, 
 
 Ha, ha, Ac. 
 Duncan couldna be her death. 
 Swelling pity smoored his wrath ; 
 Now they're crouse and canty baith; 
 
 Ha, ha, Ac. 
 
 'A well-known rocky islet In the Firth of Clyde.
 
 TEE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 180 
 
 LET NOT WOMEN E'ER COMPLAIN. 
 
 TvyE— Duncan Gray. 
 
 [The following song was supplied by 
 Burns in October, 1794, as English verses 
 for Duncan Gray. In forwarding it, he 
 remarked :— " I Iiave been at Duncan Gray 
 to dress it in English ; but all I can do is 
 ileplorably stupid. Thomson remarks, 
 "Written for this work by Burns."] 
 
 Let not women e'er complain 
 
 Of inconstancy in love ; 
 Let not women e'er complain 
 
 Fickle man is apt to rove : 
 
 Look abroad through Nature's range, 
 Nature's mighty law is change; 
 Ladies, would it not be strange, 
 Man should then a monster prove? 
 
 Mark the winds, and mark the skies ; 
 
 Ocean's ebb, and ocean's How : 
 Sun and moon but set to rise. 
 
 Round and round the seasons go. 
 
 Why, then, ask of silly man 
 To oppose great Nature's plan? 
 We'll be constant while we can— 
 You can be no more, you know. 
 
 LORD GREGORY. 
 
 [This was produced in .January, 1793, a^ 
 a Scottish version ofa subject that had been 
 
 taken up by Dr. Widcot (Peter Pindar), at 
 Thomson's request, and which was sent to 
 him under the title, Ah ope, LordGreyori/, 
 thy door. Thomson notes:— "Mr. Burns 
 saw it, liked it, and immediately wrote 
 the other on the same subject." Burns in 
 sending his verses, remarked thus: — " .My 
 song, though much inferior to Peter's in 
 piietic merit, has, I think, more of the 
 ballad simplicity in it."] 
 
 O MIRK, milk is this midnight hour. 
 And loud the tempest's roar ; 
 
 A waefu' wanderer seeks thy tower, 
 Lord Gregory, ope thy door. 
 
 An exile frae her father's ha', 
 
 And a' for loving thee ; 
 .Vt least some pity on me shaw, 
 
 If love it may na be. 
 
 Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the grova 
 
 By bonie Irwine side, 
 Where first I owned that virgin-love 
 
 I lang, lang had denied? 
 
 How aften didst thou pledge and vow 
 
 Thou wad for aye be mine ; 
 And my fond heart, itsel' sae true, 
 
 It ne'er mistrusted thine. 
 
 Hard is thy heart. Lord Gregory, 
 
 And flinty is thy breast : 
 Thou dart of heaven that flashest by, 
 
 O wilt thou give me rest? 
 
 Ye mustering thunders from above 
 
 Your willing victim see ! 
 But spare and pardon my fause love. 
 
 His wrangs to Heaven and me I 
 
 YOUNG JESSIE, 
 
 Tune— So7u'e Dundee. 
 
 [Composed in April, 1793. The author, in forwarding it, thus expressed himself:— 
 "I send a song on a celebrated toast in this country, to suit Bunie Dundee." " Jessie'' 
 was the dan [;liter of Provost Staig of Dumfries, afterwards married to -Major Miller 
 of Dalswinton. She died in 1301, at the age of :iti. Thomson notes the song a- 
 " Written for this work by Burns." 
 
 True-HE.^rted was he, the sad swain o' the Yarrow, 
 And fair are the maids on the banks o' the -Ayr, 
 
 But by the sweet side o' the Nith's winding river, 
 Are lovers as faithful, and maidens as fair:
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 
 To equal young Jessie seek Scotland all over; 
 
 To equal younp; Jessie you seek it in vain; 
 Grace, beauty, and elegance fetter her lover, 
 
 And maidenly modesty fixes the chain. 
 
 O fresh is the rose in the gay dewy morning. 
 
 And sweet is the lily at evening close ; 
 But in the fair presence o' lovely young Jessie 
 
 Unseen is the lily, unheeded the rose. 
 Love sits in her smile, like a wizard ensnaring; 
 
 Enthroned in her een he delivers his law : 
 And still to her charms she alone is a stranger— 
 
 Her modest demeanour's the jewel of a' I 
 
 POORTITH CAULD. 
 
 Tune— CawZd KnU. 
 
 [This song, composed in January, 1793, 
 was intended by Burns to be set to the 
 air, Cauld Kail '" Aberdeen; but Thom- 
 r-on, fancying that to be unsuitable, 
 selected for it another melody, / had a 
 hi'Tse, I had nae mnir. The Poet was 
 not reconcileil to Thomson's opinion of 
 Cauld Kail, and he thus wrote to liira :— 
 " I differ from your idea of the expression 
 of the tune: there i-, to me, a great deal 
 of tenderness in it." Thomson prints it as 
 'MYritten for this work by Burns."] 
 
 O POORTlTll cauld, and restless love. 
 Ye wreck my peace between ye; 
 
 Yet poortith a' I could foiaive. 
 An 'twere na for my Jeanie. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 ichy should Fate sic pleas^trf have, 
 Life's dearest baiuls untiviniivj? 
 
 Or why sae sxveet aflnwer as love. 
 Depend on Fortune's shining. 
 
 This warld's wealth, when I think on, 
 Its pride, and a' the lave o't; 
 
 Fie, tie on silly coward man 
 That he should be the .slave o't! 
 n'hy, lie. 
 
 iler een sae bonie blue, betray 
 How she repays my passion; 
 
 But prudence is her o'erword aye, 
 She talks of rank and fashion. 
 why, <l'\ 
 
 () wha can prudence think upon, 
 
 And sic a lassie by him? 
 O wha can prudence think upon, 
 
 .\nd sae in love as I am? 
 ivhy, d-c. 
 
 How blest the humble cotter's fate !• 
 He wooes his simple dearie ; 
 
 The silly bogles, wealth am! state. 
 Can never make them eerie. 
 ichy, ttc. 
 
 HERE IS THE GLEN. 
 TVSE~Th,: Flowers of Edinburgh. 
 
 [Produced in ilay. 1794, to fit an air 
 I composed by Lady Elizabeth Heron of 
 
 Heron, called TAl' Banks of Cree ; but as 
 ■ Thomson did not fancy the tune, he set 
 
 tliese words to the above tune. It bears 
 
 tlie note:— "Written for this work by 
 
 Kurns."] 
 
 Here is the glen, and here the bower, 
 
 All underneath the birchen shade; 
 The village-bell has tolled the hour — 
 
 O what can stay my lovely maid? 
 'Tis not Maria's whispering call ; 
 
 'Tis but the balmy-bre;ithing gale, 
 Mi.xed with some warbler's living fall. 
 
 The dewy star of eve to hail. 
 
 It is Maria's voice I hear! — 
 
 So calls the woodlark in the grove. 
 His little faithful mate to cheer; 
 
 At once 'tis music and 'tis love. 
 .\nd art thou come?— and art thou true? 
 
 O welcome, dear, to love and me ! 
 And let us all our vows renew. 
 
 Along the flowerv banks of Cree. 
 
 *In the original MS., "How blest the wild-wood Inilian's fate."
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 182 
 ADDRESS TO THE WOODLARK. 
 
 Tune— LocTi brrochtide. 
 
 [Produced in May, 1795. It bears the usual note by Thomson :—" Written for thi« 
 work by Burns."] 
 
 O STAY, sweet warbling woodlark, stay ! 
 Nor quit for me the trembling spray; 
 A hapless lover courts thy lay. 
 
 Thy soothing, fond complaining. 
 Again, again that tender part. 
 That I may catch thy melting art ; 
 For surely that wad touch her heart, 
 
 Wha kills me vfi' disdaining. 
 
 Say, was thy little mate unkind. 
 And heard thee as the careless wind? 
 Oh 1 nocht Ijut love and sorrow joined, 
 
 Sic notes o' woe could wauken. 
 Thou tells o' never-ending care; 
 O' speechless grief, .and dark de-^pairi 
 For pity's sake, sweet bird, nae mair, 
 
 Or my poor heart is broken 1 
 
 3K€
 
 SOXGS FIRST PUBLISHED IN THOMSON'S COLLECTION. VOL.IL. JULY, 1799. 
 
 HIGHLAXD MARY. 
 Tune — Katharine Onie. 
 
 BLYTHE HAE I BEEN OX YOX HILL. 
 
 ! Tune— r/ic Quakei'i Wife. 
 
 [Thomson prints this song «ith the usual 
 note: — "Written for this work hy Burns." 
 It was composed in November, 1792.] 
 
 Ye banks, and braes, and streams around 
 
 The castle o' Montgomery! 
 Green be your woods, and fair your flowers. 
 
 Your waters never drumlie : 
 There simmer first unfauld her robes. 
 
 Ami there the langest tarry; 
 For there I tuok tlie last fareweel 
 
 O' my sweet Highland Mary. 
 
 How sweetly bloomed the gay green birk. 
 
 How rich the hawthorn's blossom, 
 As underneath their fragrant shade 
 
 I clasped her to my bosom '. 
 The golden hours, on angel wings. 
 
 Flew o'er me and my dearie ; 
 For dear to me, as light and life. 
 
 Was my sweet Highland Mary. 
 
 Wi' raony a vow, and locked embrace. 
 
 Our parting was fu' tender; 
 And, pledging aft to meet again. 
 
 We tore oursel's asunder: 
 But, oh I fell death's untimely frost, 
 
 That nipt my flower sae early \ 
 Xow green's the sod, and cauld's the clay. 
 
 That wraps my Highland Mary. 
 
 O pale, pale now, those rosy lips, 
 
 I aft hae kis.sed sae fondly ! 
 And closf-rl for aye the sparkling glance 
 
 That dwelt on me sae kindly : 
 And mouldering now in silent dust 
 
 That heart that loed me dearly! 
 But still within my liosom's core 
 
 Shall live my Higliland .Mary. 
 
 
 [This song, supplied in .June, 1793, was 
 inspired by the charms of >iiss Lesley 
 liaillie. The Poet, in sendins it, remarks': 
 —"I think the song is not in ray worst 
 manner;" and in September thereafter he 
 again refers to it t\n\^:—" Dbithe hae I 
 heen imynn hill, is one of the finest songs 
 ever I made in my life ; and besides, is com- 
 posed on a young lady, positively the most 
 beautiful, lovely woman in the world." 
 Thomson notes as usual :—" Written for 
 this work bv Burns,"] 
 
 Blvthe hae I been on yon hill, 
 
 As the lambs before me ; 
 Careless ilka thought and free. 
 
 As the breeze flew o'er me : 
 Now nae longer sport and play, 
 
 Mirth or sang can please me ; 
 Lesley is sae fair ancl coy. 
 
 Care and anguish seize me. 
 
 Heavy, heavy is the task. 
 
 Hopeless love declaring ; 
 Tremoling, I dow nocht but glower, 
 
 Sighing, dumb, despairing! 
 If she winna ease the thraws 
 
 In my bosom swelling. 
 Underneath the grass-green sod, 
 
 Soon maun be my dsvelling. 
 
 THINE AM I, MY FAITHFUL FAIR. 
 
 TVSF.-The Quaker's Wife. 
 
 [In sending this song, in October, 1793, 
 the Poet says— "I am pleased that yon 
 are reconciled to the air of the Quaker' i 
 Wife. The following verses, I hope, will 
 I)lease you, as an Knglisli siuig to the air." 
 The variations in tlie different edition.s 
 of Thdinson's Collection render reference 
 somewhat perplexing. The second song 
 to The Quaker's Wife is Dear Colin, by
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 1S4 
 
 I'eter Pindar. In anuther edition, Thiw 
 am I, ponies after .for ane and tivent//. 
 Tarn, (Vol. Ill, p. i50). The first stanza 
 there, reads:— 
 
 Tliine am I my faithful fair, 
 Well thou may'st discover; 
 Ev'ry pulse along my veins, 
 Tells the ardent lover.] 
 
 Thi.ne am I, my faithful fair, 
 
 Thine, my lovely Nancy; 
 Every pulse aloni; my veins. 
 
 Every roving fancy. 
 To thy'bosom lay my heart, 
 
 There to throh and languish : 
 Though despair hatl wrung its core, 
 
 That would heal its anguish. 
 
 Take away those rosy lips. 
 
 Rich with l)almy treasure; 
 Turn away thine eyes of love. 
 
 Lest I die with pleasure. 
 ■\Vlmt is life when wanting love? — 
 
 Night without a morning: 
 Love's the cloudless sunnuer sun, 
 
 Nature gay ;idorning. 
 
 HAD I A CAVE. 
 Tu.NE— /Voiiu Adair. 
 
 [These verses were produced in August, 
 1793, to suit a favourite Irish melody. In 
 forwarding them the Poet thus wrote: — 
 "You, my dear sir, will remember an 
 tinfortunate part of our worthy friend 
 Cunningham'sstory which h.appenedabout 
 three ye.ars ago. That struck my fancy, 
 and I endeavoured to do the idea justice, 
 as follows." They appear in the Cnllection 
 with the usual note. She's- J'air and fause, 
 was inspired by the same "story."] 
 
 Had I a cave on some wild distant shore, 
 Where the wituls howl to the waves' dash- 
 ing roar; 
 There would I weep my woes. 
 There seek my lost repose. 
 Till grief my eyes sliould close. 
 Ne'er to wake more ! 
 
 Falsest of womankind 1 canst thou declare, 
 All thy fond-plighted vows— fleeting as air? 
 
 To thy new lover hie. 
 
 Laugh o'er thy perjury; 
 
 Then in thy bosom try 
 What peace is there ! 
 
 BY ALLAN STREAM I CHANCED 
 TO ROVE. 
 
 'VvyE— Allan iVaffir. 
 
 [The Poet, in transmitting this song in 
 August, 1793, remarks:— ''Autumn ia my 
 propitious season. I make more verses in 
 it than alltheyearelse. . . . I walked 
 out yesterday evening with a volume of 
 the }[iisenin in my haml, "hen, turning up 
 Allan ll-'fi^f)-— ' \Vhat numliers shall the 
 muse repeat?' — the words appeared to me 
 rather unworthy of so fine an air, and 
 recollecting that it is on your list, I sat 
 and raved untler the shade of an old thorn, 
 till I wrote one to suit the measure. I 
 may be wrong, but I think it not in my 
 worst style." In the Collect ion it comes 
 after a song to the same air by Crawford, 
 and it has Thomson's usual note attached.] 
 
 B'i' Allan stream I chanced to rove, 
 
 AVhile Phcebus sank beyond Benledi;* 
 The winds were whispering through the 
 grove. 
 
 The yellow corn was waving ready : 
 I listened to a lover's sang. 
 
 And thought on youthfu'pleasuresmony^. 
 And aye the wild-wood echoes rang — 
 
 Oh, dearly do I love thee, Annie '. t 
 
 Oh, happy be the woodbine bower, 
 
 Nae nightly bogle make it eerie; 
 Nor ever sorrow stain the hour, 
 
 The place and time I met my dearie 1 
 Her he.ad upon my throbbing breast, 
 
 she, sinking, said: 'I'm thine for ever!' 
 While mony a kiss the seal imprest. 
 
 The sacred vow, we ne'er should sever. 
 
 The haunt o' Spring's the primrose brae. 
 The Simmer joysthe tiocks to follow ; 
 
 How cheery through her shortening day, 
 Is Autumn, in her weetls o' yellow 1 
 
 -A mountain west of Strath-Allan, 3009 feet high.— (R. B.) 
 tOr, "Oiny love .Vnnie's very bonie."— (R. B.)
 
 THE rOEMS AND SOXGS OF BURNS. 
 
 1S5 
 
 But c^n they melt the glowing heart, 
 Or chain the soul in speechless pleasure? 
 
 Or through each nerve the rapture dart, 
 Like meeting lier, our bosom's treasure? 
 
 WHISTLE, AND I'LL CuME TO YOU, MY LAD. 
 
 [A slight sketch of this unique song was furnished for the Museum during the 
 winter of 1787. Tlie complete sonsr, as in the text, was supplied to Thomson in 
 August, 1793, who prints it with the usual note.] 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 O ivhistle, and I'll come to yov, my lad, 
 ivhisHe, and I'll come, to you, my lad ; 
 Though Jatlier and mither and a' should gae mad, 
 u'hintle, and I'll come tn you, vvj lad. 
 
 But warily tent, when ye r(.me to court me. 
 And couie"na unless the liack-yett be a-jee ; 
 Syne up the back-.stile, and let naebody see, 
 And ccime as ye were na comin' to me. 
 O whintle, tic. 
 
 At kirk, or at market, whene'er ye meet me. 
 Gang by me as though that ye cared nae a tlie; 
 But steal me a lilink o' your bonie black ee. 
 Yet look as ye were na lookin' at me. 
 u'hi^stle, etc. 
 
 A\-e vow and protest that ye care na for me, 
 Aiid whiles ye may lightly my beauty a wee; 
 Hut court na anither, though jokin' ye be, 
 For fear that she wile your fancy frae me. 
 whistle, d:c. 
 
 COME, LET MK TAKE TIIKE TO 
 
 MY BREAST. 
 
 Tune— CauM Kail. 
 
 [Printed by Thomson witli the usual 
 note appended.] 
 
 Come, let me take Miee to my breast, 
 Anil pledge we ne'er shall sunder; 
 
 And I shall spurn as vilest dust 
 The warld's wealth and grandeur: 
 
 .And do I hear my .Teanie own 
 That equal transports move her? 
 
 I ask for dearest life alone 
 Th.at I may live to love her. 
 
 Thus in my arms, wi' all thy charms, 
 
 I clasp my countless treasure; 
 I'll seek nae niair o' heaven to share. 
 
 Than sic a moment's pleasure : 
 And by thy ee n sae bonie blue, 
 
 I swear I'm thine for ever! 
 And on thy lips I seal my vow. 
 
 And break it shall I never! 
 
 4- + +
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 156 
 
 IT WAS THE CHARMING MONTH 
 OF MAY. 
 
 Tune— Dain^/ Davie. 
 
 [In November, 1794, Thomson required 
 English words to sing to the same tune as 
 the preceding song, and the Poet selected 
 some verses from tlie Ten-Table Miscellawi, 
 which, with a little dressing, he formed 
 into the following song. "You may think- 
 meanly of this," said Burns, "but take a 
 look at the bombast original, and you will 
 be surprised that I have made so much of 
 it." Thomson prints it as second song to 
 the tune.] 
 
 It was the charming month of May, 
 WTien all the flowers were fresh and gay. 
 One morning, by the lireak of day. 
 
 The youthful, charming Chloe— 
 From peaceful slumber she arose, 
 Girt on her mantle and her hose, 
 And o'er the flowery mead she goes, 
 
 The youthful, charming Chloe. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Lovely was she by the daum. 
 
 Youthful Chloe, charming Chloe, 
 
 Tripping o'er the pearly laivn. 
 The youthful, charming Chloe. 
 
 The feathered people, you might see 
 Perched all around on every tree, 
 In notes of sweetest melody 
 
 They hail the charming Chloe; 
 TiU, painting gay the eastern skies, 
 The glorious sun began to rise. 
 Out-rivalled by the radiant eyes 
 
 Of youthful, charming Chloe. 
 Lovely wan she, <fc. 
 
 THOU HAST LEFT ME EVER, JAMIE. 
 TviiE—Fee him, Father. 
 
 [Composed and sent to Thomson in 
 September, 1793. In his letter, the Poet 
 says:— "I enclose you Eraser's set of the 
 tune. ^Vhen he plays it slow, in fact, he 
 makes it the language of despair. I shall 
 here give you two stanzas in that style, 
 merely to try if it will be any improvement. 
 Were it possible in singing, to give it half 
 
 the pathos that Eraser gives it in playing, 
 it would make an admirable pathetic 
 song." In Thomson's second volume (1815 
 edition), this song runs:— "Thou hast left 
 me ever. Tarn," with one or two verbal 
 discrepancies. In the third volume, it is 
 the same as here.] 
 
 Tiiou hast left me ever, Jamie 1 
 
 Tliou hast left me ever ; 
 Thou hast left me ever, .lamie ! 
 
 Thou hast left me ever : 
 Aften hast thou vowed that death 
 
 Only should us sever; 
 Now thou'st left th.. lass for aye— 
 
 I maun see thee never, Jamie, 
 
 111 see thee never. 
 
 Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie I 
 
 Thou hast me forsaken ; 
 Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie 1 
 
 Thou hast me forsaken : 
 Thou canst love anither jo, 
 
 While my heart is breaking ; 
 Soiin my weary een I'll close — 
 
 Never mair to waken, Jamie, 
 
 Ne'er mair to waken I 
 
 BRUCE'S ADDRESS AT 
 BANNOCKBURN. 
 
 Tune— Hey, t^ittie taitie. 
 
 [This world-famous Ode was composed 
 in September, 1793. In his letter trans- 
 mitting it, the Poet thus wrote: — "I am 
 delighted with many little melodies which 
 the learned musician despises as silly and 
 insipid. I do not know whether the old 
 air, Iley, tuttie taitie, may rank among 
 (he number; but well I know that, with 
 I'raser's hautboy, it has often filled ray 
 eyes with tears. There is a tradition, 
 which I have met with in many places in 
 Scotland, that it was Robert Brace's 
 march at the battle of Bannockburn. 
 This tliought, in my yesternight's evening- 
 walk, warmed me to a pitch of enthusiasm 
 on the theme of liberty and independence, 
 which I threw into a kind of Scottish ode, 
 fitted to the air, that one might suppose 
 to be the gallant royal Scot's addre.ss to 
 heroic followers on that eventful morning. 
 
 "I shewed the air to Urbani, who was 
 highly pleased with it, and begged me to
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 
 187 
 
 make soft verses to it ; but I had no idea 
 of giving myself any trouble on the sub- 
 ject till the acciilental recollection of that 
 glorious struggle for freedom, associated 
 with the gloNving iileas of some other 
 struggles of the same nature, not_ quite so 
 ancient, roused my rhyming mania." 
 
 Thomson in his second volume, set it to 
 the tune, Lervie Gordon, which required 
 extra syllables in every fourth line, against 
 which 'the Poet stron-ly protested. In 
 the third volume (1S15), Thomson confesses 
 his error, and substitutes Hey, tuttie 
 taitie, and the Poet's versionof the words.] 
 
 Scots! wha hae wi' Wallace bled, 
 
 Scots', wham Bruce has aften led. 
 
 Welcome to your gory bed. 
 
 Or to victory 1 
 
 Now's the day, and now's the hour ; 
 
 See the front o' battle lour : 
 
 See approach proud Edward's power- 
 Chains and slavery 1 
 
 Wha will be a traitor knave? 
 Wha can All a coward's grave? 
 Wha sae base as be a slave? 
 
 Let him turn and flee 1 
 Wha for Scotland's king and law 
 Freedom's sword will strongly draw? 
 Freeman stand, or freeman fa"? 
 
 Let him on wi' me 1 
 
 By oppression's woes and pains I 
 By your sons in servile chains I 
 We will drain our dearest veins, 
 
 But they shall be free ! 
 Lay the proud usurpers low 1 
 Tyrants fall in every foe ! 
 Liberty's in every blow!— 
 
 Let us do or die 1 
 
 So mav God ever defend the cause of 
 truth and liberty, as He did that day ! 
 Amen. 
 
 HUSBAND, HUSBAND, CEASE YOUR 
 STRIFE. 
 
 TCNE— .v.'/ ;o, Janet. 
 
 [Given by Thomson as second song to 
 the tune, and certified as " Written for 
 this work by Burns."] 
 
 Husband, husband, cease your strife, 
 
 Nor longer idly rave, sir; 
 Though I am your wedded wife. 
 
 Yet I am not your slave, sir. 
 
 One nf two mnst still obey, 
 
 Xanc'j, Sancy ; 
 Is it man, or vjoman. say, 
 
 ily spouse, Xancy ? 
 
 If 'tis still the lordly word — 
 
 Service and obedience ; 
 I'll desert my sovereign lord. 
 
 And so good-by allegiance I 
 Sad tmll 1 be, so bereft, 
 
 Nancy, Nancy; 
 Yet I'll try to make a shift, 
 
 My spouse, Nancy. 
 
 My poor heart then break it most, 
 
 ily last hour I'm near it: 
 When you lay me in the dust, 
 
 Think, think hnw you will bear it 
 I iv'll hope and trust in Heaven, 
 
 Nancy, Nancy; 
 Strpnyth to bear it will be given, 
 
 My spouse, Nancy. 
 
 Well, sir, from the silent dead. 
 
 Still I'll try to daunt you ; 
 Ever round your midnight: bed 
 
 Horrid sprites sliall hatmt you. 
 ril ived another like my dear, 
 
 Nancy, Nancy; 
 Then all hell u-illfiy for fear. 
 
 My spouse, Nancii. 
 
 FAREWELL, THOU STREAM THAT 
 WINDING FLOWS. 
 
 Tune — Nancy's to the Greenwood. 
 
 [The present version of this song, of 
 which the accomplishetl Maria Riddel of 
 Woodley Park was the subject, was sent 
 to Thomson in November, 1794, although, 
 in reality, it had been composed and for- 
 warded to Thomson in April, 1793, for the 
 air, The last time. I came o'er the moor. 
 The Poet having, meanwhile, had a diff- 
 erence with that lady, he disi;uised the 
 song by changing the name from " Maria" 
 to Kliza, and by giving it a new opening 
 line, with directions to have it set to a 
 different tune. The earUer version seems 
 never to have been published until it 
 appeared in Chambers's edition of 1851. 
 For the sake of ready comparison, we
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 
 iss 
 
 shall here introiluce them both. It 
 appears in the Collection with the usual 
 ceitifying iiote.l 
 
 Farewell, thou stream that windingflows 
 
 Around Eliza's dwelling ! 
 U mem'ry! spare the cruel throes 
 
 Within my bosom swelling: 
 Condemned to drag a hopeless chain, 
 
 And yet in secret lang\iish — 
 To feel a fire in every vein, 
 
 >'or dare disclose my anguish. 
 
 Love's veriest wretch, unseen, unknown, 
 
 I fain my griefs would cover : 
 The bursting sigh, th' unweeting groan, 
 
 Betray the hapless lover 
 I know thou doom'st me to despair, 
 
 Nor wilt, nor canst relieve me; 
 But, oh ! Eliza, hear one prayer — 
 
 For pity's sake forgive mel 
 
 The music of thy voice I heard, 
 
 Nor wist while it enslaveil me ; 
 I saw thine eyes, yet nothing feared. 
 
 Till fears no more had saved me : ■ 
 Th' unwary sailor, thus, aghast. 
 
 The wheeling torrent viewing, 
 'Mid circling horrors sinks at last 
 
 In overwhelming ruin. 
 
 
 ■>**■ 
 M- 
 
 ■4» 
 
 THE LAST riME I CAME O'ER THE 
 :\IOOR 
 
 (Earlier Versiua of the preceding Styng.) 
 
 [This is the song referred to in our head- 
 note to the foregoing lyric. In April, 
 1793, the Poet thus wrote regarding it: — 
 "I had scarcely put my last letter into 
 the post-office, when I took up the subject 
 of The last time I came o'er the moor, and 
 ere I slept drew the outlines of the fore- 
 going. How far I have succeeded, I leave 
 you to decide."] 
 
 The last time I came o'er the moor. 
 
 And left Maria's dwelling. 
 What tliroes, what tortures passing cure, 
 
 Were in my bosoth swelling : 
 Condemned to see my rival's reign. 
 
 While I in secret languish ; 
 To feel a Are in every vein. 
 
 Yet dare not speak my anguish. 
 
 Love's veriest wretch, despairing, I 
 
 Fain, fain my crime would cover: 
 The unweeting groan, the bursting sigh, 
 
 Betray the guilty lover. 
 I know iny doom must be despair. 
 
 Thou wilt, nor canst relieve me; 
 But, O .Maria, hear my prayer. 
 
 For pity's s.ike, forgive mel* 
 
 CONTENTED WF LITTLE. 
 
 Tu.NE— ittjnps o' Puddiwi. 
 
 [Composed and forwarded in November, 1794, to suit a lively air called. Lumps o' 
 Pudding. It appears in the Collection with the usual certidcation. This song was an 
 especial favourite with Burns, wlio in a letter to Thomson, dated May, 1795, jocularly 
 told him to engrave a vif;nette of the author's own head as an illustration to it, "in 
 order that the pnrtiait of my face and the picture of my mind may go down the stream 
 of time together."] 
 
 Contented wi' little, and cantie wi' mair. 
 Whene'er I forgather wi' sorrow and care, 
 I gie them a skelp as they're creepin' alang, 
 Wi' a cog o' gude swats, and an auld Scottish sang. 
 
 *The closing verse corresponds with that of the preceding song
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 1S9 
 
 I whiles claw the elbow o' troublesome thought ; 
 
 But man is a sodger, and life is a faught : 
 
 My mirth and good-humour are coin in my pouch, 
 
 And my freedom's my lairdship nae monarch dare touch. 
 
 A towmond o' trouble, should that be my fa', 
 A night o' gude-fellowship sowthers it a' : 
 When at the blythe end of our journey at last, 
 Wha the deil ever thinks o' the road he has past? 
 
 Blind Chance, let her snapper and stoyte on her way; 
 Be't to me, be't frae me, e'n let the jade gae: 
 Come ease, or come travail ; come pleasure, or pain. 
 My warst word is, 'Welcome, and welcome again!' 
 
 CANST THOU LEAVE ME THUS, MY 
 KATIE. 
 
 TVSE— Roy's Wife. 
 
 [On 19th Xovember, 1794, the poet en- 
 closed these as English verses, to appear 
 on the same page with Mrs. Grant of 
 Carron's very popular sonu. He remarked 
 thus :— " Since yestenlay's penmanship, I 
 have framed a couple of stanzas by way 
 of an English song to Roy's Wife. You 
 will allow rae, that in this instance, niy 
 English corresponds in sentiment with 
 the Scottish." It was printed in the 
 second volume of the Collection with the 
 usual certification.] 
 
 CHORfS. 
 
 Canst thou leave me thiis, my Katie? 
 Canst thou, leave me thus, my Katie? 
 Well thou knows't my aching heart. 
 And canst thou leave me thus for pity? 
 
 Is this thy plighted, fond regard. 
 Thus cruelly to part, my Katie? 
 
 Is this thy faithful swain's reward — 
 An aching, broken heart, my Katie? 
 Canst thou, leave, d:c. 
 
 Farewell I and ne'er such sorrows tear 
 That tickle heart of thine, my Katie ; 
 
 Thou may'st find those ^vill love thee dear- 
 But not a love like mine, my Katie. 
 Canst thiiu leave, juc. 
 
 MY DANNIE'S AW A' 
 
 [This lyric, presented to Thomson in December, 1794, soon commanded public 
 attention'by its native beauty. The Poet requested it to be set to the plaintive air. 
 There'll never be peace till Jamie comes home; but Thomson allied it to the solemn 
 Irisli tune called Coulum, whereby the delicate verses were crushed Ijy the weight of 
 the music. It is generally considered to be one of the Clarinda effusions.' The 
 beautiful air to wliich it is now sung made its appearance anonymously, more than 
 5u years ago, and is generally thought to be the production of Alexander Hume,, 
 the composer of the air to Afton Water.] 
 
 Now in her green mantle blythe Nature arrays. 
 And listens the lambkins that bleat o'er the braes. 
 While birds warble welcome in ilka green shaw; 
 But to me it's delightless— my Nannie's awa'. 
 
 The snawdrap and primrose our woodlands adorn, 
 And violets bathe in the weet o' the morn; 
 They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they Maw, 
 Thev mind nie o' Nannie— and Nannies awa'.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 190 
 
 Thou laverock that springs frae the dews of the lawn. 
 The shepherd to warn o' the gray-breaking dawn, 
 And thou mellow mavis that hails the night fa', 
 Give over for pity— my Nannie's awa'. 
 
 Come autumn, sae pensive, in yellow and gray. 
 And soothe me with tidings o' Nature's decay ^ 
 The dark dreary winter and wild driving snaw 
 Alane can delight me— now Nannie's awa' ! 
 
 THE CHEVALIER'S LAMENT. 
 
 Tvy:E— Captain O'Krinf. 
 
 [There is reference made to this production in the Poet's letter to Thomson, dated 
 7th April, 1793. So early as 31st March, 17S8, writing from Mauchline to his friend 
 Mr. Robert Cleghorn, farmer, Saughton Mills, near Edinburgh, the Poet transcribed 
 the first ein;ht lines of the song. At some period, subsequent to 7th April, 1793, the 
 Poet added the second verse, and forwarded it to Thomson, who inserted it in the 
 Collection with this note :—" Supposed to be <*pnken by the young Prince Charles 
 Edward, when wandering in tbe Highlands of Scotland, after his fatal defeat at 
 Culloden." In an earlier edition he has this note appended: — "From a MS. by 
 Robert Burns." This composition breathes the same spirit as The Birthday Ode, in 
 honour of the Young Pretender.] 
 
 The small birds rejoice in the green leaves returning, 
 The murmuring streamlet winds clear through the vale ; 
 
 The hawthoin-trees blow in the dew of the morning. 
 And wild scattered cowslips bedeck the green dale; 
 
 But what can give pleasure, or what can seem fair, 
 
 Wliile the lingering moments are numbered by care? 
 No flowers gaily springing, nor birds sweetly singing, 
 
 Can soothe the sad bosom of joyless despair. 
 
 The deed that I dared, could it merit their malice — 
 
 A king and a father to place on his throne? 
 His right are these hills, and his right are these valleys, 
 
 Where the wild beasts find shelter, but I can find none : 
 But 'tis not my sufferings thus wretched, forlorn ; 
 >Iy brave gallant friends! 'tis your ruin I mourn; 
 
 Your deeds proved so loyal in hot bloody trial — 
 Alas! I can make you no sweeter return! 
 
 O WHA IS SHE THAT LO'ES ME? 
 
 Tune— .lAoraj. 
 
 [This song appears in the second volume 
 of Thornton's Collection, under the title : — 
 O wat ye wha that lo'es me.] 
 
 O WHA is she tliat lo'es me, 
 .\nd has my heart a-keeping? 
 
 O sweet is she that lo'es me, 
 As dews o' simmer weeping, 
 In tears the rose-buds steeping I 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 that's the lassie o' my heart, 
 
 M>i lassie ever dearer; 
 thafs the queen o' womankind, 
 
 And ne'er a ane to peer her. 
 
 If thou shalt meet a lassie 
 In grace and beauty charming. 
 
 That e'en thy chosen lassie, 
 Erewhile thy breast sae warming, 
 Had ne'er sic powers alarming ; 
 that's the lassie, ic.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 191 
 
 If thou haclst heard her talking— 
 And thy attentions plighted, 
 
 Tliat ilka body talking. 
 But her by thee is slighted— 
 And thou art all delighted; 
 that's the lassie, &c. 
 
 If thou hast met this fair one; 
 When frae her thou hast parted, 
 
 If every other fair one. 
 But her, thou hast deserted, 
 And thou art broken-hearted; 
 O that^i the lassie, <ic. 
 
 THE B R A W WOOER. 
 
 Tune — Queen u' the Lothians. 
 
 [This song was written for Thoiu son, in July, 1795, and it appears in hiiCoUectivn \vi:li 
 the usual certifying note. Immediately on being published. The hraw wooer became 
 very popular, insomuch that Johnson, the publisher of the ifimeum, could not resist 
 the temptation to grace his own publication with such a gem. In his sixth volume, 
 which appeared in June, 1S03, he introduced the same song with a few verbal altera- 
 tions of slight import, alleging that Burns had supplied him with it several years 
 before it was sent to Thomson. The alterations are as follows :— 
 " Ae day a braw wooer," for Lait May a braw ii-ooer. 
 "The Crude forgie me tor leeinl" for fhe Lord/onjie me for leeinl 
 "He'sdoan to the castle," tor Be up the laiyj loan. 
 "Gudesaf us!" {or But, Heavens! 
 Mr. Stenhouse appears to be wrong in stating that Johnson received a copy direct 
 from the Poet, but he can scarcely be blamed for adhering to Johnson's statement.] 
 
 Last May a liraw wooer cam' down the lang glen. 
 
 And sair wi' his love he did deave me; 
 I said there was naething I hated like men— 
 
 The deuce gae wi'm to believe me, believe me ; 
 
 The deuce gae wi'm to believe me I 
 
 He spak' o' the darts o' my bonie black een. 
 
 And vowed for my love he was deein ; 
 I 9ai(l he might dee when he likfed for Jean — 
 
 The Lord forgie me for leein, for leein; 
 
 The Lord forgie me for leein! 
 
 A well-stocked raailen— himsel' for the laird — 
 
 And marriage aff-hand, were his proffers: 
 I never loot on that I kenned it, or cared. 
 
 But thought I might hae waur offers, waur ■ iffers; 
 
 But thought I might hae waur offers. 
 
 But what wad you think?— in a fortnight or less. 
 The deil tak' his taste to gae near her ! 
 
 He up the Gateslack' to my black cousin Bess- 
 Guess ye how, the jad 1 I could bear her, could bear her? 
 Guess ye how, the jad, I could bear her! 
 
 But a' the niest week as I fretted wi' sare, 
 
 I gaed to the tryste o' Dalgarnock, 
 And wlia but my dne fickle lover was there ? 
 
 I gldwer'd as I'd seen a warlock, a warldck ; 
 
 I gliiwor'd as I'd seen a warlock ! 
 
 'Oateslaob was obje<;ti'd to by Thomson, an I tlu Poet chanL'^-d it to "lang losni.'
 
 THE POEMS! AND SONGF: OF BURNS. 
 
 192 
 
 But owre my left shouther I gae him a blink, 
 
 Lest neibors might say I was saucy ; 
 My wooer he capered as heM been in drink, 
 
 And vowed I was his dear lassie, dear lassie ; 
 
 And vowed I was his dear lassie. 
 
 I speered for my cousin fu' couthy and sweet, 
 
 Uin she liad recovered her hearin', 
 And how my auld shoon fitted her shachl't feet — * 
 
 But, Heavens ! how he fell a swearin', a swearia' ; 
 
 But, Heavens ! how he fell a swearin' ; 
 
 He begged, for gudesake, I wad be his wife, 
 
 Or else I wad kill him wi' 3 irrow: 
 So e'en to preserve the poor body in life, 
 
 I think I inaun wed him to-morrow, to-morrow; 
 
 I think 1 maun wed him to-morrow. 
 
 THEIR GROVES 0' SWEET MYRTLE. 
 
 Tune— ITiiwowrs 0/ Glen. 
 
 [Printed by Thomson with the usual certifying note.] 
 
 Their groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon, 
 Where bright-beaming summers exalt the perfume ; 
 
 Far dearer to me yon lone glen o' green breckan, 
 Wi' the burn stealing under the lang yellow broom. 
 
 Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bow&rs. 
 Where the blue-hell and gowan lurk lowly unseen ; 
 
 For there, lightly tripping ainang the wild-tlowers, 
 A-listening the linnet, aft wanders my Jean. 
 
 Though rich is the breeze in their gay sunny valleys, 
 
 Aud catild Caledonia's blast on the wave; 
 Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the prniui palace, 
 
 What are theyV — the haunt of the tyrant and slave I 
 
 The slave's spicy forests, and gold-bubbling fountaiua, 
 
 The Itvave Caledonian views wi' disdain ; 
 He v.'aiiilers as free as the winds of his mountain^!. 
 
 Save love's willing fetters — the chains o' his Je.ui ! 
 
 ^^c^ 
 
 *In the Poet's MS. tliis line stands — 
 
 "And how her new shoon fit her auld shachl't feet." 
 
 For the improved line given in the text, we are indebted to the version iu the iluieum. 
 A discarded lover is proverbially designated, "auld shoon."
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS, 
 
 103 
 
 O THIS IS XO MY AIX LASSIE. 
 
 Tune — this is no my airi House. 
 
 [Thomson prints this song with the 
 usual certification of its authorship] 
 
 CIIORIS. 
 
 this is no my ain lassie, 
 Fair thoiinh the lassie be; 
 
 uvel ken I my ain lassie, 
 Kind love is in her e'e. 
 
 I SEE a form, I see a face. 
 Ye weel may v i' the fairest place : 
 It wants, to me, tlie witching grace, — 
 The kind love that's in her e'e. 
 this is no, ci-c. 
 
 She's bonie. blooming, straight, and tall, 
 And lang has had my heart in thrall ; 
 And aye it charm** my very saul, — 
 The kind love that's in her e'e. 
 this is no, &c. 
 
 A thief .sae pawkie is my Jean, 
 To steal a l)link, by a' unseen; 
 But gleg as light are lovers' een, 
 When kind love is in the e'e. 
 this is no, i-c. 
 
 It may escape the courtly sparks, 
 It may escape the learned clerks; 
 But weel tlie watching lover marks 
 The kind love that's in her e'e. 
 O this is no, ice. 
 
 THE HOPELESS LOVER. 
 
 A SCOTTISH SOXG. 
 
 INSCRIBED " TO MY V.^LUED FRIEND, 
 CUNNINGHAM." 
 
 [The date of the Poet's letter enclosing 
 this, and three other productions, is shewn 
 
 by the post-mark to be Srd August, 1T!>5 
 It ajipears in the CoUectiun as :— " Written 
 for thi.4 work by Burns." The present 
 composition doubtless refers to Cunnins- 
 liams love disappointment, formerFv 
 alluded to.l 
 
 XOW spring has clad the grove in green. 
 
 And strewed the lea wi' flowers : 
 The furrowed, waving corn is seen 
 
 Rejoice in fostering sliowers; 
 While ilka thing in nature jciin, 
 
 Their sorrows to forego, 
 O why thus all alone are mine 
 
 The weary steps of wnel 
 
 The trout within yon wimpling burn 
 
 Glides swift— a silver dart ; 
 And safe lieneath the shady thorn 
 
 Defies the angler's art : 
 My life was ance that careless streatn. 
 
 That wanton trout was I; 
 But love, wi' unrelenting beam, 
 
 Has scorched my fountains dry. 
 
 The little floweret's peaceful lot, 
 
 In yonder cliff that grows— 
 Which, save the linnet's flight, I wot, 
 
 Xae ruder visit knows — 
 Was mine ; till love has o'er me past. 
 
 And blighted a' my bloom. 
 And now beneath the withering blast 
 
 My youth and joy consume. 
 
 The wakened laverock warbling springs.. 
 
 And climlis the early sky, 
 Winnowing blythe her dewy wings 
 
 In morning's rosy eye : 
 As little reckeil I sorrow's power, 
 
 Until the flowery snare 
 O' witching love, in luckless hour, 
 
 Made me the thrall o' care. 
 
 O had my fate been Greenland snows, 
 
 (Jr Afric's burning zone, 
 Wi' man and nature leauued my foes, 
 
 So Peggy ne'er I'd known 1 
 The wretch whase doom is, 'hopenaemair, 
 
 What tongue his woes can tell?— 
 Within whase bosom, save despair, 
 
 Nae kinder spirits dwell. 
 
 HEY FOR A LASS WI' A TOCHER. 
 
 Tv^T.—Balinamona ora. 
 
 Awa' wi' your witchcraft o' beauty's alarms, 
 The slender bit beauty ye grasp in your arms : 
 O gie me the lass that has acres o' charms, 
 O gie me the lass wi' the weel-.stockit faims. 
 
 X
 
 TEE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 191 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher. 
 Then hey for a lass iri' a tocher ; 
 Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher — 
 The nice yellow guineas for me. 
 
 Your beauty's a flower, in the luornin? that blows, 
 Anil withers the faster, the faster it grows; 
 15ut the rapturous cliarm o' the bonie green knowes. 
 Ilk spring they're new deckit wi' bonie white yowes. 
 Then hey, lirc. 
 
 And e'en when this beauty your Ikishui has blest, 
 The brightest o' beauty may cluy, when possest; 
 But the sweet yellow darlings wi' Geordie imprest. 
 The langer ye hae tliem, the mair they're carest. 
 Then hey, tfcc. 
 
 HERE'S A HEALTH TO ANE I LO'E DEAR. 
 
 [In the month of May, ITOti, the dying Poet composed ami forwarded to Thomson 
 this fine lyric. It appears in the second volume of the Collection with Bums's name 
 attached. The "Jessy" of the present song was a sister of his brother-exciseman, 
 Lewars, an amiable young woman who assisted Mrs. Burns during the whole of this 
 dismal period in ministering to the wants of the dying Bard. In the Poet s letter to 
 Thomson, the first two stanzas and chorus only are given, and he supposed our Poet 
 had never gone farther. Among his MSS. was, however, found the tliinl stanza, 
 which completes this smig, the last finished offspring of the Poet's muse.] 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear! 
 
 Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear ! 
 
 Tlion art street as the smile when fond lovers meet. 
 
 And soft as their partimj tear— Jessy ! 
 
 Although thou maun never be mine. 
 
 Although even hope is denied, 
 'Tis sweeter for thee despairing. 
 Than aught in the world beside— Jessy 1 
 Here's a health, <t-c. 
 
 I mourn through the gay, gaudy day. 
 As, hopeless, I muse on thy charms; 
 
 But welcome the dream o' sweet slumber, 
 For tliem I am lockt in thy arms— Jessy! 
 Here's a health, d:c. 
 
 I guess by the dear angel smile, 
 
 I guess by the love-rolling e'e; 
 Buf why urge the tender confession, 
 
 'Gainst fortune's fell cruel decree— Jesayl 
 Here's a health, <tc.
 
 STRAY PUBLICATION OF POSTHUMOUS PIECES. PRIOR TO A.D., 1800. 
 
 Between the date of the Poet's death, and the production of Dr. Carrie's first 
 edition, several unauthorised publications were issueil from tirne to time, by 
 printers and book-vendors, containing poems and songs by Burns that hitherto had 
 not appeared in any collected volume of his works. The most remarkable of these 
 ■was a series of penny and twopenny chap-books (ISmo size), "printed for and sold 
 by Stewart & Meikle, Glasgow." These came out consecutively, every Saturday, 
 commencing 2Tth July, 1799, on which day appeared— 
 
 I.— "The Jolly Beggars ; or, T.itterdemalions : a Cantata. By Robert Burns, 
 the Ayrshire Poet. Printed from the Author's own Manuscript. Price 
 Twopence. 
 
 II.— On Saturday, 3ra August, were issued, "The Kirk's Alarm : a Satire,— The 
 TwA Herds; or. The HolyTulzie : an unco mournfu' Tale,— Epistle from 
 A Tailor to Robert Burns, and Robert Burns's Answer,— Epitaph on 
 John Dove, Innkeeper, Mauchline,— and The Deil's awa' \vi' the E.kcise- 
 man : a Song. By Robert Burns, the Ayrshire Poet. Price Twopence. 
 
 III.— On 10th August were published, "HOLY WILLIE'S Prayer (without the 
 Epitaph), Letter to John Goudie, Kilmarnock, and Six favourite Songs. 
 By Robert Burns, the Ayrshire Poet. Price Twopence." [X.B.— The whole 
 six songs had been previously published excepting one — A Mail's a Man for a 
 that.] 
 
 'Tliose posthumous pieces were published, in one volume, by Thomas Stewart, 
 Glasgow, in ISOl. Similar httle publications were issued by George Gray, Bookseller, 
 North Bridge Street, Edinburgh, in July, 1799. From one of these, we note the 
 " Elegy on the Year 1788," " Verses written on a window of the Inn at Carron," and 
 "Impromptu, on being hospitably entertained at Dalnacardoch, in the Highlands." 
 
 A series of chap-books,- but without date, — containing several pieces by Burns, 
 was also issued by Brash & Reid, printers, Glasgow, and afterwards collected and 
 publishetl in one volume, under the title of "Poetry: Original and Select;" the date 
 of these, however, might be subsequent to those above referred to. 
 
 However the genuine admirers of Burns's genius may regret the pubUcation of 
 Bome of these pieces, the mischief cannot be remedied by direct or indirect denial of 
 iheir authenticity.
 
 POSTHUMOUS WORKS 
 
 FIRST PUBLISHED BY CURRIE, IN 1800 
 
 SONGS FURNISHED FOR THOMSON, BUT FIRST PUBLISHED BY CURRIE. 
 
 MY AIN KIND DEARIE. 
 
 [This is the very first song contributed 
 by Kurns for Thomson's collection. Re- 
 garding it, the Poet wrote to him:— "On 
 reading over The Lea-Riij, I immediatel\' 
 set about trying my liand on it, and, after 
 all, I could make nothing more of it than 
 the following, which Heaven knows, is 
 poor enough.") 
 
 When o'er the hill the eastern star, 
 
 Tells bughtin-time is near, my jo, 
 And owsen frae the furrow'd field. 
 
 Return sae dowf and weary, (.) ; 
 Down by the burn, where scented birks 
 
 \Vi' dew are hanging clear, my jo, 
 I'll meet thee on the lea-rig, 
 
 My ain kind dearie, O. 
 
 In mirkest glen at midnight hour, 
 
 I'd rove, and ne'er he eerie O, 
 If thro' that glen I gaed to thee, 
 
 My ain kind dearie, O : 
 Altho' the night were ne'er sae wild. 
 
 And I were ne'er sae weary, O, 
 I'd meet thee on the lea-rig. 
 
 My ain kind dearie, O. 
 
 The hunter lo'es the morning sun, 
 
 To rouse the mountain deer, ray jo; 
 At noon the fisher seeks the glen. 
 
 Along the burn to steer, my jo : 
 Gie me the hour o' gloamin grey, 
 
 It mak's my heart s.ae clieery, O, 
 To meet thee on the lea-iig. 
 
 My ain kind dearie, O. 
 
 ^^^^-^^ 
 
 WILL YE GO TO THE INDIES, 
 MY MARY ? 
 
 ["In my very early years," writes Burns 
 to Tliomson, "when I was thinking of 
 going to the West Indies, I took the fol- 
 lowing farewell of a dear girl. It is quite 
 trifling, and has nothing of the merits of 
 tlie Ewe-bujhts; but it will till up this 
 page (the same which containeil The Lea- 
 Rig.) You must know that all my earlier 
 love-songs were the breathings of ardent 
 passion, and though it might have been 
 easy in after-timi's to have given them a 
 polish, yet that polish to me, whose they 
 were, and who perhaps alone cared for 
 them, would have defaced the legend of 
 my heart, which was so faithfully inscrib- 
 ed on them. Their uncouth simplicity 
 was, as they say of wines, their race."] 
 
 Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, 
 And leave auld Scotia's shore? 
 
 Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, 
 Across th' Atlantic's roar'? 
 
 sweet grows the lime and the orange. 
 And the apple on the pine ; 
 
 But a' the charms o' the Indies, 
 Can never equal thine. 
 
 1 hae sworn by the Heavens to my Mary, 
 I hae swiirn by the Heavens to be true; 
 
 And sae may the Heavens forget me. 
 When 1 forget my vow I 
 
 O plight me your faith, my Mary, 
 And plight me your lily-white hand ; 
 
 O pliglit me your faith, my Mary, 
 Before I leave Scotia's strand.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 
 197 
 
 We hae plighted our troth, my Mary, 
 
 In mutual affection to join. 
 And curst be the cause that shall part us! 
 
 The hour and the moment o' time 1 
 
 MY WIFE'S A WINSOME 
 WEE THING. 
 
 [On 8th November, 1792, Burns sent the 
 lines in the text, with this observation:— 
 "In the air — ily icife's a ivanton wee thing 
 — if a few lines, smooth and pretty, can be 
 adapted to it, it is all you can expect. 
 The following were made, extempore, for 
 it; and though, on farther study, I might 
 give you something more profound, yet it 
 might not suit the light-horse gallop of the 
 air so well as this random clink." When 
 Thomson came to print the piece with hi.s 
 own "improvements," after the Poet's 
 death, he entitled it: " Mij wife's a win- 
 some wee thing, by Burns and THOMSOiN."] 
 
 She is a winsome wee thing. 
 She is a handsome wee thing, 
 She is a bonie wee thing. 
 
 This sweet wee wife o' mine. 
 I never saw a fairer, 
 I never lo'ed a dearer. 
 And neist my heart I'll wear her, 
 
 For fear my jewel tine. 
 
 She is a winsome wee thing, 
 She is a handsome wee thing, 
 She is a bonie wee thing, 
 
 This sweet wee wife o' mine. 
 The warld's wrack we share o't, 
 The warstle and the care o't; 
 Wi' her I'll blythely bear it, 
 
 And think my lot divine. 
 
 "^^^^^^ 
 
 MARY MORISON. 
 
 T\:>iF.— Duncan Davidson. 
 
 [On 20th March, 1793, the Poet forwarded 
 this exquisite lyric to Thomson, observing 
 that it was one of his "juvenile works, not 
 very remarkable either for its merits or 
 demerits." There has been considerable 
 speculation as to who the "Mary Morison" 
 of his youthful days might be, for the 
 name was entirely unknown in his early 
 localities. Gilbert Uurns, on being asked 
 by Thomson to state who was the subject 
 of the song Mary Morison, replied, " JIary 
 Morison was the heroine of some old light 
 verses, beginning — I'll kiss thee yet, yet," 
 from which it has been inferred that 
 Peggy Alison, Mary Morison, and Ellison 
 Begbie, were one and the same person, and 
 that in the last line of each verse of the 
 present song, the name originally read 
 "Peggy Ellison," instead of Mary Morison.] 
 
 M.\RY, at thy window be. 
 
 It is the wish'd, the trysted hour ; 
 Those smiles and glances let me see. 
 
 That make the miser's treasure poor : 
 How blythely wad I bide the stoure, 
 
 A weary slave frae sun to sun; 
 Could I the rich reward secure — 
 
 The lovely Mary .Morison ! 
 
 Yestreen, when to the trembling string, 
 The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha', 
 
 To thee my fancy took its wing, 
 I sat, but neither heard or saw : 
 
 Tho' this was fair, and that was braw. 
 And yon the toast of a' the town, 
 
 1 sigh'd, and said ainan<: them a', 
 'Ye are na Mary Moiison.' 
 
 O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace, 
 
 Wha for thy sake wad gladly dee? 
 Or canst thou break that heart of his, 
 
 Whase only faut is loving thee? 
 If love for love thou wilt na gie. 
 
 At least be pity to me shown; 
 A thought ungentle canna be 
 
 The thought o' .Mary Morison. 
 
 MEG 0' THE MILL. 
 
 TvsE— Jackie Uuine's Lament. 
 
 tCommunicated to Thomson in April, 1793. Burns thus refers to this production :— 
 ' What pleases me as simple and naive, disgusts you as ludicrous and low. Thus my
 
 THE POEMS AND SON OS OF BURNS. 
 
 198 
 
 my song, 'Ken ye what Mep: o' the Mill has gotten?' pleases myself so much that I 
 cannot try my hand at another song to the air, so I shall not attempt it. I know you 
 will laugh at this; but, ilka inan wears his belt his ain gait." In Johnson's sixth 
 volume will be found a different version describing a drunken wedding, which we give 
 in its proper place.] 
 
 O KBN ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten. 
 An' keri ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten? 
 She has gotten a coof wl' a claut o' siller, 
 And broken the heart o' the barley Miller. 
 
 The Miller was strappin, the Miller was ruddy; 
 A heart like a lord, and a hue like a lady : 
 The Laird was a widdief u', bleerit knurl ; 
 She's left the gudefeUow and taen the churl. 
 
 The Miller he hecht her, a heart leal and loving : 
 The Laird did address her wi' matter mair moving, 
 A tine-pacing horse wi' a clear chained bridle, 
 A whip by her side, and a bonie side-saddle. 
 
 O wae on the siller, it is sae prevailing; 
 And wae on the love that's fl.Vd on a mailin I 
 A tocher's nae word in a true lover's parle. 
 But, gie me my love, and a tig for the warl ! 
 
 LOGAN BRAES. 
 
 T\j:iE— Logan Water. 
 
 [On ■25th June. 1793, the Poet thus wrote 
 to Thomson.— "If I have done anything 
 like justice to my feelings, the following 
 song, composed in three-quarters of an 
 hour's meditation in my elbow-chair, 
 ought to have some merit." 
 
 It is proper to notice here, that there is 
 another fine song on this subject, which 
 has acquired very great popularity. It 
 was composed by John Slayne, and 
 Thomson states that the first two stanzas 
 were published over Mayne's initials in 
 the Star newspaper of May 23rd, 1789.] 
 
 O Logan, sweetly didst thou glide, 
 That day I was my Willie's bride. 
 And years sinsyne hae o'er us run, 
 Like Logan to the simmer sun ; 
 But now thy flowery hanks appear 
 Like drumlie winter, dark and drear; 
 While my dear lad maun face his faes. 
 Far, far frae me and Logan braes. 
 
 .\gain the merry month o' May, 
 Has made our hills and valleys g^y ! 
 The birds rejoice in leafy bowers. 
 The bees hum round the breathing flower*: 
 Blythe, morning lifts his rosy eye, 
 .4.nd evening's tears are tears of joy : 
 My soul, delightless, a' surveys. 
 While Willie's far frae Logan braes. 
 
 Within yon milk-white hawthorn bush, 
 Amang her nestlings sits the thrush; 
 Her faithfu' mate will share her toil. 
 Or wi' his song her cares beguile : 
 But I wi' my sweet nurslings here — 
 Nae mate to help, nae mate to cheer- 
 Pass widow'd nights and joyless days, 
 While Willie's far frae Logan braes. 
 
 O wae upon you, men o' state. 
 That brethren rouse to deadly hate ! 
 As ye make mony a fond heart mourn, 
 Sae may it on your heads return 1 
 How can your "llinty hearts enjoy 
 The widow's tears, the orphan's cry?* 
 But soon may peace bring happy days, 
 And VVillie, hame to Logan braes 1 
 
 ^•^^ 
 
 'Originally, 
 
 " Ye mind na, 'mid your cruel joys. 
 The widow's tears, the orphan's cries."
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS, 
 
 199 
 
 O WERE MY LOVE YON LILAC FAIR. 
 Tune — Evnhie Graham. 
 
 [This double stanza was composed in 
 June, 1793, as addilional WDids to the 
 following beautiful fragment published in 
 Herd's collection, Vol. II., 1776: — 
 
 "O gin my love were yon red rose, 
 
 Tliat grows upon the castle wa' ; 
 An(l I mysel' a drap o' dew. 
 
 Into her bonie breast to fa' : 
 Oh there, beyond expression blest, 
 
 I'd feast on beauty a' the night; 
 Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest. 
 
 Till fley'd awa' by Phcebu.s' light." 
 Burns writes, — "This thought is inexpres- 
 sibly beautiful, and, so far as I know, 
 quite original. It is too short for a song, 
 else I would forswear you altogether, 
 unless you gave it a place. I have often 
 tried to eke a stanza to it, but in vain. 
 After balancing myself for a musing tive 
 minutes in my elbow-chair, I produced tin- 
 following." Thomson gives Burns's stanza 
 first, and the old one last. Between the 
 two he sandwiches a third by Richardson 
 beginning,— "O were my love yon vi'let 
 sweet."] 
 
 O WERE my love yon lilac fair, 
 
 \Vi' purple blossoms to the spring; 
 And I, a bird to shelter there. 
 
 When wearied on my little wing. 
 How I wad mourn, when it was torn 
 
 By autumn wild, and winter rude ! 
 But I wad sing on wanton wing. 
 
 When youthfu' May its bloom renew'd. 
 
 BONIE JEAN. 
 Tu.NE — Willie was a wanton ica^. 
 
 [On 2nd .Inly, 1703, the Poet wrote thus 
 in communicating this production: — "I 
 
 ' have just finished the following ballad, 
 and, as I do think it in my best style, I 
 
 j send it to you. The heroine is Miss Mac- 
 murdo, daughter of Mr. Macmurdo of 
 Drumlanrig, one of your subscribers. It 
 appears in Thomson's fourth volume.] 
 
 There was a lass and she was fair. 
 
 At kirk and market to be seen; 
 When a' the faire.^t maids were met. 
 
 The fairest maid was bonie Jean: 
 .\nd ay she wrought her mammie's wark, 
 
 And ay she sang sae merrilie ; 
 The blythest bird upon the bush, 
 
 Had ne'er a lighter heart than she. 
 
 But hawks will rob the tender joys 
 
 That bless the little lintwhit^i's'nest ; 
 And frost will blight the fairest flower-!. 
 
 And love will break the soundest rest. 
 Young Robie was the brawest lacl, 
 
 The tlower and pride of a' the glen; 
 And he had owsen, sheep, and kye. 
 
 And wanton naigies nine or ten : 
 
 He gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryste. 
 
 He ilanc'd wi' .Jeanie on the down; 
 And lang e'er witless Jeanie wist, 
 
 Her heart was tint, her peace was sto wn. 
 As in the bosom o' the stream. 
 
 The moonbeam dwells at dewy e'en ; 
 So trembling, pure, was tender love 
 
 Within the breast o' bonie Jean.* 
 
 And now she works her mammie's wark, 
 
 And ay she sighs wi' care and pain ; 
 Ye wist na what her ail might be,t 
 
 Or what wad mak' her weel again. 
 But did na Jeanie's heart luup light. 
 
 And did na joy blink in her e'e. 
 As Robie tauld a tale o' love 
 
 Ae e'enin' on the lily lea? 
 
 The sun was sinking in tlie west. 
 
 The birds sang sweet in ilka grove ; 
 His cheek to hers he fondly prest, 
 
 And whisper'd thus his tale o' love : 
 O Jeanie fair, I lo'e thee dear ; 
 
 O canst thou think to fancy me? — 
 Or wilt thou leave thy mammie's cot. 
 
 And learn to tent the farms wi' me? 
 
 •In the original MS., our Poet asks Mr. Thomson if this stanza is not originaL 
 
 t By a misprint, which runs through all editions from Currie downwards, the first 
 word of this line has been made " Yet" instead of Ve.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 '200 
 
 At barn or byre tbou slialt na ilnulge, 
 
 Or naethiiig else to trouble thee;t 
 Uut stray aiiians the heather-bells, 
 
 And tent the naving corn wi' lue. 
 Xow what coulil artless Jeanie Jo? 
 
 She had nae will to say him na: 
 At length she blush'd a sweet consent, 
 
 And love was ay between them twa. 
 
 ADUWN WINDING Mill. 
 
 Tune— r/i« muckiwjo' Geurdie's byre. 
 
 [This song was produced and forwarded 
 to Thomson in August, Vi'Si. The Poet 
 remarked thus: — "Another favourite air 
 of mine is Tlif Muckinj o' Gfordie'.s- Bpre. 
 When sung slow with expression, I have 
 wished that it had better poetry: that I 
 have endeavoured to supply as follows. 
 -Mr. Clarke (the musician) begs you to give 
 Miss Phillis a corner in your book, as she 
 is a particular flame of his. .She is a Miss 
 I'hillis Macmurdii, .sister to 'Bonie Jean.' 
 They are both pupils of his." Thomson 
 prints it as second song to the tune.] 
 
 Adow.v winding Nith I did wander. 
 To maik the sweet flowers as they spring 
 
 Adown winding Nith I did wander, 
 Of Phillis to muse and to sing. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Awa' wi' your belles and your beauties, 
 They never ivV her can compare: 
 
 Whaever has inet wi' my Phillis, 
 Has met wi' the queen o' the fair. 
 
 The daisy amus'd my fond fancy, 
 So artless, so simple, so wild ; 
 
 Thou emblem, said I, o' my Phillis, 
 For she is simplicity's child. 
 Awa', tbc. 
 
 The rose-bud's the blush o' my charmer, 
 Her sweet balmy lip when 'tis prest : 
 
 How fair and how pure is the lily, 
 But fairer ami purer her breast. 
 
 Yon knot of gay tiowers in the arbour, 
 They ne'er wi' my Phillis can vie : 
 
 Her breath is the breath o' the woodbine, 
 Its dew-drop o' diamond, her eye. 
 Awa', dc. 
 
 Her voice is the song of the morning. 
 That wakes thro' the green-spreading 
 grove. 
 When Phoebus peeps over the mountains, 
 On music, and pleasure, and love. 
 Awa', J:c. 
 
 But beauty, how frail and how fleeting. 
 The bloo!n of a tine summer's day 1 
 
 While worth in. the mini.1 o' my Phillis 
 Will flourish without a decay. 
 Aiva, li-c. 
 
 PHILLIS THE FAIR. 
 
 Ti:sE-nobin Adair. 
 
 [This was also forwarded iu August, 
 1793, and the subject is the same as that 
 of the preceding song. The Poet, in send- 
 ing this little song, thus wrote:— "I have 
 tried my hand on Robin Adair, and, you 
 will probably think, with little success; 
 but it is such a cursed, cramp, out-of-the- 
 way measure, th:it I despair of doing 
 anything better of it. So much for 
 namby-iianiby. I may, after all, try my 
 hand on it in Scots verse. There I always 
 find myself most at home."] 
 
 While larks with little wing. 
 
 Fann'd the pure air. 
 Tasting the breathing spring, 
 
 Fortli I did fare: 
 Gay the sun's golden eye, 
 Peep'd o'er the mountains high; 
 Such thy morn ! did I cry— 
 
 Phillis the fair. 
 
 In each bird's careless song, 
 
 Glad, I ilid share; 
 While yon wild flowers among. 
 
 Chance led me there : 
 Sweet to the opening day. 
 Rosebuds bent the dewy spray; 
 Such thy bloom ! did I say — 
 
 Phdli.s the fair. 
 
 tin the MS. presented to the .Macraurdo family, this couplet reads — 
 " Thy handsome foot thou shalt na set 
 In bavn or byre to trouble thee."
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 
 201 
 
 Down in a shady walk, 
 Doves cooing were, 
 
 I niark'd the cruel hawk 
 Caught in a snare : 
 
 So kind may fortune be ! 
 
 Such make his destiny 1 
 
 He who would injure thee, 
 Phillis the fair. 
 
 Happy, thou Imlian throve, I'll say, 
 Where now ray Nancy's path may be ! 
 
 While thro' thy sweets she loves to stray, 
 O tell me, does she muse on me! 
 
 BEHOLD THE HOUR. 
 
 Tu.NE— Orart Gaoil. 
 
 [Forwarded in September, 1793. The 
 Poet thus wrote regarding it: — "The fol- | 
 lowing sons: I have composed for Oran i 
 Gaoil. the Highland air that you tell me in 
 your last you have resolved to give a place 
 to in your book. I have this moment I 
 dnished the song, so you have it glowing 
 from the mint." Burns must have had in 
 his mind, when composing this song, an \ 
 old version entitled, Farewell smvj to A'i'c^, | 
 which he had probably seen, when a youth, ; 
 in the Edintnirrih Mwiazine. The present , 
 song is one of the Clarinda effusions.] 
 
 DOWN THE BURN DAVIE. 
 
 [This was an old song, by Robert 
 Crawford, which Thomson was anxious 
 to preserve in his Collection. In Septem- 
 ber, 1703, Burns wrote thus: — ''Down th-- 
 Burn, Davie — I have this moment tried an 
 alteration, leaving out the last half of the 
 third stanza, and the first half of the last 
 stanza, thus :"] — 
 
 Behold the hour, the boat arrive: 
 
 Thou goest, thou darling of my heart : 
 Sever'd from thee, can I survive? 
 
 But fate has will'd, and we must part. 
 I'll often greet the surging swell. 
 
 Yon distant isle will often hail : 
 ' K'en here, I took the last farewell; 
 
 There latest mark'd her vanish'd sail.' 
 
 Along the solitary shore. 
 
 While flitting sea-fowl round ine cry. 
 Across the rolling, dashing roar, 
 
 I'll west-ward turn my wistful eye: 
 
 As down the burn they took their way, 
 
 .Vnd thro' the flowery dale ; 
 His cheek to hers he aft did lay. 
 
 And love was ay the tale. 
 
 With 'Mary, when shall we return, 
 
 Sic pleasure to renew?' 
 Quoth Mary, 'love, I like the burn, 
 
 And ay shall follow you.' 
 
 [Thomson, who had taken it into his 
 head that he could write verses as well as 
 Burns, discarded the above, and published 
 instead, the following stanzas of his own, 
 which form an amusing contrast : — 
 
 "Not May, in all lier maiden pride, 
 
 Is half sae sweet as thee ; 
 say thou'lt Vk my aiu dear bride '. 
 
 Thou'rt a' the world to mo." 
 
 "Oh! rapturous sounds! my first, bestlove, 
 Come, take my plighted hand ! 
 
 My faith ami truth I'll fondly prove 
 in wedlock's holy baud."] 
 
 FAIR JENNY. 
 TVSE— Saw ye my Father. 
 
 [Composed and sent to Thomson in September, 1793, as English verses to follow the 
 favourite Scots ballad. Saw ye my Father? It appears in the Collection with the 
 usual note.] 
 
 Where are the joys I have met in the morning, 
 That danc'd to the lark'.s early song? 
 
 Where is the peace that awaited ray wand'ring. 
 At evening the wild-woods among?
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BUBNS. 
 
 No more a-winding the course of yon river, 
 And marking sweet flow'rets so fair ; 
 
 No more I trace the light footsteps of pleasure, 
 But sorrow and sad-sighing care. 
 
 Is it that summer's forsaken our valleys, 
 
 And grim, surly winter is near? 
 No, no, the bees humming round the gay roses. 
 
 Proclaim it the pride of the year. 
 
 Fain would I hide what I fear to discover. 
 Yet long, long too well have I known, 
 
 All that has caused this wreck in my bosom 
 Is Jenny, fair Jenny alone. 
 
 Time cannot aid me, ray griefs are immortal, 
 
 Not hope dare a comfort bestow : 
 Come then— enamour'd and fond of my anguish, 
 
 Enjoyment I'll seek in my woe. 
 
 DELUDED SWAIN. 
 
 (This seems to be an amended version of 
 an old English song. It was forwarded 
 in September, 1793, and dismissed with 
 this remark : "As for the Collier's Dockter, 
 take the following old bacchanal."] 
 
 Deluded swain, the pleasure 
 The fickle fair can give thee. 
 
 Is but a fairy treasure, 
 Thy hopes will soon deceive thee. 
 
 The billows on the ocean, 
 The breezes idly roaming, 
 
 The clouds uncertain motion, 
 They are but types of woman. 
 
 O ! art thou not ashamed. 
 
 To doat upon a feature ? 
 If man thou wouldst be named. 
 
 Despise the silly creature. 
 
 Go find an honest fellow ; 
 
 Good claret set before thee : 
 Hold on till thou art mellow, 
 
 And then to bed in glory. 
 
 ON THE SEAS AND FAR AWAY. 
 
 Tu.NE— O'er the hills, i:c. 
 
 [Communicated, 30th August, 1794, with 
 these remarks : — " The last evening as I 
 
 was straying out, and thinking of O'er the 
 hills and far away, I spun the following 
 stanzas for it. ... I was pleased with 
 several lines in it at first, but I own that 
 it appears rather a Hinisy business." 
 
 Replying, afterwards, to Thomson's 
 dull-witted criticism, he said :— " I shall 
 withdraw my On the seas and far away 
 altogether. Making a poem is like begett- 
 ing a son : you cannot know whether you 
 have .a wise man or a fool, until you pro- 
 duce him to the world to try him. 
 
 It appears in Thomson's fourth volume- 
 with the second stanza omitted, because 
 it did not find favour in the eyes of the- 
 self-sufficient editor.] 
 
 How can my poor heart be glad, 
 When absent from my sailor lad? 
 How can I the thought forego, 
 He's on the seas to meet the foe? 
 Let me wander, let me rove. 
 Still my heart is with my love; 
 Nightly dreams and thoughts by daj 
 Are with him that's far away. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 On the seas and far away, 
 On stormy seas and far away ; 
 Nightly dreams and thoughts by day 
 Are ay with him that's far away. 
 
 When in summer's noon I faint, 
 As weary flocks around me pant. 
 Haply in this scorching sun 
 My sailor's thund'ring at his gun :
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURXS. 
 
 203 
 
 Bullets, spare my only joy I 
 Bullets, spare my darling boy! 
 Fate, do with me what you may, 
 Spare but him that's far away ! 
 On the seas, <i-c. 
 
 At the starless midnight hour. 
 When winter rules with boundless power; 
 As the storms the forest tear, 
 And thunders rend the howling air; 
 Listening to the doubling roar, 
 Surging on the rocky shore. 
 All I can— I weep and pray, 
 For his weal that's far away. 
 On the seas, itc. 
 
 Peace, thy olive wand extend, 
 And bid wild war his ravage end- 
 Man with brother man to meet, 
 And as a brother kindly greet : 
 Then may heaven with prosp'roua gales. 
 Fill my sailor's welcome sails — 
 To my arms their charge coiivey— 
 My dear lad that's far away. 
 On the seas, &c. 
 
 As light as the air, and fause as thou's fair, 
 Thou's broken the heart o' thy Willy. 
 
 SAW YE MY PHELY, 
 
 (Quasi dicat Phillis.) 
 Tune— tFften she cam bfu she babbit. 
 
 [This is merely a remodelling of the 
 Poet's song, Eppie M'^'ab.] 
 
 O SAW ye my dear, my Phely? 
 O saw ye my dear, my Phely? 
 She's down i' the grove, she's wi' a new love, 
 She winna come hame to her Willy. 
 
 What says she, my dearest, my Phely? 
 What says she, my dearest, my Phely? 
 She lets thee to wit that she has thee forgot, 
 And for ever disowns thee, her Willy. 
 
 O had I ne'er seen thee, my Phely? 
 
 O had I ne'er seen thee, my Phely? 
 
 THE LUVER'S MORNING SALUTE 
 TO HLS MISTRESS. 
 
 TL'.ne — Z)??7 fak' the wars. 
 
 [In the same sheet which contained the 
 foregoing song, the Poet sent the present 
 lyric, inspired by the charms of his 
 " Chloris." The letter is dated 19th Octo- 
 ber, 1794. He says, in reference to this 
 Momiwj Salute,— " t^\nce the foregoing was 
 written, I have been out in the country 
 taking dinner with a friend, where I met 
 the lady whom I mentioned in the second 
 page of this n<lds-and-en(ls of a letter. As 
 usual, I gut into song; and returning 
 home, I composed the following." It 
 appears in Thomson's fourth Tolume.] 
 
 SLEEP'S! thou, or wak'st thou fairest 
 creature ? 
 
 Rosy morn now lifts his eye. 
 Numbering ilka bud which nature 
 
 Waters wi' the tears o' joy : 
 
 Now through the leafy woods,* 
 
 And by the reeking rioods; 
 Wild nature's tenants, freely, gladly stray; 
 
 The lintwhite in his bower 
 
 Chants o'er the breathing flower : 
 
 The lav'rock to the sky 
 
 Ascends wi' sangs o' joy. 
 While the sun and thou arise to bless the 
 day. 
 
 Phoebus gilding the brow o' morning. 
 
 Banishes ilk darksome shade. 
 Nature gladdening and adorning; 
 
 Such to me my lovely maid : 
 
 ■When absent frae my fair. 
 
 The murky shades o' care 
 With starless gloom o'ercast my sullen sky; 
 
 But when, in beauty's light, 
 
 She meets my ravish'd sight, 
 
 * Variation. 
 
 Now to the streaming fountain. 
 Or up the heathy mountain. 
 The hart, hind, and roe, freely, wildly-wanton stray; 
 In twining hazel bowers 
 His lay the linnet pours: 
 The lav'rock, &c.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 204 
 
 MY CHLORIS, MARK HOW GREEN 
 THE GROVES. 
 
 When through my very heart 
 Her beaming glories dart ; 
 'Tis then I wake to life, to light and joy.* 
 
 MARK YONDER POMP OF COSTLY 
 FASHION. 
 
 Tu.vE— X>«i7 takf the icarg. 
 
 [This lyric, inspired also by "Chloiis," 
 and produced in .May, 1795, was composed 
 to tit the same air ,as the foregoing. The 
 Poet's remarks are as follow: — "Weill 
 this is not amiss. You see how I answer 
 your orders — your tailor could not be more 
 punctual. I am just now in a high fit for 
 poetizing, provided that the straight-jacket 
 of criticism don't cure me." It appears in 
 Thomson's fourth volume.] 
 
 Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion, 
 Round the wealthy titled bride ; 
 
 But when compar'd with real passion, 
 Poor is all that princely pride : 
 What are their showy treasures? 
 What are their noisy pleasures? 
 
 The gay, gaudy glare of vanity and art : 
 The polish'd jewel's blaze. 
 May draw the wond'ring gaze, 
 .•Vnd courtly grandeur bright, 
 The fancy may delight, 
 
 But never, never can come near the heart. 
 
 But did you see my dearest Chloris, 
 
 In simplicity's array ; 
 Lovely as yon sweet opening flower is. 
 
 Shrinking from the gaze of day. 
 
 O then, the heart alarming. 
 
 And all resistless charming. 
 In love's delightful fetters she chains the 
 willing soul! 
 
 Ambition would disown 
 
 The world's imperial crown, 
 
 Even Av'iice would deny 
 
 His worship'd deity. 
 And feel thro' every vein love's raptures 
 roll. 
 
 Tune — My lodging is on the cold ground. 
 
 [Furnished in November, 1794. The first 
 three words fif the opening line of this 
 song are generally printed as they appear 
 in Thomson's Cullectiim, " Behold, my love, 
 how green," Ac. The Poet introduced the 
 lyric with these remarks:— "In my last, I 
 told you my objections to the song you 
 bad selected for My lodging is on the cold 
 ground. On my visit the other day to my 
 fair Chloris — that is the poetic name of 
 the lovely goddess of my inspiration— she 
 suggested an idea, which I, on my return 
 from the visit, wrought into the following 
 song. How do you like the simplicity and 
 tenderness of this pastoral? I think it 
 pretty well."] 
 
 .My Chloris ! mark how green the groves. 
 
 The primrose banks how fair: 
 The balmy gales awake the flowers, 
 
 And wave thy flaxen hair. 
 The lav'rock shuns the palace gay, 
 
 .And o'er tlie cottage sings; 
 For nature smiles as sweet, I ween, 
 
 To shepherds as to kings. 
 
 Let minstrels sweep the skilfu' string 
 
 In lordly lighted ha'; 
 The shepherd stops bis simple reed, 
 
 Blythe, in the birkeii shaw : 
 The princely revel may survey 
 
 Our rustic dance wi' scorn; 
 But are their hearts as light as ours 
 
 Beneath the milk-white thorn? 
 
 The shepherd, in the flowery glen. 
 
 In shepherd's phrase will woo; 
 The courtier tells a finer tale ; 
 
 But is his heart as true? 
 These wild-wood flowers I've pu'd, to deck 
 
 That spotless breast o' thine : 
 The courtier's gems may witness love — 
 
 But 'tis na love like mine. 
 
 Variation. When frae my Chloris parted. 
 
 Sad, cheerless, broken-hearted. 
 Then night's gloomy shades, cloudy, dark, o'ercast my sky: 
 
 But when she charms ray sight. 
 
 In pride of beauty's light ; 
 
 When thro' my very heart 
 
 Her beaming glories dart ; 
 'Tis then, 'tis then I wake to life and joy.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 2U5 
 
 LASSIE WI' THE LINT-WHITE 
 I,OCKS. 
 
 Tv^E—Rothemurche's Rant. 
 
 ["This piece," said the Poet, "has at 
 least the merit of being a regular pastoral : 
 the vernal morn, the summer noon, the 
 autumnal evening, and the winter night, 
 are regularly rounded. . . . The air 
 
 Euts me in r:tptures ; and, in fact, unless I 
 e pleased with the tune, I never can 
 make verses to .it." The Poet's name is 
 attached to it in Thomson's Collection.] 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Lassie ivi' the lint-white locks, 
 Bonie lassie, artless lassie. 
 
 Wilt thou wi' me teat the docks? 
 Wilt thou be my dearie 0? 
 
 Now nature deeds the flowery lea, 
 And a' is young and sweet like thee; 
 O wilt thou share its joys wi' me. 
 And say thou'li be my dearie O? t 
 Lassie wi', etc. 
 
 And when the welcome simmer-shower 
 Has chear'd ilk drooping little flower; 
 We'll to the breathing woodbine bower 
 At sultry noon, my dearie O. 
 Lassie vi\ itc. 
 
 When Cynthia lights, wi' silver ray, 
 The weary shearer's hameward way ; 
 Thro' yellow waving fields we'll stray, 
 Andtalk o' love, my dearie O. 
 Lassie wi', itc. 
 
 And when the howling wintry blast 
 Disturbs my lassie's midnight leet; 
 Enclasped to my faithfu' breast, 
 I'll comfort thee, my dearie O.* 
 Lassie wi', itc. 
 
 -f + -f 
 
 PHILLY AND WILLY. 
 
 TUNE— r^e Sow's Tail to Geordie-. 
 
 [This pastoral dialogue song was furnish- 
 ed in November, 1794. The Poet ushered 
 it in with these observations: — "This 
 morning, though a keen blowing frost, in 
 my walk before breakfast, I finished the 
 duet which you were pleased to praise so 
 much. Whether I have uniformly suc- 
 ceded, I will not say; but here it is for 
 you, though it is not an hour old. I am 
 much pleased with your idea of singins; our 
 songs in alternate stanzas, and regret that 
 you did not hint it to me sooner." It 
 appears in Thomson's fourth volume.] 
 
 HE. 
 
 O Phillv, happy be that day 
 When roving through the galher'd hay. 
 My youthfu' heart was stown away. 
 And by thy charms, my Philly. 
 
 SHE. 
 
 O Willy, ay I bless the grove 
 Where first I owned my maiden love; 
 Whilst thou didst pledse the powers above- 
 To be my ain dear Willy. 
 
 HE. 
 
 As songsters of the early year 
 Are ilka day mair sweet to hear; 
 So ilka day to me mair dear 
 And charming is my Philly. 
 
 SHE. 
 
 As on the brier the budding rose 
 Still richer breathes and fairer blows; 
 So in my tender bosom grows 
 The love I bear my Willy. 
 
 HE. 
 
 The milder sun and bluer sky. 
 That crown my harvest cares wi' joy, 
 Were ne'er sae welcome to my eye 
 As is a sight o' Philly. 
 
 *In some of the MSS. this stanza runs thus: 
 
 And should tfie howling wintry blast 
 Disturb my lassie's midnight rest; 
 I'll fauld thee to my faithfu' breast, 
 And comfort thee, my dearie O. 
 
 t For second stanza see Edinburgh Edition.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 
 206 
 
 .SUE. 
 
 The little swallows wanton wing, 
 The' wafting o'er the flowery spring, 
 Did ne'er to me sic tidings bring, 
 As meeting o' my Willy. 
 
 HE. 
 
 The bee that thro' the sunny hour 
 Sips nectar in the opening flower, 
 Compar'd wi' my delight is poor. 
 Upon the lips o' Philly. 
 
 SHE. 
 
 The woodbine in the dewy weet 
 When evening shades in silence meet. 
 Is nocht sae fragrant or sae sweet 
 As is a kiss o' Willy. 
 
 HE. 
 
 Let fortune's wheel at random rin, 
 And fools may tyne, and knaves may win; 
 My thoughts are a' bound up in ane. 
 And tlTat's my ain dear Philly. 
 
 SHE. 
 
 What's a' the joys that gowd can gie? 
 I care na wealth a single flie ; 
 The lad I love's the lad for me. 
 And that's my ain dear WiUy. 
 
 FOR A' THAT AND A' THAT. 
 
 This world-renowned production was 
 composed in January, 1795. The Poet's 
 observations on sending it were as follow: 
 —"A great critic (.A.ikin) on songs says, 
 that love and wine are the exclusive 
 themes for song-writing. The following is 
 on neither sub.iect, and consequently is no 
 song, but will be allowed, I think, to be 
 two or three pretty good prose thougiits 
 inverted into rhyme. I do not give it for 
 your book, but merely by way of vire la 
 bagatelle; for the piece is not really 
 poetry." Thomson prints the first line,— 
 " \Vhere's he for honest poverty," excusing 
 himself by the following note, — "The 
 editor has taken the liberty to alter the 
 two first words of this song for the sake of 
 the music, and because there is an ellipsis 
 
 in the line as it stands in the author's 
 copy, w hich, in singing at least, has a bad 
 effect." He entitles it,— The honest man 
 the best of men. 
 
 Is there, for honest poverty 
 
 That hangs his head, and a' that? 
 The coward-slave, we pass hira by — 
 
 We dare be poor for a' that ! 
 For a' that, and a' that, 
 
 Oxiv toils obscure, and a' that, 
 TliH rank is but the guinea's stamp — 
 
 The man's the gowd for a' that. 
 
 What though on hamely fare we dine— 
 
 Wear hoddin grey, and a' that? 
 Gie fools their silks.and knaves their wine- 
 
 A man's a man, for a' that : 
 For a' that, and a' that. 
 
 Their tinsel show, and a' that; 
 The honest man, though e'er sae poor. 
 
 Is king o' men for a' that. 
 
 Ye see yon birkie ca'd a lord, 
 
 Wha struts, and stares, and a' that; 
 Though hundreds worship at his word, 
 
 He's but a coof for a' that : 
 For a' that, and a' that. 
 
 His ribband, star, and a' tliat ; 
 The man of independent mind, 
 
 He looks and laughs at a' Ih.at. 
 
 A prince can mak' a belted knight, 
 
 A marquis, duke, and a' that ; 
 But an honest man's aboon his might, 
 
 Gude faith he mauna fa' that ! * 
 For a' that, and a' that, 
 
 Their dignities, and a' that ; 
 The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth. 
 
 Are higher rank than a' that. 
 
 1 hen let us pray that come it may. 
 
 As come it will for a' tliat. 
 That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, 
 
 May bear the gree and a' tliat : 
 For a' that, and a' that, 
 
 It's comin' yet for a' that. 
 That man to man, the warld o'er, 
 
 Shall brothers be for a' that ! 
 
 LET ME IN THIS AE NIGHT. 
 
 [In September, 1794, the Poet wrote 
 thus to Thomson regarding this song : — "I 
 
 *"Mauna fa' that"— mugf not try that. There is an old Jacobite song given by 
 liitson where the same expression occurs — 
 
 "The whigs think a' that weal is won; but faith they mauna fa' that."
 
 TEE POEMS AND SON OS OF BURNS. 
 207 
 
 have begun Let me in this ae Sight. I am 
 just three stanzas deep in it. Would you 
 have the denouement to be successful or 
 otherwise?— shoulu she 'let him in' or 
 not?" It appears in Thomson's fourth 
 volume.] 
 
 O LASSIE, art thou sleeping yet, 
 Or art thou wakin', I would wit? 
 
 For love has bound me, hand and tit, 
 And I would fain be in, jo. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 let me ai this ae nifjht. 
 
 This ae, ae, ae ni{jht ; 
 For pity's sake, this ae night, 
 
 rise and let me in, jo. 
 
 Thou hear'st the winter wind and weet ; 
 Nae star blinks thro' the driving sleet ; 
 Tak' pity on my weary feet, 
 And shield me frae the rain, jo. 
 
 let me in, i-c. 
 
 The bitter blast that round me blaws. 
 Unheeded howls, unheeded fa's ; 
 The cauldness o' thy heart's the cause 
 Of a' my grief and pain, jo. 
 let me in, itc. 
 
 HER ANSWER. 
 
 O TELL na me o' wind and rain. 
 Upbraid na me wi' cauld disdain; 
 Gae back the gate ye cam' again, 
 I winna let you in, jo. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 1 tell you now this ae night, 
 
 This ae, ae, ae 7vght ; 
 And ance for a', this ae night, 
 
 I winna let you in, jo. 
 
 The snellest blast, at mirkest hours. 
 That round the pathless wand'rer pours, 
 Is nocht to what poor she endures 
 That's trusted faithless man, jo. 
 y tell you now, itc. 
 
 The sweetest flower that deck'd the mead. 
 Now trodden like the vilest weed : 
 Let simple maid the lesson read. 
 The weird may be her ain, jo. 
 / tell you now, cfcc. 
 
 The bird that charm'd Iiis summer-day. 
 Is now the cruel fowler's prey: 
 Let witless, trusting woman say 
 How aft her fate's the same, jo. 
 / tell you 710X0, tkc. 
 
 FORLORN, MY I.OVE, NO COMFORT 
 NEAR. 
 
 Tune— Let me in this ae night. 
 
 (This is the Kuglish song which Bums 
 composed to follow the foregoing Soots 
 verses to the same air. The tlate appears 
 to have been -May, 1795, and "Chloris" 
 is again his suliject. The Poet asks in his 
 letter: — "How do you like this? I liave 
 written it within this hour : so much for 
 the speed of my Pegasus; but what say ye 
 to his bottom?''] 
 
 Forlorn, my love, no comfort neai. 
 Far, far from thee, I wander here ; 
 Far, far from thee, the fate severe 
 At which I most repine, love. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 wert thou, love, but near me, 
 But near, near, near me; 
 How kindly thou wunldst cheer me. 
 And mingle sighs with mine, love. 
 
 Around me scowls a wintry sky. 
 That blasts each bud of hope and joy ; 
 And shelter, shade, nor home have I, 
 Save in these arms of thine, love. 
 %oert, lire. 
 
 Cold, alter'd friendship's cruel part, 
 
 Th poison fortune's ruthless dart — 
 
 Let me not break thy faithful heart 
 
 And say that fate is mine, love. 
 
 wert, A-c. 
 
 But dreary tho' the moments fleet, 
 O let me think we yet shall meet . 
 That only ray of solace sweet 
 Can on thy Chloris shine, love. 
 xvert, lOc. 
 
 ON CHLORIS BEING ILL. 
 
 Tune— .4// ivakin' 0. 
 
 [This appears in Thomson's third volume 
 under the title. Ay waking 0, the editor 
 having taken unwarrantable liberties with 
 the text, and conjoined the old song with 
 the following stanzas by Burns.]
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 2U8 
 
 CHOIIUS. 
 Lonrj, long the nv/ht, 
 
 Ilpai~i/ comes the mnrrnw, 
 While nui smtl's delight. 
 
 Is on her bed of sorruw. 
 
 Can I cease to care? 
 
 Can I cease to langfuish, 
 While my darling fair 
 
 Is on the conch of anguish? 
 Long, ii-e. 
 
 Every hope is fied, 
 Ev'ry fear is terror; 
 
 Slumber even I dread, 
 Ereiy dream is horror. 
 Long, itc. 
 
 Hear me, pow'rs divine ; 
 
 Oh, in pity hear me I 
 Take aught else of mine, 
 
 But my Chloris spare me I 
 Long, (S:c. 
 
 'TWAS NA HER BONIE BLUE E'E. 
 
 TvyE—Laddie, lie near me. 
 
 [This was forwarded at the same time with the preceding, and although the nam* 
 Uary in the last verse is found in some copies, the name Chloris appears in others.) 
 
 'TWAS na her bonie blue e'e was my ruin; 
 Fair tho' she be, that was ne'er my undoing: 
 'Twas the dear smile when iiaebody did mind us, 
 'Twas the bewitching, sweet, stown glance o' kindness. 
 
 Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me, 
 Sair do I fear that despair maun abide me; 
 But tho' fell fortune sliould fate us to sever. 
 Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever. 
 
 Mai-y, I'm thine wi' a passion sincerest, 
 Andthou hast plighted me love o' the dearest ! 
 And thou'rt the angel that never can alter, 
 .Sooner the sun in his motion would falter. 
 
 HOW CRUEL ARE THE PARENTS. 
 Tune — John Anderson, my Jo. 
 
 [Produced in May, 1795, and noted as 
 being an alteration of "an old English 
 song." Thomson notes :—" Written for 
 this work by Robert Burns."] 
 
 How cruel are the parents 
 
 Who riches only prize. 
 And to the wealthy booby, 
 
 Poor woman sacrifice I 
 Meanwhile the hapless daughter 
 
 Has but a choice of strife ; 
 To shun a tyrant father's liate, 
 
 Become a wretched wife. 
 
 The ravening hawk pursuing — 
 
 The tremliling dove thus flies; 
 To shun impelling ruin 
 
 A while her pinions tries ; 
 'Till of escape despairing — 
 
 No shelter or retreat, 
 She trusts the ruthless falconer, 
 
 And drops beneath his feet. 
 
 WHY, WHY TELL THY LOVER. 
 
 TvyE— The Caledonian Hunt's Delight. 
 
 (Composed in July, 1795. The subject is 
 Chloris, and the air is the original set ol 
 the s.ame tune to which Bonie Domi is 
 sung. "The Caledonian Hunt," remarks
 
 TEE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 209 
 
 th« Poet, "is so charming, that it would 
 miake any subject in a song go down ; but 
 pathos is certainly its native tongue."] 
 
 Why, why tell thy lover, 
 
 Bliss he never must enjoy ? 
 Why, why undeceive him. 
 
 And give all his hopes the lie? 
 
 O why, while fancy, raptured, slumbers- 
 Chloris, Chloris all the theme — 
 
 Why, why wouldst thou cruel 
 Wake thy lover from his dream? 
 
 YON ROSY BRIER. 
 
 [This song, which seems to be the very 
 last that was inspired by the witchery of 
 Chloris, was composed in August, 1795. 
 "I do not know," said the Poet, "whether 
 I am right, Imt that song pleases me."] 
 
 O no.ME was yon rosy brier. 
 That bloom's sae far frae haunt o' man ; 
 
 And bonie she, and ah, how dear I 
 It shaded fiae the e'enin' sun. 
 
 Yon rosebuds in the morning dew- 
 How pure, amang the leaves sae green ! 
 
 But purer was the lover's vow 
 They witness'd in their shade yestreen 
 
 All in its rude and prickly bower. 
 That crimson rose, how sweet and fail '. 
 
 ]5iit love is far a sweeter flower 
 Aiuid life's thorny path o' care. 
 
 The pathless wild, and wimpling burn, 
 Wi' Chloris in my arms, be mine ; 
 
 .\nd I the world, nor wish, nor scorn — 
 Its joys and griefs alike resign. 
 
 FAIRfc;ST MAID OX DEVON BANKS. 
 TCNE — Rothemurche'g Rant. 
 
 [Thomson's note to this production ia as 
 follows : — "It is believed that this was the 
 very last production of our much lamented 
 Bard. He transmitted it to the eiiitor 
 about a week only befijre his death." 
 His letter containing it is dated from 
 "Brow, on the Sohvay Fiith, 12th July, 
 1796," and nine days thereafter he was 
 numbered with the dead. He thus wrote 
 regarding the song :— "I tried my hand on 
 llutheii-ntrche this morning: the measure 
 is so difficult that it is impossible to infuse 
 much genius into the lines."] 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Fairest maid o/i Devon banks. 
 Crystal Devon, winding Devon, 
 
 Wilt thou lay that j'rown aside, 
 A7id smile as thou wert wont to dot 
 
 Full well thou knowest I love thee dear, 
 Couldst thou to malice leiul an ear? 
 O did not love exclaim, "Forbear, 
 Nor use a faithful lover so'? 
 Fairest maid, Xc. 
 
 Then come, thou fairest of the fair, 
 I'huse wonted smiles, O let me share; 
 .A.nd by thy beaut-Muis self I swear. 
 No love but thine my heart shall knew. 
 Fairest inaid, ^vc. 

 
 MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. FIRST PRINTED BY DR. CURRIE. 
 
 I'LL GO AND BE A SODGER. 
 APRIL 1782. 
 
 [" Early in life (so he wrote six years after the verse in the text was uttered,) and 
 all my life, I reckoned on a recruiting drum as my forlorn hope." 
 
 WHY the deuce should I repine. 
 And be an ill foreboder? 
 
 I'm twenty-three, and rtve-feet-nine, — 
 I'll go and be a sodger ! 
 
 1 sat some gear wi' meikle c;ire, 
 I held it weel tliesither; 
 
 But now it's Kane, and something mair — 
 I'll ^it and be a sodjier 1 
 
 THE BELLES OF MAUCHLINE. 
 
 [A foot-note, by Chanilieis, which we reproduce, gives some account of the six belles 
 named in the last four lines of the verse, and to his information we have to add, that 
 the husband of Miss Markland was James Finlay, excise-officer in Tarbolton, who was 
 cc'inmissioned, on 31st Mnicli, ITSS, to instruct I'.urns in the art of gauging and excise 
 book-keeping. Finlay removed with his wife' to Greenock in 1792, where the latter 
 died in ISOl, aged S6, having survived her husband 17 years. 
 
 Miss Smith's husband was -Mr. James Candlish, an early friend and correspondent 
 of the Poet. This gentleman, after his marriage to Miss Smith, became a teacher in 
 connection with iCdinburgh University, and died in 1S06, leaving six children, the 
 youngest of whom became the distinguished Dr. Candlish of the Free Church. The 
 u-ittii Belle of Mauchline died in 1854, aged 86, and her celebrated son died 19th 
 October, 1873. 
 
 Miss Betty Miller claimed to have been the "Eliza" of Burns's early song — " From 
 thee, Eliza, I must go;" but her claim to the honour is very questionable.] 
 
 In Mauchline there dwells six proper young belles. 
 
 The pride of the place and its neighbourhood a' ; 
 Their carriage and dress, a stranger would guess, 
 
 In Lon'on or Paris they'd gotten it a' : 
 Miss Miller is fine, Miss Markland's divine, 
 
 Jfiss Smith she has ■wit, and Miss Betty: is braw. 
 There's beauty and fortune to get wi' Miss Morton; 
 
 But Armour's the jewel for me o' them a'.* 
 
 '"It may be gratifying to curiosity to know the fates of the sis belles of Mauchline. 
 Miss Helen Miller, the first-mentioned, became the wife of Buins's friend. Dr. .Mac- 
 kenzie; the divine >ns3 Markland wa.s married to a Mr. Finlay, an officer nf excise at 
 Oreenock; Miss Jean Smith was afterwards Mrs. Candlish; Miss Betty (.Miller) 
 be^'ame Mrs. Templeton ; and .Miss Morton married a Mr. Paterson. Of Armour's 
 history, immortality has taken charge. In 1850, Mrs. Paterson, Mrs. Finlay, and ilrs. 
 Candlish survived. — CAawi'"'''?, 1351.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 
 211 
 
 CALEDONIA. 
 
 TatiZ—The Caledonian Hu7W$ Delight. 
 
 [Dr. Cnrrie found this curious composition among the Poet's papers, and it ia im- 
 posaible to assign a date to it, or say whether it is a transcript or original composition. ] 
 
 THERE was once a day, but old Time then was young, 
 
 That brave Caledonia, the chief of her Hue, 
 Frmn some of yoin- northern deities sprunur, 
 
 (Who knows not that brave Caledonia's divine?) 
 From Tweed to the Orcades was her domain, 
 
 To hunt, or to pasture, ur do «hat she would ; 
 Her heav'uly relations there fixed her reign, 
 
 And pledg'd her their godheads to warrant it good. 
 
 A. lambkin in peace, but a lion in war, 
 
 Tlie pride of her kindred, the heroine grew : 
 Her grandsire, old Odin, triumphantly swore, — 
 
 ' Whoe'er shall provoke thee, th' encounter shall ruol' 
 With tillage or pasture at times she would sport. 
 
 To feed her fair docks by her green rustling corn; 
 But chiefly the woods were her fav'rite resort. 
 
 Her darling amusement, the hounds and the horn. 
 
 r.nnn quiet she reigned; 'till thitherward steer 
 
 A flight of bold eagles from Adria's strand :* 
 Repeated, successive for many long years. 
 
 They darken'd the air, and they plunder'd the land: 
 Their pounces were murder, and terror their cry. 
 
 They'd conquer'd and ruin'd a world beside; 
 .She took to her hiUs, and her arrows let fly. 
 
 The daring invaders they fled or they died. 
 
 The fell Harpy-raven took wing from the north, 
 
 rhe scourge of the seas, and the dread of the shore ;f 
 The wild Scandinavian boar issu'd forth 
 
 To wanton in carnage and wallow in gore : t 
 O'er countries and kingdoms their fury prevaU'd, 
 
 No arts could appease them, no arms could repel; 
 But brave Caledoma in vain they assail'd. 
 
 As Largs well can witness, and Loncartie telL f 
 
 The Camelon-savage disturb'd her repose. 
 
 With tumult, disquiet, rebellion, and strife; 
 Provok'd beyond bearing, at last she arose, 
 
 And robb'd him at once of his hopes and hij lile:| 
 The Anglian Uon, the terror of France, 
 
 Oft prowling, euaanpiuiu'd the Tweed's silver flood; 
 I'.ut, taught by the bright Caledonian lance, 
 
 lie learned to fear in his own native woodl 
 
 •The liomans. t The Saxons. J The Danes. 
 
 jTwo famous battles in which the Danes or Norwegians were defeated. 
 UThe Highlanders of the Isles.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 
 Thns hold, independent, anconquer'd, and free. 
 
 Her bright course of glory for ever shall run; 
 For brave Caledonia immortal must be — 
 
 I'll prove it from Euclid aa clear as the sun : 
 Rertangle-triangle, the figure we'll chuse. 
 
 The upright is Chance, and old Time is the base; 
 But brave Caledonia's the hypotenuse ; 
 
 Then t^o, she'll match them, and match them always. 
 
 rnK LASS O' HALLOCIIMYLE. 
 
 TWY.— Ettrirk Bavka. 
 
 fin liis letter to Miss Alexander, the 
 Pnet describes with great minuteness the 
 scene and the occasion which gave birth to 
 this, the leceipt of which she did not 
 acknowledge. The place of meeting is 
 now marked by the erection of a rustic 
 grotto, in which a tablet is inserted con- 
 taining a facsimile of the Poet's manu- 
 script of two verses of the song. It 
 appears in Thomson with the usual note.] 
 
 'TWAS even— the dewy field.s wei'e green, 
 
 On every blade the pearls hang; 
 The Zephyr wantoned round the bean. 
 
 And bore its fragrant sweets alang : 
 In every glen the mavis sans. 
 
 All nature listeuing seemed the while; 
 Except where izreen-wood echoes rang 
 
 Amang the braes o' Balloclimyle. 
 
 With careless step I onward strayed. 
 
 My heart rejoiced in nature's joy ; 
 When musing in a lonely glade, 
 
 A maiden lair I clianced to spy : 
 Her look was like the morning's eye, 
 
 Her air like nature's vernal smile. 
 Perfection whispered passing by, 
 
 •Behold the lass o' Ballochmylel' t 
 
 Fair is the morn in flowery May, 
 
 And sweet is night in Autumn mild; 
 When roving thro' tlie garden gay, 
 
 Or wandering in the lonely wild r 
 Bat woman, nature's darling child I 
 
 Therf all her charms she does compile ; 
 Even there her other works are foil'd 
 
 By the bonie lass o' Ballochmyle! 
 
 I O had she been a country maid, 
 And I the happy country swain : 
 'Tho' sheltered in the lowest shed 
 I That ever rose on Scotland's plain, 
 I Thro' weary winter's wind and rain 
 I With joy, with rapture, I would toil, 
 .■Vnd nightly to my bosom strain 
 The bonie lass o' Ballochmyle. 
 
 Then pride might climb the slipp'ry steep; 
 
 NVhere fame and honoiu s lofty shine : 
 And thirst of gold might tempt the deep, 
 
 Or downward seek the Indian mine : 
 Give me the cot below the pine. 
 
 To tend the flocks or till the soil, 
 And every day have joy.s divine. 
 
 With the bonie lass o' F.alloclimvle ! 
 
 BONIK CASTLE GORDOX. 
 
 [Mr. Hoy. the Duke's librarian, wrote 
 thus in acknowledging receipt of the 
 verses :—" Your song I shewed without 
 naming the author, and it was judged by 
 the Diichess to be the production of Dr. 
 Beattie. When I informed her that you 
 were the author, she wished that you had 
 written the verses in .Scotch."] 
 
 S'l REAMS that glide in orient plains. 
 Never bound by winter's chains; 
 
 Glowing here on golden sands. 
 There commix'd with foulest stains 
 
 From tyranny's empurpled bands : 
 These, their richly gleaming waves, 
 I leave to tyrants and their slaves ; 
 Give me the stream that sweetly lave-s 
 
 The banks by Castle Gordon. 
 
 •This singular figure of poetry, taken from the mathematics, refers to the 47th 
 proposition of the 1st Book of Euclid. In a right-angled triangle, the square of the 
 nypotenusp is equal to the sum of the squares of the two other sides, 
 t Variation. The lily's hue and rose's dye 
 
 Bespoke the lass 'o Ballochmyle.
 
 TEE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 218 
 
 Spicy forests, ever gay, 
 Snading from the burning ray 
 
 Hapless wretches sold to toil. 
 Or the ruthless native's way. 
 
 Bent on slauf;hter, blood and spoil : 
 Woods that ever verdant ware, 
 I leave the tyrant and the slave ; 
 Give lue the groves that lofty brave 
 
 The storms by Castle Gordon. 
 
 VVildly here without control. 
 Nature reigns and rules the whole; 
 
 In that sober pensive mood. 
 Dearest to the feeling bouI, 
 
 She plants the forest, pours the flood : 
 Life's poor day I'll mu.sing rave. 
 And Und at ni^rht a sheltering cave, 
 Where waters flow anil wild woods wave, 
 
 By bonie Castle Gordon. 
 
 MY PEGGV'S FACE, MY PEGGY'S 
 FOll.M. 
 
 [This song, through some mistake or 
 other, was omitted from Johnson's second 
 volume, against the express desire of 
 Burns to have it inserted there. It 
 appears in Thomson's third volume under 
 the title, My Mary's Jace, lay Mari/sfornk. 
 From some circumstance equally strao^ie, 
 it was not given in any of the succeeding 
 tolumes of Johnson till it appeared iu 
 Currie's edition of the Poet.] 
 
 My Peggy's face, my Peggy's form, 
 The frost of hermit age might warm; 
 My Peggy's worth, my Peggy's mind. 
 Might charm the first of human kind: 
 I love my Peggy's angel air, 
 Her face so truly, tieavenly fair. 
 Her native grace so void of art; 
 But I adore my Peggy's heart. 
 
 The lily's hue, tlie rose's dye,* 
 The kindling lustre of an eye; 
 Who but owns their magic sway? 
 Who but knows tliey all decay V 
 The tender thrill, the pitying tear, 
 The generous purpose, nobly dear, 
 The gentle look that rage disarms— 
 These are all immortal charms. 
 
 ^ 
 
 JOCKIE'S TA'EN THE PARTING 
 KIS.S. 
 
 [This song was written for Johtuan's 
 Museum; but, like the one immediately 
 preceding, was not published in that work 
 till after its appearance in Currie'i 
 
 eilition.I 
 
 JOCKIE'S ta'eu the parting kiss. 
 
 O'er the mountains he is gaae. 
 And with him is a' my bliss, — 
 
 Nought but griefs with me remain. 
 Spare my luve, ye winds that blaw I — 
 
 Plashy sleets and beating rain 1 
 Spare my luve thou feathery snaw, 
 
 Drifting o'er the frozeH plain 1 
 
 When the sha<les of evening creep 
 
 O'er the day's fair, gladsome e'e, 
 Sound and safely may he sleep. 
 
 Sweetly blythe bis waukening bel 
 He will think on her he loves, 
 
 Fondly he'll repeat her name; 
 For where'er he distant roves, 
 
 Jockie's heart is still at hame. 
 
 THE DUMFRIES VOLUNTEEH*. 
 Tune — Push about the Joruin. 
 
 [This patriotic effusion first appeared la 
 the Dumfries Jaitrnal of 5th -Nlay, 1796. 
 It was engraved by Johnson and published 
 as a sheet-song, and llurns distributed a 
 large numberoi' cnpiesamong the membens 
 of his corps. He thus wrote to Johnson on 
 receipt of tliese:— "Thank you fur the 
 c(jpiesof my Volunteer ballad. Our friend 
 Clarke has indeed ilone well: 'tLs chaste 
 and beautiful. I have not met with any- 
 thing that lias pleased me so much." 
 Thomson included tliis composition in a 
 later edition instead of " the 47tli song of 
 a former wdition. "] 
 
 Does haughty Gaul invasion threat? 
 
 Then let the loons beware, sir, 
 There are wooden walls upon our 
 
 And volunteers on shore, sir: 
 
 •See The lass u' BaUoclninilc.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 214 
 
 The Nith shall run to Corsincon,* 
 
 And Criffelt aink in Sol way, 
 E'er we permit a foreign foe 
 
 On British ground to rally 1 
 
 We'll ne'er permit, ifcc. 
 
 O let us not, like snarling tykes, 
 
 In wrangling be divided ; 
 Till »iap.'— come in an unco loon. 
 
 And wi' a rung decide it : 
 Be Britain still to Britain true, 
 
 Amang oursel's united ; 
 For never but by British hands 
 
 Maun British wrangs be righted. 
 No! nene.r but by, cC-f. 
 
 The kettle o' the kirk and state, 
 
 Perhaps a clout may fail in't; 
 But deil a foreign tinkler loon 
 
 Shall ever ca' a nail in't ! 
 Our fathers' blude the kettle bought, 
 
 And wha wad dare to spoil it ; 
 By Heaven I the sacrilegious dog 
 
 ShaU fuel be to boil it ! 
 By Heavem! ct-c. 
 
 The wretch that wad a tyrant own, 
 
 And the wretch, his true-born brother, 
 Who would set the mob aboon the throne, 
 
 May they be damned together 1 
 Who wiU not sing 'God save the king," 
 
 Shall hang as high's the steeple : 
 But, whUe we sing 'God save the king," 
 
 We'U ne'er forget the People. 
 But, while u>e ting, Jta. 
 
 OH, WEET THOU IN THE CAULD 
 BLAST. 
 
 [This tender lyric was composed by th« 
 Poet during his last illness, and addressed 
 to his kind attendant, Jessy Lewara, in 
 whose honour that other dying song of his 
 — " Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear "— 
 was also cumposed.] 
 
 Oh, wert thou in the cauld blast. 
 
 On yonder lea, nn yonder lea ; 
 My plaidie to the angry airt— 
 
 I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee : 
 Or did misfortune's bitter storms 
 
 Around thee blaw, around thee blaw; 
 Thy bield should be my bosom. 
 
 To share it a', to share it a'. 
 
 Or were I in the wildest waste. 
 
 Sae black and bare, sae black and bare; 
 That desert were a paradise. 
 
 If thou wert there, if thou wert there : 
 Or were I monarch o' the f;Iobe, 
 
 Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign ; 
 The brightest jewel in my crown 
 
 Wad be my queen, wad be my que«n. 
 
 ^-^Qf^ 
 
 *A high hill at the source of the Nith.— (R. B.) 
 t A well-known mountain at the mouth of the same river. — (R. B.)
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POSTHUMOUS POEMS FIRST PRINTED BY CURRIE. 
 
 REMORSE 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 [These lines are entered in the Poet'd early Common-place book, under data 
 September, 17S3.] 
 
 Op all the numerous ills that hurt our peace— 
 
 That press the soul, or wring the mind with anguish. 
 
 Beyond comparison the worst are those 
 
 That to our folly, or our guilt we owe : 
 
 In every other circumstance, the mind 
 
 Has this to say—' It was no deed of mine;' 
 
 But when to all the evil of misfortune 
 
 This stins; is added— 'Blame thy foolish self I' 
 
 Or, worsji- far, the pang* of keen remorse. 
 
 The tortiirins;, pruawin;; consciousness of guilt — 
 
 Of guile, perhaps where we've involved others, 
 
 The young, the innocent, who fi>ndly loved us ; 
 
 Nay more, that very love their cause of luin ! 
 
 O burning hell ! in all thy store of torments 
 
 There's not a keener lash ! 
 
 Lives there a man so tirm, who, while his heart 
 
 Feels all the bitter horrors of his crime. 
 
 Can reason down its agonizing throbs ; 
 
 And after proper purpose of amendment, 
 
 Can firmly force his jarrina thoughts to peace? 
 
 O happy, happy, enviable man! 
 
 O glorious magnaniraitv of soul 1 
 
 SECOND EPISTLE TO DAVIE, I drove him from the fields during the d»y. 
 
 j lie never attained any proficiency in 
 A BROTHER POET AND BROTHi'.K FIDDLER, j music, although hi' could mana:;e, by the 
 
 i aid of a fiddle or flute, to read fiom music- 
 score any simple air he desired to be 
 acquainted with.] 
 
 [David Sillar publisheil his own poems 
 in 1789, and prefixed, by way of introluction, 
 this epi<tle addre-^ed to him l>y Hums. I 
 Burns's sister, (Mis, Begg) conununicated | 
 the fact that, when 2'2 years old. the Poet i 4uLD Neebor 
 began to teach himself to play the violin. " " ' 
 
 He would rise early in winter mornings, 
 break up the kitchen fidt'ti-'rinij-cnnl, and 
 scrape away at the instrument to the great 
 discomfort of other members of the house- 
 hold; and when this was protested against. 
 
 r.M three times doubly owre your debtor 
 For your auld-farrent, frien'ly lett^-r; 
 Tho' I maun say't, I doubt ye flatter, 
 
 Ye speak sae fair; 
 For my puir, silly, rhymin' clatter. 
 
 b« would lay it past until bad weather I Some less maun sair.
 
 THE POEMS AND SOXOS OF BURNS. 
 
 216 
 
 Hale be your heart I hale be your fiddle 1 
 Lone may your elbuck jink an' diildle, 
 To cheer you thro' the weary widdle 
 
 O' war'ly cares; 
 Till bairns' bairns kindly cuddle 
 
 Your auld, gray hairs. 
 
 But Davie, lad, I'm lodo ye'ro t;laikit; 
 I'm tauld the Muse ye hae negleckit ; 
 An' gif it's sae, ye sud be lickot 
 
 Until ye fyke ; 
 Sic hauns as you sud ne'er he faikit,* 
 
 Be hained wha like. 
 
 Yov roe, I'm on Parnassus' brink, 
 Rivin the words to gar them clink; 
 Whyles daez't wi' love, whiles daez't wi' 
 drink, 
 
 Wi' jauds or masons ; 
 An' whyles, but aye ower late, I think 
 
 Braw sober lessons. 
 
 Of a' the thoughtless sons o' man, 
 Commen' me to the Bardie clan ; 
 Kxcept it be some idle plan 
 
 O' rhymiii' clink, 
 The devil-haefc — that I sud ban — 
 
 They ever think 1 
 
 >'ae thought, nae view, nae scheme o' 
 
 livin', 
 Nae cares to gie us joy or giievin' ; 
 But just the pouchie put the nieve in, 
 
 An' while ought's there. 
 Then, hiltie-skiltie, we gae scrivin. 
 
 An' fash nae mair. 
 
 Leeze me on t hyme 1 it's aye a treasure. 
 My chief— amaist my only pleasure: 
 At hame, a-flel', at wark, or leisure. 
 
 The Muse, poor hizzie! 
 Tho' rough an' raploch be her measure. 
 
 She's seldom lazy. 
 
 Baud to the Muse, my dainty Davie : 
 The warl' may play you raony a shavie; 
 But for the Muse, she'll never leave ye, 
 
 Tho' e'er sae puir, 
 Na, even tho' limpin' wi' the spavie 
 
 Frae door to door. 
 
 r^^^-^^f^^ 
 
 THE INVENTORY 
 
 \^ ANSWER TO A MANDATE BY THIC 
 SURVEYOR OF THE TAXES. 
 
 [In 1786, in order to reduce somewhat 
 
 I the national debt, Mr. Pitt made a very 
 
 ' considerableaddition to the taxed articles, 
 
 and amongst these were female servant*. 
 
 ' Mr. Aiken of Ayr was surveyor of taxes 
 
 for Burns's district, and hence the present 
 
 curious verses addressed to him.] 
 
 Sir, as your mandate did request, 
 1 send you here a faithfu' list 
 O' gudes an' gear, an' a' my graith — 
 To which I'm clear to gie my aith. 
 
 Imprimis then, for carriage cattle, 
 I have four brutes o' gallant mettle 
 .Vs ever drew afore a petfle : 
 .My L'ln' itfore'ni a yude auld has-been. 
 An' wight an' wilfu' a' his days been. 
 .\[y Lull' ahin'sl a weel gaun fillie. 
 That aft has born me hame frae Killie, § 
 An' your auld burough mony a time, 
 In days when riding was nae crime : 
 But ance whan in my wooing pride, 
 I, like a blockhead, boo.st to ride. 
 The wilfu' creature sae I pat to — 
 li— d pardon a' my sins an' that to ! — 
 I play'd ray tillie sic a shavie, 
 Sne's a' bedevil'd wi' the spavie. 
 My Furr ahiyi'sW a wordy beast 
 As e'er in tug or tow was trac'd : 
 The fourth's a Highland Donald hastie, 
 A d— n'd red-wud Kilburnie blastie ; 
 Foreby a cowt, o' cowts the wale, 
 As ever ran afore a tail 
 If he be spar'd to be a beast, 
 Ue'll draw me fifteen pun' at least. 
 
 Wheel carriages I hae but few. 
 Three en its — an' twa are feckly new — 
 Ae auld wheelbarrow, mair for token, 
 Ae leg an' baith the trams are broken ; 
 I made a poker o' the spin'le, 
 An' my auld mother brunt the trin'le. 
 
 For men, I've three mischievous boys. 
 Run deils for rantin' an' for noise; 
 
 *" Faiket" means ujorn out, and allowed to fallback as disa'oled. "ToFaik," according 
 to Jamieson, is to fail. "Hained" saved or kept in reserve. 
 
 tThe fore horse on the left-hand in the plough. 
 
 JThe hindmost on the left-hand in the plough. § Kilmarnock. 
 
 y The hindmost on the right-hand in the plough.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 
 217 
 
 A gaudsman ane, a thrasher t'other, 
 Wee Davock bauds the nowt in fother: 
 I rule them as I ought, discreetly, 
 An' aften labour them completely. 
 An' aye on Sundays duly, nightly, 
 I on the questions targe them tightly; 
 I'ill faith, wee Davock's turn'd sae gleg, 
 ITio' scarcely langer than your lee, 
 He'll screed you aff Effectual Calling, 
 As fast as ony in the dwalling. 
 
 I've nana in female-servant station, 
 fL— d keep me aye frae a' temptation 1) 
 I hae nae wife— and that my bliss is— 
 An' ye have laid nae tax on misses: 
 An' then, if kirk fidks dinna clutch me, 
 I ken the devils dare na touch me. 
 \Vi' weans I'm niair then weel contented, 
 Heav'n sent me ane mae than I wanted ! 
 My sonsie, smirking, dear-bought Bess, 
 She stares the dadily in her face, 
 Kiiuugh of ought ye like but grace; 
 But her, my bonie sweet wee lady, 
 I've paid enough for her already, 
 An' gin ye tax her or her mither, 
 B' tlie L— dl ye'se get them a' thegither. 
 
 And now remember, Mr. Aiken, 
 Nae kind o' licence out I'm takin'; 
 Frae this time forth I do declare, 
 I'se ne'er ride horse nor hizzie mair; 
 Thro' dirt and dub for life I'll paidle, 
 Ere I sae dear pay fur a saddle; 
 My travel a' on foot I'll shank it, 
 I've sturdy bearers, Gude be thankitl 
 The Kirk an' you may tak' you that. 
 It puts but little in your pat ; 
 Sae dinna put me in your buke, 
 Nor for my ten white shillings look. 
 
 This list, wi' my ain ban' I wrote it, 
 Day an' date as under notit, 
 Then know all ye whom it concerns, 
 Suhecripti huie, UOBERT BURNS. 
 
 Mosigiel, February -lind, 1786. 
 
 this old sweetheart was Peggy ThomBon, 
 iif Kirkoswald. Therefore Mrs. Begg wm 
 mistaken in saying that "The Lass of 
 ».'e.ssnock Banks" was the subject of these 
 lines.] 
 
 O.NC'E fondly lovd, and still reraember'd 
 { dear, 
 
 j .Sweet early object of my youthful vows, 
 Accept this mark of friendship, warm, 
 1 sincere — 
 
 ; Friendship! 'tis all cold duty now 
 allows: — 
 .\nd when you read the simple, artles* 
 rhymes, 
 One friendly sigh for him— he asks no 
 more — 
 Who distant burns in flamingtorrid climes. 
 Or haply lies 1/eneath th' Atlantic roar. 
 
 LINES 
 
 WRITTEN ON THE BLANK-LEAP OF A COPY 
 
 OP THE KILMARNOCK KDITION OP THE 
 
 AUTHOR'S POEMS, PRESENTED BV 
 
 HIM TO AN OLD SWEETHEART, 
 
 THEN MARRIED. 
 
 (In the Glenriddel MS. the Poet has 
 recorded in the most explicit terms that 
 
 ON DINING WITH LORD DAER.« 
 
 [This interview took place, in 1786, at 
 the house of Professor Dugald Stewart, 
 who then resided in a villa at Catrine, a 
 few miles from the Poet's farm. By invi- 
 tation, Burns, accompanied by Mr. 
 .M'Kenzie, suriieon at Maucbline, dined 
 with the philosopher, and Lord Daer, 
 eldest son of the Earl of Selkirk, who had 
 been a pupil of Piufessor Stewart, bad 
 joined the party by chance.] 
 
 Tins wot ye all whom it concerns, 
 I, Rhymer Rubin, alias Burns, 
 
 October twenty-third — 
 A ne'er to be forgotten day — 
 Sae far I spiackled up the brae, 
 
 I dinner'd wi' a Lord. 
 
 I've been at druken writers' feasts. 
 
 Nay, been bitcli-fou 'mang godly priests — 
 
 Wi' reverence be it >p(iken I 
 I've even joined the hoMour'd jorum. 
 When mighty Squireships of the quorum. 
 
 Their hydra-drouth did sloken 1 
 
 But wi' a Lord 1— stand out my shial 
 i A Lord — a Peer— an Earl's son ! 
 I Up higher yec my bonnet! 
 
 I An' sic a Lord 1 — lang Scotch ells twa, 
 I Our Peerage he o'erlooks them a", 
 I As I look o'er mv sonnet. 
 
 *I.*rd Daer, a nobleman of great pronuse, dieil in November, 1794. leaving the suc- 
 cession open to his younger brother, the late Thomas, Earl of Selkirk.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 218 
 
 But O for Hogarth's maj;ic pow'r 
 
 To show Sir Bardy's willyart glowr ! — 
 
 And how he star'd and stammer'd, 
 When goavin, as if led wi' Ijranks, 
 An' stuDipin on his plouglnnan shanks, 
 
 He in the parlour hammer'd ! 
 
 I sidling shelter'd in a nook, 
 An' at his lordship steal't a look 
 
 Like some portentous omen ! 
 Except good-sense and social glee. 
 
 1 watch d the symptoms o the Great, 
 The gentle pride, the lordly state. 
 
 The arrogant assuming ; 
 The feint a pride— nae pride had he. 
 Nor sauce, nor state that I could see, 
 
 Mair than an honest ploughman I 
 
 Then from his Lordship I shall learn. 
 Henceforth to meet with unconcern. 
 One rank as well's another ; 
 Nae honest, worthy man need care, 
 
 An' — what surprised me— modesty. To meet with noble youthful Daer, 
 
 I marked nought uncommon. I For he but meets a brother. 
 
 AX ODE 
 
 ON' THli BIRIIIDAY OF PRINCE CHARLES EDWARD. 
 31ST DECEMBER, 1787. 
 
 [This unfortunate prince died in 17S3. Up to that date it had been a custom with 
 the keen Jacobites in IMinbumh to celebrate the anniversary of his birthday on the 
 Slst of December, and it would appear that Burns was induced to compose an ode for 
 the Jacobite demonstration of Slst December, 1787. The complete Ode is recorded in 
 the Ulenriddel MS. ; but Dr. Currie printed only a part of it, because, in his opinion, 
 it was " a kind of rant, wantina: oritiinality and interest."] 
 
 Al'AU the illustrious exile roams 
 
 Whom kingdoms on this day should hail: 
 An inmate in the casual shed, 
 On transient pity's bounty fed. 
 
 Haunted by busy memory's bitter tale I 
 Beasts of the forest have their savage homes; 
 
 But he who should the imperial purple wear 
 Owns not the lap of earth where rests the royal head! 
 
 His wretched refuge, dark despair, 
 While ravening wroni;s and woes pursue; 
 And distant far the faithful few 
 
 Who would his .sorrows share. 
 
 False flatterer, Hope, away ! 
 Nor think to lure us as in days of yore : 
 
 We solemnize this sorrowing natal day. 
 To prove our loyal truth — we can no more; 
 
 And owning heaven's mysterious sway. 
 Submissive, low, adore. 
 
 Ye honoured mighty dead! 
 Who nobly perished in the glorious cause. 
 Your king, your cuuiui y, and her laws! 
 
 From great Dundee", who smiling victory led, 
 And fell a martyr in her arms, 
 (What breast of northern ice but warms?) 
 To bold Bahuerino's undying name, 
 Whose .soul of tire, lighted at heaven's high flame. 
 Deserves the proudest wreath departed heroes claim.
 
 TEE POEMS AND SOXOS OF BURNS. 
 219 
 
 Not unrevenged your fate shall lie, 
 
 It only lags the fatal hour; 
 Your blood shall with incessant cry 
 
 Awake at last th' unsparing power. 
 As from the cliff, with thundering course, 
 
 The snowy ruin smokes along, 
 With doubling speed and gathering force, 
 'Till deep it •rashing whelms the cottage in the rale; 
 So Vengeance' arm, ensanguined, strong, 
 Shall with resiitless might assail— 
 Usurping Brunswick's pride shall lowly lay, 
 And STUART'S wrongs and yours, with tenfold weight rep«y. 
 
 Perdition ! baleful child of Night, 
 Rise and revenge the injured right 
 
 (Jf Stuart's royal race : 
 Lead on the unmuzzled hounds of hell. 
 Till all the frighted echoes tell 
 
 The blood-notes of the chase : 
 Full on the quarry point their view, 
 Full on the base usurping crew. 
 
 The tools of faction, and th« nation's cursdl 
 Hark, how the cry grows on the wind; 
 They leave the lagging gale behind ; 
 Their savage fury pityless they pour ; 
 AVith murderous eyes already "they devour : 
 See Brunswick spent, a wretched prey. 
 His life one poor despairing day. 
 
 Where each avenging hour still ushers in a worse I 
 Such havock, howling all abroad, 
 
 Their utter ruin bring; 
 The base apostates to their God, 
 Or rebels to their King. 
 
 THE ANSWER TO THE GUDEWIFE 
 OF WAUCHOPE-HOUSE. 
 
 [This much admired production of Burns 
 was written in .March, ITS", while his 
 Edinburgh poems were at the press. At 
 that period, during the Maze of his first 
 reputation, many iidmiring rhymsters 
 ventured to address him by way of com- 
 pliment, and he felt constrained to answer 
 one of these— a lady, aged CO, who enjoyed 
 some reputation as a p.iiiitress and poetess, 
 namely Mrs. f;iizabetli Rutherford or 
 Scott, the wife of .Mr. Walter Scott, a 
 farmer, and proprietor of Wauchope House, 
 near Jedburgh. 
 
 The reference in the closing verse of 
 the poem, is to an offer the lady made 
 to .send him a "maud," or iuarle(i plaid, 
 such as is usually worn by shepherds. In 
 tlie course of his Uorilm- tour with young 
 Ainslie, the Poet paid her a visit, and it 
 would appear he was not p:uticularly taken, 
 
 with her. At Dunbar, happening to 
 mention "Mrs. Fall, a iieniusin painting," 
 he adds, "fully more cleverin the tine arts 
 and sciences than my friend Lady Wau- 
 chope, without her consummate assurance 
 of her own abilities." 
 
 It may be stated that the poem in the 
 text, along with the "Gudewife'a" letter, 
 to which it is a reply, was published at 
 London, in 1801, long subsequent to the 
 "Gudewife's" death, in a volume entitled, 
 "Alonza and Cora, and other Original 
 Poems. By Elizabeth Scot, a native of 
 Ivlinburgh."] 
 
 GlDFAVIFE, 
 
 1 Ml.ND it weel in early date. 
 
 When I was be.ardless, young, and bl&t«, 
 
 An' first could thresh the barn; 
 Or hand a yukin at the plough; 
 .An' tho' forfoughten sair eneugh. 
 
 Yet unco proud to learn : 
 When first amang the yellow corn 
 
 A man 1 reckon'd was, 
 An<l wi' the lave ilk merry morn 
 
 Could rank my rig and lass.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 2*20 
 
 Still shearing, and clearing 
 The tither stook^d raw, 
 
 Wi' olaivei's. and haivers, 
 Wearing the time awa': 
 
 E'en then, a wish, I mind its pow'r — 
 A wish that to my latest hour 
 
 Shall strongly heave niy breast — 
 That I, for poor auld Scotland's sake. 
 Some nsefu' plan or book could make. 
 
 Or sing a sang at least 1 
 The rough burr-thistle, spreading wide 
 
 Aniang the bearded bear — 
 I turn'd my weeding heuk aside, * 
 An' spar'd the symbol dear I 
 No nation, no station. 
 
 My envy e'er could raise, 
 A Scot stiLl, but blot still, 
 I knew no higher praise. 
 
 But still the elements o' sang 
 
 In formless jumble, right an' wrang, 
 
 Wild floated in my brain; 
 Till on that hairst I said before, 
 My partner in the merry core. 
 
 She rous'd the forming strain: 
 I see her yet, the sonsy quean. 
 
 That lighted up my jiMi;le, 
 Her pauky smile, her kittle een 
 That gar't my heartstrings tingle; 
 So touched, bewitched, 
 I rav'd aye to mysel' ; 
 But bashing and dashing, 
 I kend na how to tell, f 
 
 Hale to the sex I ilk gude cbiel' a»j», 
 Wi' merry dance in winter days. 
 
 An' we to share in common: 
 The gust o' joy, the balm of woe. 
 The saul o' life, the heav'n below. 
 
 Is rapture-giving woman 1 
 Ye surly sumphs, who hate the name 1 
 
 Be mindfu' o' your mither; 
 .She, honest woman, may thinic abame 
 That ye're connected with her. 
 Ye're wae men, ye're nae men 
 That slight the lovely dears; 
 To shame ye— disclaim ye. 
 Ilk honest birkie swears I 
 
 For you, no' bred to bam and bvre, 
 Wha sweetly tune the Scottish lyre. 
 
 Thanks to you for your line I 
 The marled plaid ye kindly spare, 
 By me should gratefully be ware;t 
 
 'Twad please me (o the nine I 
 I'd be mair vauntie o' my hap. 
 Douse hingin' o'er my curple, 
 Than ony ermine ever lap, 
 Or proud imperial purple. 
 Farewell then, lang hale then, 
 
 An' plenty be your fa' 1 
 M:iy losses and crosses 
 Ne'er at your hallan ca' I 
 
 R. BURNS. 
 
 March, 17S7. 
 
 INSCRIPTION 
 
 ON THE TOMB OF ROBERT FERGUSSON, POET, 
 BORN, SEPTEMBER 5TH, 1751— DIED, 16TH OCTOBER, 1774. 
 
 lOn 16th February, 17S7, Burns applied to Che kirk managers of the parish of 
 Canongate, Edinburgh, for permission to erect a stone over the remains of the poet 
 Fergusson, and obtained the formal sanction of that body on the 22nd of .same month. 
 The Poet employed a namesake, Mr. Robert Burn, architect, to erect the stone and 
 cut the inscription The cost was £5 lOs. The Poet, in sending payment of the 
 account, in February, 1792, wrote thus concerning it : — " Mr. Burn was two years in 
 erecting it after I had commissioned him for it, and I have been two years more in 
 paying him, so he and I are quits."] 
 
 No sculptur'd marble here, nor pompous lay, 
 ' No storied urn nor animated bust,'§ 
 
 This simple stone directs pale Scotia's way 
 To pour her sorrows o'er her poet's dust. 
 
 • Far. — I turn'd my weeder-clips aside. tSee song— ify handsome Neil, 
 
 I Var. — The marled plaid ye kindly spare 
 For me, richt gratefully I'd wear. 
 
 § Gray's Elegy.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 in 
 ADDITIONAL STANZAS. 
 FOR INSCRIPTIOX OX ROBERT FERGUSSOX'S TOMBSTONE. 
 
 [In a MS. copy of the Inscription, contained in a collection of nnpnblishe4 plecea, 
 transcribed by the Poet for his friend Mrs. Dunlop, these two stanzas are added. 
 They were first published in Alexander Smith's edition, 1S68.] 
 
 She mourns, sweet tuneful youth, thy hapless fate, 
 Tho' all the powers of song thy fancy tired. 
 
 Yet Luxury and Wealth lay by in state. 
 And thankless starved what they so much admired. 
 
 This humble tribute with a tear now ariTes 
 A brother Bard— he can no more bestow : 
 
 But dear to fame thy song immortal lives, 
 A nobler monument than Art can show. 
 
 EXTEMPORE, 
 
 »N THE I.ATR MR. WILLIAM SMELLIE, AUTHOR OF THE 'PHILOSOPHY 
 
 OF NATURAL HISTORY,' AND MEMBER OF THE ANTIQUARIAN 
 
 AND ROYAL SOCIETIES OF EDINBURGH. 
 
 [Sraellie was printer of the Poet's Edinburgh edition, and a man of considerable 
 literary reputation. He was also a member of the social club named the CrochaHan 
 Fencibles, which Burns was induced to join. Sraellie died in June, 1795.) 
 
 To Crochallan came 
 
 The old cock'd hat, the grey surtout the same ; 
 His bristling beard just rising in its might, 
 'Twas four long nights and days to shaving-night. 
 His uncombed grizzly locks, wild staring, thatch'd. 
 A head for thought profound and clear, unmatch'a: 
 Yet tho' his caustic wit was biting, rude. 
 His heart was warm, benevolent, and good. 
 
 COPY OF A POETICAL ADDRESS TO MR. WILLIAM TYTLER,* 
 WITH THE PRESENT OF THE BARD'S PICTURE. 
 
 [This was inscribed in a letter to that aged worthy, in 1787. The "he.ad" referred 
 to may have been either a proof-impression of Beugo's engraving, or a tilhotiett* 
 profile by Miers. After transcribing the verses in the text, the Poet added as follows : — 
 
 * Author of " An Enquiry into the Evidence against Mary, Queen of Scots. ITW."
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 •'My Muse jilted me here, and turned a corner on nie, and I have not got again into 
 her good graces. Do uie the justice to believe me sincere in my grateful remembranc* 
 of the many civilities you have honoured me with since I came to Edinburgh.") 
 
 Revered defender of beauteous 8tuart, 
 
 Of Stuart, a name once respected— 
 A name which to love was the mark of a true heart. 
 
 But now 'tis despised and neglected: 
 
 Tho' something like moisture conglobes in my eye, 
 
 Let no one misdeem me disloyal; 
 A poor, friendless wand'rer m.ay well claim a sigh, 
 
 Still more if that wand'rer were royal. 
 
 My fathers that name have rever'd on a throne; 
 
 My fathers have fallen to right it ; 
 Those fathers would spurn their degenerate son. 
 
 That name should he scoffingly slight it. 
 
 Still in prayers for King George I most heartily join. 
 
 The Queen, and the rest of the gentry, 
 Be they wise, ba they foolish, is nothing nf mine ; 
 
 Their title's avow'd by my country. 
 
 But why of that epocha make such a fusa, 
 
 [That gave us the Hanover stem ; 
 If bringing them over was lucky for us, 
 
 I'm sure 'twas as lucky for them.] * 
 
 But loyalty, :;ruce 1 we're on dangerous ground, 
 
 \Vho knous how the fashions may alter? 
 The doctrine, to-d;iy, that i-i loyalty sound, 
 
 To-morrow may bring us a halter. 
 
 I send you a trifle, a heiid of a bard, 
 
 A trifle scarce worthy yuur c.ire ; 
 But accept it, good sir, as a mark of regard. 
 
 Sincere as a saint's dying prayer. 
 
 Now life's chilly evening dim :>hade3 on your ey«, 
 
 And ushers the long, dreary night ; 
 But you, like the star that athwart gilds the sky — 
 
 Your course to the latest is bright. 
 
 IMPROMPTU, 
 ON BEING HOSPITABLY ENTERTAINED IX THE HiaHLANDS, IN 1737. 
 
 (This is pointed out to have been at Dalnacardoch, about 11 miles north of Blair 
 Atbole. The Poet, in his journal of September, 1787, notes being there, but uo more. ] 
 
 Whe.v deaths dark stream I ferry o'er— 
 
 A time that surely shall cc^me— 
 In Heaven itself I'll ask uo more 
 
 Than just a Highland welcome ! 
 
 *The three lines in brackets were, for obvious reasons, omitted by Cnrrie amd kt all 
 e4iiiem», down to that of Pickering, in 1839.
 
 TEE POE^fS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 223 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF SIR JAMES HUNTER BLAIR. 
 
 [This ,c;entleman belonged to Ayrshire, and was a meinlier of the banking-house of 
 Sir WUham Forbes and Company. He died 1st July, 17a7. 
 
 The Poet sent a copy to his friend Eobert Aiken, writer iu Ayr, and attached to i: 
 were these words: — "My honoured friend, the melancholy occasion of the foregoini^ 
 poem affects noc only individuals, but a country. That I have lost a friend is but re- 
 peating after Caledonia."] 
 
 The lamp of day, with LH-presaging glare. 
 Dim, cloudy, dunk beneath the western wave; 
 
 Th' incmstant blast howld thro' the darkening air. 
 And hollow whistled in the rocky cave. 
 
 Lone as I wander'd by each clifi and dell. 
 Once the lov'd haunts of Scotia's royal train ; * 
 
 Or musd where limpid streams, once hallow'd, well, t 
 Or mould'rinij r\iins mark the sacred Fane, t 
 
 Th' increasing blast roar'd round the beetling rocks, 
 The clouds, swift-wing'd, flew o'er the starry sky, 
 
 The groaning trees untimely shed their locks. 
 And shooting meteors cauc^ht the startled eye. 
 
 The paly moon rose in the livid ea=t, 
 .•Vnd 'mong the cliffs disclos'd a stately Form 
 
 In weeds of woe, who frantic beat her breast, 
 And Tuix'd her wailing wich the ravuig storm. 
 
 Wild to my heart the rilial pulses glow,— 
 'Twas Caledonia's trophied shield I view'd ; 
 
 Her form majestic dronp'd in pensive woe. 
 The lightning of her eye in tears imbued. 
 
 Revers'd that spear, redoubtable in war. 
 Reclined that banner, erst in fields unfurl'd. 
 
 That like a deathfal meteor ,i,'leam'd afar, 
 And brav'd the mighty monarchy of the world. 
 
 *My patriot son fills an untimely grave ! ' 
 With accents wild and lifted arms— she cried ; 
 
 'Low lies the hand that oft was stretch'd to save, 
 Low lies the heart that swell'd with honest pridel 
 
 ' A weeping country joins a widow's tear. 
 The helpless poor mix with the orphan's cry, 
 
 The drooping arts surround their patron's bier. 
 And grateful science heaves the heartfelt sigh 1 
 
 'I saw my sons resume their ancient fire, 
 I saw fair freedom's blossoms richly blow ; 
 
 But, ah ! how hope is born but to expire ! 
 Relentless fate has laid their guardian low. 
 
 * rhi3 King's Park at Holyrood House.— (B. B.) 
 tSfc. Anthony's Well.— (R. B.) :st. Anthony's Chapel.— <R. B.)
 
 THE POEMS AND SOXOS OF BUBXS. 
 
 224 
 
 ' My patriot falls ; but shall lie lie unsung:, 
 While empty greatness saves a wmthless name! 
 
 No : every muse shall join her tui eful tongue, 
 And future ages hear his growiig fame. 
 
 ' And I will join a mother's tender cares, 
 Thro' future tiiiies to make his virtues last ; 
 
 That distant years may boast of other BlairsI '— 
 She said— and vanish'd with the sweeping blast. 
 
 EPISTLE TO R. GRAHAM, ESQ., OF FINTRY. 
 
 (The reader has already seen the poet's Fourth Epistle to Mr. Graham. Here we 
 have his Fimt Epistle, dated about September, 17SS. In February of that year he 
 had, through the aid of that gentleman, obtained his appointment to the Excise, 
 regarding which he thus wrote to a friend :— "I got this without any hanging-on or 
 Mortifying solicitation; and though poor in comparison of the last eighteen months 
 of niy life, it is luxury in comparison of all my preceding existence."] 
 
 VV'HiiN Nature her great masterpiece designed. 
 And fram'd her last, best work, the human mind— 
 Her eye intent on all tlie mazy plan — 
 She form'd of various parts, the various Man. 
 
 Then first she calls the useful many forth, — 
 Plain plodding industry, and sober worth ; 
 Thence peas.auts, farmers, native sons of earth, 
 And merchandise' whule genus take their birth: 
 Each prudent cit a warm exi.stence finds, 
 And all meclianics' inany-apron'd kinds: 
 Some other r.irer sorts are wanted yet. 
 The lead and buoy are needful lo the net; 
 The cnput mortiixim of gross desires 
 Makes a material for mere knights and squires; 
 The martial phosphorus is tauglit to flow. 
 She kneads the lumpish philosophic dough. 
 Then marks th' unyieldinsr mass with grave designs- 
 Law, physics, politics, and deep divines; 
 Last, she sublimes th' Aurora of the poles — 
 The flashing elements of female souls. 
 
 The ordered system fair before her stood. 
 Nature, well pleased, pronounced it very good; 
 But ere she gave creating lahnur o'er. 
 Half-jest, she tried one cuiious labour more: 
 Some spumy, fiery, ignis faluiis matter. 
 Such as the slightest breath of air might scatter. 
 With arch-alacrity and conscious glee 
 (Nature may have her whim as well as we. 
 Her Hogarth-art perhaps she meant to show it) 
 She forms the thing and christens it — a poet! — 
 Creature, tho' oft the prey of care and sorrow. 
 When blest to-day, unmindful of to-morrow — 
 A being form'd t'amuse liis graver friends, 
 Admir'd and prais'd— and there the homage end»— 
 A mortal quite unfit for fortune's strife, 
 Yet oft the sport of all the ills of life —
 
 TEE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 225 
 
 Prone to enjoy eacli pleasure riches l,'Uc, 
 Yet haply wanting wherewithal to live — 
 Longing to wipe each tear, to heal each groan 
 Yet frequent all unheeded in his own. 
 
 But honest Xature is not quite a Turk, 
 
 She laugh'd at first, then felt for her poor work; 
 
 Pitying the propless climber of mankind, 
 
 She cast about a standard tree to tind ; 
 
 And to support liis helpless woodbine state, 
 
 Attach'd him to the ijenermis truly great — 
 
 A title, antl the only one I claim, 
 
 To lay strong hold for help on bounteous Graham. 
 
 Pity the tuneful muses' hapless train. 
 Weak, timid lanilsmen on life's stormy main ! 
 Their hearts no selfish stern absorbent stuff. 
 That never gives, tho' humbly takes enouirh; 
 The little fate allows, they share as soon : 
 Unlike sage proverb'd wisdom's hard-wrung b<ion, 
 The world were blest diil Idiss on them ilepeml,— 
 Ah, that 'the friendly e'er should want a friend 1' 
 Let prudence number o'er each sturdy son, 
 Who life and wisdom at one race begun, 
 Who feel by reason .ind who give by rule 
 (In>tinct's a brute, and sentiment a fool !) 
 Wlio make poor ivill (hi wait upon / shuuUl — 
 We own they're prudent, but who feels they're good'i 
 Ye wise ones, hence ! ye hurt the social eye ! 
 God's image rudely etch'd on base alloy \ ' 
 
 But come, ye who the godlike pleasure know — 
 Heaven's attribute distinguish'd— to bestow ! 
 Whose arms rif love would grasp the human race t 
 Come thou who giv'st with all a courtier's grace. 
 Friend of my life, true patron of my rhymes ! 
 Prop of my dearest hopes for future times : 
 Why shrinks my soul half blushing, half afraid, 
 Backward, abash'd to ask tliy friendly aid'.- 
 I know my need, I know thy giving hand. 
 I crave thy friendship at thy kin<l command ; 
 But there are such who court the tuneful nine- 
 Heavens ! should the branded character l)e mine! 
 Whose verse in manhood's priile sublimely ti,)ws. 
 Yet vilest reptiles in their begging pmsel 
 Mark how their lofty independent spUit 
 Soars on the spurning wing of injur'il merit 1 
 Seek not the proofs in private life to timl. 
 Pity the best of wonls sliould be but wind ! 
 So, to heaven's gates the lark's shrill som; ascends. 
 But, grovelling on the earth the carol ends 1 
 In all the clam'rous cry of starving want. 
 They dun benevolence with shameless front! 
 Oblige them, patronize tlieir tinsel lays, 
 They persecute you ill vnur filure day>l — 
 Ere my pnor soul such deep d.vuination stain, 
 My horny fist assume th6 plougli again ; 
 The piebald jacket let me patch once more. 
 On eighteenpence a week I've liveil befi>re,— 
 Though, thanks to heaven ! I dare even that last shift,. 
 I trust, meantime, my Ijoon is in thv gift ; 
 That, placed by thee upon the wish'd-fur height, 
 Where— man and nature fairer in her sight— 
 My mu.se may imp her wing for some sniilimer fli;.'ht.
 
 TEE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 226 
 F R A G M E N T , 
 INSCRIBED TO THK RIGHT HON. CHARLES JAMES FOX. 
 
 .On 4th April, 1733, the Poet included a considerable portion of this poem in a letter 
 he then wrote to .Mrs. Diinlop. He s:iy.s. " I have a Doetic whira in my head, which I 
 at present dedicate or r ither inscril)e to rhe Rii,'lit Hon. Cliarles James Fox; but how 
 lonj; that fancy may hold I cannot say. X few of the first lines I have just rough- 
 sketched as follow."] 
 
 How wisdom and folly meet, mix, and unite 1 
 How virtue and vice lileml their black and their white 1 
 How genius, th' illustrious father of fiction. 
 Confounds rule and law, reconciles contradiction— 
 I sing: if these mortals, the critics, should bustle, 
 I care not, not I, let the critics ;.'o whistle. 
 
 But now for a Patron, whose name and whose glory 
 
 At once may illustrate and honour my story.— 
 
 Thou first of our orators, first of our wits; 
 
 Yet whose parts and acquirements seem mere lucky hits; 
 
 With knowledi;e so vast and with judumeut so strong, 
 
 No man with the half of 'era e'er could go wrong ; 
 
 With passions so potent, and fancies so bright. 
 
 No man with the half of 'em e'er could :;o right; 
 
 A sorry, poor, misbegot son of the Muses, 
 
 For using thy name offers fifty excuses. 
 
 Good L— d, what is man I for as simple he looks, 
 Do but try to develope his hooks and his crooks : 
 With his depths and his shallows, his good and his evil, 
 All in all, he'a a problem must puzzle t!ie Devil. 
 
 On his one ruling passion Sir Pope hugely* labours. 
 
 That, like th' old Hebrew walking-switch, eats up its neighbours: 
 
 ^Mankind aret his show box— a friend, wouM you know hira? 
 
 Pull the string— ruling passion the picture will show hira! 
 
 What pity, in rearing so beauteous a system. 
 
 One tririiiig particular. Truth, should have raiss'd himl 
 
 For, spite of iiis fine theoretic positions, 
 
 Mankind is a science defies definitions. 
 
 Some sort all our qualities each to its tribe. 
 
 And think human nature they truly describe ; 
 
 Have you fcnunl this or t'other? there's more in the wind, 
 
 As by one drunken fellow his comrades you'll find. 
 
 But such is the tiaw, or the depth of the plan. 
 
 In the make of that wonderful creature, call'd Man, 
 
 No two virtues, whatever relation they claim, 
 
 Nor even two different shades of the same. 
 
 Though like as was ever twin-brother to brother. 
 
 Possessing the one shall imply you've the other. 
 
 But truce with abstraction, and truce with the Muse, 
 Whose rhymes you'll perhaps, .Sir, ne'er deign to peruse : 
 Will you leave your justings, your jars, and your quarrels. 
 Contending with Billy for proud-nodding laurels. 
 
 * Var. — Warmly. t V'ar.— Human nature's.
 
 THE POEMS AND SOXGS OF BURXS. 
 
 227 
 
 My much-honoured Patron, believe your poor Poet, 
 Your courage much more than vuur prmleiice you show it. 
 In vain with Squire Billy for laurels you stru.i;'a;le, 
 He 11 have thorn by fair tiade, if not, he will sumj;gle; 
 Not cabinets even of kings would conceal 'em. 
 He'd up the back-stairs, and by G— he would >teal 'em. 
 Then feats like Squire fSilly's you ne'er can achieve 'ein 
 It is not, outdo hira— the task'is, out-thieve liim. 
 
 ADDRESS TO THE TOOTHACHE. 
 
 [This seems to have been Composed about 
 the month of May, 17S9, when he wrote 
 thus to Creech ;— "I had intended to have 
 troubled you with a long letter; but at 
 present the delightful sensations nf an 
 omnipotent toothache so engross all my 
 inner man, as to put it out of my power to 
 write anything but nonsense. Fifty troops 
 of infernal spirits are driving post, from 
 ear to ear, along my jaw-bones."] 
 
 My curse upcm your venom'd stang, 
 That shoots my tortur'd guras alang; 
 And through my lugs gies mony a twang, 
 
 Wi' gnawing vengeance; 
 Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang. 
 
 Like racking engines! 
 
 When fevers burn, or ague freezes, 
 Rheumatics gnaw, or cholic squeezes; 
 Our neighbour's sympathy may ease us, 
 
 Wi' pitying moan; 
 But thee— thou hell o' a' diseases. 
 
 Aye mocks our groan ! 
 
 Adown my beard the slavers trickle ! 
 I throw the wee stools o'er the mickle, 
 As round the tire the giglets keckle, 
 
 To see me loup; 
 While raving mad, I wish a heckle 
 
 Were in their doup I 
 
 C a' the num'rous human dools, 
 
 111 har'.sts, daft bargains, cutty-stools. 
 
 Or worthy friends rak'd i' the mools. 
 
 Sad sight to see 1 
 The tricks o' knaves, or fash o' fools — 
 
 Thou bear'st the gree. 
 
 Where'er that place be priests ca' heU, 
 Whence a' the tones o' mis'ry yell. 
 And rankM plagues their numbers tell, 
 
 In dreaiUu' raw, 
 rhou, TOOTHACHK, surely bear'st the bell 
 
 Amang them a' I 
 
 O tli(ju grim miscliief-making chiel'. 
 That gars the notes of discord squeel, 
 'Till liaft mankind aft dance a retd 
 
 In gore a shoe-thick; — 
 Gie a' the faes o' Scotland's weal 
 
 A t^nvmond's Toothache 1 
 
 TO DR. BLACKLOCK. 
 
 EUislaiui, 2U'J Oct., 1789. 
 
 [The Poet-had written a letter to his 
 venerable friend, Dr. Blacklock, which he 
 intrusted to Robert Heron, then a student 
 of Divinity, to deliver to him, but Heron 
 had proved unfaithful to his trust. The 
 Doctor feelins; uneasy at Burns's long 
 silence, wrote him a kind letter in verse, 
 which brought forth the following charac- 
 teristic reply and explanation:]— 
 
 Wow, but your letter made me vauntie I 
 And are you hale, and weel, and cantie? 
 I ken'd it still your wee bit jauntie, 
 
 Wad bring ye to : 
 Lord send you aye as -.veel's I want ye. 
 
 And then ye'U do ! 
 
 The ill-thief blaw the Heron south ! 
 And never drink be near his drouth 1 
 He tauld mysel' by word o' mouth. 
 
 He'd tak' my letter; 
 I lippen'd to the chield in truth. 
 
 And bade nae better. 
 
 But aiblins honest .Master Heron, 
 Had at the time some dainty fair one, 
 To ware his theologic care on. 
 
 And holy study; 
 And tireil o' sauls to waste his lear on. 
 
 E'en tried the body. 
 
 But what d'ye think, ray trusty fler, 
 I'm turn'd a ganger— Peace be here ! 
 Parnassian queans, I fear, I fear, 
 
 Ye'U now disdain me.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 
 228 
 
 And then my fifty pounds a-year 
 
 Will little gain me. 
 
 Ye glaiket, gleesome, dainty damies, 
 WTia by Castalia's wimplin' streainies, 
 Lowp, sing, and lave your pretty hmbies, 
 
 Ye ken, ye ken. 
 That Strang necessity supreme is 
 
 'Mang sons o' men. 
 
 I hae a wife and twa wee laddies. 
 
 They maun hae brose and brats o' duddies; 
 
 Ye ken yoursels my heart right proud is : 
 
 I need na vaunt. 
 But I'll sned besoms-thra w saugh woodies, 
 
 Before they want. 
 
 Lord help ine through this warld o' care \ 
 I'm weary sick o't late and airl 
 Not but I hae a richer share 
 
 Than mony ilhers; 
 But why should ae man better fare. 
 
 And a' men brithers? 
 
 Come, Firm Resolve, take thou the van, 
 
 Thou stalk o' carl-hemp in man ! 
 
 And let us mind, faint beart ne'er wan 
 
 A lady fair: 
 Wha does the utmost that he can. 
 
 Will whyles do mair. 
 
 But to conclude my silly rhyme 
 
 (I'm scant o' verse, and scant o' time). 
 
 To make a happy fire-side cHme 
 
 To weans and wife. 
 That's the true pathos and sublime 
 
 Of human life. 
 
 My compliments to sister Beckie ; 
 And eke the same to honest Lucky, 
 I wat she is a dainty chuckle, 
 
 As e'er tread clay ! 
 And gratefully my gude auld cockie, 
 
 I'm yours for aye.* 
 
 ROBERT BURN.S. 
 
 WRITTEN IN AN ENVELOPE, 
 
 INCLOSING A LETTER TO CAPTAIN GROSE. 
 
 [Sometime in the autumn of 1TS9, the 
 Poet addressed a letter to Grose, and not 
 being certain of his address, he enclosed 
 the letter in an envelope addressed to Mr. 
 Cardonnel, a brother antiquary in Edin- 
 burgh, and within the wrapper he wrote the 
 
 following humorous lines, which are a kind 
 of parody of an old song, commencing:— 
 
 " Ken ye ought o' Sir John Malcolm t 
 Igo and ago ; 
 If he's a wise man, I mistak' him 1 
 Iram, coram, dago."} 
 
 Ken ye ought o' Captain Grose — 
 Igo and ago — 
 
 If he's amang his friends or foes? 
 
 Iram, coram, dago. 
 
 Is he to Abra'm's bosom gane? 
 
 Igo and ago, 
 Or handing Sarah by the wame? 
 
 Iram, coram, dago. 
 
 Is he south, or is he north? 
 
 Igo and ago. 
 Or drownM in the river Forth? 
 
 Iram, coram, dago. 
 
 Is he slain by Highlan' bodies? 
 
 Igo and ago. 
 And eaten like a wether haggis? 
 
 Iram, coram, dago. 
 
 Where'er he be, the Lord be near him I 
 Igo and ago. 
 
 As for the deil, he daurna steer him, 
 Iram, coram, dago. 
 
 But please transmit th' enclosed letter,. 
 
 Igo and ago. 
 Which will oblige your humble debtor, 
 
 Iram, coram, dago. 
 
 So may ye hae auld stanes in store— 
 Igo and ago, — 
 
 The very stanes that Adam bore, 
 
 Iram, coram, dago. 
 
 So may ye get in glad possession — 
 Igo and ago — 
 
 The coins o' Satan's coronation ! 
 
 Iram, coram, dago. 
 
 SKETCH-NEW-YEAR'S DAY, 1790. 
 
 TO MRS. DUNLOP. 
 
 [The Poet seldom failed to address Mrs. 
 Dunlop— either in verse or prose — on New- 
 Year's Day — always a red-letter day in hi» 
 Calendar.] 
 
 •Blacklock— blind from childhood— was born in 1721, and died in 1791.
 
 THE POEMS AND SOXOS OF BURNS. 
 
 2-29 
 
 This day, Time winds th' exhausted chain, 
 To run the twelvemonth's length again:— 
 I see the old, bald-pated fellow, 
 With ardent eyes, complexion sallow, 
 Adjust the unimpair'd machine, 
 To wheel the equal, dull routine. 
 
 The absent lover, minor heir. 
 
 In vain assail him with their prayer; 
 
 Deaf as my friend, he sees them press, 
 
 Nor makes the hour one moment less. 
 
 Will you (the Major's with the hounds, 
 
 The happy tenants share his rounds; 
 
 Coila's fair Rachel's care to-day. 
 
 And blooming Keith's engaged with 
 
 Gray;)* 
 From housewife cares a minute borrow — 
 That grandchild's cap will do to-morrow — 
 And join with me a-moralizing. 
 This day's propitious to be wise in. 
 First, what ilid yesternight deliver? 
 'Another year is gone for ever.' 
 And what is this day's strong suggestion? 
 'The passing moment's all we rest on!' 
 Best on — for what? what do we here? 
 Or why regard the passing year? 
 
 Will time, amused with proverbed lore, 
 .A.dd to our date one minute more? 
 A few days may— a few years must — 
 Repose us in the silent dust. 
 Then is it wise to damp our bliss? 
 Yes— all such reasonings are amiss I 
 The voice of Xature loudly cries, 
 And many a message from the skies, 
 That something in us never dies : 
 That on this frail, uncertain state, 
 Hang matters of eternal weight : 
 That future-life in worlds unknown 
 Must take its hue from this alone ; 
 Whether as heavenly glory bright. 
 Or dark as misery's woeful night, — 
 Since then, my honour'd, first of friends, 
 On this poor being all depends ; 
 Let us the important now employ, 
 And live as those who never die. 
 Though you, with days and honours 
 
 crown'd. 
 Witness that filial circle round 
 (A sight, life's sorrows to repulse, 
 .A. sight, pale envy to convulse), 
 •others now claim your chief regard ; 
 Vourself, you wait your bright reward. 
 
 PROLOGU E, 
 SPOKEN AT THE THEATRE, DUMFRIES, ON NEW-YEAR'S-DAY EVENING, 
 
 1790. 
 
 [On 11th January, 1790, he wrote thus to his brother Gilbert :— " We have got a decent 
 set of players here just now, and I have seen them an evening or two. The manager of the 
 company, Mr. .Sutherland, is a man of apparent worth. On New-Year's-Day evening 
 I gave him the following prologue, which he spouted to his audience with applause:")-^ 
 
 No song nor dance I bring from yon great city 
 
 That queens it o'er our taste— the more's the pity: 
 
 Though, by-the-bye, abroad why will you roam? 
 
 Good sense and taste are natives here at home : 
 
 But not for panegyric I appear, 
 
 I come to wish you all a good new-year 1 
 
 Old Father Time deputes me here before ye. 
 
 Not for to prea<-h, but tell his simple story : 
 
 Tlie sage grave ancient coughed, and bade me say: 
 
 'You're one year older this important day.' 
 
 If wiser, too — he hinted some suggestion. 
 
 But 'twould be rude, you know, to ask the question; 
 
 And with a would-be rougish leer and wink, 
 
 He bade me on you press this one word— 'think I' t 
 
 *Majoi, aftei wards General Dunlop, the lady's son. Rachael and Keith were her 
 daughters; the one engaged in making a painting from Burns's Vision; the other, from 
 G ray's Elegy. 
 
 t There is a characteristic variation here in a MS. copy possessed by Mr. Greenshield» 
 of Kerse :— 
 
 "Said 'Sutherland, in one word, bid them Thi.nkI'"
 
 THE POEMS AND SOXGS OF BURNS. 
 
 230 
 
 i'e sprightly youths, quite fluah'd with hope and spirit, 
 
 Who think to" storm the world by dint of merit, 
 
 To you the dotard lias a deal to say, 
 
 In his sly, dry, sententious, proverb way: 
 
 He bids you mind, amid your thoughtless rattle, 
 
 That the first blow is ever half the battle; 
 
 That though some by the skirt may try to snatch him, 
 
 Yet by the forelock is the hold to catch him ; 
 
 That whether doing, suffering, or forbearing, 
 
 You may do miracles by persevering. 
 
 Last, though not least in love, ye youthful fair. 
 Angelic forms, hi;;h Heaven's peculiar care 1 
 To you old Hald-pate smooths his wrinkled brow. 
 And humbly begs you'll mind the important Now I 
 To crown your happiness he asks your leave. 
 And oilers bliss to give and to receive. 
 
 For our sincere, though haply weak endeavours, 
 With grateful pride we own your many favours ; 
 And howsoe'er our tongues may ill reveal it. 
 Believe our glowing bosoms truly fe.l it. 
 
 WRITTEN TO A GKNTLE.MAN WHO 
 
 HAD SKNT THE POET A 
 
 NEWSPAPER, 
 
 AND OFFERED TO CONTI.NUE IT FREE OF 
 
 EXPENSE. 
 
 [Chambers considers that this jocular 
 rhvming epistle was addressed in Feb., 
 IT'io, to Mr. Peter Stuart, editor of The 
 Star newspaper, London, to whom the 
 Poet had previously "sent various contri- 
 butions in prose and verse." The te.xt 
 shews that he had read the paper to some 
 purpose; for his summary of the history 
 of Europe at that period is most compre- 
 hensive and correct.] 
 
 Kind Sir, I've read your paper through, 
 And, faith, to me 'twas really new I 
 How guess'd ye, sir, what maist I wanted? 
 This mony a day I've graned and gaunted 
 To ken what French mischief was brewln', 
 Or what the drumlie Dutch were doin' ; 
 That vile doup-skelper. Emperor Joseph, 
 If Venus yet had ^ot his nose off; 
 Or how the collieshangie works 
 Atween the Russians and the Turks ; 
 
 Or if the Swede, before he halt, 
 Would play anither Charles the Twalt: 
 If Denmark, anyboiiy spak' o't; 
 Or Poland, wha had now the tack o't; 
 How cut-throat Prussian blades were 
 
 hingin'; 
 How libbet Italy was singin' ; 
 If Spaniard, Portuguese, or Swiss, 
 Were sayin' or takin' aught amiss: 
 Or how our merry lads at hame. 
 In Britian's court, kept up the game; 
 How Royal George— the Lord leuk o'«e 
 
 him I — 
 Was managing St. Stephen's quorum; 
 If sleekit Chathain Will was livin'. 
 Or glaikit Charlie got his nieve in ; 
 How Daddie Burke the plea was cookin'. 
 If Warren Hastings' neck was yeukin'; 
 How cesses, stents, and fees were raxed. 
 
 Or if bare yet were taxed ; 
 
 ■The news o' princes, dukes, and earls. 
 Pimps, sharpers, bawds, and opera-girls; 
 If that daft buckle, Geordie Wales, 
 Was threshin' still at hizzies' taUs ; 
 Or if he was grown oughtlins douser. 
 And no' a perfect kintra cooser. 
 A' this and mair I never heard of. 
 And but for you I might despaired of. 
 So gratefu', back your news I send you, 
 And pray, a' gude things may attend yout 
 
 Ellisland, Monday morning, 1790. 
 
 
 ^ 

 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 •231 
 
 E L E Cx Y 
 ON THK L.VTE MISS DLRXICT OF MONBODDO. 
 
 [This beautiful young lady died of consumption on 17th June, 1790; and so far on- 
 ward as the iSrd January, 1791, we find the Poet thus writing to Alexander Cunning- 
 ham:—"! have these several months been hammering; at an elegy on the amiable and 
 accomplished Miss Burnet. I have got, and can set no farther than the following 
 fragment, on which, please give me your strictures,'] 
 
 Life ne'er exulted in so rich a prize 
 
 As Burnet, lovely from her native skies; 
 
 Nor envious death so triumphed in a blow, 
 
 As that which laid th' accomplished Burnet low. 
 
 Thy form and mind, sweet maid, can I forget? 
 
 In richest ore the brightest jewel set! 
 
 In thee, high Heaven above was truest shewn. 
 
 As by his noblest work the Oodhead best is known. 
 
 In vain ye flaunt in summer's pride, ye groves ; 
 
 Thou crystal streamlet with thy flowery shore, 
 Ye woodland choir that cliant your idle loves, 
 
 ■ye cease to charm — Eliza is no more ! 
 
 Ye heathy wastes, immixed with reedy fens ; 
 
 Ye mossy streams, with sedge and rushes stored ; 
 Ye rugged cliffs, o'erhanging dreary glens. 
 
 To you I fJy, ye with my soul accord. 
 
 Princes, whose cumbrous pride was all their worth, 
 
 Shall venal lays their pompous exit hail? 
 And thou, sweet excellence ! forsake our earth, 
 
 And not a muse In honest grief bewail? 
 
 We saw thee shine in youth and beauty's pride. 
 And virtue's light, tliat beams beyond tlie spheres} 
 
 But, like the sun eclipsed at morning-tide, 
 Thou left'st us darkling in a world of tears. 
 
 The parent's heart that nestled fond in thee, 
 That heart how sunk, a prey to grief and care; 
 
 So decked the wmidbine sweet yon aged tree; 
 So from it ravished, leaves it bleak and bare. 
 
 TO ROBERT GRAHAM, ESQ., OF FINTRY, 
 ON RECEIVING A FAVOLR, Vim AUGUST, 1789. 
 
 [The favour referred to was the Poet's being nominated to the excise district round 
 EUisland. The date is made certain by the jxjstmark on the original letter to .Mr. 
 Graham containing it, in the hands of Mr. Gibson Craig, W.S., of Edinburgh. There- 
 fore this must be reckoned the si'cond of four poetical epistles addressed to Mr. 
 Graham, instead of the fourth, as arranged by Chambers.]
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 I CALL no goddess to inspire my strains, 
 A fabled muse may suit a bard that feigns; 
 Friend of my life ! my ardent spirit burns, 
 And all the tribute of my heart returns. 
 For boons accn- ded, goodness ever new. 
 The gift still dearer, as the giver, you. 
 
 Thou orb of day I thou other paler light ! 
 
 And all ye many sparkling stars of night ; 
 
 If aught that giver from my mind efface; 
 
 If I that giver's bounty e'er disgrace; 
 
 Then roll to me, along your wandering spheres, 
 
 Only to number out a villain's years ! 
 
 I lay my hand upon my swelling breast. 
 
 And grateful woiiM, but cannot speak the rest. 
 
 THC RIGHTS OF WOMAN. 
 AN OCCASIOXAL ADDRESS SPOKEN BY MISS FONTENELLE ON HER 
 
 BENEFIT NKIEIT. 
 
 [At the Dumfries Theatre, under the management of Mr. Sutherland, a pretty young 
 actress — Miss Fontenelle — formed one of the company during the winter of 1792, and 
 also of the year following. The Incal newspapers announced her beneflt-night for2eth 
 November, 1792, and that after the play — 7'/i« Cuuntri/ Girl— she would deliver an 
 occasional addre*, written by Mr. Robert Burns, called The Rights of Woman."] 
 
 While Europe's eye is fixed on mighty things, 
 The fate of empires and the fall of kings; 
 While quacks of state must each pro(hice his plan. 
 And even children lisp the Rights of Man; 
 Amid this mighty fuss just let me mention. 
 The Rights of Woman merit some attention. 
 
 First, in tlie sexes' intermixed connection, 
 One sacred Right of Woman is — Piotection. 
 The tender flower that lifts its head, elate, 
 Helpless, must fall before the blasts of fate, 
 Sunk on the earth, defaced its lovely form. 
 Unless your shelter ward th' impending storm. 
 
 Our second Right— but needless here is caution, 
 To keep that right inviolate's the fashion. 
 Each man of sense has it so full before him. 
 He'd die before he'd wrong it, 'tis— Decorum. 
 There was, indeed, in far less polished days, 
 A time when rough, rude man had naughty ways; 
 Would swagger, swear, get drunk, kick up a riot, 
 Nay, even thus invade a lady's quiet. 
 Now, thank our stars! these Gothic times are fled: 
 Now, well-lired men^and you are all well-bred — 
 Most justly think (and we are much the gainers) 
 Such conduct neither spirit, wit, nor manners.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 
 •233 
 
 For Right the third, our last, our best, our dearest, 
 That Right to fluttering female hearts the nearest. 
 Which even the Rights of Kings, in low prostration 
 Mostly humbly own— 'tis dear, dear Admiration! 
 In that blest sphere alone we live and move; 
 There taste that life of life — immortal love 1 
 .Smiles, glances, sighs, tears, tits, flirtations, airs, 
 'Gainst such an host what flinty savage dares, — 
 When awful Beauty joins with all her charms,— 
 Who is so rash as rise in rebel arms? 
 But truce with kings, and truce with constitutions, 
 With bloody armaments and revolutions! 
 Let majesty your first attention summon, 
 Ah! fa ira! THE ma.iesty of wom/vn! 
 
 SONNET, 
 
 WRITTEN OX THE 25TH JANUARY, 1733, THK BIRTHDAY OF 
 
 THE AUTHOR, ON HEARING A THRUSH SING 
 
 IN A MORNING WALK. 
 
 [The only remark we have to make in connection with this little poem, is to express 
 our surprise that Dr. Currie, with the same before his eyes, giving the date of the 
 author's birthday in its title, could have been so inaccurate as to set down in the first 
 edition of his biography of the Poet, the "iOth January" as the date. It was 
 corrected in his second edition. Burns forwarded this song to his friend Cunningham 
 on February SOtli, 1793.] 
 
 Sing on, sweet thrush, upon the leafless bough, 
 
 Sing on, sweet bird, I listen to thy strain; 
 
 See aged Winter, 'mid his surly reign, 
 At thy blythe carol clears his furrowed brow ! 
 
 So in lone Poverty's dominion drear. 
 Sits meek Content with light unanxious heart, — 
 Welcomes the rapid moments, bids them part. 
 
 Nor asks if they bring ought to hope or fear. 
 
 I thank thee, Author of this opening day I 
 Thou whose bright sun now gilds yon orient skies! 
 Riches denied, thy boon was purer joys, — 
 
 What wealth could never give nor take ,iway ! 
 
 Yet come, thou child of poverty and care! 
 
 The mite high Heaven bestowed, that mite with thee I'll share. 
 
 IMPROMPTU, 
 
 ON MRS. RIDDELS BIRTHDAY, 4TH NOVEMBKR, 1793. 
 
 Old Winter, with his frosty beard, I 'Now, Jove, for once be mighty clyil. 
 
 Thus once to Jove his prayer preferred: i To counterbalance all this evil; 
 
 'What have I done of all the year. 
 To bear this hated doom severe? 
 My cheerless suns no pleasure know; 
 Night's horrid car drags dreary, slow; 
 My dismal months no joys are crowning. 
 But spleeny English, hanging, ilrowiiing. 
 
 fiive me, and I've no more to say. 
 Give me Maria's natald.iyl 
 That brilliant gift shall so enrich me, 
 Spring,sumnier,autumn,cannot match me. 
 '"lis done!' says Jove; so ends my story, 
 And Winter once rejoiced in glory.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 A D D 11 E S S , 
 
 SPOKEN BY MISS FONTEXELLE ON HER BENEFIT-NIGHT, 
 DECEMBER ivH, 1793. 
 
 [In a letter to Mrs. Dunlop, wliicli Di-. C'urrie has erroneuiisly set ilown as written 
 in 1795 the Poet refers to this production as follows :— "'2 -Ith December. We have 
 had a brilliant theatre here thissea.son; only, as .ill other business does, it experiences 
 a stagnation of trade from the epidemical complaint of the countiy — want of cash. T 
 mentioned our theatre merely to lug in an occasional address, which I wrote for th/, 
 benetit-night of one of the actresses, which is as follows." All the Poet's biographers, 
 including the accurate Chambers, have accepted Dr. Currie's date, and thereby 
 launched themselves into a labyrinth of difficulty in tracini; the course of the Poet's 
 illness during the latter part of 179.5, and onwards till his death in July, 1796. 
 
 The slightest examination of the contents of the Poet's letter to Mrs. Dunlop of 31st 
 January, 1790, shews at once that Christmas, 179.3, instead of 1795, is its proper date.) 
 
 Still anxious to secure your partial favour, 
 And not less anxious, sure, this night, than ever, 
 A Prologue, Epilogue, or some such matter, 
 'Twould vamp my bill, said I, if nothing better; 
 So sought a Poet, roosted near the skies, 
 Told him I came to feast my curious eyes ! 
 Said, nothing like his works was ever printed ; 
 And last, my Prologue-business slily hinted. 
 'Ma'am, let me tell you,' quoth my mart of rhymes, 
 'I know your bent — these are no laughing times: 
 Can you— but, Miss, I nwn I have my fears — 
 Dissolve in pause and sentimental tears, 
 With laden sighs, and solemn-rounded sentence; 
 Rouse from his slug-ish slumbers fell Repentance; 
 Paint Vengeance as he takes his horrid staml. 
 Waving on high the ilesolating brand. 
 Calling the storms to bear him o'er a guilty land?' 
 
 I could no more — askance the creature eyeiii?;. 
 
 D'ye think, said I, this face was made for crying? 
 
 I'll laugh, that's poz — nay, more, the world shall know it; 
 
 And so, your servant! gloomy Master Poet 1 
 
 Firm as my creed, .Sirs, 'tis my fixed belief. 
 
 That Misery's another word for Grief; 
 
 I also think— se may I be a bride ! 
 
 That so much laughter, so much life enjoyed. 
 
 Thou man of crazy care and ceaseless sigh. 
 Still under bleak Misfortune's blasting eye; 
 Doomed to that sorest task of man alive — 
 To make three f;uineas do the work of five :* 
 Laugh in Misfortune's face— the beldam witch! 
 Say, you'll be merry, though you can't be rich. 
 Thou other man of care, the wretch in love. 
 Who long with jiltish arts and airs hast strove ; 
 
 *" At present, every guinea has a five-guinea errand with me." — Letter — Burns to 
 Peter Hill, April 2, 1789. 
 
 "The task of the superlatively damned — to make one guinea do the business of 
 three."— Letter— BurTis to Maxwell, December 20, 1789.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 
 2.35 
 
 Wlio, as the boujihs all temptingly project, 
 Measur'st in desperate thought — a rope — tliy neck- 
 Or, where the beetling cliff o'erhangs the deep, 
 Peerest; to meditate the healing leap : 
 Wouldst thou be cured? thou silly, moping elf 1 
 Laugh at her follies— laugh e'en at thyself : 
 Learn to despise those frowns now so territic, 
 And love a kinder— that's your grand specific. 
 
 To sum up all, be merry, I advise; 
 
 And as we're merry, may we still be wise. 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF A LAP-DOG, 
 XAMF.n ECHO. 
 
 [The ilate of this versicle is July, 1793. 
 It had its birth during the Poet's pleasant 
 tour in Galloway. At the house of Mr. 
 Gordon, afterwards V^iscount Kenmure, 
 the travellers were entert.Tined three days. 
 Mrs. Gordon's lap-dog, Echo, was dead, 
 and she would have an epitaph on him.] 
 
 In wood and wilil, ye warbling throng, 
 
 Your heavy loss deplore! 
 Now half extinct your powers of song. 
 
 Sweet Echo is no more. 
 
 Ye jarring, screeching things around. 
 Scream your discordant joys ! 
 
 Now half your din of tuneless sound 
 With Echo silent lies. 
 
 
 SENT TO A GENTLEMAN WHOM 
 HE HAD OFFENDED. 
 
 [Mr. Walter Riddel, brother of the Laird 
 of Glenriddel, and husband of Mrs. Maria 
 Riddel, is understood to have been the 
 gentleman to whom these lines were sent, 
 as part of an apology for some indiscretion 
 committed by the Poet on the previous 
 evening. In his agonized letter of apology 
 to Mrs. Riddel.hesays:— " Your husband, 
 who insisted on my ilrinking more than I 
 chose, has no right to blame me ; and the 
 other gentlemen were partakers of my 
 guilt.') 
 
 THEfriend Tfhom wild from wisdom's way, 
 The fumes of wine infuriate send 
 
 (Not moony madness more astray) — 
 Who but deplores that hapless friend? 
 
 Mine was th' insensate frenzied part, 
 Ahl why should I such scenes outlive?— 
 
 Scenes so abhorrent to my heart 1 
 'Tis thine to pity and forgive. 
 
 ON 
 
 MONODY, 
 A LADY FAMED FOR HER CAPRICE. 
 
 [Capriciousness, according to Burns, was a characteristic of Mrs. Maria Riddel (the 
 "Eliza" of tills satire.) Shortly after writing the following severe lampoon he 
 addressed the last letter to his Clarinda which has been preserved, and he introduces 
 this poem to her notice thus:- "Tell me what you think of the following Monody: 
 the subject is a wom.ui of fashion in this country, with whom I was formerly well 
 acquainted. By some srandalous conduct to uie, and two or three other gentlemen 
 here as well as me, she steered so far to the north of ray good opinion, that I have 
 made her the theme of .several ill-natured things. The following epigram struck me 
 the other day as I pissed her carriage." His rupture with the Riddels of Woodley 
 Park, occurred in December, 1793.] 
 
 How cold is that bosom which folly once fired, 
 IIow pale is that cheek where the rouge lately glistened! 
 
 How silent that tongue which the echoes oft tired. 
 How dull is that ear which to flattery so listened I
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 236 
 
 If sorrow and anguish their exit await. 
 From friendship and dearest affection removed ; 
 
 How douhly severer, Ehza, thy fate, 
 Thou diedst unwept, as thou livedst unloved 1 
 
 Loves, Graces, and Virtues, I call not on you ; 
 
 So shy, grave, and distant, ye shed not a tear: 
 But come, all ye offspring of Folly so true, 
 
 And flowers let us cull for Eliza's cold bier. 
 
 We'll search through the garden for each silly dower, 
 We'll roam through the forest for each idle weed ; 
 
 But chiefly the nettle, so typical, shower, 
 For none e'er appioached her but rued the rash deed. 
 
 We'll sculpture the marble, we'll measure the lay ; 
 
 Here Vanity strums on her idiot lyre ; 
 There keen Indignation shall dart on her prey. 
 
 Which spurning Contempt shall redeem from his ire. 
 
 THE EPITAPH. 
 
 Here lies, now a prey to insulting neglect. 
 What once was a butterfly gay in life's beam : 
 
 Want only of wisdom denied her respect. 
 Want only of goodness denied her esteem. 
 
 SONNET, 
 ON THE DEATH OF ROBERT RIDDEL, ESQ., OF FRIARS' CAR-iE. 
 
 [These verses appeared in the Dumfries newspaper along with the announcement of 
 Glenriddel's death. An eustrangement had taken place lietween the Poet and his 
 friends at Friars' Carse in consequence of the rupture referred to in the preceding note; 
 but all, save former friendship, was forgotten in the presence of death.] 
 
 No more, ye warblers of the wood, no more ; 
 Nor pour your descant grating on my soul :* 
 Thou young-eyed Spring, gay in thy verdant stole — 
 
 More welcome were to me grim Winter's wildest roar. 
 
 How can ye charm, ye flowers, with all your dyes? 
 
 Ye blow upon the sod that wraps my friend! 
 
 How can I to the tuneful strain attend ! 
 That strain flows round th' untimely tomb where Riddel lies. \ 
 
 Yes, pour, ye warblers, pour the notes of woe. 
 And soothe the Virtues weeping o'er his bier : 
 The Man of Worth— and hath not left his peer! 
 
 Is in his narrow house, for ever darkly low. 
 
 Thee, Spring, again with joy shall others gre^t ; 
 Me, memory of my loss will only meet. 
 
 * Var. in MS,, followed by Currie :— 
 
 " Nor pour your descant grating on my ear: 
 Thou young-eyed Spring, thy charms I cannot bfar." 
 tVar. in MS.,— "please" for charm, "pours" for flows.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 237 
 TO MISS GRAHAM, OF FINTRY, 
 WITH A PRESENT OF HONGS. 
 
 [In July, 1794, the Poet, in a letter to Thomson, transcribed these verses with the 
 remark— "I have presented a copy of your songs to the daughter of a much-valued 
 and much-honoured friend of mine, Mr. Graham of Fintry. I wrote on the blank side 
 of the title-page the following address to the young lady:"]— 
 
 Here, where the Scottish Muse immortal lives, 
 In sacred strains and tuneful numbers joined. 
 
 Accept the gift, though humble he who gives; 
 Rich is the tribute of the grateful mind. 
 
 So may no ruffian feeling in thy breast, 
 Discordant, jar thy bosom-chords among; 
 
 But Peace attune thy gentle soul to rest. 
 Or Love ecstatic wake his seraph song : 
 
 Or Pity's notes, in luxury of tears. 
 As modest want the tale of woe reveals ; 
 
 While conscious Virtue all the strain endears. 
 And heaven-born Piety her sanction seal>. 
 
 TO DR. MAXWELL, 
 
 O.N MISS JESSY STAIG'S RECOVERY. 
 
 [In November, 1794, in writing to Thom- 
 son, the Poet asked him thus: — "How do 
 you like the following epigram, which I 
 wrote the other day on a lovely young 
 girl's recovery from a fever? Dr. Maxwell 
 was the physician who seemingly saved 
 her from the grave; and to him I address 
 the following."] 
 
 Maxwell, if merit here you crave, 
 
 That merit I deny: 
 You save fair Jessy from the grave ! — 
 
 An angel could not die ! 
 
 POETICAL INSCRIPTION 
 
 FOR AN ALTAR TO INDEPENDE:<CE, AT 
 
 KERROUGHTREE, the SEAT OF 
 
 MR. HKUO.N. 
 
 [This is a compliment to the hero of the 
 Poet's Kirkcudbright election ballads of 
 1795— to be afterwards given.] 
 
 Thou of an independent mind. 
 
 With soul resolved, with soul resigned ; 
 
 Prepar'd Power's proudest frown to brave. 
 
 Who wilt not be, nor have a slave ; 
 
 Virtue alone who dust revere. 
 
 Thy own reproach alone dost fear, — 
 
 .A.pproach this shrine, and worship here 1 
 
 TO CHLURIS. 
 
 [The Poet in his letter to Thomson, 
 dated 3rd August, 179.5, transcribed these 
 verses, explainingas follows: — "Written on 
 the blank leaf of a copy of the last edition 
 of my poems, presented to the lady whom, 
 in so many fictitious reveries of passion, 
 but with the most ardent sentiments of 
 real friendship, I have so often sung under 
 the name of Chloris."] 
 
 'Tis Friendship's pledge, my young, fair- 
 friend. 
 
 Nor thou tlie gift refuse, 
 Nor with unwilling ear attend 
 
 The moralising .Sluse.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 238 
 
 Since thou, in all thy youth ami charms, 
 
 Must bid the world adieu, — 
 A world 'gainst peace in constant arms— 
 
 To join the friendly few ; 
 
 Since thy gay morn of life o'ercast, 
 Chill came the tempest's lower ;— 
 
 And ne'er misfortune's eastern blast 
 Did nip a fairer flower: 
 
 Since life's gay scenes must charm no more; 
 
 StUl much is left behind ; 
 Still nobler wealth hast thou in store— 
 
 The comforts of the mind. 
 
 Thine is the self-approving glow, 
 
 On conscious honour's part; 
 And, dearest gift of Heaven below, 
 
 Thine friendship's truest heart. 
 
 The joys refined of sense and taste, 
 
 With every Muse to rove : 
 And doubly were the poet blest, 
 
 These joys could he improve. 
 
 line bagatelle de I'arnitii. 
 
 COILA. 
 
 EPITAPH ON A FRIEND. 
 
 [This friend the Poet states in hia 
 "Commonplace Book," April, 1784, to have 
 been WiUiam Muir, of Tarbolton Mill.] 
 
 An honest man here lies at rest 
 As e'er God with his ima^e blest 1 
 The friend of man, the fnend of truth; 
 The friend of age, and guide of youth; 
 
 Few hearts like his, with virtue warmed. 
 Few heads with knowledge so informed : 
 If there's another world, he lives in bliss ; 
 If there is none, he made the best of this. 
 
 A GRACE BEFORE DINNER. 
 
 O Thou, who kindly dost provide 
 
 For evfery creature's want ! 
 We bless Thee, God of Nature wide, 
 
 For all Thy goodness lent : 
 And, if it please Thee, heavenly guide. 
 
 May never worse be sent ; 
 But whether granted or denied, 
 
 Lord, bless us with content. Amen! 
 
 TO MR. SYME, 
 
 WITH .\. PRKSF.NT OF .V DOZEN OF PORTER. 
 
 [John .Syme, who had a country house 
 called Rvedale, on the Galloway side of 
 the Nith, near Dumfries, was distributor 
 of stamps in that town, and had his otiice 
 on the ground floor of the tenement which 
 the Poet occupied in the "Wee Vennel" 
 when he first took up his abode in 
 Dumfries.] 
 
 OH, had the malt thy strength of mind, 
 Or hops the flavour of thy wit, 
 
 'Twere drink for first of human kind, 
 A gift that even for Syme were tit. 
 
 Jerusalem Tavern, Dumfries. 
 
 EXTEMPORE TO MR. SYME. 
 
 17th DECEMBEII, 1795. 
 
 No more of your guests, be they titled or 
 not, 
 And cookery the first in the nation; 
 Who is proof to thy personal converse and 
 wit. 
 Is proof to all other temptation. 
 
 TO MISS JESSY LEWARS, 
 WITH A PRESENT OF BOOKS. 
 
 Thine be the volumes, Jessy fair. 
 And with them take the poet's prayer, 
 That Fate may in her fairest page. 
 With every kindliest, best presage 
 Of future bliss, enrol thy name : 
 With native worth, and spotless fame, 
 And wakeful caution, still aware 
 Of ill— but chief, man's felon snare; 
 All blameless joys on earth we find, 
 And all the treasures of the mind;— 
 These be thy guardian and reward ; 
 So prays thy faithful friend, the Bard. 
 
 TO COLLECTOR MITCHELL. 
 
 [This gentleman was a superior oflRcer 
 in connection vrith the Poet's excise dis-
 
 THE POEJfS AXD SOXGS OF BURXS. 
 
 239 
 
 tricts, both at EUislanJ and Dumfries. 
 Mr. Chambers rec<irds that Burns also 
 looked up to him as a literary friend well 
 qualified to criticise his poetical etiusioiis 
 submitted to him from time to time, hav- 
 ing been educated for the church. 
 
 On 31st of January, 1700, he thus writes 
 to Mrs. Dunlop:--"! have lately drunk 
 deep of the cup of affliction. The a.utumn 
 robbed me of my only daughter and 
 darling child. I had scarcely beL;un to 
 recover from that shock, when I became 
 myself the victim of a most severe rheu- 
 matic fever, and long the die spun doubtful; 
 until, after many weeks of a sick-bed, it 
 seems to have turneil up life, and I am 
 beginning to crawl across my room and 
 once indeed, have been before my own 
 door in the street."] 
 
 Friend of the Poet, tried and leal, 
 Wha, wanting thee, might beg or steal ; 
 Alake ! alake! the meikle deil 
 
 Wi' a' his witches 
 Are at it, skelpin' jig and reel. 
 
 In my poor pouches 1 
 
 I modestly fu' fain wad hint it. 
 That onepound-one, I sairly want it ; 
 If wi' the hizzie down ye sent it. 
 
 It \\(nild be kind ; 
 And while my heart wi' life-blood dunted, 
 
 I'd bear't in mind. 
 
 8o may the auld year gang out moaning 
 To see the new come laden, groaning, 
 Wi' double plenty o'er the loanin 
 
 To thee and thine : 
 Domestic peace and comforts crowning 
 
 The hale design. 
 
 POSTSCRIPT. 
 
 Ye've heard this while how I've been licket. 
 And by fell death was nearly nicket; 
 Grim loon I he got me by the fecket, 
 
 And sair me sheuk; 
 But by glide luck I lap a wicket, 
 
 And turned a neuk. 
 
 But by that health — I've got a share o't. 
 And by that life — I'm promised mair o't, 
 My hale and weel I'll tak' a care o't, 
 
 A tentier way; 
 Then farewell folly, liide and liair o't, 
 
 For ance and aye ! 
 
 TO COLONEL DE PEYSTER. 
 
 
 [The present pnem was written in the 
 spring of iT'Jtj, in acknowledgement of his 
 Colonel's kindness in semlingfrora time to 
 time to enquire regarding the Poet's 
 health.] 
 
 My honoured colnnel, deep I feel 
 Your interest in the poet's weal : 
 Ahl now sma' heart hae I to speel 
 
 The steep Parnassus, 
 Surrounded thus by bolus pill, 
 
 .\nd potion glasses. 
 
 O what a canty warld were it, 
 
 Would pain and care and sickness spare it; 
 
 And fortune favour worth and merit. 
 
 As they deserve ! 
 And aye a rowth roast beef and claret; 
 
 Syne, wha wad starve? 
 
 Dame Life, though fiction out may trick her, 
 And in paste gems and frippery deck her, 
 Oh! flickering, feeble, and unsicker 
 
 I've found her still — 
 Aye wavering like the willow-wicker, 
 
 'Tween good and ill. 
 
 Then that curst carmagnole, auld Satan, 
 Watches like baudrons by a ratton. 
 Our sinfu' saul to get a claut on 
 
 Wi' felon ire ; 
 Syne, whipl his tailye'll ne'er cast saut on— 
 
 He's aft' like Are. 
 
 Ah Nickl ah Nick I it is na fair, 
 First shewing us the tempting ware. 
 Bright wines and bonie lasses rare, 
 
 To put us daft; 
 Syne weave, unseen, thy spider snare 
 
 O' hell's d waft. 
 
 Poor man — the flee— aft bizzes by. 
 And aft, as chance he comes thee ni-jh. 
 Thy auld, d elbow yeuks wi' joy, 
 
 And hellish pleasure; 
 Already in thy fancy's eye, 
 
 Thy sicker treasure! 
 
 Soon, heels-o'er-gowdie ! in he gangs, 
 And like a sheep-head on a tangs, 
 Thy girning laugh enjoys his pangs 
 
 And murdering vrrestle. 
 As, dangling in the wind, he hangs 
 
 A gibbet's tassel!
 
 TEE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 240 
 
 But lest you think I am uncivil, 
 
 To plague you with this draunting drivel, 
 
 Abjuring a' intentions evil, 
 
 I quat my pen : 
 The Lord preserve us frae the devil I 
 
 Amen ! Amen ! 
 
 POEM ON PASTORAL POKTRY. 
 
 [This production was found in Burns's 
 MS. among his papers after his 
 death. Gilbert Burns expressed hi-< 
 doubts as to its being a composition of h's 
 brother. Chambers excluded it from his 
 edition, though he admitted the Tree of 
 Liberty on more questionable evidence.] 
 
 Hail Poe.^ie; thou Nymph reserved! 
 
 In chase o' thee, what crowds hae swerved 
 
 Frae common-sense, or sunk enerv'd, 
 
 'Mang heaps o' clavers; 
 And och! ower aft thy .loes hae starved. 
 
 Mid a' thy favours ! 
 
 Say, Lassie ! why thy train amang— 
 While loud the trump's heroic clang. 
 And sock or buskin skelp alang 
 
 To death or marriage,— 
 Scarce ane has tried the sliepherd-sang 
 
 But wi' miscarriage? 
 
 In Homer's craft Jock Milton thrives ; 
 Eschylus' pen Will Shakspeare drives; 
 Wee Pope, the knurlin, 'till him rives 
 
 Horatian fame ? 
 In thy sweet sang, Barbauld 1 survives 
 
 E'en Sappho's tiame. 
 
 But thee, Theocritus! wha matches? 
 (They're nae /ierd'«6aWai»-Maro'3 catches !) 
 Squire Pope but busks his skinklin patches 
 
 O' heathen tatters ! — 
 I pass by hunders— nameless wretches, 
 
 That ape their betters 1 
 
 In this braw a^e o' wit and lear, 
 
 Will nane the Shepherd's whistle mair 
 
 Blaw sweetly in its native air 
 
 And rural grace ; 
 And wi' the far-famed Grecian share 
 
 A rival place ? 
 
 Yes ! there is ane ; a Scottish callan — 
 There's ane; come forrit, honest Allan 1 
 Thou need na jouk behiiit the hallan, 
 
 A chiel sae clever; 
 The teeth o' time may gnaw Tantallan, 
 
 But thou's for ever ! 
 
 Thou paints auld nature to the nines. 
 In thy sweet Caledonian lines; 
 Nae gowden stream through myrtlea 
 twines, 
 
 Where Philomel — 
 While nightly breezes sweep the vines— 
 Her griefs will tell ! 
 
 In gowany glens thy burnie strays. 
 Where bonie lasses bleach their claes ; 
 Or trots by hazelly shaws and braes, 
 
 Wi' h.awthorns grey. 
 Where blackbirds join the shepherd's lays 
 
 At close o' day. 
 
 Thy rural loves are nature's sel' ; 
 Nae bombast spates o' nonsense swell ; 
 Nae snap conceits, but that sweet spell 
 
 O' witchin' love, — 
 That charm that can the strongest quell. 
 
 The sternest move. 
 
 ^ 

 
 POSTHUMOUS POEMS PUBLISHED BY THOMAS STEWART, 1801. 
 
 THE JOLLY BEGGARS. 
 A CANTATA. 
 
 [This remarkable dramatic effusion appears to have been composed while the author 
 was at Mossgiel in 1785, thoucjh not published till after his death. His early associates, 
 James Smith, .John Richmond, and William Hunter, used to tell that in tlieir company, 
 the Poet incidentally dropped in, at a late hour, to the humble inn or beggars' 
 lodging-house, kept by Mrs. Gibson, alias "Poosie Nancy," at Mauchline, and there 
 witnessed scenes very similar to those described in the poem. Burns seems to have 
 laid the production aside as unworthy of regard; indeed, throughout his correspond- 
 ence there is not a shred of reference "to it, except in a passage of one of his letters to 
 George Thomson, which was suppressed from publication. The latter had made some 
 enquiries regarding it, in September, 1793, and the Poet replied, "I had forgot the 
 cantata you allude to, as I kept no copy, and, indeed, did not know of its existence ; 
 however, I remember that none of the songs pleased myself, except the last, some- 
 thing about 
 
 'Courts for cowards were erected, churches built to please the priest.'" 
 
 Notwithstanding this, the Poet had sent one of these songs to Johnson for the 
 Museum, very slightly modified, which we have given at page '.is.) 
 
 RECITATIVO. 
 
 When lyart leaves bestrew the yiid. 
 Or, waveiing like the bauckie-bird,* 
 
 Bedim cauld Boreas' blast ; 
 When hailstanes drive wi' bitter skyte. 
 And infant frosts begin to bite, 
 
 In hoary cranreuch drest ; t 
 Ae night at e'en, a merry core 
 
 0' randie. gangrel bodies. 
 In Poosie Nancy's held the splore. 
 To drink their orra duddies : 
 Wi' quafhng and laughing, 
 
 They ranted and they sang ; 
 Wi' jumping and thumping, 
 The vera girdle rang. 
 
 First, neist the fire, in auld reil rags, 
 Ane sat, weel braced wi' mealy bags. 
 
 And knapsack a' in order; 
 His doxy lay within his arm, 
 Wi' usquebae and blankets warm — 
 
 She blinket on her sodger: 
 And aye he gies the tozie drab 
 
 The'tithor skelpin' kiss, 
 While she held up b.er greedy gab 
 Just like an aumos dish :t 
 Ilk smack s^ill, tlid crack still. 
 
 Just like a cadger's whip ; 
 Then staggering and swaggering. 
 He roared this ditty up : — 
 
 AIR. 
 
 TV^K— Soldiers' Joy. 
 
 I am a son of Mars, who have been in many wars. 
 And show my cuts and scars wherever I come ; 
 This here was for a wench, and that other in a trench, 
 wiien welcoming the French at the sound of the drum. 
 Lai de dandle, d-c. 
 
 " The Bat. t " Cranreuch," signifying hoar-frost. 
 
 t Alms-dish,— a necessary part of the stock-in-trade of a privileged beggar. 
 
 Q
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 242 
 
 My 'prenticeship I past where my leader breathed his last, 
 When the bloody die was cast on the heights of Abrain ;* 
 I served ovit my trade when the gallant game was played, 
 And the Morrof low was laid at the sound of the drum. 
 Lai lie daudle, itc. 
 
 I lastly was with Curtis, t among the floating batteries, 
 And there I left for witness an arm and a limb; 
 Yet let my country need me, with Elliot to head me,§ 
 I'd clatter on my stumps at the sound of a drum. 
 Lai de daudle, d-c. 
 
 And now though I must beg with a wooden arm and le^, 
 And many a tatter'd rag hanging over my bum, 
 I'm as happy with my wallet, my bottle and my callet. 
 As when I used in scarlet to follow a drum. 
 Lai de daudle, ttc. 
 
 What though with hoary locks I must stand the winter shocks. 
 Beneath the woods and rocks oftentimes for a home. 
 When the tother bag I sell, and the tother bottle tell, 
 I could meet a troop of h — at the sound of a drum. 
 Lai de daudle, etc. 
 
 RECITATIVO. 
 
 He ended ; and the kebars iheuk. i A fairy tiddler frae the neuk, 
 
 Aboon the chorus roar ; I He skirled out ' Encore I' 
 
 While frighted rattons backward leuk. ■ But up arose the martial chuck. 
 
 And seek the benmost bore ; | And laid the loud uproar. 
 
 AIR. 
 
 Tune — Sodger Laddie. 
 
 I once was a maid, though I cannot tell when, 
 And still my delight is in proper young men ; 
 Some one of a troop of dragoons was my daddie, 
 Xo wonder I'm fond of a sodger laddie. 
 Sing, Lai de lal, ikc. 
 
 The first of iny loves was a swaggering blade. 
 To rattle the thundering drum was his trade; 
 His leg was so tight, and his cheek was so ruddy. 
 Transported I was with my sodger laddie. 
 Sing, Lal de lal, il-c. 
 
 But the godly old chaplain left him in the lurch, 
 The sword I forsook for the sake of the church; 
 He ventured the soul and I risked the body— 
 'Twas then I proved false to my sodger laddie. 
 Sing, Lal de lal, d-c. 
 
 Full soon I grew sick of my sanctified sot. 
 The regiment at large for a husband I got ; 
 From the gilded spontoon to the fife I was ready, 
 I asked no more but a sodger laddie. 
 Sitig, Lal de lal, tfcc. 
 
 *In front of Quebec, with General Wolfe in 17i;9. 
 
 tin 1762, a strong castle at Havannah, in Cuba. 
 
 t At the siege of Gibraltar, in 1782. § Lord Heathfleli
 
 THE POEMS AND SON OS OF BURNS. 
 
 ■243 
 
 But the peace it reduced me to beg in despair, 
 Till I met my old boy at a Cunningham fair ; 
 His rags regimental they fluttered so gaudy, 
 My heart it rejoiced at a sodger laddie. 
 Sing, Lai de lal, J:c. 
 
 And now I have lived — I knovf not how long, 
 And still I can join in a cup and a song; 
 But whilst with both hands I can hold the glass steady. 
 Here's to thee, my hero, my sodger laddie! 
 Sing, Lal de lal, <i:c. 
 
 RECITATIVO. 
 
 Poor Merry Andrew in the neuk, 
 Sat guzzling wi' a tinkler hizzie; 
 
 They mindt na wha the chorus teuk. 
 Between themselves they were sae busy: 
 
 At length wi' drink and courting dizzy, 
 He stoiter'd up and made a face, — 
 
 Then turned and laid a smack on Grizzie, 
 Syne tuned his pipes wi' grave grimace. 
 
 AIR. 
 
 Tune— .4mW Sir Symon. 
 
 .Sir Wisdom's a fool when he's fou. 
 Sir Knave is a fool In a session ; * 
 
 He's there but a 'prentice I trow. 
 But I am a fool by profession. 
 
 My grannie she bought me a beuk, 
 And I held awa' to the school ; 
 
 I fear I my talent misteuk. 
 But what will ye hae of a fool? 
 
 For drink I would venture my neck, 
 A hizzie's the half o' my craft; 
 
 But what could ye other expect, 
 Of ane that's avowedly daft? 
 
 I ance was tied up like a stirk. 
 For civilly swearing and quaffin' ; 
 
 I ance was abused in the kirk, 
 For touzling a lass i' my daffln'. 
 
 Poor Andrew that tumbles for sport, 
 Let naebody name wi' a jeer ; 
 
 There's even, I'm tauld, i' the court 
 .A. tumbler ca'd the Premier. 
 
 Observed ye yon reverend lad, 
 Mak's faces to tickle the mob; 
 
 He rails at uur mountebank squad — 
 It's rivalship just i' the job 1 
 
 And now my conclusion I'll tell, 
 For faith I'm confoundedly dry; 
 
 Tlie chiel that's a fool for himsel', 
 Uude L — ! he's far dafter than I. 
 
 RECITATIVO. 
 
 Then neist outspak' a raucle carlin, 
 Wha kent fu' weel to cleek the sterling, 
 For mony a pursie she had hooked. 
 And had in mony a well been ducked : 
 
 Her dove had been a Highland laddie, — 
 But weary fa' the waefu' woodie 1 
 Wi' sighs and sobs she thus began 
 To wail her braw John Highlandman : — 
 
 AIR. 
 
 Tune— an ye were dead, gudernan. 
 
 A Highland lad my love was born, 
 The Lawland laws he held in scorn, 
 But he still was faithfu' to his clan. 
 My gallant, braw John Highlandman. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Sing, hey my braw John Uighlandinan ! 
 Sing, ho my braw John Highlandman! 
 
 There's not a lad in a' the Ian' 
 
 Was match /or my John Highlandman, 
 
 With his philabeg and tartan plaid. 
 And gude claymore down by his side, 
 The ladies' hearts he did trepan. 
 My gallant, braw John Highlandman. 
 Sing, hey, dec. 
 
 •Session means here, a sitting of Judges in a criminal trial.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 244 
 
 We ranged a' from Tweed to Spey, 
 And lived like lords and ladies gay; 
 For a Lawland face he feared none, 
 My gallant braw John Highlandman. 
 
 Sinn, hey, <i-c. 
 
 They banished him beyond the sea, 
 But ere the bud was on the tree, 
 Adown my cheeks the pearls ran. 
 Embracing my John Highlandman. 
 
 Sing, hey, itc. 
 
 But, oh ! they catched him at the last, 
 And bound him in a dungeon fast; 
 My curse upon them every one ! — 
 They've hanged my braw John Highland- 
 man. 
 Sing, hey, <kc. 
 
 And now a widow, I must mourn 
 The pleasures that wiU ne'er return ; 
 No comfort but a hearty can. 
 When I think on John Highlandman. 
 Sing, hey, 1-c. 
 
 RECITATIVO. 
 
 A pigmy scraper, wi' his fiddle, 
 
 Wha used at trysts and fairs to driddle, 
 
 Her strappin' limb anil gaucy middle 
 
 (He reached na higher) 
 Had hol'd his heartie like a riddle. 
 
 And blawn't on fire. 
 
 Wi' hand on haunch, and upward e'e. 
 He crooned his gamut, one, two, three, 
 Then in an arioso key. 
 
 The wee Apollo 
 Set off wi' allegretto glee 
 
 His giga .solo :— 
 
 AIR. 
 
 TVSK— Whistle owre the lave o't. 
 
 Let me ryke up to dight that tear. 
 And go wi' rae and be my dear. 
 And then your every care and fear 
 May whistle owre the lave o't. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 / am a fiddler to my trade. 
 And a' the tunes that e'er I played, 
 The sweetest still tn nn,fe or maid. 
 Was whistle owre the lave o't. 
 
 At kirns and weddings we'se be there. 
 And oh! sae nicely's we will fare ; 
 
 We'll bouse about till Daddie Care 
 Sings whistle ower the lave o't. 
 / am,, li-c. 
 
 Sae merrily the banes we'll pyke, 
 
 And sun oursel's aboiit the dyke, 
 
 And at our leisure, when ye like. 
 
 We'll whistle owre the lave o't. 
 
 / am, <S:c. 
 
 But bless me wi' your heaven o' charms. 
 And while I kittle hair on thairms, 
 Hunger, cauld, and a' sic harms, 
 May whistle owre the lave o't. 
 / am, iXc. 
 
 RECITATIVO. 
 
 Her charms had struck a sturdy caird. 
 
 As weel as poor gut-scraper ; 
 He tak's the fiddler by the beard, 
 
 And draws a rusty rapier- 
 He swore by .a' was swearing worth, 
 
 To speet him like a pliver. 
 Unless he wad from that time forth 
 
 ReUnquish her for ever. 
 
 Wi' ghastly e'e, poor Tweedle-dee 
 
 Upon his hunkers bended. 
 And prayed for grace wi' ruefu' face. 
 
 And sae the quarrel ended. 
 
 But though his little heart did grieve 
 When round the tinkler prest her, 
 
 He feigned to snirtle in his sleeve. 
 When thus the caird addressed her — 
 
 AIR. 
 
 TUNE— C^out the Caudron. 
 
 My bonie lass, I work in brass, 
 
 A tinkler is my station : 
 I've travelled round all Christian gi'ound 
 
 In this my occupation : 
 
 I've ta'en the gold, I've been enrolled 
 
 In many a noble squadron : 
 But vain they searched, when off I marched- 
 
 To go and clout the caudron. 
 I'oe ta'en the gold, d-c.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 246 
 
 Despise that shrimp, that withered imp, 
 Wi' a' his noise and cap'rin'. 
 
 And tak' a share wi' those that bear 
 The budget and the apron. 
 
 And by that stoup, my faith and houp, 
 And by that dear Kilbagie,* 
 
 If e'er you want, or meet wi' scant, 
 May I ne'er weet my craigie ! 
 And by that stoup, <t-c. 
 
 RECITATIVO. 
 
 The caird prevailed— the unblushing fair 
 
 In his embraces sunk. 
 Partly wi' love o'ercome sae sair, 
 
 And partly she was ilrunk. 
 Sir Violino, with an air 
 
 That showed a man of spunk, 
 Wished unison between the pair, 
 
 And made the bottle clunk 
 
 To their health that night : 
 
 But hurchin Cupid shot a shaft, 
 That played a dame a shavie, 
 
 The tiddler raked her iore and aft, 
 Ahint the chicken cavie : 
 
 Her lord, a wic;ht o' Homer's craft, 
 Though limping wi' the spavie. 
 
 He hirpled up, and lap like daft. 
 And shored them Dainty Davie 
 O' boot that night. 
 
 He was a care-defying blade 
 
 As ever Bacchus listed. 
 Though Fortune sair upon him laid, 
 
 His heart she ever miss'd it. 
 He had nae wish but — to be glad, 
 
 Nor want but — when he thirsted ; 
 He hated nought but — to be sad. 
 
 And thus the Muse suggested 
 
 His sang that night :- 
 
 AIK. 
 
 Tune— For a' that, aad a' that. 
 
 1 am a bard of no regard 
 Wi' gentle folks, and a' that ; 
 
 But Homer-like, the glowrin' byke, 
 Frae town to town I draw that. 
 
 CHORL'S. 
 
 For a' that, ayid a' that. 
 And tmce as muckle's a' that; 
 
 Fve lost but ane, I've twa behin' — 
 I've wives eneughfor a' that. 
 
 I never drank the Muses' stank, 
 Castalia's burn, and a' that; 
 
 But there it streams, and richly reams, 
 My Helicon I ca' that. 
 For a' that, d-c. 
 
 Great love I bear to a' the fair. 
 Their humble slave, and a' that; 
 
 But lordly will, I hold it still 
 A mortal sin to thraw that. 
 For a' that, etc. 
 
 In raptures sweet, this hour we meet, 
 
 Wi' mutual love, and a' that ; 
 But for how lang the flie may stang. 
 
 Let inclination law that. 
 For a' that, ic. 
 
 Their tricks and craft have put me daft. 
 They've ta'en me in, and a' that ; 
 
 B. it clear your decks, and here's — 'The Sex T 
 I like the jads for a' that. 
 
 For a' that, and a' that, 
 And twice as muckle's a' that; 
 
 My dearest bluid to do them qude. 
 They're welcome tilCt for a' that. 
 
 RECITATITO. 
 
 So sang the bard— and Xansie's wa's 
 Shook >vith a thunder of applause, 
 
 Re-echoed from each mouth : 
 They toomed their pocks, and pawned 
 
 their duds, 
 They scarcely left to co'er their fuds, 
 
 To quench their lowin' drouth. 
 
 Then owre again, the jovial thrang, 
 
 The poet did request. 
 To loose his pack and wale a sang, 
 A ballad o' the best; 
 He ri.iing, rejoicing. 
 
 Between his twa Deborah's, 
 Looks round him, and found them, 
 Impatient for the chorus : 
 
 * Whisky made at Kilbagie Distillery, in Clackmannanshire.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 
 246 
 
 AIR. 
 
 Tv^E— Jolly Mortals, fill your Glasses. 
 
 See t the smoking bowl before us, 
 Mark our jovial ragged ringl 
 
 Round and round take up the chorus, 
 And in raptures let us sing. 
 
 CHORCS. 
 
 A fig for those by lata protected ! 
 
 Liberty's a glorious feast ! 
 Courts for cowards were erected. 
 
 Churches built to please the priest. 
 
 What is title? what is treasure? 
 
 What is reputation's care? 
 If we lead a life of pleasure, 
 
 'Tis no matter how or where I 
 A fig, (Sec. 
 
 With the ready trick and fable, 
 Round we wander all the day; 
 
 And at night, in barn or stable, 
 Uug our do.xies on the hay. 
 A fig, lisc. 
 
 Does the train-attended carriage 
 Through the country lighter rove '^ 
 
 Does the sober bed of marriage 
 Witness brighter scenes of love? 
 Afi^, Jsc. 
 
 Life is all a variorum. 
 
 We regard not how it goes ; 
 
 Let them cant about decorum 
 Who have characters to lose ! 
 A fig, (be. 
 
 Here's to budgets, bags, and wallets f 
 Here's to all the wandering train 1 
 
 Here's our ragged brats and callets 1 
 One and all cry out— Amen ! 
 
 A fig for those by law protected! 
 
 Liberty's a glorious feast .' 
 Courts for cowards were erected, 
 
 Churches built to please the priest. 
 
 VERSES ADDRESSED TO 
 
 J. RANKIXE. 
 
 I AM a keeper of the law 
 
 In some sma' points, altho' not a' ; 
 
 .Some people tell me gin I fa', 
 
 Ae way or ither. 
 The breaking of ae point, tho' sma'. 
 
 Breaks a' tliegither. 
 
 I hae been in for't ance or twice, 
 And winna say o'er far for thrice, 
 Yet never met wi' that surprise 
 
 That broke my rest; 
 But now a rumour's like to rise, 
 
 A whaup'a i' the nest. 
 
 ADDRESS TO AN ILLEGITIMATE 
 CHILD. 
 
 [There is much fine feeling and tender- 
 ness in this. We hear nothing of the after- 
 fate of "Bonie Betty," but the child, who 
 is said to have strongly resembled the 
 poet, was married to John Bishop, over- 
 seer at Polkemmet, and died in 1S17, at 
 the early age of 33.] 
 
 Thou's welcome, wean, mishanter fa' me, 
 If ought of thee, or of thy mammy. 
 Shall ever daunton me, or awe me, 
 
 My sweet wee lady ! 
 Or if I blush when thou shalt ca' me 
 
 Ti-ta or daddy. 
 
 Wee image of my bonie Betty, 
 
 I, fatherly, will kiss an' daut thee, 
 
 As dear an' near my heart I set thee 
 
 Wi' as gude will 
 As a' the priests had seen me get thee 
 
 That's out o' h— . 
 
 What tho' they ca' me fornicator, 
 An' tease my name in kintry clatter : 
 The raair they talk I'm kent the better. 
 
 E'en let them clash 1 
 An auld wife's tongue's a feckless matter 
 
 To gie ane fash. 
 
 Sweet fruit o' mony a merry dint, 
 
 My funny toil is now a' tint. 
 
 Sin' thou came to the warl' asklent. 
 
 Which fools may scoff at,. 
 In my last plack thy part's be in't, 
 
 The better ha'f o't. 
 
 An' if thou be what I wad hae thee, 
 An' tak' the counsel I sail gie thee, 
 A lovin' father I'll be to thee. 
 
 If thou be spar'd ; 
 Thro' a' thy childish years I'll e'e thee. 
 
 An' think't weel war'd.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 247 
 
 Gude grant that thou may ay inherit 
 Thy mither's person, grace an' merit. 
 An' thy poor worthless daddy's spirit, 
 
 Without his failin's. 
 'Twill please me mair to see and liear it. 
 
 Than stocket mailens. 
 
 THE TWA HERDS, OR THE HOLY 
 
 TLTLZIE. 
 
 (AN UNCO MOL'RNFU' TALE.) 
 
 [The Poet himself says of this composi- 
 tion: — "The first of ray poetic offspring 
 that saw the light was a burlesque lamen- 
 tation on a quarrel between two reverend 
 Calvinists, both of them dramatis persnnre 
 in my Holy Fair. I had a notion myself 
 that the piece had some merit; but to 
 prevent the worst, I gave a copy of it to a 
 friend who was very fond of such things, 
 and told him I could not guess who was 
 the author of it, but I thought it pretty 
 clever. With a certain description of the 
 clergy, as well as laity, it met with a roar 
 of applause." 
 
 These two quarrelsome shepherds— 
 both zealous champions of the Auld Light 
 —were the Rev. Alexander Moodie, parish 
 minister of Riccarton, and the Rev. John 
 Russell, called elsewhere, " Black Jock " 
 and "Rumble John," minister of the 
 High Church, Kilmarnock.] 
 
 Oh a' ye pious godly flocks, 
 Weel fed on pastures orthodox, 
 Wha now will keep ye frae the fox. 
 
 Or worrying tykes? 
 Or wha will tent the waifs and crocks. 
 
 About the dykes? 
 
 The twa best herds in a' the wast, 
 That e'er gae gospel horn a blast. 
 These five-and-twentv simmers past— 
 
 Oh dool to tell ! 
 Hae had a bitter black outcast 
 
 Atween themsel'. 
 
 Oh, Moodie, man, and wnrdy Russell, 
 How could you raise so vile a bustle, 
 Ye'll see how New-Light herds will whistle. 
 
 And think it fine ; 
 The L — 's cause ne'er got sic a twi.stle 
 
 8in' I hae min'. 
 
 I O, sirs! whae'er wad hae expeckit, 
 I Your duty ye wad sae negleckit? 
 Ye wha were ne'er by lairds respeckit, 
 
 To W'ar the plaid. 
 But by tke brutes themselves eleckit. 
 To be their guide 1 
 
 1 What flock wi'Moodie's flock could rank?— 
 Sae hale and hearty every shank ! 
 Xae poisoned sour Arrainian stank 
 
 He let them taste ; 
 Frae Calvin's well, aye clear, they drank— 
 
 Oh sic a feast ! 
 
 The thummart, wil'-cat, brock, and tod, 
 Weel kenn'd his voice through a' the wood, 
 He smelt their ilka hole an(l road, 
 
 Baith out and in. 
 And weel he liked to shed their bluid. 
 
 And sell their skin. 
 
 What herd like Russell telled his tale'' 
 His voice was heard through muir and dale, 
 He kennd the L— 's sheep, ilka tail, 
 
 O'er a' the height. 
 And saw gin they were sick or hale, 
 
 At the first sight. 
 
 He fine a mangy sheep could scrub 
 
 Or nobly fling the gospel club. 
 
 And New-Light herds could nicely drub, 
 
 Or pay their skin, 
 Could shake theo o'er the burning dub, 
 
 Or heave them in. 
 
 Sic twa — Oh do I live to see't?— 
 Sic famous twa should disagreet, 
 ' And names, like villain, hypocrite, 
 ! Ilk ither gi'en ; 
 
 While New-Light herds wi' laughin' spite, 
 Say neither's liein' I 
 
 ; A' ye wha tent the gospel fauld. 
 There's Duncan deep, and Peebles shaul, 
 But chiefly thou, apostle Auld, t 
 
 We trust in thee. 
 That thou wilt work them, hetand cauld, 
 
 Till they agree. 
 
 Consider, sirs, how we're beset ; 
 There's scarce a new herd that we get 
 But comes frae 'mang that cursed set 
 
 I winna name; 
 I hope frae heaven to see them yet 
 
 In fiery flame ! 
 
 *The Glenriddel MS. version contains seven stanzas, the 3rd and the tith differing 
 from the foregoing. It is, on the whole, much inferior to the version here given. 
 
 tDr. Duncan of Dundonald, R^v. William Peebles of Newton-on-Ayr, a "shallow" 
 preacher who figures in the //'i/i/ /'''«>, and " Daddie Auld," minister of Mauchline, 
 are the three ministers named in this verse.
 
 TEE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 
 243 
 
 Dalrymple has been lang nnr fae, 
 M'Gill has wrought us meikle wae. 
 And that cursed rascal ca'd M'Quhae, 
 
 And baith the Shaws, * 
 That aft hae made us black and blae, 
 
 \\i' vengefu' paws. 
 
 Auld Wodrow, lang has hatch'd mischief, 
 We thought ay death wad bring relief ; 
 But he has gotten, to our grief. 
 
 Ana to succeed him — 
 A chield wha'll soundly liutF imv beef; 
 
 I meikle dread him. 
 
 And mony a ane that I could tell, 
 Wha fain would openly rebel, 
 Forby turn-coats amang oursel'— 
 
 There's Smith for ane— t 
 I doubt he's but a grey-nick quill. 
 
 And that ye'll tin'. 
 
 Ol a' ye flocks, o'er a' the hills. 
 
 By mosses, meadows, moors, and fells. 
 
 Come, join your counsel and your skills, 
 
 To cowe the lainls. 
 And get the brutes the power themsel's, 
 
 To choose their herds. 
 
 Then Orthodoxy yet may prance, 
 And Learning in a woody dance. 
 And that fell cur ca'd Common Sense, 
 
 That bites sae sair, 
 Be banish'd o'er the sea to France : 
 
 Let him bark there. 
 
 Then Shaw's and D'rymple's eloquence, 
 M'Gill's close nervous excellence, 
 M'Quhae's pathetic manly sense, 
 
 And gude M'.Math, 
 Wi' Smith, wha through the heart cm 
 glance, 
 
 May a' pack aff. 
 
 
 LETTER TO 
 .JOHN GOUDIE, KILMARNOCK, 
 
 i)V THE PUBLICATION OP HIS ESSAYS. 
 
 [The date of this Epistle is marked by 
 the Poet in the Glenriddel copy to have 
 been August, 1785. Goldie (who died in 
 1809, aged 91) was a busy-brained old 
 tradesman in Kilmarnock, who, from being 
 a strict anti-burgher, swerved into free- 
 thinking opinions through study of Dr. 
 Taylor of Norwich's work on Original Sin, 
 and eventually became an author himself, 
 by publishing in 1780, a volume of "Essays 
 on various subjects. Moral and Divine."] 
 
 O Goudie! terror of the Whigs, 
 Dread of black coats antl rev'rend wigs, 
 Soor Bigotry, on her last legs, 
 
 Girnin', looks back, 
 Wishin' the ten Egyptian plagues 
 
 Wad seize you quick. 
 
 Poor gapin', glowrin' Superstition, 
 Waes me ! she's in a sad condition ; 
 Fie ! bring Black Jock, her state physician, J 
 
 To see her water ; 
 Alas I there's ground o' great suspicion 
 
 She'll ne'er get better. 
 
 Auld Orthodoxy lang did grapple, 
 But now she's got an unco ripple; 
 Haste, gie her name up i' the chapel, § 
 
 Nigh unto death ; 
 See, how she fetches at the thrapple. 
 
 An' gasps for breath ! 
 
 Enthusiasm's past redemption, 
 
 Gane in a galloping consumption. 
 
 Not a' the quacks, wi' a their gumption, 
 
 Will ever mend her. 
 Her feeble pulse gies strong presumption, 
 
 Death soon will end her. 
 
 *The Rev. Dr. Dalrymple of Ayr, the Rev. William M'Gill, his colleague, the Rev. 
 Mr. M'Quhae of St. Quivox, and the two brothers, Dr. Andrew Shaw of Craigie, and 
 Dr. David Shaw of Coylton, are the ministers named in this verse. 
 
 tThe other ministers named are Dr. Peter Wodrow of Tarbolton, Rev. John M'Math, 
 his helper, and Rev. Mr. Smith of Galston, who also figures in the Holy Fair. 
 
 X Black Jocfc— Rev. John Russell of Kilmarnock, one of the heroes of the preceding 
 poem, and also introduced in the Holy Fair and the Kirk's Alarm. 
 
 § A reference to the practice of giving in the names of dying persons, to be prayed 
 for in church.
 
 TEE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 
 249 
 
 'Tis you and Taylor are the chief 
 Wha are to blame for this mischief; 
 But gin the Lord's ain fnlks gat leave, 
 
 A toora tar-barrel 
 And twa red peats wad send relief, 
 
 An' end the quarrel. * 
 
 HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER. 
 
 [This village Pharisee was William 
 Fisher, an elder of the parish-kirk at 
 Mauchline. who had been mainly instru- 
 mental in prompting Mr. Auld the minister, 
 and his session, to raise proceedings against 
 sundry of the paristiioners for habitual 
 neglect of public ordinances — or, in other 
 words, for staying away from church. 
 Among the victims of this prosecution was 
 Mr. Gavin Hamilton, the poet's laird and 
 very intimate frientl. 
 
 Tlie Poet thus refers to this bold satire 
 in his autobiography, after mentioning the 
 Tica Herds: — " Uoly Willie's Prayer next 
 made its appearance, and alarmed the 
 kirk-session so much, that they held 
 several meetings to look over their spirit- 
 ual artillery, if haply any of it might be 
 pointed against profane ryhmers." It is 
 noteworthy that Burns did" not print this 
 piece in any of his own editions.] 
 
 Oh Thou, wha in the heavens dost dwell 1 
 Wha, as it pleases best thysel', 
 Sends ane to heaven, and ten to hell, 
 
 .\' for tliy glory. 
 And no' for ony gude or ill 
 
 They've done afore thee ! 
 
 I bless and praise thy matcliless might. 
 When thousands thou hast left in night. 
 That I am here afore thy sight. 
 
 For gifts and grace, 
 A burnin' an' a shinin' light 
 
 To a' ttiis place 1 
 
 What was I, or ray neneration. 
 That I should get sic exaltation? 
 I, wha tleserve sic just damnation 
 
 For broken laws. 
 Five tliousand years 'fore my creation, 
 
 Thro' Adam's cause ! 
 
 When frae my mither's womb I fell, 
 Thou might hae plunged me in hell. 
 To gnash my gums, to weep and wail, 
 
 In burnin' lake. 
 Where damnfed devils roar and yell, 
 
 Chain'd to a stake. 
 
 Yet I am here a chosen sample. 
 
 To show thy grace is great and ample ; 
 
 I'm here a pillar in thy temple. 
 
 Strong as a rock, 
 A guide, a buckler, and e.xample. 
 
 To a' thy flock. 
 
 O L — thou kens what zeal I bear. 
 
 When drinkers drink, and swearers swear. 
 
 And singin' there, and dancin' here, 
 
 Wi' great an' sma' ; 
 For I am keepet by thy fear. 
 
 Free frae them a'. 
 
 But yet, oh L — ! confess I must. 
 At times I'm fash'd wi' fleshly lust ; 
 And sometimes too wi' warldly trust, 
 
 Vile self gets in; 
 But tliou remembers we are dust, 
 
 Detil'd in sin. 
 
 O L — I yestreen, thou kens, wi' Meg — 
 Thy pardon I sincerely beg — 
 O ! may it ne'er be a livin' plague 
 
 To my dishonour, 
 An' I'll ne'er Lilt a lawless leg 
 
 Again upon her. 
 
 Besides, I farther maun allow, 
 Wi' Lizzie's lass, three times I trow- 
 But, If—, that Friday I was fou. 
 
 When I came near her. 
 Or else, thou kens, thy servant true 
 
 Wad ne'er hae steer'd her. 
 
 Maybe thou lets this fleshly thorn, 
 
 Beset thy servant e'en and morn. 
 
 Lest he owre high and proud should turn, 
 
 'Cause he's sae gifted ; 
 If sae, thy han' maun e'en be borne, 
 
 Until thou lift it. 
 
 L — , bless thy chosen in tliis place. 
 For here thou hast a chosen race : 
 But G — confound their stubborn face. 
 
 And blast their name, 
 Wha bring thy elders to disgrace 
 
 .A.n' public shame I 
 
 *In the copy inserted by the author in the Glenriddel MS., two verses are added of 
 no great merit, and these are followed by the two admirable stanzas, printed in a 
 detached form at page 38, in praise of "honest nappy.'
 
 THE POEMS AND SOXGS OF BURNS 
 
 250 
 
 L — d, mind Gawn Hamilton's deserts. 
 He drinks, and swears, an' plays at cartes, 
 Yet has sae raony takin' arts, 
 
 Wi' iirit an' sma", 
 Prae G— 's ain priests the people's hearts 
 
 He steals awa'. 
 
 An' when we chasten'd him therefor, 
 Thou kens how he bred sic a splore, 
 As set the warld in a roar 
 
 O' laughin' at us :— 
 Curse thou his basket and his store, 
 
 Kail an' potatoes ! 
 
 L — , hear my earnest cry an' pra/r, 
 
 Against that Presbyt'ry of Ayr : 
 
 Thy strong right hand, L — , mak' it bare 
 
 Upo' their heads ! 
 L— , weigh it down, and dinna spare, 
 
 For their misdeeds ! 
 
 Oh L — my G — , that glib-tongued Aiken, 
 
 My very heart an' saul are quakin". 
 
 To think how we stood sweatin', shakin', 
 
 An' wi' dread, 
 
 \Miile he wi' hingin' lip and snakin', 
 
 Held up his head,* 
 
 L — , in the day of vengeance try him ! 
 L — , visit them wha did employ him 1 
 And pass not in thy mercy iiy 'em, 
 
 Xor hear their prayer ; 
 But for thy people's sake destroy em, 
 
 And dinna spare I 
 
 But, L — , remember me and mine, 
 Wi' mercies temp'ral and divine, 
 That I for gear and grace may shine, 
 
 ExceU'd by nane, 
 An' a' the glory shall be thine. 
 
 Amen, Amen I 
 
 EPITAPH ON HOLT WILLIE. 
 
 Here Holy Willie's sair-worn clay 
 
 Tak's up its last abode ; 
 His saul has ta'en some ither way, 
 
 I fear the left-hand road. 
 
 Stop ! there he is, as sure's a gun, 
 
 Poor silly body, see him ; 
 Nae wonder he's as black's the grun', 
 
 Observe wha's standing wi' him. 
 
 Your brunstane devilship, I see, 
 Has got him there before ye ; 
 
 But baud your nine-tailed cat a wee. 
 Till ance you've heard my story. 
 
 Your pity I will not implore, 
 
 For pity ye hae nane ; 
 Justice, alas! hasgi'en him o'er. 
 
 And mercy's day is gane. 
 
 But hear me, sir, deil as ye are. 
 Look something to your credit ; 
 
 A coof like him wad stain your name, 
 If it were kent ye did it. 
 
 EPITAPH ON A WAG IX 
 MAUCHLINE. 
 
 [This production is obviously a piece of 
 raillery, and is said to have been addressed 
 to the Bard's crony, James Smith.] 
 
 Lament him, Mauchline husbands a'. 
 
 He aften did assist ye ; 
 For had ye staid whole weeks awa', 
 
 Your wives they ne'er had miss'd ye 1 
 
 Ye Mauchline bairns, as on ye pass 
 To school in bands thegither; 
 
 O tread ye lightly on his grass, 
 Perhaps he was your father. 
 
 EPITAPH ON JAMES GRIEVE, LAIRD 
 OF BOGHEAD, TARBOLTON. 
 
 Here lies Boghead amang the dead. 
 
 In hopes to get salvation; 
 But if such as he, in Heaven may be. 
 
 Then welcome — hail ! d n. 
 
 *The copy in the Kilmarnock Museum, known as the "Dumfries Version," give* 
 "I" instead of "we " in the 3rd line of this stanza. The 5th and 6th lines read :— 
 " While Auld, wi' hingin' lip, gaed snakin'. 
 And hid his head." 
 
 which, to our thinking, is more intelligible. In this same MS,, stanzas i and 6 are- 
 omitted.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 
 251 
 
 LINES ADDRESSED TO 
 
 JOHN RAXKINE. 
 
 Ae day, as Death, that gruesome carl, 
 Was driving to the tither warl 
 A mixie-maxie, mutley squad. 
 And mony a gtiilt-bespotted lad; 
 Black gowns of each denomination. 
 And tlueves of every rank and station, 
 From him that wears the star and garter, 
 To him that wintles in a halter : 
 Ashamed hirasel' to see the wretches. 
 He mutters, glowrin' at the bitches : 
 ' By G— , I'll not be seen behint them. 
 Nor 'mang the sp'ritual core present them. 
 Without, at least, ae honest man, 
 To grace this d — infernal clan.' 
 By Adamhill a glance he threw, 
 'L— G— !' quoth he, 'I have it now; 
 There's just the man I want, i' faith 1' 
 And quickly stopplt Rankine's breath. 
 
 EPIGRAM ON 
 MISS JEANY SCOTT, OF AYR. 
 
 [ Annotators seem not to have determined 
 who this beautiful damsel was.] 
 
 Oh! had each Scot of ancient times, 
 Been Jeany Scott, as thou art ; 
 
 The bravest heart on English ground, 
 Had yielded like a coward. 
 
 EPITAPH ON JOHN DOVE. 
 INNKEEPER, MAUCHLINE. 
 
 [This person was "mine host" of the 
 Whitejoord Arms, closely adjoining the 
 house where Jean Armour's parents 
 resided. It was the Poet's howfl while be 
 was known by the name of " Rob Mossgiel ; " 
 and here was held the famous "Court of 
 Equity," consisting of the Poet ?is president, 
 James Smith a.% fiscal, John Richmond as 
 clerk, and William Hunter, shoemaker, as 
 messenger -at- arms. Its object was to take 
 cognizance of, and discuss the various 
 cases of scandal which were then rife in 
 Mauchline.] 
 
 HrilE lies .Johnny Pigeon : 
 Wliat was his religion, 
 
 Whae'er desires to ken. 
 To some other warl 
 Maun follow the carl. 
 
 For here Johnny Pigeon had nana. 
 
 Strong ale was ablution. 
 Small beer persecution, 
 
 A dram was memento mori; 
 But a full flowing buwl, 
 Was the saving his soul. 
 
 And port was celestial glory. 
 
 #•^2^ 
 
 ANSWER TO A TRIMMING EPISTLE 
 FROM A TAILOR. 
 
 [This was composed inlTSO, and appeared 
 first in Stewart & Meikle's tracts, 1799, 
 together with the Tailor's letter, which 
 was written by one Thomas Walker, a 
 tailor who lived at Poole, near Ochiltree, 
 and who was conceited enough to fancy 
 himself the superior of Burns, and so 
 provoked his own castigation, and _ the 
 following out-pouring of reckless ridicule 
 on the "Holy Willie" Session of Mauch- 
 line. John Richmond, the Poet's Mauch- 
 line comrade, was cousin to Stewart, and 
 it is coniectured that the publishers 
 violated the privacy of the MS. through 
 this connection. The MS. has since 
 disappeared. Paterson, in his Burns 
 Contemporaries (ISW) credits Wm. Simpson 
 with the authorship of the piece, but on 
 no evidence save mere assertion.] 
 
 What ails ye now, ye lousie , 
 
 To thresh my back at sic a pitch? 
 Losh man ! hae mercy wi' your natch , 
 
 Your bodkin's bauld; 
 I did na suffer half sae much 
 
 Frae Daddie Auld. 
 
 What tho' at times when I grow crouse, 
 I gie their wames a random pouse, 
 Is that enough for you to souse 
 
 Your servant sae? 
 Gae mind your seam, ye prick-the-Iouse, 
 
 An' jag-the-flae !
 
 THE POEMS AND SOXGS OF BURN'S. 
 
 252 
 
 King David, o' poetic brief, 
 Wrought 'mang the lasses sic mischief 
 As flll'd his after life wi' grief 
 
 An' bloody rants, 
 An' yet he's rank'd amang the chief 
 
 O' lang syne saunts. 
 
 And maybe, Tam, for a' my cants, 
 My wicked rhymes, an' drucken rants, 
 I'll gie auld cloven Clooty's haunts 
 
 An unco slip yet, 
 An' snugly sit amang the saunts, 
 
 At Davie's hip yetl 
 
 But, fegs ! the Session says I maun 
 
 Gae fa' upo' anither plan, 
 
 Than garrin' lasses cowp the cran. 
 
 Clean heels owre body. 
 And sairly thole their mither's ban. 
 
 Afore the howdy. 
 
 This leads me on to tell for sport. 
 How I did wi' the Session sort — 
 Auld Clinkum, at the Inner port 
 
 Cry'd three times, ' Robin ! 
 Come hither lad, an' answer fort— 
 
 Ye're blam'd for jobbin'!' 
 
 Wi' pinch I put a Sunday's face on. 
 An' snoov'd awa' before the Session — 
 I made an open fair confession — 
 
 I scorn'd to lie ; 
 An' syne Mess John, beyond. expression, 
 
 Fell foul o' me. 
 
 A fornicator loun he call'd me. 
 
 An' .said my faut frae bliss expell'd me ; 
 
 I own'd the tale was true he tell'd me, 
 
 'But what the matter 1' 
 Quo' I, 'I fear unless ye geld me, 
 
 I'll ne'er be better!' 
 
 'Geld you!' quo' he, 'and whatfor no'? 
 It that your right hand, leg or toe, 
 .Should ever prove your sp'ritual foe. 
 
 You shou'd remember 
 To cut it aff— an' whatfor no'? — 
 
 Your dearest member I ' 
 
 'Na, na,' quo' I, 'I'm no' for that, 
 Gelding's nae better than 'tis ca't ; 
 Id rather suffer for my fiut, 
 
 A hearty tie wit, 
 .\3 sair owre hip as ye can draw't, 
 
 Tho' I should rue it ! 
 
 'Or, gin ye like to end the bother. 
 To please us a', I've just ae ither — 
 When next wi' yon lass I forgather, 
 
 Whate'er betide it, 
 I'll frankly gie her't a' thegither. 
 
 An' let her guide it.' 
 
 But, sir, this pleas'd them warst ava, 
 An' therefore. Tain, when that I saw, 
 I said 'Gude-night,' and cam' awa', 
 
 And left the Session; 
 I saw they were resolved a' 
 
 On my oppression. 
 
 PROLOGUE, 
 
 SPOKEN BY MR. WOODS OX HIS BENEFIT NIGHT, 
 MONDAY, 16th APRIL, 17S7. 
 
 [The Poet after his arrival in Edinburgh was not long in forming an acquaintance 
 with William Woods, styled the Scottish Roscius, who had been a crony of Fergusson 
 tlie poet. The Poet's original draught of the prologue, possessed by Mr. Greenshields 
 of Kerse, shews numerous interpolations and deletions, proving the fact that Burns 
 did not accomplish his poetical results without labour and polishing.] 
 
 When by a generous Public's kind acclaim. 
 That dearest meed is granted— honest fame; 
 When here your favour is the actor's lot. 
 Nor even the man in private life forgot; 
 What breast so dead to heav'nly Virtue's glow, 
 But heaves impassioned with the grateful throe?
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 t 253 
 
 Poor is the task to please a barbarous throng, 
 
 It needs no Siddons powers in Southern's song; 
 
 But here an ancient nation famed afar. 
 
 For genius, learning high, as great in war — 
 
 Hail, Caledonia, name for ever dear! 
 
 Before whose sons I'm honour'd to appear! 
 
 Where every science — every nobler art — 
 
 That can inform the mind, or mend the heart, 
 
 Is known ; as grateful nations oft have found, 
 
 Far as the rude barbarian marks the bound. 
 
 Philosophy, no idle pedant dream, 
 
 Here holds her search by heaven-taught Reason's beam; 
 
 Here History paints with elegance and force 
 
 The tide of Empire's fluctuating course; 
 
 Here Douglas forms wild Shakspeare into plan, 
 
 And Harley rouses all the God in man.* 
 
 When well-form'd taste and sparkling wit unite 
 
 With manly lore or female beauty bright, 
 
 (Beauty, where faultless symmetry and grace, 
 
 Can (inly charm us in the second place). 
 
 Witness my heart, how oft with panting fear. 
 
 As on this night, I've met these judges here 1 
 
 But still the hope Experience taught to live. 
 
 Equal to judge— you're candid to forgive. 
 
 Xo hundred-headed Riot here we meet. 
 
 With Decency and Law beneath his feet ; 
 
 Nor Insoleni-e assumes fair Freedom's name; — 
 
 Like Caledo:^Ians, you applaud or blame. 
 
 Oil thou dread Power! whose empire-giving hand 
 
 Has oft been stretched to shield the honour'd land! 
 
 Strong may she glow with all her ancient tire ! 
 
 May every son be worthy of his sire! 
 
 Firm may she rise with generous disdain 
 
 At Tyranny's or direr Pleasure's chain ! 
 
 Still, self-dependent in her native shore, 
 
 Bold may she brave grim Danger's loudest roar. 
 
 Till Fate the curtain drop on worlds to be no more ! 
 
 EPIGRAM AT INVERARY. 
 
 [This is the only poetical result that has 
 been preserved of his brief tour in the 
 West Highlands in the latter part of 
 June, 1787, his diary of which seems to 
 have been lost or suppressed, if, indeed, it 
 ever e.xisted.) 
 
 Whoe'er he be tliat sojourns here, 
 
 I pity nmch his case. 
 Unless he ct)rae to wait upon 
 
 The Lord their God— his Grace. 
 
 There's naethinghere but Highland pridfr 
 And Highland scab and hunger; 
 
 If Providence has sent me here, 
 'Twas surely in an anger. 
 
 VERSES 
 
 WRITTEN ON A WINDOW OF THK INN AT 
 CARRON. 
 
 [It would appear from the Poet's diary 
 of his journey with Nicol, commencing 
 
 * In this, and the five preceding lines, reference is made to Dugald Stewart and ottiep 
 philosophers of the Scottish school ; to Hume and Robertson, the historians; to Homo, 
 author of Doifjlas; and to .Mackenzie, author of the Man of Feelimj.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 
 254 
 
 Saturday, 25th August, 1787, that, after 
 passing the night in Falkirk, the travellers 
 visited Carron Works on the Sunday; so 
 that it is little wonder the porter refused 
 admittance.] 
 
 We cam' na here to view your warks 
 
 In hopes to be mair wise. 
 But only lest we gang to , 
 
 It may be nae surprise: 
 But whan we tirl'd at your door. 
 
 Your porter dought na hear us; 
 Sae may, should we to 's yetts come, 
 
 Your billy Satan sair usl 
 
 r^r^^^^?^ 
 
 EPIGRAM 
 
 ON ELPHINSTONE'S TRANSLATION OF 
 MARTIAL'S EPIGRAMS. 
 
 [In January, 1788, Burns writes this in 
 one of his letters to Clarinda:— "The 
 poetry of Elphinstone can only equal 
 his prose notes. I was sitting in a 
 merchant's shop waiting somebody ; he 
 put Elphingtone into my Dand, and asked 
 my opinion of it: I beg^'ed leave to write 
 it on a blankdeaf, which I did." The 
 actual volume is in the possession of a 
 gentleman in Glasgow. (See Burns 
 Chronicle for 1894, p. 136.)] 
 
 O THOU whom Poesy abhors, 
 
 Whom Prose has turned out of doors I 
 
 Ileard'st thou yon groan? proceed r 
 
 further; 
 'Twas laurell'd Martial calling Murtherl 
 
 THE HENPECK'D HUSBAND. 
 
 {This appears to be one of the fragments of the projected poem, the Poet's Progress.] 
 
 CURS'D be the man, the poorest wretch in life, 
 The crouching vassal to the tyrant wife. 
 Who has no will but by her high permission ; 
 Who has not sixpence but in her possession ; 
 Who must to her his dear friend's secret tell; 
 
 UTio dreads a curtain-lecture worse than . 
 
 Were such the wife had fallen to my part, 
 I'd break her spirit, or I'd break her heart ; 
 I'd charm her with the magic of a switch, 
 I'd kiss her maids, and kick the perverse , 
 
 fc-LEGY ON THE YEAR 1783. 
 
 [This piece found its way into the news- 
 papers and from thence was published in 
 the chap-books before it appeared in 
 Stewart's volume.] 
 
 For Lords or Kings I dinna mourn, 
 E'en let them die— for that they're bom ; 
 But oh I prodigious to reflec* I 
 ▲, towmont, sirs, is gane to wreck 1 
 
 Oh Eighty-eight, in thy sma" space 
 What dire events hae taken place I 
 Of what enjoyments thou hast reft usl 
 In what a pickle thou hast left us ! 
 
 The Spanish Empire's tint a head. 
 An' my auld teethless Bawtie's dead; 
 The tulzie's teugh 'tween Pitt an' Fox, 
 And our gudewife's wee birdie cocks, 
 The tane is game, a bluidy devil, 
 But to the hen-birds unco civil : 
 The tither's dour, has nae sic breedin', 
 But better stuff ne'er clawed a midden.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 
 ■255 
 
 Ve ministers, come mount the pu'pit, 
 And cry till ye be haerse an' roopit, 
 For Eighty-eight he wished you weel, 
 An' gied ye a' baith gear and meal ; 
 E'en mony a plack, and raony a peck, 
 Ye ken yoursel's, for little feckl 
 
 Ye bonie lasses, dight your een. 
 For some o' you hae tint a frien' ; 
 In Eighty-eight, ye ken, was ta'en 
 What ye'll ne'er hae to gie again. 
 
 Observe the very nowte and sheep. 
 How dowff and dowie now they creep : 
 
 Nay, even the jrirth itsel' does cry. 
 For Embro' wells are grutten dry.* 
 
 Oh Eighty-nine thou's but a bairn, 
 Xn' no owre auld, I hope, to learn 1 
 Thou beardless boy, I pray tak' care. 
 Thou now has got thy daddy's chair, 
 Xae hand-cutf'd, mizzl'd, hap-shackl'd 
 
 Regent, t 
 But, like himsel', a full free agent. 
 Ke sure ye follow out the plan 
 Nae waur than he did, honest man ; 
 As muckle better as you can. 
 
 January 1, 17S9. 
 
 THE KIRK'S ALARM. 
 
 [The Ayr presbytery, in Burns's day, was noted for possessing among its meniliers 
 a majority who held liberal or New-Light opinions, and Dr. M'Gill, one of the parish 
 ministers in the town of Ayr, had published inl7Si!, "A Practical Essay on the Death 
 of Christ," which was thought to be impregnated with Socinian doctrine, and in process 
 of time provoked opposition from the more rigid party in the Church. In partiivilar. 
 Dr. William Peebles of Newton-upon-Ayr ("Peebles irae the Water-fit" ot the Holy 
 Fair,) on the occasion of delivering a centenary sermon on the Revolution, on 5tli 
 November, ITaS, referred to Dr. .M'Gill's Essay, denouncing it as heretical. This 
 brought a pamphlet from Dr. M'Gill in reply, and in .\pril, 17a9, the case was formally 
 brought into the Church Courts, and created intense pu blic interest. Burns, although 
 residing in Nithsdale, at a distance from the scene of strife, took up his pen in behalf 
 of M'Gill, and produced this satire. 
 
 On Tth August, lTi9, the Pnet wrote thus to an Ayrshire friend on this subject : — "I 
 am going to intrude on your time with a long ballad. I have, as you will shortly see, 
 finisned The Kirk's Alarm; but, now that it is done, and that I have laughed oiice or 
 twice at the conceits in some of the stanzas, I am determined not to let it get to the 
 public ; so I send you this copy, the first I have sent to Ayrshire (e.xcept some few of 
 the stanzas which I wrote otf in embryo for Gavin Hamilton), under the express 
 provision and request that you will only read it to a few of us, and do not, on any 
 account, give or permit to be taken any copy of the ballad." There are many MSS. 
 of this composition, and they vary much in the number and arrangement of the 
 stanzas. There is a fine holograph in the Monument at Edinburgh, and two others 
 in the British Museum.] 
 
 Orthodox! orthodox I— 
 Wha believe in John Knox — 
 Let me sound an alarm to your conscience; 
 There's a heretic blast 
 Has been blawn i' the wast. 
 That what is no' sense must be nonsense- 
 Orthodox ; that what is no' sense must be 
 nonsense. 
 
 Dr Mac: Dr Mac : 
 
 You should stretch on a rack, 
 To strike evil doers wi' terror: 
 
 To join faith and sense 
 
 Upon ony pretence 
 Is heretic, damnable error — 
 Dr Mac I 'tis heretic, damnable error, t 
 
 •The Edinburgh newspapers of that period contain frequent references to the 
 scarcity of water. 
 
 t There was considerable public agitation about this time regarding the illness of 
 King George III., and a proposal to appoint the Prince of Wales as Regent. 
 
 J Rev. William M'Gill, D.D., the hero of this Socinian heresy: but who in the end 
 was constrained to recant, and disappoint his supporters. He died in 1807, aged 76.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 268 
 
 Town of Ayr! town of Ayrl 
 
 It was rash, I declare, 
 To mediile wi' mischief a-brewln' ; 
 
 Provost John is still deaf 
 
 To the church's relief, 
 And Orator Bob is its ruin- 
 Town of Ayi- 1 yes. Orator Bob Is its ruin.* 
 
 D'rymple mild I D'rymple raild ! 
 Though your heart's like a child, 
 An' your life like the new-driven snaw ; 
 Yet that winna save ye, 
 Auld Satan must have ye, 
 For preacliinff that three's ane and twa — 
 D'rymple mild ! for preaching that three's 
 ane and twa. t 
 
 Rumble John ! Rumble John ! 
 
 Mount the steps wi' a groan, 
 Cry, the book is wi' heresy cramra'd ; 
 Then lug out your ladle. 
 Deal brimstone like adle. 
 And roar every note of the damn'd— 
 Rumble John ! and roar every note of the 
 damn'd. J 
 
 Simper James! Simper James I 
 Leave the fair Killie dames. 
 There's a holier chase in your view; 
 I'll lay on your head, 
 That the pack ye'll soon lead. 
 For puppies like you there's but few- 
 Simper James ! for puppies like you there's 
 but few. § 
 
 Singet Sawney ! Singet Sawney 1 
 Are ye huirdin' the penny, 
 Unconscious what evils await? 
 Wi' a jump, yell, and howl. 
 Alarm every soul, 
 
 For the foul thief is just at your gate — 
 Singet SaisTiey! the foul thief is just at 
 your gate. II 
 
 Daddie Auld ! Daddie Auld 1 
 There's a tod in the fauld, 
 A tod meikle waur than the clerk; 
 Tho' ye can do little skaith, 
 Yell be in at the death, 
 And gif ye canna bite, ye may bark — 
 Daddie Auld 1 for gif ye canna bite ye may 
 bark. •[ 
 
 Davie Bluster ! Davie Bluster I 
 If for a saunt ye do muster. 
 The corps is no' nice of recruits ; 
 ■Vet to worth let's be just, 
 Royal blood ye might boast. 
 If the ass were the king of the brutes — 
 Davie Bluster ! if the ass were the king o 
 the brutes.** 
 
 Jamie Goose 1 Jamie Goose ! 
 Ye hae made but toom roose, 
 0' hunting the wicked lieutenant; 
 But the Doctor's your mark. 
 For the L — 's haly ark, 
 He has cooper'd and ca'd a wrang pin 
 in't— 
 Jamie Goose ! he has cooper'd and ca'd a 
 wrang pin in't. 1 1 
 
 Poet Willie! Poet Willie! 
 Gie the Doctor a volley, 
 Wi' your 'Liberty's Chain' and your wit; 
 O'er Pegasus' side 
 Ye ne'er laid a stride, 
 
 Ye but smelt.man, the place where he 
 
 Poet Willie 1 ye smelt but the place where 
 he .it 
 
 *Provost John Ballantyne, and Robert Aiken, writer, the latter of whom was 
 M'Gill's agent before the Presbytery, prevailed on the magistrates of Ayr to publish 
 a certificate highly favourable to M'Gill, at the commencement of the prosecution. 
 
 tRev. William Dalryniple, D.D., senior colleague of Dr. M'Gill in the parish of Ayr. 
 One of his favourite tenets was the divisibility of the Trinity. 
 
 tRev. John Russell— the "Black Russell" and "Black Jock" of the Poet's other 
 religious satires. 
 
 § Rev. James Mackinlay of Kilmarnock, hero of the Ordination. He died in 1S41, 
 aged 85. 
 
 liRev. Alexander Moody, one of the Tira Herds, andflrst preacher in the JJo/j/ii'air: 
 parsimony and lack of charity were his besetting sins. 
 
 •[Rev. William Auld of Mauchline. Theallusion to the ^od in this verse has hitherto 
 been unnoticed by commentators. The Rev. John Tod of Mauchline, was son-in-law 
 of Gavin Hamilton, Esq., here referred to as "the clerk" who had troubled Mr. Auld so 
 much.— (See notes to Epistle to M'Math and Holy Willie's Prayer.) 
 
 ♦*Mr. David Grant, of the parish of Ochiltree. ttMr. James Young of Cumnock. 
 
 t JRev. William Peebles, D.D., of Newton-upon-Ayr, who figures in the Iluly Fair 
 to the disgust of "common-sense." He sometimes tried to be a wit, and on one oc- 
 casion ventured to come out as a poet in a centenary Ode on the Re volution of lOsS, which 
 excited much ridicule by one of its lines: — "Bound in Liberty's endearing chains!"
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 967 
 
 Anrti-oGouk! AndrnOouk! 
 Ye may slander the book, 
 And the book not the waur, let me tell ye ; 
 Ye are rich, and look big, 
 But lay by hat and \\\s,, 
 And ye'llliae a calf's head o' sma' value- 
 Andre Gouk ! ye'U hae a calf's head o' sma' 
 value. * 
 
 P.arr Steenie ! Barr Steenie ! 
 What mean ye— what mean ye? 
 If ye'U meddle nae mair \vi' the matter, 
 Ye may hae some pretence 
 To havins and sense, 
 Wi' people wha ken ye nae better — 
 Barr Steenie! wi' people wha ken ye nae 
 better, t 
 
 Irvine-side ! Irvine-side ! 
 Wi' your turkey-cock pride. 
 Of manhood but sma' is your share ; 
 Ye've tlie tigure, 'tis true, 
 Even your faes will allow, 
 And your friends they dare grant you 
 nae mair — 
 Iivine-side ! your friends they dare grant 
 you nae mair. X 
 
 Muirland Jock ! Muirland Jock ! 
 When the L — makes a rock 
 To crush Common Sense for her sins ; 
 If ill manners were wit. 
 There's no mortal so tit 
 To confound the poor Doctor at ance— 
 Muirland Jock I confound the poor Doctor 
 at ance. « 
 
 Holy Will I Holy Will ! 
 There was wit i' your skull. 
 When you pilfered the alms o' the poor; 
 The timmer is scant. 
 When ye're taen for a saunt, 
 Wha should swing in a rape for an hour- 
 Holy Will ! ye should swing in a rape for 
 an hour. || 
 
 Calvin's sons ! Calvin's sons ! 
 Seize your sp'ritual guns. 
 Ammunition you never can need; 
 Your hearts are the stuff, 
 Will be powther enough, 
 
 And your skulls are storehouses o' lead — 
 Calvin's sons ! your skulls are storehouses 
 o' lead. 
 
 Poet Burns 1 Poet Burns ! 
 Wi' your priest-skelping turns. 
 Why desert ye your auld native shire? 
 Though your muse is a gipsy, 
 K'en tho' she were tipsy, 
 She could ca' us nae waur than we are — 
 Poet Burns ! ye could ca' us nae waujr 
 than we are. 
 
 POSTSCRIPT. 
 
 Afton'a Laird ! Afton's Laird ! 
 When your pen can be spared, 
 A copy o' this I bequeath. 
 On the same sicker score 
 As I mentioned before. 
 To that trusty auld worthy Clackleith — 
 .\fton's Laird ! to that trusty auld worthy 
 Clackleith. 
 
 [The Glenriddel copy contains only 15 
 verses, and wants those commencing 
 '"Town of Ayr," "Singet Sawney," and 
 " Holy Will." "The powerful verse "Davie 
 Bluster" appears there in the following 
 form :— ] 
 
 Davie Rant ! Davie Rant! 
 
 In a face like a saunt, 
 And a heart that would poison a hog. 
 
 Raise an impudent roar, 
 
 Like a bri:'aker lee-sliore, 
 Or the Kirk will be tint in a bog. 
 
 [A copy in the Burns-monument at 
 Edinburgh has a postscript appemled to it, 
 ac»,Jressed to the recipient of the MS., who 
 in this instance may have been John 
 Kennedy, factor at Duuifries House, if not 
 John M'Murdo, Esq., Chamberlain at 
 Diaimlanrig. It is as follows: — ] 
 
 Factor John ! Factor John! 
 
 Whom the Lonl made alone. 
 And ne'er made another thy peer; 
 
 Thy poor servant, the bard, 
 
 In respectful regard, 
 Presents thee this token sincere. — R. B. 
 
 "Dr. .Andrew Mitchell, minister of Monkton parish. 
 
 tRev. Stephen Young of Barr. 
 
 J Rev. George Smith of (Jalston, whom the Poet wished to compliment in two 
 excellent verses of the llobj Fair; but the reverend gentleman saw more of the 
 banter than the compliment in them. For this reason, therefore, the poet now has a 
 slap at him in good earnest. 
 
 §Rev. John Shepherd of Muirkirk— who was in the habit of saying rude things, 
 mistaking these for wit. 
 
 (The poor wretch whom Burns had before chastised so severely under that name. 
 
 R
 
 TEE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 
 sss 
 
 [The mnnumeiit copy also has the repeaf 
 of the last line in each verse, and although 
 it wants the stanza devoted to "Holy 
 Will," it has some important variations of 
 other verses, for instance : — ] 
 
 Muirland Jock ! Muirland Jock ! 
 When the L — d save a stock. 
 
 That would set up a tinkler in brass; 
 
 If ill-manners were wit, 
 
 There's nae mortal sae tit 
 To prove the poor doctor an ass. 
 
 [We have to add that the title of that 
 "■iipy is "The Kirk's Alarm," a Ballad. 
 Tune — Come rotcne, brother sportsmen.) 
 
 EPIGRAM ON CAPTAIN FRANCIS GROSE. 
 
 TnF. devil :;ot notice that Grose was a-dyinj;, 
 
 So whip! at the summons, old Satan came flying; 
 
 But when he approach'd where poor Fr.^.ncis lay moaniii;; 
 
 And saw each bedpost with its burden a-groaning, 
 
 Astonished, confounded, cri'd .Satan: 'by"G — 
 
 I'll want him, ere take such a damnable load.' 
 
 LINES 
 WRITTEN EXTEMPORE IN A LADY'S POCKET-BOOK. 
 
 [This was perhaps written during the horrors of the French Revolution.j 
 
 GliANT me, indulgent Heav'n, that I may live 
 To see the miscreants feel the pains they give ; 
 Deal Freedom's sacred treasures free as air. 
 Till slave .and despnt be but things wlii.-h were. 
 
 LINKS 
 
 WRITTEN AND PRESENTED TO 
 MRS. KEMBLE, ON SEEING HER IN THE 
 
 CHARACTER OF YARICO. 
 
 [On 21st October, 1794, Mrs. Stephen 
 Kenihle made her tirst appearance in 
 Dumfries as Yarico, in the then favourite 
 opera of Inkle and Yarico.] 
 
 Kemble, thou curst my unbelief 
 Of Closes and his rod ; 
 
 At Yarico's sweet notes of grief. 
 The rock with tears had tlow'd. 
 
 EPIGRAM ON MISS DAVIES. 
 
 WRITTEN ON A PANE OF GLASS IN THE 
 
 INN AT .MOFFAT. 
 
 Asiv why God made the gem so small, 
 And why so huge the granite' — 
 
 Because God meant mankind should set 
 That higher value on it. 
 
 LINES ON RODNEY'S VICTORY. 
 RKCITED AT A MEETING OF THE DUMFRIES VOLUNTEERS. 
 
 [This meeting must have been held on l-Jth April, ITO.i, at which time Burns 
 
 duced his patriotic liallad, "Does haughty Ciaul invasion threat?"] 
 
 Instead of a song, boys, I'll give you a toast- 
 Here's the memory of those on the lith that we lost!- 
 That we lost, ilid I say? nay, by Heav'n, that we founil 
 For their fame it shall la^-t while the w.-.rld goes round 
 The next in succession, I 11 ;;ive you— the King ! 
 Whoe'er would betray him, on high may he swing; 
 And here's the grand fabric, our free Constitution, 
 As l)uilt on the base of the great Revolution; 
 And longer with politics not to be crammed. 
 Be Anarchy cursed, and be Tyranny danmed; 
 And who wovdd to Liberty e'er prove disloyal. 
 May his son be a hangman, and he his tirst ti iai ! 
 
 pro-
 
 PIECES FIRST PUBLISHED BY STEWART IN 1802. 
 
 LETTER TO JAMES TENNANT, 
 GLENCONNER. 
 
 [This rhyming epistle, written from 
 Ellisland in 17S9, is addressed to an old 
 friend of the Poet and his family, whose 
 father's advice he tiad taken before fixing 
 on the farm of Ellisland. The descendants 
 of "Gude aald Glen," are the Tennants of 
 St. Rollox, Glasgow.] 
 
 ACLD comrade dear, and brither sinner. 
 How's a' the folk about Glenconner? 
 How do ye this blae eastlin win". 
 That's like to blaw a body blin'? 
 For me, my faculties are frozen, 
 My dearest member nearly dozen'd. 
 I've sent you here, by Johnie Simson, 
 Twa sage philosophers to glimpse on : 
 Reid, wi' his sympathetic feelinir, 
 An' Smith, to common-sense appealing. 
 Philosophers have fought an' wrangled, 
 An' meikle Greek an' Latin mangled. 
 Till, with their logic-jargon tir'd. 
 An' in the depth of science rair'd. 
 To common-sense they now appeal, 
 What wives an' wabsters see an' feel. 
 But, hark ye, friend '. I charge you strictly, 
 Peruse them, an' return them quickly. 
 For now I'm grown sae cursed douse, 
 I pray an' ponder butt the house ; 
 My shins, ray lane, I there sit roastin'. 
 Pel using Bunyan. Brown, and Boston ; 
 Till by an' by, if I baud on, 
 I'll grunt a reiil gospel groan : 
 Already I begin to try it. 
 To cast my een up like a pyet. 
 When by the gun she tumbles o'er, 
 Flutt'riiig an' gasping in her gore : 
 Sae sliortly you shall see me bright, 
 .A. burning an' a shining light. 
 
 .My heart-warm love to gude auld Glen, 
 Tlie ace an' wale of honest men: 
 When liending down wi' auld gray hairs, 
 Beneath the load of y,;ars and cares, 
 May He who made liiin .^till support him, 
 An' views beyond the grave comfort him; 
 liis worthy famly far and near. 
 Go 1 bless them a' wi' grace and gear! 
 
 My auld schoolfellow. Preacher Willie, 
 
 The manly tar, my mason Billio, 
 
 .\n' .\uchenbay, [ wish him joy ; 
 
 If lie's a parent, lass or boy, 
 
 .M.Ty he be dad, and .Meg the mither, 
 
 Just tive-and-forty years thegitherl 
 
 An' no' forgetting wabster Charlie, 
 I'm tauld he offers very fairly. 
 An', L — , remember singing Sannock, 
 Wi' hale breeks, saxpence, an' a bannock; 
 An' next my auld acquaintance, Xancy, 
 Since she is fitted to her fancy; 
 An' her kind stars hae airtcd till her, 
 A gude chiel wi' a pickle siller. 
 My kindest, best respects I sen' it. 
 To cousin Kate an' sister .Janet; 
 Tell them, frae me, wi' chiels be cauti.ius, 
 For, faith, they'll aiblins tin' them fashious. 
 To grant a heart is fairly civil. 
 But to grant a maidenhead's the devii 1 
 An' lastly, Jamie, for yoursel', 
 May guardian angels tak' a spell, 
 .A.n' steer you seven miles south o' hell: 
 But first, before you see heav'n's glory, 
 May ye get mon(f a merry story; 
 Mony a laugh, and mony a drink, 
 .4n' ay eneugh o' neeilfu' clink. 
 Xow fare-ye-wcel, and joy be wi' you; 
 For my sake this I beg it o' you, 
 Assist poor Simson a' ye can, 
 Ye'll fin' him just an honest man: 
 Sae I conclude, and quat my chanter, 
 Your's, saint or sinner, 
 
 Rob the Ranter. 
 
 THE FIVE CARLIXES. 
 AN ELECTIO.N BALLAD. 
 
 Tune— Cftfiv?/ Chase. 
 
 [This is the principal Ballad of a set of 
 three, in connection with the election can- 
 vass and contest of 1780-90, for the repre- 
 sentation of Che five boroughs of Dumfries 
 and Kirkcudbright, which then united in 
 sending a member to Pirliament. The 
 other two occasional productions referring 
 to that contest, are The Laddies htj the 
 banks o' Nilh, and the lyric addressed to 
 Mr. Graham of Fintry, beginning " Fintvy, 
 my stay in worhlly strife," which will be 
 given in their proper place. 
 
 On 9th December, 1789, the Poet enclosed 
 a copy of the present ballad to his patron, 
 Mr. Graham of Fintry, in which he says: 
 " I am too little a man to have any political 
 attachments: I am deeply indebted to, 
 and have the warmest veneration for, in- 
 ilividuals of both parties; butaman whohas 
 it in his power to be the fatherof a country, 
 and who is only known to that country by 
 the mischief he does in it, is a character
 
 THE POEMS AND SOXOS OF BURNS. 
 
 260 
 
 that one cannotspeak of with patience. Sir 
 James Johnston does 'what man can do,' 
 but yet I doubt his fate." 
 
 It is proper to note that the present copy 
 of theballad— taken from the Aft on MS.— 
 diflfers from that given by Stewart, in 
 several words.] 
 
 There was five carlines in the south, 
 
 They fell upon a scheme, 
 To send a lad to London town 
 
 To bring them tidings hame. 
 
 Not only bring them tidings hame. 
 
 But do their errands there. 
 And aiblins gowd and honoar baitli 
 
 Might be that laddie's share. 
 
 There was Maggy by the banks o' Nith, 
 
 A dame wi' pride eneugh ; 
 And Marjory o' the Monylochs, 
 
 A carline auld and teugh. 
 
 And Blinkin' Bess of Annandale, 
 
 "That dwelt on Solwayside, 
 And Brnndy Jean that took her gill, 
 
 In Galloway sae wide. 
 
 And Black Joan frae Chrichton Peel, 
 
 O' gipsy kith and kin,— 
 Five wighter carlines werena found 
 
 The south countrie within. 
 
 To send a lad to London town, 
 
 They met upon a day. 
 And mony a knight, and mony a laird. 
 
 That errand fain would gae. 
 
 O mony a knight, and mony a laird, 
 
 That errand fain wad gae, 
 But nae ane could their fancy please, 
 
 O ne'er a ane but twae. 
 
 The first ane was a belted knight,* 
 
 Bred of a Border band. 
 An' he wad gae to London town, 
 
 Might nae man him withstand. 
 
 And he wad do their errands weel, 
 
 And meikle he wad say, 
 And ilka ane at London court 
 
 Would bid to him gude-day. 
 
 The niest came in a sodger boy. 
 
 And spak' wi' modest grace. 
 And he wad gang to London town, 
 
 If sae their pleasure was. 
 
 He wadna hecht them courtly gifts, 
 
 Nor meikle speech pretend ; 
 But he wad hecht an honest heart 
 
 Wad ne'er desert hia friend. 
 
 Now wham to choose and wham refuse ; 
 
 At strife thir carlines fell; 
 For some had gentle folks to please. 
 
 And some wad please themsel'. 
 
 Then up spak' mim-mou'd Meg o' Nith, 
 
 An' she spak' up wi' pride, 
 An' she wad send the sodger lad 
 
 Whatever raiyht betide. 
 
 For the auld guderaan o' London court 
 
 She didna care a pin, 
 But she wad send the sodger youth, 
 
 To greet his eldest son. t 
 
 Then started Bess of Annandale ; 
 
 And a deadly aith she's ta'en. 
 That she wad vote the Border knight, 
 
 Tho' she should vote her lane. 
 
 For far-aff fowls hae feathers fair, 
 
 And fools o' change are fain ; 
 But I hae tried this border knight, 
 
 I'll try him yet again. 
 
 Says Black Joan frae Chrichton Peel, 
 
 A carline stoor and grim. 
 The auld gudeman or the young gudeinm. 
 
 For me may sink or swim. 
 
 For fools will prate o' right and wrang. 
 
 While knaves laugh them to scorn ; 
 Butthesodger's friends hae blawn the best. 
 
 So he shall bear the horn. 
 
 Then Brandy Jean spak' owre her drink : 
 
 Ye weel ken kimmers a'. 
 The auld gudeman o' London court, 
 
 His back's been at the wa' ; 
 
 And mony a friend that kiss't his caup. 
 
 Is now a frerait wight ; 
 But it's ne'er be sae wi' Brandy Jean,— 
 
 We'll send the Border knight. 
 
 Then slow raise Marjory o' the Lochs, 
 
 And wrinkled was her brow; 
 Her ancient weed was russet gray, 
 
 Her auld Scuts heart was true : 
 
 There's some great folks set light by me— 
 
 I set as light by them ; 
 But I will send to London town 
 
 Whom I like best at hame. 
 
 So how this weighty plea may end, 
 
 Nae mortal wight can tell; 
 God grant the King and ilka man 
 
 Mav look weel to themsel'. 
 
 *Sir James Johnston. 
 tThe reference here is to King George III., and the proposed Regent.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 261 
 
 SCOTS PROLOGUE, 
 FOR MR. SUTHERLAND S BENEFIT NIGHT. 
 
 [On the 9th of February, ITOn, the Poet, in a letter to Nicol, tells him that he has 
 given Mr. Sutherland tni> Prolomws, "one which was ilelivered last week— a worthier 
 or cleverer fellnw I have rarely met with."] 
 
 What needs this din about the town o' Lon'on, 
 How this new play aiul that new song is coniiii'? 
 Why is outlandish stntf sae nieikle courted? 
 Does nonsense mend like brandy, when imported? 
 Is there nae poet, burning keen for fame. 
 Will bauldly try to gie us plays at hame? 
 For comedy, abroad he needna toil, 
 A knave an' fool are plants of every soil; 
 Nor need he hunt as far as Rome or (.Jreece 
 To gather matter for a serious piece; 
 There's themes enow in Caledonian story, 
 Wad shew tlie tragic Muse in a' her glory. 
 
 Is there no daring bard will rise, and tell 
 
 How glorious Wallace stood, how hapless fell? 
 
 Where are the Muses fled that should produce 
 
 A drama worthy of the n^nie of Bruce; 
 
 How on this spot he first unsheath'd the sword 
 
 'Gainst mighty England and her guilty lord ; 
 
 And after many a bloody, deathless doing, 
 
 Wrench'd his dear country from the jaws of ruin? 
 
 O for a Shakespeare or an Otway scene, 
 
 To paint the lovely, hapless Scottish Queen ! 
 
 Vain ev'n the omnipotence of female charms 
 
 'Gainst headlong, ruthless, mad rebellion's arms. 
 
 She fell, but fell with spirit truly Roman, 
 
 To glut that direst foe— a vengeful woman : 
 
 A woman— tho' the phrase may seem uncivil— 
 
 As able and as wicked as the devil! 
 
 ;One Douglas lives in Home's immortal page, 
 
 JBut Douglases were heroes every age: 
 
 And iho' your fathers, prodigal of life, 
 
 A Douglas followed to the martial strife. 
 
 Perhaps if bowls row right, and Right succeeds, 
 
 Ye yet may follow where a Douglas leads !] 
 
 As ye have generous done, if a' the land 
 
 Would take the Muses' servants by the hand ; 
 
 Not only hear, but patronise, defend them. 
 
 And where ye justly can commend, commend them; 
 
 And aiblins when they winna stand the test. 
 
 Wink hard, and say, 'the folks hae done their bestl' 
 
 Would a' the land do this, then I'll be caition 
 
 Ye'll soon hae poets o' the Scottish nation, 
 
 Will gar fame blaw until her trumpet crack, 
 
 And warsle Time, and lay him on his backl 
 
 For us and for our stage should ony spier, 
 
 ' Wha'.s aught thae chiels mak's a' this bustle here?' 
 
 My best leg foremost, I'll set up my brow, 
 
 We have the honour to belong to you I 
 
 We're your ain bairns, e'en guide us as ye like, 
 
 r.ut like glide mothers, shore before ye strike. 
 
 And grateful still I trust ye'll ever find us. 
 
 For gen'rous patr<mage and meikle kindness 
 
 We've got frae a' professions, sorts, an' ranks : 
 
 God help us ! we're but poor— ye'se get but thanks.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 262 
 
 THE GOWDEN LOCKS OF ANNA. 
 
 [The Poet has recorrled that he con- 
 sidered this the best love-sons; he ever 
 composed. In April, 1793, he offered it to 
 Thomson as words to suit the Irish air, 
 Banks of Banna, observing;, however, that 
 " it is not quite a lady's song ; I made it a 
 good while ago." Currie remarks that 
 Thomson "did not approve of the song; 
 even in its altered state."] 
 
 Ykstreen I had a pvnt o' wine, 
 
 A place where body saw na ; 
 Yestreen lay on this breast o' mine 
 
 The gowden locks of Anna : 
 The hungry Jew in wililerness 
 
 Rejoicing o'er his manna. 
 Was naething to my hinny bliss 
 
 Upon the lips of Anna! 
 
 Ye monarchsl tak' the east and west, 
 
 Frae Indus to Savannah ; 
 Uie me within my straining grasp 
 
 The melting form of Anna ! 
 Then I'll despise imperial charms— 
 
 An empress or sultana; 
 While dying raptures in her arms, 
 
 I give and tafee with Anna 1 
 
 Awa', thou flaunting god o' day ! 
 
 Awa', thou pale Diana 1 
 Ilk star gae hide thy twinkling ray, 
 
 When I'm to meet my Anna ! 
 Come, in thy raven plumage. Night I— 
 
 Sun, moon, and stars mthdrawn a'— 
 And bring an angel pen to write 
 
 .My transports wi' my Anna! 
 
 LINES 
 
 WRITTEN UNDER MISS BURNS'S PICTURE. 
 
 [The only reference in the Poet's printed 
 correspondence to this "unfortunate" 
 woman, is in a letter to Peter Hill, dated 
 2nd February, 1790. Madamoiselle Burns 
 died of decline, in 1792, at R^slin, where 
 she had taken lodgings for change of air. 
 A headstone in the burial ground there, 
 records her name and the date of her 
 death.] 
 
 Cease, ye prudes, your envious railing. 
 Lovely Bums has charms — confess ; 
 
 True it is, she had one failing, 
 Had ae woman ever less? 
 
 EPIGRAM ON A GALLOWAY LAIRD. 
 
 [This is recorded 
 and stated to be 
 Laird of Laggan." 
 by Currie.] 
 
 in the Glenriddel MS., 
 on "John M— r — ne. 
 It was first published 
 
 Whkn , deceased, to the devil went 
 
 down, 
 'Twas nothing would serve him but Satan's 
 
 own crown; 
 Thy fool's head, quoth Satan, that crown 
 
 shall wear never, 
 I grant thou'rt as wicked, but not quite so 
 
 clever. 
 
 LINES 
 
 WRITTEN ON THE WI.-<DOWS OF THE 
 GLOBE TAVERN, DUMFRIES. 
 
 The greybeard, old Wisdom, may boast of 
 his treasures, 
 Give me with gay Folly to live; 
 I grant him his calm-blooded, time-settled 
 pleasures, 
 But Folly has raptures to give. 
 
 My bottle is a haly pool, 
 
 That heals the wounds o' care an' dool; 
 
 And pleasure is a wanton trout, 
 
 An' ye drink it a', ye'U tind hira out. 
 
 In politics if thou would'st mix. 
 
 And mean thy fortunes be ; 
 Bear this in mind, be deaf and blind,— 
 
 Let great folks hear and see. 
 
 LINES 
 
 WRITTEN ON A WINDOW, AT THE KING'S 
 ARMS TAVERN, DUMFRIES. 
 
 Ye men of wit and wealth, why all this 
 sneering 
 
 'Gainst poor excisemen? give the cause a 
 hearing. 
 
 What are your landlords' rent-rolls?— 
 taxing ledgers: 
 
 What premiers— what? even monarchs' 
 mighty gaugers ; 
 
 Nay, what are priests, those seeming godly 
 wise men ! 
 
 What are they, pray, but spiritual excise- 
 men?
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 263 
 
 EXTKMPOllE. 
 
 WRITTEN IN ANSWER TO A CARD INVITING 
 HIM TO SPEND AN HOUR AT A TAVERN. 
 
 The Kind's most humble servant, I 
 
 Can scarcely spare a minute; 
 But I'll be \vi' ye by an' bye ; 
 
 Or else the deil's be in it. 
 
 GRACE AFTER DIXXER. 
 
 [The William Hydop was husband of the 
 Globe hostess, so often mentioned by him.] 
 
 O Thou, in whom we live and move, 
 Who mad'st the sea and shore ; 
 
 Thy goodness constantly we prove, 
 And grateful would adore. 
 
 And if it please thee, Pow'r above, 
 Still grant us, with such store, 
 
 The friend we trust, the fair we love, 
 And we desire no more. 
 
 ANOTHER. 
 
 Lord, we thank an' thee adore. 
 For tempral gifts we little merit; 
 
 At present we will ask no more, 
 Let William Hiil>p iji"e the spirit. 
 
 EPITAPH OX 
 JOHX BUSHBY, DUMFRIE.S. 
 
 [About 1793-94, the Poet was an occas- 
 ional guest at Bushby's mansion, but he 
 afterwards quarrelled with liim, and wrote 
 hitter^ against him in the Heron Election 
 Ballads of 170.5.] 
 
 Here lies John Bushby, honest man, 
 Cheat him. Devil, if you can. 
 
 EPITAPH ON WALTER 
 
 [Who " Wat" was, is problematical, and ungenerous guesses are to be depre 'ated.) 
 
 Sic a reptile was Wat, sic a miscreant slave. 
 That the worms ev'n d— d him when laid in his grave. 
 'In his flesh there's a famine,' a starv'd reptile cries; 
 'An' his heart is rank poison,' another replies. 
 
 EXTEMPORE EPITAPH, 
 ON A PERSON NICKNAMED THE .MARQUIS, WHO DESIRED BURNS TO 
 
 WRITE ONE ON HIM. 
 
 [This personage was "mine host" of a respectable public-house in Dumfries, and 
 the little court or alley where the change-house once stood, is still called " The 
 Marquis' Close."] 
 
 Here lies a mock Marquis whose titles were shamm'd, 
 If ever he rise, it will be to be d d. 
 
 -^■v 
 
 ■/"K 
 
 **>;
 
 FRAGMENTS OF VERSE IN THE LETTERS TO CLARINDA. 
 
 LINES TO CLARINDA. 
 
 [The orisinal of these lines is preserved in the British Museum. Mr Scott Douglas, in 
 his Edinburgh edit ion, prints them as part of a long Poem, entitled "Sappho Rediuiva."] 
 
 'I BURN, I burn, as when through ripen'd 
 
 corn, 
 By driving winds, the crackling flames are 
 
 borne !'* 
 Now maddening, wild, I curse tJiat fatal 
 
 night; 
 Now bless the hour which charm'd my 
 
 guilty siiiht. 
 In vain the laws their feeble force oppose; 
 C'hain'd at his feet they groan, Love's van- 
 
 quish'd foes : 
 111 vain Religion meets my shrinking eye; 
 I dare not combat— but I turn and Hy : 
 
 Conscience in vain upbraids the unhallow'd 
 
 tire; 
 Love grasps its scorpions — stifled they 
 
 expire: 
 Reason drops headlong from his sacred 
 
 throne. 
 Your dear idea reigns, and reigns alone : 
 [•: icti thought intoxicated homage yields, 
 Ami riots wanton in forbidden fields! 
 Uy all on high adoring mortals know ! 
 I'.y all the conscious villain fears below! 
 i;y your dear self 1 — the last great oath I 
 
 swear, 
 Nor life nor soul was ever half so dear I 
 
 INNOCKNCE. 
 
 (The connection in which Sylvander quotes the lines is as follows: — " Last night 
 Clarfcda, but for one slight shaile, Nvas the glorious picture realized." They may be a 
 quotation from some fugitive periodical.] 
 
 Innocence 
 
 Looks gaily-smiling on; while rosy pleasure 
 Ifides young desire amid her flowery wreath. 
 And pours her cup luxuriant; mantling high 
 The sparkling heavenly vintage, Love and Bliss ! 
 
 VERSES TO CLARINDA, 
 WITH A PRESENT OF A PAIR OF DRINKING 
 
 GLASSES. 
 
 Fair Empress of the Poet's soul, 
 
 And Queen of Poetesses; 
 Clarinda, take this little boon, 
 
 This humble pair of glasses. — 
 
 And flU them high with generous juice, 
 As generous as your mind ; 
 
 And pledge me in the generous toast — 
 ' The whole of huma7i kind;' 
 
 ' Tn those who loee us !' — second fill ; 
 
 But not to those whom we love; 
 Lest we love tliose who love not us! — 
 
 A third — 'to thee and me, love!' 
 
 Long ntiy we live I long may we love I 
 And long may we be happy '. 
 
 And may we never want a glass. 
 Well charg'd with generous nappy 1 
 
 PRUDENCE. 
 
 [These lines occur in the very last letter which is known to have been addressed by 
 the Poet to Clarinda. They may also be a quotation from some unknown source.] 
 
 In vain would Prudence, with decorous] 'Wrong'd, injur'd, shunii'd, unpitied, un- 
 
 sneer, red rest; 
 
 Point out a censuring world, and bid me The mock'd quotation of the scorner'a 
 
 fear ; jest,' — 
 
 Above the world on wings of love I rise. Let Prudence' direst bodements on me fall, 
 I know its worst— and can that worst | Clarinda, rich reward ! o'erpays them all I 
 
 despise. ' 
 
 ♦Quotation from Pope's Sappho to Phaon.
 
 SONGS FIRST PUBLISHED IN JOHNSON'S SIXTH VOL., JUNE 4, 1S03. 
 
 The last volume of the Museum contains eishteen songs, or scraps of sone, by Burns, 
 which had not appeared before its chvte. There is also given, with Burns's name 
 attached to it, a ^ons—ScfiiPS <\f woe, and scenes uf pleasure,— which was soon dig- 
 covered to be the work of Ricliard (tall, a journeyman printer in Edinburgh, who 
 displayed some lyric genius, but died in Ism, at the early age of -li. Another of Gall's 
 pongs— CrTssi7).s' iJa ;l^■.^■,— has also been ascribed to Burng. The editorial notes in the 
 5th and Cth volumes of the Musewn must be received with double caution. 
 
 MY HANDSOME NELL. 
 
 [The Poe* has himself told us that 
 this was his earliest lyrical effort. In 
 1TS3, he recorded it in his tirst Commonplace 
 Book. Nelly Kilpatrick was the name of 
 this "sweet sonsy lass" — a daughter of 
 the blacksmith at Dalrymple, to whom 
 the boy-bard was indebted for the loan of 
 the History of Sir William Wallace.] 
 
 O ONCE I lov'd a bonie lass, 
 
 An' aye I love her still, 
 An' whilst that virtue warms my breast, 
 
 I'll love my handsome Nell. 
 
 As bonie lasses I liae seen, 
 
 .And niony full as braw. 
 But, for a modest, gracefu' meia. 
 
 The like I never saw. 
 
 A bonie lass, I will confess 
 
 Is pleasant to the e'e; 
 But without some better qualities, 
 
 .She's no' a lass for me. 
 
 But Nelly's looks are blythe and sweet. 
 
 And what is best of a'. 
 Her reputation is complete. 
 
 And fair without a flaw. 
 
 She dresses ay sae clean and neat, 
 
 Both decent and genteel ; 
 An<l then there's something in her gait 
 
 Gars ony dress look weel. 
 
 A gaudv dress and gentle air 
 Mav slightly touch the heart, 
 
 But it's innocence and modesty 
 That polishes the dart. 
 
 'Tis this in N«lly pleases me, 
 
 'Tis this encliants my soul. 
 For al>solutely in my breast 
 
 She reigns without control. 
 
 ROBIN SHURE IN HAIRST. 
 
 [The song refers to an incident in the 
 history of Robert Ainslie, W..S., who 
 belonged to Berrywell, near Dunse. This 
 is in fact the very son^' enclosed to Ainslie 
 by the Bard, in a published letter dated 
 January 6th, 17S9, in which he says: — "I 
 have brushed up the following oldfavour- 
 ite song a little, with a view to your 
 worship."] 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Robiti shure in hairst, 
 
 I shure u<i' him; 
 Fient a heuk had I, 
 
 Yet I stack by him. 
 
 I G.lED up to Dunse, 
 To warp a wab o' plaiden ; 
 
 At his daddie's yett, 
 Wha met nie but Robin? 
 Robin shure, etc. 
 
 Was na Robin bauld. 
 Though I was a cotter. 
 
 Played me sic a trick, 
 And nie the ETer's dochterT 
 Robin shure, cfco. 
 
 Robin promised me 
 
 A' my winter vittle; 
 Fient haet he hail but three 
 
 Goose-feathers and a whittle. 
 Robin shure, <i:c. 
 
 ROB MOSSGIEL. 
 
 [This is an extension of the fragment 
 already given. It is set down by Johnson 
 as a composition of Burns.] 
 
 O LEAVE novels, ye Mauchlino belles, 
 Ye'ie safer at your spinning wheel ; 
 
 Such witching books are baited hooks 
 For rakish rooks, like Rob .Mossgiel.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 266 
 
 Your tine Tom Jones anil Grandisons, 
 They make your youthful fancies reel, 
 
 They heat your brains, and fire your veins. 
 And then you're prey for Rob Mossgiel. 
 
 Beware a tongue that's smoothly hung; 
 
 A heart that warmly seems to feel ; 
 That feeling heart but acts a part, 
 
 'Tis rakish art in Rob Mossgiel. 
 
 The frank address, the soft caress, 
 Aie worse than poison'd darts of steel. 
 
 The frank address, and politesse, 
 Are all finesse in Rob Mossgiel. 
 
 O STEER HER UP AND HAUD 
 HER GAUN. 
 
 [Credited by Johnson to Burns in the 
 Mnseum. The opening four lines are taken 
 from a song in the Tea-Table Miscellany.] 
 
 O STEER her up and baud her gaun — 
 
 Her mither's at the mill, jo; 
 An' gin she winna tak' a man, 
 
 E'en let her tak' lier will, jo : 
 First shore her wi' a kindly kiss. 
 
 And ca' anither gill, jo ; 
 And gin she tak' the thing amiss. 
 
 E'en let her flyte her till, jo. 
 
 O steer her up, and be na blate. 
 
 And giu she tak' it ill, jo. 
 Then lea'e the lassie till her fate. 
 
 And time nae langer spill, jo : 
 Ne'er break your heart for ae rebute, 
 
 But think upon it still, jo. 
 That gin the lassie winna do't, 
 
 Ye'll fin' anither will, jo. 
 
 WE'RE A' NODDIN. 
 
 [Burns is also credited with this by 
 Johnson. The 4th and 5th verses, how- 
 ever, are taken in substance from the old 
 words in the Percy Reliques, erroneously 
 placed by the learned editor under the 
 title of John Anderson, my jo.] 
 
 G I'D E'EN to you, kimmer, 
 
 And how do ye do ? 
 Hiccup! quo' kimmer. 
 
 The better that I'm fou. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 ITe're a' noddin, nid nid noddin, 
 We're a' noddin, at our house at hame; 
 
 We're a' noddin, nid nid noddin. 
 We're a' noddin, at our house at hame. 
 
 Kate sits i' the neuk, 
 
 Suppin' hen-broo ; 
 Deil tak' Kate 
 
 An she be na noddin too ! 
 We're a' noddin, Ji-c. 
 
 How'.s a' wi' you, kimmer? 
 
 And how do ye fare? 
 A pint o' the best o't. 
 
 And twa pints mair. 
 We're a' noddin, Ji-c. 
 
 How's a' wi' you, kimmer? 
 
 And liow do ye thrive? 
 How mony bairns hae ye? 
 
 Quo' kimmer, I hae five. 
 We're a' noddin, <bc. 
 
 Are they a' Johnny's? 
 
 Eh ! atweel no : 
 Twa o' them were gotten 
 
 When Jolinny was awa'. 
 We're a' noddin, itc. 
 Cats like milk. 
 
 And dogs like broo; 
 Lads like lasses weel, 
 
 Anil lasses lads too. 
 We're a' noddin, Ji-c. 
 
 O AY MY WIFE SHE DANG ME. 
 
 [Johnson adhibits Burns's name to thi» 
 piece.) 
 
 CHORUS. 
 O ay my ici/e she dang me. 
 An' aft my ivife she bang'd tne ; 
 If ye gie a woman a' her will, 
 Glide faith she'll soon o'er-gang ye, 
 
 O.v peace and rest my mind was bent. 
 
 And — fool I was— I marry'd ; 
 But never honest man's intent 
 
 As cursedly miscarry'd. 
 O ay my wife, d-c. 
 
 Some sairie comfort still at last. 
 When a' thir days are done, man; 
 
 My pains o' hell on earth are past, 
 I'm sure o' bliss aboon, man. 
 ay my wife, <i-c. 
 
 SCROGGAM. 
 
 [This curious composition has the nam©- 
 of the Poet attached to it in the .Museum.] 
 
 There was a wife wonn'd in Cockpen, 
 
 Scroggam ; 
 She brew'd gude ale for gentlemen,— 
 Sing auld Cowl, lay you down by me, 
 Scroggam, my dearie, rutfum.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 
 267 
 
 The gfudewife'9 dochter fell in a fever— 
 
 Scrosgam ! — 
 The priest o' the parish fell in anitlier,— 
 Sing auld Cowl, lay you down by me, 
 Scroggam, my dearie, rutf um 1 
 
 They laid the twa i' the bed thegither— 
 
 Scroggam ! — 
 That the heat o' the tane might cool the 
 
 tither, — 
 Sing auld Cowl, lay you down by me, 
 Scroggam, my dearie, ruff um I 
 
 GUDE ALE KEEPS THE HEART 
 ABOON. 
 
 [Johnson states that this is an old song 
 "corrected by R. Burns." Cromek gives 
 five stanzas in his Select Songs, of which 
 the two here given are first and fourth.] 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 giuU ale comes and gvde ale :weg, 
 Gude ale gars me sell my huse, 
 Sell my hose and paten my shnon,— 
 Gude ale keeps my heart aboon! 
 
 I HAD sax owsen in a pleugh. 
 And they drew a' weel enough; 
 I sell'd them a' just ane by ane, — 
 Gude ale keeps my heart aboon 1 
 O gude ale comes, J:c. 
 
 Gude ale bauds me bare and busy. 
 Gars me moop wi' the servant hizzie, 
 Stand i' the stool when I hae done,— 
 Gude ale keeps my heart aboon 1 
 gude ale comes, itc. 
 
 My lady's white, my lady's red. 
 Anil kith and kin o' Cassillis' blude; 
 But her ten-pund lands o' tocher gude 
 Were a' the charms his lordship lo ed. 
 M>i lady's goxon, d-c. 
 
 Out o'er yon moor, out o'er yon moss, 
 Whare gor-cocks thro' the heather pass. 
 There wons auld Colin's bonie lass 
 A lily in a wilderness. 
 My lady's gown. ifcc. 
 
 Sae sweetly move her genty limbs, 
 Like music notes o' lofer's hvTnns: 
 The diamond dew in her een sae blue, 
 Where laughing love sae wanton swims. 
 Uy lady's gown, <i-c. 
 
 My lady's dink, ray lady's drest, 
 The flower and fancy o' the we.st ; 
 But the lassie that a man lo'es best, 
 O that's the lass to mak' him blest. 
 
 My lady's gown, cfcc. 
 
 SWEETEST .MAY. 
 
 [Burns's name is attached to this in the 
 Museum.] 
 
 Sweetest May, let love inspire thee, 
 Take a heart which he designs thee; 
 As thy constant slave regard it. 
 For its faith and truth reward it. 
 
 Proof o' shot to birth or money. 
 Not the wealthy but the bonie. 
 Not high-born, but nol)le-ininded, 
 In love's silken band can bind it. 
 
 MY LADY'S GOWN THERE'S GAIRS 
 UPON'T. 
 
 [Johnson long hesitated to admit thi.s 
 song. Burns's name is attached to it. The 
 title :—My lord a-hunting, is sometimes 
 given to it.] 
 
 CIIOKUS. 
 
 3Iy lady's gown there's gairs upon't 
 And gowden /lowers sae rare upon't; 
 But Jenny's jimps and jirkinet. 
 My lord thinks meikle mair upon't. 
 
 My lord a-hunting he is gane, 
 
 But hounds or hawks w i' him are nana ; 
 
 By Colin's cottage lies his game, 
 
 If Colin's Jenny be at hame. 
 
 My lady's gown, dc. 
 
 MEG O' THE MILL. 
 
 [This highly-coloured picture of a drunk- 
 en wedding, was sent by Burns to Johnson, 
 some time betore he composed the beauti- 
 ful song with the same title for George 
 Thomson's collection. It has his name 
 attached to it in the .Uuseum. 
 
 O KEN ye what Meg o' the mill has gotten ? 
 An' ken ye what Meg o' the mill has gotten T 
 A braw new naig wi' the tail o' a ratten, 
 And that's what Meg o' the mill has gotten. 
 O ken ye what Meg o' the mill lo'es dearly ? 
 An' ken ye what Meg o' the mill lo'es dearly? 
 .\ dram o' gude strunt in a morning early, 
 And that's what Meg o' the mill lo'es dearly ? 
 
 O ken ye how Meg o' the mill was married ? 
 An' ken ye how Meg o' the mill was married? 
 The Priest heiwas oxter'd, the Clerk he was 
 
 carried. 
 And that'showMego' the mill was married.
 
 THE PnE.\fS AND SOXOS OF BURNS. 
 
 26S 
 
 O ken ye how Meg o' the mill was bedded? 
 All' ken yehow Mego'the mill was bedded? 
 The groom gat saefu' he fellawaldbesideit, 
 And that's how Meg o' the mill was bedded. 
 
 O LAY THY LOOF IN MINE, LASS. 
 TVSE—The Shoemakers' March. 
 
 [Johnson adhibits the Poet's name to 
 this song.] 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 lay thy loof in mine, lass. 
 In mine, lass, in mine, lass. 
 
 And sivear on thy sweet hand, lass. 
 That thou wilt be my ain. 
 
 A SLAVE to love's unbounded sway. 
 He aft has wrought me meikle wae; 
 But now he is my deadly fae, 
 Unless thou be my ain. 
 lay thy loof, itc. 
 
 There's mony a lass has broke my rest, 
 That for a blink I hae lo'ed best; 
 But thou art queen within my breast, 
 For ever to remain. 
 lay thy loof, Jtc. 
 
 BONIE PEGGY RAMSAY. 
 
 [Burns is credited with the authorship 
 of this by Johnson. In D'Urfey's PilU 
 to Purge Melancholy there is a version cf 
 the old indelicate song, whose title may 
 have suggested the composition.] 
 
 Cauld is the e'enin' blast 
 O' Boreas o'er the pool. 
 
 And da win' it is dreary 
 When birks are bare at Yule. 
 
 O cauld blaws the e'enin' blast 
 When bitter bites the frost. 
 
 And in the mirk and dreary drift 
 The hills and glens are lost. 
 
 Ne'er sae murky blew the night 
 That drifted o'er tlie hill; 
 
 But bonie Pega-Ramsay 
 Gat grist to her mill. 
 
 THE BONIE, BONIS LASS. 
 
 [Johnson gives Burns as the author of 
 this.] 
 
 There was a bonie lass, and a bonie, 
 bonie lass. 
 And she lo'ed her bonie laddie dear ; 
 Till war's loud alarms tore her laddie frae 
 
 her arms, 
 Wi' mony a sigh and a tear. 
 
 Over sea, over shore, where the cannons 
 loudly roar. 
 He still was a stranger to fear: 
 And nocht could him quail, or his bosom 
 assail. 
 But the bonie lass lie lo'ed 3ae dear. 
 
 CUOWDIE. 
 
 [The chorus of this song is very ancient, 
 and tlie two stanzas supplied by Burns, are 
 in unison with its plaintive air. His name 
 is attached to it in the Museiim.] 
 
 O THAT I had ne'er been married, 
 
 I wad never had nae care ! 
 Now I've gottan wife and bairns, 
 
 An' they cry crowdie ever mair. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 Ance crowdie, twice crowdie. 
 
 Three times crowdie in a day I 
 Gin ye crowdie ony mair, 
 
 Ye'll crowdie a' my meal away. 
 
 Waefu' want and hunger fley me, 
 
 Glowrin' by the hallen-en' ; 
 Sair I fecht them at the door. 
 
 But ay I'm eerie they come ben. 
 Ance crowdie, d-c. 
 
 THERE'S NEWS, LASSES, NBWS. 
 
 [Burns is credited with this piece by 
 Johnson.] 
 
 There's news, lasses, news, 
 
 GuJe news I've to tell. 
 There's a boat fii' o' lads 
 
 Come to our town to sell. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 The wean waiUs a cradle. 
 An' the cradle wants a cod, 
 
 An' ril no' gan;) to my bed 
 Until I get a nod. 
 
 Father, quo' she, Mither, quo' she. 
 
 Do what you can, 
 I'll no gang to my bed 
 
 Till I get a man. 
 The wean, d-c.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 269 
 
 I hae as gude a craft rig 
 As made o' jird and stane : 
 
 And waly fa' the ley-crap 
 For I maun till'd again. 
 2'h.e xuean, dx. 
 
 O MALLY'S MEEK, MALLYS SWEET. 
 
 [This song is »he last of those composed 
 for Juhnson's }fuseum, and it has the 
 Poet's name attached.] 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Mally's meek, Mally's siceet, 
 Mally's modest and decreet, 
 
 Mally's rare, Mally's fair, 
 Mally's every way complete. 
 
 As I was walking up the street, 
 A baretit maid I chanced to meet; 
 
 But O the road w.i.s very hard 
 For that fair maiden's tender feet. 
 Mally's meek, d:c. 
 
 It were mair meet that tho.se Sue feet 
 Were weel laced up in silken shoon ; 
 
 Awl 'twere more fit that she should sit 
 Within yon chariot gilt aboon. 
 I Mally's meek, d-c. 
 
 I 
 
 I Her yellow hair, beyond compare, 
 i Comes triiikling down her swan-whit© 
 ■ neck ; 
 
 j And her two eyes, like stars in skie.s, 
 Wad keep a sinking ship frae wreck. 
 Mally's ineek, dc. 
 
 ^ 
 
 -^^-^
 
 PIECES FIRST PUBLISHED BY CROMEK, 1808. 
 
 SONGS AND LYRIC FRAGMENTS. 
 
 The Poet's first Commonplace Book, com- 
 mencing in April, 17S3, of which Dr. 
 Currie printed only a few extracts, was 
 given by Croniek in full. Of the .scraps 
 therein containeil', the first in order of 
 date appears to be the following : — 
 
 RAGING FORTUNE. 
 O RAGING fortune's withering blast 
 
 Has laid my leaf full low, ! 
 O raging fortune's withering blast 
 
 Has laid my leaf full low, O! 
 
 My stem was fair, my bud was green, 
 My blossom sweet did blow, O ; 
 
 The dew fell fresli, the sun rose mild, 
 And made my branches grow, O. 
 
 But luckless fortune's northern storms 
 
 Laid a' my blossoms low, O; 
 But luckless fortune's northern storms 
 
 Laid a' my blossoms low, O. 
 
 FICKLE FORTUNE. 
 
 [The flrst four lines of this fragment form 
 the close of the song, / dreamed I lay, &c. 
 The two stanzas are usually preceded by 
 another, beginning " When clouds in skies 
 do come together," which is not Burns's, 
 but a quotation from an old ballad, and i^ 
 so marked by the Poet.] 
 
 Though fickle Fortune has deceiv'd nie. 
 She promis'd fair, and perform'd but ill : 
 
 Of mistress, friends, and wealth bereav'd 
 me. 
 Yet I bear a heart shall support me still. — 
 
 I'll act with prudence, as far's I'm able. 
 But if success I must never find; 
 
 Then come misfortune, I bid thee welcome 1 
 I'll meet thee with an undaunted mind. 
 
 TRAGIC FRAG.MENT. 
 
 [The following version agrees with that 
 In the Commonplace Book in possession 
 of John Adam, Ksq., Greenock.] 
 
 'All devil as I am, a damned wretch, 
 A harden'd, stubborn, unrepeuting villain, 
 Still my heart melts at human wretched- 
 ness ; 
 And with sincere tho' unavailing sighs. 
 
 I view the helpless children of distress. 
 With tears indignant Ibeholdth' oppressor 
 Rejoicing in the honest man's destruction, 
 Whose unsubmitting heart was all his 
 
 crime. 
 Even y(ju, ye hapless crew, I pity you '. 
 Ye, whom the seeming good think sin to 
 
 pity; 
 Ye poor, despis'd, abandon'd vagabonds. 
 Whom vice, as usual, has turn'd oer to 
 
 ruin. 
 O ! but for kind, tho' ill-requited friends, 
 I had been driven forth, like you, forlorn, 
 The most detested, worthless wretch 
 
 among you. 
 O injured God! Thy goodness hasend^<w'd 
 
 me 
 With talents passing most of my compeers, 
 Which I in just proportion have abused 
 As far surpassing other common villains. 
 As Thou in nat'ral parts hast given me 
 
 more.' 
 
 MONTGOMERIE'S PEGGY. 
 
 [Burns tells us that Munlijoiiierie's P'><!ny 
 was a deity of his own for six or eight 
 months. .Mrs Begg stated that she was 
 housekeeper at CoilsfieM house — the 
 Castle o' Montrjomerie. ] 
 
 .Vltho' my bed were in yon niuir, 
 Amang the heather, in my plaidie; 
 
 Vet happy, happy would I be 
 Had I my dear .Montgomerie's Peggy. 
 
 When o'er the hill beat surly storms, 
 And winter nights were dark and rainy, 
 
 I'd seek some dell, and in my arms 
 I'd shelter dear Montgomerie's Peggy. 
 
 Were I a barou proud .and high, 
 .A.iid horse and servants waiting ready; 
 
 Then a' 'twad gie o' joy to me, — 
 The sharin't with Montgomerie's Peggy. 
 
 THE LA8S OF CES.SNOCK BANK.S. 
 
 A .SONG OF SIMILES. 
 Tune— ///(« tie a Butcher neat and I run. 
 
 [There are two versions of this song 
 extant— one picked up by Cromek "from
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 271 
 
 the oral communication of a lady resitlino; 
 in Glasgow, whom the Hard, in early life, 
 affectionately admired," and the other 
 printed (in Pickering's edition, 1S39) '"from 
 the Poet's own MS." In the text, we 
 adhere to the latter version.] 
 
 On Cessnock banks a lassie dwells ; 
 
 Could I describe her shape and mien '. 
 Our lasses a' she far excels,— 
 
 An' she has twa sparkling rogueish een. 
 
 She's sweeter than the morning dawn 
 When rising Phosbus first is seen. 
 
 And dew-drops twinkle o'er the lawn,— 
 An' .she lias twa sparkling rogueish een. 
 
 She's st.ately, like you ymithful ash 
 That grows the cowslip braes between, 
 
 And drinks the stream with vigour fresh,— 
 An' she has twa sp.arkling rogueish een. 
 
 She's spotless, like the flow'ring thorn 
 With Ho w'rs so white and leaves so green, 
 
 When puiL-.st in the dewy morn, — 
 An' she has twa sparkling rogueish een. 
 
 Her looks are like the vernal May, 
 When ev'ning Phcebus shines serene, 
 
 Wliile birds rejoice on every spray, — 
 An' she has twa sparkling rogueish een. 
 
 Her hair is like the curlini; mist 
 That climbs the mountain-sides at e'en, 
 
 When ilowr-reviving rains ivre past, — 
 .\n' she has twa sparkling rogueish een. 
 
 Iler forehead's like the show'ry bow, 
 When gleaming sunbeams intervene, 
 
 And gild the distant mountain's brow, — 
 .\u' she has twa sparkling rogueish o^-n 
 
 Her cheeks are like yon crimson gem, 
 The pride of all the flowery scene, 
 
 Just opening on its tht)rny stem,— 
 
 An' she has twa sparkling rogueish een. 
 
 Her bosom's like the nightly snow 
 When pale the morning rises keen. 
 
 While hid the murmuring streamlets flosv,- 
 An' .she has twa sparkling rogueish een. 
 
 Her lips are like yon cherries ripe, 
 That sunny w.alls from Boreas screen ; 
 
 They tempt the taste and charm the sight, - 
 .Vn' she has twa .sparkling rogueish een. 
 
 Uer teeth are like a flock of sheep, 
 With fleeces newly washen clean. 
 
 That slowly mount the rising steep, — 
 An' she has twa sparkling rogueish een. 
 
 Her breath is like the fragrant breeze 
 That gently stirs the blussoui'd bean, 
 
 Wh^'n Phu-bus sinks behind the seas,— 
 An' she has twa sparkling rogueish een. 
 
 Her voice is like the ev'ning thru.>li 
 That sings on Cessnock banks unseen, 
 
 While his mate sits nestling in tlie bush. — 
 An' she has twa sparkling rogueish een. 
 
 But it's not her air, her form, her face. 
 The' matcliinc; beauty's fabled queen; 
 
 'Tis the mind that shines in ev'ry grace,— 
 And cliietlyin her rogueish een. 
 
 MY FATHER WAS A FARMER. 
 
 Tu.NE— rAe Wearer and his Sfi'itHe. 0. 
 
 ["The following song," says the Poet in 
 his Scrap Book, under date, Apiil, 1784, 
 "is a wild rhapsody, miserably deficient 
 in versification; but as the sentiments are 
 the genuine feelings of uiy heart, for tliat 
 reason I have a particular pleasure in 
 conning it over."] 
 
 My father was a farmer 
 
 Upon the Cairick border, O, 
 .A.nd carefully he hred me 
 
 In decency ami order, O ; 
 He bade me act a manly part. 
 
 Though I had ne'er a farthing, O ; 
 For without an honest manly heart, 
 
 Xo man was worth regarding, O. 
 
 Then out into the world at length 
 
 My course I did determine, O ; 
 Tho' to be ricli was not my wish, 
 
 Yet to be great was charming, O; 
 My talents they were not the worst, 
 
 Nor yet my education, O : 
 Resolv'd was I, at least to try. 
 
 To mend my situation, O. 
 
 In many a w.ay. and vain essay, 
 
 I courted fortune's favour, O ; 
 Some cause unseen still stept between. 
 
 To frustrate each endeavour, O : 
 Sometimes by foes I was o'erpower'd , 
 
 Sometimes by friends forsaken. U ; 
 And when my hope was at the top, 
 
 I still was worst mist.iken, O. 
 
 Then sore harass'd, and tir'd at last. 
 
 With fortune's vain delusion, O, 
 I dropt my schemes, like idle dreams, 
 
 And came to this conclusion, () : 
 The past was bad, and the future liid ; 
 
 Its good or ill untiied, O; 
 But the present hour was in my pow'r, 
 
 And so 1 would enjoy it, O. 
 
 Nor help, nor hope, nor view had I, 
 
 Nor person to befriend me, O ; 
 
 So I nmst toil and sweat .and liroil. 
 
 And labcmr to sustain me, O :
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 
 272 
 
 To plough and sow, and reap and mow. 
 
 My father bred in-j early, O; 
 For one, he said, lu i.ibuur bred. 
 
 Was a match lor fortune fairly, O. 
 
 Thus all obscure, unknown, and poor, 
 
 Thro' life I'm doomed to wander, O, 
 Till down my weary bones I lay 
 
 In everlasting slumber, O: 
 No view nor care, but shun whate'er 
 
 Might breed me pain and sorrow, O ; 
 I live to-day as well's I may. 
 
 Regardless of to-uiorrow, O. 
 
 But cheerful still, I am as well, 
 
 As a monarch in a palace, O, 
 Tho' fortune's frown still hunts me down. 
 
 With all her wonted malice, O : 
 I make indeed my daily bread, 
 
 But ne'er can make it farther, O ; 
 But as daily bread is all I heed, 
 
 I do not much regard her, O. 
 
 When sometimes by my labour I 
 
 Can earn a little money, O, 
 Some unforseen misfortune still 
 
 Comes gen'rally upon me, O, — 
 Mischance, mistake, or by neglect. 
 
 Or my good-natur'd folly, O, — 
 But come what will, I've sworn it still, 
 
 I'll ne'er be melancholy, O. 
 
 All you who follow wealth and power 
 
 With unremitting ardour, O, 
 The more in this you look for bliss. 
 
 You leave your view the farther, O : 
 Had you the wealth Potosi boasts. 
 
 Or nations to adore you, O, 
 A cheerful, honest-hearted clown 
 
 I will prefer before you, O. 
 
 ONE NIGHT AS I DID WANDER. 
 Tune — John Anderson, my jo. 
 
 [This fragment was introduced in his 
 Scrap Book under date. May, 17&5. It was 
 published by Cromek in 1SU8.] 
 
 O.NE night as I tlid wander. 
 
 When corn begins to shoot, 
 I sat me down to ponder, 
 
 Upon an auld tree root: 
 Auld Aire ran on before me. 
 
 And bicker'd to the seas, 
 A cushat croodetl o'er me. 
 
 That echoed through the braes. 
 
 THE MAUCHLINE LADY. 
 Tune — Ihad a horse, and I had nae mair, 
 
 [This seems to have a reference to Jean 
 Armour.] 
 
 When first I came to Stewart K.vle, 
 
 My mind it was na steady ; 
 Where'er I gaed, where'er I rade, 
 
 A mistress still I had aye : 
 But when I came roun' by Mauchline town. 
 
 Not dreadin' onie body. 
 My heart was caught before I thought— 
 
 And by a Mauchline lady. 
 
 RANTIN', KuViN' ROBIN. 
 Tune — Daintie Dacie. 
 
 [It was Templeton, the vocalist, who 
 adopted the air— 0, an' ye were dead gude- 
 man instead of the above— a choice which 
 the public taste has endorsed.] 
 
 There was a lad was born in Kyle, 
 But whatna day o' whatna style, 
 I doubt it's hardly worth the while, 
 To be sae nice wi' Robin. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Robin was a rovin' boji — 
 Rantin' rovin', rantin' rorin' — 
 
 Robin was a rovin' bm/ — 
 Rantin' rovin' Robin! 
 
 Our monarch's hindmost year but an© 
 Was tive-and-twenty days begun, 
 'Twas then a blast o' Jau'war' win' 
 Blew hansel in on Robin. 
 Robin was, dkc. 
 
 The gossip keekit in his loof. 
 Quo' scho, ' Wha lives will see the proof. 
 This waly boy will be nae coof, 
 I think we'll ca' him Robin. 
 Robin was, ttc. 
 
 'He'll hae misfortunes great and sma'. 
 But ay a heart aboon them a'; 
 He'll be a credit 'till us a*, 
 We'll a' be proud o' Robin. 
 Robin ivas, d;c. 
 
 'But sure as three times three mak' nine, 
 I see by ilka score and line. 
 This chap will dearl.- like our kin'. 
 So leeze me on thee, Robin. 
 Robin was, <i:c.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 273 
 
 !■: L E c; Y 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF ROBERT RUISSEAUX. 
 
 [RUISSFAUX, which is the French for 
 ricutcU, is a play on the name Burn'^, 
 which he might he led to adopt from its 
 resemblance to that of the celebrated 
 Jean Jacques Rousseau.] 
 
 Now Robin lies in his last lair, 
 
 He'll nabble rhxine, nor sing nae mair, 
 
 Cauld poverty, wi' hungry stare, 
 
 Nae raair shall fear him ; 
 Nor anxious fear, nor cankert care, 
 
 E'er mair come near him. 
 
 To tell the truth, they seldom fash't him. 
 Kxcept the moment tli:it they erush'thiui. 
 For sune as chance or fate had hush't 'em- 
 
 Tho' e'er sae short- 
 Then wi' a rhvme or song he Ush't 'em, 
 
 Aiul thought it sport. 
 
 Tho' he was bred to kintra waik. 
 
 And counted was baith wight and stark, 
 
 ■yet that was never Robin's mark 
 
 To mak' a man ; 
 But tell him he was learn'd and dark— 
 
 Ye roos'd him then 1 
 
 THIRD EPISTLE TO J. LAPRAIK. 
 
 September 13th, 17S'. 
 
 [The last verse records the fact that the 
 harvest of 1785 was late and stormy, and 
 the first verse of the next poem- the 
 Epistle, to M'.yath, dated only four day^ 
 later, records the same fact. Cromek 
 printed this piece from a copy preserveii 
 liy the author, and found among the 
 "sweepings of his study," which Currie 
 and his advisers had deemed unworthy of 
 publication.] 
 
 I 
 
 May Boreas never thrash ymir rigs, 
 N'or kick your rickles atf their legs, 
 Sendin' tlie stuff o'er niuirs an' haL:i;s, 
 
 Like drivin' wrack ; 
 But may the tapmast grain that wags 
 
 Come to the sack. 
 
 I'm busy too, an' skelpin' at it. 
 
 But bitter, daudin >liuwers liae wat it, 
 
 Sae ray auld stumpie pen I sat it, 
 
 Wi' rauckle wark, 
 An' took my joctelesr an' whatt it, 
 
 Like onie dark. 
 
 It's now twa month that I'm your debtor. 
 For your braw, nameless, dateless letter, 
 Abusin' me for harsh iil nature 
 
 On holy men, 
 While deil a hair yoursel' ye'ie better, 
 
 But mair profane. 
 
 But let the kirk-folk rinc their bells, 
 Let's sing about our noble sel's ; 
 We'll cry nae jads frae heathen hills 
 
 To help, or roose us, 
 But browster wives an' whi>ky stills, — 
 
 2'hey are the muses. 
 Your friendship, sir, I winna quat it, 
 An' if ye mak' objections at it. 
 Then, ban' in nieve some day we'll knot it, 
 
 An' witness take. 
 An' when wi' usquebae we've waf ii. 
 
 It w inna break. 
 
 Hut if the beast and branks be spar'd 
 Till kye be caun without the herd, 
 An' a'' the vittle in tlie yard. 
 
 An' theekit right, 
 I mean your ingle-side to guard 
 
 Ae winter night. 
 
 Then muse-inspirin' aquavitre 
 
 >hall make u.s baith sae blytbe an' witty. 
 
 Till ye forget ye're auld an' gutty, 
 
 An' be as canty 
 .Vs ye were nine years less than thretty — 
 
 Sweet ane-an'-twenty ! 
 
 But stocks are cowpet wi' the blast. 
 An' now the sinn keeks in the west, 
 Then I maun rin amang the rest 
 
 An' quat my chanter; 
 Sae I siibscribe raysel' in liaste, 
 
 Y'ours, Rab the Ranter. 
 
 GUDE speed an' furder to you Jolmie! 
 Gude health, hale ban's, an' weather 
 
 l)unie; 
 Now when ye're iiickin' down fu' canie 
 
 The staff o' bread. 
 May ye ne'er want a stoup o' bran'y 
 
 To clear your head I 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN M'.MATH, 
 
 KNCLOSING A COPY OK "HOLY WILLIE'.S. 
 PRAYER," WHICH HE HAl) REQIESTEH. 
 
 ^V//i!. llth, 1785. 
 
 [This gentleman was assistant to Dr. 
 Peter Wodrow, parish minister of Tar 
 
 S
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 274 
 
 bolton. He is said to hnve been an 
 excellent preacher, of the Sew-Light 
 tendency; but, having fallen into 
 hypochonilriacism, he became dissipated, 
 resigned his charge, and enlisted as a. com- 
 mon soldier. He died in obscurity, in the 
 Isle of Mull, in 18-25.] 
 
 Whilk at the stock the shearers cow'r 
 To shun the bitter blaudin' show'r, 
 Dr in guhavage rinnin scow'r 
 
 To pass the time, 
 To you I dedicate the hour 
 
 In idle rhyme. 
 
 My niusie. tii'd wi mony a sonnet 
 
 On gown, an' ban', an' douse black bonnet, 
 
 Is grown right eerie now she's done it. 
 
 Lest they shou'd l)lame her, 
 An' rouse their holy thunder on it, 
 
 And anathem her. 
 
 I own 'twas rash, aiul rather hardy, 
 That I, a .simple, country Ijardie, 
 Shi.iu'd meddle wi' a pack sae sturdy, 
 
 Wha, if they ken me. 
 Can easy, wi' a single wordie, 
 
 Lowse hell upon me. 
 
 But I gae mad at their grimaces, 
 Their sighin', cantin', giaoe-proud faces, 
 Their three-mile prayers, an' half-mile 
 graces. 
 
 Their raxin' con.science, 
 Whase greed, revenge, an' pride ilisgraces 
 
 Waur nor their nonsense. 
 
 There's Gaicn, misca't waur than a beast, 
 Wha has m.iir honor in his breast 
 Than mony scores as gude's the priest 
 
 \Vha sae abus't him. 
 An' may a bard no' crack his ,iest 
 
 \S hat way they ' ve use't him ? 
 
 See him, the poor man's friend in need, 
 The gentleman in word an' deed,* 
 An' shall his fame an' honor hleed 
 
 By worthless skellums. 
 An' not a muse erect her head 
 
 To CO we the blellums? 
 
 O Pope ! had I thy satire's darts 
 lit gie the rascals their deserts, 
 I'd rip their rotten, hollow hearts, 
 
 An' tell aloud 
 Their jugglin' hocus-pocus arts 
 
 To cheat the crowd. 
 
 (iod knows, I'm no' the thing I shou'd be. 
 Nor am 1 even the thing I cou'd be, 
 JJut twenty times, I rather wou'd be 
 
 An atheist clean, 
 Than under gospel colours hid be, 
 
 Just for a screen. 
 
 An honest man may like a glass, 
 \n honest man may like a lass. 
 But mean revenge, an' malice fause. 
 
 He'll still disdain, 
 .Vn' then cry zeal for gospel laws, 
 
 Like some we ken. 
 
 They take religion in their mouth; 
 rhey talk o' mercy, grace, an' truth. 
 Fin- what?— to gie their malice skouth 
 
 On some piur wight, 
 kn' hunt him down, o'er right an' i-uth, 
 
 To ruin straight. 
 
 .VU hail. Religion! maiil ilivine! 
 P:vrdon a muse sae mean as mine, 
 i Who in her rough imperfect line. 
 
 Thus daurs to name thee 
 To stigmatise false friends of thine 
 
 Can ne'er deiaiue thee. 
 
 Tho' blotch't an' foul wi' mony a stain, 
 j An' far unworthy of thy train, 
 Witli trembling voice I tune ii:y •strain 
 
 To join with those 
 Who boldly dare thy cause maintain 
 In spite of foes ; 
 
 In spite o' crowds, in spite o' mobs. 
 In spite of undermining jobs. 
 In spite o' dark banditti stabs 
 
 At worth an' merit, 
 By scoundrels, even wi' holy rolies, 
 
 But hellish spirit. 
 
 O Ayr! my dear, my native ground. 
 Within thy presbyterial bound 
 X candid lib'ral band is foimd 
 
 Of public teachers. 
 As men, as Christians too, renown'd. 
 
 An' manly preachers. 
 
 Sir, in that circle you are nam'd; 
 Sir, in that circle you are fam'd ; 
 An' some, by whom your doctrine's blam'd 
 
 (Which gives you honor), 
 i;ven, sir, by them your heart's esteem'd. 
 
 An' winning nuniier. 
 
 Panlon this freedom I have ta'en, 
 .\n' if impertinent I've been. 
 Impute it not, good sir, in ane 
 
 Whase heart ne'er w rin;j 
 But to his utmost would befriend 
 
 Ought that belang'd ye. 
 
 lye. 
 
 7iZ -S? 
 
 * This couplet is used in the Dedication tu Gavin HamiLtun.
 
 TEE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 
 TO GAVIN HAMILTON, ESQ., 
 
 MAUCHLINK. 
 
 (RECOMMENDING A BOY.) 
 
 Mosgavitle, May 3, 17S6. 
 
 [Mr. Gavin Uamilton had bespoke the 
 services of one of the Poet's servant lads 
 who was abovit to leave Mossgiel at Whit- 
 sunday following, and Burns took this 
 method of notifying to Hamilton that a 
 certain tcarld't xvorm, known in Mauchline 
 as "MaisterTootie," a/!a« "Laird M'Gaun, " 
 was endeavouring to get the callan to 
 engage with him.] 
 
 I HOLD it, sir, my bounden duty 
 
 To warn you hovr that Master Tootie, 
 
 Alias, Laird M'Gaun, 
 Was here to hire yon lad away 
 'Bout whom ye spak' the tither day. 
 
 An' wad hae done't aff han' : 
 But lest he learn the callan tricks. 
 
 As, faith, I muckle doubt him. 
 Like scrapin' out auld Crummie'.s nicks. 
 An' tellin' lies about them; 
 As lief then I'd have then. 
 
 Your clerkship he should sair, 
 If sae be, jc. may be 
 Not fitted other where, 
 
 Altho' I say't, he's gleg enough. 
 
 An' 'bouc a house that's rude an' rough, 
 
 The boy might learn to s^vear ; 
 BHt then wi' ymi lie'U be sae taught. 
 An' get sic fair fxainpli' straught, 
 
 I hae na ony fear. 
 Ve'U catechize him every quirk. 
 
 An' shore him weel wi' hell; 
 An' ,gar hira follow to the kirk— 
 — Aye when ye gang rjonrsH'. 
 If ye, then, maun be, then, 
 
 Frae hame this comin' Friday ; 
 Then please, sir, to lea'e, sir, 
 The orders wi' your lady. 
 
 Mv word of honor I hae gi'en, 
 
 In Paisley .Tohn's, that night at e'en, 
 
 To meet the warid's worm; 
 To try to get the twa to gree, 
 An' name the airles an' the fee, 
 
 In legal mode an' form : 
 I ken he weel a Snick can draw, 
 When simple bodies let him ; 
 An' if a Devil be at a'. 
 In faith he's sure to get him. 
 To phrase you, an' praise you, 
 Ye ken yMir Laureat scorns: 
 The pray'r still, you share still, 
 Of grateful Minstrel Burns. 
 
 TO 
 .MR. MADAM OF CRAIGEN-GILLAN, 
 
 IN ANSWER TO AN OBLIGING LETTER HE 
 
 SENT IN THE COMMENCEMENT OP 
 
 MY POETIC CAREER. 
 
 Sir, o'er a gill, I gat your card, 
 
 I trow it made me proud ; 
 '.See wha tak's notice o' the bard 1' 
 
 I lap and cry'd fu' loud. 
 
 Now deil-ma-care about their jaw, 
 Tlie senseless, gawky million; 
 
 I'll cock my nose abnon them a', — 
 Ira roos'd by Craigen-Gillan! 
 
 Twas noble, sir— 'twas like yoursel', 
 To grant your high protection ; 
 
 A great m.in's smile, ye ken fu' well. 
 Is ay a blest infection ; — 
 
 Tho'. by his banes, wha in a tub 
 -Match'd Macedonian Sandy!* 
 
 On my ain legs, thro' dirt and dub, 
 I independent stand ay. 
 
 And when tlv>se legs to gude, warm k.ail, 
 
 Wi' welcome canna bear me, 
 A lee dyke-side, a sybow-tail. 
 
 And barley-scone, shall cheer me. 
 Hi^aven spare you lang to kiss the breath 
 
 O' mony flow'ry simmers ! 
 And bless your bonie lasses baith, — 
 
 I'm tauld they're lo'esome kimraersl 
 
 And God bless young Dunaskin's laird, — 
 
 The blossom of our gentry ! 
 Antl may he wear an auld man's beard, 
 
 A credit to his country. 
 
 HER FLOWING LOCKS 
 
 [The heroine of this double-stanza is not 
 known. It was first published by Cromek.] 
 
 HER fl iwing locks — the raven's wing — 
 
 Adown her neck and bosom hing; 
 How sweet unto that breast to cling, 
 
 And round that neck entwine her I 
 Her lips are ros«3 wet wi' dew ! 
 
 U what a feast her bonie mou'l 
 Her cheeks a mair celestial hue, 
 
 A crimson still diviner 1 
 
 LINES ITNDER 
 THE PORTRAIT OF FERGUSSON. 
 
 [These lines were written under a 
 portrait of that poet, in a copy of 
 
 Diogenes.
 
 THE POEMS AND SON OS OF BURNS. 
 
 hl3 poems presentoel by Burns to a young 
 lady iu Edinburgli, and dated March I'J, 
 1787.] 
 
 Corse on ungrateful man, that can be 
 
 pleas' d, 
 And yet can starve the author of the 
 
 pleasure ! 
 O thou my elder brother in misfortune, 
 By far my elder brother in the muses. 
 With tears I jiity thy unhappy fate ! 
 Why is the bard unpitied by the world, 
 Yet has so keen a relish of its pleasures? 
 
 LINES UN TUE POET FEEGUSSON. 
 
 [These lines are said to have been com- 
 posed in 1T92, and inscribed in a copy of 
 a work calleil The W</rld.] 
 
 ElfatedgeniusI Heaven-taught Fergussoul 
 What heart Ihat feels and will not yield a 
 
 tear. 
 To think life's sun did set ere well begun 
 To shed its influence on thy bright career? 
 Oh, why should truest worth and genius 
 
 pine 
 Beneath the iron grasp of want and woe, 
 While titled knaves and idiot greatness 
 
 shine 
 In all the splendour Fortune can bestow I 
 
 TO WILLIAM CREECH. 
 
 [This epistle to his publisher, then on a 
 risit to London, was hastily penned in the 
 inn at Selkirk, on Sunday, 13th May, 
 17S7, whither he and his fellow-tourist, 
 Ainslie, had been driven by stress uf 
 weather.] 
 
 AULD chuckie Reekie's* sair distrest, 
 Down droops her ance weel-burnish't crest, 
 Nae joy her bonie buskit nest 
 
 Can yield ava, 
 Her darling bird that she Id'es best — 
 
 Willie's awa' ! 
 
 O Willie was a witty wight, 
 
 And liad o' things an unco slight; 
 
 Auld Reekie ay he keepit tight, 
 
 And trig an' braw ; 
 
 But now they'll busk her like a fright- 
 Willie's awa' ! 
 
 The stiffest o' them a' he bow'd. 
 The bauldest o' them a' he cow'd ; 
 They durst nae mair than he aUow'd, 
 
 That was a law : 
 We've lost a birkie weel worth gowd— 
 
 Willie's awa' ! 
 
 Now gawkies, tawpies, gowks, and fuols, 
 Frae colleges and boarding-schools, 
 May sprout like simmer puddock-stools 
 
 In glen or shaw; 
 He wha could brush them down to mools, 
 
 Willie's awa' I 
 
 The brethren o' the Commerce-Chaumert 
 May mourn their loss wi' doolfu' clamour; 
 He was a dictionar and grammar 
 
 Amang them a' ; 
 I fear they'll now mak' muny a stammer — 
 
 Willie's awa' ! 
 
 Nae mair we see his levee door 
 Philosophers and poets pour, ♦ 
 And toothy critics by the score. 
 
 In bloody raw ! 
 The adjutant o' a' the core, 
 
 Willie's awa'. 
 
 Now worthy Gregory's Latin face, 
 Tytler's and Greentield's modest grace; 
 Mackenzie, Stewart, such a brace 
 
 As Rome ne'er saw; 
 They a' maun meet some ither place — 
 
 Willie's awa' ! 
 
 Poor Burns— e'en Scotch drink cann% 
 
 quicken. 
 He cheeps like some bewUdered chicken, 
 Scar'd frae its minnie and the cleckin'. 
 
 By hoodie-craw ; 
 Grief's gien his heart an unco kickin' — 
 
 Willie's awa' ! 
 
 Now ev'ry sour-mou'd, girnin' blellum. 
 And Calvin's folk, are tit to fell him ; 
 And self-conceited critic skeUum 
 
 His quiU may draw; 
 He wha could brawlie ward their beilum, 
 
 Willie's awa' ! 
 
 Up wimpling, stately Tweed I've sped, 
 And Eden scenes on crystal Jed, 
 And Ettrick banks now roaring red. 
 
 While tempests blaw ; 
 But every joy and pleasure's fled — 
 
 Willie's awa' ! 
 
 *The epithet, Auld Reekie, is said to have been first applied to Edinburgh by King 
 James VI., on beholding it from the Fife coast at early morning, while the citizens 
 were lighting their fires. 
 
 tThe Chamber of Commerce, Edinburgh, of which Mr. Creech was Secretary. 
 tMany literary gentlemen were accustomed to meet at Mr. Creech's house at break- 
 fast. Burns often met with them there when he called, and hence the name of Levee^
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 277 
 
 May I be slander's common speech — 
 A text for infamy to preach, 
 And, lastly, streekit out to bleach 
 
 In winter snaw, 
 When I forget thee, Willie Creech, 
 
 Tho' far awa' ! 
 
 May never wicked fortune touzle him ! 
 May never \vicked men bamboozle him ! 
 Until a pow as auld's Methusalem 
 
 He canty claw ! 
 Then to the blessed New Jerusalem, 
 
 Fleet wing awa' ! 
 
 E P I (; R A M 
 ON BEING TOLD THAT THERE WAS FALSE- 
 HOOD IN THE REV. DR. B 'S VERT 
 
 LOOKS. 
 
 [The Poet in the fUenriddel MS. records 
 the name of his victim to be "the Rev. 
 Dr. Babington."] 
 
 TH.ilT there is falsehood in his lonks, 
 
 I must and will deny; 
 They say their master is a knave — 
 
 And sure they do not lie. 
 
 ON 
 
 EPIGRAM 
 A SCHOOLMASTER IN CLEISH PARISH, 
 FIFESHIRE. 
 
 Here lie Willie Michie's banes, 
 O Satan 1 when ye tak' hira. 
 
 Ciie him the schulin o' your weans. 
 For clever Deils he'll mak' them. 
 
 EXTE.MPURE IN THI3 COURT OP 
 
 SESSION. 
 
 TVJiE—Giltiecraiikie. 
 
 [ Here we have two characteristic sketches 
 taken on the spot by the Poet during his 
 stay in Edinburgh in 1787. The two lead- 
 ing barristers of that period were Sir 
 Harry Erskine, Dean of Faculty, and Mr. 
 Hay Campbell, afterwards L>>rd President.] 
 
 LORD ADVOCATE. 
 
 He clench'd his pamphlets in his fist, 
 
 He quoted and he hinted. 
 Till, in a declamation-mist. 
 
 His argument he tint it: 
 He gaped for't, he graped for't 
 
 He fand it was awa', man ; 
 Bit what his common sense came short. 
 
 He eked it out wi' law, man. 
 
 MR. erski.ne. 
 
 Collected Harry stood awee. 
 
 Then open'd out his arm, man; 
 His lordship sat, wi' ruefu' e'e. 
 
 And ey'd the gathering storm, man : 
 Like wind-driv'n hail, it did assail, 
 
 Or torrents owre a linn, man; 
 The Bench sae wise, lift up their eyes, 
 
 Half-wauken'd wi' the din, man. 
 
 THE BONIE MOOR- HEN. 
 
 [This song was recovered by Cromek among the loose MSS. handed to him by Mrg. 
 P.urns. In the Clarinda Correspondence, published in 18-1:5, we tind a reference to this 
 production in one of her letters dated January 3Uth, 17SS. ] 
 
 The heather was blooming, the meadows were raawn, 
 Our lads gaed a-hunting, as day at the dawn. 
 O'er moors and o'er mosses, and mony a glen. 
 At length they discovered a bonie moor-hen. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 I rede you beware at the hunting, yoicng men; 
 J rede you beware at the hinitimj, young men; 
 Tak' S'irne on the wing, and some as they spring, 
 But cannily steal on a bonie inoor-hen. 
 
 Sweet brushing the dew from the brown heather-bells. 
 Her colours betray'd her on yon mossy feUs; 
 Her plumage outlustred the pride o' the spring, 
 And O! as she wanton'd gay on the wing. 
 1 rede you beware, etc.
 
 THE POEMS AND SOXOS OF BURNS. 
 
 •273 
 
 Auld Phoebus himsel', as he peep'd o'er the hill, 
 In spite, at her plumage attempted his skill: 
 He levell'd his rays where she bask'd on the brae— 
 His rays were outshone, and but niark'd where she lay. 
 / rede you beware, lic. 
 
 They hunted the valley, they hunted the hill. 
 The best of our lads, \vi' the best o' their skill ; 
 But still as the fairest she sat in their sight, 
 Then, wliirr ! she was over, a mile at a flight. 
 / rede you beware, d:c. 
 
 SKETCH. 
 
 [On 20th January, 1789, the Poet 
 enclosed this fragment to Professor 
 Dugald Stewart, along with others 
 of his then recently composed pieces. 
 He adds, — "This particular part I send 
 you merely as a sample of my hand 
 at portrait-sketching; but, lest idle con- 
 jecture should pretend to point out the 
 original, please to let it be for your single, 
 sole inspection." 
 
 There can be no doubt from the Poet's 
 remarks regarding Mr. Creech to another 
 correspondent, that the publisher of his 
 Edinburgh poems really was the subject 
 of this sketch. Mr Scott Douglas weaves 
 this into a piece entitled The Poet's Pro- 
 gress, in Paterson's Edition, which is in 
 effect a reproduction of the Poet's Epistle 
 to Graham of Fiaitry, of date Oct., 1791.] 
 
 A LITTLE, upright, peit, tart, tripping 
 
 wight. 
 And still his precious self his dear delight ; 
 VTho loves his own smart shadow in the 
 
 streets. 
 Better than e'er the fairest she he meets. 
 A man of fashion too, he made his tour, 
 Learn'd «u'« la bagatelle, et vive I' amour; 
 So travell'd monkeys their grimace im- 
 prove, 
 Polish their grin — nay, sigh for ladies' 
 
 love. 
 Much specious lore, but little understood ; — 
 Veneering oft outshines the solid wood : 
 His solid sense — by inches you must tell, 
 But mete his cunning by the old Scots ell; 
 His meddling vanity, a busy fiend. 
 Still making work his selfish craft must 
 menil. 
 
 stigma affixed to the character of an excise- 
 oflBcer, but I do not pretend to borrow 
 honour from my profession ; and, though 
 my salary will be comparatively small, it 
 will be lu.xuiy to any thing; that the first 
 twenty-five years of my life taught me to 
 expect."] 
 
 SEARCHING auld wives' barrels 
 
 Och-hon ! the day ! 
 That clarty barm should stain my laurels; 
 
 But— what'll ye say ! 
 These uiuvin' things cad wives and weana 
 Wad inuve tlie very hearts o' stanes ! 
 
 AN EXTEMPORANEOUS EFFUSION, 
 0.> BEING .APPOINTED TO THE EXCISE. 
 
 [On 3rd February, 1789, the Poet thus 
 wrote from EUisland : — '"There is a certain 
 
 TO 
 
 CAPTAIN RIDDEL, GLENRIDDEL. 
 
 (EXTEMPORE LI.NES ON RETURNING A 
 .NEWSPAPER.) 
 
 EUisland, Moiulay Evening, 
 
 Your news and review, sir, 
 
 I've read through and through, sir. 
 With little admiring or blaming: 
 
 The papers are barren 
 
 Of home-news or foreign, — 
 No murdeis or rapes worth the naming. 
 
 Our friends, the reviewers, 
 
 Those chippers and hewers. 
 Are judges of mortar and stone, sir; 
 
 But of meet, or unmeet, 
 
 In a fabric complete, 
 I'll boldly pronounce they are none, sir. 
 
 My goose-quill too rude is. 
 
 To tell all your goodness 
 Bestow'd on yoiir servant, the Poet; 
 
 Would to God I had one 
 
 Like a beam of the sun, 
 And then all the world, sir, should know it f
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 279 
 
 ELEGY ON PEG MCUOLSON. 
 
 [This animal belonseil to Mr. William 
 Nicol of the High r^chool. Eilinburgh 
 Some hoise-ei'uper had imposed on thi- 
 dominie, and the poor brute was placed on 
 the Poet's farm to he nursed, and there- 
 after sold for the best price she could 
 bring. Burns, on February 9th, 1791, 
 announced her death in a most humorous 
 letter to Nicol, and appended the present 
 ballad by w;iy of Dredijie. The "prie^' 
 who rode her sair" was no other than Nicol 
 himself, who had been bred to holy orders, 
 but took an early dislike to the calling.] 
 
 Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare, 
 
 As ever trode on aim; 
 But now she's floating down the Nith, 
 
 And past the mouth o' Cairn. 
 
 Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare, 
 .\nd rode thro' thick and thin ; 
 
 Cut now she's floating down the Nith, 
 .\nd wanting even the skin. 
 
 Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare. 
 
 And ance she bore a priest; 
 But now she's floating down the Nith, 
 
 For Solway tish a feast. 
 
 Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare. 
 And the priest he rude her sair : 
 
 And much oppressed and bruised she was. 
 As priest-rid cattle are. 
 
 If envious buckles view wi' sorrow 
 
 rhy lengtheu'il days on this blest morrow, 
 
 -May desolation's laiig-teeth'd harrow, 
 
 Nine miles an hour. 
 Rake them, like Sodom and Gomorrah, 
 
 In brunstane stoure. 
 
 But for thy friends, and they are mony— 
 Baith hnnest tnen and lasses bonie — 
 May couthie fortune, kind and cannie. 
 
 In social glee, 
 Wi' mornings blythe and eeiiings funny. 
 
 Bless them and thee 1 
 
 Fareweel, anld biikiel Lord be near ye, 
 .\nd then the Dell he daurna steer ye : 
 Your friend.s ay love, your faes ay fear ye ; 
 
 For me, shame fa' nie. 
 If neist my heart I dinna wear ye 
 
 While Burns thevca' ma. 
 
 TO 
 
 MR. MAXWELL OF TERRAUGHTV, 
 ON \l\% BIRTHDAY. 
 
 [John Maxwell, Esq., of Terraughty and 
 Munches, was a leading man in Dumfries- 
 shire, and a lineal ilescendant of Lord 
 Herris, who fought for Mary, Queen of 
 Scots, at Langside. Mr Maxwell died in 
 1814; so that he must have reached the 
 patriarchal age of 91.] 
 
 Health to the Maxwells' vet'ran chief I 
 Health, ay unsour'd by care or grief: 
 Inspir'd, I turn'd Fate's sybil leaf, 
 
 This natal morn, 
 I see thy life is stuff o' prief, 
 
 .Scarce yet half worn. 
 
 This day thou metes threescore eleven. 
 And I can tell that bounteous Heaven 
 (Ihe second sight, ye ken, is given 
 
 To ilka Poet) 
 On thee a tack o' seven times seven 
 
 Will yet bestow it. 
 
 .A.DUIIESS TO 
 GENERAL DU.MOURIER. 
 
 [Dunmurier deserted the army of the 
 French Republic, on April 5, 1793, after 
 having gained some great victories. The 
 Address is a parody on Robin Adair which 
 begins :— 
 "You're welcome toPa.Kton, Robin .\.d air; 
 
 How does Johnny Mackerill do? itc."] 
 
 You're welcome to Despots, Dumourier ; 
 You're welcome to Despots, Dumourier. 
 How does Dampiere dr>? 
 Aye, and Bournnnville too? 
 Why did they not come along with you, 
 Dumourier ? 
 
 I will rtiht France with you, Dumourier; 
 I will riL;ht France with you, Dumourier; 
 I will fl.;ht France with you, 
 I will take my chance with you ; 
 By my soul, I'll dance a dance with you, 
 Dumourier. 
 
 Then let us fight about, Dumourier ; 
 ' Then let us fight about, Dumourier ; 
 j Then let us tight about, 
 
 'Till freedom's spark is out. 
 
 Then we'll be damned no doubt — 
 Dumourier. 
 
 FRAGMENT ON LIBERTY. 
 
 [On the Ihih of Sept., 1793, he enclosed 
 these lines to .Mrs. Duiilop, with these 
 remarks:— "I am just going to trouble
 
 THE POE.\ff^ AND SOXOS OF RURNS. 
 
 •2S0 
 
 your critieal patience with the first sketch 
 <if a stanza I liave heen framing as I passed 
 along the road. Tlie suliject is Liberty : 
 you know, my honourerl friend, how dear 
 the theme is to me. I desien it as an 
 irregular ode for General Washington's 
 birthday. After having mentioned the 
 degeneracy of other kinijdoms, I come to 
 Scotland, thus :"]— 
 
 Thee, Caletlonia, thy wild heaths among. 
 Thee, famed for martial deed and sacred 
 sonir. 
 
 To thee I turn with swimming eyes; 
 Where is tliat snul of freedom tied? 
 Immingled with the mighty dead, 
 
 Beneath that liallowed turf where 
 Wallace lies ! 
 Hearit not, Wallace, in thy bed of death! 
 
 Ye battbling winds, in silence sweep; 
 
 Disturb not ye the hero's sleep, 
 Nor give the coward-secret breath. 
 
 Is this the power in Freedom's war 
 
 That wont to bid the battle rage? 
 Behold that eye which shot immortal hate. 
 Blasting the despot's proudest bearing- 
 That arm which, nerved with thundering 
 fate, 
 r'riislied usurpation's boldest daring : 
 One quenched in darkness, like the sinking 
 ."-tar, 
 And ortg— the palsied arm of tottering, 
 poweile.ss age. 
 
 TIIH 'LOYAL NATIVES.' 
 
 [A Club of young men in Dumfries 
 existed in 1794, who adopted this title to 
 siiew their regard for the dominant party 
 in government, and their detestation of 
 republicanism. ] 
 
 YEtrue 'Loyal Natives,' attend tomysong> 
 In uproar and riot rejoice the night long ; 
 From eniyund hatred your corps i: exempt; 
 But where is ymir shield from the darts of 
 contempts 
 
 EPIGRAMS ON 
 THE EARL OF GALLOWAY. 
 
 [The Earl was one of Buins's favourite 
 aversions; and on his beatiful seat being 
 pointed out. the Foet, accnnling to Mr. 
 Syyue, "expectorated his s, --en, and re- 
 gained a most agreeable temper."] 
 
 What dost thou in that mansion fair'.' 
 
 Flit, Galloway, and tind 
 Some narrow, dirty, dungeon cave. 
 
 The piature of thy mind I 
 
 No Stewart art thou, Galloway— 
 The Stewarts all were brave : 
 
 Bes^ides, the Stewarts were h\it fools, 
 Not one of them a knave. 
 
 Bright ran thy line, O Galloway 
 Thro' many a far-fam'd tire ! 
 
 So ran the far-fam'd Roman way— 
 So ended — in a mire. 
 
 TO THE SAME, 
 
 ON BEING THREATENED WITH THE EARL'S 
 
 RESENTMENT. 
 
 Spark me thy vengeance, Galloway, 
 
 In ([iiiet let me live : 
 I ask MO kindness at thy hand — 
 
 For thou hast none to give. 
 
 THE DEAN OF FACULTY. 
 A .NEW BALLAD. 
 
 [This election t( )ok place on 12th January, 
 1796, when Robert Dundas of Arniston— 
 My a large majority— supplanted the Hon. 
 Harry Frskine. Burns could not hear of 
 the degradation of his old friend and 
 patron, without giving vent to his feelings, 
 which he did in the following song:]— 
 
 Dire was the hate at old Harlaw, 
 
 That Scot to Scot did carry ; 
 A ud dire the discord Langside saw. 
 
 For beauteous, hapless Mary: 
 Uut Scot with Scot ne'er met so hot, 
 
 Or were more in fury seen, sir, 
 Than 'twixt Hal and Bob for the famous 
 job— 
 
 Who should be Faculty's Dean, sir. 
 
 This Hal for genius, wit, and lore, 
 
 Among the first was nuuiher'il ;' 
 But pious Bob, 'mid learning's store. 
 
 Commandment tenth remember'd. 
 Yet simple Bob the victory got, 
 
 And wan his heart's desire; 
 Which shews that heaven can boil the pot. 
 
 Though the devil in the Are. 
 
 Squire Hal, besides, had in this case. 
 
 Pretensions rather brassy, — 
 For talents to deserve a place 
 
 Are qualifications saucy;
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 ■JSl 
 
 ■^0 their worships of the Faculty, 
 Quite sick of merit's rudeness, 
 
 Chose one who should owe it all, d'ye see. 
 To their gratis grace and goodness. 
 
 As once on Pisgah pui^'d was the sight 
 
 Of a son of Circumcision, 
 So may be, on this Pisgah lieight, 
 
 Bob's purblind, mental vision: 
 Nay, Bubhi/s mouth may be npen'd yet, 
 
 till for eloquence you hail him. 
 Ami swear he has the angel met 
 
 Tliat met the ass of Balaam. 
 
 lu your heretic sins may you live, and die, 
 
 Ye heretic Eight-and-Thirty ! 
 I'.ut accept, ye sublime Majority, 
 
 My congratulations hearty. 
 With your Honours and a cet tain King, 
 
 In your servants this is striking — 
 The mure incapacity they bring. 
 
 The more they're to your liking. 
 
 AMANG THE TREES. 
 
 Tu.NE— T/ie Eiiig o' France, he rade a race. 
 
 [This and the two following fragments, 
 were found among the Poet's papers after 
 his death.] 
 
 Amang the trees, where humming bees 
 
 At buds and flowers were hinging, O 
 Auld Calednn' drew out her drone. 
 
 And to her pipe was singing, O: 
 'Twas pibroch, sang, strathspey, or reels, 
 
 She dirl'd them atf fu' clearly, O; 
 When there cam' a yell o' foreign squeels, 
 
 That dang her tapsalteerie, O ! 
 
 Their capon craws, and queer ha, has! 
 
 They made our lugs grow eerie, O ; 
 The hungry bike did scrape and pike 
 
 Till we were wae and wearie, O : 
 But a royal gliaist wlia ance was cas'd 
 
 A prisonei augliteeu year awa', 
 He tir'd a tiddlt-r in the north. 
 
 That dang them tapsalteerie, 01 
 
 ON OHLOmS 
 
 REQUESTING ME TO GIVE HER A SPRIG OP 
 
 BLOSsO.MED THOR.N. 
 
 [This was included in the seventeen 
 epigrams forwarded by the Poet to Creech 
 in May, 1795. Shield, the composer, set 
 it to music, and, it is supposed, employed 
 Dibdin to supply a second stanza, on the 
 strength of which, the latter was credited 
 with the whole. Dibuin's addition is very 
 ci'mmonplace indeed. Burns's stanza was 
 published by Stewart in liOl.J 
 
 From the white-blossomed sloe my dear 
 Chloris* requested 
 A sprig, her fair breast to adorn; 
 No, by Heavens 1 I exclaimed, let me 
 perish, if ever 
 I plant in that bosom a thorn. 
 
 TO THE 
 
 BEAUTIFUL MISS ELIZA J N, 
 
 O.N HER PRINCIPLES OF LIBERTY AND 
 
 EQUALITT. 
 
 [Who this lady was has not been ascer- 
 tained. These lines were also included in 
 the Creech Epigrams.] 
 
 How, Liberty ! girl, can it be by thee 
 
 nam'd? 
 l^quality too! hussey, art not asham'd? 
 Free and equal indeed, while mankind 
 
 thou enchainest, 
 .\nd over their hearts a proud Despot so 
 
 rcignest. 
 
 
 ♦Misprinted "ChJoe" in the popular versions.
 
 POSTHUMOUS PIECES, 
 
 FROM VARIOUS SOURCES, 
 
 DATING CHIEFLY BETWEEN 1808 AND 1834. 
 
 ADAM ARMOURS PRAYER. 
 
 [This rather free production— first pub- 
 lished in the Edinljurcj/i Magazine fnr 
 January, 1808— bears unquestionable evi- 
 dence oi the Moss^el period. " Geordie ' 
 (presumably George Gibson, husband of 
 " Poosie Nancy"), had a female servant 
 (or journey woman, as she is designed hi 
 the verses, under the contraction "'jurr") 
 who had misconducted herself. This 
 brought her into such odium in the village 
 that a number of reckless young persons — 
 among whom * Adam Armour, .Jean's 
 younger brother, was a ringleader— vio- 
 lently "rade the stang" on her. The girl's 
 employers— Geordie and his wife Xanse- 
 or others of her guardians, resented this 
 lawless outrage, and raised a prosecution 
 against the offenders, which caused the 
 principal perpetrator to abscond. While 
 under hiding. Burns puts the following 
 effusion into Adam's mouth.] 
 
 GUDE pity me, because I'm little. 
 For though I am an elf o' mettle. 
 And can, like ony wabster's shuttle. 
 
 Jink there or here; 
 Yet, scarce as tang's a gude kail whittle, 
 
 I'm unco queer. 
 
 And now thou kens our waefu' case. 
 For Geordie's jurr we're in disgrace. 
 Because we've stanged her through the 
 place. 
 
 And hurt her spleuchan, 
 For which we daurna show our face 
 
 Within the clachan. 
 
 .\nd nuw we're dern'd in glens and hollows. 
 And hunted, as was William Wallace 
 Wi' constables, those blackguard fallows, 
 
 And sodjers baith ; 
 But gude preserve us frae the gallows. 
 
 That shamefu' death? 
 
 Auld, grim, black-bearded Geordie's sel', 
 Oh, shake him o'er the mouth o' hell. 
 
 There let hira hing, and roar, and yell, 
 Wi' hideoua din, 
 
 .\nd if he offers to rebel. 
 
 Just heave him in. 
 
 Vfhen Death comes in wi' glimmering blink, 
 .And tips auld drunken Nanse 1 the wink. 
 May Hornie gie her doup a clink 
 
 Ahint his yett. 
 And fill her up wi' brimstone ilrink, 
 
 Red, reeking, het. 
 
 At me tho' .Jock a nd .Jean are merry, J 
 Some deil shall seize them in a hurry. 
 And waft them in the infernal wherry 
 
 Straught through the lake, . 
 And gie their hides a noble curry, 
 
 Wi' oil of aik ! 
 
 As for the jurr, poor worthless body, 
 She's got mischief enough already ; 
 Wi' stanged hips, and buttocks bluidy. 
 
 She's suffer'd sair; 
 But may she wintle in a woodie. 
 
 If she mair ! 
 
 L I X E S 
 
 WRITTEN ON A COPV OF ONE OP HANNAH 
 MORES WORKS, PRESENTED TO THE 
 POET BY MRS. C , 3RD APRIL, 1786. 
 
 [It has been surmised that this "Mrs. 
 
 C " may have been .Mrs. Cunninghame 
 
 of Eiiterkine — a daughter of Mrs. Stewart 
 of Stair.] 
 
 THOU flattering mark of friendship kind. 
 Still may thy pages call to mind 
 
 The dear, the beauteous donor ; 
 Though sweetly female every part. 
 Yet such a head, and more the heart, 
 
 Does both the sexes honour : 
 She showed her taste refined and just 
 
 When she selected thee ; 
 Yet deviating own I must, 
 
 For so approving me : 
 
 '.■^ee Dr. Edgar s Old Church Life iti Scotland. 
 t Geordie's wife. J Geordie's son and daughter.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 ■:i>3 
 
 Cut kind still, I'll mind still. 
 The giver in the ^ft: 
 
 I'll bless her aiul wiss her 
 A friend above the lift. 
 
 ADDRESS OP BEELZEBUB 
 
 TO THE PRESIDKNI- OF THE HIGHLAND 
 SOCIETY. 
 
 [Some three days before the Poetilreameil 
 his famous dream about attending the 
 royal levee at the King's birthday parade, 
 he producedt he f olio vTing scathing sarcasm 
 which was first published in the Edinbunjl' 
 Maijazine, 1S18.] 
 
 To the Right Honourable the Earl of 
 Breadalbane, President of the Right 
 Honourable and Honourable the High- 
 land Society, which met on the 23rd of 
 May last at the Shak^peare, Covent 
 Garden, to concert ways and means to 
 frustrate the designs of live hundred 
 Highlaiulers, who, as the society were 
 informed by Mr. Mackenzie of Apple- 
 cross, were so aud:icious as to attempt 
 an escape from their lawful loi'ds aiul 
 masters, whose property they were, b.\ 
 emigrating from the lands of Mr 
 M'Donald of Glengarry to the wUds of 
 Canada, in search of that fantastic 
 thing— Liberty. 
 
 June 1, anno mundi 5790. 
 
 LO.NG life, my lord, an' health be yours, 
 Unskaith'd by hunger'd Highlan' boors ; 
 Lord, grant nae duddie, desperate beggar, 
 \Vi' duik, claymore, or rusty trisger, 
 May twin auld Scotland o' a life 
 She Ukes— as butchers like a knife ! * 
 
 Faith, you and Applecross were right 
 To keep the Highland hounds in sight; 
 I doubt na, they wad bid nae better 
 Than, let them ance out o>Tre the water; 
 Then up amang thae lakes and seas, 
 They'll niak'whatrulesau'laws they please; 
 Some daring Hancocke, or a Franklin, 
 May set their Highlan' blude a-ranklin'; 
 Some Washington again may head them, 
 Or some Montgrnuery, fearless, lead them; 
 Till (jod knows what may be effected, 
 When by such heads an' hearts ilirected ; 
 Poor dunghill sons of dirt and mire 
 May to Patrician rights aspire 1 
 Nae sage North, n^w. nor sager Sackville, 
 To watch and premier o'er the pack »ile ! 
 An' where will ye get Howes and Clintons, 
 To bring them to a right lepentance? — 
 
 To cowe the rebel generation. 
 And save the honour o' the nation 
 
 They .'—they be d ! what right liae they 
 
 To meat, or sleep, or light o' day?— 
 Far less to riches, pow'r, or freedom. 
 But what your lordship's pleased to gie 
 them? 
 
 But hear, my lord ! Glengarry, hear ! 
 
 Your ha.7id'.-i owre light on them, I fear; 
 
 'Vour factors, grieves, trustees, and bailies, 
 
 I canna say but they do s;aylies; 
 
 rhey lay a.^ide a' tender meicies. 
 
 An' tirl the hallinns to the hiises; t 
 
 Yet, while they're only poin'd and herrint. 
 
 They'll keept heir stubbotnHighland.-pnit; 
 
 But smash them I crash them a' to spails ; 
 
 And rot the dy vors i' the jails ! 
 
 ■fhe young dogs— swinge them to the 
 
 labour- 
 Let wark and hunger mak' them sober! 
 The hizzies, if they're ouglitlins fawsont, 
 Let them in Drury Lane be lesson'd! 
 .An' if the wives an' dirty brats 
 Come thiggan at your doors an' yetts, 
 Flatfan wi' duds, an' gray wi' beas', 
 Fiightin' awa' your deucks and geese- 
 Get out a horseivhip, or a jowler — 
 The langest thong, the fiercest growler — 
 And gar the tatter'd gypsies pack. 
 W'i' a' their bastards on their back! 
 Go on, my lord ! I lang to meet you, 
 And in my house at hame to greet you ; 
 Wi' common lords ye shanna mingle, 
 The benmost neuk beside the ingle. 
 At my right-hand as.sign'd your seat, 
 'Tween Herod's hip an' Ptilycrate; 
 Or, if ye on your sUvtion tarrow, 
 Between .-ilmagro an' Pi/.arro; 
 A seat, I'm sure ye're weel deservin't; 
 An' till ye come— Your humble servant, 
 
 Beelzebub. 
 
 NOTE IN REPLY TO AN INVITxlTION. 
 
 [The original of this is said to be in the 
 Paisley Library.] 
 
 SIK, 
 
 YOORS this moment I unseal. 
 
 And faith I'm gay and hearty! 
 To tell the truth, and shame the deil 
 
 I am as fu' as Bartie : 
 But Foorsday, sir, my promise leal, 
 
 Expect me o' your p.artie, 
 If on a beastie I can speel, 
 Or hurl in a cartie. 
 Yours, 
 
 Robert licii.NS. 
 Machlin, Monday night, 10 o'clock. 
 
 •Sometimes printed:— "as lambkins like a knife "—a more intelligible reading, 
 t Strip the rascals to the skin.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 284 
 
 FAREWELL LINES TO 
 JOHN KEXXEDY. 
 
 [In the early put of August, 1736, he 
 appended these lines to a short letter to 
 his friend Kennedy, in which he says, — 
 "On Wednesday, the 16th curt., I hope to 
 have it in my power to call on you and 
 take a kind, very probahly a last adieu, 
 before I go to Jamaica; and I expect 
 orders to repair to Greenock every day."] 
 
 Farewell, dear friend, may gude luck 
 
 hit you ! 
 And 'mans; her favourites admit you ! 
 If e'er Detraction shore to smit you. 
 
 May nane believe him ! 
 And ony deil that thinks to get you. 
 
 Good Lord deceive him ! 
 
 THE FAREWELL. 
 
 The valiant, in himaelf, what can he suffer? 
 Or what does he regard his single woes? 
 But when, alas! he iniiUiplies himself, 
 To dearer seloes, to the luo'd tender fair. 
 To those whose bliss, whose beimjs hang upon 
 
 him. 
 To helpless children! then, then! he feels 
 The point of miseri^ fest' rini] in his heart. 
 And wmkly weeps his fortune like a coward. 
 Stieh, such am I ! undone ! 
 
 Thomson's " EJward and Eleauora." 
 
 [This affecting poem tells its own tale. 
 The piece was first given to the world in 
 the Ayr edition (1819), edited by the Rev. 
 Hamilton Paul.] 
 
 F.\REWELL, old Scotia's bleak domains, 
 Far dearer than the torrid plains 
 
 Where rich ananas blow ! 
 Farewell, a mother's blessing dearl 
 A brother's sigh ! a sister's tear! 
 My Jean's heart-rending throe I 
 Farewell, my Bess! tho' thou'rt bereft 
 
 Of my parental care, 
 A faithful brother I have left. 
 My part in him thou'lt share : 
 Adieu too, to you too, 
 
 My Smith, my bosom frien'; 
 When kindly you mind me, 
 O then befriend my Jean I 
 
 What bursting anguish tears my heart ! 
 .From thee, my Jeany, most I parti 
 
 'Thou, weeping, anaVrest ?io.' 
 Alas ! misfortune stares my face. 
 
 And points to ruin and disgrace, 
 
 I for thy sake must go ! 
 Thee Hamilton, and Aiken dear, 
 
 A grateful, warm adieu ! 
 I, with a much indebted tear. 
 Shall still remember you ! 
 All-hail then, the gale then. 
 
 Wafts me from thee, dear shore ! 
 It rustles, and whistles 
 I'll never see thee more ! 
 
 LINES 
 
 WRITTEN ON THE B.\CK OF A BANK-NOTE. 
 
 [The note is of the Bank of Scotland for 
 one pound, and dated 1st March, 1780. 
 I'liese lines first appeared in the Morning 
 Chronicle, of •27th .May. 1814, from which 
 they were reprinted in the Edinburgh 
 Magazine for Sept. of same year. Internal 
 evidence shews that they were written 
 about the period of his Cduteiuplated 
 emigration.] 
 
 Wae worth thy power, thou cursed leaf! 
 Fell source of a' my woe and gi'ief ; 
 For lack o' thee I've lost my lass, 
 For lack o' thee I scrimp my glass: 
 I see the children of affliction. 
 Unaided through thy curs'd restriction; 
 I've seen th' oppressor's cruel smile, 
 Amid his hapless victim's spoil. 
 And for thy potence v vinly wisht. 
 To crush the villain in the dust! 
 
 For lack o' thee, I leave this much loved 
 shore. 
 
 Never perhaps to greet old Scotland more. 
 
 NATURE'S LAW. 
 A POEM HUMBLY INSCRIBED TO G. H., ESQ. 
 
 Great Nature spoke, observant man obeyed. 
 
 Pops. 
 
 [The poem was first printed in the 
 Aldine Edition of 1830, from a copy in the 
 Poet's MS.] 
 
 Let other heroes boast tlieir bcais, 
 
 The marks of sturt and strife ; 
 And other poets sing of wars, 
 
 The plagues of human life ; 
 Siauie fa' the fun; wi' sword and gun 
 
 To slap mankind like lumber! 
 I sing his name and nobler fame, 
 
 Wha multiplies our number.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS, 
 
 Great Nature spoke, with air benign, 
 
 'Go on, ye human racel 
 This lower world I you resign ; 
 
 Be fruitful ;in(l increase. 
 The liquid fire of strong desire 
 
 I've pour'd it in each bosom ; 
 Here, on this hand, does mankind stand. 
 
 And there, is Beauty's blossom 1' 
 
 The hero of these artless strains, 
 
 A lowly Bard was he, 
 Who sung his rhymes in Coila's plains 
 
 With meikle mirth an' glee ; 
 Kind Nature's care had given his share 
 
 Large, of the flaming current : 
 And, all devout, he never sought 
 
 To stem the sacred torrent. 
 
 He felt the powerful, high behest, 
 
 Thrill, vital, thro' and thro'; 
 And sought a correspondent breast, 
 
 To give obedience due : 
 Propitious Powers screen'd the young 
 How'rs, 
 
 From mildews of abortion ; 
 And lo ! the Bard — a great reward — 
 
 Has got a double portion ! 
 
 Auld, cantie Coil may count the day, 
 
 As annual it returns, 
 The third of Libra's equal sway, 
 
 That gave another Burns 
 With future rhymes, in other times. 
 
 To emulate his sire, — 
 To sin? auld Coil in nobler style. 
 
 With more poetic Are. 
 
 Ye Powers of peace, and peaceful song, 
 
 Look down with gracious eyes ; 
 And bless auld Coila, large and long, 
 
 With multiplying joys! 
 Liiiig may she stand to prop the land, 
 
 The tlow'r of ancient nations ; 
 And Burnses spring, her fame to sing, 
 
 To endless generations 1 
 
 ON WILLIE CHALMERS. 
 
 [Burns presented these verses to Lady 
 Harriet Don. .sister to his patron, Lord 
 filencairn, giving the following explana- 
 tion:— "Mr. Chalmers, a gentleman in 
 Ayrshire, a particular friend of mine, 
 asked uie to write a poetic epistle to a 
 young lady, his dulcinea. I had seen her, 
 but was scarcely acquainted with her, 
 and wrote as follows." They were first 
 publiwhed by Lockhart.] 
 
 MAti.v.M, 
 
 Wi' braw new branks in mickle pride. 
 
 And eke a braw new brechan, 
 My Pegasus I'm got astride, 
 
 And up Parnassus pechin ; 
 Whiles o'er a bush wi' downward crush. 
 
 The doited beastie stammers; 
 Then up he gets, and off he sets. 
 
 For sake o' Willie Chalmers. 
 
 I doubt na, lass, that weel-kend imme 
 
 -May cost a pair o' blushes ; 
 I am nae stranger to your fame, 
 
 Nor his warm-urged wishes. 
 Your bonie face sae mild and sweet, 
 
 Hi> honest heart enamours ; 
 And faith ye'll no' be lost a whit, 
 
 Tho' waired on Willie Chalmers. 
 
 -Vuld Truth hersel' might swear ye're fair,. 
 
 And Honour safely back her. 
 And Modesty ass\ime your air, 
 
 And ne'er a ane mistak' her; 
 And sic twa love-inspiring een. 
 
 Might fire even holy palmers : 
 Nae wonder then they've fatal been 
 
 To honest Willie Chalmers. 
 
 I doubt na Fortune may you shore 
 
 Some miin-mou'd pouthered priestie, 
 Fu' lifted up wi' Hebrew lore, 
 
 And band upon his breastie; 
 But oh! wliat signilies to yi^u 
 
 His le.xiooiis and grammars; 
 The feeling heart's the royal lilue. 
 
 And that's wi' Willie Chalmers. 
 
 Some gapia', glowrin' countra laird, 
 
 May warsle for your favour; 
 May claw his lug, and straik his beard, 
 
 And hoast up some palaver : 
 My bonie maid, before ye wed 
 
 Sic clumsy-witted hammers, 
 Seek heaven for help, and barefit skelp 
 
 Awa' wi' Willie Chalmers. 
 
 Forgive tho Bard ! my fond regard 
 
 For ane that shares my bosom. 
 Inspires my muse to gie'm his dues, 
 
 For deil a hair I roose him ! 
 May powers aboon unite you soon, 
 
 And fructify your amours. 
 And every year come in mair dear 
 
 To you and Willie Chalmers. 
 
 IRVINE'S B.\IRNS. 
 
 [It would appear from the information 
 of some of Dr. Lawrie's children, that the 
 present lyric-scrap was composed by Burns, 
 as a de-scriptive sketch of the festivities 
 enjoyed on his memorable visit to Loudoun . 
 I Manse.]
 
 THE POEMS AND SOXGS OF RURXS. 
 
 2S6 
 
 The night was still, and o'er the hill 
 The iiionn shone on the castle wa' ; 
 
 The mavis sang, while liew-flrops hang 
 Arounfl hei- on the castle wa'. 
 
 Sae merrily they danced the ring, 
 Frae e'enin' till the cock did craw ; 
 
 And aye the o'erword o' the spring, 
 Was Irvine's bairns are bonie a'. 
 
 EPIGRAM 
 ADDRESSED TO AN 
 
 RUSTICITY'S UNGAINLY FORM. 
 
 [This double-stanza, pencilled on a slip 
 of paper, was placed between the leaves of 
 a bodk which the Poet lent to Dr Lawrie's 
 son, shortly after the visit referred to in 
 the preceding note. It bears reference to 
 some conversation which had taken place 
 between the Poet and .Mrs. Lawrie on the 
 subject of Miss Peu.sy Kennedy, the re- 
 puted heroine of Yf. banks and braes o' 
 btmif DiKiu.] 
 
 Rusticity's ungainly form 
 
 May cloud the highest mind; 
 But when the heart is nobly warm. 
 
 The good excuse will Hnd: 
 Propriety's cold, cautious rules 
 
 Warm Fervour may o'erlook ; 
 But spare poor Sensibility 
 
 The ungentle, harsh rebuke. 
 
 IMPROMPTU AT ROSLIN INN. 
 
 [The Poet, in company with Alexander 
 Kasmyth, had a ramble to the Pentland 
 Hills one fine day in the spring of 1787. 
 They returned by way of Roslin ; and hav- 
 ing been well entertained in the inn, the 
 Poet, in gratitude to the hostess, composed 
 the followin': lines :]— 
 
 My blessings on you, sonsie wife ; 
 
 I ne'er was here before ; 
 You've gi'en us walth for horn and knife, 
 
 Nae heart could wish for more : 
 Heaven keep you free frae care and strtfe, 
 
 TiU far ayont fourscore ; 
 And, while I toddle on through life, 
 
 ril ne'er gang by your door. 
 
 ARTIST. 
 
 [The name of this artist is not known.] 
 
 r)F,.\R , I'll gie ye some advice, 
 
 You'll tak' it no' uncivil : 
 You shnuldna paint at angels mair. 
 
 But try and painc the devil. 
 
 To paint an angel's kittle wark, 
 Wi' auld Nick there's less danger; 
 
 You'll easy draw a weel-kent face, 
 But no sae weel a stranner. 
 
 TO .MISS AINSLIE, 
 WHILE LOOKIN(} FOR .^ TEXT IN CHURCH. 
 
 [This was on Sunday, bth May, 1787. 
 The Poet notes it tiius in his Itinerar>i,— 
 Went to church at Dunse— Dr. Bow- 
 lu iker a man of strong lungs ,and pretty 
 juilirious remark; but ill-skilled in pm- 
 jiriety, and altogether unconscious of his 
 want of it." 
 
 Dr. Bowmaker's text containeil a heavy 
 denunciation against obstinate sinners, 
 I nd the Poet, who sat beside .Miss Ainslie, 
 ]iencilled down tliis neat compliment on a 
 .-^lip of paper, and handed it to her.] 
 
 Fair maid, you need not take the hint, 
 
 Nor idle texts pursue; 
 'Twas guilty sinners that he meant — 
 
 Not angels such as you. 
 
 TO A POETASTER 
 
 [In the course of this tour, in May, 17S7, 
 a person living near Dunse, called Symon 
 (iiay, who wrote silly rhymes, .sent Burns 
 >orae of his productions, requesting his 
 opinion of them, and, in a froHcsome 
 moment, the Bard wrote to him in the 
 following terms. The conclusion has 
 apparently been lost.] 
 
 Symon (Jray, 
 You're dull to-day. 
 
 Dullness, with redoubled sway, 
 Has seieed the wits of Symon Gray. 
 
 Dear Symon Gray, 
 
 The other day. 
 When you sent me some rhyme, 
 I could not then just ascertain 
 Its worth, for want of time.
 
 THE POEMS ASD SOXOS OF BDRXS. 
 
 But now, to-day, good Mr. Gray, 
 
 I've read it o'er and o'er. 
 Tried all my skill, but find I'm .still 
 
 Just where I was before. 
 We anld wives' minions gie our opinions, 
 
 .Solicited or no' ; 
 Then of its faults my honest thoughts 
 
 I'll give — and here they go. 
 
 TO MR. RENTON, OF LAMERTON. 
 
 iThis was found, in Burns's handwriting, 
 uiuong Mr. Renton's papers.) 
 
 YoL"R billet, sir, I grant receipt ; 
 \Vi' you I'll canter ony gate. 
 Though 'twere a trip to yon blue warl', 
 \\'here birkies march on burning marl: 
 Then, sir, God willing, I'll attend ye. 
 And to his goodness I ciiumend ye. 
 
 R. Bl'rns. 
 
 ON WIXDOW OF CROSS-KEYS INN, 
 FALKIRK. 
 
 [These lines are said to h.ive been 
 scratched with a diamond-pen, by the 
 Poet, on a pane of glass at the inn where 
 he and Nicol rested on the night of the 
 25th .Vu::ust, 17S7.] 
 
 SoL.ND be his sleep, and blythe his morn. 
 
 That never did a lassie wrang, — 
 Who poverty ne'er held in scorn, — 
 
 For misery ever tholed a pang. 
 
 ON WINDOW OF AN INN AT 
 STIRLING. 
 
 [The lines of the text—" Here Stuarts," 
 &c. — which eventually caused so much ex- 
 citement in many quarters, and not a little 
 trouble to their author, are believed to 
 have been iu.-icribed by Burns, on the 
 morning of the '27th August, before Nicol 
 was up; and when he returned from 
 Harvieston, the dominie took hira to task 
 about the danger of reconliui; such a bold 
 libel against the reigning family. " Well," 
 
 2i,7 
 
 Slid the Poet, "I shall try to qualify it 
 somewhat, by writing a reproof to tlie 
 author;" and taking out his diamond, he 
 added these aggravating words:]— 
 
 Rash mortal, and slanderous Poet ! thy 
 
 name 
 Shall no longer appear in the rec'jvds of 
 
 fame ; 
 Dost not know that old Manslield, who 
 
 writes like the Bible, 
 Says— the more 'tis a truth, sir, ;he :n ire 
 
 'tis a libel? 
 
 [About two months after this period, 
 I Burns paid a second visit to Harvie.ston, 
 1 in company with Dr. Adair, taking Stirling 
 j by the way. He proceeded to tl;e mom 
 of the inn where the fatal lines were iu- 
 I .<cribed. and dashed out the pane with the 
 I butt end of his riding-switch; but, mean- 
 while, the epigrams had been copied into 
 travellers' note-books, and widely circu- 
 lated. He refers to these lines in a letter 
 to Clarinda of date .January, 17ji.j 
 
 Here Stuarts once in glory reijued, 
 
 And laws for .Scotland's weal ordained ; 
 
 But now unrool"d their palace stands. 
 
 Their sceptre's sway'd by other hands ; * 
 
 The injured Stuart line is gone, 
 
 A race outlandish tills their throne — 
 
 An idiot race, to honour lost; 
 
 Who know them best despise them most I 
 
 REPLY TO A REPROOF. 
 
 [This is said to have been called forth 
 on perusing some wretched lines written 
 by the Rev. .Mr. Hamilton of Olidsmuir, 
 Ijy way of reproof to Burns for the Stirling 
 inscription.] 
 
 Like ..Esop's lion. Burns says, sore I feel 
 All other'sscorn-butdaran that ass's heel I 
 
 ELEGY 
 
 OS THE DEATH OF 
 
 LORD PRESIDE.NT DUNDA5. 
 
 [Robert Dundaa of Arniston, elder 
 brother of Lord .Melville, was born in 1713. 
 appointed Lord President in 1760, and died 
 
 •In the Glenriddel MS. two additional lines are here inserted thus :— 
 
 " Fallen indeed, and to the earth, 
 Whence grovelling reptiles take their birth."
 
 TEE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 2SS 
 
 13th December, 1787, while Burns was in 
 Edinburgh. 
 
 On a copy of this poem, presented to 
 Bishop Geddes, the author wrote thus: — 
 "It has some tolerable lines it, but the 
 incurable wound in my pride will not 
 suffer me to correct, or even peruse it. I 
 sent a copy of it, with my best prose letter, 
 to the son of the great man— the theme of 
 the piece— by the hands of one of the 
 noblest men in God's world, Alexander 
 Wood, surgeon. When, behold! his solicit- 
 orship took no more notice of my poem 
 or me, than I had been a strolling fiddler, 
 who had made free with his lady's name 
 over a silly new reel. Did the gentleman 
 imagine that I looked for any dirty 
 gratuity?" 
 
 It ^^as composed at the suggestion of 
 Mr. Charles Hay, advocate, afterwards 
 Lord Newton. The Poet took his revenge 
 on "his solicitorship" in the Dean of 
 Faculty Ballad already given.] 
 
 Lone on the bleaky hills the straying 
 flocks 
 
 Shun the tierce storms among the shelter- 
 ing rocks ; 
 
 Down from the rivulets, red with dashing 
 rains, 
 
 The gathering floods burst o'er the distant 
 plains; 
 
 Beneath the blasts the leafless forests 
 groan, 
 
 The hollow caves return a sullen moan. 
 
 Ye hills, ye plains, ye forests, and ye caves. 
 Ye howling winds', and wintry swelling 
 
 waves ! 
 Unheard, unseen, by human ear or eye. 
 Sad to your sympathetic scenes I fly ; 
 Where to the whistling blast and waters' 
 
 roar 
 Pale Scotia's recent wound I may deplore. 
 
 Oh heavy loss, thy country ill could bear ! 
 A loss these evil days can ne'er repair ! 
 Justice, the high vicegerent of her God, 
 Her doubtful balance eyed, and sway'd 
 
 her rod ; 
 Hearing the tidings of the fatal blow 
 She sunk, abandon'd to the wildest woe. 
 
 Wrongs, injuries, from many a darksome 
 
 den. 
 Now gay in hope explore the paths of 
 
 men: 
 See from his cavern grim Oppression rise. 
 And throw on poverty his cruel eyes; 
 Keen on the helpless victim see him fly. 
 And stifle, dark, the feebly bursting cry. 
 
 Mark ruffian Violence, ingrain'd witb 
 
 crimeSj 
 Rousing elite in these degenerate times. 
 View unsuspecting Innocence a prey, 
 As guileful Fraud points out the erring 
 
 way ; 
 While subtle Litigation's pliant tongue 
 The life-blood equal sucks of Right and 
 
 Wrong: 
 Hark, injur'd Want recounts th' unlisten'd 
 
 tale. 
 And much-wrong'd Mis'ry pours th' un- 
 
 pitied wail! 
 
 Ye dark waste hills, and brown unsightly 
 
 plains. 
 To you 1 sing my grief-inspir&d strains! 
 Ye tempests, rage ! ye turbid torrents, roll '. 
 Ye suit the joyless tenor of my soul. 
 Life's social haunts and pleasures I resign. 
 Be nameless wilds and lonely wanderings 
 
 mine. 
 To mourn the woes my country must 
 
 endure — 
 That wiiund degenerate ages cannot cure. 
 
 YO U'R K W E LCO M E, 
 WILLIE STEWART. 
 
 [The original of this lyric, inscribed on 
 a crystal tumbler, is still preserved at 
 Abbotsford. The verses were first pub- 
 lished by Lockhart, in 1829.] 
 
 You're welcome, WUlie Stewart, 
 You're welcome, Willie Stewart; 
 
 There's ne'er a flower that blooms in May, 
 That's half sae welcome's thou art. 
 
 Come, bumpers high, express your joy, 
 
 The bowl we maun renew it; 
 The tappit-hen, gae bring her ben, 
 
 To welcome Willie Stewart. 
 
 May foes be str.ing, and friends be slack, 
 
 lik action may he rue it; 
 May woman on him turn her back. 
 
 That wrangs thee, Willie Stewart ! 
 
 THE LADDIES 
 BY THH BANKS O' NITH. 
 
 IVSE—Up and waur them a', Willie. 
 
 (This ballad — first published in a work 
 called, Tht Spirit of British Song. Glasgow, 
 182ti— belongs to a set of three, which were 
 produced by Burns to help the election of 
 Sir James Johnston of Westerhall, the 
 Tory candidate in the contest for the i epre- 
 sentation of the Dumfries Burghs in iT'm 1
 
 THE POEMS AND SON OS OF BURNS. 
 
 2S9 
 
 The Ladfiies by the banks o' Nith 
 Wad tru.st his Grace wi' a', Jamie; 
 
 But he'll sair them as he sair'd the King- 
 Turn tail and rin awa', Jamie. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Up and ivaur them a', Jamie, 
 
 Up and water them a' ; 
 The Joh7i8tons hae the (juidin' o't. 
 
 Ye turncoat Whigs awa' ! 
 
 The day he stude his country's friend, 
 Or gied her faes a claw, Jamie, 
 
 Or frae puir man a blessin' wan, 
 That day the Duke ne'er saw, Jamie. 
 Up and ivaiir, d-c. 
 
 But wha is he, his country's boast? 
 
 Like him there is na twa, Jamie ; 
 There's no' a callant tents the kye. 
 
 But kens o' Westerha', Jamie. 
 Up and icattr, ^-c. 
 
 To end the wark, here's Whistlebirk, 
 Lang may his whistle blaw, Jamie 1 
 
 And Maxwell true, o' sterling blue; 
 And we'll be Johnstons a', Jamie ! 
 Up and waur, ttc. 
 
 BALLAD 
 
 ON THE DUMFRIES BURGHS ELECTION, 1790. 
 
 [This production— first published in the 
 May number of the Edinburgh Magaziii>', 
 1811 — was composed immediately after the 
 close of that exciting contest in which 
 Captain Miller, younser of Dalswinton, 
 backed by th^ Whig influence of the Duke 
 of Queensberry, beat the Tory party r<^- 
 presented by the Knight of Westerhail. 
 'rhe copy in the Edinburgh Magazine 
 wants the two closing verses. In the 
 following version we follow the Green- 
 shields and Afton MSS.] 
 
 FINTRY, my stay in worldly strife. 
 Friend o' my muse— friend o' my life. 
 
 Are ye as idles I am? 
 Come then, wi' uncouth, kintra fleg. 
 O'er Pegasus I'll ding my leg. 
 
 And ye shall see me try him. — 
 
 But where shall I go rin a ride. 
 That I may splatter nane beside? 
 
 I wadna be uncivil: 
 In manhood's various paths and ways 
 There's ay some doytin body strays. 
 
 And } ride like the devil. 
 
 Thus I break afT wi' a' my birr. 
 An' doun yon dark, deep alley spur. 
 
 Where Theologies daunder : 
 Alas I curst wi' eternal fogs. 
 And damn'd in everla.^tinj; bogs. 
 
 As sure's the creed I'll blunder! 
 I'll stain a hand, or jaup a gown. 
 Or rin my reckless guilty crown 
 
 Against the haly door, — 
 Sair do I rue my luckless fate 
 When, as the .Nluse and Deil wad hae't 
 
 I rade that road before. 
 
 Suppose I take a spurt, and mix 
 Among the wilds o' Politics — 
 
 Elector and Elected— 
 
 Where dogs at Court (sad sons o' b s !) 
 
 Septenniaily a madness touches. 
 
 Till all the land's infected. 
 
 All hail ! Drumlanrig's haughty Grace I • 
 Discarded remnant of a lace 
 
 Once great in martial story I 
 His forbears' virtues all contrasteil, — 
 The very name of Dougla.s blasted, — 
 
 His that inverted glory. 
 Hate, envy, oft the Douglas bore; 
 Uut he has superadiletl more, 
 
 And sunk them in contempt; 
 Follies and crimes have stain'd the name, 
 Uut Queensberry, thine the virgin claim. 
 
 From aught that's good exempt. 
 
 I'll sing the zeal Drumlanrig bears, 
 Who left the all-important cares 
 
 Of princes and their darlings; 
 And, bent on winning borough touns. 
 Came shaking hands wi' wabster loons. 
 
 And kissing baretit carlins. t 
 
 Combustion thro' our boroughs rode. 
 Whistling his roaring pack abroad, 
 
 Of mad, unmuzzled lions ; 
 As Queensberry buff and blue unfurled. 
 And Westerha' and Hopetoun hurled 
 
 To every Whig, defiance. 
 
 But cautious Queensberry left the war — 
 Th' unmanner'd dust might soil his star. 
 
 Besides, he hated bleeding — 
 But left behind him heroes bright. 
 Heroes in Cesarean tight 
 
 Or Ciceronian pleading. 
 
 O for a throat like huge Mons-Meg, 
 To muster o'er eacli ardent Whig 
 
 Beneath Drumlanrig's banners; 
 Heroes and Heroines commix 
 All in the field of politics. 
 
 To win immortal honours. 
 
 • The fourth Duke of Queensberry and Drumlanrig, of infamous memory, 
 t This stanza reads differently in some copies. 
 T
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 
 290 
 
 M'Murdo* and his lovely spouse, 
 (Th' en.imoiu'il laurels kiss her brows.) 
 
 Led on the Loves and Graces ; 
 She won each gaping burgess' heart, 
 While he, sub rota, play'd his part 
 
 Among their wives and lasses. 
 
 Craigdarroch t led a light-arm'd core, 
 Tropes, metaphors, and figures pour, 
 
 Like Hecla streaming thuncler: 
 Glenriddel, t skill'd in rusty coins, 
 Blew up each Tory's dark designs, 
 
 .A.nd bar'd the treason under. 
 In either wing two champions fought, 
 Redoubted Staig, I who set at nought 
 
 The wildest savage Tory, 
 While Welsh, S who ne'er yet flinch'd kis 
 
 ground, 
 High-wav'd his niagnum-bonum round 
 
 W'ith Cyclopean fury. 
 Miller brought up the artillery ranks, 
 The many pounders of the Banks, 
 
 Resistless desiilation ; 
 WTiile Maxwelton, that baron bold, 
 Mid Lawson'sll port entrench'd his hold, 
 
 And threaten'd worse damnation. 
 
 To these what Tory hosts oppos'd 
 With these what Tory warriors clos'd, 
 
 Surpasses my descriving: 
 Squadrons extended long and large. 
 With headlong speed rush'd to the charge, 
 
 Like furious devils driving. 
 What verse can sing, what prose narrate, 
 The butcher deeds of bloody fate, 
 
 Amid this mighty tuih ie 1 
 Grim horror griu'd; pale terror roar'd 
 As murder at his thrapple shor'd ; 
 
 And hell mixed in the brulyie. 
 As Highland craigs by thunder cleft, 
 When lightnings tire "the stormy lift. 
 
 Hurl down wi' crashing rattle ; 
 As flames amang a hundred woods, 
 As headlong foam a hundred floods — 
 
 Such is the rage of battle. 
 
 The stubborn Tories dare to die : 
 As soon the rooted oaks would fly 
 
 Before th' approaching fellers. 
 The Whigs came on like ocean's roar 
 When all his w intry billows pour 
 
 .Against the Buchsn Bnllers.*r 
 
 I Lo, from the shades of death's deep night. 
 Departed Whigs enjoy the tight, 
 
 .\nd think on former daring : 
 The muftled murtherer of Charles 
 The magna charta flag unfurls, 
 
 All deadly gules its bearing. 
 
 Nor wanting ghosts of Tory fame; 
 Bold Scrimgeour** follows gallant 
 Graham, 1 1 
 
 .\uld Covenanters shiver — 
 (Forgive ! forgive ! much- wrong'd Montrose! 
 Now Death and Hell engulph thy foes, 
 
 Thou liv'st on high for ever I) 
 
 Still o'er the field the combat burns. 
 The Tories, Whigs, give way by turns; 
 
 But fate the word has spoken : 
 For woman's wit, or strength o' man, 
 Alas ! can do but what they can ; 
 
 The Tory ranks are broken. 
 
 O that my een were flowing burns 1 
 .My voice, a lioness that mourns 
 
 Her darling cub's undoing 1 
 That I might greet, that I might cry, 
 While Tories fall, w hile Tories fly. 
 
 And furious Whigs pursuing 1 
 
 ">\Tiat Whig but wails the good Sir James 
 Dear to his country by the names, 
 
 Friend, Patron, Benefactor ! 
 Not Pulteney's wealth can Pulteney save 1 
 And Hopetoun falls, the generous, brave ; 
 
 And Stewart, bold as Hector: 
 Thou, Pitt, shalt rue this overthrow. 
 And Thurlow growl a curse of woe, 
 
 And Melville melt in wailing. 
 How Fox and Sheridan rejoice; 
 .Vnd Burke shall sing, 'O prince, arise 1 
 
 Thy power is all prevailing '.' 
 
 For your poor friend, the Bard afar, 
 He only hears and sees the war, 
 
 A cool spectator purely 1 
 So, when the storm the forest rends. 
 The Robin in the hedge descends, 
 
 And sober chirps securely. 
 
 ' Now, for my friends' and brethren's sakes", 
 And for my dear-lov'd Land o" Cakes, 
 
 I pray with holy fire : 
 Lord, send a rough-shod troop o' Hell 
 O'er a' wad Scotland buy or sell, 
 I To grind them in the mire! 
 
 * The Duke of Queensberry's factor, a great friend of Burns. 
 
 t Fergusson of Craigdarroch, and Riddel of Glenriddel— distinguished in the song 
 of The Whiitle. Sir Robert Lawrie of Maxwelton, M.P. for the county, another Knight 
 •'/ the Whistlf, is named in the next verse but one. 
 
 {Provost of Dumfries. §The Sheriff of the county. !! A wine merchant in Dumfries. 
 
 •JThe "Bullers of Buchan " are rocky caverirs on the Aberdeenshire coast, near 
 Peterhead. 
 
 **.John Scrimgeour, Earl of Dundee, a great Jacobite in Cromwell's time. 
 
 t tGiaham of Claverhouse, and Graham, Marquis of Montrose.
 
 TEE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 291 
 
 TO MR. PF.TKR STUART, 
 PUBLISHER OF 'THE STAR,' LO.NDON. 
 
 [These lines formed part of a letter to 
 Mr. Peter Stuart of The Star, in which the 
 Poet— apparently a -subscriber to that 
 newspaper— complains of its irregular 
 delivery.] 
 
 Dear Peter, dear Peter, 
 
 We poor sons of metre 
 Are often negleckit, ye ken ; 
 
 For instance, your sheet, man, 
 
 (Though glad I'm to see't, man), 
 I get ic no' ae day in ten.— R.B. 
 
 EXTEMPORE 
 
 ON SOME COMMEMORATIONS OP THE 
 
 POET THOMSON. 
 
 [Burns enclosed these verses to the 
 editor of the Edinburgh Gazetteer, in which 
 paper they first appeared. The poet refers 
 to them in a letter to Mr. Graham of 
 Fintry, dated oth January, 1793.) 
 
 Dost thou not rise, indignant Shade, 
 
 And smile wi' spuming scorn. 
 When they wha wad hae starv'd thy life. 
 
 Thy senseless turf adorn ! 
 Helpless, alane, thou clamb the brae, 
 
 Wi' mickle, mickle toil. 
 And claught the unfading garland there, 
 
 Thysair-won, rightful spoil. 
 And wear it there I and call aloud 
 
 This axiom undoubted— 
 Would thou hae nobles' patronage?— 
 
 'First learn to live without it !' 
 To whom hae much, shall yet be given. 
 
 Is every great man's faith ; 
 But he, the helpless, needless wretch, 
 
 Shall lose the mite he hath. 
 
 TO MISS FONTENELLE, 
 
 ON SEEING HER IN A PAVOURCTE 
 CHARACTER. 
 
 Sweet naivete of feature. 
 
 Simple, wild, enchanting elf. 
 Not to thee, but thanks to Nature, 
 
 Thou art acting but thyself. 
 Wert thou awkward, stiff, affected, 
 
 Spurning nature, torturing art; 
 Loves and graces all rejected. 
 
 Then indeed thou'd-st act a part. 
 
 AH. CHLORIS, SINCE IT MAY NA BE. 
 Tune— jWajor Graham. 
 
 [Thia first appeared in the Aldine 
 Edition, 1830, printed from the Poet's MS. 
 
 It seems to be the only one of the long list 
 of lyrics inspired by Chloris that was not 
 forwarded to Thomson or Johnson.] 
 
 Ah, Chloris, since it may na be, 
 
 Tliat thou of love wilt hear; 
 If from the lover thou maun flee 
 
 Yet let the friend be dear. 
 Altho' I love my Chloris mair 
 
 Than ever tongue could tell; 
 My passion I will ne'er declare, 
 
 I'll say, I wish thee well. 
 Tho' a' my daily care thou art, 
 
 ^ And a' my nightly dream, 
 I'll hide tlie struggle in my heart 
 
 -And say it is esteem. ' 
 
 INSCRIPTION 
 AT FRIAR3-CARSE HERMITAGE. 
 
 [Shortly after Robert Riddel's death 
 Burns visited the Hermitage, and inscribed 
 on its window the lines given in the text.] 
 
 To Riddel, much lamented man I 
 
 This ivied cot was dear; 
 Wand'rer. dost value matchless worth?— 
 
 This ivied cot revere ! 
 
 GRACE BEFORE, 
 AND THANKS AFTER DINNER 
 
 ON BEING PRES.SED TO OFFICIATE. 
 
 [The dinner, on this occasion, was at the 
 Poet's favourite howff— The Globe Tavern 
 Dumfries.] ' 
 
 BEFORE DINNER. 
 
 O Lord, when hunger pinches sore, 
 
 Do thou stand us in stead. 
 And send us from thy bounteous store 
 
 A tup or weather head ! 
 
 Amen. 
 
 AFTER DINNER. 
 
 O Lord, since we have feasted thus, 
 
 Which we so little merit. 
 Let Meg now take away the flesh, 
 And Jock bring in the spirit ! 
 
 Amen. 
 
 THERE'S DEATH IN THE CUP. 
 
 [On one of the last occasions of a social 
 meeting between Burns and Syme, the 
 Poet inscribed the following lines on a 
 crystal goblet, and presented it to Syme 
 before taking leave :]— 
 
 There's death in the cup— sae beware i 
 Nay, more— there is danger in touching • 
 
 But wha can avoid the fell snare? 
 The man and his wine's sae bewitching I
 
 MISCELLANEOUS EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. 
 
 EPIGRAM 
 PINNED TO A LADY'S COACH.* 
 
 If you rattle along like your mistress's 
 toni;ue, 
 Your speed will out-rival the dart ; 
 But, a fly for your load, you'll break down 
 on the road, 
 If your stutf be as rotten's her heart. 
 
 COMPLIMENTARY EPIGRAM ON 
 MARIA RIDDEL. 
 
 "PRArsE Woman still," his lordship roars, 
 
 "Deserved or not, no matter I" 
 But thee, whom all my soul adores, 
 
 Ev'n Flattery cannot flatter: 
 Maria, all my thought and dream. 
 
 Inspires my vocal shell; 
 The more I praise my lovely theme, 
 
 The more the truth I tell. 
 
 ON A COUNTRY LAIRD, 
 NOT QUITE SO WISE AS SOLOMON. 
 
 [We first find this published in Morison's 
 Perth Edition of 1811. Sir Davi.l Maxwell 
 of Cardoness is the person thus satirized.] 
 
 Bless Jesus Christ, O Cardoness, 
 
 With grateful lifted eyes. 
 Who said that not the soul alone, 
 
 But body too must rise ; 
 For had he said 'the soul alone 
 
 From death I will deliver,' 
 Alas, alas 1 O Cardoness, 
 
 Then thou hadst slept for ever ! 
 
 ON BEING SHEWN A BEAUTIFUL 
 
 COUNTRY SEAT BELONGING TO 
 
 THE SAME LAIRD. 
 
 We grant they're thine, those beauties all. 
 
 So lovely in our eye; 
 Keep them, thou eunuch, Cardoness, 
 
 For others to enjoy. 
 
 ON HEARING 
 SERMON IN LAMINGTON KIRK. 
 
 [This first appeared in Lockhart'a Life 
 of the Poet, 1839.] 
 
 As cauld a wind as ever blew; 
 A cauld kirk, and in't but few; 
 As cauld a minister's ever spak'; 
 Ye'se a' be het 'or I come back. 
 
 ON AN EMPTY FELLOW. 
 
 [This was first published by Lockhart, 
 in 1S39. There are several versions of it 
 in circulation.] 
 
 Of lordly acquaintance you boast, 
 And the dukes that you dined wi' 
 yestreen. 
 
 Yet an insect's an insect at most, 
 Tho' it crawl on the curl of a queen. 
 
 THE BOOK-WORMS. 
 
 [Of this, the origin is thus given : — The 
 Poet, on a visit to a nobleman, was shewn 
 into a library where stood a Shakespeare 
 splendidly bound, but unread, and much 
 worm-eaten. Long after the Poet's death, 
 some one happened to open the neglectetl 
 book, and found the epigram in the easily 
 recognised handwriting of Burns.] 
 
 Through and through the inspired 
 
 leaves. 
 Ye maggots make your windings; 
 But, oh ! respect his lordship's taste, 
 And spare his golden bindings. 
 
 EPITAPH ON A NOTED COXCOMB. 
 
 [The Poet included this in the volume of 
 unpublished poems presented by him to 
 Mr. Riddel. He points out that the object 
 of his satire was "W. Graham, Esq., of 
 Mossknowe."] 
 
 Stop Thief ! dame Nature cried to Death, 
 As Willie drew his latest breath ; 
 You have my choicest model ta'en. 
 How shall I make a fool again? 
 
 • Maria Ridilfl.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 
 293 
 
 EPITAPH ON CAPT. WM. RODDICK. 
 
 [This also is recorded in the Glenriddel 
 MS. in the Poet's own hand.] 
 
 Light lay the earth on Billy's breast— 
 
 His chicken heart so tender; 
 But build a castle on his head, 
 
 His scull will prop it under. 
 
 EPITAPH 
 
 FOR WILLIAM MCOL, HIGH SCHOOL, 
 EDINBURGH. 
 Ye maggots, feed on Nicol's brain, 
 For few sic leasts you've gotten; 
 And fix your claws in Nicol's heart, 
 For deil a bit o'fs rotten. 
 
 EPITAPH 
 
 FOR WILLIAM CRUICKSHANK.HIGHSCHOOL, 
 EDINBURGH. 
 
 Honest Will to Heaven is gane, 
 And mony shall lament him ; 
 
 His faults they a' in Latin lay. 
 In English nane e'er kent them. 
 
 OX COMMISSARY GOLDIE'S BRAIX.S. 
 
 [Commissary Gnldie of Dumfries was 
 president of that "Club of Loyal Natives" 
 referred to in another epigram.] 
 
 Lord, to account who dares thee call, 
 Or e'er di.spute thy pleasure? 
 
 Else why witliin so thick a wall 
 Enclose so poor a treasure? 
 
 HOWLET-FACE. 
 
 [This is to be understood as addressed 
 to one of the Lords of Justiciary, who, 
 (luring circuit at Dumfries, dined with his 
 relative, Mr. .Miller of Dalswinton. On 
 entering the drawing-room, after his liba- 
 tions, in the dusk of the evening, he was 
 attracted by the reflection of his own face 
 in a mirror, at the .side of which Miss 
 .Miller was placed, in a window recess, 
 kmtting. His Lordship, rubbing his eyes, 
 put the question to his host, "Wh.atna 
 oowlet-faced thing's yon i' the corner?" 
 
 How daur ye ca' me howlet-faced, 
 
 Ye ugly glow'rin spectre? 
 My face was but the keekin' glass— 
 
 And there ye saw your picture. 
 
 OX A NATIONAL THANKSGIVING 
 FOR A NAVAL VICTORY. 
 
 Ye hypocrites! are these your pranks? 
 To murder men, and gie God thanks! 
 
 For shame! gie o'er— proceed no further- 
 God wont accept your thanks for 
 murther ! 
 
 TAM THE CHAPMAN. 
 
 [This was first published in CobheWs 
 Vagazine. The hero, Thomas Kennedy, 
 himself comniunicateil it to Cobbett, who 
 Iirinted it with some anecdotes about 
 IJurns and Jean Armour, in ITSti, which 
 have a doubtful aspect. Tain was one of 
 tlie Poet's earliest acquaintances, and his 
 lioyhood was pissed in the labouis of the 
 farm.] 
 
 .\s Tam the Chapman on a day 
 Wi' Death forgather'd by the way, 
 vVeel pleas'd, he greets a wight sae famous, 
 .And Death was nae less pleased wi" 
 
 Thomas, 
 Wha cheerfully lays down the pack, 
 \nil theie blaws up a hearty crack: 
 His social, friendly, honest heart 
 ■-ae tickled Death, they couldna part; 
 Sae, after viewing knives ami garters. 
 Death takes him hame to gie him quarters. 
 
 SWEARING BURTON. 
 
 [This individual was an Englishman, 
 wlio had a constant practice of using such 
 imprecations as those marked in italics in 
 the text.] 
 
 Here cursing, swearing Burton lies, 
 A buck, a beau, or 'Dein mi/ eyest' 
 Who in his life did little good, 
 .4nd his last words weie 'Dein my bloodl' 
 
 ANDREW TURNER. 
 
 [This is somewhat parallel to the pre- 
 ceding. The Poet asked the applicant's 
 name and the year of his birth, and 
 immediately handed round tlie following, 
 to the intiuite amusement of the company. ] 
 
 In seventeen hunder forty-nine, 
 Satan took stuff to mak' a sTTine, 
 
 And cuist it a corner; 
 But wilily he changed his plan. 
 And shaped it something like a man. 
 
 And ca'd it Andrew Turner.
 
 THE POEMS AND SON OS OF BURNS. 
 
 294 
 
 EPITAPH 
 OX GABRIEL RICHARDSON, 
 
 BREWER, DUMFRIES. 
 
 [This g;entleman was the father of Sir 
 John Richardson, the Arctic traveller and 
 eminent naturalist, who died in 1865. The 
 compliment was inscribed by the Poet on 
 a crystal goblet at an after-dinner seder- 
 unt in Mr. Richardson's house.] 
 
 Here brewer Gabriel's fire's extinct, 
 
 And empty all his barrels: 
 He's blest, if as he brew'd he drink, 
 
 In upright, virtuous morals. 
 
 THE SELKIRK GR.iCE. 
 Some hae meat and canna eat, 
 
 And some wad eat that vrant it; 
 But we hae meat, and we can eat, 
 
 And sae the Lord be thanket. 
 
 EPIGRAM OX MR. JAMES GRACIE, 
 BANKER AND DEAN OF GUILD, DUMFRIES. 
 
 [This production is taken from an e.xcel- 
 lent little book, by William .M 'Do wall, 
 entitled, "Burns in Dumfriesshire," ISTo.] 
 
 Gracie, thou art a man of worth. 
 
 Oh be thou Dean for ever ! 
 May he be d to h henceforth 
 
 Who faut's thy weight or measure 1 
 
 The solemn Leag:ue and Covenant 
 Xow brings a smile — now brings a tear ; 
 
 But sacred Freedom, too, was theirs, — 
 If thou'rt a slave, indulge thy sneer. 
 
 COMPLIMEXTS TO JESSY LEW.ARS. 
 Talk not to me of savages 
 
 From Afric's burning sun; 
 Xo savage e'er could rend my heart, 
 
 As, Jessy, thou hast ilone : 
 But Jessy's lovely hand in mine— 
 
 A mutual faith to plight — 
 Xot ev'n to view the Heavenly choir. 
 
 Would be so blest a sight. 
 
 THE 
 SOLEMX LEAGUE AXD COVEXAXT. 
 
 [The reverend clergyman who compiled 
 the description of the parish of Balraaghie, 
 Kirkcudbright, for the 13th vol. of tlie 
 Statistical Account of Scotland in 1794, 
 quoted some inscriptions on the tombs of 
 tne local Covenanters, and in reference to 
 them makes this unfeeling remark, — "The 
 author of these, no doubt, supposed him- 
 self ■writing poetry." Burns's attention 
 was called to this matter, and he borrowed 
 the volume out of the Dumfries subscrip- 
 tion library, and rebuked the narrator l)y 
 writing these lines on the margin of the 
 book opposite the silly passage. The volume 
 still exists, and the pencilled words, in 
 th« Poet's well-known hand, are distinctly 
 visible. It is now the property of the 
 Mechanics' Institution there. Cunningham 
 gives an erroneous version which has been 
 copied in many editions.] 
 
 THE TOAST. 
 INSCRIBED ON A GOBLET. 
 
 [The Poet is said to have composed this 
 on his deathbed, and presented the goblet 
 to Jessy Lewars as a keepsake.] 
 
 Fill me with the rosy wine. 
 Call a to&st — a toast divine ; 
 (live the Poet's darling flame. 
 Lovely Jessy be the name ; 
 Then thou mayest freely boast 
 Thou hast given a peerless toast. 
 
 EPITAPH FOR JESSY LEWARS. 
 
 Sav, .sages, what's the charm on earth 
 Can turn death's dart aside ? 
 
 It is not purity and worth. 
 Else Jessy had not died. 
 
 OX 
 
 OF 
 
 THE RECOVERY 
 
 JESSY LEWARS. 
 
 But rarely seen since Xature's birth — 
 
 The natives of the sky ; 
 Yet still one seraph's left on earth. 
 For Jessy did nut die. 
 
 WHY ALWAYS BACOX? 
 
 [Brownhill Inn was a favourite howfl 
 of the Poet while he resided at Ellisland, 
 from June, 17SS, to December, 1791. The 
 landlord's name was Bacon, and he appear* 
 to have been a favourite with Burns.] 
 
 At Brownhill we always get dainty good 
 
 cheer. 
 And plenty of bacon each day in the year j 
 We're a' thing that's nice, and mostly in 
 
 season. 
 But why always Baoon — come, give me a 
 
 reason ? 
 
 ■* Miss Lewars was afterwards married to Mr. James Thomson, writer, Dumfries. 
 She died in 1S55, at the age of 77, and lies interred under the shadow of Burns'* 
 mausoleum.
 
 POETICAL PIECES 
 
 FIRST PRODUCED IN 
 
 CUNNINGHAM'S AND HOGG & MOTHERWELL'S EDITIONS. 
 
 (1S34 TO 1S39.) 
 
 PIECES FIRST COLLECTED IN CUNNINGHAMS EDITION, 1834. 
 
 EPISTLE TO JOHN KENNEDY. 
 
 Mossgiel, 3rd March, 17S6. 
 
 [This early friend of the Poet was factor 
 to Patrick, laet Earl of Dumfries, resident 
 at Dumfries House, situated about half- 
 way between Auchinleck and Ochiltree. 
 Kennedy was two years older than Burns, 
 as we learn from his tombstone in the old 
 Calton Burying-siound in Edinburgh, in 
 which city he died, 19th June, 1S12, aged 
 55.] 
 
 Now Kennedy, if foot or horse 
 
 E'er bring you in by Mauchline corss, 
 
 L — , man, there's lasses there wad force 
 
 A hermit's fancy; 
 And down the gate, in faith, they're worse 
 
 And mair unchancy. 
 
 But, as I'm sayin', please step to Dow's 
 And taste sic gear as Johnnie brews, 
 Till some bit callan bring me news 
 
 That you are there ; 
 And if we dinna haiul a bouze, 
 
 I'se ne'er drink mair. 
 
 It's no' I like to sit an' swallow. 
 Then Uke a swine to puke an' wallow ; 
 But gie me just a true good fallow, 
 
 \Vi' right ingine ; 
 And spunkie ance to make us mellow, 
 
 And then we'll shine. 
 Now, if ye're ane o' warl's folk, 
 Wha rate the wearer by the cloak, 
 An' sklent on poverty their joke, 
 
 \Vi' bitter sneer; 
 Wi' you no friendship I will troke, 
 
 Nor cheap nor dear. 
 
 But if, as I'm informed weel, 
 Ye hat« as ill's the very de'il. 
 The flinty heart that cauna feel, — 
 
 Come sir, here's to you 1 
 Hae, there's my haun, I wiss you weel, 
 
 And gude be wi' you 1 
 
 R. B. 
 
 YE .SONS OF OLD KILLIE. 
 
 TvyE—Shaivnboy. 
 
 [Major William Parker of Assloss, Kil- 
 marnock, is the "Willie" of this song, 
 which was addressed to the brethren of 
 St. John's Loilge, No. 22, of which Mr. 
 Parker was, in 17S6, Riiikt Worshipful 
 Master, and Burns an honorary member, 
 the date of his atfiliatiou being 2ijth 
 October of that year.] 
 
 Ye sons of old Killie, assembled by Willie, 
 
 To follow the noble vocation; 
 Your thrifty old mother has scarce such 
 another 
 
 To sit in that honoured station. 
 I've little to say, but only to pray. 
 
 As praying's "the ton of your fashion ; 
 A prayer from the Muse you well may 
 excuse — 
 
 'Tis seldom her favourite passion. 
 
 Ye powers who preside o'er the wind and 
 the tide, 
 Who marked each element's border; 
 Who formed this frame witli beneflcent 
 aim. 
 Whose soverei'jn statute is order I 
 Within this dear mansion may wayward 
 Contention 
 Or withered Kiivy ne'er enter; 
 .May Secrecy round be the mystical bound. 
 And Brotherly Love be the centre 1 
 
 EPISTLE TO MAJOR LOGAN. 
 
 [Major William Logan was a happy 
 Ipachelor, residing with his iiiother and 
 sister at Park Vill.i, near .\yr, atnl it is to 
 be inferred from the poem that the Poet 
 had been freijuently entertained there. 
 Ihe third stanza is nearly a lupetition of 
 verse second in the J-Jpistle to Davie. 
 Cunningham obtained this poem from Mr. 
 Aulil of Doonbrae, to whom it was pre- 
 I sented by "sister Susie," in 182S.]
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 •290 
 
 Hail, thairm-inspirin', rattlin' Willie: 
 Though Fortune's road be roujih an' hilly 
 To every fiddling, rhyming billie. 
 
 We never heed, 
 But take it like the unback'd tilly. 
 
 Proud o' her speed. 
 
 When idly goavan, whyles we saunter; 
 Yirr! fancy bark», awa' we canter 
 Uphill, down brae, till some mishanter, 
 
 Some black bog-hole 
 Arrests us, then the scathe an' banter 
 
 We're forced to chole. 
 
 Hale be your heart I Hale be your fiddle 1 
 I.ang may your elbuck jink aiid diddle. 
 To cheer you through the weary widdle 
 
 C»' this wild warl'. 
 Until you on a crummock driddle, 
 
 A gray liair'd carl. 
 
 Come wealth, come poortith, late or soon, 
 Heaven send your heart-strings ay in tune. 
 And screw your temper-pins aboon — 
 
 A fifth or mair — 
 The melancholious, lazy croon 
 
 O' cankrie care! 
 
 May still your life from day to day, 
 Nae lente largo in the play ; 
 But allegretto furt^ gay. 
 
 Harmonious flow, 
 A sweeping, kindling, bauld strathspey— 
 
 Encore 1 Bravo ! 
 
 A blessing on the cheery gang 
 Wha dearly like a jig or sang. 
 An' never think o' right an' wrang 
 
 By square an' rule, 
 But as the clegs o' feeling stang, 
 
 Are wise or fool ! 
 
 My hand-waled curse keep hard in chase 
 The harpy, hoodock. purse-proud race, 
 Wha count on poortith as disgrace— 
 
 Their tuneless hearts ! 
 May fireside discords jar a bass 
 
 To a' their parts! 
 
 But come, your hand, my careless brither, 
 I' th' ither warl'— if there's anither, 
 An' that there is I've little swither 
 
 About the matter— 
 We cheek for chow shall jog thegither, 
 
 I'se ne'er bid better. 
 
 We've faults and failings--granted clearly. 
 We're frail backsliding mortals merely ; 
 Eve's bonie squad, priests wyte them 
 sheerly 
 
 For our grand fa' ; 
 But still, but still, I like them dearly - 
 
 God bless them a'l 
 
 Och-on for poor Castalian drinkers, 
 When they fa' foul o' earthly jinkera I 
 The witching, curs'd, delicious blinkers 
 
 Hae put me hyte. 
 And gart me weet my waukrife winkers, 
 
 Wi' girnin spite. 
 
 But by yon moon!- and that's high 
 
 swearin'— 
 An' every star within my hearin' ! 
 -■Vn' by her een wha was a dear ane 1 
 
 I'll ne'er forget; 
 I hope to gie the jads a clearin' 
 
 In fair play yet. 
 
 My loss I mourn, but nut repent it; 
 I'll seek my pursie whare I tint it; 
 Ance to the Indies I were wonted, 
 
 Some cantraip hour, 
 By some sweet elf I'll yet be dinted— 
 
 Then, vice V amour ! 
 
 Paitet meg baisse)nains renpectveuse, 
 To sentimental sister Susie, 
 An' honest Lucky ; no' to roose you, 
 ™, ^ . Ye may be proud, 
 
 Ihat SIC a couple Fate allows ye 
 
 To grace your blood. 
 
 Xae mair at present can I measure, 
 An' trouth my rhymin' ware's nae treasure; 
 But when m Ayr, some half-hour's leisure 
 .. Be't light, be'tdark, 
 
 Mr Bard will do himself the pleasure 
 To call at Park. 
 
 Robert Burns. 
 
 iloss'jiel, 30th October, 17S6. 
 
 V E R S E S 
 
 INTENDED TO BE WRITTEN BELOW A 
 
 NOBLE EARL'S PICTURE. 
 
 [The manuscript of these lines is pre- 
 served at Dumfries, In the house so long 
 possessed by Burns and his family. The 
 Poet, in the month of February, 1787 
 while in Edinburgh preparing for his 
 second edition, wrote to (ilencairn, his 
 patron, requesting his permission to allow 
 the verses to be included among his 
 prmted poems, which, it appears, his lord- 
 ship disapproved of.] 
 
 Whose is that noble, dauntless, browT 
 
 And whose that eye of fire? 
 .\nd whose that generous princely mien 
 
 Even rooted foes admire?
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 
 297 
 
 stranger! to justly shew that brow, 
 
 And mark that eye of fire, 
 Would take His handf'whose vernal tints 
 
 His other works admire. 
 
 Bright as a cloudless summer sun, 
 
 With stately port lie moves; 
 His guardian ^^eraph eyes with awe 
 
 The noble ward he loves. 
 
 Among the illustrious .Scottish sons 
 That chief thou may'st discern ; 
 
 Mark Scotia's fond returning eye- 
 It dwells upon Glenc.iirn. 
 
 I Or turn the pole like any arrow; 
 (Jr, when auld Phcebus bids good-morrow, 
 Down the zodiac urge the race, 
 And cast dirt on his godship's face; 
 For I could lay my bread and kail 
 He'd ne'er cast saut upo' thy tail 1 — 
 Wi' a' this care and a' this grief. 
 And sma', sma' prospect of relief, 
 And nought but peat reek i' my head, 
 How can I write what ye can read? — 
 Tarbolton, twenty-fourth o' June, 
 Ye'll find me in a better tune ; 
 But till we meet and weet our whistle, 
 Tak' this excuse for nae epistle. 
 
 Robert Buk.vs. 
 
 EPISTLE TO HUGH PARKER. 
 
 [Parker was one of the Poet's Kilmar- 
 nock friends. He died circa 1S24. On the 
 13th of June, 17S8, Burns took up his abode 
 at Ellialand, and on the llth of June, he 
 wrote to Mrs. Dunlop describing himself 
 as the "solitary inmate nf an old, smoky 
 spence: far from every object Hove, or by 
 whom I am beloved ; with no acquaintance 
 older than yesterday, e.^cept Jenny 
 Geddes, the old mare I ride on." In these 
 circumstances, he penned the present 
 epistle.] 
 
 In this strange land, this uncouth clime, 
 
 A land unknown to prose or rhyme ; 
 
 Where words ne'er crost the Muse's heckles, 
 
 Nor lirapit in poetic shackles : 
 
 A land that Prose did never view it, 
 
 Except when drunk he stacher't thro' it ; 
 
 Here, ambush'd by the chimla cheek. 
 
 Hid in an atmo^phere of reek, 
 
 I hear a wheel thrum i' the neuk, 
 
 I hear it — for in vain I leuk. 
 
 The red peat gleams, a fiery kernel, 
 
 Enhusked by a fog infernal: 
 
 Here, for my wonted rhyming raptures, 
 
 I sit and count my sins by chapters; 
 
 For life and spunk like ither Christians, 
 
 I'm dwindled down to mere existence — 
 
 Wi' nae converse but Gallowa' bodies, 
 
 Wi' nae kenn'd face but Jenny Geddes. 
 
 Jenny— my Pegasean pride !— 
 
 Dowie she saunters down Nithside, 
 
 And ay a westlin leuk she throws. 
 
 While tears hap o'er her auld brown nose 1 
 
 Was it for this, wi' cannie care. 
 
 Thou bure the Bard through many a shire ? 
 
 At liowes or hillocks never stumbled. 
 
 And late or early never grumbled?— 
 
 O, had I power like inclination, 
 
 I'd beeze thee up a constellation, 
 
 To canter with the Sagitarre, 
 
 Or loup the ecliptic like a bar ; 
 
 THE FETE CHAMPETRE. 
 
 TV}i^—Killicrankie. 
 
 [In the year 1788, according to the narra- 
 tive of Gilbert Burns (1320), Mr. Curming- 
 hame's two mansions of Enterkin and 
 .\nnbank underwent some repairs, and 
 while these operations went on, he got 
 temporary erections made on the banks of 
 Ayr, tastefully decorated with shrubs and 
 flowers, and gave a grand supper and ball, 
 to which most of the respectable families 
 in the county were invited. It was thought 
 at the time that his object was to pave the 
 way for standing as a candidate in an 
 expected county election, and among the 
 guests at the jete, this subject was dis- 
 cussed. James Bosivell, who "led o'er 
 Scotland a', the meikle Ifrsa Major," was 
 spoken of by some ; Sir John \VTiitefoord, 
 then of Glencaird, was mentioned by 
 others; and, finally, the question was 
 asked: "What say ye to Annbank 
 hirasel' ? "] 
 
 O WHA will to Saint Stephen's House, 
 
 To do our errands there, man? 
 O wha will to Saint Stephen's House, 
 
 O' th' merry lads of Ayr, man ? 
 Oi will we send a man-o'-law? 
 
 Or will we send a sodger? 
 Or him wha led o'er Scotland a' 
 
 The meikle Ursa-Major? 
 
 Come, will ye court a noble lord, 
 
 Or buy a score o' l.iirds, cjan? 
 For worth and honour pawn their word, 
 
 Their vote shall be Glencaird's, man? 
 Ane gies them coin, ane gies them wine, 
 
 Anither gies them clatter; 
 Annbank, wha guess'd the ladies' taste. 
 
 He gies a F^te ChampStre.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 
 293 
 
 When Love and Beauty heard the news, 
 The gay greenwoods amang, man ; 
 
 Where, gathering flowers and busking 
 bowers. 
 They heard the blackbird's sang, man : 
 
 A vow, they seal'd it with a kiss, 
 Sir Pohtics to fetter. 
 
 As theirs alone, the patent-bliss, 
 
 To hold a Fi5te Champdtre. 
 
 Then mounted Mirth on gleesome wing. 
 
 O'er hill and dale she flew, man ; 
 Ilk wimpling burn, ilk crystal spring, 
 
 Ilk glen and shaw she know, man: 
 She summon'd every social sprite. 
 
 That sports by wood or water. 
 On the bonie banks of Ayr to meet. 
 
 And keep this FSte Champetre. 
 
 Cauld Boreas, wi' his boisterous crew, 
 
 Were bound to stakes like kye, man ; 
 And Cynthia's car, o' silver fu', 
 
 Clamb up the starry sky, man : 
 Reflected beams dwell in the streams, 
 
 Or down the current shatter; 
 The western breeze steals thro' the trees. 
 
 To view this Fete Champetre. 
 
 How many a robe sae gaily floats ! 
 
 WTiat sparkling jewels glance, man ! 
 To Harmony's enchanting notes. 
 
 As moves the mazy dance, man. 
 The echoing wood, the winding flood, 
 
 Like Paradise did glitter. 
 When angels met, at Adam's yett, 
 
 To hold their Fete Champetre. 
 
 When Politics came there, to mix 
 
 And make his ether-stane, man? 
 He circled round the the magic ground. 
 
 But entrance found he nane, man ; 
 He blush'd for shame, he quat his name. 
 
 Forswore it, every letter, 
 Wi' humble prayer to join and share 
 
 This festive Fete Champetre. 
 
 VERSES TO JOHN TAYLOR. 
 
 [The Poet, in company with a gentleman 
 named Sloan, during one of his excise 
 journeys, in the winter of 17S9-90, on arriv. 
 ing at Wanlockhead, felt the necessity of 
 getting his horse's shoes sharpened, to en- 
 able him to proceed over the frosty ground. 
 The Poet paid the smith both in money 
 and in drink, but above all, he paid him 
 with these verses, of which the smith 
 boasted all his life thereafter.] 
 
 With Pegasus upon a da;\ 
 
 Apollo weary flying. 
 Through frosty liflls the journey lay. 
 
 On foot the way was plying. 
 
 Poor slip-shod giddy Pegasus 
 
 Was but a sorry walker; 
 To Vulcan then Apollo goes. 
 
 To get a frosty caulker. 
 
 Obliging Vulcan fell to work. 
 Threw by his coat and bonnet, 
 
 And did Sol's business in a crack ; 
 Sol paid him with a sonnet. 
 
 Ye ViUcan's sons of Wanlockhead, 
 
 Pity my sad disaster ; 
 My Pegasus is poorly shod — 
 
 I'll pay you like my master. 
 Ramage's, 3 o'clock. Robert Burns 
 
 TO JOHN M'MURDO, ESQ., 
 WITH A PRESE.NT OF BOOKS. 
 
 [This gentleman was chamberlain to the 
 Duke of Queensberry, and resided at 
 Drumlanrig.j 
 
 O, COULD I give thee India's wealth — 
 
 As I this trifle send ; 
 Because thy joy in both would be 
 
 To share them with a friend ! 
 
 But golden sands did never grace 
 
 The Heliconian stream ! 
 Then take what gold could never buy — 
 
 An honest Banl's esteem. 
 
 ON MR. M'MURDO. 
 
 INSCRIBED ON A PANE OF GLASS IN HIS 
 HOUSE. 
 
 BLEST be M'Murdo to his latest day ! 
 No envious cloud o'ercast his evening ray;. 
 No wrinkle furrow'd by the hand of care, 
 Nor ever sorrow add one silver hair ! 
 O may no son the father's honour stain, 
 Nor ever daughter give the mother pain I 
 
 EPISTLE FROM ESOPUS TO MARIA. 
 
 [This is another satire on Maria Riddel. 
 The "Esopus" here imaginei'., is under- 
 stood to be AVillianison the actor, who had 
 been patronized in Dumfries by Mrs. 
 Riddel, and even shared in the festivities 
 of Woodley Park. A little before the 
 date of this lampoon, Williamson, with 
 his whole company, while attempting to-
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 299 
 
 get lip theatricals in a country town in 
 Ensland, hail been apprehentleil, and im- 
 prisoned as vajirants, nnder a warrant 
 from the Earl of Lonsdale. 
 
 This piece, the writing of which Burns 
 lived to regret, is a professed parody of 
 the opening portion of Pope's well-known 
 Epistle from Eloise tn Abetard.] 
 
 From those drear solitudes and frowsy 
 
 cell«. 
 Where Infamy with sad Repentancedwells; 
 Where turnkeys make the jealous portal 
 
 fast, 
 And deal from iron hands the spare repast ; 
 Where truant 'prentices, yet young in sin. 
 Blush at the curious stranger peeping in ; 
 Where strumpets, relics of the drunken 
 
 roar. 
 Resolve to drink, nay, half to no 
 
 more; 
 Where tiny thieves not destin'd yet to 
 
 swing, 
 Beat hemp for others, riper for the strin.^ ; 
 From these dire scenes my wretched lines 
 
 I date. 
 To tell Maria her Esopus' f vte. 
 
 'Alas; I feel I am no actor here !' 
 'Tis real hangmen real scourges bear ! 
 Prepare, Maria, for a horrid tale 
 Will turn thy very rouge to deadly pale- 
 Will make thy hair, the' erst from gipsy 
 
 polled. 
 By barber woven, and by barber sold. 
 Though twisted smooth with Harry's 
 
 nicest care, 
 Like hoary bristles to erect and stare I 
 The hero of the mimic scene, no more 
 I start in Hamlet, in Othello roar; 
 Or haughty Chieftain, mid the din of arms, 
 In Highland bonnet woo Malvina's charms; 
 While sans-cxduUes stoo'p up the mountain 
 
 high. 
 And steal from me Maria's prying eye. 
 Blest Highland bonnet ! once my proudest 
 
 dress. 
 Now, prouder still, Maria's temples press : 
 I see her wave thy towering plumes afar. 
 And call each coxcomb to the wordy war : 
 I see her face the tirst of Ireland's sons,* 
 And even out-Irish his Hibernian bronze. 
 The crafty Colonel t leaves the tartan'd 
 
 lines. 
 For other wars, where he a hero shines : 
 The hopeful youth, in Scottish senate bred. 
 Who owns a Bushby's heart without the 
 
 head, t 
 Comes, 'mid a string of coxcombs to dis- 
 play.-,. . . . ^. 
 That veni, vidi, mci, is his way. 
 
 The shrinking Bard adown an alley skulks. 
 And dreads a meeting worse than Wuol- 
 
 wich hulks ; 
 Though there, his heresies in Church and 
 
 .State 
 Might well award him Muir and Palmer's 
 
 fate: 
 Still she undaunted reels and rattles on. 
 And dares the public like ,a noontide sun. 
 (lK/i(Z< scandal called Maria's jaunty stagger 
 ■The ricket reeling of a crooked swairger? 
 Whose spleen— e'en worse than Burns'* 
 
 venom, when 
 He dips in gall unmi.red his eager pen. 
 And pours his vengeance in the burning 
 
 line, — 
 Who christened thus Maria's lyre divine 
 The idiot strum of vanity bemused. 
 And even th' abuse of Poesy abused? 
 Who called her verse, a Parish Workhouse 
 
 made 
 For motley foundling Fancies, stolen or 
 
 strayed?) 
 
 A Workhouse ! ah, that sound awakes my 
 
 woes. 
 And pillows on the thorn my rack'd repose ! 
 In durance vile here must I wake and weep, 
 .And all my frowsy couch in sorrow steep ; 
 That straw where many a rogue has lain 
 
 of yore. 
 And vermin'd gipsies litter'd heretofore. 
 
 Why, Lonsdale, thus thy wrath on vagrants 
 
 pour? 
 Must earth no rascal save thyself endure ? 
 Must thou alone in guilt immortal swell, 
 And make a vast monopoly of hell? 
 Thou knijw'st, the Virtues cannot h.ate 
 
 tliee worse; 
 The Vices also, must theji club their curse? 
 Or must no tiny sin to others fall. 
 Because thy guilt's supreme enough for all? 
 
 Maria 1 send me too thy griefs and cares, — 
 In all of thee, sure thy Esopus shares : 
 As thou at all mankind the flag unfurls 
 Who on my fair one Satire's vengeance 
 
 hurls — 
 Who calls thee pert, affected, vain 
 
 coquette, 
 A wit in folly, and a fool in wit— 
 Who says, thit/vol alone is not thy due. 
 And quotes thy treacheries to prove ittrue! 
 
 Our force united on thy foes we'll turn, 
 And dare the war with all of woman born : 
 For who can write and speak as thou and I? 
 My periods that deciphering defy. 
 And thy still matchless tongue that con- 
 quers all rt'plv I 
 
 •Captain Gillespie. t-M' Do wall of Logan. J This ilea repeated, p. 3ni.
 
 PIECES FIRST COLLECTED IN HOGG & MOTHERWELL'S EDITION, i834-35. 
 
 INVITATION TO DR M'KENZIE 
 
 TO ATTEND A MASONIC MEETING AT 
 TARBOLTON. 
 
 [This rhymed note to hia friend and 
 brother-mason, Mr. M'Kenzie, surgeon, 
 Mauehline, was written in June, 1786, at 
 the time the Poet was pushing forward 
 the printing of his Kihnarnock volume.] 
 
 Friday first's the day appointed, 
 By our Right Worshipful anointed, 
 
 To holJour grand procession ; 
 To get a blade o' Johnnie's morals. 
 And taste a swatch o' Manson's barrels, 
 
 I' the way of our profession. 
 Our Master and the Brotherhood 
 
 Wad a' be glad to see you ; 
 For uie I would be niair than proud 
 To share the mercies wi' you. 
 If death, then, wi' skaith, then. 
 Some mortal heart is hechtin, 
 Inform him, and storm him, 
 That Saturday ye'U fecht him. 
 
 Robert Burns. 
 
 VERSES 
 
 ON THE DESTRUCTION OF THE WOODS 
 
 NEAR DRUMLANRIG. 
 
 [We give Motherwell's version, as being, 
 on the whole, an improvement on the older 
 text; preserving, however, some expres- 
 sions in the latter, for their superiority. 
 There is no proof of the authenticity of 
 this piece save its intrinsic merit.] 
 
 As on the banks o' wandering Nith, 
 
 Ae smiling simmer-morn I strayed, 
 And traced its bonie howes and haughs, 
 
 Where Unties sang, and lambkins play'd, 
 I sat me down upon a craig, 
 
 And drank my fill o' fancy's dream, 
 When, from the eddying deep below. 
 
 Uprose the genius of the stream. 
 
 Dark, like the frowninp rock, his brow. 
 
 And troubled, like his wintry wave, 
 And deep, as sughs the boding wind 
 
 Amang his eaves, the sigh he gave— 
 'And came ye here, ray son,' he cried, 
 
 'To wander in my birken shade?— 
 To muse some favourite Scottish theme. 
 
 Or sing some favourite Scottish maid? 
 
 'There was a time, it's nae lang syne. 
 
 Ye might hae seen me in my pride. 
 When a' my weel-clad lianks could see 
 
 Their woody pictures in my tide; 
 When hanging beech and spreading elm 
 
 Shaded my stream sae clear and cool ; 
 And stately oaks their twisted arms 
 
 "Threw broad and dark across the pool ; 
 
 ' When, glinting through the trees, 
 
 appeared 
 The wee white cot aboon the mill, 
 And peacefu' rose its ingle reek. 
 
 That, slowly curling, clamb the hill; 
 But now the cot is bare and cauld. 
 
 Its branchy shelter's lost and gane,— 
 And scarce a stinted birk is left 
 
 To shiver in the blast its lane.' 
 
 'Alas!' said I, 'what ruefu' chance 
 
 Has twin'd ye o' your stately trees? — 
 Has laid your rocky bosom bare? — 
 
 Has -stripp'd the cleading atf your braes T 
 ^\ as it the bitter eastern blast. 
 
 That scatters blight in early spring? 
 Or was't the wil'tire scorched their boughs, 
 
 Or canker-worm wi' secret sting?" 
 
 ' Xae eastlin blast,' the spite replied; 
 
 ' It blaws na here sae tierce and fell ; 
 .Vnd on my dry and halesome banka, 
 
 Nae canker-worms get leave to <lwell : 
 Man! cruel man!' the genius sigh'd,— 
 
 As through the cliffs he sank him down, — 
 'The worm that gnaw'd my bonie trees — 
 
 That reptile wears a DucAL CROWN ! ' 
 
 HERON ELECTION BALLADS. 
 BALLAD FIRST. 
 
 Tune— For a' that, and a' that. 
 
 [A vacancy occurred, during the early part 
 of the year 1795, in the parliamentary re- 
 presentation of the Stewartry of Kirk- 
 cubright. The Tories set up Mr. Gordon 
 of Balmaghie, backed by the wealth and 
 influence of his uncle, Mr. Murray of 
 Broughton, and the support of the Earl of 
 Galloway. The Whig candida*^*, with 
 whom our Poet sided, was .Mr. Heron of 
 Kerroughtree, in who-e homiur he penned 
 the Inscriptionforan Altarof hidependetice. 
 
 The Poet, in the third verse, pays a 
 compliment to the Earl of .Selkirk and his 
 family, with whom he was on friendly 
 terms.]
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 
 801 
 
 Whom will ye semi to London town, 
 
 To Parliament and a' that? 
 Or whom in a' the country roun', 
 The best deserves to fa' that? 
 For a' that, and a' that. 
 
 Through Galloway and a' that; 
 
 AVhere is the 2aird or belted knight 
 
 That best deserves to fa' that? 
 
 Wha sees Kerroughtree's open yett — 
 
 And wha is't never saw that?— 
 Wha ever wi' Kerroughtree's met, 
 And has a doubt of a' that? 
 For a' that, and a' that. 
 
 Here's Heron yet for a" that! 
 The independent patriot, 
 The honest man, and a' that. 
 
 Tho' wit and worth, in either sex, 
 
 St Mary's Isle can shaw that; 
 Wi' dukes and lords let Selkirk mix. 
 And weel does vSelkirk fa' that. 
 For a' that, and a' that. 
 
 Here's Heron yet for a' that ! 
 The independent commoner 
 Shall be the man for a' that. 
 
 But why should we to nobles jouk?— 
 
 And it's against the law that — 
 For why ?— a lord may be a gouk, 
 Wi' ribbon, star, and a' that! 
 For a' that, and a' that. 
 
 Here's Heron yet for a' that ! 
 A lord may be a lousy loun, 
 Wi' ribbon, star, and a' that. 
 
 A beardless boy comes o'er the hills, 
 
 Wi' uncle's purse, and a' that ; 
 But we'll hae ane frae 'mang oursels', 
 A man we ken, and a' that. 
 For a' that, and a' that, 
 
 Here's Heron yet for a' that I 
 We are na to be bought or sold 
 Like naigs and nowt, and a' that. 
 
 Then let us drink the Stewartry, 
 
 Kerroughtree's laird, and a' ttiat. 
 Our repre.sentative to be. 
 For weel he's worthy a' that, 
 For a' that, and a' that. 
 
 Here's Heron yet for a' that ! 
 A House o' Ctimmons such as he, — 
 They wad be blest that saw that. 
 
 BALLAD SECO.ND. 
 
 Tu.VE— Fy, let us a' to the bridal. 
 
 [This ballad has various readings, and 
 the verses are differently arranged in some 
 copies.] 
 
 Fv, let us a' to Kirkcudbright, 
 
 For there will be bickerin' there; 
 For .Murray's light-horse are to muster, 
 
 And, O how the heroes will suear ! 
 And there will be Murray commander,* 
 
 And Gortlon the battle to win ! 
 Like brothers they'll stand by each other ;. 
 
 Sae knit in alliance are kin. 
 
 And there will be black-nebbit Johnie.t 
 
 The tongue o' the trump to them a' ; 
 An he get na hell for his haddin. 
 
 The Deil gets nae justice ava': 
 And there will be Kempleton's birkie.t 
 
 A boy no sae black at the bane ; 
 But as to his tine Nabob fortune, 
 
 We'll e'en let the subject alane. 
 
 And there will be Wigton's new Sheriff— § 
 Dame Justice fu' brawly has .sped ; 
 
 She's gotten the heart of a Bushby.i 
 But, what has become o' the head? 
 
 And there will be Cardoness, Esquire, •[ 
 Sae mighty in Cardoness' eyes, 
 
 A wight that will weather d.amnation, — 
 The Devil the prey will despise. 
 
 And there will be Douglasses doughty,** 
 
 New-christening towns o' the shere"; 
 Abjuring their democrat doings 
 
 By kissin' the • of a peer. 
 
 An(l there will be Kenmure .sae gen'rous ! 1 1 
 
 Wha's honour is proof to the storm; 
 To save them from stark reprobation. 
 
 He lent them his name to tlie firm. 
 
 But we winna mention Redcastle, } t 
 
 The body, e'en let him escape; 
 He'd venture the gallows for siller. 
 
 An 'twere na the cost o' the rape. 
 And where is our King's Lord-lieutenant, 
 
 .Sae fam'd for his gratefu' return? 
 The billie is gettin his questions, 
 
 To say in Saint Stephen's the moi n. 
 
 ♦riordnn, tho Tory candidate, and Murray of Broiighton, liis uncle. 
 
 f.Tohn Bushby — " honest man, cheat him devil, if you can." 
 
 J Vt'illiam Bushby, brother of John of Tinwald Downs. 
 
 § Bushby Maitlarid, son of John. \\ See same idea, p. 299. 
 
 ^ David Maxwell of Cardoness. 
 **Me9sr3. Douglas, who changed the name Carlimvark to "Castle Douglas." 
 f t Gordon of Kenmure, afterwards restored Viscount Kenmure. 
 
 X t W. S. Lawrie of Redcastle.
 
 TEE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 302 
 
 Anil there will be lads o' the gospel, 
 
 Muirhead,* wha's as gutle as he's true, 
 And there will be Biiittle's apostle, i 
 
 Wha's mair o' the black than the blue. 
 And there will be folk frae St. Mary's, J 
 
 .\ house of fireat merit and note ; 
 Tlie deil ane but honours them highly, 
 
 The deil ane will give them his vote. 
 
 And there will be wealthy young Richard,! 
 
 Dame Fortune should hing by the neck 
 For prodigal thoughtle,ss bestowing 
 
 That worth had else won him respect. 
 And there will be rich brother Nabobs, 
 
 Thoiinh Nabobs, yet men o' the first; 
 And tliere will l)e Collieston's whiskers, 1| 
 
 And Quentin*! o' lads not the worst. 
 
 And there will be stamp-office Johnie,** 
 
 Tak tent how ye purchase a dram; 
 And thei e will be gay Cassencarrie, 
 
 And there will be gleg Colonel Tam. ft 
 And there will be trusty Kerroughtree, X * 
 
 Wha's honour was ever his law; 
 If the virtues were pack't in a parcel, 
 
 His worth might "De sample for a.' 
 
 And can we forget the auld Major, J t 
 
 Wha'U ne'er be forgot in the Greys, 
 Our flatt'ry we'll keep for some ither, 
 
 Him 'tis only justice to praise. 
 And there will be maiden Kilkerran, §§ 
 
 And also Barskimmin's II || gude knight ; 
 And there will be roaring Birtwhistle.^^f 
 
 Yet luckily roars in the right. 
 
 And there frae the Nidsdale border. 
 
 Will mingle the Maxwells in droves, 
 Teugh Johnie,*** staunch Geordie and 
 Wallie, 1 1 1 
 
 That griens for their fishes and loaves. 
 And there will be Logan M 'Do wall ; J t J 
 
 Sculduddry and he will be there ; 
 And also the wild Scot o' Gallovray, 
 
 Sodgerin gunpowder Blair. § § § 
 
 Hey for the chaste int'rest of Broughton ! 
 
 And hey for the blossoms 'twill bring t 
 It may send Balmaghie to the Commons, — 
 
 In Sodom 'twould make him a King ! 
 
 And hey for the sanctified Murray I 
 Our land wha wi' chapels lias stored! 
 
 He founder'd liis horse among harlots, 
 But gied his auld naig to the Lord. 
 
 BALL.\D THIRD. 
 JOHN BUSHBY'S LAMENTATIO.N. 
 
 [This was composed after the election 
 was decided in Mr. Heron's favour, and 
 tlie Bard ingeniously puts his own song of 
 triumph into the moutli of "Blacknebbit 
 Johnie" in the form of a LaniL'nt. 
 
 In verse sixth there is an allusion to an 
 intrigue in which .Murray of Broughton 
 was involved. Tlie two concluding verses, 
 placed within brackets, are given fiom 
 Chamber's edition, ISol.] 
 
 'TwAS in the seventeen hundred year 
 
 Of Christ and ninety-flve. 
 That year I was the wae'est man 
 
 Of ony man alive. 
 
 In March the three-and-twentieth day, 
 The sun rose clear and bright; 
 
 But O ! I was a waefu' raan 
 Kre toofa' o' the night. 
 
 Yerl Galloway lang did rule this land, 
 
 Wi' equal ri<jht a,nd fame, 
 And thereto was his kinsman join'd 
 The Murray's noble name ! 
 
 Yerl Galloway lang did rule the land, 
 
 Made me the judge o' strife ; 
 But now Yerl Galloway's sceptre's broke, 
 
 And eke my hangman's knife. 
 
 Twas by the banks o' bonie Dee, 
 
 Beside Kirkcu'brie's towers. 
 The Stewart and the Murray there 
 
 Did muster a' their powers. 
 
 The Murray, on the auld grey yaud, 
 
 Wi' wingM spurs did ride. 
 That auld grey yaud, yea, Nidsdale rade, 
 
 He staw upon Nidside. 
 
 *Rev. Mr. Muirhead of Urr. 
 tRev. George Maxwell of Buittle. t Earl of Selkirk family. 
 
 §Richard Oswald of Auchincruive. II Mr. Copland of CoUieston. 
 
 lIQuentin M'Adam of Craigengillan. 
 **John Syme, Esq., distributor of stamps. tt Colonel Goldie of Goldielea. 
 
 t J Kerroughtree, the Whig candidate, and Major Heron, his brother. 
 §§ Sir Adain Ferguson. |l || Miller of Glenlee. 
 
 ^•[Mr. A. Birtwhistle of Kirkcudbright. 
 
 * * 'Old Maxwell of Terraughty. — (See Epistle to do., page 279 ante.) 
 1 1 1 George Maxwell and WeLlwood Maxwell. 
 
 niCol. M'Dowail of Logan, infamous for his treatment of Peggy Kennedy. 
 
 § § § Mr. Blair of Dunskey.
 
 TEE POEMS AND SON OS OF BURNS. 
 
 S03 
 
 An there had been the Yerl himsel', 
 
 O there had been nae play ; 
 But Garlies was to London gane, 
 
 And sae the kye might stray. 
 
 And there was Balmaghie, I ween, 
 In the front rank he wad shine ! 
 
 But Bahnaghie had better been 
 DrinkingMadeha wine. 
 
 Frae the Glenkens came unto our aid 
 
 A chief o' doughty deed ; 
 In case that worth should wanted be,' 
 
 O' Kenmure we had need. 
 
 And there, sae grave, Squire Cardoness 
 
 Look'd on till a' was done ; 
 Sae, in the tower o' Cardoness, 
 
 A howlet sits at noon. 
 
 And there led I the Bushby's a' ; 
 
 Mv gamesome billie Will; 
 And'my son Maitland, wise as brave, 
 
 My footsteps followed still. 
 
 The Douglas and the Heron's name, 
 We set nought to their score : 
 
 The Douglas and the Heron's name 
 Had felt our weight before. 
 
 But Douglasses o' weight had we, 
 
 A pair o' trusty lairds, 
 For Ijuilding cot-houses sae fam'd, 
 
 And ehiistening kail-yards. 
 
 And by our banners march'd Muirhead, 
 
 .\nd Buittle was na slack ; 
 Whase holy priesthood nane can stain. 
 
 For wha'can dye the black? 
 
 [And there Redcastle drew his sword. 
 That ne'er was stained wi' gore, 
 
 Save cm a wanderer lame and blind. 
 To drive him frae his door. 
 
 And last came creeping Collieston, 
 Was mair in fear than wrath; 
 
 Ae knave was constant in his mind. 
 To keep that knave frae scaith.] 
 
 BALLAD FOURTH. 
 WHA'LL BUY MY TROGGIN? 
 
 Tu.N'E— Buy Broom Besoms. 
 
 [A dissolution of Parliament in May, 
 ITyti, caused a new election for the 
 Stewartry of Kirkcudbright, in which Mr. 
 Heron was opposed by the Hon. Mont- 
 gomery Stewart, a younger son of the 
 Earl of Galloway. Mr Heron was again 
 successful, but the Bard did not survive 
 to learn the issue. Heron was, however. 
 
 soon unseated by the judgment of a com- 
 mittee of the House of Commons, and the 
 unhappy canditate died on his way back 
 to Scotland. 
 
 Verse ninth, within brackets, is from 
 Chambers's Edition, ISol.] 
 
 Wha will luiy my troggin? — 
 
 Glide election ware; 
 Broken trade o' Broughton, 
 
 A' in high repair. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Buy hraw troij-iia 
 
 Frae the banks o' Dee; 
 
 Wha wants trojijin 
 Let him come to me. 
 
 There's a noble Earl's 
 
 Fame and high renown, 
 For an auld sang — 
 
 It's thought the gudes were stown. 
 Bay braw trojgin, >i:c. 
 
 Here's the worth o' Broughton 
 
 In a needle's e'e; 
 Here's a reputation. 
 
 Tint by Balmaghie. 
 Buy braw trajgiii, &e. 
 
 Here's an honest conscience 
 
 Might a prince adiirn ; 
 Frae the downs o' Tinwald — 
 
 So was never worn. 
 Buy braw trogjia, Jkc. 
 
 Here's the stutf and lining, 
 
 O' Cardoness' head ; 
 Fine for a sodgyr— 
 
 A' the wale o' lead. 
 Buy braw troggin, iSia. 
 
 Here's a little wadset 
 
 Buittle's scrap o' truth, 
 Pawn'd in a gin-shop 
 
 Quenching holy drouth. 
 Buy braw troggin, ii:c. 
 
 Here's armorial bearings 
 
 Frae the manse o' Urr ; 
 The crest, an auld crabapple 
 
 Kotten at the core. 
 Bay braw troggin, isc. 
 
 Here's is Satan's picture. 
 Like a bizzard gled, 
 
 Pouncing poor Uedcastle, 
 Sprawlin' like a taed. 
 Buy braw troggin, itc.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 
 304 
 
 [Here's the font where Douglas 
 Stane and mortar names; 
 
 Lately used at Gaily, 
 Christening Murray's crimes.] 
 Buy braiv troijgin, &c. 
 
 Here's the worth and wisdom 
 Collieston can boast; 
 
 By a thievish raidge 
 They had amaist been lost. 
 Buy braiD troggin, Jsc. 
 
 Here is Murray's fragments 
 O' the ten commands; 
 
 Gifted by Black Jock 
 To get them aff his handa 
 Buy braw troggin, <i:c. 
 
 Saw ye e'er sic troggin? 
 
 If to buy ye're slack, 
 Homie's turnin' chapman, — 
 
 He'll buy a' the pack. 
 Buy braw troijgin, d:e. 
 
 STANZAS 
 
 COMPOSED BY BURNS IN E.\RLY LIFE,. 
 
 BETWEEN THE STILTS OF THE 
 
 PLOUGH. 
 
 [These verses were known to Dr. Currie, 
 for they are inserted, in Burns's autograph, 
 among the manuscript poems presented 
 by him to Mr. Riddel of Friars' Carse 
 They are described as being a paraphrase 
 of the Scripture verse, Jeremiah xv. 10.] 
 
 Ah ! woe is me, my Mother dear I 
 A man of strife ye've born me : 
 
 For sair contention I maun bear. 
 They hate, revile, and scorn me. 
 
 I ne'er could lend on bill or band. 
 That five per cent might blest me ; 
 
 And borrowing, on the tither hand— 
 The deil a ane wad trust me. 
 
 Yet I, a coin-denied wight. 
 
 By Fortune quite discarded, 
 Ye see how I am, day and night, 
 
 By lad and lass blackguarded t 

 
 POETICAL PIECES 
 
 FlUai COLLECTED IN 
 
 ROBERT CHAMBERS'S EDITIONS, 1838, 1851, 1856. 
 
 THE RUINED FARMER. 
 
 Tune— Go /rnm my windoiu, Love, go. 
 
 [These stanza.s, intended to be sung to a 
 very plaintive air of the old<'n time, were 
 inserteil Iiy Burns in the MS. collection 
 which he presented to Mrs. .Stewart of 
 Stair, in 17S6. This piece seems to have 
 been one of the author's very earliest 
 attempts on the lyre.] 
 
 The sun he is sunk in the west- 
 All creatures letired to rest ; 
 
 While here I sit— all sore beset 
 With sorrow, grief, and wo: 
 And it's— 'O, tickle Fortune.' oh ! 
 The prosperous man is asler p, 
 Nor hears he how the whirl winds sweep; 
 
 But Misery and 1 must watch 
 The surly tempest blow : 
 And it's— 'O, tickle Fortune," oh I 
 
 There lies the dear partner of my breast. 
 Her cares for a moment at rest : 
 
 And must I see my youthful pride 
 Thus brought so very low 1 
 And it's — 'O, tickle Fortune,' oh I 
 There lie ray sweet babes in her arms, 
 No fear each little heart alarms ; 
 
 But for their sake my heart doth ache, 
 With many a bitter throe : 
 And it's— 'O, tickle Fortune,' oh ! 
 I once was by Fortune carest, 
 I once could relieve the distrest; 
 
 But now life's poor support hard-eain'd. 
 My fate will scarce bestow : 
 And it's- 'O, tickle Fortune,' oh ! 
 
 No comfort — no comfort I have ! 
 How welcome to me were the grave I 
 But then my wife and children deal — 
 O whither would they go? 
 And it's— 'O, tickle Foitune,' oh! 
 
 whither — O whither shall I turn ! — 
 All friendless, forsaken, forlorn! 
 
 In this wide world, sweet rest or peace 
 
 1 never more shall know ! 
 
 And it's—' O tickle Fortune,' oh 1 
 
 THE TARBOLTON LASSES. 
 
 [This is one of the poet's early Loublea 
 performances.] 
 
 If ye gae up to yon hill-tap, 
 
 Ye'll there see bonie Peggy; 
 She kens her father is a laird, 
 
 And she forsooth's a leddy. 
 There Sophy tight, a lassie bright, 
 
 Besides a handsome fortune: 
 Wha canna win her in a night. 
 
 Has little art, in courting. 
 
 Gae down by Faile, and taste the ale, 
 -And tak' a look o' Mysie; 
 
 She's dour and din, a deil within. 
 But aibliiis she may please ye. 
 
 If she be shy, her sister try, 
 Ye'll mayl)e fancy, .Jenny, 
 
 If ye'll tli.-pense wi' want o' sense- 
 She kens liersel' she's bonie. 
 
 And shouM you ride by yon hill-side, 
 Speer in for bonie Bessy; 
 
 She'll gie ye a beck, and bid ye light. 
 And handsomely address ye. 
 
 There's few sae bonie, nane sae gude. 
 In a' King George' dominion : 
 
 The truth o' this ye neetlna doubt- 
 It's Bessy's aiii opinion ! 
 
 THE RONALDS OF THii BKNNAL.S. 
 
 [Miss Jean, the elder of the two ladies 
 referred to in tliis lively pnvluction, is said 
 to have been ^jimneol Cilbert Burns. He 
 acknowledges 'that .Vniiie Ronald is hi* 
 own favourite, as well as "tlie boast of our 
 bachelors a'." 
 
 The Poer, in a letter dated 10th Nov., 
 1789, adthesNed to his brother William! 
 announces the bankruptcy of :\Ir. KonaM.' 
 He says:--" V'oii will easily guess, that 
 from his insdlent vanity in his sunshine 
 of life, he will now feel a little retaliation 
 from those who thought themselves 
 ecliijsed by him." 
 
 Miss Jean was married to a Jlr. Wm. 
 Reid, resident at a place called Burn.] 
 
 In Tarbolton, ye ken, there are proper 
 young men, 
 And proper young lasses and a' man ; 
 But ken ye the Ronalds that live in the 
 15^1111. 1 !>?— 
 They cany the gree, frae tliem a', man.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BDRXH 
 
 306 
 
 Their father'" a laird, and weel he can 
 
 spare't, 
 Biaid UHUiey to tocher them a', man; 
 To priiperyiiuns men, he'll clink in the hand 
 Uowd guineas a humler or twa, man. 
 
 There's ane they ca' Jean, I'll warrant 
 ye've seen 
 As bonie a lass or as braw, man ; 
 But for sense and glide taste she'll vie wi' 
 the best, 
 And a conduct that beautifies a', man. 
 
 The charms o' the min', the langer they 
 
 shine. 
 
 The m;iir admiration they draw, man ; 
 
 While peaches and cherries, and roses 
 
 and lilies. 
 
 They fade and they wither awa, man. 
 
 If ye be for Miss Jean, tak' this frae a 
 frien' — 
 A hint <>' a nval or twa, man ; 
 The Laird o' Blackbyre wad gang through 
 the fire. 
 If that wad entice her awa, man. 
 
 The Laird o' Braehead has been on his 
 speed. 
 For mair tlian a towmond or twa, man; 
 The Laird o' the Ford will straught on a 
 board. 
 If he canna get her at a', man. 
 
 Then Annie comes in, the pride o' her kin- 
 The lioast of our bachelors a', man: 
 
 Sae sonsy and sweet, sae fully complete. 
 She steals our affections awa, man. 
 
 If I should detail the pick and the wale 
 O' lasses that live here awa, man. 
 
 The fault wad be mine, if she didna shine, 
 "The sweetest and best o' them a', man. 
 
 I I'oe her raysel, but darena weel tell. 
 My poverty keeps me in awe, man. 
 
 For mailing o' rhymes, and working at 
 times, 
 Does little or naething at a', man. 
 
 Yet I wadna choose to let her refuse, 
 Xor hae't in her power to .say na, man, 
 
 For though 1 l>e poor, unnoticed, obscure. 
 My stomach's as proud as them a', man. 
 
 Though t canna ride in weel-honted pride, 
 And tlee o'er the hills like a craw, man, 
 
 I can baud up my head wi' the best o' the 
 breed. 
 Though fluttering ever so braw, man. 
 
 My coat and my vest, they are Scotch o' 
 the best, 
 O' pairs o' gude breeks I hae twa, man. 
 And stockings and pumps tn put on my 
 stumps, 
 And ne'er a wrang steek in them a", 
 man. 
 
 Mysark3theyarefew,but five o' them new, 
 Twal'-hundred,* as white as the snaw, 
 man, 
 
 A ten-shillings hat, a Holland cravat; 
 There are ho' mony poets sae braw, man. 
 
 I never had frien's, weel stockit in means, 
 To leave me a hundred or twa, man, 
 
 Xae weel-tochered aunts, to wait on their 
 drants. 
 And wish them in hell for it a', man. 
 
 I never was canny for hoarding o' nK)ney, 
 Or claughtin't together at a', man, 
 
 I've little to spend, and naething to lend. 
 But deevil a shilling I awe, man. 
 
 TO MISS FliRRIKR. 
 
 [These lines were indited to a daughter 
 of Mr. John Ferrier, writer to the signet, 
 resident in George Street, Edinburgh. 
 The "mournfu' sang" enclosed was the 
 Elegy on Sir J. H. Blair, in the month of 
 August, 1787. A sister of Miss Ferrier 
 becamedistinguishedasawriter of novels.) 
 
 Nak heathen name shall I prefix 
 
 Frae Pindas or Parnassus; 
 Aiikl Reekie ilings them a' to sticks, 
 
 For rhyme-inspiring lasses. 
 
 Jove's tunefu' dochters three times three. 
 Made Homer deep their debtor ; 
 
 But, gi'en the body half an e'e, 
 Nine Ferriers wad done better I 
 
 Last day my mind was in a bog, 
 Down Oreorge's Street I stoited ; 
 
 A creeping cauld prosaic fog 
 My very senses doited. 
 
 Do what I dought to set her free. 
 
 My saul lay in the mire ; 
 Ye turned a ueuk— I saw your e'e — 
 
 She took the wing like tire ! 
 
 The mournfu' sang I here enclose, 
 
 lu gratitude I send ynu; 
 And pray in rhyme as weel as prose,— 
 
 May a' that's gude attend you 1 
 
 *Twal-hr..i.d''r linen is coarse in fabric, compared to the "snaw-whice seventeea- 
 hnnder linen" referred to in Tain o' Shanter, which was woven in a reed of 1700 
 (Uvision.s.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 
 307 
 
 THE BONIE LASS OF ALBANY. 
 TvSK—3Iary's Dream. 
 
 [In the month of September. 1787, Prince 
 Charles Edward Stuart— then himself 
 about to sink into a dishonoured grave — 
 made public declaration of the legitimacy 
 of his hitherto supposed natural daughter, 
 styled Duchess nf Albany.] 
 
 My heart is wae, and unco wae, 
 To think upon the racing sea, 
 
 That roars between her gardens green 
 And the bonie Lass of Albany. 
 
 This lovely maid's of royal bloo4 
 That rul^d .Albion's kingdoms three. 
 
 But oh, alas, for her bonie face. 
 They've wranged the Lass of Albany. 
 
 In the rolling tide of spreading Clyde 
 There sits an isle of high degree. 
 
 And a town of fame whose princely name 
 Should grace the Lass of Albany.* 
 
 But there's a youth, a witless youth, t 
 That fills the place where she should be; 
 
 We'll send him o'er to his native shore, 
 And bring our ain sweet Albany. 
 
 Alas the day, and woe the day, 
 
 A false usurper wan the gree, 
 ^Vhonowcoraraands the towers and lands — 
 
 The royal right of Albany. 
 
 We'll daily pray, we'll nightly pray. 
 On bended knees most fervently, 
 
 The time may come, with pipe and drum 
 We'll welcome hame fair Albany. 
 
 PSALMODY 
 
 ON KINfl GEORGE THIRD'S RKSTORATION 
 FROM ILLNESS. APRIL, 1789. 
 
 [The illness of the King was made pub- 
 licly known to his subjects on 12th October, 
 1788, and bafore the close of March 1789, 
 his complete recovery was announced. 
 The 23rd of April, 1781), was solemnly set 
 apart as a day of national thanksgiving 
 on which occasion the King himself 
 attended public v.orship in St. Paul's 
 Cathedral. 
 
 So early as 4th April, Burns, in a letter 
 from EUisland to .Mrs. Dunlop — only 
 partially given by Currie — transcribed a 
 copy of fehe following jeu d'esf>rit along 
 with part of his Fragment inscribed to 
 
 Charles James Fux. He \vi ate thus :— 
 "God forgive me for speaking evil of 
 dignities! hwt I must say tliat I look on 
 the whole business as a solemn farce of 
 pageant mummery. The following are a 
 few stanzas of new psalmody for that 
 'joyful solemnity,' which I sent to a 
 London newspape' with the date and 
 preface following : — 
 
 'Kilmarnock, 25th April.— Mr. Printer, 
 — lu a certain chapel, not fifty leagues 
 from the market-cross of this good town 
 the following Stanzas of Psai.modv, it is 
 saiil, were composed for, and devoutly 
 sung on the late joyful solemnity of the 
 23rd:""]- 
 
 O SING a new song to the L— , 
 
 Make, all and every one, 
 .\ joyful noise, even for the king 
 
 His restoration. 
 
 The sons of Belial in the Land 
 
 Did set their heads together; 
 Come, let us sweep them off, said they. 
 
 Like an o'ertiowmg river. 
 
 They set their heads together, I say. 
 They set their heads together; 
 
 On right, on left, and every hand. 
 We saw none to deliver. 
 
 Thou madest strong two chosen ones, 
 
 To quell the Wicked's pride ; 
 Tliat Young Man great in Issachar— 
 
 The burden-bearing tribe. 
 
 And him— among the Princes chief 
 
 In our Jerusalem — 
 The Judge that's mighty in thy law— 
 
 The man that fears thy name. 
 
 Yet they, even they, with all their strength. 
 
 Began to faint and fail; 
 Even as two howling, ravening wolves 
 
 To dogs do turn their tail. 
 
 Th' ungodly o'er the just prevailed, 
 
 For so thou hadst appointed ; 
 That tfaou might'st j;reater glory give 
 
 Unto thine own anointed. 
 
 And now thou hast restored our State, 
 
 Pity our Kirk also ; 
 For she by tribulations 
 
 Is now brought very low. 
 
 Consume that high-place Patronage, 
 
 From off thy holy hill ; 
 .\nd in thy fury burn the book — 
 lOven of that man .M'Gill. 
 
 'Rothesay. 
 
 t litiorgu, ir'imoe ol Wai«M.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 308 
 
 »Tnw Ltiar our pray'r, accept our song, 
 And tiaht thy chosen's battle; 
 
 We seek but little, L— . from thee; 
 Thou kens we get as little. 
 
 STANZAS ON " NAKTHINO." 
 EXTEMPORE, TO MR. G.Wl.N HAMILTON. 
 
 [The authenticity of this curious poem- 
 first published by Alexander Smith in 
 1S68— is now placed beyond dispute, as it 
 is fonnil in the collection maile by Burns 
 for Mr. Riddel of (ilenriddel. Internal 
 evidence proves it to have been composed 
 in the autumn of I7s6, when he intemteil 
 emigrating; to Jamaica.] 
 
 To you, Sir, this summons I've sent. 
 Pray whip till the pownie is fraethin;;; 
 
 But if you demand what I want, 
 I honestly answer yiju, naething. 
 
 Ne'er scorn a poor Poet like me. 
 
 For idly just living and breathing, 
 While people of every deuiee 
 
 Are bu.sily employed abnut— uaething. 
 Poor Centum-per-centum may fast. 
 
 And grumble his hurdies their claithing; 
 He'll find, when the balance is cast. 
 
 He's gane to the devil for— naething. 
 The courtier cringes and bows, 
 
 Ambition has likewise its plaything; 
 A coronet beams on his brows : 
 
 And what is a coronet?— naething. 
 Some quarrel the Presbyter gown, 
 
 Some quarrel F.piscopal -raithing. 
 But every good fellow will own 
 
 Theh- quarrel is all about— naething. 
 The lover may sparkle and glow, 
 
 Approachinir his bonie bit gay thing: 
 But marriace will soon let him kiKiw 
 
 He's gotten a buskit up naething. 
 
 The Poet may jingle and rhyme 
 
 In hopes of a laureate wreathing, 
 And when he has wasted his time 
 
 He's kindly rewarded with naething. 
 The thundering bully mny rage. 
 
 And swagger and swear like a heathen ; 
 But collar him fast. I'll engage. 
 
 You'll and that Ids courage is naething. 
 Last night with a feminine whig, 
 
 A Poet she could n \ put faith in, 
 But soon we grew lovingly big, 
 
 I taught her, her terrors were naething 
 Her -n-higship was wonderful pleased. 
 
 But charmingly tickled wi' ae thing; 
 Her fingers I lovingly squeezed. 
 
 And kissed her and promised h i- 
 naethiiv,'. 
 
 The priest anathemas may threat, — 
 
 Predicament, Sir, that we're baith in; 
 But when honour's reveille is beat. 
 
 The holy artillery's naething. 
 And now, I must mount on the wave. 
 
 My voyage perhaps there is death in ; 
 But what of a watery grave? 
 
 The drowning a Poet Ls naething. 
 And now, as grim death's in my thought. 
 
 To you, Sir, I make this bequeathing: 
 My service as long as ye've aught. 
 
 And my friendship, by G — , when ye've 
 naething. 
 
 VERSICLES ON SIGN-POSTS. 
 
 [These trifles appear among the pieces tran- 
 scribed by Burns in 17S7 for Mrs. Dunlop, 
 and were first published in the "Globe 
 Edition" of Burns, 1S03. ] 
 
 PATIENT STUPIDITY. 
 
 So heavy, passive to the tempests' shocks. 
 Strong on the sign-post stands the stupid 
 Ox. 
 
 His face with smile eternal drest. 
 .Just like tlie Landlord to his guest. 
 High as they hang with creaking din. 
 To index out the Country Inn. 
 
 A head, pure, sinless quite of brain and 
 
 S"Ul, 
 
 The very image of a Barber's Poll; 
 It shows a human face and wears a wig. 
 And looks, when well preserved, amazing 
 big. 
 
 EPIGRAM ATTRIBUTED TO BURNS. 
 
 [.\ tradition exists that the highways 
 or byeways referred to are those between 
 Kilmarnock and Stewarton, which the 
 Poet had to travel on foot in the autumn 
 of 17S6, to collect the sale-proceeds of his 
 Kilmarnock volume. His uncle Robert 
 resided then in Stewarton. The authen- 
 ticity of the Epigram rests solely on this 
 tradition] 
 
 I'M now arrived— thanks to the gods ! — 
 
 ■Through pathways rough and muddy; 
 A certain si^n thai makin' roads 
 
 Is no' this people's study: 
 Yet though I'm no' wi' Scripture cram'd, 
 
 I'm sure the Bible says 
 That heedless sinners shall be damn'd 
 
 Who do not mend their 7ca>js.
 
 FRAGMENTS OF VERSE 
 
 FROM THE POET'S COMMON-PLACE BOOK. 
 
 (First Published in 1872 from the Orliinal MS., in possession of John Adam, Esq., 
 Toton Chamberlain, Greenock.) 
 
 SOXG.— MV CIRL SUES AIRY. 
 TVXE— Black Joke. 
 
 [This fragment is entered under date, 
 September, ITji.] 
 
 My girl she's airy, she's buxom and gay, 
 Her breath is as sweet as the blossoms in 
 May; 
 
 A touch of her lips, it ravishes quite : 
 ■■^he's always good nature J, good humor'd 
 
 and free, 
 siie dances, she 2lances,she smiles uponme; 
 
 I never am happy when out of her sight : 
 Her slender neck, her handsome waist, 
 Her hair well curled, her stays well laced ; 
 Her taper white leg, with* 
 For her 
 
 And O for the j oys of a long winter night ! 
 
 ODE FOR GENERAL WASHINGTON'S 
 BIRPHDAY. 
 
 [At page 270 is given the fr igment of this 
 Ode which Dr. Cuirie published as con- 
 tained in a letter addressed by Burns to 
 -Mrs. Dunlop, in 179i. In November, 1372, 
 the MS. wasadvertised for sale ina London 
 catalogue, and purchased for Robert Clarke 
 of Cincinnati, Ohio, U.S.A. 
 
 A letter addres.sed by Burns to P. Miller, 
 junr., of Dalswinton, MP., dated Nov., 
 1794, manifestly refers to this Ode.] 
 
 No Spartan tube, no Attic shell, 
 
 No Lyre .Eolian I awake; 
 'Tis Liberty's bold note I swell. 
 
 Thy harp, Columbia, let me like! 
 See gathering thousand.^ while I sing, 
 A broken chain e.xultin;,' bring. 
 
 And dash it in a tyrant's face. 
 And <lare him to his vei y beard, 
 And tell him he no more is feared — 
 
 No more the despot of Columbia's race! 
 A tyrant's proudest insults braved, 
 They shout, a people freed ! They hail an 
 Empire saved. 
 
 the 
 
 \\'here is man's gouiike form? 
 
 Where is that brow erect and bold?— 
 
 That eye tiiat can unmoved behold 
 The wildest rage, the loude.st storm 
 That e'er created fury dared to raise ? 
 Avaunt! thou caitiff, servile, base, 
 Ihat tremblest at a despot's nod. 
 Vet, crouchini; under the iron rod. 
 
 Canst laud t'le arm that struck the in- 
 sulting blow ! 
 Art thou of man's imperial line? 
 D"St boast that countenance divine? 
 
 Each skulking feature answers, No 1 
 But come, ye sons of Liberty, 
 Columbia's offsprin";, brave as free, 
 In danger's hour still flaming in the van, 
 Ye know, and dare maintain, the Royalty 
 of .Man ! 
 
 .A.lfred, on thy starry throne. 
 Surrounded by the tuneful choir— 
 The bards that erst have struck 
 
 patriot lyre. 
 And roused the freeborn Briton's soul of 
 fire. 
 No more thy England own ! 
 Dare injured nations form the great 
 design 
 To make detested tyrants bleed? 
 Thy England execrates the glorious deed! 
 Beneath her hostile banners waving, 
 Every pang of honour braving, 
 ICngland in thunder calls— ''The tyrant's 
 cause is mine ! " 
 That hour accurst, how did the fiends 
 
 rejoice. 
 And hell, through all her confines, raise 
 
 the exulting voice — 
 That hour which saw the generous English 
 
 name 
 Link't with such damned deetls of everlast- 
 ing shame ! 
 
 Thee, Caledonia, thy wild heaths among. 
 F.uned for the martial deed, the heaveu- 
 taught song. 
 To thee I turn with swimmina; eyes; 
 Where is that soul of freedom fled ?— 
 Immingled with the miijlity dead, 
 Beneath that hallowed turf where 
 Wallace lies ? 
 
 ♦Here the .MS. is defective.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS, 
 
 310 
 
 Hear it not.WxLLACE, in thy bed of death ! 
 Ye babbling winds, in silence sweep, 
 Disturb not ye the hern's sleep, 
 
 Nor give the coward secret breath I 
 
 la this the ancient Caledonian form, 
 Firm as her rock, resistless as her storm? 
 Show me that eye which shot immortal 
 
 hate. 
 Blasting the despot's proudest bearing ; 
 Show me that arm which, nerved with 
 
 thundering fate. 
 Crushed usurpation's boldest daring ! 
 Dark-quenched as yonder sinking star, 
 No more that glance lightens afar ; 
 That palsied arm no more whirls on the 
 
 waste of war. 
 
 SONG— "I MURDER HATE, Ac." 
 
 (In theGlenridde! MS. of his unpublished 
 pnems, Burns inserted the first eight lines. 
 
 These are followed, howover, by other 
 eight lines, in the Commonplace Book, 
 and the production is entitled a ".Song." 
 
 I MURDER hate by field or flood, 
 
 Though glory's name may screen us ; 
 In wars at home I'll spend my blood — 
 
 Life-giving wars of Venus. 
 The deities that I adore 
 
 Are social Peace and Plenty; 
 I'm better pleased to make one more 
 
 Than be the death of tvrenty. 
 
 I would not die like Socrates, 
 
 For all CTie fuss of Plato ; 
 Nor would I with Leonidas, 
 
 Nor yet v/ould I with Cato : 
 The zealots of the Church and State 
 
 Shall ne'er my mortal fiit»s he. 
 But let me have bold Ziuiri's fate. 
 
 Within the arms of Cozbi. 

 
 POEMS FROM THE GLENRIDDEL MSS., 
 
 FIRST PUBLISHED I.V 1S74. 
 
 BURXS'S 
 RKPLY TO VERSES BY CLARIXDA." 
 
 EXTEMPORE. 
 
 [Thia poetical reply must have been 
 almost immediate, for Clarinda in her 
 letter of Friday evening, Dec. -,>, quotes 
 one of its expressions, marking it by 
 inverted commas.] 
 
 When dear Clarinda, matchless fair, 
 First struck Sylvander's raptured view, 
 
 He gazd, he list«n'd to despair, 
 aEis ! 't was all he dar'd to do. 
 
 Love, from Clarinda's heavenly eyes. 
 Transfixed his bosom thro' arul thro'; 
 
 But still in Friendship's guarded guise, 
 For more the demon fear'd to do. 
 
 That heart, already more than lost. 
 The imp beleaguer'd all perdue ; 
 
 For frowning Honor kept his post. 
 To meet that frown he shrunk to do. 
 
 His pangs the Bard refused to own, 
 Tho' half he wishd Clarinda knew : 
 
 But Anguish wrung th' unweeting groan — 
 Who blames what frantic Pain must do: 
 
 That heart, where motely follies blend. 
 Was sternly still to Honor true : 
 
 To prove Clarinda's fondest friend, 
 W as what a Lover sure might do. 
 
 The Muse his ready quill employ'd. 
 No dearer bliss he could pursue ; 
 
 That bliss Clarinda cold deny'd,— 
 "Send word by Charles how you do !" 
 
 The chill behest disarm'd his muse 
 Till Passion all impatient grew : 
 
 He wrote, and liintLvl for excuse, 
 '"Twas 'cause he'd nothing else to do." 
 
 But by those hopes I have above ! 
 
 And by those f.aults I dearly ruel 
 The deed, the boldest mark of love, 
 
 For tfcee that deed I dare to do ! 
 
 O, could the Fates but name the price 
 Would bless me with your charms and 
 you ! 
 
 With frantic joy I'd pay it thrice, 
 If human art and power could do I 
 
 Then take, Clarinda, friendship's hand, 
 (Friendship, at least, I may avow :) 
 
 And lay no more your cliill command, 
 I '11 write, whatever I 've to do. 
 
 SVLV.iNDER. 
 
 ODE TO THE DEPARTED REGENCY 
 BILL— 17S9. 
 
 [In October, 17SS, King George III. 
 having shewn symptoms of unsound mind, 
 the political atmosphere was soon agitated 
 by discussions as to the choice of a Regent. 
 The convalescence and ccinplete recovery 
 of the king, however, w.as officially an- 
 nounced before the close of March, 17S9, 
 and that put an eml to the political 
 squabbles created by the introduction of 
 the Regency Bill. 'The following version 
 is from the Liverpool Glenriddel .MS.] 
 
 Daughter of Chaos' I'lting years. 
 Nurse of ten thousand hopes and fears, 
 Whether thy airy, unsubstantial shade 
 (The rites of sepulture now duly paid,) 
 Spread abroad its hiileous form 
 On the roaring civil storm. 
 Deafening din and warring rage. 
 Factions wild with factions wage; 
 
 Or underground. 
 
 Deep sunk, profound. 
 Among tlie demcms of the earth. 
 
 With groans tliat make 
 
 The mountains shak.., 
 Thou mourn tliy ill-starred, blighted 
 
 birth ; 
 Oi in the uncreated void, 
 
 Where seeds of future being fight. 
 With lightened step thou wander wide. 
 
 To greet thy mollier, ancient Night, 
 
 •Clarinda's lines, On Bunu >>aying he had " Sothiwj else to do," dated " Christmas Eve.'
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 312 
 
 And as each jarring, monster-mass is 
 
 past, 
 Fond recollect what once thou wast : 
 In manner due, beneath this sacred oak, 
 Hear, spirit, hear ! thy presence I invoke ! 
 
 II. 
 
 By a Monarch's heaven-struck-fate I 
 
 By a disunited State ! 
 
 By a generous Prince's wrongs 1 
 
 By a Senate's strife of tongues I 
 
 By a Premier's sullen pride. 
 
 Louring on the changin;; tide! 
 
 By dread Thurlow's powers to awe — 
 
 Rhetoric, blasphemy and lawl 
 
 By the turbulent ocean— 
 
 A Xiition's commotion ! 
 
 By tlie harlot-caresses 
 
 Of borough adilresses ! 
 
 By days ifew an<l evil — 
 
 Thy portion, pdcirilevil! 
 By power, wealth, show— the gods by 
 
 men admed ! 
 By nameless Poverty-their hell abhorred I 
 By all they hope ! "By all they fear ! 
 Hear ! ! ! And Appear ! ! ! 
 
 III. 
 Stare not on me, thou ghastly power 1 
 >for, grim with cliained defiance, lour: 
 No Babel-stnicture would I liuild 
 
 Where — order exiled from his native 
 sway — 
 Confusion may the Regent-sceptre wield, 
 
 While all would rule and none obey : 
 Go, to the world of Man relate 
 The story of thy .sad, eventf\d fate; 
 And call presumptuous Hope to hear, 
 And bid him check his blind career, 
 And tell the sore-prest sons of Care, 
 Never, never to despair! 
 
 I v. 
 
 Paint Charles's speed on wings of tire, 
 The object of his fond desire, 
 Beyond his boldest hopes, at hand : 
 Paint all the triumph of the Portland 
 
 band : 
 Mark how they lift the joy-exulting 
 
 voice. 
 And how their numerous creditors 
 
 rejoice; 
 But just as hopes to warm enjoyment 
 
 rise. 
 Cry, Convalescence ! and the vision flies. 
 
 V. 
 
 Then next pourtray, a darkening twilight 
 gloom. 
 Eclipsing sad a gay rejoicing morn. 
 While proud Ambition to the untimely 
 tomb. 
 By gnashing, grim, despairing fiends is 
 borne : 
 
 Paint ruin, in the shape of high D[undas], 
 
 Gaping with giddy terror o'er the brow ; 
 
 In vain he struggles, the fates behind him 
 
 press. 
 
 And clamorous hell yawns for her prey 
 
 below. 
 
 How fallen That whose pride late scaled 
 
 the skies ! 
 .\nd This, like Lucifer, no more to risel 
 Again pronounce the powerful word, — 
 See Day, triumphant from the Night, 
 restored ! 
 Then know this truth, ye sons of men! — 
 
 Thus ends thy moral tale — 
 Your darkest terrors may lie vain, 
 Your brightest hopes may fail. 
 
 ON GLENRIDDEL'S FOX 
 BREAKING HIS CHAIN. 
 
 A KRA(i.MENT. 
 
 [The date of this effusion is nowhere 
 indicated: but we may iiit'ei- from its late 
 insertion in the MS. vohuii". and certain 
 allusions in the poem, that it was com- 
 posed in 1791]. 
 
 Tliou, Liberty, thou art my theme; 
 Not such as idle Poets dream. 
 Who trick thee up a Heathen goddess 
 That a fantastic cap and rod has ; 
 Such stale conceits are poor and silly; 
 I paint thee out, a Highland tilly, 
 A sturdy, stubborn, handsome dapple, 
 As sleek's a mouse, as round's an apple, 
 That when thou pleasest can do wonders; 
 But when thy luckless rider blunders, 
 Or if thy fancy should demur there. 
 Wilt break thy neck ere thou go further. 
 
 These things premis'd, I sing, a fox 
 Was cauglit among his native rocks, 
 .\nd to a dirty kennel chained, 
 How he his liberty regained. 
 
 Glenriddel, a Whig without a stain, 
 
 A Whig in principle and grain, 
 
 Couldst thou enslave a free-born creature, 
 
 A native denizen of nature? 
 
 How could'st thou, with a heart so good, 
 
 (A better ne'er was sluiced with blood) 
 
 Nail a poor devil to a tree. 
 
 That ne'er did harm to thine or thee? 
 
 The staunchest Whig Glenriddel was, 
 Quite frantic in his Country's cause; 
 And oft was Reynard's prison passing. 
 And with his brother W higs canvassing 
 The Rights of Men, the Powers of Women, 
 With all the dignity of Freemen.
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 313 
 
 Sir Reynard daily heard debates 
 Of Princes', Kings', and Nations' fates; 
 With many rueful, bloody stories 
 Of tyrants, Jacobites, and Tories: 
 From liberty how angels fell, 
 That now are galley-.slaves in hell; 
 How Ximrod first the trade began 
 Of binding Slavery's chains on man; 
 
 How fell S'emiramis, (G d her!) 
 
 Did first with sacrilegious hammer, 
 Fur Man dethroned forire hen-peck fetters; 
 (All ills till then were trivial matters) 
 How Xerxes, that abandoned Tory, 
 Thought cutting throats was reaping glory, 
 Until the stubborn Whigs of Sparta 
 Taught him great Nature's Magna Charta; 
 How mighty Rome her fiat hurl'd, 
 Resistless o'er a bowinj; world. 
 And kinder than they ilid desire. 
 Polished mankind with sword and fire : 
 With much too tedious to relate, 
 Of ancient and of modern date. 
 But ending, still, how IMlly Pitt, 
 (Unlucky boy !) with wicked wit. 
 Has gagg'd old Britain, drained her coffer. 
 As butchers bind and bleed a heifer.— 
 Thus wily Reynard by degrees, 
 In kennel listening at his ease, 
 
 Suck'd in a mighty stock of knowledge, 
 As much as some folks at a college. — 
 Knew Britain's rights and constitution, 
 Fler aggrandisement, diminution. 
 How fortune wrought us good from evil; 
 Let no man, then, despise the devil. 
 As who should say, I ne'er can need him; 
 Since we to scoundrels owe our freedom. — 
 
 EPITAPH ON CAPT. LASCELLS. 
 
 [This very bitter bit of satire, is among 
 the last of the Poet's entries in the Glen- 
 riddel volume, and in all probability was 
 inserted after the bonk was returned to 
 him, on his solicitation, suttsequent to the 
 Laird's death, (April 1794.) 
 
 When Lascells thought fit from this world 
 
 to depart. 
 Some friends warmly spoke of embalming 
 
 his heart : 
 A bystander whispers, pray don't make so 
 
 much o't, 
 The subject is poison— no reptile. wUl 
 
 touch it. 

 
 "2^^i^>f
 
 INDEX OF TITLES. 
 
 A Bard's Epitaph, 45 
 
 A Dedication to Gavin Hamilton, Esq., 33 
 
 A Dream, 14 
 
 A Fra2:ment, 72 
 
 A Grace before Dinner, 238 
 
 A Lassie all alone 169 
 
 A Mother's Lament for the Death of 
 
 her Son 96 
 
 A Prayer, in the prospect of Death, . . 32 
 A Prayer, under the pressure of violent 
 
 anguish, 67 
 
 \ red, red Rose, 169 
 
 A rose-bud by my early walk, S5 
 
 A Winter Night 63 
 
 Adam Armour's Prayer, . 282 
 
 Additional Stanzas for Kobert 
 
 Fer^sson's Tombstone 221 
 
 Address of Beelzebub to President of 
 
 Highland Society 283 
 
 Address spoken by Miss Fontenelle on 
 
 her beneflt-night 234 
 
 Address to an illegitimate Child 246 
 
 to Edinburgh, 68 
 
 to General Dumourier 279 
 
 totheDeU 10 
 
 to the Shade of Thomson, .... 135 
 
 to the Toothache 227 
 
 to the Unco Guid, or Rigidly 
 
 Righteous 61 
 
 Address to the Woodlark 182 
 
 Adown winding N'ith 200 
 
 Ae fond kiss, and then we sever, 109 
 
 Afton Water 120 
 
 Ah, Chloris, since it may na be 291 
 
 Amang the trees, 281 
 
 An Extemporaneous Effusion on being 
 
 appointed to the Excise, 278 
 
 An' I'll kiss thee yet 85 
 
 An Ode on the Birthday of Prince 
 
 Charles Edward, 218 
 
 Andrew Turner 293 
 
 Answer to a t*iraming Epistle from 
 
 a Tailor 251 
 
 As I was a wand'ring, HO 
 
 Auld I^ngsyne, 171 
 
 Auld Rob Morris, 146 
 
 Awa', Whigs, awa', 94 
 
 B 
 
 Ballads on the Dumfries Burghs 
 
 Election 289 
 
 Bannocks o' bear meal 176 
 
 Behold the hour, 201 
 
 Bess and her spinning wheel 112 
 
 Beware o' boiiie Ann, 38 
 
 Blythe hae I been on yon hill, 18S 
 
 Blythe was she 84 
 
 Bonie Bell, 121 
 
 Bonie Castle Gordon 212 
 
 Bonie Dundee 77 
 
 Bonie Jean, 199 
 
 Bonie Lesley, 179 
 
 Bonie Peggy Ramsay, 268 
 
 Bruce's Address at Bannockburn 186 
 
 Burns's reply to verses liy Clarinda, .. 311 
 By Allan stream I chanced to rove, . . 184 
 
 Ca' the Ewes to the knowes, 95 
 
 Caledonia, 211 
 
 Canst thou leave me thus, my Katie? 189 
 
 Carl, an the king come 92 
 
 Charlie, he's my darling, 172 
 
 Clarinila, 87 
 
 Come, let me take thee to my breast, 185 
 
 Coniin' thro' the rye 171 
 
 Complimentary Epigram on Maria 
 
 Riddel 292 
 
 Compliments to Jessy Lewars, 294 
 
 Contented wi' little, 183 
 
 Copy of a poetical address to Mr. 
 
 William Tytler, 221 
 
 Corn Rigs are bonio, 43 
 
 Country Lassie, 113 
 
 Craigle-burn Wood, 101 
 
 Crowdie, 268 
 
 Dainty Davie 89 
 
 Death and Doctor Hornbook, 51 
 
 Deluded Swain 202 
 
 Despondency, an Ode 30 
 
 Down the Burn, Davie 201 
 
 Duncan Gray, 179 
 
 Elegy on Capt. Matthew Henderson, . . 126 
 
 on Peg Nicholson, 279 
 
 on the Death of Lord President 
 
 Dundas, 287 
 
 Elegy on the Death of Robert 
 
 Ruisseaux, 273 
 
 Elegy on the late Miss Burnet, of 
 
 Monboddo, 231 
 
 Elegy on the year 1788, 2.54 
 
 Epigram addressed to an artist, 286 
 
 at" Inverary 253 
 
 attributed to Bums 308 
 
 on a Galloway Laird, 2t2
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 sir, 
 
 Hpigrams on a henpecked Country 
 
 Squire, 44 
 
 ICpigr am on a Schoolmaster inFifeshire, 277 
 
 on Capt. Francis Grose 258 
 
 on F.lphinstone's translation, 254 
 
 on Mr. James Gracie, 294 
 
 on Miss Davies, 258 
 
 on Miss Jeany Scott, of Ayr, 251 
 
 on the Rev. Dr. Babington, . . 277 
 
 Pinneil to a Lady's Coach, . . 292 
 
 Epigrams on the Karl of Galloway, . . 280 
 
 Epistle from F.sopus to Maria, 298 
 
 to a young friend, 33 
 
 to Pavie, a brother Poet, 28 
 
 to Hugh Parker, 297 
 
 to Ji)lm Kennedy 295 
 
 to J. Lapraik, April 1st, 1785, . . 37 
 
 to J, Lapraik, April 21st, 1785, . . 39 
 
 to J. Rankine, 42 
 
 to Major Logan 295 
 
 to R. Graham, Esq., of Fintry . . 224 
 
 Epitaph for Gavin Hamilton, Esq., .. 45 
 
 for Jessy Lewars, 294 
 
 for Robert Aiken, Esq., 45 
 
 for Tam Samson, 63 
 
 for the Author's father, 45 
 
 f..r William Cruickshank,. . . . 293 
 
 fur William Nicol, 293 
 
 on a celebrated ruling elder, 44 
 
 on a friend 238 
 
 onahenpeckedCountrySquire, 44 
 
 on a Lady famed for her 
 
 caprice, 236 
 
 Epitaph on a noisy Polemic 44 
 
 on a noted Coxcomb, 292 
 
 on a wag in Mauchline 250 
 
 on Capt. Matthew Henderson, 127 
 
 on Captain Lascells, 313 
 
 on Captain William Roddick, 293 
 
 on Gabriel Richardson 294 
 
 on Holy Willie, 250 
 
 on James CJrieve, Laird of 
 
 Boghead, Tarbolton, 250 
 
 Epitaph on John Bushby, Dumfries, . . 263 
 
 on John Dove, Innkeeper, 
 
 Mauchline 251 
 
 Epitaph on Walter 263 
 
 on Wee Johnie, 44 
 
 Eppie M'Nab, 108 
 
 Extempore Epitaph on a person nick- 
 named the Marquis, 
 
 Extempore in answer to an invitation, 
 
 in the Court of Session, . . 
 
 on some commemorations of 
 
 the Poet Thomson, 291 
 
 Extempore on the late Mr. William 
 
 Smellie, 221 
 
 Extempore to Mr. Syme 238 
 
 F 
 
 Fair Eliza '. 114 
 
 Fair Jenny 201 
 
 263 
 
 263 
 
 977 
 
 rAac. 
 
 Fairest maid on Devon banks, 209 
 
 Farewell Lines to John Kennedy, .... 284 
 Farewell thou stream that winding 
 
 flows 187 
 
 Fickle Fortune 270 
 
 For a' that, an' a' that 9S, 206 
 
 For the sake o' Somebody 173 
 
 Forlorn, my love, no comfort near 207 
 
 Frae the friend.s and land I love, .... 101 
 Fragment, inscribed to the Right Hon. 
 
 Chas. J. Fox 226 
 
 Fragment on liberty 279 
 
 Galla Water 146 
 
 Gloomy December, 178 
 
 Glossaries, 149 
 
 Graces after Dinner 263 
 
 Grace before, and thanks after Dinner, 291 
 
 Green Grow the Rashes, 73 
 
 Gude ale keeps the heart aboon, 267 
 
 H 
 
 Hail I a cave 184 
 
 Halloween, 19 
 
 Her flowing Locks, 275 
 
 Here is the Glen 181 
 
 Here's a health to ane 1 loe dear, .... 194 
 
 I Cere's a health to them that's awa', . . 170 
 
 Here's to thy health, my bonie lass, . 177 
 
 Heron Election Ballads,' 300 
 
 Hey, ca' thro', 121 
 
 I ley for a lass wi' a tocher 193 
 
 1 lighland Mary 183 
 
 Holy Willie's Prayer 249 
 
 How cruel are the parents, 208 
 
 How long and dreary is the night, ... S3 
 
 Howlet-face, 293 
 
 Husband, husband, cease your strife, 187 
 
 I 
 
 I do confess thou art sae fair, I'^O 
 
 I dream'd I lay, &c., 81 
 
 I hae a wife o' my ain Ill 
 
 I murder hate, &c., 310 
 
 I'll ay ca' in by yon town, 174 
 
 I'll go and be a sodger, 210 
 
 I'm o'er young to ma rry yet, 78 
 
 Impromptu at Roslin Inn, 286 
 
 , on being entertained in 
 
 the Highlands, 222 
 
 Impromptu, on Mrs. Riddel's birth» 
 
 (lay, 233 
 
 Innocence, 264 
 
 Inscription at Friars-Carse Hermitage, 291 
 Inscription on the tomb of Robert 
 
 Fergusson, poet 220 
 
 Invitation to Dr Mackenzie, 300 
 
 Irvine's bairns, 285 
 
 It is na Jean, thy bonie face, 107 
 
 It was a' for our rightfu' king, 177 
 
 It was the charming month of May, . . 186
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 317 
 
 PAOB. 
 J 
 
 Jamie, come try uie, 90 
 
 Jockie's ta'en the parting kiss 213 
 
 John Anderson my jo, 94 
 
 John Barleycorn, 71 
 
 John Bushby's Lamentation 302 
 
 K 
 
 Kellyburn braes, 117 
 
 Killiecrankie, 99 
 
 L 
 
 Lady !Mary Ann, 117 
 
 Lament for James, Earl of Glencairn, 130 
 Lament of Mary, Queen of .>cots, on 
 
 the approach of Spring 123 
 
 Lassie wi' the lint-white locks, 205 
 
 Let nie in this ae nisht, 206 
 
 Let not women e'er complain, ISO 
 
 Letter to John Goudie, Kilmarnock, . . 248 
 Letter to James Tennant, (ilenconner, 2o& 
 
 Lines addressed to John Rankine, 251 
 
 on Rodne)''3 Victory, 258 
 
 on the Poec Fergusson, 276 
 
 sent to Sir John Whitefoord, 
 
 Bart,, 131 
 
 to an old Sweetheart, 217 
 
 to Claiinda, 264 
 
 under the Portait of Fergusson, 275 
 
 written extempore in a Lady's 
 
 pocket-book, 25S 
 
 written on a Copy of Hannah 
 
 Mores Works, 282 
 
 written on a window at King's 
 
 Arras, Dumfries, 262 
 
 written on Mrs. Kemble as 
 
 Yarico 258 
 
 w litten on the back of a Bank 
 
 Note, 284 
 
 written on windows of Globe 
 
 Tavern, Dumfries, 262 
 
 written under Miss Burns's 
 
 Picture, 262 
 
 Log.in Braes, 198 
 
 Lord G leuory 180 
 
 Louis, what reck I by thee ? 171 
 
 Lovely Davies 110 
 
 Lovely Polly Stewart, 175 
 
 Lying at a Rev. Friend's house, Verses, 66 
 
 M 
 
 M'Pherson's Farewell, 79 
 
 Man was made to mourn, 31 
 
 Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion, 204 
 
 Mary ilorison 197 
 
 Me- o' the Mill, 197,267 
 
 Monody, on a Lady famed for her 
 
 caprice, 235 
 
 Moiit;.'onierie's Peggy, 270 
 
 My am kir.d dearie, 196 
 
 My bonie Mary, 90 
 
 PAOB. 
 
 My Chlnris, mark how green the groves, 204 
 
 My Collier Laddie, lis 
 
 My father w as a fanner, 271 
 
 ^ly girl she's airy, 309 
 
 My handsdme Nell, 265 
 
 My Harry was a jrallant gay 88 
 
 My heart's in the Hichlarids, 94 
 
 My Lady's gown there's gairs upon't, 267 
 
 My love she's but a lassie yet, 90 
 
 My Mary, dear departed shade, 96 
 
 My Nanie, O, 72 
 
 My Nannie's awa', 189 
 
 My Peggy's face, my Peggy's form, . . 213 
 
 My Tocher's the jewel, 102 
 
 My wife's a win.some wee thing, 197 
 
 Musing on the roaring ocean,. 84 
 
 N 
 
 Nature's Law, 234 
 
 Nithsdale's welcome hame, 113 
 
 Note in reply to an invitation, 283 
 
 O 
 
 O ay my wife slie dang me 266 
 
 O for ane-and-twenty, fain 112 
 
 O Kenmure's on and awa', Willie! .. 112 
 
 O lay thy loof in mine, lass, 268 
 
 O Mally's meek, Mally's sweet, 269 
 
 O May,' thy Morn, 175 
 
 O poortith cauld, 131 
 
 O steer her up and haud her gvun, .... 266 
 
 O this is no my ain lassie, . . ." 193 
 
 O wha is she that lo'es me I'.tO 
 
 O wat ye wha's in yon town, 174 
 
 O were I on Parnassus hill, 93 
 
 O were my love yon lilac fair, 199 
 
 Ode for General Washington's Birth- 
 day, 309 
 
 Ode, sacred to the memory of Mrs. 
 
 Oswald of Auchincruive, 126 
 
 Ode to the departed Regency Bill, 1789, 311 
 
 Of a' the airts, 92 
 
 Oh wert thou in the cauld blast 214 
 
 On a bank of flowers, 89 
 
 On a Country Laird, 292 
 
 On being shewn a beautiful country 
 
 -seat belonging to the same laird 292 
 
 On a National Thank.sgiving for a 
 
 Naval Victory, 293 
 
 On a Scotch Bard gone to the West 
 
 Indies, 34 
 
 On an Empty Fellow, 292 
 
 On Chloris being ill, 207 
 
 On Chloris requesting me to give her 
 
 a sprig of blossomed tliorn, 281 
 
 On Commissary Goldie's Brains, 293 
 
 On Dining with Lord Daer, 217 
 
 On Glenriddel's fox breaking his chain, 312' 
 On hearing. Sermon in LamiiigtonKirk, 292 
 On Mr. M'Murdo 298
 
 TEE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 318 
 
 FAOE. 
 
 On reading, in a Newspaper, the Death 
 
 of John M'Leod, 137 
 
 On scaring some Water-fowl in Loch- 
 
 Turit, 139 
 
 On seeing a wounded Hare, 135 
 
 On the birth of Posthumous Child, . . 141 
 OntheDeathofaLap-dog.named Echo, 235 
 On the Death of Sir James Hunter 
 
 Blair, 223 
 
 On the late Capt. Grose's Peregrina- 
 tions thro' Scotland, 136 
 
 On the lecovery of Jessy Lewars, .... 294 
 
 On the seas and far away, 202 
 
 On Willie Chalmers, 285 
 
 On \vindow of an Inn at Stirling, .... 2,S7 
 On window of Cross-Keys Inn, Falkirk, 2S7 
 
 One night as I did wander, 272 
 
 Open the door to me, oh 1 I47 
 
 Out over the Forth, 17.3 
 
 P 
 
 Patient Stupidity, 308 
 
 Per Contra to Epitaph for Tam Sam- 
 son, 63 
 
 Phillis the fair, 200 
 
 Philly and Willie, -05 
 
 Poem on I'astoral Poetry 240 
 
 Poetical Inscription for an Altar to 
 
 Independence, 237 
 
 Poor Mailie's Elegy, 12 
 
 Postscript to the Author's earnest cry 
 
 and prayer, 6 
 
 Postscript to W. Simpson, Ochiltree, 41 
 Prologue, spoken at the Theatre, 
 
 Dumfries, 229 
 
 Prologue, spoken by Mr. Woods on 
 
 his Benefit night 252 
 
 Prose history of the Whistle, 103 
 
 Prudence 264 
 
 Psalmody on George Third's restora- 
 tion from illness, 307 
 
 R 
 
 Raging Furtuue 270 
 
 Rantin', rovin' Robin, 272 
 
 Rattlin', roarin', Willie, 85 
 
 Raving winds around her blowing, . . 83 
 
 Remorse. — A Fragment 215 
 
 Reply to a reproof 287 
 
 Rob Mossgiel, 205 
 
 Robin shure in hairst 265 
 
 Rusticity's ungainly form 286 
 
 s 
 
 Sae faj awa 174 
 
 Saw ye my Phely, 203 
 
 Scotch Drink, 3 
 
 Scots Prologue, for Mr. Sutherland's 
 
 Benefit night, 261 
 
 Scroggam, 266 
 
 rAOB. 
 
 Second Epi.stle to Davie, a brother 
 
 poet, 215 
 
 Sensibility, how charming, 106 
 
 Sent to a Gentleman whom he had 
 
 offended, 235 
 
 She says she lo'es me best of a', .... 173 
 
 She's fair and fause 122 
 
 Sic a wife as Willie had, 116 
 
 Sketch, .' 278 
 
 Sketch.— New Year's Day, 1790.— To 
 
 Mrs. Dunlop, 223 
 
 Song, composed in Aug\ist, 43 
 
 Sonnet, on the Death of Robert Riddel, 
 
 Esq 236 
 
 Sonnet, written on the Birth-day of the 
 
 Author, 233 
 
 Stanzas, composed in early life, at the 
 
 plough, 304 
 
 Stanzas on Naething, 308 
 
 Stanzas on same occasion as " A prayer 
 
 in prospect 01 death," ". . . 65 
 
 Stay, my charmer, can you leave me, 80 
 
 Strathallan's Lament 80 
 
 ■■-; wearing Burton, 293 
 
 Sweet fa's the eve, 101 
 
 Sweetest May, 267 
 
 T 
 
 Tam Glen, 100 
 
 Tam o' Shanter.— A Tale, 132 
 
 Tam the Chapman 293 
 
 Tam Samson's Eleuy 62 
 
 Thanks after dinner, 291 
 
 The answer to tlie Gudewife of 
 
 Wauchope- House, 219 
 
 The auld farmer's salutation to his auld 
 
 mare, Maggie, 22 
 
 The Author's earne.st cry and prayer, 5 
 
 I'he Banks o' Doon, 116 
 
 The Banks of Nith, 99 
 
 The Banks o' the Devon 82 
 
 The Battle of Sherra-Moor, 97 
 
 The Belles of Mauchline, 210 
 
 The Birk.s of Aberfeldy, 78 
 
 Tlie blue-eyed Lassie, 99 
 
 The bonie, bonie lass, 268 
 
 The bonie lad that's far awa', 106 
 
 The bonie Lass of .\lbany, 307 
 
 The bonie .Moor-Hen, 277 
 
 The bonie wee thing, 109 
 
 Tlie Book-Worms, 292 
 
 The Braes o' Ballochmyle 96 
 
 The braw wooer 191 
 
 The Briiis of Ayr 53 
 
 The Calf, 59 
 
 The Captain's Lady, 91 
 
 The cardin' o't, 173 
 
 The Chevalier's Lament, 190 
 
 The Cotter's Saturday Night, 24 
 
 The day returns, my bosom burns, . . 90 
 
 The Dean of Faculty, 280
 
 THE POEMS AND S0NQ8 OF BURNS. 
 
 319 
 
 The Death and Dying Words of Poor 
 
 Mailie 11 
 
 The deil's awa' wi' th' Exciseman, . . 122 
 
 The Deuks dang o'er my Daddie, 121 
 
 The Dumlries Volunteers, 213 
 
 The Farewell, 284 
 
 The Farewell.— To St. James's Lodge, 
 
 Tarbolton, 44 
 
 The Fete Champetre, 297 
 
 The First P,salin, 67 
 
 The first six Verses of the Ninetieth 
 
 Psalm, 67 
 
 The five Carlines, ^ 259 
 
 The gallant Weaver 121 
 
 The Gardener w' his paidle, 89 
 
 The gowden locks of Anna, 262 
 
 The henpeck'd Husband, 254 
 
 The Highland la.s.sie, 79 
 
 The Holy Fair 7 
 
 The Hopeless Lover, 193 
 
 The Humbie petition of Bruar Water, 138 
 
 The Inventory, 216 
 
 The Jolly Beggars, 241 
 
 The Kirk's Alarm, 255 
 
 The Laddies by the banks o' Nith 288 
 
 The Lament. —On the issue of a friend's 
 
 amour, 30 
 
 The lass o' Ballochmyle, 212 
 
 The lass of Cessnock Banks 270 
 
 The last time I came o'er the moor, . . 188 
 
 The lazy mist, 91 
 
 The lovely lass of Inverness, 169 
 
 The lovely Isabella, 138 
 
 The lover's morning salute to his 
 
 mistress 203 
 
 The 'Loyal Natives,' 280 
 
 The Mauchline Lady, 272 
 
 The Ordination, 58 
 
 The Posie 115 
 
 The Rantin dog, the Daddie o 't 96 
 
 The rigtts of Woman, 232 
 
 The Ronalds of the Bennals 305 
 
 The Ruined Farmer, 305 
 
 The Selkirk Grace 294 
 
 The Slave's Lament 119 
 
 The Solemn League and Covenant, . . 294 
 
 The Song of Death 119 
 
 The Tarbolton Lasses, 305 
 
 The Tears I Shed 103 
 
 TheTither Morn 109 
 
 The Toast.— Inscribed on a Goblet, . . 294 
 
 The Twa Dogs, 1 
 
 The twa Herds, or the Holy Tulzie, . . 247 
 
 The Vision, 16, 60 
 
 The weary Pund o' To w 110 
 
 The Whistle, 103 
 
 The Winter of Life, 177 
 
 The Young Highland Rover, 81 
 
 Their groves 0' sweet myrtle 192 
 
 Then guilewife, count the lawin, .... 102 
 Theniel Meiizies' bonie Mary 82 
 
 There's a youth in this city 93 
 
 There's death in the cup, 291 
 
 There's news, lasses news, 268 
 
 There'll never be peace till Jamie comes 
 
 hame, 105 
 
 Thine am I, my faithful fair, 1S3 
 
 Third Epistle to J. Lapraik, 273 
 
 Tho' cruel fate should bid us part, .... SO 
 
 Thou hast left me ever, Jamie 186 
 
 Tibbie Dunbar, ga 
 
 Tibbie, I hae seen the day 86 
 
 To a Haggis 68 
 
 To a Louse, 36 
 
 To a Mountain-Daisy 32 
 
 To a Mouse, 28 
 
 To a Poetaster 286 
 
 To Captain Riddel, Glenriddel 278 
 
 To ChJoris, 237 
 
 To Collector Mitchell, 238 
 
 To Colonel de Peyster, 239 
 
 To daunton me, 84 
 
 To Dr. Blacklock, 227 
 
 To Dr. Maxwell, 00 Miss Jessy Staig's 
 
 recovery, 237 
 
 To Gavin Hamilton, Esq., Mauchline, 275 
 
 To John .M'Murdo, Esq., 298 
 
 To James Smith, 13 
 
 To Mias Ainslie, while looking for a 
 
 text in church, 286 
 
 To Miss Cruickshank, a very young 
 
 Lady 137 
 
 To Miss Ferrier, enclosing Elegy on 
 
 Sir J. H. Blair, 306 
 
 To Miss Fontenelle, in a favourite 
 
 Character, 291 
 
 To Miss Graham of Fintry, with a 
 
 present of Snngs, 237 
 
 To Miss Jessy Lewars, with a present 
 
 of Bocks 238 
 
 To Miss Logan, with Beattie's Poems, 68 
 To Mr. M'Adam, of Craigengillan, .. 275 
 
 To Mr. llenton, of Lamerton 2a7 
 
 To Mr. Syme, with a present of a dozen 
 
 of porter, 238 
 
 To Mr. Peter Stuart, publisher of 
 
 "The Star," 291 
 
 To Robert Graham of Fintry, Esq., .. 129 
 To Robert Graham, Esq., of Fintry, . . 231 
 
 To Ruin, 33 
 
 To Mr. Maxwell of Terraughty, on his 
 
 Birth-day, 279 
 
 To the beautiful .Mi.ss Eliza J u,.. 281 
 
 To the Weavers gin ye go, 78 
 
 To William Creech 276 
 
 To William Simpson, Ochiltree 40 
 
 Tragic Fragment 270 
 
 'Twas na her bonie blue e'e 208 
 
 U 
 I Up in the morning early, 81
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 320 
 
 PAOB. 
 
 V 
 
 Verses addressed to J. Rankine, 246 
 
 intended to be written below a 
 
 noble Earl's Picture 296 
 
 Verses on the destruction of the woods 
 near Drumlanrig, 300 
 
 Verses to Clarinda, with a pair of Drink- 
 ing Glasses, 264 
 
 Verses to John Taylor, 298 
 
 written on a window of the 
 
 Inn at Carron, 253 
 
 Versicles on Siijnposts, 308 
 
 W 
 
 Wae is my heart, 176 
 
 Wandering Willie, 145 
 
 We're a' noddin', 2(56 
 
 Wha is that at my bower door, 108 
 
 Wha'U buy my troggin? 303 
 
 What can a voung lassie do wi' an auld 
 
 man? ....". 105 
 
 When she cam' ben she bobbed, Ill 
 
 When wild War's deadly blast, &c., . . 147 
 VCliere, braving angry winter's sturms, 86 
 Whistle, an' I'll come to you my lad, . . 185 
 Whistle o'er the lave o't, 02 
 
 PAOili. 
 
 Why always Bacon? 294 
 
 Why, why tell thy lover ? 208 
 
 Willie brew'd a peck o' maut, 98 
 
 Will ye go to the Indies, ray Mary? . . 190 
 
 Wilt thou be my dearie?.. .". 175 
 
 Winter. — A Dirge, 32 
 
 Written in an envelope, enclosing a 
 
 letter to Captain Grose, 228 
 
 Written in Friars-Carse Hermitage, on 
 
 Nith-side, 125 
 
 Written in the Inn at Kenmore, Tay- 
 
 mouth 140 
 
 Written to a Gentleman who had sent 
 
 him a Newspaper, 230 
 
 Written with a pencil, .-itauding by the 
 
 Fall of Fyers 14) 
 
 Y 
 
 Ye Jacobites by name 114 
 
 Ye sons of Old Killie, 295 
 
 Yon rosy brier, 209 
 
 Young Jamie, pride of a' the plain, . . 172 
 
 Young Jessie, 180 
 
 Young Jockey was the blythest lad, . . 98 
 
 Young Peggy, 77 
 
 You're welcome, Willie Stewart, 288 
 
 Yon wild, mossy mountains 107 

 
 INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 A 
 
 A fig for those by law protected, . . . . 246 
 A Guid New-year I wish you, Magg^ie, 22 
 A head, pure, sinless quite of brain and 
 
 soul 308 
 
 A Highland lad my Love was born, . . 243 
 A Lassie all alone was making her 
 
 moan, 169 
 
 A little upright, pert, tart, tripping 
 
 wight, 278 
 
 A rose-bud by my early walk, 85 
 
 A slare to love's unbounded sway, C6fc 
 
 A' ye wha live by sowps o' drink, 34 
 
 Adieu ! a heart-warm, fond adieu 44 
 
 Admiring Nature in her wildest grace, 140 
 Adown winding Nith I did wander,. . . 2(X) 
 Ae day, as Death, that gruesome carl, 261 
 
 Ae fond kiss, and then we sever 1()9 
 
 Afar the illustrious exile roams, 218 
 
 Again rejoicing Nature sees 74 
 
 Again the silent wheels of time, 68 
 
 Ah, Chloris, since it may na be, 291 
 
 Ah ! woe is me, my mother dear, 304 
 
 All devil as I am, a damned wretch, . . 270 
 
 All hail ! inexorable lord, 33 
 
 Altho' he has left me for greed o' the 
 
 siller, 110 
 
 Altho' my bed were in yon muir, 270 
 
 Altbougli thou maun never be mine,.. 194 
 Amang the trees where humming bees, 281 
 Amang the heathy hills and lagged 
 
 woods, 140 
 
 An' Charlie he's my darling 172 
 
 An honest man here lies at rest, 238 
 
 An' I'll kiss thee yet, yet, 85 
 
 An' O for ane-and-twenty. Tarn, 112 
 
 An soraebodie were come again, 92 
 
 An ye had been whare I hae been 99 
 
 Ance crowdie, twice crowdie 268 
 
 Ance mair I hail thee, thou gloomy 
 
 December 178 
 
 And maun I still on Menie doat, 74 
 
 Anna, thy charms my bosom fire 137 
 
 As cauld a wind as ever blew, 292 
 
 As down the bum they took their way, 2U1 
 
 As father Adam first was fool'd, 44 
 
 As I gaed down the water-side, 95 
 
 As I stood by yon roofless tower, 169 
 
 As I wiis walking up the street 269 
 
 As Mailie, an' her laraba tliegither, . . 11 
 As on tlie banks o" wandering Nith, . . 300 
 
 As Tain the Chapman on a day, 293 
 
 Ask why God made the gem so small, 258 
 At Brownhill we always get dainty 
 
 good cheer 294 
 
 PAQ^ 
 
 Auld chuckle Reekie's sair distrest, . . 276 
 Auld comrade dear and brither sinner, 259 
 
 Awa', Whigs, awa', 94 
 
 A wa' wi' your belles and your beauties, 200 
 Awa' wi' your witchcraft o' beauty's 
 alarms, 193 
 
 B 
 
 Bannocks o' bear meal, bannocks o' 
 
 barley 176 
 
 Beauteous rose-bud, young and gay, . . 137 
 Behind yon hills where tStinchar flows, 72 
 
 Behold the hour, the boat arrive 201 
 
 Below thir stanes lie Jamie's banes, . . 44 
 Beyond thee, dearie, beyond thee, 
 
 dearie 101 
 
 Bless Jesus Christ, O Cardoness, 292 
 
 Blest be M'Murdo to his latest day,.. 298 
 Blythe, blythe, and merry was she, .. 84 
 
 Blythe hae I been on yon hill 183 
 
 Bonie lassie, will ye go 79 
 
 Bonie wee tiling, cannie wee thing,... 109 
 Braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes, . . 14€ 
 
 Bright ran thy hne, O Galloway, 280 
 
 But lately seen, in gladsome green, .. 177 
 But rarely seen since Nature's birth, 294 
 But warily tent, when ye come to court 
 
 me, 185 
 
 Buy Draw troggin 3CB 
 
 By Allan stream I chanced to rove,... 184 
 
 By Ochtertyre grows the aik, 84 
 
 By stately tow'r or palace fair, 60 
 
 By yon castle wa' at the close of the 
 
 day 106 
 
 C 
 
 Ca' the Ewes to the knowes 95 
 
 Can 1 cease to care, 208 
 
 Canst thou leave me thus, my Katie? 189 
 
 Carl, an' the king come, 92 
 
 Cauld blaws the wind f rae east to west, 81 
 
 Cauld is the e'enin' blast 268 
 
 Cease, ye prudes, your envious railing, 262 
 
 Clarinda, mistress of my soul, 87 
 
 Collected Harry stood awee, 277 
 
 Come, let me take thee to my breast, 185 
 
 Comin' thro' the rye, poor body, 171 
 
 Contented wi' little, and cantie wi' mair, 1S8 
 Curs'd be the man, the poorest wretch 
 
 in life, 254 
 
 Curse on ungrateful man that can be 
 
 pleas'd, 276 
 
 D 
 
 Daughter of Chaos' doting years, 311 
 
 Dear , I'll gie ye some advice 288
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 322 
 
 PAOB. 
 
 Dear Peter, dear Peter, 291 
 
 Dear Smith, the sleest, pawkie thief, 13 
 
 Deluded swain, the pleasure 202 
 
 Dire waa the hate at olil Harlaw, 2S0 
 
 Does haughty Gaul invasion threat,.. 213 
 
 Dost thou not rise, indignant Shade?. . 291 
 
 Duncan Gray cam' h^-re to woo, 179 
 
 Dweller in yon dungeon dark, 126 
 
 E 
 
 Edina I Scotia's darling seat 68 
 
 Expect na. Sir, in this narration 35 
 
 F 
 
 Fair Empress of the Poet's soul 264 
 
 Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, 68 
 
 Fair maid, you need not take the hint, 286 
 Fairest maid on Devon banks, . . . 209 
 Farewell, dear friend, may gude luck 
 
 hit you, 284 
 
 Farewell, old Scotia's bleak domains, 284 
 Farewell, thou fair day, thou green 
 
 earth, &c., 119 
 
 Farewell, thou stream that winding 
 
 flows 18S 
 
 Farewell, ye dungeons dark and strong, 79 
 Fate gave the word— the arrow sped, 96 
 
 Fill me with the rosy wine 294 
 
 Fintry, my stay in worldly strife, 289 
 
 First when Maggy was my care, 93 
 
 Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy 
 
 green braes, 120 
 
 For a' that, an' a' that, 98, 245 
 
 For auld lang syne, my jo, 171 
 
 For lords or kinsrs I dinna mourn, .... 254 
 For oh, her lanely nights are lang, . 83 
 Forlorn, ray love, no comfort near, .. 207 
 
 Frae the friends and land I love 102 
 
 Friday first's the day appointed 300 
 
 Friend of the Poet, tried and leal, 239 
 
 From the white-blossomed aloe my 
 
 dear Chloris requested, 281 
 
 From thee, Eliza, I must go 43 
 
 From those drear sohtudes and frowsy 
 
 cells 299 
 
 Full well thou knowest I love thee 
 
 dear, 209 
 
 Fy, let U3 a' to Kirkcudbright, 301 
 
 G 
 
 Gane is the day and mirk's the night, 102 
 Gin a body meet a body, comin' thro' 
 
 the rye, 171 
 
 Go, Fame, an canter like a filly, 63 
 
 Go, fetch to me a pint o' wine 90 
 
 Grade, thou art a man of worth, 294 
 
 Grant me, indulgent Heav'n, that I 
 
 may live, 258 
 
 Gude'en to you. kimmer 266 
 
 Gude pity me, oecause I'm little 282 
 
 Gude speed an furder to you, Johnie, 273 
 
 Guid-mornin to your Majesty 14 
 
 Pi.aB. 
 H 
 
 FTa I whare ye gaan, ye crowlan ferlie, 36 
 Had la cave on some wild distant shore, 184 
 Uail Poesie I thou Nymph reserv'd, . . 240 
 Hail, thairm-inspirin', rattlin' Willie, 296 
 
 Hark ! the mavis' evening sang, 95 
 
 H«,s auld Kilmarnoclc seen the Deil, .. 62 
 He clench'd his pamphlets in his fist, 277 
 Health to the Maxwells' vet'ran Chief 279 
 Hear, Lando' Cakes, and brither Scots, 136 
 Her flowing locks — the raven's wing,.. 275 
 Here awa , there awa' wandering 
 
 Willie 145 
 
 Here brewer Gabriel's fire's extinct,.. 294 
 Here cursing, swearing Burton lies, .. 293 
 
 Here Holy Willie's sair-worn clay, 250 
 
 Here is the glen, ami here the bower, 181 
 
 Here lie Willie Michie's banes, 277 
 
 Here lies a mock Marquis whose titles 
 
 were shamm'd, 263 
 
 Here lies Boijheail amang the dead, .. 250 
 Here lies John Bushby, honest man, 263 
 
 Here lies Johnny Pigeon, 251 
 
 Here lies, now a prey to insulting 
 
 neglect, 236 
 
 Here Sowter Hood in Death does sleep, 44 
 Here Stuarts once in glory reigned, . . 287 
 Here, where the Scottish muse im- 
 mortal lives 237 
 
 Here's a health to ?ne I loe dear 194 
 
 Here's a health to them tliat's awa',. . 170 
 Here's to thy health, my bonie lass, . . 177 
 
 Hey ca' thro', ca' thro', 121 
 
 His face with smile eternal drest, 308 
 
 Honest Will to Heaven is gane 293 
 
 How can my poor heart be glid 202 
 
 How cold is that bosom which folly 
 
 once fired, 235 
 
 How cruel are the parents, 208 
 
 How daur ye ca' me howlet-faced, 293 
 
 How lang and dreary is the night, 
 
 (Thomson version), 83 
 
 How, Liberty! girl, can it be by thee 
 
 nam'd 2S1 
 
 How long and dreary is the night, 83 
 
 How pleasant the banks of the clear- 
 winding Devon, 82 
 
 How wisdom and folly meet, mix, and 
 
 unite ! 226 
 
 Husband, husband, cease your strife, 187 
 
 I 
 
 I am a bard of no regard, 245 
 
 I am a fiddler to my trade, 244 
 
 I am a keeper of the law, 248 
 
 I am a Son of Mars, who have been in 
 
 many wars, 241 
 
 I am my mammy's ae bairn, 78 
 
 I bought my wife a stane o' lint, Ill 
 
 I burn, I burn, as when through ripen'd 
 
 corn, 264
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 323 
 
 PAOB. 
 
 I call no goddess to inspire my strains, 232 
 
 1 coft a stane o' haslock woo 173 
 
 I ilo confess thou art sae fair, 106 
 
 I dream'd I lay where flowers were 
 
 sprin^ner, 81 
 
 I gaed a waefu' gate yestreen, 99 
 
 I gaed up to Dunse, 265 
 
 I gat your letter, winsome Willie, .... 40 
 I had sax owsen in a pleugh, ....... 267 
 
 I hae a wife o' my ain, Ill 
 
 I hold it, sir, my hounden duty, 275 
 
 Ilang hae thought, my youthfu' friend, 33 
 
 I mind it weel in early date, 219 
 
 I murder hate by Held or flood 310 
 
 I once was a maid, though I cannot 
 
 tell when, 242 
 
 I rede you beware at the hunting, 
 
 young'men, 277 
 
 I rue the day I sought her, O, 90 
 
 I see a form, I see a face, 193 
 
 I sing of a whistle, a whistle of worth," 103 
 
 I tell you now this ae night, 207 
 
 If thou should ask ray love, 90 
 
 If ye gae up to yon hill-tap, 305 
 
 If ycu rattle along like your mistress's 
 
 tong-ie, 292 
 
 ni-fated genius! Heaven-taught Fer- 
 
 gusson ! 276 
 
 I'll ay ca' in by yon town, 174 
 
 I'm three times doubly owre your 
 
 debtor 215 
 
 In coming by the brig o' Dye S2 
 
 In Mauchline there dwells six proper 
 
 young belles, 210 
 
 In pohtics if thou would'st mix 262 
 
 In seventeen hunder forty-nine, 293 
 
 In simmer, when the hay was mawn, 113 
 In Tarbolton, ye ken, there are proper 
 
 young men, 305 
 
 In this strange land, this uncouth 
 
 clime, 297 
 
 In vain would Prudence with decorous 
 
 sneer 264 
 
 In wood and wild, ye warbling throng, 235 
 Inhuman man 1 curse on thy barb'rous 
 
 art 135 
 
 Innocence looks gaily-smiling on, 264 
 
 Instead of a song, boys, I'll give you 
 
 a toast 258 
 
 Is there a whira-inspii'd fool, 45 
 
 Is there, for honest poverty, 206 
 
 la this thy plighted, fond regard, 189 
 
 It is na Jean, thy bonie face, 107 
 
 It was a' for our rightfu' king, 177 
 
 It was in sweet Senegal that my foes 
 
 did me enthral, 119 
 
 It was the charming month of .May, ... 186 
 It was upon a Lammas night 43 
 
 J 
 
 J«mie, come try me 90 
 
 PAaB. 
 
 Jockie's ta'en the parting kiss, 213 
 
 John Anderson, my jo, John 94 
 
 K 
 
 Kemble, thou cur'st my unbelief, 258 
 
 Ken ye ought i^' Captain Grose 228 
 
 Kilmarnock Wabsters, fidge an' claw, 58 
 Kind sir, I've read your paper through, 230 
 Know thou, O stranger to the fame, . . 45 
 
 L 
 
 Lament him, Mauchline husbands a', 260 
 Lament in rhyme, lament in prose, . . 12 
 
 Lassie wi' the lint-white locks 205 
 
 Last May a braw wooer cam" down the 
 
 lang glen 191 
 
 Lat« crippled of an arm, and now a, 
 
 leg 129 
 
 Let half-starv'd slaves in warmer 
 
 skies, e 
 
 Let me ryke up to dight that tear, 244 
 
 Let not women e'er complain 130 
 
 Let other heroes boast their scars 2S4 
 
 Let other Poets raise a fracas 3 
 
 Life ne'er exulted in so rich a piize, .. 231 
 Light lay the earth on Billy's breast, 293 
 Like ^sop's Lion, Burns says, sore I 
 
 feel, 287 
 
 Lone on the bleaky hills the straying 
 
 flocks .'. 288 
 
 Long life, my Lord, an' health be 
 
 yours, 283 
 
 Long, long the night, 208 
 
 Lord, to account who dares thee call, 293 
 
 Lord, we thank an' thee adore 263 
 
 Loud blaw the frosty breezes 81 
 
 Louis, what reck I by thee, 171 
 
 Lovely was she by the dawn, 186 
 
 M 
 
 Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion, 204 
 
 Maxwell, if merit here you crave, 237 
 
 Meet me on the warlock knowe 89 
 
 My blessings on you, sonsie wife, 2S6 
 
 My bonie lass I work in brass 244 
 
 My bottle is a haly pool 262 
 
 My Chloris, mark how green the groves, 204 
 My curse upon your venom'd stang, ... 227 
 
 My father was a farmer, 271 
 
 My girl she's airy, she's buxom and gay, 309 
 
 My Harry was a gallant gay 83 
 
 My heart is a-breaking, dear tittie, ... 100 
 
 My heart is sair — I dare na tell, 173 
 
 My heart is wae. and unco wae 307 
 
 My heart was ance as blythe and free, 78 
 My heart's in the Highlands, my heart 
 
 IS not here 94 
 
 My honoured colonel, deep I feel 239 
 
 My Lady's gown there's gairs upon't, 267 
 My Lord a-hunting he is gane, i;67
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 S24 
 
 PAOB. 
 
 My Lord, I know, your noble ear, 13S 
 
 My love she's but a lassie yet, 90 
 
 My lov'd, my honor'd much respected 
 
 friend 24 
 
 My memory's no worth a preen, 41 
 
 My Peggy's face, my Peggy's form, ... 213 
 
 Musing (in the roaring ocean 84 
 
 N 
 
 Nae gentle dames, the' ne'er sae fair, 79 
 
 Nae heathen name shall I prefix, 300 
 
 No Churchman am I for to rail and to 
 
 write, 75 
 
 No cold approach, no alter'd mien,... 103 
 No more of your guests, be they titled 
 
 or not, 238 
 
 No more, ye warblers of the wood, no 
 
 more 236 
 
 No sculptur'd marble here, nor pomp- 
 ous lay, 220 
 
 No song nor dance I bring from yon 
 
 great city, 229 
 
 No Spartan tube, no Attic shell, 309 
 
 No Stewart art thou, Galloway, 280 
 
 Now haply, down yon gay green shaw, 174 
 Now in her j^een mantle blytlie Nature 
 
 arrays, 189 
 
 Now Kennedy, if foot or horse, 295 
 
 Now Nature deeds the flowery lea, ... 205 
 Now Nature hangs her mantle green, 128 
 
 Now Robin lies in his last lair, 273 
 
 Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers, ... 89 
 Now Simmer blinks on flow'ry braes,... 79 
 Now Spring has clad the grove in 
 
 green, 193 
 
 Now westlin winds, and slaught'ring 
 
 guns 43 
 
 O 
 
 O ay my wife she dang me, 266 
 
 O bonie was yon rosy brier 209 
 
 O cam' ye here the figlit to shun, 97 
 
 O could I give thee India's wealth,.. 298 
 O Death, hadst thou but spar'd his life, 44 
 O Death ! thou tyrant fell and bloody, 126 
 
 O for him back again ! 88 
 
 O Goudie! terror of the Whigs 248 
 
 O gude ale comes, and gude ale goes, 267 
 
 O Bow can I be blytlie and glad, 106 
 
 O how shall I, unskilfu', try, 110 
 
 O Kenmure's on and awa', Willie!.... 112 
 O ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has 
 
 gotten? 19S, 267 
 
 O Lady Mary Arm looks o'er the castle 
 
 wa',.: 117 
 
 O lassie, art thou sleeping yet 207 
 
 O lay thy loof in mine, lass, 268 
 
 O leave novels, ye MauchUne belles!... 265 
 
 O leeze me on my spinning-wheel 112 
 
 O let me in this ae night, 207 
 
 O Logan, swe«illy didat thou glide, 198 , 
 
 PAOB. 
 
 O Lord, since we have feasted thus, ... 291 
 O Lord, when hunger pinches sore, ... 291 
 
 O lovely Polly Stewart, 176 
 
 O luve will venture in where it daurna 
 
 weel be seen, 115 
 
 O Mally's meek, Mally's sweet, 269 
 
 O Mary, at thy window be, 197 
 
 O .May, thy morn was .ne'er sae sweet, 175 
 O ineikle thinks my luve o' my beauty, 102 
 O mirk, mirk is this midnight hour, .. 180 
 
 O mount and go, 91 
 
 O my luve's like a red, red rose 169 
 
 O once I l<ivd a bonie lass 265 
 
 O Pliilly, 1 a;ipy be that day, 205 
 
 O poortith cauld, and restless love, ... 181 
 O raging fortune's withering blast, ... 270 
 
 O rattlin', rnarin' Willie, 86 
 
 O rough, rude, ready-witted Rankine, 42 
 
 O sad and heavy should I part, 174 
 
 O saw ye bonie Lesley 179 
 
 O saw ye my deaiie, ray Eppie M'Nab? 108 
 
 O saw ye my dear, my Phely? 203 
 
 O sing a new song to the L- — , 307 
 
 O stay, sweet warbling woodlark, stay ! 182 
 
 O steer her up and baud her gaun, 266 
 
 O tell na me o' wind and rain, 207 
 
 O that I had ne'er been married, 268 
 
 O that's the lassie o' my heart, 190 
 
 O this is no my ain lassie, 193 
 
 O Thou dread Pow'r, who reign'st 
 
 above ! 66 
 
 O Thou great Being I what Thou art, 67 
 O Thou, in whom we live and move, . . 263 
 O thou pale Orb, that silent shines,.. 30 
 O Thou, the first, the greatest friend, 67 
 O Thou unknown, Almighty Cause,.. 32 
 
 O thou, whatever title suit thee ! 10 
 
 O Thou, who kindly dost provide, 238 
 
 O thou whom Poesy abhors 1 254 
 
 O wha is she that lo'es me, 190 
 
 O wat ye wha's in yon town, 174 
 
 O were I on Parnassus hill, 93 
 
 O were my love yon lilac fair, 199 
 
 O wert thou, love, but near me, 207 
 
 O wha my babie-clouts will buy? — 96 
 O wha will to Saint Stephen's House. 297 
 O whar did ye get that hauver-meal 
 
 bannock, 77 
 
 O when she cam ben she bobbed fu' law. 111 
 O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad 1^ 
 
 O why the deuce should I repine 210 
 
 O Willie bre%v'd a peck o' maut, 99 
 
 O wilt thou go wi' me, sweet Tibbie 
 
 Dunbar? i^3 
 
 O ye wha are sae guid yoursel, 61 
 
 O ye whose cheek the tear of pity 
 
 stains, 45 
 
 Of a' the airts the wind can blaw 92 
 
 Of all the numerous ills that hurt our 
 
 peace 215 
 
 Of lordly acquaintance you boast ^Ji
 
 THE POEMS AND SONGS OF BURNS. 
 
 S2fi 
 
 PAOB. 
 
 Oh a' ye pious godly flocks, 247 
 
 O ! had each SCOT of ancient times, . . 251 
 Oh, had the malt thy strength of mind, 238 
 
 Oh, Jenny's a' weet, poor body, 171 
 
 Oh, open the door some pity to shew, 147 
 Oh Thou, wha in the heavens dost 
 
 dwell! 249 
 
 Oh Tibbie, I hae seen the day, 86 
 
 Oh, wert thou in the cauld blast 214 
 
 Old winter, with his frosty beard, 233 
 
 On a bankjnf flowers, in a summer day, 89 
 On Cessnock banks a lassie dwells, . . 271 
 On peace and rest my mind was bent, 266 
 
 On the seas and far away, 202 
 
 Once fondly lov'd, and still remember'd 
 
 dear, 217 
 
 One ni<;ht as I did wander, 272 
 
 One Queen Artemisa, as old stories 
 
 tell, 44 
 
 Oppress'd with grief, oppress'd with 
 
 cire, 30 
 
 Orthodox! orthodox 1— wha believe in 
 
 John Knox, 255 
 
 Our thrissles dourish'd fresh and fair, 94 
 Out over the Forth, I look to the north, 172 
 
 P 
 
 Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare, 279 
 "Praise Woman still," his lordship 
 roars, 292 
 
 R 
 
 Rash mortal, and slanderous Poet! thy 
 
 name, 287 
 
 Raving winds around her blowing, . . 83 
 Revered defender of beauteous Stuart, 222 
 Right, Sir ! your text I'll prove it true, 59 
 
 Rooin shure in hairst, 265 
 
 Robin was a rovin' boy 272 
 
 Rusticity's ungainly form, 286 
 
 s 
 
 Sae flaxen were her ringlets, 173 
 
 Sae rantingly, sae wantonly, 79 
 
 Sad thy tale, thou idle page, 137 
 
 Say, sages, what's the charm on earth, 294 
 
 Scots! wha hae wi' Wallace bled, 187 
 
 Searching auld wives' barrels, 278 
 
 See ! the smoking bowl before us 246 
 
 Sensibility, how charming, 106 
 
 She is a winsome wee thing, 197 
 
 She's fair and fause that causes my 
 
 smart 122 
 
 She mourns, sweet tuneful youth, thy 
 
 hapless fate, 221 
 
 Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 171 
 
 Sic a reptUe was Wat, 263 
 
 Sing, hey my braw John Highlandman ! 243 
 Sing on, sweet thrush, upon the leaf- 
 less bough, 233 
 
 Sir, as your mandate did request, 216 
 
 Sir, o'er a eill I eat vour card 275 
 
 Streams that glide in orient plains, . . 212 
 
 PAOI. 
 
 Sir Wisdom's a fool when he's foa, 243 
 
 Sleep'st thou, or wak'st thou, fairest 
 
 creature, 203 
 
 So heavy, passive to the tempest shocks, 308 
 Some books are lies frae end to end, . . 51 
 
 Some hae meat and canna eat, 294 
 
 Sound be his sleep, and bly the his mom, 287 
 Spare me thy vengeance, Galloway, . . 280 
 Stay, my charmer, can you leave me, . . 80 
 Still anxious to secure your partial 
 
 favour 234 
 
 Stop, passenger! my story's brief,.... 127 
 Stop Thief 1 dame Nature cried to 
 
 Death 292 
 
 Sweet are the banks— the banks o' 
 
 Doon, 116 
 
 Sweet closes the evening on Craigie- 
 
 burn Wood loi 
 
 Sweet fa's the eve on Craigieburn lOi 
 
 Sweet flow'ret, pledge o' meikle love, 14^ 
 
 Sweet naivetd of feature, 20^ 
 
 Sweetest May, let love inspire thee, . . 267 
 Symon Gray 28^ 
 
 T 
 
 Talk not to me of savages 294 
 
 Tam Samson's weel-worn clay here lies, 63 
 That there is falsehood in his looks, 277 
 The bairns gat out wi' an unco shout, 121 
 The blude-red rose at Yule may blaw, 84 
 
 The cardin' o't the spinnin' o't 173 
 
 The Catrine woods were yellow seen, 96 
 The crimson blossom charms the bee, 138 
 
 The day returns, my bosom bums, 90 
 
 The deil cam ttddUng thro' the town, 122 
 The devil got notice that GaosE was 
 
 a-dying, 253 
 
 The flower it blaws, it fades, it fa's, 176 
 The friend whom wild from msdom's 
 
 way 235 
 
 The gloomy night is gath'ring fast, . . 74 
 The greybeard, old \visdom, may bonst 
 
 of his treasures, 262 
 
 The heather was blooming, the mea- 
 dows were mawn 277 
 
 The King's most humble servant, I, .. 263 
 The Laddies by the banks o' Nith, .... 289 
 The lamp of day, with ill-presaging 
 
 glare, 223 
 
 The last time I came o'er the moor, ... 188 
 The lazy mist hangs from the brow of 
 
 the hill, 91 
 
 The lovely lass o' Invernes.s, \m 
 
 The man, in life wherever placed, .... 67 
 The night was still, and o'er the hill, 286 
 The noble Maxwells and their powers, U3 
 The poor man weeps — here Gavin 
 
 sleeps, 45 
 
 The simple Bard, rough at the rustic 
 
 plough, 53 
 
 The small birds rejoice in the green 
 
 leaves returning, 190
 
 THE POEMS AND SONOS OF BURNS. 
 
 326 
 
 PAGB- 
 
 The smiling spring comes in rejoicing, 121 
 The solemn Leacrue ami Covenant, — 294 
 The sun had cl<is'd the winter-day, — 16 
 
 The sun he is sunk in the west, 305 
 
 The Thames flows proudly to the sea, 99 
 
 The tither morn, when I forlorn, 109 
 
 The wean wants a cradle, 268 
 
 The weary pund, the w eary pund, 111 
 
 The wind blew hollow fr;ie the hills, 130 
 The Wintry West extends his blast, . . 32 
 Thee, Caledonia, thy wild heaths 
 
 among .• ■• 
 
 Their gioves o' sweet myrtle, let foreign 
 
 lands reckon, • -^ 
 
 Then gudewife, count the lawin' 
 
 Then hey for a lass wi" a tnclier, 
 
 There lived a carl in Kellyburn braes. 
 
 There was a bonie las^, 
 
 There was a lad was born in Kyle, 
 
 There was a lass, and she was fair, . . 
 There was a wife wonn'd in Cockpen 
 There was five carlines in the south, 
 There was once a day, but old Time 
 
 then was young 
 
 There was three kings into the east, . . 
 There's a youth in this city, it were a 
 
 great pity, 
 
 There's auld Kob Morris that wons in 
 
 yon glen, 
 
 Tliere's death in the cup — sae beware! 
 There's naething like the honest nappy ! 
 
 There's news, lapses, news 
 
 There's nought but care on ev'ry han' 
 Tliey snool me sair, and haud me 
 
 down, 
 
 Thickest night, surround my dwelling ! 
 
 Thine am I, my faithful fair 
 
 Thine be the volumes, Jessy fair, 
 
 This day. Time winds th' exhausted 
 
 chain, 
 
 This wot ye all whom it concerns, .... 
 
 Tho' cruel fate should bid us part 
 
 Tho' -women's minds like winter winds, 
 ThoU flattering mark of friendship 
 
 kind, 
 
 Thou hastleft me ever, Jamie, thou hast 
 
 left me ever, 
 
 Thou ling'ring star, with less'ning ray, 
 Thou, Liberty, thou art my theme, . . 
 
 Thou of an independent mind 
 
 Thou, who thy honour as thy God 
 
 rever'st, — 
 
 Thou whom chance may hither lead, 
 ■Thou's welcome, wean, mishanter fa' 
 
 me 
 
 Though fickle Fortune has deceiv'dme. 
 Through and through the inspired 
 
 leaves 
 
 'lis Friendship's pledge, my young, 
 
 fair friend, 
 
 To Crochallan came, 
 
 280 
 
 192 
 
 102 
 194 
 117 
 268 
 272 
 199 
 266 
 260 
 
 211 
 71 
 
 93 
 
 146 
 
 291 
 38 
 
 268 
 73 
 
 112 
 
 80 
 184 
 238 
 
 229 
 217 
 
 80 
 98 
 
 282 
 
 186 
 
 97 
 312 
 237 
 
 132 
 125 
 
 246 
 
 270 
 
 292 
 
 237 
 221 
 
 fAQK. 
 
 To daunton me, and me sae young, — 84 
 
 To Riddel, much lamented man, 291 
 
 To the weavers gin ye go, fair maids, 78 
 To you, Sir, this summons I've sent,. . 308 
 True- hearted was he, the sad swain o' 
 
 the Yarrow, 180 
 
 Turn again, thou fair Eliza, 114 
 
 Twas even— the dewy fields were green , 212 
 'Twas in that place o' Scotland's isle, 1 
 'Twas in the seventeen hundred year, 302 
 'Twas naher bonie blue e'e was my ruin, 208 
 'Twas on a Monday morning.j 172 
 
 u 
 
 Up and waur them a', Jamie 289 
 
 Up in the morning's no for me, SI 
 
 Up wi' the carls of Dysart, 121 
 
 Upon a simmer Sunday morn 7 
 
 Upon that night, when Fairies light, 19 
 
 W 
 
 Wae is my heart, and the tear's in my 
 
 e'e, 176 
 
 Wae worth thy power, thou cursed leaf! 28 1 
 We are na fou, we're nae that fou, .... 99 
 We cam' na here to view your warks, 254 
 We grant they're thine, those beauties 
 
 all, 292 
 
 Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r, 32 
 Wee, sleeket, cowran, tim'rous beastie, 28 
 
 We're a' noddin, nid, nid, noddin 266 
 
 Wha is that at my bower door ? 108 
 
 Wha will buy my troggin? 303 
 
 Whare hae ye been sae braw, lad? 99 
 
 Whare live ye, my bonie lass? 113 
 
 What ails ye now, ye lousy , . . 251 
 
 What can a young lassie, what shall a 
 
 young lassie, 105 
 
 What dost thou in that mansion fair? 280 
 What needs this din about the town o' 
 
 Lon'on, 261 
 
 When biting Boreas, fell and doure, . . 63 
 When by a generous Public's kind 
 
 acclaim 252 
 
 When chapmen billies leave the street, 132 
 When chill November's surly blast, . . 31 
 When dear Clarinda, matchless fair, . . 311 
 When death's ilark stream I ferry o'er, 222 
 When , deceased, to thedeyil went 
 
 down 262 
 
 When first I came to .Stewart Kyle, . . 272 
 When Guilffjrd good, our Pilot stood, 72 
 When in my arms, wi' a' thy charms, 85 
 When LasctUs thought fit from this 
 
 world to depart 313 
 
 When lyart leaves bestrew the jird, . . 241 
 When Nature her great m.asterpiece 
 
 designed, 224 
 
 When o'er the hill the eastern star, . . 196 
 When rosy May comes in wi' flowers, 88
 
 THE POEMS AND SOXOS OF BURNS. 
 
 S27 
 
 PAG& 
 
 When the drums do beat 91 
 
 When wild War's deadly blast was 
 
 blawn, 148 
 
 Where are the joys I hare met in the 
 
 morning? 201 
 
 Where, braving angry winter's storms, 86 
 Where Cart rins rowin' to the sea, .... 121 
 
 Where'er he go, where'er he stay 31 
 
 \Vhile at the stook the shearers cow'r, 274 
 While briers an' woodbines budding 
 
 green, 37 
 
 Wnile Europe's eye is fixed on mighty 
 
 things, 232 
 
 While larks with little wing, 200 
 
 While new-ca'd kye rowte at the stake, 39 
 While virgin Spring, by Eden's tiood, 139 
 While winds frae off Ben-Iomond blaw, 28 
 Whoe'er he be that sojourns here, .... 253 
 Whoe'er thou art, O reader, know, .... 44 
 Whom will ye send to London town, 301 
 Whose is that no'jle, dauntless brow ? 299 
 Why am I loth to leave this earthly 
 
 scene? 65 
 
 Why, why tell thy lover 209 
 
 Why, ye tenants of the lake IfrJ 
 
 Wi' braw new branks in mickle pride, 285 
 
 Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed, 116 
 
 WiU ye go to the Indies, my Mary? 196 
 
 Wilt thou be my dearie? 175 
 
 With musing-deep, astonish'd stare,. . 17 
 
 Wishfully I look and languish, 109 
 
 With Pegasus upon a day, 29S 
 
 Within the glen sae bushy, U 79 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Wow, but your letter made me vauntle, 227 
 
 Y 
 Ye banks and braes, and streams 
 
 around, 183 
 
 Ye banks and braes o' bonie Doon, .... 116 
 
 Ye flowery banks o' bonie Doon, 116 
 
 Ye gallants bright I rede ye right, .... 88 
 Ye hypocrites ! are these your pranks? 293 
 Ye Irish lords, ye knighu and squires, 5 
 Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear, 
 
 give an ear, 114 
 
 Ye maggots, feed on Xicol's brain, 293 
 
 Ye men of wit and wealth, why all this 
 
 sneering 262 
 
 Ye sons of old Killie, assembled by 
 
 Willie, 295 
 
 Yestreen I had a pint o' wine 262 
 
 Yestreen I met ye on the moor 86 
 
 Ye true "Loyal Natives," attend to 
 
 my song, 280 
 
 Ye've heard this while how I've been 
 
 licket 239 
 
 Yon wild, mossy mountains sae lofty 
 
 and wide, 107 
 
 Young Jamie, pride of a' the plain, .. 172 
 Young Jockey was the blythest lad,. . 98 
 Young Peggy blooms our boniest lass, 77 
 
 Your billet. Sir, I grant- receipt 287 
 
 Your news and review. Sir, 278 
 
 You're welcome to Despots, Dumourier, 279 
 
 You're welcome, Willie Stewart, 2S3 
 
 Yours this moment I unseal, ' 288 
 
 INDEX TO ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 P.\GE. 
 
 THE SKIRVING DR.A.WING Frontispiece. 
 
 THE ORIGINAL NASMYTH PORTRAIT 46 
 
 MOSSGIEL FARM 4S 
 
 THE BEUGO ENGRAVING 50 
 
 MRS. BURNS (Jea7< Armour) VO 
 
 ON THE NITH 12< 
 
 THE NASMYTH Whole Length 142 
 
 MIERS SILHOUf:TTE, H4 
 
 THE WATSON REID PORTRAIT 106 
 
 THE COTTAGE IN 1829, 163
 
 D. BROWN & CO., 
 
 PRINTERS & PUBLISHERS, 
 
 KILMARNOCK.
 
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