THE 
 
 POETICAL WORKS 
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2007 with funding from 
 
 IVIicrosoft Corporation 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/completepoeticalOOburnrich 
 
n/ i/'o 
 
THE 
 
 COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS 
 
 ROBERT BURNS; 
 
 EXPLANATOET AND GLOSSARIAL NOTES, 
 
 A LIFE AF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 
 BY JAMES CURRIE, M. D. 
 
 NEW YORK ; 
 D. APPLETON & COMPANY, 
 90, 92 & U GRAND ST. 
 1870. 
 

 p 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 In the present day it would be a superfluous task to 
 eulogize the poetry of Burns. No sooner liad he given 
 utterance to his exquisite strains, than they found an 
 echo in the palace and the cottage. Men heard in them 
 the voice of a master-poet — of one of those great minds 
 who exercise an influence on the manners and senti- 
 ments of a people ; and even before he died, his country 
 did honor to his surpassing genius, and inscribed his 
 name as the greatest of her minstrels, an award which 
 has been continued with increasing reverence to the 
 present day. And though other poets should arise to 
 divide the national homage, still every succeeding age 
 will continue to admire the truth and beauty of his sen- 
 timents and descriptions, upon the same principle that 
 they will admire the simple manners and romantic 
 Bcenery by which his inspiration was kindled, and which 
 his patriotic heart loved to celebrate. To be dead to 
 the poetry of Burns, is to be dead to Nature itself. 
 
 In reprinting the poetical works of one so distin- 
 guished in British literature, the Publishers consid- 
 ered it their duty to collate the various editions of 
 his works, and to collect together the various poems 
 which are the admitted productions of Burns, so as to 
 render the present edition more complete than even the 
 most expensive. The whole has been carefully revised. 
 
6 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 and edited by one of our most talented living authors of 
 Scottish Song ; and to make the dialect and allusions 
 fully accessible to English readers, glossarial definitions, 
 and notes illustrative of the manners and customs which 
 are described, have been added — not heaped together at 
 the end, to fatigue the patience of the reader by a con- 
 tinual reference to the vocabulary, but subjoined to their 
 respective pages, where they can be seen at a glance, in 
 connection with the text. In addition to these, the Life 
 of the Author, by the late Dr. Carrie, of Liverpool, 
 whose account, notwithstanding the numerous biogra- 
 phies of the poet which have been published, has never 
 been surpassed, has been prefixed ; and although it has 
 been considerably abridged, still few particulars of any 
 importance have been omitted. These advantages, com- 
 bined with elegance and economy, will, it .is hoped, 
 secure a favorable reception for this edition of Burns's 
 Poems, not only among his countrymen, but the public 
 at IfiYgQ, 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Life of Burns 2S 
 
 Preface to the First Edition ,. . . . 81 
 
 Dedication to the Second Edition 83 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 >^The Twa Dosrs 85 
 
 ^ Tarn O'Slianter 9.2 
 
 i.^<Death and Dr. Hornbook 99 
 
 V The Cotter's Saturday Night .105 
 
 ^Halloween Ill 
 
 V Scotch Drink 120 
 
 u-' The Author's Earnest Cry and Prayer to the Scotch Eepresentatives in 
 
 the House of Commons 124 
 
 Postscript 128 
 
 w The Vision 130 
 
 A Dream 138 
 
 AArdflress to the Deil 140 
 
 Address to Edinburgh ''. 146 
 
 Address to tlie Sliade of Thomson 143 
 
 The Poet's Welcome to his Illegitimate Child 148 
 
 v/To a Haggis 150 
 
 A<Address to the Toothache 151 
 
 vTo a Posthumous Child, born in peculiar circjimstances of distress 152 
 
 ^To a Mountain Daisy 153 
 
 V To a Mouse 155 
 
 Lines on scaring some Water-Fowl in Loch Turit 156 
 
 Sonnet, written"" January 25, 1793, the birth-day of the Author 158 
 
 Verses on seeing a wounded hare limp by rae, which a fellow had just 
 
 shot at 153 
 
 f The Auld Farmer's New-Year morning salutation to his Auld Mare 
 
 Masgie /^^ 159 
 
 ./The Death and Dying Words of Poor Mailie .♦. 162 
 
 \ Poor Maine's Eleffy.T 164 
 
 The Humble Petition of Bruar Water 166 
 
 The Brigs of Ayr 168 
 
 Lines written with a pencil, standing by the Fall of Fyers, near Loch- 
 
 Ness 175 
 
 Lines written with a pencil, over the chimney-piece, in the parlor of an 
 
 inn at Kenniore, Tayrnonth 175 
 
 Inscription for an altar to Independence 176 
 
 On Pastoral Poetry 177 
 
 On the late Captain Grose's Peregrinations through Scotland 178 
 
 Verses written at Selkirk 180 
 
 Liberty.— A Fragment . , 182 
 
 The Vowels.— a" Ta^e 183 
 
8 CONTENTS. 
 
 rxcn 
 
 Frascment, inscribed to the Right Hon. C. J. Fox 184 
 
 Sketch 185 
 
 Scots Prologue, for Mr. Sutherland's benefit-night, Dumfries 186 
 
 Prologue, spoken at the Theatre, Ellisland, on New-year Day Evening. 187 
 
 Prologue, spoken by Mr. Woods, on his benefit-night 188 
 
 Tragic Fragment .' 189 
 
 Remorse.— A Fragment 190 
 
 Ode on the Birth-day of Prince Charles Edward 191 
 
 Address, spoken by Miss Fontenelle 191 
 
 The Rights of Woman 193 
 
 Verses written under the Portrait of Fergusson, the Poet 194 
 
 The Henpecked Husband 194 
 
 -^ tiines on an Interview with Lord Daer 194 
 
 A Prayer, left in a room of a Reverend Friend's house, where the Author 
 
 slept 196 
 
 A Prayer, under the pressure of violent anguish 197 
 
 A Prayer, in the prospect of Death 197 
 
 Stanzas on the same occasion 198 
 
 The First Psalm 199 
 
 The first six verses of the Ninetieth Psalm 199 
 
 A Grace before Dinner 200 
 
 Verses written in Friar's Carse Hermitasre on Niih-side 201 
 
 Winter,— A Dirge 202 
 
 , vMan was made to mourn.— A Dirge 203 
 
 Despondency. — An Ode ". 205 
 
 To Ruin 207 
 
 A Winter Night 208 
 
 The Lament, occasioned by the unfortunate issue of a Friend's amour.. 211 
 Lament, written when the Author was about to leave his native country 213 
 
 Lament for James. Earl of Glencairn 213 
 
 Lines sent to Sir John Whitefoord 216 
 
 Lament of Mary, Queen of Scots 216 
 
 EPISTLES. 
 
 V Epistles to James Smith 218 
 
 l/To John Lapraik, an old Scottish Bard 223 
 
 k'To the same 228 
 
 To the same 281 
 
 ^ Epistle to Davie, a brother Poet 233 
 
 v/To the same 237 
 
 To Mr. William Tytler 238 
 
 ^ To William Simpson, Ochiltree 239 
 
 Postscript 242 
 
 vTo John Goudie, Kilmarnock 245 
 
 VTo J. Rankine 246 
 
 To the same 248 
 
 V To Dr. Blacklock 249 
 
 To Colonel De Peyster 250 
 
 To a Tailor 252 
 
 The Inventory: in answer to a mandate by Mr. Aiken, surveyor of 
 
 taxes 254 
 
 To J— 8 T-t. Gl-nc-r 266 
 
 To a Gentleman who had sent him a Newsi)aper, and offered to continue 
 
 it free of expense 258 
 
 ^ To Gavin Hamilton, Esq. 259 
 
 yTo tlie same 263 
 
 To Robert Graham, Esq., of Fintra 264 
 
 To the same 267 
 
 To the same, on receiving a favor 269 
 
CONTENTS. 9 
 
 PXGB 
 
 To Mrs. Dnnlop, on New-year's Day 269 
 
 To the same, on Sensibility 271 
 
 To a young Friend 271 
 
 To the Rev. John M'Math 274 
 
 To Mr. M-Adam, of Craisren-Glllan ► 27(> 
 
 To Terraushty, on his Birth-day 27T 
 
 To Captain Riddel, Glenriddel 278 
 
 To Mr. Mitchell, Collector of Excise. Dumfries 279 
 
 To a Gentleman whom he had otfended 280 
 
 To an old Sweetheart, after her marriage with a present of a copy of hia 
 
 Poems 280 
 
 To Miss Logan, with Beattie's Poems, as a New-year's Gift 280 
 
 To a Young" Lady, Miss Jessy Lewars, Dumfries, with a present of Books 281 
 
 To a Young Lady, with a present of Songs 281 
 
 To a Young Lady, with a present of a pair of Drinking-glasses 282 
 
 To Miss Cruickshanks, with a present of a Book 282 
 
 To a Lady, whom the Author had often celebrated under the name of 
 
 Chloris 2S3 
 
 To Mrs. Scott, of Wauchope- House , : 284 
 
 SATIRES. 
 
 t^The Holy Fair 286 
 
 ' s/The Ordination 293 
 
 %<iddress to the Unco Guid, or the Rigidly Righteous 29T 
 
 ./The Tvva Herds 299 
 
 The Kirk's Alarm 802 
 
 i/iloly Willie's Prayer 3il5 
 
 . Epitaph on Holy "VVillie 308 
 
 The Calf, to the Reverend Mr. 308 
 
 ,^To a Louse 309 
 
 Ode, Sacred to the Memory of Mrs. of 311 
 
 Monody on a Lady famed for her Caprice ^^ 812" 
 
 ELEGIES. 
 
 Elegy on Miss Burnett, of Monboddo 813 
 
 On the Death of Robert Riddel, Esq 314 
 
 On the Death of Sir James Hunter Blair 314 
 
 On reading in a Newspaper the Death of John M-Leod, Esq 315 
 
 Elegy on Captain Matthew Henderson 316 
 
 Epitaph 319 
 
 ** Tarn Samson's Elegy 320 
 
 The Epitaph 323 
 
 On a Scottish Bard, gone to the West Indies 323 
 
 Elegy on the year 1788 825 
 
 Elegy on the Death of Robert Ruisseaux 826 
 
 Elegy on the Death of Peg Nicholson 327 
 
 EPIGRAMS, ETC. 
 
 On Elplrinstone's translation of Martial's Epigrams 828 
 
 Extempore, written in a Lady's Pocket-Book 328 
 
 Verses written on the Windows of the Globe Tavern, Dumfries 828 
 
 Epigram on Captain Grose 329 
 
 Extempore, in answer to an invitation to spend an hour at a Tavern.. . 329 
 
 Epigram, on his treatment at Inverary 829 
 
 A verse presented to the Master of a House in the Highlands 880 
 
 The Toast, written on a glass tumbler, and presentovi'to Miss Jessy Le- 
 wars , 83G 
 
10 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGV 
 
 Epitaph on Miss Jessy Lewars 330 
 
 On her Recovery 33J 
 
 To the same 831 
 
 Lines written on the back of a Banlc Note S31 
 
 Lines on Miss J. Scott, of Ayr 332 
 
 Lines written on a pane of glass in the Inn at Moffat 332 
 
 Lines written under tlie picture of the celebrated Miss Burns 332 
 
 Lines presented to Mrs. Kemble 332 
 
 Lines written on a window at the King's Arms Tavern, Dumfries 333 
 
 Verses written on a window of tlie Inn at Carron 333 
 
 To Dr. Maxwell 333 
 
 Epigram on a Henpecked Country Squire 334 
 
 Another * 334 
 
 A Toast, on the Anniversary of Rodney's Victory 334 
 
 Impromptu on Mrs. R 's Birth-day 335 
 
 Tlie Loyal Natives' Verses 335 
 
 Burnss Reply to the Loyal Natives 335 
 
 Extemporaneous Effusion on being appointed to the Excise 336 
 
 On seeing -the beautiful seat of Lord G 33G 
 
 On the same ^ 336 
 
 To the same 336 
 
 To the same, on the Author being threatened with his resentment 337 
 
 Extempore, in the Court of Session, on Lord A — te and Mr. Er— ne.... 337 
 
 On hearing that there was falsehood in the Rev. Dr. B — 's very looks. .. 337 
 
 Extempore, on the late Mr. William Smellie 338 
 
 Extempore, to Mr. Syme, on refusing to dine with him 338 
 
 To Mr. S — e, with a present of a dozen of porter 838 
 
 Lines addressed to Mr. John Rankine 838 
 
 Lines written by Burns while on his death-bed 839 
 
 EPITAPHS. 
 
 Epitaph for the Author's Father 340 
 
 Inscription to the Memory of Fergusson 840 
 
 To Robert Aiken, Esq 340 
 
 A Bard's Epitaph 341 
 
 On a Friend 341 
 
 X>3For Gavin Hamilton, Esq 342 
 
 ;c,On W. Nichol 842 
 
 ;f On a Wag in Mauchline 342 
 
 >0n a Henpecked Country Squire 343 
 
 >0n a Noisy Polemic 843 
 
 >On a celebrated ruling Elder 343 
 
 f On John Dove, Innkeeper, Mauchline 843 
 
 xOn Wee Johnie 844 
 
 ^On J— y B— y. Writer in Dujnfries 344 
 
 On a person nicknamed the Marquis 844 
 
 On a Schoolmaster, in Cleish Parish, Fifeshire ,. 344 
 
 For Mr. Gabriel Richardson, Brewer, Dumfries 844 
 
 On Walters 845 
 
 On a Lap-dog named Echo 343 
 
CONTENTS. 11 
 
 MISCELLAKEODS PIECES LATELY COLLECTED. 
 
 PAGS 
 
 The Farewell 5^5 
 
 Willie Clialrr.ers 576 
 
 , tpistle to Major Logan 577 
 
 On the death of Robert Dundas, Esq 579 
 
 Written in Friars-Carse Hermitage, on the banks of the Nith (from the 
 
 original draft) 581 
 
 Epistle to Huith Parker 5S2 
 
 To John M'Murdo, Esq 583 
 
 Written on a Pane of Grlass 583 
 
 The Kirk's Ahirin (second version) 584 
 
 Epistle to Kobert Graham, of Fintray 5S8 
 
 Address of Beelzebub to the President of the Highland Society 591 
 
 To J o h n Tay I o r 593 
 
 Epistle from Esopus to Maria 593 
 
 On seeing Miss Fontenelle in a favorite character 596 
 
 The Heron Ballads— Ballad first 596 
 
 The Election 591 
 
 An excellent new Song 600 
 
 To a Kiss 601 
 
 Verses written under violent Grief, whilst he contemplated sailing to 
 
 Jamaica 602 
 
 The Hermit, written in the wood of Aberfeldy 602 
 
 TomvBed 604 
 
 The Tree of Liberty 604 
 
 On the death of his Daughter 607 
 
 On the same 60T 
 
 Verses on the destruction of the Woods near Drumlanrig 608 
 
 The Book-worms 609 
 
 Lines on Stirling 609 
 
 The Reproof 610 
 
 The Kirk of Lamington 610 
 
 Tlie Lrague and Covenant 610 
 
 Inscrij'tion on a Goblet 610 
 
 The TDHd-cater 610 
 
 The Selkirk Grace 611 
 
 Impi' .mptu on Willie Stewart 611 
 
 Written on a Pane of Glass on the occasion of a National Thanksgiving 
 
 for a Naval Victory 611 
 
 A Grace before Meat 61 1 
 
 Epitaph on Mr. W. Cruickshank 612 
 
 Epitaph on W 613 
 
 Epitaph on the same 613 
 
12 CONTENTS. 
 
 ALPHABETICAL ISDEX TO MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 BY FIRST LINES. 
 
 PAQK 
 
 V Accept the gift a friend sincere 602 
 
 -^Admiring Nature in her wildest grace 175 
 
 ^— Ae day, as Death, that grusome carl 888 
 
 — Again the silent wheels of time 380 
 
 — A guid new year, I wish thee, Maggie ! 159 
 
 ^A little, upright, pert, tart, tripping wight 185 
 
 "^ All devil as I am, a damned wretch 189 
 
 All hail 1 inexorable lord ! 207 
 
 Among the heathy hills and ragged woods 175 
 
 An honest man here lies at rest 341 
 
 As cauld a wind as ever blew 610 
 
 As father Adam first was fool'd 343 
 
 Ask why God made the gem so small 832 
 
 As Mailie, an' her Iambs thegither 162 
 
 As on the banks o' wandering Nith 60S 
 
 vAuld chiickie Keekie's sair distrest 180 
 
 vAiild comrade dear and brither sinner 256 
 
 A' ye wha live by soups o' drink 323 
 
 Beauteous rose-bud, young and gay 282 
 
 Below thir stanes lie Jamie's banes 343 
 
 Blest be M'Murdo to his latest day I 583 
 
 Bright ran thy line, O G 336 
 
 But rarely seen since Nature's birth 881 
 
 Cease, ye prudes, your envious railing 832 
 
 Collected Harry stood awee 337 
 
 Curse on ungrateful man, that can be pleased 194 
 
 Cursed be the man, the poorest wretch in life 194 
 
 Dear Smith, the sleest, pawkie thief 218 
 
 Dweller in yon dungeon dark 311 
 
 £dina, Scotia's darling seat 146 
 
 Kxpect na, sir, in this narration 259 
 
 Fair empress of the Poet's soul 282 
 
 Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face 150 
 
 False flatterer. Hope, away I 191 
 
 Farewell, old Scotia's bleak domains 575 
 
 Fill me with the rosy wine 880 
 
 Fintray, my stay in worldly strife 5SS 
 
 For lords or kings I dinna mourn 825 
 
 Friend of the Poet, tried and leal 279 
 
 From those drear solitudes and frowzy cells 598 
 
CONTENTS. 13 
 
 PAOB 
 
 Go, Fame, and canter like a filly 328 
 
 Grant ine, indulgent Heaven, that I may live 328 
 
 Guid-mornin' to your Majesty! 138 
 
 Guid speed an' f urder to you, Johnie 281 
 
 Hail, Poesie ! thou nymph reserved ! 177 
 
 Hail, thairm-inspirin', rattlin' Willie ! 577 
 
 Ha, whare ye gaun, ye crowlin' ferlie ? 309 
 
 Has auld K********* seen the Deil ? 320 
 
 Health to the Maxwells' veteran chief 277 
 
 ear. Land o' Cakes, and brither Scots 178 
 
 leard ye o' the tree o' France 604 
 
 Ho clench'd his pamphlets in his fist •. 337 
 
 Here Brewer Gabriel's fire's extinct 344 
 
 Here Holy Willie's sair worn clay 308 
 
 Here lies a mock Marquis, whose titles were shamm'd 344 
 
 Here lies a rose, a budding rose 607 
 
 Here lies Johnie Pidgeon 343 
 
 Here lies J — y B— y, honest man! ■. 344 
 
 Here lie Willie M— hie's banes . , 344 
 
 Here souter Will in death does sleep 343 
 
 Here Stuarts once in glory reign'd 609 
 
 Here where the Scottish Muse immortal lives 281 
 
 He who of Raiikine sang, lies stiff and dead 339 
 
 Honest Will's to Heaven gane 612 
 
 How cold is that bosom which folly once fired 312 
 
 How wisdom and folly meet, mix, and uhlte 184 
 
 Humid seal of soft affections 601 
 
 I am a keeper of the law 248 
 
 I call no goddess to inspire my strains 269 
 
 I gat your letter, winsome Willie 239 
 
 I hold it, sir, my bounden duty 263 
 
 I lang hae thought, my youthfu' friend 271 
 
 I'm three timesdoubly o'er your debtor 237 
 
 I mind it weel, in early date 284 
 
 I murder hate by field or flood 328 
 
 Inhuman man ! curse on thy barbarous art 158 
 
 In politics if thou wouldst mix 329 
 
 Instead of a song, boys, I'll give you a toast 384 
 
 *,'i.n. this strange land, this uncouth clime 582 
 
 In wood and wild, ye warbling throng 345 
 
 Is there a whim-inspired fool 341 
 
 Kemble, thou cur'st my unbelief 832 
 
 Kilmarnock wabsters, fidge an' claw 298 
 
 Kind sir, I've read your paper through 258 
 
 Know thou, stranger to the fame 340 
 
 Lament him, Mauchline husbands a' 842 
 
 Lament in rhyme, lament in prose 164 
 
 Late crippled of an arm, and now a leg 267 
 
 Let other poets raise a fracas 120 
 
 Life ne'er exulted in so rich a prize 813 
 
 Lone on the bleaky hills jthe straying flocks 579 
 
 Long life, my lord, an' health be yours 591 
 
 Maxwell, if merit here you crave 833 
 
 My curse upon the venom'd stang 151 
 
 My honor'd colonel, deep I feel .t 25C 
 
 2 
 
14 CONTENTS. 
 
 I AOB 
 
 My lord, I know your noble ear 160 
 
 My loved, my honor'd, much respected friend 105 
 
 No more of your guests, be they titled or not 838 
 
 No more, ye warblers of tlie wood, no more 814 
 
 :No sculptured marble here, nor pompous lay 340 
 
 No song nor dance I bring from jon great city 1ST 
 
 "No Stewart art thou, G 336 
 
 Now Nature hangs her mantle green... 216 
 
 Now Robin lies in his last lair 826 
 
 ' O Death ! hadst thou but spared his life , 834 
 
 O Death ! thou tyrant fell and blo(xly ! 316 
 
 • O'er the mist-shrouded cliffs of the lone mountain straying 213 
 
 "Of all the numerous ills that hurt our peace 190 
 
 'O Goudie ! terror o' the Whigs 245 
 
 Oh ! h.'id each Scot of ancient times 332 
 
 'Oh ! sweet be thy sleep in the land of the grave 607 
 
 Oh ! had the malt thy strength of mind 338 
 
 Oh, a' ye pious godly flocks 299 
 
 Oh, could I give thee India's wealth ^583 
 
 Old Winter with his frosty beard 835 
 
 Once fondly lov'd, and still remember'd dear 280 
 
 One Queen Artemisia, as old stories tell 834 
 
 Oppressed with grief, oppressVl with care : 205 
 
 • O rough, rude, ready-witted Eankine 246 
 
 Orthodox, Orthodox, wha believe in John Knox 302 
 
 Orthodox, Orthodox (second version) 584 
 
 O Thou ! dread Power w ho reign'st above 196 
 
 O Thou, great Being ! what tljpu art 197 
 
 O Thou, in whom we live and move 611 
 
 'O Thou, the first, the greatest Friend 199 
 
 ■ O Thou, unknown. Almighty cause 197 
 
 ' O Thou, wha in the heavens dost dwell 805 
 
 O Thou, who kindly dost provide 200 
 
 • O thou pale orb, that silent shines 211 
 
 O thou ! whatever title suit thee •. 142 
 
 O thou whom Poetry abhors 328 
 
 O ye wha are sae guid yoursel' 297 
 
 O ye, whose cheek the tear of pity stains 340 
 
 Peg Nicholson was a gude bay mare 827 
 
 Kash mortal and slanderous Poet, thy name 610 
 
 Rest gently, turf, upon his breast 612 
 
 Reverend defender of beauteous Stuart 238 
 
 Right, sir 1 your text I'll prove it true 808 
 
 Sad thy tale, thou idle page 815 
 
 Say, sages, what's the charm on earth 880 
 
 Searching auld wives' barrels 836 
 
 Sensibility, how charming 271 
 
 Sic a reptile was Wat 845 
 
 Bing on, sweet thrash, upon the leafless bough 158 
 
 Sir, as your mandate did request 254 
 
 Sir, o'er a gill I gat your card 276 
 
 Some books are lies frae ««nd to end 99 
 
 Some hae meat, and canna eat 611 
 
 Spare me thy vengeance, G "837 
 
 Still anxious to secure your partial favor 191 
 
CONTENTS. 15 
 
 PAOS 
 
 Stop, passenger ! my story's brief 319 
 
 Stop thief! dame Nature cried to Death 612 
 
 Sweet floweret, pledge o' meilcle love 152 
 
 Sweet naivete of feature 596 ' 
 
 Talk not to me of savages 331 
 
 Tarn Samson's weel-worn clay here lies 323 
 
 That there is falsehood in his looks 337 
 
 The Devil got notice that Grose was a-dying 329 
 
 The friend whom wild from wisdom's way 280 
 
 The gray-beard, old Wisdom, may boast of his treasures 328 
 
 The king's most humble servant, 1 829 
 
 The lamp of day, with ill-presaging glare 314 
 
 The man in life, wherever placed 199 
 
 The poor man weeps — here Gavin sleeps 342 
 
 There's death in the cup— sae beware ! 610 
 
 The simple Bard, rough at the rustic plough 168 
 
 The Solemn League and Covenant \ 610 
 
 The sun had closed the winter day 130 
 
 The wintry west extends his blast 202 
 
 The wind blew hollow frae the hills 213 
 
 Thee, Caledonia, thy wild heaths among. 182 
 
 Thine be the volumes, Jessy fair 281 
 
 This day. Time winds the exhausted chain 269 
 
 This wot ye all whom it concerns 194 
 
 Thou bed, in which I first began 604 
 
 Thou of an independent mind 1T6 
 
 Thou's welcome, wean, mishanter fa' me 148 
 
 Thou whom chance may hither lead 201 
 
 Thou whom chance may hither lead (another version) 581 
 
 Thou, who thy honor as thy God rever'st 216 
 
 Through and through the inspired leaves 609 
 
 'Tis Friendsliip's pledge, my young fair friend 283 
 
 To Crochallan came 338 
 
 'Twas in that place o' Scotland's isle 85 
 
 'Twas where the birch and sounding thong are plied 183 
 
 CTpon a simmer Sunday morn 286 
 
 Upon that night, when fairies light Ill 
 
 Wae worth thy power, thou cursed leaf 331 
 
 We cam na here to view your warks 333 
 
 Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower 153 
 
 Wee, sleekit, cowerin', timorous beastie 155 
 
 What ails ye now, ye lousie b — ch 252 
 
 What dost thou in that mansion fair ? 336 
 
 What needs this din about the town o' Lon'on 186 
 
 What of earls with whom you have supt 610 
 
 When biting Boreas, fell and doure 20S 
 
 When by a generous public's kind acclaim 188 
 
 When chapman billies leave the street 92 
 
 When chill November's surly blast 208 
 
 When Death's dark stream I ferry o'er 330 
 
 W hen Nature her great master-piece design'd 264 
 
 While at the stook the shearers cower 274 
 
 While briers an' woodbines budding green 228 
 
 While Europe's eye is flx'd on mighty things 193 
 
 While new-ca'd kye rout at the stake .". 228 
 
 While virgin spring, by Eden's flood 148 
 
 W bile winds frae alff Ben-Lomond blaw 288 
 
16 CONTENTS. 
 
 WV braw new branks in mickle pride 576 
 
 With Pegasus upon a day 593 
 
 Whoe'^er lie be that sojourns here 329 
 
 Whoe'er thou art, O reader, know 844 
 
 Whoe'er tliou art, these lines now reading 602 
 
 Why am I loth to leave this earthly scene ? 198 
 
 Why, ye tenants of the lake 15(i 
 
 Wow, but your letter made me vauntie ! 249 
 
 Ye hypocrites I are these your pranks ? 611 
 
 Ye Irish lords, ye knights an' squires 124 
 
 Ye maggots, feed on Nichol's brain 842 
 
 Ye men'of wit and wealth, why all this sneering 833 
 
 Ye sons of sedition, give ear to my song 33c 
 
 Ye true " Loyal Natives," attend to my song 83£ 
 
 You're welcome, Willie Stewart 611 
 
 Your news and review, sir, I've read through and through, sir 2iS 
 
CONTENTS. 1.7 
 
 iLPHABETICAL INDEX TO SOXGS AND BALLADS 
 
 PI OB 
 
 ^ A bottle and a friend 4yS 
 
 A red, red rose 487 
 
 Address to General Dumourier 490 
 
 Address to the Woodlark 422 
 
 Adown winding Nith 469 
 
 u Afton Water 460 
 
 Airs 5]9, 520, 521, 522, 524, 525, 526, 528 
 
 Among the trees where humming bees 602 
 
 And maun I still on Menie doat 405 
 
 Anna 352 
 
 As I was a-wandering 554 
 
 Auld lang syne 348 
 
 Auld Kob Morris 449 
 
 ^ Banks o' bonnie Doon 366 
 
 Bannocks o' barley 566 
 
 v'Bannockburn — Bruce's address to his army 846 
 
 The same, as altered at the suggestion of Mr. Thomson 347 
 
 Behold the hour, the boat arrives " 349 
 
 Bessy and her spinning-wheel 369 
 
 Bly the hae I been on yon hill 359 
 
 >sBly the was she 355 
 
 Bonnie Ann 431 
 
 •Bonnie Bell 485 
 
 Bonnie Jean 370 
 
 Bonnie Leslie 413 
 
 ;^onnie Mary 376 
 
 XBonnie Peg 444 
 
 j(^onnie wee thing 886 
 
 ..Braw lads of Galla water 533 
 
 By Allan stream I chanced to rove 390 
 
 By yon castle wa' 454 
 
 . Ca' the yowes to the knjowes 875 . 
 
 Caledonia 456 • 
 
 Can I cease to care 42T 
 
 \Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy ? 4TT 
 
 V Captain Grose STQ' 
 
 Cassillls' banks 668 1 
 
 Castle Gordon 424 : 
 
 Clarinda (To) on her leaving Edinburgh 428- 
 
 ^Cock up your beaver 545 
 
 Come boat me o'er to Charlie 538 
 
 >C)ome down the back stairs 582 . 
 
 Come, let me take thee to my breast 439 • 
 
 Coming through the rye 560 
 
 Contented wi' little 445 
 
 Craigie-burn wood ....,,,., .442, 494 . 
 
J 8 CONTENTS. 
 
 PikGt 
 
 Dainty Davie 849 
 
 Damon and Sylvia 50S 
 
 December night 856 
 
 Delia 433 
 
 Deluded swain 351 
 
 Duncan Gray 366 
 
 ^Eppie Adair 544 
 
 Extempore — Oh why the deuce, &c 512 
 
 Fair Eliza 897 
 
 Fair Jenny 351 
 
 >^airest maid on Devon banks 4Sl 
 
 Farewell to Eliza 396 
 
 Farewell to Nancy 895 
 
 Farewell, thou stream 475 
 
 Forlorn, my love, no comfort near 479 
 
 Frae the friends and land I love 545 
 
 Galla Water 467 
 
 ^ Gloomy December , 4S5 
 
 •XJreen grow the rashes 480 
 
 'i Gudewife, count the lawin 410 
 
 Had I a cave 469 
 
 Had I the wy te 559 
 
 Hee balou 567 
 
 Her daddie forbad 534 
 
 Her flowing locks, the raven's wing '. 383 
 
 -here's a health to ane I lo'e dear 480 
 
 Here's a health to them that's awa 506 
 
 Here's his health in water 567 
 
 Here's to thy health, my bonnie lass 568 
 
 Hey for a lass wi' a tocher 451 
 
 Hey, the dusty miller 534 
 
 Highland Mary -400 
 
 Honest poverty 878 
 
 How can I be blythe and glad ? 546 
 
 How cruel arc the parents 478 
 
 How lang and dreary is the night 444 
 
 Husband and wife 863 
 
 I do confess thou art sae fair .' 495 
 
 I dreamxl I lay where flowers were springing 492 
 
 I hae a wife o' my ain 386 
 
 I red you beware at the hunting 501 
 
 I'll ay ca' in by yon town 440 
 
 w'l'll kiss thee yet 498 
 
 vTm owre young to marry yet 411 
 
 It is na, Jean, thy bonnie face 547 
 
 It was the charming month o' May 474 
 
 ^"^ Jamie, come try me 54!* 
 
 . .Teanie's bosom 884 
 
 . Jockey's taen the parting kiss 429 
 
 . John Anderson, my jo 359 
 
 ,« \/ John Barleycorn 407 
 
 Kenmure's on and aw& 551 
 
OONTENTS. IS 
 
 PA<IH 
 
 Lady Mary Ann 555 
 
 Lady Onlie 558 
 
 Lament of a mother for the death of her son 392 
 
 Landlady, count the lawin 5-37 
 
 . t^assie \vi' the lint-white locks 417 
 
 Let not woman e'er complain 472 
 
 Losan hraes 8S9 
 
 • Lord Gregory 382 
 
 Lovely Nancy 362 
 
 ^Lovely Davies 550 
 
 t^Macpherson's Farewell 443 
 
 Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion 478 
 
 i/^ary Morrison 361 
 
 ^Meg o' the Mill 447 
 
 »< Merry hae I been teethin' a heckle « 543 
 
 .\ «^Montgomerie's Peggy 505 
 
 Musing on the rojiiiiig ocean 482 
 
 y My ain kind dearie O , 381 
 
 My Chloris, mark how green the groves 473 
 
 My collier laddie 552 
 
 My father was a farmer , 496 
 
 My Harry was a gallant gay 461 
 
 My heart is sair 438 
 
 My heart's in the Highlands 493 
 
 V My heart was ance 529 
 
 My Hoggie 533 
 
 My love she's but a lassie yet 541 
 
 \My lady's gown there's gairs upon't 510 
 
 My Nannie O 432 
 
 My Nannie's awa 447 
 
 My Peggy's face, my Peggy's form 382 
 
 /My tocher's the jewel 4S3 
 
 •My wife's a winsome wee thing 466 
 
 Nithsdale's welcome hame 533 
 
 Now spring has clad the groves in green 873 
 
 Now westlin' winds and slaughtering guns 464 
 
 \ Oh ay my wife she dang me 51 2 
 
 Oh bonnie w^as yon rosy brier 427 
 
 ^i*- Oh for ane-aiidtwenty, Tam 425 
 
 Oh guid ale comes 511 
 
 . '• Oh lay thy loof in mine, lass 512 
 
 Oh leave novels, ye Mauchline belles 513 
 
 Oh let me in this ae night 420 
 
 Her answer 421 
 
 '■' Oh Mally's meek, Mally's sweet 57 
 
 Oh once I loved a bonnie lass 491 
 
 Oh raging Fortune's withering blast 505 
 
 Oh that I had ne'er been married 517 
 
 Oh wat you wha's in yon town .... ^ 41 8 
 
 Oh were I on Parnassus' hill 441 
 
 Oh w^ere my love yon lilac fair 434 
 
 '^\\ wert thou in the cauld blast 489 
 
 Oh wha is she that lo'es me 490 
 
 Oh whar did ye get 531 
 
 vOh whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad 433 
 
 Oh why the deuce should I repine 512 
 
 \ Oh saw ye my dearie 548 
 
20 CONTENTS. 
 
 rAoa 
 
 Oh steer her up 5T0 
 
 O May, thy morn 564 
 
 j£0 Tibbie, I hae seen the day 423 
 
 Of a' the airts the wind can blaw 44 1 
 
 Old age 860 
 
 On a bank of flowers 414 
 
 On Cessnock banks there lives a lass 499 
 
 On the battle of Sheriff-rnuir 487 
 
 On the seas and far away 470 
 
 One night as I did wander , 503 
 
 Open the door to me, O 446 
 
 Our thistles flourished fresh and fair 543 
 
 Out-over the Forth I look to the north 454 
 
 Teg-a-Eamsay 573 
 
 Peggy's charms 856, 382 
 
 Phitlis the fair 468 
 
 Philly and Willy 475 
 
 Polly Stewart 508 
 
 Poortith cauld 864 
 
 Prayer for Mary , 400 
 
 ^Pwattlin' roarin' Willie 539 
 
 Kobin shure in hairst 509 
 
 Sae far awa 563 
 
 Saw ye my Phely 471 
 
 A Sensibility how charming 547 
 
 She savs she lo'es me best of a' 391 
 
 S]ie's fair and fause 390 
 
 vfiimmer's a pleasant time 540 
 
 Sir Wisdom^s a fool 521 
 
 Sleep'st thou or wak'st thou 472 
 
 Song of death 453 
 
 Stay, rny charmer, can you leave me ? 482 
 
 Stnithallan's lament 394 
 
 Sweet fas the eve on Craigie-burn 442 
 
 Sweetest May 361 
 
 V Tarn Glen 857 
 
 The Author's Farewell to his native country 402 
 
 The banks of Cree 415 
 
 The banks of Doon 365 
 
 The banks o' bonnie Doon 366 
 
 The banks o' Nith 395 
 
 The banks of the Devon 448 
 
 The belles of Mauchlino 461 
 
 ■^he big-bellyM bottle 452 
 
 \ The birks of Aberfeldy 419 
 
 >.The blissful day 883 
 
 The blude-red rose at Yule may blaw 537 
 
 The blue-eyed lassie : 354 
 
 \ The bonnie lad that's far awa 429 
 
 vThe braes o' Ballochmyle 413 
 
 The braw wooer 449 
 
 T^he captain's lady 542 
 
 >^'he cardin' o't 562 
 
 The carle of KcUyburn braes 656 
 
 The carles of Dy.'^art 558 
 
 The Chevalier's lament 45n 
 
CONTENTS. 21 
 
 The cooper o' Cuddie 562 
 
 The country lassie 863 
 
 The Dean of Faculty 406 
 
 v^he DeiPs awa \\V the Exciseman 501 
 
 ^The deuk's dang owre my daddy 514 
 
 The Dumfries Volunteers 435 
 
 v^he Farewell to the brethren of St. Jaures's Lodge, Tarbolton 403 
 
 The Farewell 569 
 
 The fete champetre 570 
 
 The Five Carlins 514 
 
 The gallant weaver 486 
 
 The gloomy night is gathering fast 402 
 
 The Heron Ballads 596, 597, 600 
 
 vThe Highland laddie 564 
 
 vThe Highland lassie 398 
 
 i^The Higliland widow's lament 572 
 
 vTlie jolly Begsrars— a cantata 518 
 
 The joyful widower 532 
 
 /The lass of Ballochmyle 411 
 
 The lass of Eeclefechan 561 
 
 V The lass that made the bed to me 372 
 
 The lazy mist hangs from the brow of the hill 483 
 
 The lovely lass of Inverness 393 
 
 ^ The ploughman 507, 580 
 
 The posie 484 
 
 v/The ranting dog the daddie o't 440 
 
 The raving winds 393 
 
 The rigs of barley 358 
 
 The rose-bud 422 
 
 -^ The ruin'd Maid's Lament 404 
 
 The soldier's return 387 
 
 ^ The sons of old Killie 530 
 
 The tailor 539 
 
 >The tither morn 549 
 
 The Union 436 
 
 v' The Vision 426 
 
 P<rhe weary pund o^ tow 550 
 
 The Whistle 458 
 
 The winding Nith 437 
 
 The winter it is past 507 
 
 The young Highland rover 894 
 
 ^\Their groves o' sweet myrtle 455 
 
 Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary 417 
 
 There was a bonnie lass 509, 573 
 
 , There was a lad was born at Kyle 503 
 
 ; There was a lass 535 
 
 There's a youth in this city 493 
 
 This is no my ain lassie 484 
 
 Tho' cruel fate should bid us part 397 
 
 Thou hast left me ever, Jamie 350 
 
 Tibbie Dunbar 509 
 
 To Anna 352 
 
 To Mary 399, 465 
 
 To Mary in heaven , . 401 
 
 To thee, loved Nith , 566 
 
 'Twas na her bonnie blue een was my ruin 477 
 
 ^J^p in the morning early 431 
 
 Wae is my heart 500 
 
22 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGB 
 
 Wanderins: Willie 446 
 
 Wee Willie Gray 511 
 
 Weary fa' you, Duncan Gray 536 
 
 Wha is that at my bovver door 877 
 
 Whare hae ye been 545 
 
 What can a young lassie do wi' an auld man 451 
 
 When first 1 came to Stewart Kyle 504 
 
 When Guildford good our pilot stood 462 
 
 When rosy May 541 
 
 Whistle owre the lave o't 877 
 
 Why, why tell thy lover 4S0 
 
 Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary 465 
 
 V Willie brew'd a peck o' maut 409 
 
 Willie's wife 884 
 
 Wilt thou be my dearie 876 
 
 Ye Jacobites by name 554 
 
 Yon wild mossy mountains 495 
 
 Young Jamie, pride of a' the plain 561 
 
 Younsr Jamie 467 
 
 Young Jockey 858 
 
 foung Peggy 41C 
 
ALPHABETICAL INDEX TO SONGS, 
 
 BY FIEST LINES. 
 
 PAQI 
 
 - Adieu I a heart-warm, fond adieu - . . 403 
 
 -'Adown winding Nitli I did wander 469 
 
 ' Ae fond kiss, and tlien we sever 395 
 
 -Again rejoicing Nature sees 405 
 
 — A Higliland lad my love was born 522 
 
 Altho' my back be at the wa' 567 
 
 Although my bed were in yon muir 505 
 
 Altho' thou maun never be mine 4S0 
 
 Amang the trees where humming bees 502 
 
 Ance mair I hail thee, thou gloomy December 4S5 
 
 An' O ! my Eppie 544 
 
 Anna, thy charms my bosom fire 352 
 
 A rosebud by my early walk ; 422 
 
 A' the lads o' Tliornie-bank 558 
 
 -^ As I stood by yon roofless tower 426 
 
 ■,As I was a-wandering ae midsummer e'enin' 554 
 
 ^As I was wandering ae morning in spring 507 
 
 A slave to love's unbounded sway 512 
 
 Awa wi' your witchcraft o' beauty's alarms , 451 
 
 Bannocks o' bear meal 566 
 
 Behind yon hills where Lugar flows 432 
 
 Behold the hour, the boat arrive 349 
 
 Blythe hae I been on yon hill 359 
 
 But lately seen in gladsome green 360 
 
 But warily tent, when ye come to court me 433 
 
 By Allan stream I chanced to rove 390 
 
 By Ochtertyre grows the aik 35? 
 
 By yon castle wa', at the close o' the day 454 
 
 Can I cease to care 427 
 
 Cauld blaws the wind frae east to west 432 
 
 Cauld is the e'enin' blast 573 
 
 Clarinda, mistress of my soul 428 
 
 vCome boat me o'er, come row me o'er 538 
 
 Come down the back stairs 582 
 
 Come, let me take thee to my breast 439 
 
 Coming through the rye, poor body 560 
 
 Contented wl' little, and cantie wi' mair 445 
 
 Could aught of song declare my pains 399 
 
 Deluded swain, the pleasure 351 
 
 Dire was the hate at old Harlaw 406 
 
24 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAoa 
 
 Does haiighty Gaul invasion threat 435 
 
 Duncan Gray came here to woo 866 
 
 Fair the face of orient day 43S 
 
 Farewell, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye slcies ; 453 
 
 Farewell, thou stream that winding flows 475 
 
 Farewell to a' our Scottish fame 436 
 
 Farewell, ye dungeons dark and strong 443 
 
 Fate gave the word, the arrow sped 892 
 
 First when Maggie was my care 87T 
 
 FloAV gently, sweet Afton, among the green braes 460 
 
 Forlorn, my love, no comfort near 479 
 
 Frae the friends and land I love 545 
 
 From thee, Eliza, I must go 396 
 
 Full well thou know'st I love thee dear 481 
 
 Fy, let us a' to Kirkcudbright 597 
 
 » Gane is the day, and mirk 's the night 410 
 
 Gat ye me, oh, gat ye me 1 561 
 
 Go fetch to me a pint o' wine 876 
 
 Had I a cave on some wild, distant shore 469 
 
 Had I the wyte, had I the wyte 559 
 
 Hark the mavis' evening sang 375 
 
 Hee balou ! my sweet wee Donald 567 
 
 Her daddie forbad, her minnie forba<l 534 ■ 
 
 Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie 446 
 
 Here is the glen, and here the bower 415 
 
 Here's a bottle and aa honest friend 409 
 
 Here's a health to them that's awa 506 
 
 Here's to thy health, my bonnie lass 568 
 
 Her flowing'locks. the raven's wing 883 
 
 Hey, the dusty miller 534 
 
 How can my poor heart be glad 470 
 
 How cruel are the parents 478 
 
 How lang and dreary is the night 444 
 
 How pleasant the banks of the clear-winding Devon 445 
 
 Husband, husband, cease your strife 863 
 
 I am a bard of no regard 526 
 
 I am a son of Mars .7 519 
 
 I am my mammie's ae bairn 411 
 
 I coft a stane o' haslock woo' 562 
 
 I do confess thou art sae fair 495 
 
 I dream'd I lay where flowers were springing 492 
 
 If thou should ask my lovo 542 
 
 I gaed a waefii' gate yestreen 854 
 
 I gaed up to Durise 61U 
 
 I had sax owsen in a plough 511 
 
 I hae a wife o' my ain 886 
 
 Hk care and fear, when thou art near 498 
 
 I'll ay ca' in by yon town 440 
 
 I married with a scolding wife 532 
 
 In coming by the brig of Dye 417 
 
 In Mauchline there dVells six proper young belles 461 
 
 In simmer when the hay was mawn 868 
 
 I once was a maid, tho' I cannot tell when 520 
 
 I see a form, I see a face 435 
 
 I sing of a whistle, a whistle of worth 458 
 
 Is there, for honest poverty 873 
 
CONTENTS. 25 
 
 PAO> 
 
 Is this thy plighted, fond regard 477 
 
 It is na, Jean, thy bonnie face 547 
 
 It was a' for our riglitfu' king 56J) 
 
 It was the charming month of May 474 
 
 It was upon a Lammas night 853 
 
 Jockey 's taen the i>arting kiss 429 
 
 John Anderson, my jo, John 359 
 
 Ken ye aught o' Captain Grose 379 
 
 Landlady, count the lawin 537 
 
 Last May ^ braw wooer cam down the lang glen 449 
 
 Let me ryke up to dight that tear •. 524 
 
 Let not woman e'er complain 472 
 
 Loud blaw the frosty breezes 394 
 
 Louis, what reck I by thee 884 
 
 Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion 478 
 
 Musing on the roaring ocean 482 
 
 My bonnie lass, I work in brass 525 
 
 My Chloris, mark how green the groves 473 
 
 My father was a farmer upon the Carrick border, 490 
 
 My Harry was a gallant gay 461 
 
 My heart is a-breaking, dear Tittie 357 
 
 V My heart is sair, t dare na tell 438 
 
 My heart 's in the Highlands, my heart is not here 493 
 
 i-'My heart was ance as bly the and free 529 
 
 My lord a-hunting he is gane 510 
 
 My love she 's but a lassie yet 541 
 
 My Peggy's face, my Peggy's form 382 
 
 Nae gentle dames, though e'er sae fair 398 
 
 No churchman am I for to rail and to write 452 
 
 Now bank and brae are claith'd in green 565 
 
 Now in her green mantle blythe nature ai-rays 447 
 
 Now nature deeds the flowery lea 418 
 
 Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers 349 
 
 Now simmer blinks on flowery braes 419 
 
 Now spring has clad the groves in green 373 
 
 Now westlin' winds and slaughtering guns 464 
 
 Of a' the airts the wind can blaw 441 
 
 Oh bonnie was yon rosy brier 427 
 
 Oh cam ye here the fight to shun 487 
 
 Oh how can I be blythe and glad 546 
 
 Oh how shall I, unskilfu', try 550 
 
 Oh, I am come to the low countrie 572 
 
 Oh, Kenmure 's on and awa, Willie 551 
 
 Oh, ken ye what Meg o' the mill has gotten 447 
 
 Oh leave novels, ye Mauchline belles 513 
 
 Oh, leeze me on niy spinning-wheel 369 
 
 Oh luve will venture in where it daurna weel be seen 484 
 
 Oh, Mally's meek, Mally's sweet 574 
 
 Oh meikle do I rue, fause love 404 
 
 Oh meikle thinks my luve o' my beauty 483 
 
 Oh merry hae I been teethin' a heckle 5 
 
 Oh mirk, mirk is this midnight hour 382 
 
 X/Oh, my luve's like a red, red rose 487 
 
 Oh onco I loved a bonnie lass 491 
 
 8 
 
26 CONTENTS. 
 
 Oh, open the door, some pity to show 446 
 
 Oh poortith cauld and restless love . . 364 
 
 Oh raging Fortune's Avithering blast 505 
 
 Oh sad and heavy should I part 563 
 
 Oh saw ye bonnie Leslie 413 
 
 Oh saw ye my dear, my Phely 471 
 
 Oh saw ye miy dearie, my Eppie M'Nab 548 
 
 Oh stay, sweet warblii'g woodlark, stay 422 
 
 Oh steer her up and haud her gaun 5T0 
 
 Oh tell na me o' wind and rain". 421 
 
 Oh that I had ne'er been married 51 T 
 
 Oh wat you wha's in yon town 418 
 
 Oh were I on Parnassus' hill 441 
 
 Oh were my love yon lilac fair 434 
 
 Oh wert thou in the cauld blast 4S9 
 
 Oh wha is she that lo'es me 490 
 
 Oh wha my baby clouts will buy 440 
 
 Oh whar did ye get that hauver meal bannock 531 
 
 Oh wha will to Saint Stephen's house 570 
 
 Oh wliy the deuce should I repine 512 
 
 Oh, Willie brew'd a peck o' maut 409 
 
 Oh wilt thou go wi' me, sweet Tibbie Dunbar 509 
 
 O Lady Mary Ann 555 
 
 O lassie, art thou sleeping yet 420 
 
 O Logan, sweetly didst thou glide 389 
 
 O Mary, at thy window be 361 
 
 O May, thy morn was ne'er sae sweet 564 
 
 On a bank of flowers, in a summer day 414 
 
 On Cessnock banks there lives a lass 499 
 
 One night as I did wander 503 
 
 On peace and rest my mind was bent 513 
 
 O Philly. happy be that day 475 
 
 O rattlin', roarin' Willie 539 
 
 Our thrissles flourish'd fresh ami fair 543 
 
 Out-over the Forth I look to the north 454 
 
 f 
 
 Powers celestial, whose protection . 400 
 
 Eaving winds around her blowing 393 
 
 Sae fair her hair, sae brent her brow 533 
 
 Sae flaxen were her ringlets 391 
 
 Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled 346, 347 
 
 ^ee the smoking bowl before us 528 
 
 Sensibility how'charming 547 
 
 She is a winsome wee thing 406 
 
 She's fair and fause that causes my smart 390 
 
 Should anld acquaintance be forgot 348 
 
 Simmer's a pleasant time » 64C 
 
 Sir Wisdom's a fool when he's fou 521 
 
 Sleep'st thou, or wak'st thou, fairest creature 472 
 
 Stay, my charmer, can you leave me 4S2 
 
 Streams that glide in orient plains 424 
 
 Sweet closes the evening on Craigie-burn wood 494 
 
 Sweetest May, let love inspire thee S6l 
 
 Sweet fa"3 the eve on Craigie-burn 442 
 
 The bairns gat out wi' an unco shout , 514 
 
 The bluile-red rose at Yule may blaw 537 
 
 The bonniest lad that e'er I saw 5G4 
 
CONTENTS. 27 
 
 PA6R 
 
 The Catrine woods were yellow seen 413 
 
 The cooper o' Cuddle cam' here awa 562 
 
 The day returns, my bosom burns 3S3 
 
 The Deil came liddlins through the town 501 
 
 The flower it blaws, it fades, it fa's 50S 
 
 The gloomy night is gathering fast 402 
 
 s The heather was blooming, the meadows were maun 501 
 
 Their groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon 455 
 
 The lazy mist hangs from the brow of the hill 483 
 
 The lovely lass o' Inverness 393 
 
 The noble Maxwells and their powers 558 
 
 Tlie ploughman, he 's a bonnie lad 530 
 
 V There lived a carle on Kellyburn braes 556 
 
 There's auld Rob Morris who wons in yoa glen 449 
 
 There's a youth in this city, it were a great pity 493 
 
 There's braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes 467 
 
 There's naught but care on every han' 430 
 
 There was a bonnie lass 573 
 
 There was a bonnie lass, and a bonnie, bonnie lass 509 
 
 There was a lad was born at Kyle 503 
 
 There was a lass, and she was fair 370 
 
 There was a lass, they ca'd her Meg 535 
 
 There was once a day, but old Time then wiws young 456 
 
 There were five carlins in the south 514 
 
 There were three kings into the east 407 
 
 The small birds rejoice in the greeh leaves returning 455 
 
 The smiling Spring comes in rejoicing 4S5 
 
 The tailor fell thro' the bed, thimbles" an' a' 539 
 
 The Thames flows proudly to the sea 437 
 
 The tither morn, when I forlorn 549 
 
 The weary pund, the weary pund 550 
 
 The winter it is past, and the summer comes at last 507 
 
 They snool mo sair, and baud me down 425 
 
 Thickest nisht o'erhang my dwelling 394 
 
 Thine am I,' my faithful fair 362 
 
 Tho' cruel fate should bid us part 397 
 
 Thou hast left me ever, Jamie 350 
 
 Thou lingering star, with lessening ray 401 
 
 To thee, loved^'Nith, thy gladsome' plains 566 
 
 True-hearted was he, the sad swain o' the Yarrow 467 
 
 T'lrn again, thou fair Eliza 397 
 
 'Twas even, the dewy fields were green 411 
 
 'Twas na her bonnie blue een was my ruin 477 
 
 Up wi' the carles o' Dysart -. 558 
 
 Wae is my heart, and the tear 's in my ee 500 
 
 Weary fa' you, Duncan Gray 536 
 
 Wee Willie Gray, and his leather wallet 511 
 
 Wha is that at my bower door 377 
 
 What can a young lassie, what shall a young lassie 451 
 
 What will I do gin my Hoggie die 533 
 
 Wha will buy my troggin..^ 60O 
 
 When first 1 came to Stewart Kyle 504 
 
 When first my brave Johnie lad 545 
 
 When Guilford good our pilot stood 462 
 
 When Januar' wind was blawing cauld 872 
 
 When lyart leaves bestrow the yird 513 
 
 When o'er the hill the eastern star 381 
 
 When rosy May comes in wi' flowers 54J 
 
28 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGI 
 
 When the drums do beat 542 
 
 "When wild war's deadly blast was blawn 887 
 
 Where are the joys I have met in the morning 851 
 
 "Where braving angry winter's storms 856 
 
 Where Cart rins rowin' to the sea 4S6 
 
 Where hae ye been sae braw, lad 544 
 
 Where live ye, my bonnie lass 552 
 
 While larks with little wing 46S 
 
 Whom will you send to London town 596 
 
 Why, why tell thy lover 480 
 
 Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed 884 
 
 Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary 465 
 
 Wilt thou be my dearie 876 
 
 Wishfully I look and languish 3S6 
 
 Ye banks, and braes, and streams around 400 
 
 Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon 865 
 
 Ye flowery banks o' bonnie Doon 866 
 
 Ye gallants bright, I red you right 431 
 
 Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear, give an ear 554 
 
 Ye sons of old Killie, assembled by Willie 530 
 
 Yestreen I had a pint o' wine 852 
 
 Yestreen I met you on the moor 423 
 
 Yon wandering rill, that marks the hill 508 
 
 Yon wild mossy mountains so lofty and wide 495 
 
 Young Jamie, pride of a' the plain 561 
 
 Young Jockey was the blythest lad 858 
 
 Young Peggy blooms our bonniest lass . , 416 
 
 You're welcome to despots, Dui»ourier . . , 490 
 
LIFE OF BURNS. 
 
 BY JAMES CURE IE, M. D. 
 
 ABRIDGED. 
 
 KoBERT Burns was born on the 29tli day of January, 1759, in .% 
 Bmall house about two miles from the town of Ayr, and witliin a 
 few hundred yards of Alloway Church, which his poem of Tain o^ 
 Shanter has rendered immortal.* The name, which the poet and 
 his brother modernized into Burns, was originally Burues, or Bur- 
 ness. Their father, William Burnes, was the son of a farmer in 
 Kincardineshire, and had received the education common in Scot- 
 land to persons in his condition of life ; he could read and write, 
 and had some knowledge of arithmetic. His family having fallen 
 into reduced circumstances, he was compelled to leave his home in 
 his nineteenth year, and turned his steps towards the south in quest 
 of a livelihood. He undertook to act as a gardener, and shaped his 
 course to Edinburgh, where he wrought hard when he could obtain 
 employment, passing through a variety of difficulties. From Edin- 
 burgh William Burnes passed westward into the county of Ayr, 
 where he engaged himself as a gardener to the laird of Fairly, with 
 whom he lived two years ; then changed his service for that of 
 Crawford of Doonside. At length, being desirous of setthng in 
 life, he took a perpetual lease of seven acres of land from Dr. Camp- 
 bell, physician in Ayr, with the view of commencing nurseryman 
 and public gardener, and, having built a house upon it with his own 
 hands, married in December, 1757, Agnes Brown. The first fruit 
 of this marriage was Kobert, the subject of these memoirs. Before 
 William Burnes had made much progress in preparing his nursery, 
 he was withdrawn from that undertaking by Mr. Ferguson, who 
 purchased the estate of Doonholm, in the immediate neighborhood, 
 
 * This house is on the right-hand side of the road from Ayr to Mayhole, which 
 forms a part of the road from Glasgow to Port-Patrick. It is now a country ale^ 
 bouseL. 
 
30 currie's life of rob^.rt burns. 
 
 and engaged him as liis gardener and overseer, and this was hit 
 situation when our poet was born. When in the service of Mr. 
 Ferguson, he lived in his own house, his wife managing hei family, 
 and her little dairy, which consisted of two, sometimes of three, 
 milch cows ; and this state of unambitious content continued till 
 the year 1766. His son Ilobert was sent by him, in his sixth year, 
 to a school at AUoway Miln, about a mile distant, taught by a person 
 of the name of Campbell ; but this teacher being in a few months 
 appointed master of the workhouse at Ayr, William Burnes, in con- 
 junction with some other heads of families, engaged John Murdoch 
 in his stead. The education of our poet, and of his brother Gilbert, 
 was in common ; and whilst under Mr. Murdoch, they learned to 
 read English tolerably well, and to write a little. He also taught 
 them the elements of English grammar, in which Kobert made 
 some proficiency — a circumstance which had cons^iderable weight 
 in the unfolding of his genius and character; as he soon became 
 remarkable for the fluency and correctness of his expression, and 
 read the few books that came in his way with much pleasure and 
 improvement. 
 
 It appears that William Burnes approved himself greatly in the 
 service of Mr. Ferguson, by his intelligence, industry, and integ- 
 rity. In consequence of this, with a view of promoting his interest, 
 Mr. Ferguson leased to him the farm of Mount Oliphant, in the 
 parish of Ayr; consisting of upwards of seventy acres (about 
 Jiinety, English Imperial measure), the rent of which was to be 
 forty pounds annually for the first six years, and afterwards forty- 
 five pounds. Mr. Ferguson also lent him a hundred pounds to 
 assist in stocking the farm, to which he removed at Whitsuntide, 
 1766. But this, in place of being of advantage to William Burnes, 
 as it was intended by his former master, was the commencement 
 of much anxiety and distress to the whole family, which is forcibly 
 described by his son, Gilbert, in a letter to Mrs. Dunlop: 
 
 " Mount Oliphant, the farm my father possessed in the parish of 
 Ayr, is almost the very poorest soil I know of in a state of cultiva- 
 tion. A stronger proof of this I cannot give, than that, notwith- 
 standing the extraordinary rise in the value of lands in Scotland, it 
 was, after a considerable sum laid out in improving it by the pro- 
 prietor, let a few years ago five pounds per annum lower than the 
 rent paid for it by my father thirty years ago. My father, in con- 
 sequence of this, soon came into difficulties, which were increased 
 by the loss of several of his cattle by accidents and disease. To tho 
 buffetings of misfortune, we could otdy oppose hard labor and tho 
 most rigid economy. We lived very sparingly. For several years 
 butcher's meat was a stranger in the house, ^vhi'e all the memberj* 
 
CURRIE S LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS. 31 
 
 of the family exerted themselves to the utmost of their strength, 
 and rather beyond it, in the labors of the farm. My brother, at 
 the age of thirteen, assisted in thrashing the crop of corn, and at 
 fifteen was the principal laborer on the farm, for we had no hired 
 servant, male or female. The anguish of mind we felt at our tender 
 years, under these straits and difficulties, was very great. To think 
 of our father growing old (for he was now above fifty) broken down 
 with the long-continued fatigues of his life, with a wife and five 
 other children, and in a declining state of circumstances, these re- 
 flections produced in my brother's mind and mine sensations of the 
 deepest distress. I doubt not but the hard labor and sorrow of this 
 period of his life, was in a great measure the cause of that depres- 
 sion of spirits with which Eobert was so often afflicted through his 
 whole life afterwards. At this time he was almost constantly af- 
 flicted in the evenings with a dull headache, which, at a future 
 period of his life, was exchanged for a palpitation of the heart, 
 and a threatening of fainting and suffocation in his bed, in the 
 night-time. 
 
 " By a stipulation in my father's lease, he had a right to throw it 
 up, if he thought proper, at the end of every sixth year. He at- 
 tempted to fix himself in a better farm at the end of the first six 
 years, but failing in that attempt, he continued where he was for 
 six years more. He then took the farm of Lochlea, of 130 acres, 
 at the rent of twenty shillings an acre, in the parish of Tarbolton, 
 
 of Mr. , then a merchant in Ayr, and now (1797) a 
 
 merchant at Liverpool. He removed to this farm at Whitsuntide, 
 1777, and possessed it only seven years. No writing had ever been 
 made out of the conditions of the lease ; a misunderstanding took 
 place respecting them ; the subjects in dispute were submitted to 
 arbitration, and the decision involved my father's affairs in ruin. 
 He lived to know of this decision, but not to see any execution in 
 consequence of it. He died on the 13th of February, 1784." 
 
 Of this frugal, industrious, and good man, the following beauti- 
 ful character has been given by Mr. Murdoch: — "He was a tender 
 and affectionate father; he took pleasure in leading his children in 
 the path of virtue ; not in driving them, as some parents do, to the 
 performance of duties to which they themselves are averse. He 
 took care to find fault but very seldom ; and therefore, when ha 
 did rebuke, he was listened to with a kind of reverential awe. A 
 look of disapprobation was felt ; a reproof was severely so ; and a 
 stripe with the tawz^ even on the skirt of the coat, gave heart- 
 felt pain, produced a loud lamentation, and brought forth a flood 
 of tears. 
 
 "He had the art of gaining the esteem and good-will of those 
 
32 currie's life of Robert burns. 
 
 that were laborers ander him. I tliiak I never saw lihn an^y bnl 
 twice : the one time it was with the foreman of the band, for not 
 reaping the field as he was desired ; and the other time it was with 
 an old man, for using smutty inuendoes and douUe entendres. 
 Were every foul-mouthed old man to receive a seasonable check in 
 this way, it would be to the advantage of the rising generation. As 
 he was at no time overbearing to inferiors, he was equally incapa- 
 ble of that passive, pitiful, paltry spirit, that induces some people 
 to Iceep booing and booing in the presence of a great man. He always 
 treated superiors with a becoming respect; but he never gave the 
 smallest encouragement to aristocratical arrogance. But I must not 
 pretend to give you a description of all the manly qualities, the ra- 
 tional and Christian virtues, of the venerable William Burnes. 
 Time would fail me. I shall only add, that he carefully practised 
 every known duty, and avoided everything that was criminal ; or, 
 in the apostle's words, ' Herein did he exercise himself, in living a 
 Y^Q void of offence towards God and towards men.' Oh for a world 
 of men of such dispositions ! We should then have no wars. I 
 have often wished, for the good of mankind, that it were as cus- 
 tomary to honor and perpetuate the memory of those who excel in 
 moral rectitude, as it is to extol what are called heroic actions : 
 then would the mausoleum of the friend of my youth overtop and 
 Burpass most of the monuments I see in Westminster Abbey !" 
 
 Under the humble roof of his parents, it appears indeed that our 
 poet had great advantages ; but his opportunities of information at 
 school were more limited as to time than they usually are among 
 his countrymen, in his condition of life; and the acquisitions which 
 he made, and the poetical talent which he exerted, under the pres- 
 sure of early and incessant toil, and of inferior, and perhaps scanty 
 nutriment, testify at once the extraordinary force and activity of his 
 mind. In his frame of body he rose nearly five feet ten inches, and 
 assumed the proportions that indicate agility as well as strength. 
 In the various labors of the farm he excelled all Lis competitors. 
 Gilbert Burns declares that in mowing, the exercise that tries all the 
 muscles most severely, Kobert was the only man that, at the end of 
 a summer's day, he was ever obliged to acknowledge as his master. 
 But though our poet gave the powers of his body to the laoors ol 
 the farm, he refused to bestow on them his thoughts or his cares. 
 While the ploughshare under his guidance passed through the 
 Bward, or the grass fell under the sweep of his scythe, he was hum- 
 ming the songs of his country, musing on the deeds of ancient 
 valor, or rapt in the illusions of Fancy, as her enchantments rose 
 on his view. Happily the Sunday is yet a sabbath, on which man 
 and beast rest from their labors. On this day, therefore, Burns 
 
CURRIE's LIP'S OF ROBERT BURNS. 33 
 
 could indulge in a freer intercourse with the charms of nature. It 
 vras his delight to wander alone on the banks of Ayr, whose stream 
 IS now immortal, and to listen to the song of the blackbird at the 
 close of the summer's day. But still greater was his pleasure, as 
 he himself informs us, in walking on the sheltered side of a wood, 
 in a cloudy winter-day, and hearing the storm rave among the trees ; 
 and more elevated still his delight, to ascend some eminence during 
 the agitations of nature, to stride along its summit while the light- 
 ning flashed around him, and, amidst the bowlings of the tempest, 
 to apostrophize the spirit of the storm. Such situations he declares 
 most favorable to devotion — " Kapt in enthusiasm, I seem to ascend 
 towards Him wlio walks on the wings of the wind P^ If other proofs 
 were wanting of the character of his genius, this might determine 
 it. The heart of the poet is peculiarly awake to every impression 
 of beauty and sublimity ; but, with the higher order of poets, the 
 beautiful is less attractive than the sublime. 
 
 The gayety of many of Burns's writings, and the lively and even 
 cheerful coloring with which he has portrayed his own charactei, 
 may lead some persons to suppose, that the melancholy which hung 
 over him towards the end of his days was not an original part of 
 his constitution. It is not to be doubted, indeed, that this melan- 
 choly acquired a darker hue in the progress of his life ; but, inde- 
 pendent of his own and of his brother's testimony, evidence is to 
 be found among his papers that he was subject very early to those 
 depressions of mind, which are perhaps not wholly separable from 
 the sensibility of genius, but which in him rose to an uncommon 
 degree. The following letter addressed to his father, will serve as 
 a proof of this observation. It was written at the time when he 
 was learning the business of a flax-dresser, and is dated 
 
 '' Honored Sir— Irvine, Dec. 27, 1781. 
 
 *'l have purposely delayed writing, in the hope that I should 
 have the pleasure of seeing you on New-year's day ; but work 
 comes so hard upon us, that I do not choose to bo absent on that 
 account, as well as for some other little reasons, which I shall tell 
 you at meeting. My health is nearly the same as when you were 
 here, only my sleep is a little sounder, and, on the whole, I am 
 rather better than otherwise, though I mend by very slow degrees. 
 The weakness of my nerves has so debilitated my mind, that I dare 
 neither review past wants nor look forward into futurity ; for the 
 least anxiety or perturbation in my breast produces most unhappy 
 effects on my whole frame. Sometimes, indeed, when for an hour 
 or two my spirits are a liitle lightened, I glimmer a little into futu- 
 rity ; but my principal, and indeed my only pleasurable employ- 
 
34 currie's life of robert burns. 
 
 n<ent, is looking backwards and forwards in a moral and religijua 
 way. I am quite transported at the thought, that ere long, perhaps 
 very soon, I shall bid an eternal adieu to all the pains, and uneasi- 
 nesses, and disquietudes of this weary life ; for I assure you I am 
 heartily tired of it ; and if I do not very much deceive myself, I could 
 contentedly and gladly resign it. 
 
 The soul, uneasy, and confined at home, 
 Rests and expatiates in a life to come. 
 
 " It is for this reason I am more pleased with the loth, 16th, and 
 17th verses of the 7th chapter of Eevelations, than with any ten 
 times as many verses in the whole Bible, and would not exchange the 
 noble enthusiasm with which they inspire me for all that this world 
 has to offer.* As for this world, I despair of ever making a figure 
 in it. I am not formed for the bustle of the busy, nor the flutter of 
 the gay. I shall never again be capable of entering into such scenes. 
 Indeed, I am altogether unconcerned at the thoughts of this life. I 
 foresee that poverty and obscurity probably await me, and I am in 
 some measure prepared, and daily preparing, to meet them. I have 
 but just time and paper to return you my grateful thanks for the 
 lessons of virtue and piety you have given me, which were too 
 much neglected at the time of giving them, but which, I hope, have 
 been remembered ere it is yet too late. Present my dutiful respects 
 to my mother, and my compliments to Mr. and Mrs. Muir ; and, 
 with wishing you a merry New-year's day, I shall conclude. 
 " I am, honored Sir, 
 
 *' Your dutiful son, 
 
 ''EoBERT Burns. 
 
 "P. S. My meal is nearly out ; but I am going to borrow, till 1 
 get more." 
 
 This letter, written several years before the publication of his 
 poems, when his name was as obscure as his condition was humble, 
 displays the philosophic melancholy which so generally forms the 
 poetical temperament, and that buoyant and ambitious spirit which 
 indicates a mind conscious of its strength. At Irvine, Burns at 
 this time possessed a single room for his lodging, rented perhaps 
 at the rate of a shilling a week. He passed his duys in constant 
 
 » The verses of Scripture here alluded to, are as follow : 
 
 '* 15. Therefore are they before the throne of God, and serve him day and night in 
 \iia temple ; and he that sitteth on the throne shall dwell among them. 
 
 " 16. They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more ; neither shall the sun 
 light on them, nor any heat. 
 
 " 17, For the Lamb that is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall 
 lead them unto living fountains of waters ; and God shall wipe away all tears from 
 Iheir eyes." 
 
CURRIe's life of ROBERT BURNS. 35 
 
 labor as a flax-dresser, and his food consisted chiefly of oat.neal 
 pent to him from his father's family. The store of this humble, 
 though wholesome nutriment, it appears, was nearly exhausted, 
 and lie was about to borrow till he should obtain a supply. Yet 
 even in this situation his active imagination had formed to itself 
 pictures of eminence and distinction. His despair of making a 
 figure in the world shows how ardently he wished for honorable 
 fame: and his contempt of life, founded on this despair, is the 
 genuine expression of a youthful and generous mind. In such a 
 state of reflection and of suffering, the imagination of Burns natu- 
 rally passed the dark boundaries of our earthly horizon, and rested 
 on those beautifnl representations of a better world, where there is 
 neither thirst, nor hunger, nor sorrow, and where happiness shall 
 be in proportion to the capacity of happiness. 
 
 Such a disposition is far from being at variance with jocial enjoy- 
 ments. Those who have studied the affinities of mind know that 
 a melancholy of this description, after a while, seeks relief in the 
 endearments of society, and that it has no distant connection with 
 the flow of cheerfulness, or even the extravagance of mirth. It 
 was a few days after the writing of this letter that our poet, " in 
 giving a welcoming carousal to the new year, with his gay compan- 
 ions," suffered his flax to catch fire, and his shop to be consumed 
 to ashes. 
 
 The energy of Burns's mind was not exhausted by his daily la- 
 bors, the effusions of his muse, his social pleasures, or his solitary 
 meditations. Some time previous to his engagement as a flax- 
 dresser, having heard that a debating-club had been established iii 
 Ayr, he resolved to try how such a meeting would succeed in the 
 village of Tarbolton. About the end of the year 1780, our poet, 
 his brother, and five other young peasants of the neighborhood, 
 formed themselves into a society of this sort, the declared objects 
 of which were to relax themselves after toil, to promote sociality 
 and friendship, and to improve the mind. The laws and regula- 
 tions were furnished by Burns. The members were to meet after 
 the labors of the day were over, once a week, in a small public- 
 house in the village ; where each should offer his opinion on a giv- 
 en question or subject, supporting it by such arguments as he 
 thought proper. The debate was to be conducted with order and 
 decorum ; and after it was finished, the members were to choose a 
 subject for discussion at the ensuing meeting. The sum expended 
 by each was not to exceed three-pence ; and, with the humble po^ 
 tation that this could procure, they were to toast their mistresses. 
 find to cultivate friendship with each other. 
 
 After the family of our bard removed from Tarbolton to the 
 
36 currie's life of robert burns. 
 
 neighborhood of Mauchline, he and his brother were requested to 
 assist in forming a similar institution there. The regulations of the 
 club at Mauchline were nearly the same as those of the club at Tar- 
 bolton ; but one laudable alteration was made. The fines for non- 
 attendance had at Tarbolton been spent in enlarging their scanty 
 potations: at Mauchline it was fixed, that the money so arising' 
 should be set apart for the purchase of books ; and the first work 
 procured in this manner was the Mirror, the separate numbers of 
 which were at that time recently collected and published in volumes. 
 After it followed a number of other works, chiefly of the same na- 
 ture, and among these the Lounger. 
 
 The society of Mauchline still subsists, and was in the list of 
 Subscribers to the first edition of the works of its celebrated asso- 
 ciate. 
 
 Whether, in the humble societies of which he was a member, 
 Burns acquired much direct information, may perhaps be ques- 
 tioned. It cannot however be doubted, that by collision the facul- 
 ties of his mind would be excited, that by practice his habits of 
 enunciation would be established, and thus we have some explana- 
 tion of that early command of words and of expression which 
 enabled him to pour forth his thoughts in language not unworthy 
 of his genius, and which, of all his endowments, seemed, on his 
 appearance in Edinburgh, the most extraordinary. For associa- 
 tions of a literary nature, our poet acquired a considerable relish ; 
 and happy had it been for him, after he emerged from the condition 
 of a peasant, if fortune had permitted him to enjoy them in the 
 degree of which he was capable, so as to have fortified his principles 
 of virtue by the purification of his taste, and given to the energies 
 of his mind habits of exertion that might have excluded other asso- 
 ciations, in which it must be acknowledged they were too often 
 wasted, as well as debased. 
 
 The whole course of the Ayr is fine ; but the banks of that river, 
 as it bends to the eastward above Mauchline, are singularly beau- 
 tiful, and they were frequented, as may be imagined, by our poet 
 in his solitary walks. Here the muse often visited him. In one 
 of these wanderings, he met among the woods a celebrated Beauty 
 of the west of Scotland ;* a lady, of whom it is said, that the charms 
 of her person corresponded with the character of her mind. This 
 incident gave rise, as might be expected, to a poem, of which an 
 account will be found in the following letter, in which he inclosed 
 it to the object of his inspiration : 
 
 * Miss Alexander, of Ballochmyle. 
 
CURRTe's life of ROBERT BURNS. 37 
 
 TO MISS . 
 
 »* Madam: Mossgiel, Nov. 18, 1778. 
 
 " Poets are such outre beings, so much the children of wayward 
 fiincy and capricious whim, that I believe the world generally 
 allows them a larger latitude in the laws of propriety, than the 
 sober sous of judgment and prudence. I mention this as an apol- 
 ogy for the liberties that a nameless stranger has taken with you 
 n the inclosed poem, which he begs leave to present you with. 
 Whether it has poetical merit any way worthy of the theme, I am 
 not the proper judge ; but it is the best my abilities can produce 5 
 and, what to a good heart will perhaps be a superior grace, it is 
 equally sincere as fervent. 
 
 "The scenery was nearly taken from real life, though I dare say, 
 Madam, you do not recollect it, as I believe you scarcely noticed 
 the poetic reveur as he wandered by you. I had. roved out as chance 
 directed, in the favorite haunts of my muse, on the banks of Ayr, 
 to view nature in all the gayety of the vernal year. The evening 
 sun was flaming over the distant western hills ; not a breath stirred 
 the crim.son opening blossom, or the verdant spreading leaf. It 
 was a golden moment for a poetic heart. I listened to the feathered 
 warblers, pouring their harmony on every hand, with a congenial 
 kindred regard, and frequently turned out of my path, lest I should 
 disturb their little songs, or frighten them to another station. 
 Surely, said I to myself, he must be a wretch indeed, who, regard- 
 less of your harmonious endeavor to please him, can eye your elu- 
 sive flights to discover your secret recesses, and to rob you of all 
 the property nature gives you, your dearest comforts, your helpless 
 nestlings. Even the hoary hawthorn twig that shot across the way, 
 what heart at such a time but must have been interested in its wel- 
 fare,'and wished it preserved from the rudely-browsing cattle, or the 
 withering eastern blast? Such was the scene, and such the hour, 
 when in a corner of my prospect I spied one of the fairest pieces of 
 Nature's workmanship that ever crowned a poetic landscape, or met 
 a poet's eye, those visionary bards excepted who hold commerce 
 with aerial beings ! Had Calumny and Villainy taken my walk, 
 they had at that moment sworn eternal peace with such an object. 
 
 " What an hour of inspiration for a poet ! It would have raised 
 plain, dull, historic prose into metaphor and measure. 
 
 *' The inclosed song was the work of my return home ; and per- 
 haps it but poorly answers what might have been expected from 
 Buch a scene. ******* 
 
 " I have the honor to be, Madam, 
 
 *' Your most obedient, and very humble servant, 
 
 "KOBEKT BUTINS." 
 4: 
 
38 currie's life of robert burnb. 
 
 'Twas even — the dewy fields were green, 
 
 On every blade the pearls hang ;• 
 The Zephyr wantoned round the bean, 
 
 And bore its fragrant sweets alang: 
 In every glen the mavis sang, 
 
 All nature listening seemed the whila, 
 Except where green-wood echoes rang 
 
 Amang th« braes o' Ballochmyle 1 
 
 With careless step I onward strayed, 
 
 My heart rejoiced in nature's joy, 
 When, musing in a lonely glade, 
 
 A maiden fair I chanced 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' Ballochmyle If 
 
 Fair is the morn in flowery May, 
 
 And sweet is night in Autumn mild: 
 When roving through the garden gay. 
 
 Or wandering in a lonely wild: 
 But woman, nature's darling child ! 
 
 There all her charms she does compile; 
 E'en there her other works are foiled 
 
 By the bonny lass o' Ballochmyle. 
 
 O, had she been a country maid, 
 
 And I the happy country swain. 
 Though sheltered in the lowest shed 
 
 That ever rose in Scotland's plain. 
 Through weary winter's wind and rain. 
 
 With joy, with rapture, I would toil ; 
 And nightly to my bosom strain 
 
 The bonny lass o' Ballochmyle. 
 
 Then pride might climb the slippery steep 
 
 Where fame and honors lofty shine; 
 And thirst of gold might tempt the deep, 
 
 Or downward sink the Indian mine; 
 Give me the cot below the pine, 
 
 To tend the flocks or till the soil. 
 And every day have joys divine 
 
 With the bonny lass o' Ballochmyle. 
 
 In ilie manuscript book in which our poet has recounted this 
 incident, and into which the letter and poem were copied, he com- 
 plains that the lady made no reply to his effusions, and this appears 
 to have wounded his self-love. It is not, however, difficult to find 
 an excuse for her silence. Her modesty might prevent her from 
 perceiving that the muse of Tibullus breathed in this namelesa 
 poet, and that her beauty was awakening strains destined to im- 
 
 • Jiang, Scotticism for hung. 
 
 t Variation. The lily's hue and rose's dye 
 
 Bespoke the lass o' Ballochmyle. 
 
CURRIe's life of ROBERT BURNS. 39 
 
 mortality on the banks of the Ayr. It may be conceived also, that 
 supposing the verses duly appreciated, delicacy might find it diflSi- 
 cult to express its acknowledgments. The fervent imagination of 
 the rustic bard possessed more of tenderness than of respect. In- 
 stead of raising himself to the condition of the object of his admi 
 ration, he presumed to reduce her to his own, and to strain this 
 high-born beauty to his daring bosom. 
 
 The sensibility of our bard's temper, a: d the force of his imagi- 
 nation, exposed him in a particular manner to the impressions of 
 beauty ; and these qualities, united to his impassioned eloquence, 
 gave him in turn a powerful influence over the female heart. The 
 banks of the Ayr formed the scene of youthful passions of a still 
 tenderer nature, the history of which it would be improper to re- 
 veal, were it even in our power, and the traces of which will soon 
 be discoverable only in those strains of nature and sensibility to 
 which they gave birth. The song entitled Highland Mary is known 
 to relate to one of these attachments. " It was written," says our 
 bard, "on one of the most interesting passages of my youthful 
 days." The object of this passion died early in life, and the im- 
 pression left on the mind of Burns seems to have been deep and 
 lasting. Several years afterwards, when he was removed to Niths- 
 dale, he gave vent to the sensibility of his recollections in the fol- 
 lowing impassioned lines addressed to " Mary in Heaven !" 
 
 Thou lingering 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 wa^ torn. 
 O Mary, dear departed shade ! 
 
 Where is thy place of blissful rest ? 
 Seest thou thy lover lowly laid? 
 
 Ilear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? 
 
 That sacred hour can I forget ? 
 
 Can I forget the hallowed grove. 
 Where by the winding Ayr we met, 
 
 To live one day of parting love ? 
 Eternity will not efface 
 
 Those records dear of transports past 
 Thy image at our last embrace ! 
 
 Ah 1 little thought we 'twas our last t 
 
 Ayr gurgling kissed his pebbled shore, 
 
 O'erhung with wild woods, thickening g^reen ; 
 The fragrant birch and hawthorn hoar, 
 
 Twined amorous round the raptured scene. 
 The flowers sprang wanton to be pressed. 
 
 The birds sang love on every spray. 
 Till too, too soon, the glowing west 
 
 Proclaimed the speea of winged day. 
 
40 CURRIERS LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS. 
 
 Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes, 
 
 And fondly broods with miser care ! 
 Time but the impression deeper makes 
 
 As streams their channels deeper wear. 
 My Mary, dear departed shade ! 
 
 Where is thy place of blissful rest f 
 Seest thou thy lover lowly laid ? 
 
 Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast ? 
 
 At tliis time Burns's prospects in life were so extremely gloomy, 
 that he had decided upon going out to Jamaica, and had procured 
 the situation of overseer on an estate belonging to Dr. Douglas ; 
 not, however, without lamenting, that want of patronage should 
 force him to think of a project so repugnant to his feelings, when 
 his ambition aimed at no higher object than the station of an ex- 
 ciseman or ganger in his own country. But the situation in which 
 he was now placed cannot be better illustrated than by introducing 
 the letter which he wrote to Dr. Moore, giving an account of his 
 life up to this period. As it was never intended to see the light, 
 elegance, or perfect correctness of composition, will not be ex- 
 pected. These, however, will be compensated by the opportunity 
 of seeing our poet, as he gives the incidents of his life, unfold the 
 peculiarities of his character with all the careless vigor and open 
 sincerity of his mind. 
 
 "Sir: Mauchline, 2d August, 1787. 
 
 " For some months past I have been rambling over the country ; 
 but I am now confined with some lingering complaints, originating, 
 as I take it, in the stomach. To divert my spirits a little in this 
 miserable fog of ennui, I have taken a whim to give you a history 
 of myself. My name has made some little noise in this country ; 
 you have done me the honor to interest yourself very warmly in 
 my behalf; and I think a faithful account of what character of a 
 man I am, and how I came by that character, may perhaps amuse 
 you in an idle moment. I will give you an honest narrative ; 
 though I know it will be often at my own expense ; — for I assure 
 you, sir, I have, like Solomon, whose character, except in the tri- 
 lling affair of wisdom, I sometimes think I resemble — I have, I 
 say, like him, ' turned ray eyes to behold madness and folly,' and, 
 like him, too frequently shaken hand with their intoxicating friend- 
 ship. * * * After you have perused these pages, should you 
 think them trifling and impertinent, I only beg leave to tell you, 
 that the poor author wrote them under some twitching qualms of 
 conscience, arising from a suspicion that he was doing what he 
 ought not to do— a predicament he has more than once been in 
 before. 
 
CURRIe's life of ROBERT BURNS. 41 
 
 *' I have not the most distant pretensions to assume that char- 
 acter, which the pye-coated guardians of escutcheons call a Gentle- 
 man. When at Edinburgh last winter, I got acquainted in the 
 Herald's Office; and looking through that granary of honors, I 
 there found almost every name in the kingdom ; but for me, 
 
 My ancient but ignoble blood 
 Has crept through scoundrels ever since the flood. 
 
 Gules, I'urpure, Argent, &c., quite disowned me. 
 
 " My father was of the north of Scotland, the son of a farmer, 
 and was thrown by early misfortunes on the world at large ; where, 
 after many years' wanderings and sojournings, he picked up a 
 pretty large quantity of observation and experience, to which I am 
 indebted for most of my pretensions to wisdom. I have met with 
 few who understood men, their manners, and tlieir ways, equal to 
 him ; but stubborn, ungainly integrity, and headlong, ungovern- 
 able irascibility, are disqualifying circumstances ; consequently, I 
 was born a very poor man's son. For the first six or seven years 
 of my life, my father was gardener to a worthy gentleman of small 
 estate in the neighborhood of Ayr. Had he continued in that 
 station, I must have marched off to be one of the little underlings 
 about a larm-house ; but it was his dearest wish and prayer to have 
 it in his power to keep his children under his own eye till they 
 could discern between good and evil; so, with the assistance of his 
 generous master, my father ventured on a small farm on his estate. 
 At those years I was by no means a favorite with anybody. I was 
 a good deal noted for a retentive memory, a stubborn sturdy some- 
 thing in my disposition, and an enthusiastic idiot piety. I say 
 idiot piety, because I was then but a child. Though it cost the 
 schoolmaster some thrashings, I made an excellent English scholar ; . 
 and by the time 1 was ten or eleven years of age, I was a critic in 
 substantives, verbs, and particles. In my infant and boyish days, 
 too, I owed much to an old woman who resided in the family, re- 
 markable for her ignorance, credulity, and superstition. She had, . 
 I suppose, the largest collection in the country of tales and songs, 
 concerning devils, ghosts, fairies, brownies, witches, warlocks,, 
 spunkies, kelpies, elf-candles, deadlights, wraiths, apparitions,, 
 cantraips, giants, enchanted towers, dragons, and other trumpery. . 
 This cultivated the latent seeds of poetry; but had so strong am 
 effect on my imagination, that to this hour, in my nocturnal ram-- 
 bles, I sometimes keep a sharp look-out in suspicious places : andi 
 though nobody can be more skeptical than I am in such mattersj 
 yet it often takes an effort of philosophy to shake off these idla« 
 terrors. The earliest composition that I recollect taking pleasure « 
 in was The Vision of Mirza^ and a hymn of Addison's, beginning; 
 
42 currie's life of robert burns. 
 
 *How are thy servants blessed, Lord !' I particularly remernbei^ 
 one half-stanza, which was music to my boyish ear — 
 
 For though on dreadful whirls we hung 
 High on the broken wave. 
 
 1 met with these pieces in Mason's English Collection, one of my 
 Bchool-books. The two first books 1 ever read in private, and 
 ■which gave me more pleasure than any two books I ever read since, 
 were, The Life of Hannibal^ Mid. The History of Sir William Wallace. 
 Hannibal gave my young ideas such a turn, that I used to strut in 
 raptures up and down after the recruiting drum and bagpipe, and 
 wish myself tall enough to be a soldier; while the story of Wallace 
 poured a Scottish prejudice into my veins, which will boil along 
 there till the flood-gates of life shut in eternal rest. 
 
 "Polemical divinity about this time was putting the country half 
 mad ; and I, ambitious of shining in conversation parties on Sun- 
 days, between sermons, at funerals, &c., used a few years after- 
 wards to puzzle Calvinism with so much heat and indiscretion, that 
 I raised a hue-and-cry of heresy against me, which has not ceased 
 to this hour. 
 
 *' My vicinity to Ayr was of some advantage to me. My social 
 disposition, when not cheeked by some modifications of spirited 
 pride, was, like our catechism definition of infinitude, without 
 hovnds or limits. I formed several connections with other yonkers 
 who possessed superior advantages, the youngling iXQior^^ whawere 
 busy in the rehearsal of parts in which they were shortly to appear 
 on the stage of life, where, alas ! I was destined to drudge behind 
 the scenes. It is not commonly at this green age that our young 
 gentry have a just sense of the immense distance between them and 
 their ragged play-fellows. It takes a few dashes into the world, to 
 give the j'oung great man that proper, decent, unnoticing disregard 
 for the poor, insignificant, stupid devils, the mechanics and peas- 
 antry around him, who were perhaps born in the same village. 
 My young superiors never insulted the cl&uterly appearance of my 
 plough-boy carcase, the two extremes of which were often exposed 
 to all the inclemencies of all the seasons. They would give me 
 stray volumes of books : among them, even then, I could pick up 
 some observations ; and one, whose heart I am sure not even the 
 Munny jBegum scGnea have tainted, helped me to a little French. 
 Parting with these my young friends and benefactors, as they oc- 
 -casionally went off for the East or West Indies, was often to me a 
 sore affliction ; but I was soon called to more serious evils. My 
 father's generous master died ; the farm proved a ruinous bargain; 
 and, to clench the misfortune, wo fell into the hands of a factor, 
 - who sat for the picture I have drawn of one in my Tale of Tioa Dogsk 
 
CURRIe's life of ROBERT BURNS. 43 
 
 My father was advanced in life when he married ; I wi*s the eldest 
 of seven children ; and he, worn out by early hardships, was unfit 
 for labor. My father's spirit was soon irritated, but not easily 
 broken. There was a freedom in his lease in two years more ; and, 
 to weather these two years, we retrenched our expenses. We lived 
 very poorly : I was a dexterous ploughman for my age ; and the next 
 eldest to me was a brother (Gilbert), who could drive the plough 
 very well, and help me to thrash the corn. A novel-writer might 
 perhaps have viewed these scenes with some satisfaction ; but so 
 did not I ; my indignation yet boils at the recollection of the s— 1 
 factor's insolent threatening letters, which used to set us all in 
 tears. 
 
 " This kind of life — the cheerless gloom of a hermit, with the 
 unceasing moil of a galley-slave, brought me to my sixteenth year : 
 a little before which period I first committed the sin of rhyme. 
 You know our country custom of coupling a man and woman together 
 as partners in the labors of harvest. In my fifteenth autumn, my 
 partner was a bewitching creature, a year younger than myself. 
 My scarcity of English denies me the power of doing her justice in > 
 that language, but you know the Scottish idiom — she was a honnie^ \ 
 sweety sonsie lass. In short, she, altogether unwittingly to herself, 
 initiated me into that delicious passion, which, in spite of acid dis* 
 appointment, gin-horse prudence, and book-worm philosophy, I 
 hold to be the first of human joys, our dearest blessing here below I 
 How she caught the .contagion, I cannot tell : you medical people 
 talk much of infection from breathing the same air, the touch, &c. ; 
 but I never expressly said I loved her. Indeed, I did not know 
 myself why I liked so much to loiter behind with her, when return- 
 ing in the evening from our labors ; why the tones of her voice, 
 made my heart-strings thrill like an JEolian harp ; and particularly* 
 why my pulse beat such a furious rattan when 1 looked and finger- 
 ed over her little hand to pick out the cruel nettle-stings and this- 
 tles. Among her other love-inspiring qualities, she sung sweetly ; 
 and it was her fiivorite reel to v/hich I attempted giving an em- 
 bodied vehicle in rhyme. I was not so presumptuous as to imagine 
 that I could make verses like printed ones, composed by men who 
 had Greek and Latin ; but my girl sung a song, which was said to 
 be composed by a small country laird's son, on one of his father's 
 maids, with whom he was in love 1 and I saw no reason why I 
 might not rhyme as well as he : for, excepting that he could smear 
 sheep, and cast peats, his father living in the moorlands, he had no 
 more school-craft than myself. 
 
 *' Thus with me began love and poetry ; which at times havo 
 oeen my only, and till within the last twelve months, have been my 
 
44 currie's life of robert burns. 
 
 highest enjoyment. My father struggled on till he reached the free- 
 dom in his lease, when he entered on a larger farm, about ten mile? 
 fiirther in the country. The nature of the bargain he made was 
 such as to throw a little ready money into his hands at the com- 
 mencement of his lease ; otherwise the affair would have been im- 
 practicable. For four years we lived comfortably here ; but a dif- 
 ference commencing between him and his landlord as to terms, 
 after three years' tossing and whirling in the vortex of litigation, 
 my father was just saved from the horrors of a jail by a consump- 
 tion, which, after two years' promises, kindly stepped in, and car- 
 ried him away, to ' where the wicked cease from troubling, and 
 where the weary are at rest.' 
 
 *' It is during the time that we lived on this farm that my little 
 story is most eventful. I was, at the beginning of this period, per- 
 haps the most ungainly, awkward boy in the parish — no solitaire 
 was less acquainted with the ways of the world. What I knew of 
 ancient story was gathered from Salmon's and Guthrie's geographi- 
 cal grammars ; and the ideas I had formed of modern manners, of 
 literature and criticism, I got from the Spectator. These, with 
 Pope's Works^ some plays of Shakspeare^ Tall and Dickson on Ag- 
 riculture, The Pantheon, Lockers Essay on the Human Understand- 
 ing, Stackhouse'' s History of the Bible, Justice'' s British Gardener'' s 
 Directory, BayWs Lectures, Allan Ramsay'' s Works, Taylor'' s Scrip- 
 ture Doctrine of Original Sin, A Select Collection of English SongSy 
 and Hervey''s Meditations, had formed the whole of my reading. The 
 collection of songs was my vade mecum. I pored over them driving 
 my cart, or walking to labor, song by song, verse by verse ; care- 
 fully noting the true, tender, or sublime, from affectation and fus- 
 tian. I am convinced I owe to this practice much of my critic craft, 
 fiuch as it is. 
 
 '*In my seventeenth year, to give my manners a brush, I went to 
 a country dancing-school. — My father had an unaccountable antipa- 
 thy against these meetings ; and my going \ys, what to this mo- 
 ment I repent, in opposition to his wishes.! My father, as I said 
 before, was subject to strong passions ; from that instance of diso- 
 bedience in me, he took a sort of dislike to me, which I believe 
 was one cause of the dissipation which marked my succeeding 
 years. I say dissipation, comparatively with the strictness, and 
 sobriety, and regularity of Presbyterian country life ; for though 
 the Will-o'-Wisp meteors of thoughtless whim were almost the 
 sole lights of my path, yet early ingrained piety and virtue kept 
 me for several years afterwards within the line of innocence. 
 The great misfortune of my life was to want an aim. I had felt 
 early some stirrings of ambition, but they were the blind gropinga 
 ol llomer's Cvclops round the walls of his cave. I saw my father's 
 
CURRIE S LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS. 45 
 
 Bituatiori entailed on me perpetual labor. The only two openings 
 by which I could enter the temple of Fortune, was the gate of nig- 
 gardly economy, or the path of little chicaning bargain-making. 
 The first is so contracted an aperture, I never could squeeze myself 
 into it ; — the lust I always hated — there was contamination in tha 
 very entrance ! Thus abandoned of aim or view in life, with a 
 strong appetite for sociability, as well from native hilarity^ as from 
 a pride of observation and remark ; a constitutional melancholy or 
 Jiypochondriasm, that made me fly solitude ; add to these incen- 
 lives to social life, my reputation for bookish knowledge, a certain 
 \vild logical talent, and a strength of thought, something like the 
 rudiments of good sense ; and it will not seem surprising that I was 
 generally a welcome guest, where I visited, or any great wonder 
 that, £\lways where two or three met together, there was I among 
 them.j But far beyond all other impulses of my heart, was un pen- 
 chant a V adorable moitie du genre humain. My heart was complete- 
 ly tinder, and was eternally lighted up by some goddess or other ; 
 and as in every other warfare in this world, my fortune was vari- 
 ous — sometimes I was received with favor, and sometimes I was 
 mortified with a repulse. At the plough, scythe, or reap-hook, I 
 feared no competitor, and thus I set absolute want at defiance ; and 
 aa I never cared farther for my labors than while I was in actual 
 exercise, I spent the evenings in the way after my own heart. A 
 country lad seldom carries on a love-adventure without an assisting 
 confidant. I possessed a curiosity, zeal, and intrepid dexterity, 
 that recommended me as a proper second on these occasions ; and 
 I dare say I felt as much pleasure in being in the secret of half the 
 loves of the parish of Tarbolton, as ever did statesman in knowing 
 the intrigues of half the courts of Europe. — The very goose-feather 
 in my hand seems to know instinctively the well-worn path of ray 
 hnagination, the favorite theme of my song ; and is with difficulty 
 restrained from giving you a couple of paragraphs on the love- 
 adventures of my compeers, the humble inmates of the furm-house 
 and cottage ; but the grave sons of science, ambition, or avarice, 
 baptize these things by the name of Follies. To the sons and daugh- 
 ters of labor and poverty, they are matters of the most serious na- 
 ture : to them the ardent hope, the stolen interview, the tender 
 farewell, are the greatest and most delicious parts of their enjoy- 
 ments. 
 
 "Another circumstance in my life which made some alteration 
 in my mind and manners, was that I spent my nineteenth summer 
 on a smuggling coast, a good distance from home, at a noted school, 
 to learn mensuration, surveying, dialling, &c., in which I made a 
 pretty good progress. But I made a greater progress in the knowl- 
 edge of mankind. The contraband trade was at that time very suo- 
 
46 currie's life of Robert burns. 
 
 cessfal, and it sometimes happened to me to foil in with those wh« 
 carried it on. Scenes of swaggering riot and roaring dissipation 
 were till this time new to me : but I was no enemy to social life. 
 Here, though I learnt to fill my glass, and to mix without fear in a 
 drunken squabble, yet I went on with a high hand with my geom- 
 etry, till the sun entered Virgo, a month which is always a carni- 
 val in my bosom, when a charming fillette^ who lived next door to 
 the school, overset my trigonometry, and ^ent me off at a tangent 
 from the sphere of my studies. I, however, straggled on with my 
 sines and co-sines for a few days more ; but stepping into the gar- 
 den one charming noon to take the sun's altitude, there I met my 
 angel, 
 
 Like Proserpine, gathering flowers, 
 Herself a fairer flower. 
 
 *' It was in vain to think of doing any more good at school. The 
 remaining week I staid, I did nothing but craze the faculties of my 
 soul about her, or steal out to meet her ; and the two last nights of 
 my stay in the country, had sleep been a mortal sin, the image of 
 this modest and innocent girl had kept me guiltless. 
 
 "I returned home very considerably improved. My reading 
 was enlarged with the very important addition of Thomson's and 
 Shenstone's Works ; I had seen human nature in a new phasis ; 
 and I engaged several of my schoolfellows to keep up a literary 
 correspondence with me. This improved me in composition. I 
 had met with a collection of letters by the wits of Queen Anne's 
 reign, and I poured over them most devoutly; I kept copies of any 
 of my own letters that pleased me ; and a comparison between 
 them and the composition of most of my correspondents flattered 
 my vanity. I carried this whim so far, that though I had not three 
 farthings' worth of business in the world, yet almost every post 
 brought me as many letters as if I had been a broad plodding son 
 of a day-book and ledger. 
 
 " My life flowed on much in the same course till my twenty-third 
 year. Vive Varrwur^ et vive la bagatelle, were my sole principles of 
 action. The addition of two more authors to my library gave me 
 great pleasure; Sterne and M'Kenzie — Tristram Shandy and The 
 Man of Feeling — were my bosom favorites. Poesy was still a dar- 
 ling walk for my mind ; but it was only indulged in according to 
 the humor of the hour. I had usually half a dozen or more pieces 
 in hand ; I took up one or the other, as it suited the momentary 
 tone of the mind, and dismissed the work as it bordered on fatigue. 
 My passions, when once lighted up, raged like so many devils till 
 they got vent in rhyme ; and then the conning over my verses, like 
 » spell, soothed all into quiet ! None of the rhymes of those dayi 
 
CURRIERS LIFE OF ROBERT BL'RNS. Vi 
 
 ftre in print, except Winter, a Dii^ge^ the eldest of my printed pieces ; 
 The Death of Poor Mailie, Jolin Barleijcorn, and songs, first, second, 
 and third. Song second was the ebullition of that passion which 
 ended the forementioned school business. 
 
 *'My twenty-third year was to me an important era. Partly 
 through whim, and partly that I wished to set about doing some- 
 thing in life, I joined a ilax-dresser in a neighboring town (Irvine) 
 to learn his trade. This was an unlucky affair. My ^ ****** ; 
 and, to finish the whole, as we were giving a welcoming carousal 
 to the new year, the shop took fire, and burnt to ashes ; and I was 
 left, like a true poet, not worth a sixpence. 
 
 " I was obliged to give up this scheme ; the clouds of misfortune 
 were gathering thick round my fiither's head ; and what was worst 
 of all, he was visibly far gone in a consumption ; and, to crown my 
 distresses, a helle fille whom I adored, and who had pledged her 
 soul to meet me in the field of matrimony, jilted me with peculiar 
 circumstances of mortification. The finishing evil that brought up 
 the rear of this infernal file was, my constitutional melancholy being 
 increased to such a degree, that for three months I was in a state 
 of mind scarcely to be envied by the hopeless wretches who have 
 got their mittimus — Depart from me^ ye accused! 
 
 *' From this adventure, I learned something of a town life ; but 
 the principle thing which gave my mind a turn was a friendship I 
 formed with a young fellow, a very noble character, bu*; a hapless 
 son of misfortune. He was a son of a simple mechanic ; but a great 
 man in the neighborhood taking him under his patronage, gave 
 him a genteel education, with a view of bettering his situation in 
 life. The patron dying just as he was ready to launch out into the 
 world, the poor fellow in despair went to sea ; where, after a variety 
 of good and ill fortune, a little before I was acquainted with him, 
 he had been set ashore by an American privateer, on the wild coast 
 of Connaught, stripped of every thing. I cannot quit this poor 
 fellow's story without adding, that he is at this time master of a 
 large West-Indiaman, belonging to the Thames. 
 
 " His mind was fraught with independence, magnanimity, and 
 every manly virtue. I loved and admired him to a degree of en- 
 thusiasm, and of course strove to imitate him. In some measure 
 I succeeded ; I had pride before, but he taught it to flow in 
 proper channels. His knowledge of the world was vastly superior 
 to mine, and I was all attention to learn. He was the only man 1 
 ever saw who w;as a greater fool than myself, where woman was the 
 presiding star "j but he spoke of illicit love with the levity of a sailor, 
 which hitherto I had regarded with horror." Here his friendship 
 did me a mischief; and the consequence was, that soon after I 
 
48 currie's life of robert burns. 
 
 resumed the plough, I wrote the Poefs Welcome* My reading only 
 increased, while in this town, by two stray volumes of Pamela^ 
 and one of Ferdinand Count Fathom^ which gave me some idea of 
 novels. Ehyme, except some religious pieces that are in print, 1 
 had given up; but meeting with Fergusson's Scottish Poems^ I 
 strung anew my wildly-sounding lyre with emulating vigor. When 
 my father died, his all went among the hell-hounds that growl in 
 the kennel of justice ; but we made a shift to collect a little money 
 in the family among us, with which, to keep us together, my broth- 
 er and I took a neighboring farm. My brother wanted my hair- 
 brained imagination, as well as my social and amorous madness ; 
 but, in good sense, and every sober qualification, he was far my sn- 
 jjerior. 
 
 *'I entered on this farm with a full resolution, *Come, go to, I 
 will be wise !' I read farming books ; I calculated crops ; I attend- 
 . ed markets : and, in short, in spite of ' the devil, and the world, 
 and the flesh,' I believe I should have been a wise man ; but the 
 first year, from unfortunately buying bad seed, — the second, from 
 a late harvest, — we lost half our crops. This overset all my wis- 
 dom, and I returned, * like the dog to his vomit, and the sow that 
 j^vas washed to her wallowing in the mire.' 
 
 / "I now began to be known in the neighborhood as a maker of 
 ^ rhymes. The first of my poetic offspring that saw the light was a 
 burlesque lamentation on a quarrel between two reverend Calvin- 
 ists, both of them dramatis personoi in my Holy Fair, I had a no- 
 tion 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 that I could not guess who was the author of 
 it, but that I thought it pretty clever. With a certain description 
 of the clergy, as well as laity, it met with a roar of applause. Holy 
 Willie's Prayer next made its appearance, and alarmed the kirk- 
 session so much, that they held several meetings to look over their 
 spiritual artillery, if haply any of it might be pointed against pro- 
 fane rhymers. Unluckily for me, my wanderings led me on an- 
 other side, within point-blank shot of their heaviest metal. This 
 is the unfortunate story that gave rise to my printed poem The La- 
 mcnt. This was a most melancholy affair, which I cannot yet bear 
 to reflect on, and had very nearly given me one or two of the prin- 
 cipal qualifications for a place among those who have lost the chart, 
 and mistaken the reckoning, of Rationality. I gave up my part of 
 the farm to my brother, — in truth, it was only nominally mine, — and 
 made what little preparation was in my power for Jamaica But, 
 
 * Rob the Rhymer's Welcome to his Bastard Child. 
 
CURRIe's life of ROBERT BURNS. 49 
 
 Defore leaving" my native country forever, I resolved to publish my 
 poems. I weighed my productions as impartially as was in my 
 power ; I thought they had merit ; and it was a delicious idea that 
 I should be called a clever fellow, even though it should never reach 
 my ears — a poor negro-driver, — or perhaps a victim to that inhos- 
 pitable clime, and gone to the world of spirits ! I can truly say, that 
 pauvre inconnu as I then was, I had pretty nearly as high an idea 
 of myself and my works as I have at this moment, when the public 
 has decided in their favor. It ever was my opinion, that the mis- 
 -iikes and blunders, both in a rational and religious point of view, 
 ■)f which we see thousands daily guilty, are owing to their ignorance 
 6f themselves. — To know myself has been all along my constant 
 study. I weighed myself alone ; I balanced myself with others ; I 
 watched every means of information, to see how much ground I 
 occupied as a man and as a poet: I studied assiduously Nature's 
 design in my formation — where the lights and shades in my char- 
 acter were intended. I was pretty confident my poems would meet 
 with some applause ; but, at the worst, the roar of the Atlantic 
 would deafen the voice of censure, and the novelty of West Indian 
 scenes make me forget neglect. I threw off six hundred copies, of 
 which I had got subscriptions for about three hundred and fifty. — 
 My vanity was highly gratified by the reception I met with from the 
 public; and besides, I pocketed, all expenses deducted, nearly 
 twenty pounds. This sum came very seasonably, as I was thinking 
 of indenting myself, for want of money to procure my passage. As 
 soon as I was master of nine guineas, the price of wafting me to the 
 torrid zone, I took a steerage passage in the first ship that was to 
 sail from the Clyde ; for 
 
 Hungry ruin had me in the wind. 
 
 '* I had been for some days skulking from covert to covert, under 
 all the teirors of a jail; as some ill-advised people had uncoupled 
 the merciless pack of the law at my heels. I had taken the last 
 farewell of my friends ; my chest was on the road to Greenock; I 
 had composed the last song I should ever measure in Caledonia, 
 The gloomy night was gathering fast,' when a letter from Dr. Black- 
 lock, to a friend of mine, overthrew all my schemes, by opening 
 new prospects to my poetic ambition. The Doctor belonged to a 
 set of critics, for whose applause I had not dared to hope. His 
 opinion that I would meet with encouragement in Edinburgh for a 
 second edition fired me so much, that away I posted for that city, 
 Without a single acquaintance, or a single letter of introduction. \ 
 The baneful star, that had so long shed its blasting infiuence in my' 
 zenith, for once made a revolution to the "Nadir; and a kind Provi- 
 5 
 
50 CURRIE's life of ROBERT BURNS. 
 
 dence placed me under the patronage of one of the noblest cf mei^ 
 the Earl of Glencairn. OuUie moi^ Grand Dleu, si jamais je VouUie / 
 " I need relate no farther. At Edinburgh I was in a new world ; 
 I mingled among many classes of men, but all of them new to me, 
 and I was all attention to catch the characters and * the manners 
 living as they rise.' WheUier I have profited, time will show." 
 
 The letter alluded to from Dr. Blacklock was addressed to the 
 Eev. Mr. Laurie, Minister of Loudoun, a kind and steady friend, 
 who felt so much interested in the poet, that he immediately for- 
 warded it to him. The letter was received with so much surprise 
 and delight, that, althougli the ship was unmooring and ready to sail, 
 he at once decided to post to Edinburgh. This letter, so creditable 
 to Dr. Blacklock, deserves to be preserved in any Life of our poet: 
 
 ''I ought to have acknowledged your favor long ago, not only as 
 a testimony of your kind remembrance, but as it gave me an op- 
 portunity of sharing one of the finest, and, perhaps, one of the most 
 genuine entertainments, of which the human mind is susceptible. 
 A number of avocations retarded my progress in reading the poems ; 
 at last, however, I have finished that pleasing perusal. Many in- 
 stances have I seen of Nature's force and beneficence exerted under 
 numerous and formidable disadvantages: but none equal to that 
 with which you have been kind enough to present me. There is a 
 pathos and delicacy in his serious poems, a vein of wit and humor 
 in those of a more festive turn, which cannot be too much admired, 
 nor too warmly approved ; and I think I shall never open the book 
 without feeling my astonishment renewed and increased. It was 
 my wish to have expressed my approbation in verse ; but whether 
 from declining life, or a temporary depression of spirits, it is at 
 present out of my power to accomplish that agreeable intention. 
 
 "Mr. Stewart, Professor of Morals in this University, formerly 
 read me three of the poems, and I had desired him to get my name 
 inserted among the subscribers; but whether this was done, or 
 not, I never could learn. I have little intercourse with Dr. Blair, 
 but will take care to have the poems communicated to him by the 
 intervention of some mutual friend. It has been told me by a gen- 
 tleman, to whom I showed the performances, and who sought a 
 copy with diligence and ardor, that the whole impression is already 
 exhausted. It were, therefore, much to be wished, for the sake of 
 the young man, that a second edition, more numerous than the 
 former, could immediately be printed : as it appears certain that 
 its intrinsic merit, and the exerticn of the author's friends, might 
 give it a more universal circulation than any thing of the kind 
 which has been published within my memory." 
 
CURRIE's life of ROBERT BURNS. 51 
 
 Burns set out for Edinburgh in the month of November, 1786, 
 and arrived on the second day afterwards, having performed his 
 journey on foot. He was furnished with a letter of introduction to 
 Dr. Blacklocl^, from Mr. Laurie, to whom the Doctor had addressed 
 the letter which has been represented as the immediate cause of 
 his visiting the Scottish metropolis. He was acquainted v^ith Mr. 
 Stewart, Professor of Moral Philosophy in the University, and had 
 been entertained by that gentleman at Catrine, his estate in Ayr- 
 shire. He had been introduced by Mr. Alexander Dalzel to tho 
 Earl of Glencairn, who had expressed his high approbation of his 
 poetical talents. He had friends, therefore, who could introduce 
 him into the circles of literature, as well as of flishion, and his own 
 manners and appearance exceeding every expectation that could 
 have been formed of them, he soon became an object of general 
 curiosity and admiration. 
 
 The scene that opened on our bard in Edinburgh was altogether 
 new, and in a variety of other respects highly interesting, especial- 
 ly to one of his disposition of mind. To use an expression of his 
 own, he found himself '^ suddenly translated from the veriest shades 
 of life" into the presence, and indeed into the society, of a number 
 of persons, previously known to him by report as of the highest dis- 
 tinction in his country, and whose characters it was natural for 
 him to examine with no common curiosity. 
 
 Erom the men of letters, in general, his reception was particu- 
 larly flattering. The late Dr. Eobertson, Dr. Blair, Dr. Gregory, 
 Mr. Stewart, Mr. Mackenzie, and Mr. Eraser Tytler, may be men- 
 tioned in the list of those who perceived his uncommon talents, 
 who acknowledged more especially his powers in conversation, and 
 who interested themselves in the cultivation of his genius. In Ed- 
 inburgh, literary and fashionable society are a good deal mixed. 
 Our bard was an acceptable guest in the gayest and most elevated 
 circles, and frequently received from female beauty and elegance 
 those attentions above all others most grateful to him. At the 
 table of Lord Monboddo he was a frequent guest ; and while ho 
 enjoyed the society, and partook of the hospitalities of the venera- 
 ble judge, he experienced the kindness and condescension of his 
 lovely and accomplished daughter. The singular beauty of this 
 young lady was illuminated by that happy expression of counte- 
 nance which results from the union of cultivated taste and superior 
 understanding, with the finest affections of the mind. The influ- 
 ence of such attractions was not unfelt by our poet. "There has 
 not been any thing like Miss Burnet," said lie in a letter to a friend, 
 "in all the combinations of beauty, grace, and goodness, the Creator 
 has formed, since Milton's Eve on the first day of her existence." 
 
52 currie's life of Robert burns. 
 
 In his Address to Edinburgh, she is celebrated in a strain of Btili 
 greater elevation : 
 
 Fair Burnet strikes th' adoring eye, 
 
 Heaven's beauties on ray fancy shine ; 
 I see the sire of love on hiqh. 
 And own his work indeed divine ! 
 
 This love'.y woman died a few years afterwards in the flower of 
 youth. Our bard expressed his sensibility on that occasion, in 
 verses addressed to her memory. 
 
 Among the men of rank and fasliion, Burns was particularly dis- 
 tinguished by James, Earl of Glencairn. On the motion o^ this 
 nobleman, the Caledonian Hunt (an association of the principal of 
 the nobility and gentry of Scotland) extended their patronage to 
 our bard, and admitted him to their gay orgies. He repaid their 
 notice by a dedication of the enlarged and improved edition of his 
 poems, in which he has celebrated their patriotism and indepen- 
 dence in very animated terms. 
 
 A taste for letters is not s,lways conjoined with habits of temper- 
 ance and regularity ; and Edinburgh, at the time of whicli we speak, 
 contained perhaps an uncommon proportion of men of considerable 
 talents, devoted to social excesses, in which their talents were wast- 
 ed and debased. 
 
 Burns entered into several parties of this description, with the 
 usual vehemence of his character. His generous affections, his ar- 
 dent eloquence, his brilliant and daring imagination, fitted him to 
 be the idol of such associations ; and accustoming himself to con- 
 versation of unlimited range, and to festive indulgences that scorn- 
 ed restraint, he gradually lost some portion of his relish for the 
 more pure, but less poignant pleasures, to be found in the circles of 
 taste, elegance, and literature. The sudden alteration in his habits 
 of life operated on him physically as well as morally. The humble 
 fare of an Ayrshire peasant he had exchanged for the luxuries of 
 the Scottish metropolis, and the effects of this change on his ardent 
 constitution could not be inconsiderable. ''But whatever influence 
 might be produced on his conduct, his excellent understanding 
 suffered no corresponding debasement. He estimated his friends 
 and associates of every description at their proper value, and ap- 
 preciated his own conduct with a precision that might give scope 
 to much curious and melancholy reflection. He saw his danger, 
 and at times formed resolutions to guard against it; but he had 
 embarked on the tide of dissipation, and was borne along its stream^ 
 
 By the new edition of his poem, Burns acquired a sum of money 
 that enaljed him not only to partake of the pleasures of Edinburgh, 
 but to g atify a desire he had long entertained, of visiting thoso 
 
CURRIe's life of ROBERT BURNS. 53 
 
 parts of his native country most attractive by their beauty or 
 their grandeur ; a desire which the return of summer naturally re- 
 vived. The scenery of the banks of the Tweed, and of its tribu- 
 tary streams, strongly interested his fancy ; and, accordingly, he 
 left Edinburgh on the 6th of May, 1787, on a tour through a country 
 so much celebrated in the rural songs of Scotland. He travelled 
 on horseback, and was accompanied, during some part of his jour- 
 ney, by Mr. Ainslie, writer to the signet, a gentleman who enjoyed 
 much of his friendship and of his confidence. 
 
 Having spent three weeks in exploring the interesting scenery of 
 the Tweed, the Jed, the Tiviot, and other border districts. Burns 
 crossed over into Northumberland. Mr. Kerr and Mr. Hood, two 
 gentlemen with whom he had become acquainted in the course of 
 his tour, accompanied him. He visited Alnwick Castle, the princely 
 seat of the Duke of Northumberland ; the hermitage and old castle 
 of Warksworth ; Morpeth, and Newcastle. In this town he spent 
 two days, and then proceeded to the southwest by Hexham and 
 Wardrue, to Carlisle. After spending a day at Carlisle with his 
 friend Mr. Mitchell, he returned into Scotland by way of Annan. 
 
 Of the various persons with whom he became acquainted in the 
 course of this journey, he has, in general, given some account, and 
 almost always a favorable one. From Annan, Burns proceeded to 
 Dumfries, and thence through Sanquhar, to Mossgiel, near Mauch- 
 line, in Ayrshire, where he arrived about the 8th of June, 1787, 
 after a long absence of six busy and eventful months. It will easily 
 be conceived with what pleasure and pride he was received by his 
 mother, his brothers, and sisters. He had left them poor, and com- 
 paratively friendless ; he returned to them high in public estima- 
 tion, and easy in his circumstances. He returned to them unchanged 
 in his ardent affections, and ready to share with them, to the utter- 
 most farthing, the pittance that fortune had bestowed. 
 
 Having remained with them a few days, he proceeded again to 
 Edinburgh, and immediately set out on a journey to the High- 
 lands. 
 
 Erom this journey Burns returned to his friends in Ayrshire, 
 with whom he spent the month of July, renewing his friendships, 
 and extending his acquaintance throughout the county, where he 
 was now very generally known and admired. In August he again 
 visited Edinburgh, whence he undertook another journey, towards 
 the middle of this month, in company with Mr. M. Adair, now Dr. 
 Adair, of Harrowgate, of which this gentleman has favored us with 
 the following account : 
 
 " Burns and I left Edinburgh together in August, 1787. We rodo 
 by Linlithgow and Carron, to Stirling. We visited the iron-worka 
 
54 currie's life of Robert burns. 
 
 at Carroll, with wliicli the poet was forcibly struck. The resem- 
 blance between that place, and its inhabitants, to the cave of the 
 Cyclops, which must have occurred to every classical visitor, pre- 
 sented itself to Burns. At Stirling, the prospects from the castle 
 strongly interested him; in a former visit to which, his national 
 feelings had been powerfully excited by the ruinous and roofless 
 state of the hall in which the Scottish Parliaments had frequently 
 been held. His indignation had vented itself in some imprudent, 
 but not unpoetical lines, which had given much offence, and which 
 he took this opportunity of erasing, by breaking the pane of the win- 
 dow at the inn on which they were written. 
 
 "At Stirling, we met with a company of travellers from Edin- 
 burgh, among whom was a character, in many respects congenial 
 with that of Burns. This was Nicol, one of the teachers of the 
 High Grammar School at Edinburgh — the same wit and power 
 of conversation, the same fondness for convivial society, and 
 thoughtlessness of to-morrow, characterized both. Jacobitical 
 principles in politics were common to both of them ; and these have 
 been suspected, since the revolution of France, to have given place 
 in each to opinions apparently opposite. I regret that 1 have pre- 
 served no memorabilia of their conversation, either on this, or on 
 other occasions, when I happened to meet them together. Many 
 songs were sung, which I mention for the sake of observing, that 
 when Burns was called on in his turn, he was accustomed, instead 
 of singing, to recite one or other of his own shorter poems, with a 
 tone and emphasis, which, though not correct or harmonious, were 
 impressive and pathetic. This he did on the present occasion. 
 
 " From Stirling we went next morning through the romantic and 
 fertile vale of Devon to Ilarvlestone, In Clackmannanshire, then 
 inhabited by Mrs. Hamilton, with the younger part of whose family 
 Burns had been previously acquainted. He Introduced me to the 
 family and there was formed my first acquaintance with Mr. 
 Harailt)n's eldest daughter, to whom I have been married for nlno 
 years. Thus was I Indebted to Burns for a connection from which 
 I have derived, and expect farther to derive, much happiness. 
 
 " During a residence of about ten days at Harvlestone, we mado 
 excursions to visit various parts of the surrounding scenery, in 
 ferlor to -none In Scotland, In beauty, sublimity, and romantic inter- 
 est; particularly Castle Campbell, the ancient seat of the family o. 
 Argyll; and the famous cataract of the Devon, called the Cauldron 
 Lynn; and the Rumbling Bridge, a single broad arch, thrown by 
 the devil. If tradition Is to be believed, across the river, at about tho 
 height of a hundred feet above Its bed. I am surprised that nono 
 af these Bcenes should have called forth an exertion of Burna^a 
 
CURRIE S LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS. 55 
 
 muse. But I doubt if he had much taste for the picturesque. I 
 well remember, that the ladies at Harviestone, who accompanied 
 us on this jaunt, expressed their disappointment at his not ex- 
 pressing in more glowing and fervid language his impressions of 
 the Cauldron Linn scene, certainly highly sublime, and somewhat 
 horrible. 
 
 "A visit to Mrs. Bruce, of Clackmannan, a lady above ninety, 
 the lineal descendant of that race which gave the Scottish throne 
 its brightest ornament, interested his feelings more powerfully. 
 This venerable dame, with characteristical dignity, informed me, 
 on my observing that I believed she was descended from the family 
 of Robert Bruce, that Eobert Bruce was sprung from her family. 
 Though almost deprived of speech by a paralytic afl'ection, she pre- 
 served her hospitality and urbanity. She was in possession of the 
 hero's helmet and two-handed sword, with which she conferred 
 on Burns and myself the honor of knighthood, remarking, that she 
 had a better right of conferring that title than some people. * * * 
 You will of course conclude that the old lady's political tenets were 
 as Jacobitical as the poet's, a conformity which contributed not a 
 little to the cordiality of our reception and entertainment. She 
 gave as her first toast after dinner, ' Awa Uncos,' or, Away with the 
 Strangers. Who these strangers were, you will readily understand. 
 Mrs. A. corrects me by saying it should be ' Hooi, or Hoohi, Uncos,' 
 a sound used by shepherds to direct their dogs to drive away the 
 sheep. 
 
 *' We returned to Edinburgh by Kinross (on the shore of Loch- 
 leven) and Queensferry. I am inclined to think Burns knew noth- 
 ing of poor Michael Bruce, who was then alive at Kinross, or had 
 died there a short while before. A meeting between the bards, or 
 a visit to the deserted cottage and early grave of poor Bruce, would 
 have been highly interesting."^ 
 
 "At Dunfermline we visited the ruined abbey, and the abbey- 
 church, now consecrated to Presbyterian worship. Here I mounted 
 the cutty stool, or stool of repentance, assuming the character of a 
 penitent for fornication ; while Burns from the pulpit addressed to 
 me a ludicrous reproof and exhortation, parodied from that which 
 had been delivered to himself in Ayrshire, where he had, as he 
 assured me, once been one of seven who mounted the seatofsJuime 
 together. 
 
 " In the church-yard two broad flag-stones marked the grave of 
 Robert Bruce, for whose memory Burns had more than common 
 veneration, lie knelt and kissed the stone with sacred fervor, and 
 
 * Bruce died some years before. 
 
50 CURRIERS LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS. 
 
 heartily {^uus vt mos erat) execrated the worse than gothic neglect 
 of the first of Scottish heroes."* 
 
 The different journej^s already mentioned did not satisfy tho 
 curiosity of Burns. About the beginning of September he again 
 set out from Edinburgh, on a more extended tour to the Highlands, 
 in company with Mr. Nicol, with whom he had contracted a partic- 
 ular intimacy, which lasted during the remainder of his life. Mr. 
 Nicol was of Dumfriesshire, of a descent equally humble with our 
 poet. Like him he rose by the strength of his talents, and fell by 
 the strength of his passions. He died in the summer of 1797. 
 Having received the elements of a classical instruction at his parish 
 school, Mr. Nicol made a very rapid and singular proficiency ; and 
 by early undertaking the office of an instructor himself, he acquired 
 the means of entering himself at the University of Edinburgh. 
 There he was first a student of theology, then a student of medi- 
 cine, and was afterwards employed in the assistance and instruc- 
 tion of graduates in medicine, in those parts of their exercises in 
 which the Latin language is employed. In this situation he was 
 the contemporary and riv^al of the celebrated Dr. Brown, whom he 
 resembled in the particulars of his history, as well as in the leading 
 features of his character. The office of assistant-teacher in the 
 High-school being vacant, it was as usual filled up by competition ; 
 and in the face of some prejudices, and perhaps of some well- 
 founded objections, Mr. Nicol, by superior Jearning, carried it from 
 all the other candidates. This office he filled at the period of which 
 we speak. 
 
 Mr. Nicol and our poet travelled in a post-chaise, which they en- 
 gaged for the journey, and passing through the heart of the High- 
 lands, stretched northwards about ten miles beyond Inverness. 
 There they bent their course eastward, across the island, and re- 
 turned by the shore of the German Sea to Edinburgh. In the 
 course of this tour, they visited a number of remarkable scenes, 
 and the imagination of Burns was constantly excited by the wild 
 and sublime scenery through which he passed. Of the history of 
 one of these poems. The humble petition of Bruar water ^ and of the 
 bard's visit to Athole House, the following particulars are given by 
 Mr.Walker of Perth, then residing in the family of the Duke of Athol. 
 
 *' On reaching Blair, he sent me notice of his arrival (as I had 
 been previously acquainted with him), and I hastened to meet him 
 at the inn. The Duke, to whom he had brought a letter of intro- 
 duction, was from home; but tho Duchess being informed of hia 
 trrivaJ, gave him an invitation to sup and sleep at AthoJe H^use. 
 
 * Elxtract from a letter ol Dr. Adair to the Editor. 
 
CURRIe's life of ROBERT BURNS. 57 
 
 " My curiosity was great to see how he would conduct himself in 
 company so different from wliat he had been accustomed to.* His 
 manner was unembarrassed, plain, and firm. He appeared to have 
 complete reliance on his own native good sense for directing his 
 behavior. He seemed at once to perceive and appreciate what was 
 due to the company and to himself, and never to forget a proper 
 respect for the separate species of dignity belonging to each. He 
 did not arrogate conversation, but when led into it, he spoke with 
 ease, propriety, and manliness. He tried to exert his abilities, be- 
 cause he knew it was ability alone gave him a title to be there. The 
 Duke's fine young family attracted much of his admiration ; ho 
 drank their healths as Tionest men and, honnie lasses^ an idea which 
 was much applauded by the company, and with which he has very 
 felicitously closed his poem. 
 
 "Much attention was paid to Burns both before and after the 
 Duke's return, of which he was perfectly sensible, without being 
 vain ; and at his departure I recommended to him, as the most ap- 
 propriate return he could make, to write some descriptive verses 
 on any of the scenes with which he had been so much delighted. 
 After leaving Blair, he, by the Duke's advice, visited the Falls of 
 Bruar^ and in a few days I received a letter from Inverness, with 
 the verses inclosed." 
 
 It appears that the impression made by our poet on the noble 
 family of Atliole was in a high degree favorable ; it is certain he 
 was charmed with the reception he received from them, and he 
 often mentioned the two days he spent at Athole House as among 
 the happiest of his life. He was warmly invited to prolong his 
 stay, but sacrificed his inclinations to his engagement with Mr, 
 Nicol ; which is the more to be regretted, as he would otherwise 
 have been introduced to Mr. Dundas (then daily expected on a visit 
 to the Duke), a circumstance that might have had a favorable in- 
 fluence on Burns's future fortunes. At Athole House he met, for 
 the first time, Mr. Graham of Fintry, to whom he was afterwards 
 indebted for his office in the Excise. 
 
 The letters and poems which he addressed to Mr, Graham bear 
 testimony of his sensibility,! and justify the supposition that he 
 would not have been deficient in gratitude, had he been elevated 
 to a situation better suited to his disposition and to his talents. 
 
 A few days after leaving Blair of Athole, our poet and his fellow- 
 
 * In the preceding winter, Burns had been in company of the highest rank in 
 Edinburgh ; but this description of his manners is perfectly applicable to his first 
 appearance in such society. 
 
 i See the First and Second Epistles to Mi-. Graham, soliciting an employment in 
 the Excise. 
 
58 currie's life of robert burns. 
 
 traveller arrived at Fochabers. In the course of tlic preceding 
 winter Burns had been introduced to the Duchess of Gordon at 
 Edinburgh, and presuming on this acquaintance, he proceeded to 
 Gordon Castle, leaving Mr. Nicol at the inn in the village. At tho 
 castle our poet was received with the utmost hospitality and kind- 
 ness, and the family being about to sit down to dinner, he was in- 
 vited to take his place at the table as a matter of course. This invi- 
 tation he accepted, and after drinking a few glasses of wine, he 
 rose up, and proposed to withdraw. On being pressed to stay, ho 
 mentioned, for the first time, his engagement with his fellow-trav- 
 eller ; and his noble host offering to send a servant to conduct Mr 
 Nicol to the castle. Burns insisted on undertaking that office him- 
 self. He was, however, accompanied by a gentleman, a particular 
 acquaintance of the Duke, by whom the invitation was delivered 
 in all the forms of politeness. The invitation, however, came too 
 late ; the pride of Nicol was inflamed to the highest degree by the 
 neglect which he had alre-ady suffered. He had ordered the horses 
 to be put to the carriage, being determined to proceed on his jour- 
 ney alone ; and they found him parading the streets of Fochabers, 
 before the door of the inn, venting his anger on the postillion, for 
 the slowness with which he obeyed his commands. As no expla- 
 nation nor entreaty could change the purpose of his fellow-travel- 
 ler, our poet was reduced to the necessity of separating from him en- 
 tirely, or of instantly proceeding with him on their journey. He chose 
 the last of these alternatives ; and seating himself beside Nicol in 
 the post-chaise, with mortification and regret he turned his back 
 on Gordon Castle; where he had promised himself some happy 
 days. Sensible, however, of the great kindness of the noble family, 
 he made the best return in his power by the following poem.* 
 
 Streams 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 laves 
 The banks by Castle- Gordon. 
 
 Spicy forests, ever gay. 
 Shading from the burning ray 
 Hapless wretches sold to toil, 
 Or the ruthless native's way, 
 Bent on slaughter, IJood, and spoil ; 
 
 • This information is extracted from u letter of Di. Couper, of Fochabers, to the 
 Editor. 
 
CURRIe's life of ROBERT BURNS. 59 
 
 Woods that ever verdant wave, 
 I leave the tyrant and the slave — 
 Give me the groves that lofty brave 
 The storms, by Castle-Gordon. 
 
 Wildly here, ■without control, 
 Nature reigns and rules th^ whole ; 
 In that sober, pensive mood, 
 Dearest to the feeling soul. 
 She plants the forest, pours the flood ; 
 Life's poor day I'll musing rave. 
 And find at night a sheltering cave. 
 Where waters flow and wild woods wave, 
 By bonnie Castle-Gordon.* 
 
 Burns remained at Edinburgh during the greater part of I he 
 winter, 1787-8, and again entered into the society and dissipation 
 of that metropoHs. It appears, that on the 31st of December, he at- 
 tended a meeting to celebrate the birthday of the lineal descend- 
 ant of the Scottish race of kings, the late unfortunate Prince Charles 
 Edward. On this occasion our bard took upon himself the office 
 of poet-laureate, and produced an ode, which, though deficient in 
 the complicated rhythm and polished versification that such compo- 
 sitions require, might on a fair competition, where energy of feel- 
 ings and of expression were alone in question, have won the butt of 
 Malmsey from the real Laureate of that day.f 
 
 In relating the incidents of our poet's life in Edinburgh, we ought 
 to have mentioned the sentiments of respect and sympathy with 
 which he traced out the grave of his predecessor Fergusson, over 
 whose ashes, in the Canongate churchyard, he obtained leave to 
 erect an humble monument, which will be viewed by reflecting 
 minds with no common interest, and which will awake in the bo- 
 som of kindred genius, many a high emotion. Neither should we 
 pass over the continued friendship he experienced from the amia- 
 ble and accomplished Blacklock. To his encouraging advice it was 
 owing (as has already appeared) that Burns, instead of emigrating 
 to the West Indies, repaired to Edinburgh. He received him there 
 with all the ardor of affectionate admiration ; he eagerly introduced 
 him to the respectable circle of his friends ; he consulted his in- 
 terest ; he blazoned his fame ; he lavished upon him all the kindness 
 of a generous and feeling heart, into which nothing selfish or en- 
 vious ever found admittance. Among the friends to whom he in- 
 troduced Burns was Mr. Kamsay, of Ochtertyre, to whom our poet 
 paid a visit in the autumn of 17S7, at his dehghtful retirement in 
 the neighborhood of Stirling, and on the banks of the Teith. 
 
 • These verses our poet composed to be sung to Morag, a Highland air of which hi 
 was extremely fond. 
 i See page 191. 
 
60 currie's life of robert burns. 
 
 On settling with his publisher, Mr. Creech, in February, 17?^ 
 Burns found himself master of nearly five hundred pounds, aftei 
 discharging all his expenses. Two hundred pounds he imme- 
 diately advanced to his brother Gilbert, who had taken upon him 
 self the support of their aged mother, and was struggling with 
 many difficulties in the farm of Mossgiel. With the remainder oi 
 this sum, and some farther eventual profits from his poems, he de- 
 termined on settling himself for life in the occupation of agriculture, 
 and took from Mr. Miller, of Dalswinton, the farm of Ellisland, on 
 the banks of the river Nith, six miles above Dumfries, on which he 
 entered at Whitsunday, 1788. Hav'ng been previously recom- 
 mended to the Board of Excise, his name had been put on the list 
 of candidates for the humble office of a ganger, or exciseman ; and 
 he immediately applied to acquiring the information necessary for 
 filling that office, when the honorable Board might judge it proper 
 to employ him. Ho expected to be called into service in the dis- 
 trict in which his farm was situated, and vainly hoped to unite 
 with success the labors of the farmer with the duties of the ex- 
 ciseman. 
 
 When Burns had in this manner arranged his plans for futurity, 
 his generous heart turned to the object of his most ardent attach- 
 ment, and listening to no considerations but those of honor and 
 affection, he joined with her in a public declaration of marriage, 
 thus legalizing their union, and rendering it permanent for life. 
 
 It was not convenient for Mrs. Burns to remove immediately 
 from Ayrshire, and our poet therefore took up his residence alone 
 at Ellisland, to prepare for the reception of his wife and children, 
 who joined him towards the end of the year. 
 
 The situation in which Burns now found himself was calculat^jd 
 to awaken reflection. The different steps he had of late taken 
 were in their nature highly important, and might be said to have, 
 in some measure, fixed his destiny. He had become a husband 
 and a father; he had engaged in the management of a considerable 
 farm, a difficult and laborious undertaking ; in his success the hap- 
 piness of his family was involved ; it was time, therefore, to aban- 
 don the gayety and dissipation of which he had been too much 
 enamored : to ponder seriously on the past, and to form virtuous 
 resolutions respecting the future. 
 
 He commenced by immediately rebuilding the dwelling-house on 
 his farm, which, in the state he found it, was inadequate to the ac- 
 commodation of liis family. On this occasion, he himself resumed 
 at times the occupation of a laborer, and found neither his strength 
 nor his skill impaired. Pleased with surveying the grounds he was 
 Bbout to cultivate, and with the rearing of a building that should 
 
CURRIe's life of ROBERT BURNS. 61 
 
 give shelter to his wife and children, and, as he fondly hoped, to 
 his own gray hairs, sentiments of independence buoyed up hi? 
 mind, pictures of domestic content and peace rose on his im- 
 agination ; and a few days passed away, as he himself informs 
 us, the most tranquil, if not the happiest, which he had ever 
 experienced. 
 
 His fame naturally drew upon him the attention of his neighbors, 
 and he soon formed a general acquaintance in the district in which 
 he lived. The public voice had now pronounced on the subject ot 
 his talents ; the reception he had met with in Edinburgh had given 
 him the currency which fashion bestows ; he had suiinounted tho 
 prejudices arising from his humble birth, and he was received at 
 the table of the gentlemen of Nithsdale with welcome, with kind- 
 ness, and even with respect. Their social parties too often seduced 
 him from his rustic labors, and it was not long, therefore, before 
 Burns began to view his farm with dislike and despondence, if not 
 with disgust. 
 
 Unfortunately he had for several years looked to an office in tho 
 Excise as a certain means of livelihood, should his other expecta- 
 tions fail. As has already been mentioned, he had been recom- 
 mended to the Board of Excise, and had received the instructions 
 necessary for such a situation. He now applied to be ercplcyed ; 
 and by the interest of Mr. Graham, of Fintry, was appointed to be 
 exciseman, or, as it is vulgarly called, ganger, of the district in 
 which he lived. His farm was, after this, in a great measure, aban- 
 doned to servants, while he betook himself to the duties of his new 
 appointment. 
 
 He might indeed still be seen in the spring directing his plough, 
 a labor in which he excelled ; or with a white sheet containing his 
 seed-corn, slung across his shoulders, striding with measured steps 
 along his turned-up furrows, and scattering the grain in the earth. 
 But his farm no longer occupied the principal part of his care or 
 his thoughts. It was not at Ellisland that he was now in general 
 to be found. Mounted on horseback, this high-minded poet was 
 pursuing the defaulters of the revenue among the hills and vales of 
 Nithsdale, his roving eye wandering over the charms of nature, and 
 muttsring his wayward fancies as he moved along. 
 
 Besides his duties in the Excise and his social pleasures, other 
 circumstances interfered with the attention of Burns to his farm. 
 He engaged in the formation of a society for purchasing and circu- 
 lating books among the farmers of his neighborhood, of which he 
 undertook the management ; and he occupied himself occasionally 
 in composing songs for the musical work of Mr. Johnson, then ic 
 the course of publication. These engagements, useful and honor 
 6 
 
C2 CURRIE S LIFE OF ROBERT BURN'S. 
 
 Able in themselves, contributed, no doubt, to the abstraction of his 
 thoughts from the business of agriculture. 
 
 The consequences may be easily imagined. Notwithstanding the 
 nniform prudence and good management of Mrs. Burns, and though 
 liis rent was moderate and reasonable, our poet found it convenient, 
 if not necessary, to resign his farm to Mr. Miller, after having oc- 
 cupied it three years and a half. His office in the Excise had origi- 
 nally produced about fifty pounds per annum. Having acquitted 
 himself to the satisfaction of the Board, he had been appointed to 
 a new district, the emoluments of which rose to about seventy 
 pounds per annum. Hoping to support himself and his family on 
 his humble income till promotion should reach him, he disposed of 
 his stock and of his crop on EUisland by public auction, and re- 
 moved to a small house which he had taken in Dumfries, about 
 the end of the year 1791. 
 
 Hitherto Burns, though addicted to excess in social parties, had 
 abstained from the habitual use of strong liquors, and his constitu- 
 tion had not suffered any permanent injury from the irregularities 
 of his conduct. In Dumfries, temptations to "the sin that so 
 easily beset him" continually presented themselves ; and his irregu- 
 larities grew by degrees into habits. These temptations unhappily 
 occurred during his engagements in the business of liis office, as 
 well as during his hours of relaxation ; and though he clearly fore- 
 saw the consequence of yielding to them, his appetites and sensa- 
 tions, which could not pervert the dictates of his judgment, finally 
 triumphed over the powers of his will. 
 
 Still, however, he cultivated the society of perr-ons of taste and 
 respectability, and in their company could impose upon himself the 
 restraints of temperance and decorum. Nor was his muse dor- 
 mant. In the four years which he lived at Dumfries, he produced 
 many of his beautiful lyrics, though it does not appear that he at- 
 tempted any poem of considerable length. 
 
 Burns had entertained hopes of promotion in the Excise ; but 
 circumstances occurred which retarded their fulfilment, and which, 
 in his own mind, destroyed all expectation of their being ever 
 fulfilled. The extraordinary events which ushered in the revolu- 
 tion of France interested the feelings, and excited the hopes, of 
 men in every corner of Europe. Prejudice and tyranny seemed 
 about to disappear from among men, and the day-star of reason to 
 rise upon a benighted world. In the dawn of this beautiful morn- 
 ing, the genius of French freedom appeared on our southern hori 
 zon with the countenance of an angel, but speedily assumed tha 
 features of a demon, and vanished in a shower r»f blood. 
 
 Though previously a Jacobite and a cavalie-' Burns had shared 
 
CURRIE S LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS. 03 
 
 in the original hopes entertained of this astonishing levohit.on by 
 ardent and benevolent minds. The novelty and the hazard of the 
 attempt meditated by the First, or Constituent Assembly, served 
 rather, it is probable, to recommend it to his daring temper ; and 
 the unfettered scope proposed to be given to every kind of talents 
 was doubtless gratifying to the feelings of conscious but indignant 
 genius. Burns foresaw not the mighty ruin that was to be the 
 immediate consequence of an enterprise, which, on its commence- 
 ment, promised so much happiness to the human race. And even 
 after the career of guilt and of blood commenced, he could not im- 
 mediately, it may be presumed, withdraw his partial gaze from a 
 people who had so lately breathed the sentiments of universal peace 
 and benignity, or obliterate in his bosom the pictures of hope and 
 of happiness to which those sentiments had given birth, tinder 
 these impressions, he did not always conduct himself with the cir- 
 cumspection and prudence which his dependent situation seemed 
 to demand. He engaged indeed in no popular associations, so 
 common at the time of which we speak ; but in company he did 
 not conceal his opinions of public measures, or of the reforms re- 
 quired in the practice of our government : and sometimes, in his 
 social and unguarded moments, he uttered them with a wild and 
 unjustifiable vehemence. Information of this was given to the 
 Board of Excise, with the exaggerations so general in such cases. 
 A superior officer in that department was authorized to inquire 
 into his conduct. Burns defended himself in a letter addressed to 
 one of the Board, written with great independence of spirit, and 
 with more than his accustomed eloquence. The officer appointed 
 to inquire into his conduct gave a favorable report. His steady 
 friend, Mr. Graham, of Fintry, interposed his good offices in his 
 beiialf ; and the imprudent ganger was suffered to retain his situ- 
 ation, but given to understand that his promotion was deferred, and 
 must depend on his future behavior. 
 
 This circumstance made a deep impression on the mind of Burns. 
 Fame exaggerated his misconduct, and represented him as actually 
 dismissed from his office ; and this report induced a gentleman of 
 much respectability to propose a subscription in his favor. The 
 oflfer was refused by our poet in a letter of great elevation of senti- 
 ment, in which he gives an account of the whole of this transaction, 
 and defends himself from the imputation of disloyal sentiments on 
 the one hand, and on the other from the charge of having made 
 submissions for the sake of his office, unworthy of his character. 
 
 In the midst of all his wanderings. Burns met nothing in his do- 
 mestic circle but gentleness and forgiveness, except in the gnawings 
 of his own remorse. He acknowledged his transgressions to the 
 
64 currie's life of robert burns. 
 
 wife of his bosom, promised amendment, and again received par 
 don for his offences. But as the strength of his body decayed, 
 his resolution became feebler, and habit acquired predominating 
 strength. 
 
 From October, 1795, to the January followii'ig, an accidental com- 
 plaint confined him to the house. A few days after he began to go 
 abroad, he dined at a tavern, and returned about three o'clock in a 
 very cold morning, benumbed and intoxicated. This was followed 
 by an attack of rheumatism, which confined him about a week. 
 His appetite now began to fail ; his hand shook, and his voice fal- 
 tered on any exertion or emotion. His p'llse became weaker and 
 more rapid, and pain in the larger joints, and in the hands and feet, 
 deprived him of the enjoyment of refreshing sleep. Too much de- 
 jected in his spirits, and too well aware of his real situation to en- 
 tertain hopes of recovery, he was ever musing on the approaching 
 desolation of his family, and his spirits sunk into a uniform gloom. 
 
 It was hoped by some of his friends, that if he could live through 
 the months of spring, the succeeding season might restore him. 
 But they were disappointed. The genial beams of the sun infused 
 no vigor into his languid frame ; the summer wind blew upon him, 
 but produced no refreshment. About the latter end of June he 
 was advised to go into the country, and, impatient of medical ad- 
 vice, as well as of every species of control, he determined for him- 
 self to try the eflfects of bathing in the sea. For this purpose he 
 took up his residence at Brow, in Annandale, about ten miles east 
 of Dumfries, on the shore of the Solway-Frith. 
 
 At first, Burns imagined bathing in the sea had been of benefit 
 to him; the pains in his limbs were relieved ; but this was imme- 
 diately followed by a new attack of fever. When brought back to 
 his own house in Dumfries, on the 18th July, he was no longer able 
 to stand upright. At this time a tremor pervaded his frame : his 
 tongue was parched, and his mind sunk into delirium, when not 
 roused by conversation. On the second and third day the fever 
 increased, and his strength diminished. On the fourth, the suffer- 
 ings of this great but ill-fated genius were terminated, and a life 
 was closed in which virtue and passion had been at perpetual va- 
 riance. 
 
 The death of Burns made a strong and general impression on all 
 who had interested themselves in liis character, and especially on 
 the inhabitants of the town and country in which he had spent the 
 latter years of his life. The Gentlemen- Volunteers of Dumfries 
 determined to bury their illustrious associate with military honors, 
 and every preparation was made to render this last service solemn 
 and impressive. The Fencible Infantry of Angus-shire, and th© 
 
CURRIe's life of ROBERT BURNS. 65 
 
 regiment of cavalry of the Cinque Ports, at that time quartered in 
 Dumfries, offered their assistance on this occasion; the principal 
 inhabitants of the town and neighborhood determined to walk in 
 the funeral procession; and avast concourse of persons assembled, 
 Bome of them from a considerable distance, to witness the obsequies 
 of the Scottish Bard. On the evening of the 25th of July, the re- 
 mains of Burns were removed from his house to the Town Hall, and 
 the funeral took place on the succeeding day. A party of the Vol- 
 unteers, selected to perform the military duty in the churchyard, 
 stationed themselves in the front of the procession with their arras 
 reversed ; the main body of the corps surrounded and supported 
 the coffin, on which were placed the liat and sword of their friend 
 and fellow-soldier; the numerous body of attendants ranged them- 
 selves in the rear; while the Fencible regiments of infantry and 
 cavalry lined the streets from the Town Hall to the burial-ground 
 in the Southern churchyard, a distance of more than half a mile. 
 The whole procession moved forward to that sublime and affecting 
 strain of music, the Dead Marcli in Saul : and three volleys fired 
 over his grave marked the return of Burns to his parent earth ! 
 The spectacle was in a high degree grand and solemn, and accord- 
 ing with the general sentiments of sympathy and sorrow which the 
 occasion had called forth. 
 
 It was an affecting circumstance, that, on the morning of the day 
 of her husband's funeral, Mrs. Burns was undergoing the pains of 
 labor, and that during the solemn service we have just been de- 
 scribing, the posthumous son of our poet was born. This infant 
 boy, who received the name of Maxwell, was not destined to a long 
 life. He has already become an inhabitant of the same grave with 
 his celebrated father. 
 
 The sense of his poverty, and of the approaching distress of his 
 infant family, pressed heavily on Burns as he lay on the bed of 
 death. Yet he alluded to his indigence, at times, with something 
 approaching to his wonted gayety. — " What business," said he to 
 Dr. Maxwell, who attended him with the utmost zeal, "has a phy- 
 sician to waste his time on me? I am a poor pigeon not worth 
 plucking. Alas 1 I have not feather enough upon me to carry mo 
 to my grave." And when his reason was lost in delirium, his ideas 
 ran in the same melancholy train: the horrors of a jail were con- 
 tinually present to his troubled imagination, and produced the 
 ipost affecting exclamations. 
 
 On the death of Burns, the inhabitants of Dumfries and its 
 neighborhood opened a subscription for the support of his wife 
 and family. The subscription was extended to other j:arts of Scot- 
 land, and of England also, particularly London and Liverpool. B^ 
 
(j6 OURRIE's life of ROBERT BURNS. 
 
 this means a sum was raised amounting to seven hundred pounds 
 and thus the widow and children were rescued from immediate 
 distress, and the most melancholy of the forebodings of Burns hap- 
 pily disappointed. 
 
 Burns, as has already been mentioned, was nearly five feet ten 
 inches in height, and a form that indicated agility as well as strength. 
 His well-raised forehead, shaded with black curling hair, indicated 
 extensive capacity. His eyes were large, dark, full of ardor and 
 intelligence. His face was well formed ; and his countenance un- 
 commonly interesting and expressive. The tones of his voice hap- 
 pily corresponded with the expression of his features, and with the 
 feelings of his mind. When to these endowments are added a 
 rapid and distinct apprehension, a most powerful understanding, 
 and a happy command of language — of strength as well as bril- 
 liancy of expression — we shall be able to account for the extraordi- 
 nary attractions of his conversation — for the sorcery which, in his 
 social parties, he seemed to exert on all around him. In the com- 
 pany of women this sorcery was more especially apparent. Their 
 presence charmed the fiend of melancholy in his bosom, and awoke 
 his happiest feelings ; it excited the powers of his fancy, as well as 
 the tenderness of his heart; and, by restraining the vehemence and 
 the exuberance of his language, at times gave to his manners the 
 impression of taste, and even of elegance, which in the company of 
 men they seldom possessed. This influence was doubtless recip- 
 rocal. 
 
 We conclude with the character of Burns as given by his country- 
 man, Mr. Allan Cunningham, which is alike creditable to his taste, 
 and does justice to the illustrious fame of the poet : — • 
 
 As a poet, Burns stands in the first rank : his conceptions aro 
 original ; his thoughts new and weighty ; his manner unborrowed ; 
 and even his language is his own. He owes no honor to his sub- 
 jects, for they are all of an ordinary kind, such as humble life 
 around him presented : he sought neither in high station nor in 
 history for matter to his muse, and yet all his topics are simple, 
 natural, and to be found without research. The Scottish bards 
 who preceded him selected subjects which obtained notice from 
 their oddity, and treated them in a way singular and outre. The 
 Verses of the first and fifth James, as well as those of Kamsay and 
 Fergusson, are chiefiy a succession of odd and ludicrous pictures, 
 as true as truth itself, and no more. To their graphic force of do- 
 
67 
 
 lineation Burns added sentiment and passion, and an elegant ten- 
 derness and simplicity. He took topics familiar to all ; the Daisy 
 grew on the lands he ploughed ; the Mouse built her nest on his 
 own stubble-field ; the Haggis smoked on his own board ; the Scotch 
 Drink which he sung was distilled on the banks of Doon ; tho 
 Dogs that conversed so wittily and wisely were his own collies ; 
 Tarn O'Shanter was a merry husbandman of his own acquaintance; 
 and even the "De'il himsel" was famihar to all, and had often 
 alarmed, by his eldritch croon and the marks of his cloven foot, 
 the pastoral people of Kyle. Burns was the first who taught tho 
 world that in lowly subjects high poetry resided. Touched by 
 him, they were lifted at once into the regions of inspiration. His 
 spirit ascended into an humble topic, as the sap of spring ascends a 
 tree to endow it with beauty and fragrance. 
 
 Burns is our chief national Poet ; he owes nothing of the struc- 
 ture of his verse or of the materials of his poetry to other lands — ho 
 is the offspring of the soil ; he is as natural to Scotland as the heath 
 is to her hills, and all his brightness, like our nocturnal aurora, is 
 of the north. Nor has he taken up fleeting themes ; his song is 
 not of the external manners and changeable affections of man — it 
 If) of the human heart — of the mind's hopes and fears, and of the 
 soul's aspirations. Others give us the outward form and pressure 
 of society — the court-costume of human nature — the laced lapelle 
 and the epauleted shoulder. He gives us flesh and blood ; all he 
 has he holds in common with mankind, yet all is national and 
 Scottish. We can see to whom other bards have looked up for in- 
 spiration — like fruit of the finest sort, they smack of the stock on 
 which they were grafted. Burns read Young, Thomson, Shen- 
 stone, and Shakspeare ; yet there is nothing of Young, Thomson, 
 Shenstone, or Shakspeare about him ; nor is there much of the old 
 ballad. His light is of nature, like sunshine, and not reflected. 
 When, in after-life, he tried imitation, his "Epistle to Grahame of 
 rintray" showed satiric power and polish little inferior to Dryden. 
 
 He is not only the truest and best of Scottish Poets, but, in ease, 
 fire, and passion, he is second to none save Shakspeare. I know 
 of no one besides, whose verse flows forth so sparkling and spon- 
 taneous. On the lines of other bards, we see the marks of care 
 and study — now and then they are happy, but they are as often 
 elaborated out and brightened like a key by frequent handling. 
 Burns is seldom or never so — he wrote from the impulse of nature 
 — he wrote because his passions raged like so many demons till 
 they got vent in rhyme. Others sit and solicit the muse, like a 
 coy mistress, to be kind; she came to Burns " unsent for," like 
 the"bonnie lass" in the song, and showered her favors freely. 
 
68 • currie's life of Robert burns. 
 
 Tno strength was equal to the harmony; rugged westlin words 
 weru taken from the lips of the weaver and the ploughman, and 
 adorned with melody and feeling ; and familiar phrases were picked 
 up from shepherds and mechanics, and rendered as musical as ia 
 Apollo's lute. "I can think of no verse since Shakspeare's," said 
 Pitt to Henry Addington, "which comes so sweetly and at once 
 from nature." " Out of the eater came forth meat :" — the premier 
 praised whom he starved. Burns was not a poet by fits and starts ; 
 the mercury of his genius stood always at the inspired point; like 
 the fairy's drinking cup, the fountain of his fancy was ever flow- 
 ing and ever full. He had, it is true, set times and seasons when 
 the fruits of his mind were more than usually abundant; but the 
 «ongs of spring were equal to those of summer — those of summer 
 were not surpassed by those of autumn ; the quantity might bo 
 different, the flavor and richness were ever the same. 
 
 His variety is equal to his originality. His humor, his gayety, 
 liis tenderness, and his pathos, come all in a breath; they come 
 Ireely, for they come of their own accord ; nor are they huddled 
 together at random, like doves and crows in a flock ; the contrast 
 is never off'ensive; the comic slides easily into the serious, the 
 serious into the tender, and the tender into the pathetic. The 
 witch's cup, out of which the wondering rustic drank seven kinds 
 of wine at once, was typical of the muse of Burns. It is this 
 which has made him welcome to all readers. " No poet," says Scott, 
 " with the exception of Shakspeare, ever possessed the power of 
 exciting the most varied and discordant emotions with such rapid 
 transitions." 
 
 Notwithstanding the uncommon ease and natural elegance of his 
 musings— the sweet and impassioned tone of his verse — critics have 
 not been wanting who perceived in his works the humility of his 
 origin. His poems, I remember well enough, were considered by 
 many, at first, as the labors of some gentleman who assumed the 
 rustic for the sake of indulging in satire; their knowledge waa 
 reckoned beyond the reach, and their flights above the power, of a 
 simplo ploughman. Something of this belief may be seen in Mrs*. 
 Scott of Wauchope's letter: and when it was known for a trutn 
 that the author was a ploughman, many lengthy discussions took 
 place concerning the way in which the Poet had acquired his 
 knowledge. Ayr race-course was pointed out as the likely scene 
 of his studies of high life, where he found what was graceful and 
 elegant. When Jeffrey wrote his depreciating criticism, he forgot 
 that Burns had studied politeness in the very school where he him 
 self was polished : 
 
 " I've been at drunken writers' feastg," 
 
CURRIe's life of ROBERT BURNS. 69 
 
 •jlaims a scholarship which the critic might have respected. If 
 fcharp epigrams, familiar gallantry, love of independence, and a 
 leaning to the tumid be, as that critic assures us, true symptoms of 
 vulgar birth, then Swift was a scavenger, Kochester a coalheaver 
 Pope a carman, and Thomson a boor. He might as well see low- 
 ness of origin in the James Stuart who wrote "Christ's Kirk on 
 the Green," as in the Eobert Burns who wrote '* Tarn O'Shanter." 
 The nature which Burns infused into all he wrote deals with in- 
 ternal emotions : feeling is no more vulgar in a ploughman than in 
 a prince. 
 
 In all this I see the reluctance of an accomplished scholar to 
 admit the merits of a rustic poet who not only claimed, but took, 
 the best station on the Caledonian Parnassus. It could be no 
 welcome sight to philosophers, historians, and critics, to see a peas- 
 ant, fragrant from the furrow, elbowing his way through their pol- 
 ished ranks to the highest place of honor, exclaiming — 
 
 " What's a' your jargon o' your schools ?" 
 
 Some of them were no doubt astonished and incensed ; nature was 
 doing too much ; they avenged themselves by advising him to 
 leave his vulgar or romantic fancies and grow classical. His best 
 songs they called random flights ; his happiest poems the fruit of 
 a vagrant impulse ; they accounted him an accident — *' a wild colt 
 of a comet" — a sort of splendid error : and refused to look upon 
 him as a true poet, raised by the kindly warmth of nature ; for 
 they thought nothing beautiful which was not produced or adorned 
 by learning. 
 
 Burns is a thorough Scotchman ; his nationality, like cream on 
 milk, floats on the surface of all his works ; it mingles in his humor 
 as well as in his tenderness ; yet it is seldom or never offensive to 
 an English ear ; there is nothing narrow-souled in it. He rejoices 
 in Scotland's ancient glory and in her present strength : he be- 
 stows his affection on her heathery mountains, as well as on her 
 romantic vales ; he glories in the worth of her husbandmen, and 
 in the loveliness of her maidens. The brackeny glens and thistly 
 brae-sides of the North are more welcome to his sight than are thft 
 sunny dales of Italy, fragrant with ungathered grapes ; its men, if 
 not quite divinities, are more than mortal ; and the women are 
 clothed in beauty, and walk in a light of their own creating ; a 
 haggis is food fit for gods ; brose is a better sort of ambrosia ; ** wi' 
 twopenny we fear nae evil ;" and whiskey not only makes us in- 
 sensible of danger, but inspires noble verse and heroic deeds. 
 There is something at once ludicrous and dignified in all this : to 
 excite mingled emotions was the aim of the Poet. Besides a love 
 
70 currie's life of robert burns. 
 
 of country, tlier^ is an intense love of freedom about him : not the 
 savage joy in the boundless forest and the unlicensed range, bui 
 the calm determination and temperate delight of a reflecting mind. 
 Burns is the bard of liberty — not that which sets fancy free and 
 letters the body ; he resists oppression — he covets free thought and 
 speech — he scorns slavish obedience to the mob as much as he de- 
 tests tyranny in the rulers. He spoke out like a bold-inwpired 
 person ; he knew his word would have weight with the world, and 
 Bung his "Man's a man for a' that," as a watchword to future 
 generations — as a spell against slavery. 
 
 The best poems of Barns are about rural and pastoral life, and 
 relate the hopes, joys, and aspirations, of that portion of the people 
 falsely called the humble, as if grandeur of soul were a thing '^boni 
 in tlie purple," and not the free gift and bounty of heaven. The pas- 
 sions and feelings of man are disguised, not changed, in polished so- 
 ciety ; flesh and blood are the same beneath hoddin' gray as beneath 
 three- piled velvet. This was what Burns alluded to when he said 
 he saw little in the splendid circles of Edinburgh which was new 
 to him. His pictures of human life and of the world are of a mental 
 as well as national kind. His "Twa Dogs" prove that happiness 
 is not unequally diffused: "Scotch Drink" gives us fireside en- 
 joyments ; the " Earnest Cry and Prayer" shows the keen eye which 
 humble people cast on their rulers; the "Address to the Deil" 
 indulges in religious humanities, in which sympathy overcomes 
 fear ; " The Auld Mare," and " The Address to Mailie," enjoin, by 
 the most simple and touching examples, kindness and mercy to 
 dumb creatures ; " The Holy Fair" desires to curb the licentiousness 
 of those who seek amusement itistead of holiness in religion ; " Man 
 was made to Mourn" exhorts the strong and the wealthy to be mind- 
 ful of the weak and the poor; "Halloween" shows us superstition 
 in a domestic aspect ; " Tam O'Shanter" adorns popular belief with 
 liumorous terror, and helps us to laugh old dreads away ; " The 
 Mouse," in its weakness, contrasts with man in his strength, and 
 preaches to us the instability of happiness on earth ; while" The 
 Mountain Daisy" pleads with such moral pathos the cause of the 
 flowers of the field sent by God to adorn the earth for man's pleas- 
 ure, that our feet have pressed less ungraciously on the " wee, 
 modest, crimson-tipped flower," since his song was written. 
 
 Others of his poems have a still grander reach. " The Vision" 
 reveals the Poet's plan of Providence, proves the worth of elo- 
 quence, bravery, honesty, and beauty, and that even the rustio 
 bard himself is a useful and ornamental link in the great chain of be- 
 ing. " The Cotter's Saturday Night" connects us with the invisi- 
 ble world, and shows that domestic peace, faithful love. and patri- 
 
CURRIE S LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS. Vl 
 
 Otic feelings are of earthly things most akin to the joys of heaven, 
 while the divine " Elegy on Matthew Henderson" unites human 
 nature in a bond of sympathy with the stars of the sky, the fowls 
 of the air, the beasts of the field, the flowery vale, and the lonely 
 mountain. The hastiest of his effusions has a wise aim ; and the 
 eloquent Curran }.»erceived this when he spoke of the " sublime 
 morality of Burns." 
 
 Had Burns, in his poems, preached only so many moral sermons, 
 his audience might have been a select, but it would have been a 
 limited, one. The sublimest truths, like the surest medicines, are 
 sometimes uneasy to swallow : for this the Poet provided an effec- 
 tual remedy : he associated his moral counsel with so much tender- 
 ness and pathos, and garnished it all about with such exquisite 
 humor, that the public, like the giant drinking the wine in Homer, 
 gaped, and cried, "More! this is divine!" If a reader has such 
 a limited soul as to love humor only, why Burns is his man — he 
 has more of it than any modern poet; should he covet tenderness, 
 he cannot read far in Burns without finding it to his mind ; should 
 he desire pathos, the Scottish Peasant has it of the purest sort ; and 
 _-f he wish for them altogether let him try no other bard — for in 
 what other poet will he find them woven more naturally into the 
 web of song ? It is by thus suiting himself to so many minds and 
 tastes, that Burns has become such a fiivorite with the world; if, 
 in a strange company, we should chance to stumble in quoting 
 him, an English voice, or an Irish one, corrects us; much of the 
 business of life is mingled with his verse ; and the lover, whether 
 in joy or sorrow, will find that Burns has anticipated every throb 
 of his heart: — 
 
 "Every pulse along his veins, 
 And every roving fancy." 
 
 JBe was the first of our northern poets who brought deep passion 
 and high energy to the service of the muse, who added sublimity 
 to simplicity, and found loveliness and elegance dwelling among 
 the cottages of his native land. His simplicity is graceful as well 
 as strong; he is never mean, never weak, never vulgar, and but 
 Eeldom coarse. All he says is above the mark of other men : his 
 language is familiar, yet dignified; careless, yet concise; and he 
 touches on the most ordinary — nay, perilous themes, with a skill 
 so rare and felicitous, that good fortune seems to unite with good 
 taste i-n helping him through the Slough of Despond, in which so 
 many meaner spirits have wallowed. No one has greater power in. 
 adorning the humble, and dignifying the plain— no one else has so 
 happily picked the sweet fresh flowers of poesy from among tho. 
 thorns and brambles of the ordinary paths of existence. 
 
72 currie's life of Robert burns. 
 
 *'The excellence of Burns," says Thomas Carlyle, a true judge, 
 "is, indeed, among the rarest, whether in poetry or prose; but at 
 the same time it is plain and easily recognized — his sincerity — hia 
 indisputable air of truth. Here are no fabulous woes or joys ; no 
 hollow fantastic sentimentalities ; no wire-drawn refinings either in 
 thought or feeling : the passion that is traced before us has glowed 
 in a living heart; the opinion he utters has risen in his own undar- 
 Btanding, and been a light to his own steps. He does not write 
 from hearsay, but from sight and experience: it is the scenes he 
 has lived and labored amidst that he describes ; those scenes, rude 
 and humble as they are, have kindled beautiful emotions in his 
 soul, nolle thoughts, and definite resolves; and he speaks forth 
 what is if) him, not from any outward call of vanity or interest, but 
 because his heart is too full to be silent. He speaks it, too, with 
 such melody and modulation as he can — in homely rustic jingle- 
 but it is his own, and genuine. This is the grand secret for finding 
 readers, and retaining them : let him who would move and con- 
 vince others, be first moved and convinced himself." 
 
 It must be mentioned, in abatement of this high praise, that 
 Burns occasionally speaks with too little delicacy. He violates 
 without necessity the true decorum of his subject, and indulges in 
 liidden meanings and allusions, such as the most tolerant cannot 
 applaud. Nor is this the worst : he is much too free in his treat- 
 ment of matters holy. He ventures to take the Deity to task about 
 hia own passions, and the order of nature, in a way less reverent 
 than he employs when winning his way to woman's love. He has, 
 in truth, touches of profanity which make the pious shudder. In 
 the warmth of conversation such expressions might escape from 
 the lips ; but they should not have been coolly sanctioned in the 
 closet with the pen. These deformities are not, however, of fre- 
 quent occurrence ; and, what is some extenuation, they are gener- 
 ally united to a noble or natural sentiment. He is not profiine or 
 indecorous for the sake of being so : his faults, as well as his beau- 
 ties, come from an overflowing fulness of mind. 
 
 His songs have all the beauties, and none of the faults, of his 
 poems. As compositions to bo sung, a finer and more scientific 
 iiarmony, and a more nicely-modulated dance of words were re- 
 quired, and Burns had both in perfection. They flow as readily 
 to the music as if both the air and verse had been created together, 
 and blend and mingle like two uniting streams. The sentiments 
 are from nature ; and they never, in any instance, jar or jangle with 
 the peculiar feeling of the music. "While humming the air over 
 during the moments of composition, the words came and took their 
 proper places, each according to the meaning of the air: rugged 
 
CURRIe's life of ROBERT BURNS. 73 
 
 expressions conld not well mingle with thoughts inspired by har 
 mony. 
 
 In his poems, Burns supposes himself in the society of men, and 
 indulges in reckless sentiments and unmeasured language : in his 
 songs he imagines himself in softer company : when woman's eye 
 is on him he is gentle, persuasive, and impassioned ; he is never 
 boisterous ; he seeks not to say fine things, yet he never misses 
 saying them; his compliments are uttered of free will, and all his 
 thoughts flow naturally from the subject. There is a natural grace 
 and fascination about his songs ; all is earnest and from the heart: 
 he is none of your millinery bards who deal in jewelled locks, laced 
 garments, and shower pearls and gems by the bushel on youth 
 and beauty. He makes bright eyes, flushing cheeks, the music of 
 the tongue, and the pulses' maddening play, do all. Those charms 
 he knew came from heaven, and not out of the tirewoman's basket, 
 and would last when fashions changed. It is remarkable that the 
 most naturally elegant and truly impassioned songs in the lan- 
 guage were written by a ploughman-lad in honor of the rustic 
 lasses around him. 
 
 If we regard the songs of Burns as so many pastoral pictures, we 
 will find that he has an eye for the beauties of nature as accurate and 
 as tasteful as the happiest landscape painter. Indeed, he seldom 
 gives us a finished image of female loveliness without the accom- 
 paniment of blooming flowers, running streams, waving woods, 
 and the melody of birds : this is the framework which sets off the 
 portrait. He has recourse rarely to embellishments borrowed from 
 art; the lighted hall and the thrilling strings are less to him than 
 a walk with her he loves by some lonely rivulet's side, when the 
 dews are beginning to glisten on the lilies and weigh them down, 
 and the moon is moving not unconsciously above them. In all 
 this we may recognize a true poet — one who felt that woman's 
 loveliness triumphed over these fragrant accompaniments, and 
 who regarded her still as the "blood-royal of life," the brightest 
 part of creation, 
 
 Those who desire to feel, in their full force, the songs of Burns, 
 must not hope it from scientific singers in the theatres. The right 
 scene is the pastoral gien ; the right tongue for utterance is that of 
 a shepherd lass ; and the proper song is that which belongs to her 
 present feelings. The gowany glen, the nibbling sheep, the warb- 
 ling birds, and the running stream, give the inanimate, while the 
 singer herself personates the living beauty of the song. I have 
 listened to a country girl singing one of his songs, while she spread . 
 her webs to bleach by a running stream — ignorant of her audi- 
 ence — with such feeling and effect as were quite overpowering. 
 7 
 
74 currie's iife aF robert burns. 
 
 This will keep the fame of Bums high among us ; should the 
 printer's ink dry up, ten thousand melodious tongues will preserve 
 his songs to remote generations. 
 
 The variety, too, of his lyrics is equal to their truth and beauty. 
 He has written songs which echo the feelings of every age and con- 
 dition in life. He personates all the passions of man and all the 
 gradations of affection. He sings the lover hastening through 
 storm and tempest to see the object of his attachment — the swell- 
 ing stream, the haunted wood, and the suspicious parents, are all 
 alike disregarded. He paints him again on an eve of July, when 
 the air is calm, the grass fragrant, and no sound is abroad save 
 ^he amorous cry of the partridge, enjoying the beauty of the eve- 
 ning as he steals by some unfrequented way to the trysting thorn, 
 whither his mistress is hastening ; or he limns him on a cold and 
 snowy night, enjoying a brief parley with her whom he loves, from 
 a cautiously opened window, which shows her white arm and 
 bright eyes, and the shadow perhaps of a more fortunate lover, 
 which accounts for the marks of feet impressed in the snow 
 on the way to her dwelling. Nor is he always sighing and 
 vowing : some of his heroes answer scorn with scorn, are saucy 
 with the saucy, and proud with the proud, and comfort themselves 
 with sarcastic comments on woman and her fickleness and folly ; 
 others drop all allegiance to that fantastic idol beauty, and while 
 mirth abounds, and " the wine-cup shines in light," find wondrous 
 solace. He laughs at the sex one moment, and adores them the 
 next — he ridicules and satirizes — he vows and entreats — he traduces 
 and he defies— all in a breath. Burns was intimate with the female 
 heart, and with the romantic mode of courtship practised in the 
 pastoral districts of Caledonia. He was early initiated into all the 
 mysteries of rustic love, and had tried his eloquence with such 
 success among the maidens of the land, that one of them said, 
 " Open your eyes and shut your ears with Bob Burns, and there's 
 nae fear o' your heart ; but close your eyes and open your ears, and 
 you'll lose it." 
 
 Of all lyric poets he is the most prolific and various. Of one 
 hundred and sixty songs which he communicated to Johnson's 
 Museum, all, save a score or so, are either his composition, or 
 ftmended with such skill and genius ns to be all but made his own. 
 For Thomson he wrote little short of a hundred. He took a pe- 
 culiar pleasure in ekeing out and amending the old and imperfect 
 Bongs of his country. He has exercised liis fancy and taste to a 
 greater extent that way than antiquarians either like or seem will- 
 ing to acknowledge. Scott, who performed for the ballads of 
 Scotland what Burns did for many of her songs, perceived this ; — 
 
CURRIE's life of ROBERT BURNS. 75 
 
 "The Scottish tunes and songs," he remarked, "preserved for 
 Burns that inexpressible charm which they have ever afforded to 
 his <!Ountrymen. He entered into the idea of collecting their frag- 
 ments with the zeal of an enthusiast ; and few^ whether serious or 
 humorous, passed through his hands without receiving some oi 
 those magic touches, which, without greatly altering the song, re- 
 stored its original spirit, or gave it more than it previously pos- 
 sessed. So dexterously are those touches combined with the an- 
 cient structure, that the rifacciamento^ in many instances, could 
 scarcely have been detected without th-e avowal of the Bard him- 
 self. Neither would it be easy to mark his share in the individual 
 ditties. Some he appears to have entirely rewritten ; to others he 
 added supplementary stanzas ; in some he retained only the lead- 
 ing lines and the chorus ; and others he merely arranged and orna- 
 mented." No one has ever equalled him in these exquisite imita- 
 tions : he caught up the peculiar spirit of the old song at once ; 
 he thought as his elder brother in rhyme thought, and communi- 
 cated an antique sentiment and tone to all the verses which he 
 added. Finer feeling, purer fancy, more exquisite touches of na- 
 ture, and more vigorous thoughts, were the result of this inter- 
 course. Burns found Scottish song like a fruit-tree in winter, not 
 dead, though nnbudded ; nor did he leave it till it was covered 
 with bloom and beauty. He sharpened the sarcasm, deepened tlie 
 passion, heightened the humor, and abated the indelicacy of his 
 country's lyrics. 
 
 '' To Burns's ear," says Wilson — a high judge in all poetic ques- 
 tions — "the lowly lays of Scotland were familiar, and most dear 
 were they all to his heart. Often had he ' sung aloud old songs 
 that are the music of the heart;' and, some day, to be able himself 
 to breathe such strains was his dearest, his highest ambition. His 
 genius and his moral frame were thus imbued with the spirit of our 
 old traditionary ballad poetry; and, as soon as all his passions were 
 ripe, the voice of song was on all occasions of deep and tender in- 
 terest — the voice of his daily, his nightly speech. Those old songa 
 were his models ; he felt as they felt, and looked up with the same 
 eyes on the same objects. So entirely was their language his lan- 
 guage, that all the beautiful lines, and half-lines, and single words 
 that, because of something in them most exquisitely true to nature, 
 had survived the rest of the compositions to which they had long 
 ago belonged, were sometimes adopted by him, almost uncon- 
 sciously it might seem, in his finest inspirations ; and oftener still 
 sounded in his ear like a key-note, on which he pitched his owu 
 plaintive tune of the heart till the voice and language of the old and 
 uew days were but as one." He never failed to surpass what ho 
 
76 currie's life of robert burns. 
 
 imitated ; he added fruit to the tree and fragrance to the flower. 
 That his songs are a solace to Scottish hearts in far lands we know 
 from many sources ; the poetic testimony of an inspired witness is 
 all we shall call for at present : — 
 
 " Encamped by Indian rivers wild, 
 The soldier, resting on his arms. 
 In Burns's carol sweet recalls 
 The scenes that blessed him when a child, 
 And glows and gladdens at the charms 
 Of Scotia's woods and waterfalls." 
 
 -A want of chivalry has been instanced lb a radical fault in the 
 lyrics of Burns. He certainly is not of the number who approach 
 beauty with much awe or reverence, and who raise loveliness into 
 an idol for man to fall down and worship. The polished courtesies 
 and romantic affectations of high society had not found their way 
 among the maidens of Kyle ; the midnight tryste, and the stolen 
 interview — the rapture to meet — and the anguish to part — the secret 
 vow, and the scarce audible whisper, were dear to their bosoms; 
 and they were unacquainted with moving in parallel lines, and 
 breathing sighs into roses, in the affairs of the heart. To draw a 
 magic circle of affection round those he loved, which could not be 
 passed without lowering them from the station of angels, forms no 
 part of the lyrical system of Burns's poetic wooing : there is no affec- 
 tation in him; he speaks like one unconscious of the veneered and 
 varnished civilities of artificial life ; he feels that true love is unac- 
 quainted with fashionable distinctions, and in all he has written 
 has thought but of the natural man and woman, and the unin- 
 fluenced emotions of the heart. Some have charged him with a 
 want of delicacy — an accusation easily answered : he is rapturous, 
 he is warmed, he is impassioned — his heart cannot contain its ec- 
 stasies ; he glows with emotion as a crystal goblet with wine ; but 
 in none of his best songs is there the least indelicacy. Love is with 
 him a leveller; passion and feeling are of themselves as little in- 
 fluenced by fashion and manners as the wind is in blowing, or the 
 Bun is in shining ; chivalry, and even notions of delicacy, are change- 
 able things ; our daughters speak no longer with the free tongues 
 of their great-grandmothers, and young men no longer challenge 
 wild lions, or keep dangerous castles, in honor of their ladies' eyes. 
 The prose of Burns has much of the original merit of his poetry; 
 but it is seldom so pure, so natural, and so sustained. It abounds 
 with bright bits, fine outflashings, gentle emotions, and uncommon 
 warmth and ardor. It is very unequal ; sometimes it is simple and 
 vigorous ; now and then inflated and cumbrous ; and he not seldom 
 labors to say weighty and decided things, in which a "doublo 
 
CURRIe's life of ROBERT BURNS. 77 
 
 double toil and trouble" sort of labor is visible. "But hundreds 
 even of his most familiar letters" — I adopt the words of Wilson— < 
 "are perfectly artless, though still most eloquent compositions. 
 Simple we may not call them, so rich are they in fancy, so over- 
 flowing in feeling, and dashed off in every other paragraph with 
 the easy boldness of a great master, conscious of his strength even 
 at times when, of all things in the world, he was least solicitous 
 about display ; while some there are so solemn, so sacred, so re- 
 ligious, that he who can read them with an unstirred heart can 
 have no trust, no hope, in the immortality of the soul." Those 
 who desire to feel him in Ids strength must taste him in his Scot- 
 tish spirit. There he spoke the language of life ; in English, he 
 Bpoke that of education; he had to think in the former before he 
 could express, himself in the latter. In the language in which his 
 mother sung and nursed him he excelled ; a dialect reckoned bar- 
 bafolisby^ctiolars, grew classic and elevated when uttered by the 
 tongue of Robert BuENS. "" ~" 
 
 Of the family and fame of the Poet something should be said. 
 Good and active friends bestirred themselves after his death : Cur- 
 rie munificently wrote his Life and edited his works ; Eobert, his 
 eldest son, was placed in the Stamp-office by Lord Sidmouth; 
 cadetships in India were generously obtained for William and 
 James by Sir James Shaw, who otherwise largely befriended the 
 family ; and Lord Panmure nobly presented one hundred pounds 
 annually to his widow, till the success of her sons in India enabled 
 them to interpose, and take — not without remonstrance — that pious 
 duty on themselves. The venerable Mrs. Burns Uyes* in the house 
 where her eminent husband died : all around her has an air of 
 comfort, and she has been enabled to save a small sum out of her 
 annual income; her brother, a London merchant of much respect- 
 ability, has long interested himself in her affairs ; and her brother- 
 in-law, Gilbert, died lately, after having established his family 
 successfully in the world. 
 
 The citizens of my native Dumfries feel the honor which the 
 Poet's aishes confer on them ; Mill-hole-brae has been named Burns- 
 street : the walks are reverenced where he loved to muse ; and 
 his grave may be traced by the well-trodden pathways which pass 
 the unnoticed tombs of the learned, the pious, the brave, and the 
 far-descended, and lead to that of the inspired Peasant. Honors 
 have elsewhere been liberally paid to his name ; a fair monument 
 is raised to him on the Doon; a noble statue, from the hand of 
 Flaxman, stands in Edinburgh ; and Burns-clubs celebrate his 
 
 * Mrs. Burns died 1834. 
 
78 currie's life of Robert burns. 
 
 birthday in the chief towns and cities of Britain. On the banks of 
 the Amazon, Mississippi, St. Lawrence, Indus, and tlie Ganges, 
 liis name is annually invoked and his songs sung ; Wordsworth, 
 Coleridge, and Campbell, have celebrated him in verse; statues 
 are made from his chief characters ; pictures painted from his vivid 
 delineations ; and even the rafters of Alloway-kirk have been 
 formed into ornaments for the necks of ladies, and quaighs for the 
 bands of men. Such is the influence of genius ! 
 
 The following beautiful tribute to the memory U Burns is by 
 Mr. Eoscoe : 
 
 Rear high thy bleak majestic hills, 
 
 Thy sheltered valleys proudly spread, 
 And, Scotia, pour thy thousand rills. 
 
 And wave thy heaths with blossoms red : 
 But, ah ! what poet now shall tread 
 
 Thy airy heights, thy woodland reign, 
 Since he, the sweetest bard, is dead, 
 
 That ever breathed the soothing strain ! 
 
 As green thy towering pines may grow, 
 
 As clear thy streams may speed along, 
 As bright thy summer suns may glow. 
 
 As gayly charm thy feathery throng ; 
 But now, unheeded is the song, 
 
 And dull and lifeless all around. 
 For his wild harp lies all unstrung, 
 
 And cold the hand that waked its sound. 
 
 What though thy vigorous offspring rise, 
 
 In arts, in arms, thy sons excel ; 
 Though beauty in thy daughters' eyes, 
 
 And health in every feature dwell ; 
 Yet who shall now their praises tell. 
 
 In strains impassioned, fond, and free. 
 Since he no more the song shall swell 
 
 To love, and liberty, and thee ! 
 
 With step-dame eye and frown severe 
 
 Ills hapless youth why didst thou view f 
 For all thy joys to him were dear, 
 
 And all his vows to thee were due : 
 Nor greater bliss his bosom knew. 
 
 In opening youth's delightful prime. 
 Than when thy favoring ear he drew 
 
 To listen to his chanted rhyme. 
 
 Thy lonely wastes and frowning skies 
 
 To him were all with rapture fraught ' 
 He heard with joy the tempest rise 
 
 That waked him to sublimer thought * 
 
CURRIe's life of ROBERT BURNS. 79 
 
 And oft thy winding dells he sought, 
 Where wild-flowers poured their rath perfume, 
 
 And with sincere devotion brought 
 To thee the summer's earliest bloom. 
 
 But ah I no fond maternal smile 
 
 His unprotected youth enjoyed ; 
 His limbs inured to early toil, 
 
 His days with eqjly hardships tried I 
 And more to tnark the gloomy void, 
 
 And l)id him feel his misery. 
 Before his infant eyes would glide 
 
 Day-dreams of immortality. 
 
 Yet, not by cold neglect depressed, 
 
 With sinewy arm he turned the soil, 
 Sunk with the evening sun to rest, 
 
 And met at morn his earliest smile. 
 ITaked by his rustic pipe meanwhile, 
 
 The powers of fancy came along. 
 And soothed his lengthened hours of toil 
 
 With native wit and sprightly song. 
 
 — Ah ! days of bliss too swiftly fled. 
 
 When vigorous health from labor sprinfjfs, 
 And bland Contentment soothes the bed, 
 
 And Sleep his ready opiate brings; 
 And hovering round on airy wings 
 
 Float the light forms of young Desire, 
 That of unutterable things 
 
 The soft and shadowy hope inspire. 
 
 Now spells of mightier power prepare. 
 
 Bid brighter phantoms round him dance* 
 Let Flattery spread her viewless snare. 
 
 And Fame attract his vagrant glance: 
 Let sprightly Pleasure too advance, 
 
 Unveiled her eyes, unclasped her zone. 
 Till lost in love's delirious trance, 
 
 He scorn the joys his youth has known. 
 
 Let Friendship pour her brightest blaze. 
 
 Expanding all the bloom of soul; 
 And Mirth concentre all her rays, 
 
 And point them from the sparkling bowl; 
 And let the careless moments roll 
 
 In social pleasures unconfined, 
 And confidence that spurns control 
 
 Unlock the inmost springs of mind I 
 
 And lead his steps those bowers among, 
 
 Where elegance with splendor vies, 
 Or Science bids her favored throng 
 
 To more refined sensations rise :. 
 Beyond the peasant's humbler joys. 
 
 And freed from each laborious strife, 
 There let him learn the bliss to prize 
 
 That waits the sons of polished life. 
 
60 CURRIe's life of ROBERT BURNS, 
 
 Then, whilst his throbbing veins beat high 
 
 With every impulse of delight, 
 Dash from his lips the cup of joy, 
 
 And shroud the scene in shades of night ; 
 And let Despair with wizard light 
 
 Disclose the yawning gulf below, 
 And pour incessant on his sight 
 
 Her spectred ills and shapes of woe : 
 
 And show beneath a cheerless shed, 
 
 With sorrowing heart and streaming ey— 
 In silent grief where droops her head. 
 
 The partner of his early joys ; 
 And let his infants' tender cries 
 
 His fond parental succor claim. 
 And bid him hear in agonies 
 
 A husband's and a father's name. 
 
 'Tis done, the powerful charm succeeds ; 
 
 His high reluctant spirit bends ; 
 In bitterness of soul he bleeds, 
 
 •Nor longer with his fate contends. 
 An idiot laugh the welkin rends. 
 
 As Genius thus degraded lies ; 
 Till pitying Heaven the veil extends 
 
 That shrouds the Poet's ardent eyes. 
 
 Rear high thy bleak majestic hills. 
 
 Thy shelter'd valleys proudly spread, 
 And, Scotia, pour thy thousand rills. 
 
 And wave thy heaths with blossoms red 
 But never more shall poet tread 
 
 Thy airy heights, thy woodland reign, 
 Since he, the sweetest bard, is dead 
 
 That ever breathed the soothlog Btrfliti. 
 
PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. 
 
 The following trifles are not the production of the poet, who, 
 ^ith all the advantages of learned art, and perhaps amid the 
 elegances and idlenesses of upper life, looks down for a rural 
 theme, with an eye to Theocritus or Virgil. To the Author of 
 this, these and other celebrated names, their countrymen, are, 
 at least in their original language, a fountain shut up, and a hook 
 sealed. Unacquainted with the necessary requisites for com- 
 mencing 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 rhymer from his ear- 
 liest years, at least from the earliest impulses of the softer pas- 
 sion, 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 worth showing ; and none of the 
 following works were 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 vari- 
 ous 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 poeti- 
 cal mind ; — these were his motives for courting the Muses, and 
 in these he found Poetry to be its 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 rhym- 
 ing tribe, that even he, an obscure, nameless Bard, shrinks 
 aghast at the thought of being branded as — an impertinent 
 blockhead, obtruding his nonsense on the world ; and, because 
 he can make a shift to jingle a few doggerel Scottish rhymes 
 
82 PREFACE. 
 
 together, looking upon himself as a Poet of no small conse- 
 quence forsooth ! 
 
 It is an observation of that celebrated poet, Shenstone, whose 
 divine Elegies do honor to our language, our nation, and our 
 species, that ^^ Humility has depressed many a genius to a her- 
 mit, but never raised one to fame !" If any critic catches at 
 the word genius, the Author tells him, once for all, that he cer- 
 tainly looks upon himself as possessed of some poetic abilities, 
 otherwise his publishing in the manner he has done would be 
 a manoeuvre below the worst character, which, he hopes, his 
 worst enemy will ever give him. But to the genius of a Eam- 
 say, or the glorious dawnings of the poor, unfortunate Fergus- 
 son, he w4th equal, unaffected sincerity, declares, that even in 
 his highest pulse of vanity, he has not the most distant preten- 
 sions. These two justly admired Scottish 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 owes 
 to benevolence and friendship, for gratifying him, if he deserves 
 it, in that dearest wish of every poetic bosom — to be distin- 
 guished. 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 dullness and nonsense, let him be done by as he 
 would in that case do by others — let him be condemned, with- 
 out mercy, to contempt and oblivion. 
 
DEDICATION TO THE SECOND EDITION. 
 
 TO THE NOBLEMEN AND GENTLEMEN OF THE CALEDONIAI^ 
 
 HUNT. 
 My Lords and Gentlemen — 
 
 A Scottish Bard, proud of the name, and whose 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 honors and in- 
 herit the virtues of their Ancestors ? The Poetic Genius of my Country found 
 me, as the prophetic bard Elijah did Elisha— at the plough ; and threw her 
 inspiring mantle over me. She bade me sing the loves, the joys, the rural 
 scenes and rural pleasures of my native 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 honored pro- 
 tection. 
 
 Though much indebted to your goodness, I do not approach you, my Lords 
 and Gentlemen, in the usual style of Dedication, to thank you for past favors. 
 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 favors. 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 honor, the Monarch 
 of the universe, for your welfare and happiness. 
 
 When you go forth to waken the Echoes, in the ancient and favorite amuse • 
 ment of your forefathers, may Pleasure ever be of your party ; and may social 
 Joy await your return 1 When harassed in courts or camps with the jostlings 
 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 I May Corruption shrink at your 
 kindling, indignant glance ! and may Tyranny in the Ruler, and Licentious 
 ness in the People, equally find you an inexorable foe ! 
 I have the honor to be, 
 With the sincerest gratitude, and highest respect, 
 My Lords and Gentlemen, 
 
 Your most devoted, humble Servant, 
 
 KOBERT BURNS. 
 Ediiiburgh, April 4, 17S7. 
 
POEMS, 
 
 CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 
 
 THE TWA DOGS. 
 
 'TwAS ill that place o'^ Scotland's isle, 
 That bears the name o' Auld King Coil, 
 Upon a bonnie day in June, 
 "When wearing thro' the afternoon, 
 Twa dogs that were na thrang at hame,'* 
 Forgathered^ ance upon a time. 
 
 The first I'll name, they ca'd him Ccesar^ 
 Was keepit for his honor's pleasure ; 
 His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs,* 
 Show'd he was nane o' Scotland's dogs. 
 But whalpit* some place far abroad, 
 Where sailors gang to fish for cod. 
 
 His locked, letter'd, braw^ brass collar, 
 Show'd him the gentleman and scholar ; 
 But though he was o' high degree. 
 The fient^ a pride nae pride had he ; 
 But wad hae* spent an hour caressing 
 Ev'n wi' a tinkler-gipsy's messin' :^ 
 At kirk or market, mill or smiddie,^"* 
 ITae tawted" tyke,'^ tho' e'er sae duddie," 
 But he wad stan't," as glad to see him. 
 And stroan't^* on stanes and hillocks^*^ wi' him. 
 
 The tither" was a ploughman's collie,*® 
 A rhyming, ranting, roaring billie,*'' 
 
 ' Of.-— 2 Had nothing to do at home.— s Met.— ^ Ears.— 5 Whelped.— 
 « Large, handsome.—''' Fiend, devil.— ^ Would have. — ^ A small dog. — 
 -° Smithy, or smith's workshop. — ^ Having the hair matted together. — 
 ^2 Dog.— 13 Eagged.— 14 Stand, or stop.— is^To piss.— le Stones and littla 
 bills. — 17 The other. — i^ A country cur.— i^ A young fellow. 
 8 
 
86 BURXS'S POEMS. 
 
 Wha for his friend an' comrade had him, 
 And in his freaks had Luath caM him, 
 After some dog in Highland sang,^ 
 Was made lang syne* — Lord knows how lang. 
 
 He was a gash^ and faithful tyke, 
 As ever lap* a sheugh* or dyke. 
 His honest, sonsie,^ baws'nt' face, 
 Ay gat him friends in ilka® place. 
 His breast was white, his touzie^ back 
 "Weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black ; 
 His gawcie^° tail, wi' upward curl, 
 Hung o'er his hurdles^* wi' a swirl.^^ 
 
 Nae doubt but they were fain o' ither," 
 An' unco pack and thick" thegither ; 
 Wi' social nose whyles^^ snuff't and snowkit,^* 
 Whyles" mice and moudieworts^* they howkit ;^* 
 Whyles scour'd awa in lang excursion, 
 An' worried ither in diversion ; 
 Until wi' daffin"" weary grown. 
 Upon a knowe" they sat them down. 
 And there began a lang digression 
 About the Lords <?' the Creation, 
 
 I've aften wonder' d, honest Luath, 
 What sort o' life poor dogs like you have ; 
 An' when the gentry's life I saw, 
 AVhat way poor bodies liv'd ava.^' 
 
 Our laird gets in his racked rents. 
 His coals, his kain,'^ and 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 bonnie silken purse 
 As lang 's my tail, where, thro' the steeks,'' 
 The yellow-letter'd Geordie keeks.* 
 
 * 'Cachullin's dog in Ossian's Fingal. — * Long since. — ' Sagacious.— 
 '* Leaped.— 5 Trench, or sluice.— « Engaging. — ' Having a white stripe down 
 the face. — ^ Every.— » Shaggy.— 1° Large.— ii Loins.— la Curve.— ^3 Fond 
 of each other. — i* And very intimate. — '^ Sometimes. — *« Scented.— 
 ^"^ Sometimes. — '^ Moles. — ^^ Digged. — ^o Merriment, foolishness. — ^i ^ 
 ^Bmall hillock.— 22 At all.— 23 Fowls, &c., paid as rent by a farmer.- 2* Trib- 
 ute, dues of any kind.— 26 Livery-servants.— 2 8 Calls.— 27 Stitches.— 28 Peeps. 
 
MSCELLANEOUS. 87 
 
 Frae morn to e'en it's nought but toiling, 
 At baking, roasting, frying, boiling ; 
 An' tho' the gentry first are stechin',^ 
 Yet ev'n the ha' folk^ fill their pechan* 
 Wi' sauce, ragouts, and sic like thrastrie, 
 That 's little short o' downright wastrie. 
 Our whipper-in, wee* blastit^ wonner,* 
 Poor worthless elf, it eats a dinner. 
 Better than onie 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. 
 
 Trowth, CcTBsar, whyles they 're fasht^ eneugh, 
 A cotter howkin^" in a sheugh," 
 "Wi' dirty stanes biggin'^^ a dyke. 
 Baring a quarry, and sic like, 
 Himself, a wife, he thus sustains, 
 A smytrie^^ o' wee duddie weans," 
 An' nought but his ban' darg,^^ to keep 
 Them right and tight in thack an' rape." 
 
 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 and hunger. 
 But how it comes I never kenn'd yet, 
 They 're maistly wonderfu' contented ; 
 And buirdly chiels,^^ and clever hizzies," 
 Are bred in sic a way as this is. 
 
 But then to see how ye 're negleckit, 
 How liuflTd, and cuff'd, and disrespeckit ! 
 L — d, man, our gentry care but little 
 For del vers, ditchers, and sic cattle ; 
 They gang as saucy by poor folk. 
 As I wad by a stinking brock.^° 
 
 1 Cramming.— 2 Hall-folk, servants.— ^ Stomach.— ^ Inttle.— * Blasted.— 
 • A contemptuous appellation. — '' Put. — ^ Paunch.— « Troubled. — 1° Digging. 
 — 11 Trench.— 12 Building. — 13 A numerous collection of small individuals. 
 —^4 Ragged children. — i^ Day's work. — ^^ Clothing, necessaries.— i'' Must 
 — '^ Stout-made young men. — i^ Hus&ies, young women. — 20 ^ badger. 
 
88 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 I've noticed, on our laird's court-day^ 
 And monie a time my heart 's been wae, 
 Pojor tenant bodies, scant o' cash, 
 How they maun thole* a factor's snash :^ 
 He '11 stamp an' threaten, curse an' swear, 
 He '11 apprehend, them, poind^ their gear ; 
 While they maun stan', wi' aspect humble. 
 An' hear it a', an' fear an' tremble ! 
 
 I see how folk live that hae riches ; 
 But surely poor folk maun be wretches ? 
 
 They 're nae sae wretched 's ane wad think ; 
 Tho' constantly on poortith's* brink : 
 They 're sae accustom'd wi' the sight, 
 The view o't gies them little fright. 
 
 Then chance an' fortune are sae guided, 
 They 're ay in less or mair provided ; 
 An' tho' fatigued wi' close employment, 
 A blink o' rest 's a sweet enjoyment. 
 
 The dearest comfort o' their lives. 
 Their grushie^ weans" an' faithfu' wives ; 
 The prattling things are just their pride. 
 That sweetens a' their fireside. 
 
 An' whyles twalpennie-worth o' nappie' 
 Can make the bodies unco® happy ; 
 They lay aside their private cares, 
 To mind the kirk and state affairs ; 
 They '11 talk o' patronage and priests, 
 Wi' kindling fury in their breasts, 
 Or tell what new taxation 's comin', 
 An' ferlie' at tho folk in Lon'on. 
 
 As bleak-faced Hallowmas returns, 
 They get the jovial, rantin' kirns,*** 
 When rural life o' every station, 
 Unite in common recreation : 
 Love blinks, wit slaps, and social mirth, 
 Forgets there 's care upo' the earth. 
 
 That merry day the year begins. 
 They bar the door on frosty winds; 
 
 growth 
 
 Suffer, endure.— 2 Abuse. — 3 To seize for rent. — * Poverty.— ^ Of thriving 
 wth.— 8 Children.— '^ Ale.— ^ yery.— 8 Wonder.— ^ " The harvest supper 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 89 
 
 The nappie reeks wi' mantling ream,* 
 And sheds a heart-inspiring steam ; 
 The luntin'" pip©? and sneeshin' mill,' 
 Are handed round wi' right guid will ; 
 The can tie* auld folks cracking crouse, 
 The young anes ranting thro' the house — 
 My heart has been sae fain° to see them, 
 That I for joy hae barkit' wi' them. 
 
 Still 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 and branch. 
 Some rascal's pridefu' greed" to quench, 
 Wha thinks to knit himsel the faster 
 Tn favor wi' some gentle master, 
 Wha, aiblins," thrang a-parliamentin\ 
 For Britain's guid^^. his saul indentin'*^ — 
 
 CiESAR. 
 
 Ilaith," lad, ye little ken about it; 
 For Britain's gmd ! guid faith I doubt it : 
 Say rather, gaun^* as Premiers lead him, 
 An' saying aye or no 's they bid him : 
 At operas an' plays parading. 
 Mortgaging, gambling, masquerading; 
 Or maybe, in a frolic daft,^^ 
 To Hague or Calais takes a waft. 
 To make a tour, and tak a whirl, 
 To learn Ion ton^ an' see the worl'. 
 
 There at Vienna or Versailles, 
 He rives" his father's auld entails ; 
 Or by Madrid he takes the rout, 
 To thrum guitars, an' fecht*® wi' nowt;" 
 Or down Italian vista startles, 
 Wh-re-hunting among groves o' myrtles : 
 Then bouses drumly^° German water. 
 To mak himsel look fair and fatter, 
 
 I To foam, or froth.— 2 Smoking.— 3 Snuff-box.— t Cheerful— » Conversingi 
 merrily.— « Glad, happy.— ^ Shouted, hallooed.— « Over.- » Respectable. — 
 10 Avarice, selfishness. — 11 Perhaps.— 12 Good. — 13 Making a bargain, or sell' 
 ing his vote for seven years. — i* A petty oath. — ^^ Going. — i^ Mad, foolish.— 
 ^7 Divides and squanders. — is Fight.— i' Black cattle; in allusion to the. 
 Spanish bull-fights.— 20 Muddy. 
 
DO BURNS S POEMS. 
 
 An' clear the consequential sorrows, 
 Love-gifts of carnival signoras. 
 For Britain^s guid ! for her destruction I 
 "VVi' dissipation, feud, an' faction. 
 
 LUATH. 
 
 Hech^ man ! dear sirs ! is that the gate* 
 They waste sae monie a braw^ estate ! 
 Are we sae foughten'' an' harassed 
 For gear to gang that gate at last I 
 
 O, would they stay aback frae courts, 
 An' please themselves wi' countra^ sports, 
 It wad for ev'ry ane be better, 
 The laird, the tenant, an' the cotter \^ 
 For thae"^ frank, rantin', ramblin' billies,® 
 Fient haet* o' them 's ill-hearted fellows : 
 Except for breakin' o' their timmer,^" 
 Or speakin' lightly o' their limmer,^* 
 Or sliootin' o' a hare or moor-cock. 
 The ne'er a bit they 're ill to poor folk. 
 
 But will you tell me, master Csesar, 
 Sure great folk's life 's a life o' pkasure ? 
 Nae cauld or hunger e'er can steer them, 
 The very thought o't need na fear them. 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 L — d, man, were ye but whyles" whare I am, 
 The gentles ye wad ne'er envy 'em. 
 
 It 's true they need na starve or sAveat, 
 Thro' winter's cauld, or simmer's heat ; 
 They 've nae sair wark to craze their banes, 
 An' fill auld age wi' gripes an' granes : 
 But human bodies are sic fools, 
 For a' their colleges and schools. 
 That when nae real ills perplex them. 
 They make enow themsels to vex them ; 
 An' ay 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 right eneugh ; 
 A country-girl at her wheel, 
 
 ' Oh ! strange.— 2 The way.— » Large.—* Troubled.— « Country.—' Cot- 
 itegcr. — '' These. — ^ Young ntien. — * A petty oath of neq:ation.— i" Timber.— 
 -* A strumpet, or kept mistress.— i'' Sometimes.— i' To trouble or molest. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 91 
 
 Her dizzen 's* done, she 's unco weel :* 
 But gentlemen, an' ladies warst, 
 Wi' ev'ndown want cr' wark are curst; 
 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' e'en their sports, their balls, an' races, 
 Their galloping thro' public places ; 
 There 's sic* parade, sic pomp an' art, 
 The joy can scarcely reach the heart. 
 The men cast out in party matches, 
 Then souther* a' in deep debauches ; 
 Ae® night they 're mad wi' drink an' wh-ring, 
 Niest^ day their life is past enduring. 
 The ladies arm-in-arm in clusters. 
 As great and gracious a' as sisters ; 
 But hear their absent thoughts o' ither. 
 They 're a' run deils^ an' jades thegither. 
 "Whyles o'er the wee bit cup an' platie,* 
 They sip the scandal potion pretty : 
 Or lee-lang^° nights, wi' crabbit leuks, 
 Pore owre the devil's pictur'd beuks ;" 
 Stake on a chance a farmer's stack-yard. 
 An' cheat like onie unhang'd blackguard. 
 
 There 's some exception, man an' >voman ; 
 But this is gentry's life in common. 
 By this, the sun was out o' sight. 
 An' darker gloaming^^ brought the night ; 
 The bum-clock^^ humm'd wi' lazy drone ; 
 The kye^* stood routin' i' the loan ;^* 
 "When up they gat, and shook their lugs,^^ 
 Eejoiced they were na men but dogs ; 
 An' each took aff his several way, 
 Eesolved to meet some ither day. 
 
 1 A dozen.— 2 Yery happy.— 3 Tho deuce of any thing.— ^ Saeh.— *» Solder, 
 cement.— « One.— 'J' Next.— » Eight-down devils.— » Cup and saucer.— 
 »o Live-long.— 11 Playing cards.— 12 Twilight— 13 A humming beetle that 
 flies in the summer evenings.— i* Cows.— i^ Lowing in the place of milking.— 
 16 Ears. 
 
92 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 TAM 0' SHANTER. 
 
 A TALE. 
 
 Uf Brownyis and of Bogilis full is this Buke. — Gawin Bouglcu. 
 
 When" chapman billies^ leave the street, 
 And drouthy neebors neebors meet, 
 As market-days are wearing late. 
 An' folk begin to tak the gate \^ 
 While we sit bousing at the nappy, 
 An' getting fou and unco happy, 
 We think na on the lang Scots miles. 
 The mosses, waters, slaps,^ and styles, 
 That lie between us and our hame, 
 ■ Whare sits our sulky, sullen dame, 
 Gath'ring her brows like gath'ring storm, 
 Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. 
 
 This truth fand'' honest Tain o' Shanter^ 
 As he, frae Ayr, ae^ night did canter, 
 (Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses, 
 For honest men and bonnie lasses.) 
 
 O Tarn ! hadst thou but been sae wise. 
 As taen thy ain wife Kate's advice ! 
 She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum,* 
 A bleth'ring, blust'ring, drunken blellum ;^ 
 That frae November till October, 
 Ae market-day thou was na sober. 
 That ilka® melder," wi' the miller. 
 Thou sat as lang as thou had siller: 
 That every naig was ca'd a shoe on, 
 The smith and thee gat roaring fou^° on: 
 That at the L — d's house, ev'n on Sunday, 
 Thou drank wi' Kirton Jean till Monday. 
 She prophesied, that, late or soon, 
 Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doon; 
 Or catch'd wi' warlocks^^ in tlie mirk,^' 
 By Alloway's auld haunted kirk. 
 
 * Hawkers, or peddlers.— ^ To gc their way. — 3 Gates. — "* Found. — » On©.— 
 • A worthless fellow. — ' A nonsensical, idle-talking fellow.— » Every. — • A 
 prist, or small quantity of corn taken to the mill to be ground.— ^ ''Drunk.— 
 " Wizards.— ^2 Dark. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 93 
 
 Ah, gentle dames ! it gars me greet,* 
 To think how monie counsels sweet, 
 How monie lengthen^ sage advices, 
 The husband frae the wife despises ! 
 
 But to our tale : Ae* market night, 
 Tarn had got planted unco right, 
 Fast by an ingle, ^ bleezing finely, 
 Wi' reaming swats,* that drank divinely ; 
 And at his elbow souter^ Johnny, 
 His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony ; 
 Tarn lo'ed him like a vera brither ; 
 They had been fou for weeks thegither. 
 The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter ; 
 And ay the ale was growing better : 
 The landlady and Tarn grew gracious, 
 "Wi' favors secret, sweet, and precious ; 
 The souter tauld his queerest stories ; 
 The landlord's laugh was ready chorus ; 
 The storm without might rair^ and rustle, 
 Tam did na mind the storm a whistle. 
 
 Care, mad to see a man sae happy. 
 E'en drown'd himself amang the nappy ; 
 As bees flee liame wi' lades'^ o' treasure, 
 The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure ; 
 Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious, 
 ^ O'er a' the ills o' life victorious. 
 
 But pleasures are like poppies spread,^ 
 You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed ; 
 Or like the snow-falls in the river, 
 A moment white — then melts forever ; 
 Or like the borealis race, 
 That flit ere you can point their place ; 
 Or like the rainbow's lovely form, 
 Evanishing amid the storm — 
 Nae man can tether time or tide ; 
 The hour approaches Tam maun ride ; 
 That hour o' night's black arch the key-stane, 
 That dreary hour he mounts his beast in ; 
 And sic a night he takes the road in. 
 As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. 
 
 » Makes me ween —2 One.— ^ Fireplace.— ^ Frothing ale.— ^ A sLoemakez. 
 -- Koar.— ' Loads, 
 
94 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last ; 
 The rattling showers rose on the blast ; 
 The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd ; 
 Loud, deep, and lang, the thunder bellow'd: * 
 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,) 
 Tarn skelpit^ on thro' dub and mire, 
 Despising wind, and rain, and fire ; 
 Whyles'* holding fast his guid blue bonnet ; 
 Whyles crooning^ o'er some auld Scots sonnet; 
 Whyles glow'ring* round wi' prudent cares, 
 Lest bogles^ catch him unawares ; 
 Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh, 
 Where ghaists and houlets° nightly cry. — 
 
 By this time he was cross the ford, 
 Whare in the snaw the chapman"^ smoor'd ;* 
 And past the birks^ and meikle stane,^° 
 Whare drunken Charlie brak 's neck bane ; 
 And thro' the whins," and by the cairn,^^ 
 Whare hunters fand^^ the murder'd bairn ; 
 And near the thorn, aboon" the well, 
 Whare Mungo's mither hang'd hersel. — 
 Before him Doon pours all his floods ; 
 The doubling storm roars thro' tlie woods • 
 The lightnings flash from pole to pole; 
 ^ear and more near the thunders roll ; 
 When glimmering thro' the groaning trees, 
 Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze ; 
 Thro' ilka^^ bore^^ the beams were glancing; 
 And loud resounded mirth and dancing. — 
 
 Inspiring bold John Barleycorn ! 
 What dangers thou canst make us scorn ! 
 Wi' tippenny," we fear nae evil ; 
 Wi' usquabae," we '11 face the Devil ! — 
 The swats sae rcam'd^" in Tammie's noddle, 
 Fair play, lie cared na Deils a bodle.^ 
 
 1 Galloped.—^ Sometimes.— ^ Humming a tune. — * Looking.—* Spirits, 
 hobgoblins.— 8 Owls.-' A travelling peddler. — s \yag smothered.— » Birch 
 trees. — i" A largo stone. — ^^ Furze.— ^'^ A heap of stones.- ^^ Found.— 
 14 Above.— 16 Every.— 1« A hole in the wall.— i^ Ale.— is Whisky.— is The 
 ftle so foamed. — ^o ^ small copper coin. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 95 
 
 But Maggie stood right sair astonish'd, 
 Till, by the heel and hand admonished, 
 She ventured forward on the light ; 
 And, vow ! Tarn saw an unco^ sight ; 
 Warlocks'^ and witches in a dance ; 
 ISTae cotillon brent new^ frae France, 
 But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels, 
 Put life and mettle in their heels. 
 A winnock-bunker* in the east, 
 There sat auld Nick, in shape o' beast ; 
 A towzie tyke,® black, grim, and large, 
 To gie them music was his charge ; 
 He screwed the pipes and gart^ them skirl,' 
 Till roof an' rafters a' did dirl.® — 
 Coffins stood round like open presses. 
 That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses ; 
 And by some devilish cantrip* slight. 
 Each in its cauld hand held a light, — 
 By which, heroic Tam was able 
 To note upon the haly^" table, 
 A murderer's banes in gibbet aims ;" 
 Twa span-lang, wee,^^ unchristen'd bairns ; 
 A thief, new cutted fra a rape,^* 
 Wi' his last gasp his gab^* did gape ; 
 Five tomahawks, wi' bluid red rusted ; 
 Five scymitars, wi' murder crusted ; 
 A garter, which a babe had strangled ; 
 A knife a father's throat had mangled, 
 Whom his ain son o' life bereft, 
 The gray hairs yet stack to the heft ; 
 Three lawyers' tongues turn'd inside out, 
 AVi' lies seam'd like a beggar's clout. 
 And priests' hearts, rotten, black as muck. 
 Lay stinking, vile, in every neuk : 
 Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu'. 
 Which ev'n to name wad be unlawfu'. 
 
 As Tammie glower'd,^^ amazed and curious, 
 The mirth and fun grew fast and furious ; 
 The piper loud and louder blew ; 
 
 * Strange, frightful. — 2 "Wizards.— s Quite new.—'* Window-seal. — * A 
 ftliaggy dog.— « Made, forced.— ^ To make a shrill noise.— ^ Tremble.— » A 
 charm or spell.— 1° Holy.— 11 Irons.- 12 Little.— 1 3 Eope.— 1* Mouth.— 
 6 Stared. 
 
96 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 The dancers quick and quicker flew ; 
 
 They reePd, they set, they cross'd, they cleekit,* 
 
 Till ilka carlin swat and reekit,'' 
 
 And coost her duddies^ to the wark, 
 
 And linket* at it in her sark.** 
 
 Kow Tam, O Tarn ! had they been qi.eans, 
 A' plump and strapping in their teens ; 
 Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen,* 
 Been snaw-white seventeen-hunder linen ;' 
 Thir® breeks o' mine, my only pair, 
 That ance were plush, o' guid blue hair, 
 I wad hae gi'en them aff ray hurdles,® 
 For ae blink o' the bonnie burdies !" 
 
 But wither'd beldams, auld and droll, 
 Eigwoodie hags" wad spean a^^ foal, 
 Lowping*^ an' flinging on a crummock," 
 I wonder did na turn thy stomach. 
 
 But Tam kenn'd what was what fu' brawlie," 
 There was ae winsome^^ wench and walie," 
 That night inlisted in the core, 
 (Lang after kenn'd'® on Carrick shore ! 
 For monie a beast to dead she shot. 
 And perish'd monie a bonnie boat. 
 And shook baith meikle corn and bear," 
 And kept the country-side in fear,) 
 Her cutty-sark*' o' Paisley harn,'^ 
 That while a lassie she had worn. 
 In longitude tho' sorely scant}^. 
 It was her best, and she was vauntie." 
 Ah ! little kenn'd*' thy reverend grannie. 
 That sark she coft'** for her wee Nannie, 
 "Wi' twa pund Scots'" ('twas a' her riches), 
 "Wad ever graced a dance o' witches ! 
 
 But here my Muse her wing maun cower ; 
 Sic flights are far beyond her power ; 
 To sing how Nannie lap*" and flang, 
 
 » Caught.— 2 Till every old woman was in a reeking sweat,— 3 Cast off hci 
 rags. — * Tripped.—* Shirt.— « Greasy flannel.— 'Linen of the finest quality.— 
 8 These.— » The loins, &c.— i" Plural of burd, a damsel.— ^^ Gallows hags.— 
 ^2 To wean. — i' Leaping. — ^* A cow with crooked horns. — ^^ Full well— 
 ^^ One hearty. — ^^ Jolly. — ^^ Seen or known. — ^^ Much corn and barley.— 
 2 Short shirt— 21 Paisley linen.— ^^ Proud of it— ^3 Thought, or knew,— 
 »4 Bought— 2* Two pounds Scotch, 8s. id. sterling.- 2<» Leaped. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 07 
 
 (A souple jad she was and Strang,) 
 
 And how Tarn stood, like ane bewitch'd, 
 
 And thought his very een enrich'd ; 
 
 Ev'n Satan glower'd,* and fidged fu' fain,' 
 
 And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main : 
 
 Till first ae caper, syne' anither, 
 
 Tarn tint* his reason a' thegither, 
 
 And roars out, Weel done, Gutty-sarlc !^ 
 
 And in an instant a' was dark : 
 
 And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, 
 
 When out the hellish legion sallied. 
 
 As bees biz out wi' angry fyke,° 
 When plundering herds assail their byke ;' 
 As open pussie's® mortal foes. 
 When, pop ! she starts before their nose ; 
 As eager runs the market-crowd. 
 When Catch the thief! resounds aloud ; 
 So Maggie runs, the witches follow, 
 Wi' monie an eldritch" skreech and hollow. 
 
 Ah, Tarn! ah, Tam! thou '11 get thy fairin'!" 
 In hell they '11 roast thee like a herrin' ! 
 In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin' ! 
 Kate soon will be a woefu' woman ! 
 Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, 
 And win the key-stane" of the brig :. 
 There at them thou thy tail may toss, 
 A running stream they dare na cross. 
 But ere the key-stane she could make, 
 The fient a tail she had to shake ; 
 For Nannie, far before the rest, 
 Hard upon noble Maggie prest, 
 And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle ;^'^ 
 But little wist she Maggie's mettle — 
 Ae spring brought aff her master hale, 
 
 1 Looked on with rapture.— 2 Manifested a fidgety kind of joy or pleasure.— 
 • Then. — * Lost. — ^ Short shirt— « In a great fuss. — "" A bee-hive. — ^ ^ hoitey 
 —9 Frightful, ghastly.— 10 Get the reAvard of thy temerity. 
 
 *i It 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 hogles, whatever danger may be in his going foiw 
 ward, there is much more hazard in turning back. 
 
 12 Attempt. 
 
98 BURXS'S POEMS. 
 
 But left behind her ain gray tail : 
 The carlin claught* her by the rump, 
 And left poor Maggie scarce a stump. 
 
 Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read, 
 Ilk'' man and mother's son take heed : 
 Whene'er to drink you are inclined, 
 Or cutty-sarks run in your mind. 
 Think, ye may buy the joys o'er dear, 
 Eemember Tam o' Shanter's mare.' 
 
 1 Laid hold of.— 2 Every. 
 
 3 Died at Locliwinnoch, on the 9th inst. (August, 1828,) Thomas Eoid, 
 laborer. He was born on the 21st of October, 1745, in the clachan of Kyle, 
 Ayrshire. The importance attached to this circumstance arises from his 
 being the celebrated equestrian hero of Burns's Poem " Tam O'Shanter." He 
 has at length surmounted the " mosses, rivers, slaps, and styles" of life. For 
 a considerable time by-past he has been in the service of Major Hervey, ol 
 Castle-Semple, nine months of which he has been incapable of labor; and 
 to the honor of Mr. Hervey be it named, he has, with a fostering and lauda- 
 ble generosity, soothed, as far as it was in his power, the many ills of age 
 and disease. He, however, still retained the desire of being " fou' for weeks 
 thegither.^''— Glasgow Chronicle. Another version of this story is the fol- 
 lowing: That Tam O'Shanter was no imaginary character. Shanter is a 
 farm near the village of Kirkoswald, where Burns, when nineteen years old, 
 studied mensuration, and " first became acquainted with scenes of swagger- 
 ing riot." The then occupier of Shanter, by name " Douglas Grahame," was, 
 by all accounts, equally what the Tam of the poet appears— a jolly, careless 
 rustic, who took much more interest :ai the contraband traffic of the coast, 
 then carried on, than in the rotation of crops. Burns knew the man well ; 
 and to his dying day, he, nothing loath, passed among his rural compeers by 
 the name of " Tam O'Shanter." — Lockharfs Life of Burns. 
 
 This admirable tale was written for Grose's "Antiquities of Scotland,'' 
 where it first appeared; with a beautiful engraving of " Allowny 's auld haunted 
 Kirk.'' 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 09 
 
 DEATH AND DR. HORNBOOK 
 
 A TRUE STORY. 
 
 [The following circumstance occasioned the composition of this poem:— 
 " The schoolmaster of Tarbolton parish, to eke up the scanty subsistence 
 allowed to that useful class of men, had set up a shop of grocery goods. 
 Having accidentally fallen in with some medical books, and become most 
 hobby-horsically attached to the study of medicine, he had added the sale of 
 a few medicines to his little trade. He had got a shop-bill printed, at the 
 bottom of which, overlooking his own incapacity, he had advertised, that 
 ' Advice would be given in common disorders at the shop gratis.' " — Lock- 
 harfs Life ofBurns^ 
 
 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 holy rapture, 
 A rousing whid,^ at times, to ven(^ 
 
 And nail 't wi' Scripture. 
 
 But this that I am gaun to tell, '• 
 Which lately on a night befel. 
 Is just as true 's the deil 's in hell. 
 
 Or Dublin city : 
 That e'er he nearer comes oursel 
 
 's a muckle pity. 
 
 The clachan yilP had made me canty,^ 
 
 I was na fou,* but just had plenty ; 
 
 I stacher'd^ whyles, but yet took tenf ay 
 
 To free the ditches ; 
 An' hillocks, stanes, and bushes kenn'd ay 
 
 Frae ghaists' and witches. 
 
 The rising moon began to glower® 
 The distant Cumnock hills out-owre ; 
 To count her horns wi' a' my power, 
 
 I set mysel ; 
 But whether she had three or four, 
 
 I cou'd na tell. 
 
 » A lie.— 2 Village ale.— ^ Merry.— * Drunk.— ^ Staggered.—* Took deed. 
 — -^ From ghosts.— 8 To shine faintly. 
 
100 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 I was come round about the hill, , 
 And todlin'^ down on "Willie's mill, 
 Setting my staff wi' a' my skill, 
 
 To keep me sicker ;' 
 Tho' leeward whyles, against my will, 
 
 I took a bicker.' 
 
 I there wi' aometfdng did forgather* 
 That put me in an eerie swither ;* 
 An awfa' scythe out-owre ae shouther. 
 
 Clear, dangling hang ; 
 A three-taed 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 fient a warae' it had ava !^ 
 
 And then, its shanks. 
 They were as thin, as sharp, an' sma' 
 
 As cheeks o' branks !" 
 
 "Guid-e'en," quo' I; "Friend! hae ye been mawin 
 When ither folk are busy sawin' ?"^" 
 It seem'd to mak a kind o' stan'. 
 
 But naething spak ; 
 At length, says I, "Friend, whare ye gaun. 
 
 Will ye go back?" 
 
 It spak right howe" — " My name is Death, 
 But be na fley'd."'''— Quoth I, "Guid faith! 
 Ye 're maybe come to stap my breath ; 
 
 But tent me, billie ;" 
 I red" ye weel, tak care o' scaith," 
 
 See there's a gully !"^' 
 
 " Gudeman," quo' he, " put up your whittle, 
 I 'm no design'd to try its metal ; 
 But if I did, I wad be kittle'' 
 
 To be mislear'd ;" 
 
 » Tottering.— 2 Steady.— ' A short run.—* Meot— * Frightful hesitation. 
 — « A three-pronged dart — "^ Belly. — ^ At all. — » A kind of wooden curb for 
 Dorses. — 1° This rencounter happened in seed-time, 1785.— ^^ with a hollow 
 tone of volco. — ^^ Frightened.— ^ 3 Heed me, good fellow.— i* To counsel, or 
 advise. — i* Injury. — 18 A large knife.— ^'^ Ticklish, diflacult — ^^ Mischievous ; 
 (. e. it would be no easy matter for you to hurt, or do me any mischief 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. lOl 
 
 T wad na mind it, no that spittle 
 
 Out-owre my beard." 
 
 " Weel, weel !" says I, " a bargain be 't ; 
 Come, gie 's your hand, an' sae we 're gree't ;^ 
 We '11 ease our shanks an' tak a seat. 
 
 Come, gie 's your news ; 
 This while' ye hae been monie a gate,^ 
 
 At monie a house." 
 
 "Ay, ay!" quo' he, an' shook his head, 
 " It 's e'en a lang, lang time indeed, 
 Sin' I began to nick the thread. 
 
 An' choke tlie 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, 
 
 An' monie a scheme in vain 's been laid, 
 
 To stap or scaur*^ me ; 
 Till ane Hornbook 's^ taen up the trade, 
 
 An' faith, he '11 waur^ me. 
 
 "Ye ken Jock Hornbook i' the clachan,® 
 Deil mak his king's-hood^ in a spleuchan!*® 
 He 's grown sae weel acquaint wi' Buchan" 
 
 An' ither chaps. 
 The weans^^ baud out their fingers laughin'. 
 
 An' pouk my hips. 
 
 " See here 's a scythe, and there 's a dart, 
 They hae pierced monie a gallant heart ; 
 But Doctor Hornbook, wi' his art 
 
 And cursed skill. 
 Has made them baith no worth a f — t, 
 
 Damn'd haet^* they '11 kill I 
 
 1 Agreed. — 2 ^^ epidemical fever was then raging in that part of the conn* 
 try.— 3 Many a road. — ■* Butchering. — ^ gtop or scare. 
 
 * This gentleman, Dr. Hornbook, is professionally a brother of the sovereijjn 
 Order of the Ferula; but, by intuition and inspiration, is at once an apothe- 
 cary, smgeon, and physician. 
 
 ' Worst, or defeat— ^ Hamlet, or village.— ^ A part of the entrails.— i" A 
 tobacco pouch. — ii Buchan's Domestic Medicine.— 12 Children. 
 
 13 An oath of negation; i. e. in Dr. Hornbook's opinion he has rendered 
 ray weapons harmless ; they'll kill nobody. 
 
ib2 ' ' ' '' ' '* 'BURNS S POEMS. 
 
 'i ^.Tiv&B but lye'^kfai'G^en^^ nae farther gane, 
 
 I threw a noble throw at ane ; 
 
 Wr less I 'in sure I 've hundreds slain ; 
 
 But Deil-ma-care,' 
 It just play'd dirP on the bane, 
 
 But did nae mair. 
 
 " Hornbook was by, wi' ready art, 
 And had sae fortified the part. 
 That when I looked to ray dart, 
 
 It was sae blunt, 
 Fient haet* o 't wad hae pierced the heart 
 
 Of a kail-runt.* 
 
 " I drew mj scythe in sic a fury, 
 I near had cowpit® wi' my hurry, 
 But yet the bauld apothecary 
 
 "Withstood the shock ; 
 I might as well hae tried a quarry 
 
 0' hard whin"^ rock. 
 
 "Ev'n them he canna get attended,® 
 Altho' their face he ne'er had kenn'd it, 
 Just in a kail-blade and send it, 
 
 As soon 's he smells 't, 
 Baitli their disease, and what will mend it, 
 
 At once he tells 't. 
 
 " And then a' doctor's saws an' whittles,* 
 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 A B 0. 
 
 " Calces o' fossils, earth, and trees ; 
 True sal-marinum o' the seas ; 
 The farina of beans and pease. 
 
 He has 't in plenty ; 
 
 1 Yesternight— 2 No matter!—' A slight tremulous stroke.—* An oath of 
 negation.—* The stem of Colewort— « Tumbled. — ' The hard stone found in 
 the Scottish hills; granite. 
 
 «* Those patients who cannot attend upon the doctor, or cannot be seen by 
 him, must send their water In a vial, from the sight of which he pretendK 
 to know and cure their various diseases. 
 
 « Knivea. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 103 
 
 Aqua-fontis, what you please, 
 
 He can content ye. 
 
 '* Forbye^ some new uncommon weapons^ 
 
 Urinus spiritus of capons : 
 
 Or mite-horn shavings, filings, scrapings, 
 
 DistilPd fer se ; 
 Sal-alkali o' midge-tail clippings. 
 
 And monie mae."^ 
 
 " Waes me for Johnny Ged's Hole^ now," 
 
 Quo' I, " if that the news be true ! 
 
 His braw calf-ward,* where gowans grew* 
 
 Sae white and bonnie, 
 NaQ doubt they '11 rive it wi' the pleugh ; 
 
 They '11 ruin Johnny !" 
 
 The creature grain'd an eldritch laugh,® 
 And says, " Ye need na yoke the pleugh. 
 Kirk-yards will soon be till'd eneugh. 
 
 Tak ye nae fear : 
 They '11 a' be trench'd wi' monie a sheugh,^ 
 
 In twa-three year. 
 
 " Whare I kill'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 an' pill. 
 
 *' An honest wabster^* to his trade, 
 
 Whase wife's twa nieves^^ were scarce weel bred, 
 
 Gat tippence-worth to mend her head, 
 
 When it was sair ; 
 The wife slade cannie^'* to her bed. 
 
 But ne'er spak mair. 
 
 " A countra laird had taen the batts," 
 Or some curmurring" in his guts ; 
 
 1 Besides. — ^ More. — ^ ^ name given to the grave-digger. — ^ An inclosura 
 for calves; the term is here used ia allusion to the church-yard.— ^ Daisies.— 
 6 Groaned a frightful laugh.—' Ditch, or trench ; i. e will be filled witli 
 graves.— 8 To die in bed, in a natural way.— » Shroud.— 1° A weaver — 
 11 Fists.— 12 Slide gently, or dexterously.— i^ Botts.— i* Murmuring, a slight 
 mmbling noise. 
 
104 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 His only son for Hornbook sets, 
 
 An' pays him well : 
 The lad, for twa guid gimmer pets,^ 
 
 Was laird himsel. 
 
 " A bonnie lass, ye kenn'd her name, 
 
 Some ill-brewn drink had hoved her wame,' 
 
 She trusts hersel, to hide the shame. 
 
 In Hornbook's care ; 
 Horn sent her aff to her lang hame, 
 
 To hide it there. 
 
 " That 's just a swatch^ o' Hornbook's way ; 
 Thus goes he on from day to day. 
 Thus does he poison, kill, an' slay. 
 
 An 's weel paid for 't ; 
 Yet stops me o' my lawfu' prey, 
 
 "Wi' his d-mn'd dirt :^ 
 
 " But, hark ! I '11 tell you of a plot, 
 Tho' dinna ye be speaking o 't ; 
 I '11 nail the self-conceited sot, 
 
 As dead 's a herrin' ; 
 Niest^ time we meet, I '11 wad a groat, 
 
 He gets his fairin'!" 
 
 But just as he began to tell, 
 
 The auld kirk-hammer strak the bell 
 
 Some wee short hour ayont the twal^'^ 
 
 Which raised us baith : 
 I took the way that pleased mysel, 
 
 And sae did Death.' 
 
 » Ewe lambs.—'' Swelled her belly. —' A sample.—"* By sending his pa- 
 tients to the church-yard.—* Next—* The hour of one. 
 
 '^ So irresistible was the tide of ridicule, on the publication of this poem, 
 that John Wilson, alias Dr. Hornbook, was not only compelled to shut up 
 Bhi^p as an apothecary, or druggist rather, but to abandon his echool also, aa 
 hh puf ils one by one deserted him. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 105 
 
 THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. 
 
 INSCRIBED TO R. AIKEN, ESQ. 
 
 Let not ambition mock their useful toil, 
 
 Their homely joys and destiny obscure ; 
 Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile, 
 
 The short and simple annals of the poor.— G^ray. 
 
 My loved, my lionor'd, mucli respected friend ! 
 
 No mercenary bard his homage pays ; 
 With honest pride I scorn 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 Aiken in a cottage would have been ; 
 Ah ! tho' his worth unknown, far happier there, I ween, 
 
 November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh ;* 
 
 The shortening winter-day is near a close ; 
 The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh ; 
 
 The blackening trains o' craws to their repose ; 
 The toil-worn Cotter frae his labor goes. 
 
 This night his weekly moil is at an end. 
 Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes, 
 
 Hoping the morn 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 ; 
 Th' expectant wee-things,* todlin,' stacher* thro'. 
 
 To meet their dad wi' flichterin® noise and glee. 
 His wee bit ingle^ blinkin' bonnilie. 
 
 His clean hearth-stane, his thriftie wifie's smile, 
 The lisping infant prattling on his knee. 
 
 Does a' his weary, carking cares beguile. 
 An' makes him quite forget his labor and his toil. 
 
 1 The continued rushing noise of a strong wind.— ^ Little children.— 
 • Tottering.— 4 Stagger.— ^ Fluttering.—^ Small fireplace. 
 
106 BURNS S POEMS. 
 
 Lelyve^ the elder bairns come drappin' in, 
 
 xit 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 show a braw new gown, 
 
 Or deposite her sair-won penny-fee. 
 To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be. 
 
 Wi' joy unfeign'd brothers and sisters meet. 
 
 An' each for other's w^eelfare kindly spiers :* 
 The social hours, swift-wing'd, unnoticed fleet ; 
 
 Each tells the uncos* that he sees or hears : 
 Tlie parents, partial, eye their hopeful years ; 
 
 Anticipation forward points the view. 
 The mother, wi' her needle an' her shears, 
 
 Gars^ auld claes look amaist® as weel 's the new ; 
 The father mixes a' wi' admonition due. 
 
 Their masters' and their mistresses' command, 
 
 The younkers a' are warned to obey ; 
 An' mind their labors wi' an eydent^ hand, 
 
 An' ne'er, tho' out o' sight, to jauk* or play; 
 An' oh ! be sure to fear the Lord alway ! 
 
 An' mind your duty^ duly, morn an' night ! 
 Lest in temptation's path ye gang® astray. 
 
 Implore his counsel and assisting might : 
 They never sought in vain that sought the Lord aright I 
 
 But hark ! a rap comes gently to the door : 
 
 Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same. 
 Tells how a neebor lad cam o'er the moor. 
 
 To do some errands, and convoy her hame. 
 Tho wily mother sees the conscious flame 
 
 Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek; 
 Wi' heart-struck anxious care, inquires his name, 
 
 While Jenny hafflins*" is afraid to speak ; 
 ATcel pleased the mother hears, it's nao wild, worthless 
 rake. 
 
 ' By and by. — ^ Carefully.—' To Inquire.— * Strange sights, tales, or storiea 
 -6 Makes.—* Almost— ^ Diligent- s Dally, or trifle—* Go.— lo Partly. 
 
MISCELLANK»9US. 107 
 
 Wi' kindly welcome Jenny brings him ben ,•* 
 
 A strappan youth ; he taks the mother's eye ; 
 Blythe Jenny sees the visit 's no ill ta'en ; 
 
 The 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 pleased to think her bairn* 's respected like the lave." 
 
 happy love ! where love like this is found ! 
 
 O heart-felt raptures ! bliss beyond compare ! 
 
 1 '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 breathe out the tender tale, 
 
 Is there in human form that bears a heart — 
 
 A wretch ! a villain ! lost to love and truth ! 
 That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art. 
 
 Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth ? 
 Curse on his perjured arts ! dissembling smooth ! 
 
 Are honor, virtue, conscience, all exiled ? 
 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 wild I 
 
 But now the supper crowns their simple board ! 
 
 The halesome parritch,' chief o' Scotia's food : 
 The soup their only hawkie® does afford, 
 
 That 'yont^ tho hallan" snugly chows her cud : 
 The dame brings forth, in complimental mood, 
 
 To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd kebbuck" fell,'^ 
 An' aft he 's press'd, an' aft he ca's it good ; 
 
 The frugal wifie, garrulous will tell. 
 How 'twas a towmond auld,^^ sin' lint was i' the bell/* 
 
 '^ In the country parlor.— 2 Bashful.— 3 Sheepish.— 4 Child.— ^ The rest, the 
 others.— 6 Sorrow. — ''' Wholesome porridge.— ^ Cow. — ^ Beyond. — ^'^ A par- 
 tition-wall in a cottage, or a seat of turf at the outside.— ^^ Well-saved or 
 well-kept cheese.— 12 Well-savored, of good relish.— 1 3 A twelvemonth old.— 
 ** Since flax was in the flower. 
 
108 BUBNSS POEMS. 
 
 The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face, 
 
 They, round the ingle,^ form a circle wide ; 
 The sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace, 
 
 The big Ha'-Bible,' ance his father's pride : 
 His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside. 
 
 His lyart' haifets* wearin' thin and bare ; 
 Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide, 
 
 He wales^ a portion with judicious care ; 
 And '* Let us 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 Dundee's wild warbling measures rise, 
 
 Or plaintive Martyrs, worthy o' the name : 
 Or noble Elgin® beets' the heavenward fiame, 
 
 The sweetest far o' Scotia's holy lays : 
 Compared with these, Italian trills are tame ; 
 
 The tickled ears no heartfelt raptures raise; 
 Nae unison hae they with our Creator's praise. 
 
 The priest-like father reads the sacred page, 
 
 How Abraham was the friend of God on high ; 
 Or, Moses bade eternal warfare wage 
 
 "With Amalek's ungracious progeny ; 
 Or, how the royal bard did groaning lie 
 
 Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ire ; 
 Or, Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry ; 
 
 Or, rapt Isaiah's wild seraphic lire ; 
 Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre. 
 
 Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme. 
 
 How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed ; 
 How Ee^ who bore in heaven the second name, 
 
 Had not on earth whereon to lay his head ; 
 How his first followers and servants sped ; 
 
 The precepts sage they wrote to many a land : 
 How lie^ who lone in Patmos banished. 
 
 Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand, 
 And heard great Bab'lon's doom pronounced by Heaven'a 
 command. 
 
 ' Fireplace.— 2 The large hall-Bible.— ^ Gray, or of a mixed color.—'* Tem- 
 ples, side of the head.— ^ Chooses, selects.- « Dundee, Martyrs, Elgin, names 
 of sacred melodies used in singing psalms. — ''' Adds fuel to or increase* de 
 votiox 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 109 
 
 Then kneeling down to heaven's eternal King, 
 
 The saint^ XhQ 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 spliere. 
 
 Compared with this, how poor religion's pride, 
 
 In all the pomp of method and of art, 
 When men display to congregations wide, 
 
 Devotions every grace except the heart ! 
 The Power^ incensed, the pageant will desert. 
 
 The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stMe ; 
 But haply, in some cottage far apart. 
 
 May hear, well pleased, the language of the soul ; 
 And in his hooTc of life the inmates poor enrol. 
 
 Then homeward all take off their several way ; 
 
 The youngling cottagers retire to rest : 
 The parent-pair their secret homage pay, 
 
 And proffer up to Heaven the warm request, 
 That He who stills the raven's clamorous nest. 
 
 And decks the lily fair in flowery 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 pi^side. 
 
 From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs, 
 
 That makes her loved at home, revered 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, and sweet content! 
 
 1 Pope's "Windsor Forest.— * Pope's Essay on Man. 
 10 
 
110 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 And, oh! may Heaven their simple lives prevent 
 
 From luxury's contagion weak and vile ! 
 Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent, 
 A mrtuous populace may rise the while, 
 And stand a wall of fire around their much-loved Isle. 
 
 O Thou ! who pour'd the patriotic tide 
 
 That stream'd thro' Wallace's undaunted heart ; -^ 
 "Who dared 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 lard^ 
 In bright succession raise, her ornament and guard ! 
 
 The "Cotter's Saturday Night is, perhaps, of all Burns's pieces, the one 
 •whose exclusion from the collection, were such things possible now-a-days, 
 would be the most injurious, if not to the genius, at least to the character, of 
 the man. Loftier flights he certainly has made, but in these he remained hut 
 a short while on the wing, and effort is too often perceptible ; hero the motion 
 is easy, gentle, placidly undulating. There is more of the conscious security 
 of power, than in any other of his serious pieces of considerable length ; the 
 •whole has the appearance of coming in a full stream from the fountain of hia 
 Jbeart— a stream that soothes the ear, and has no glare on Uie surface.*'— 
 /Lockharfs Life of Burns. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. Ill 
 
 [The following Poem will, by many readers, be well enough understood ; bul 
 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 ac- 
 count of the principal charms and spells of that night, so big with prophecy 
 to the peasantry in the west of Scotland. The passion of prying into fu- 
 turity 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 phi- 
 losophic mind, if any such should honor the Author with a perusal, to see 
 the remains of it among the more unenlightened in our own.] 
 
 HALLO WEEK^ 
 
 Yes ! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, 
 
 The simple pleasures of the lowly train ; 
 
 To me more dear, congenial to my heart, 
 
 One native charm, than all the gloss of art. — GoldsmUh. 
 
 Upon that night, when fairies light 
 
 On Cassilis Downans* dance, 
 Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze, 
 
 On sprightly coursers prance ; 
 Or for Oolean the rout is taen. 
 
 Beneath the moon's pale beams ; 
 There up the Oove,^ to stray an' rove 
 
 Amang the rocks an' streams. 
 
 To sport that night. 
 
 Amang the bonnie winding banks. 
 
 Where Doon rins, wimplin',* clear. 
 Where Bruce ance ruled the martial ranks 
 
 And shook the Carrick* spear. 
 Some merry, friendly, countra folks, 
 
 Together did convene. 
 
 Is thought to be a night when witches, devils, and other mischief-mak- 
 ing beings, are all abroad on their baneful, midnight errands; particularly 
 those aerial people, the fairies, are said on that night to hold a grand an- 
 niversary. 
 
 2 Certain little, romantic, rocky, green hills, in the neighborhood of the 
 ancient seat of the earls of Cassilis. 
 
 3 A noted cavern near Colean-house, called the Cove of Colean ; which, a» 
 well as Cassilis Downans, is famed in country story for being a favorite haunt 
 of fairies. 
 
 * Meandering. 
 
 5 The famous family of that name, Vhe ancestors of Robert, the great de- 
 liverer of his country, were earls of Car rick. 
 
112 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 To hum their nits,^ an' pov? their stocks, 
 An' hand their Halloween 
 
 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,® and some wi' gabs," 
 
 Gar lasses' hearts gang startin' 
 
 Whyles fast that night. 
 
 Then first and foremost, thro' the kail, 
 
 Their stocJcs^^ maun a' be sought ance ; 
 They steek their een," an' graip, an' wale," 
 
 For muckle anes an' straught anes." 
 Poor hav'rer* Will fell aff the drift. 
 
 An' wander'd thro' the low-Tcail^^^ 
 An' pou 't," for want o' better shift, 
 
 A runt^^ was like a sow-tail, 
 
 Sae bow't^' that night. 
 
 Then straught or crooked, yird'^" or nane, 
 
 They roar an' cry a' throu'ther ;^^ 
 The vera wee-things,^ todhn', rin^^ 
 
 Wi' stocks out-owre their shouther ; 
 
 I Nuts. — ' Pull, or pluck. — ^ Nice, trim. — < Discover, or show themselves.— 
 » Loyal, true, faithful.—' Kind.— 'J' Spruce, neat.— » The garter knotted belovr 
 the knee with a couple of loops.— » Very bashful.— *<* To talk boldly. 
 
 II 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 the first they me&t 
 with. Its being big or little, straight or crooked, is prophetic of the size 
 and shape of the grand object of all their spells— the husband or wife. If 
 any yird^ or earth, stick to the root, that is tocher^ or fortune ; and .the taste 
 of the cuHtock, that is, the heart of the stem, is indicative of the natural tem- 
 per and disposition. Lastly, the stems, or, to give them their ordinary appel- 
 lation, tho runts, are placed somewhere above the head of the door ; and the 
 Christian names of the people whom chance brings into the house, arc, ac- 
 cording to the priority of placing the runU, tho natnos in question. 
 
 12 Shut their eyes.— 1 8 Grope and choose, or pick.— i* For large and straight 
 ones.— 1* A half-witted, talkative person. —18 Ciibbages.— i^ Pulled.— i^ Stem 
 of cabbage, or colewort.— i* Crooked.— 20 Willi earth, or dirt— 21 Pell-mell. 
 r.onfusedly.— 22 Young children.— 23 Tottering run. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 113 
 
 An' gif the custock V sweet or sour, 
 
 Wi' jocktelegs^ they taste them ; 
 Syne coziely,* aboon the door, 
 
 Wi' cannie care, they 've placed them 
 To lie that night. 
 
 The lasses staw® frae 'mang them a^ 
 
 To pou their stalks <?' corn ;* 
 But Rab slips out, an' jinks' about, 
 
 Behint the muckle thorn ; 
 He grippet Nelly hard an' fast; 
 
 Loud skirled® a' the lasses ; 
 But her tap-picTcle^ maist was lost, ' 
 
 When kiutthn'^" i' the fause-house" 
 Wi' him that night. 
 
 The auld guid wife's" weel hoordet" nits^* 
 
 Are round an' round divided. 
 An' monie lads' an' lasses' fates 
 
 Are there that night decided ; 
 Some kindle, couthie," side by side. 
 
 An' burn thegither trimly ; - 
 Some start awa' wi' saucy pride, 
 
 An' jump out-owre the chimlie 
 
 Fu' high that night. 
 
 Jean slips in twa wi' tentie e'e ;^° 
 Wha 'twas she wadna" tell ; 
 
 I If.— 2 The stalk of the kail, or colewort.— 3 A kind of knife.—* Snugly. 
 — 5 Stole away. 
 
 * They go to the barn-yard and pull each, at three several times, a stalk of 
 oats. If the third stalk wants the top-pickle^ that is, the grain at the top of 
 the stalk, the party in question will come to the marriage-bed any thing but. 
 a maid. 
 
 '' To turn a corner.— ^ Shrieked.—® Supposed to have allusion to some- 
 thing of which ladies are said to be very careful. — i" Cuddling. 
 
 II When the corn is in a doubtful state, by being too green, or wet, the* 
 stack-builder, by means of old timber, ifec, makes a large apartment in his. 
 stack, with an opening in the side which is fairest exposed to the wind ; this- 
 he calls i\\e fause-house. 
 
 12 Mistress of the house. — 13 Hoarded, 
 
 1* Burning the nuts is a famous charm. They name the lad and lass toi 
 each particular nut, as they lay them in the fire, and accordingly as they burn- 
 quietly together, or start from beside one another, the course and issue of thas 
 eourtship will be. 
 
 " Lovingly.— 18 With watchful eye.— i^ Would not 
 
114 BURNS'S t>OEMS. 
 
 But this is Joc\ an' this is me^ 
 
 She says in to hersel ; 
 He bleez'd owre her an' she owre him. 
 
 As they wad ne'er mair part ! 
 Till fuff!^ he started up the lum,« 
 
 An' Jean had e'en a sair heart 
 
 To see 't that night. 
 
 Poor Willie wi' his "bow-lcail-runt^ 
 
 Was hrunV" wi' primsie* Mai lie ; 
 An' Mallie, nae doubt took the drunt,* 
 
 To be compared to Willie ; 
 Mall's nit lap^ out wi' pridefu' fling. 
 
 An' her ain fit® it brunt it ; 
 While Willie lap an' swoor hy jing^ 
 
 'T was just the way he wanted 
 To be that night. 
 
 I^Tell had the fanse-house^ in her min' 
 
 She pits^° hersel an' Rob in ; 
 In loving bleeze they sweetly join, 
 
 Till white in ase" they 're sobbin'; 
 [N'ell's heart was dancin' at the view. 
 
 She whisper'd Rob to look for 't ; 
 Rob, stowlins,^ pried^^ her bonnie mou," 
 
 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 gash in'" at their cracks, 
 
 And slips out by hersel : 
 She thro' the yard the nearest taks, 
 
 An' to the kiln she goes then, 
 An' darklins grapit" for the banks," 
 
 And in the Mue-clue^ throws then, 
 Right fear't that night. 
 
 1 With a puflf, or bounce.— ^ The chimney.— 3 Cabbage-stalk. — < Burnt— 
 * Demure.— • Pet, crabbed humor.—' Leaped. — « Foot—* False-house ; see 
 a foregoing note.— 1» Puts.—" Ashes.— ^2 By stealth.— »» Tasted, or kissed.— 
 14 Mouth, or lips.— 1» Snugly.— 1« Nook.— i' Talking.- 18 Groped in the 
 'dark. — ^* Cross-beams. 
 
 2 Whoever would, with success, try this spell, must strictly observe thes« 
 directions : Steal out, all alone, to the kiln^ and darkling, throw into the poi 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 115 
 
 An' ay she win't,^ an' ay she swat,* 
 
 I wat she made nae jaukin' f 
 Till something held within the pat,* 
 
 Guid L — d ! but she was quakin' ! 
 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 night. 
 
 AYee Jenny to her grannie says, 
 
 " Will ye go wi' me, grannie ? 
 l^eM the appW at the glass, 
 
 I gat frae uncle Johnnie :" 
 She fuff't^ her pipe wi' sic a lunt, 
 
 In wrath she was sae vap'rin', 
 She noticed na*° an aizle" brunt 
 
 Her braw new worset^^ apron 
 
 Out thro' that night. 
 
 '' Ye little skelpie limmerV face ! 
 
 How daur you try sic sportin^, 
 As seek the foul Thief ony place. 
 
 For him to spae" your fortune ? 
 iN'ae doubt but ye may get a sight / 
 
 Great cause ye hae to fear it ; 
 For monie a ane has gotten a fright, 
 
 An' lived an' died deleeret^* 
 On sic a night. 
 
 " Ae hairst afore^' the Sherra-moor,^' 
 I mind 't as weel 's yestreen, *^ 
 
 ft cine of blue yarn ; wind it in a new clue off the old one ; and, towards the 
 latter end, something will hold the thread; demand, Wha liauds? i. e. Who 
 hoide? An answer will be returned from the kiln pot, by naming the Chris- 
 tian and surname of your future spouse. 
 
 1 Wound, did wind.— 2 Did sweat.— 3 Dallying, trifling.— 4 Pot.— ^ The 
 end of a beam. — ^ To inquire. 
 
 '' Take a candle, and go alone to a looking-glass ; eat an apple before it, 
 and some traditions say, you should comb your hair all the time; the face 
 of your conjugal companion to he will be seen in the g'ass, as if peeping over 
 your shoulder. 
 
 8 Puffed out the smoke. — ^ A column of smoke. — 1° Not. — " A hot cinder. — 
 12 Worsted.— 13 i^ technical term in female scolding.— 1* To divine, or pro- 
 phesy.— is Delirious.— 1« One harvest before.— i^ The battle of Sheriff Moor, 
 in the year 1715.— is i remember it as well as if it had been but yesterday. 
 
116 
 
 I was a gilpey' then, I 'm sure 
 
 I was na past fyfteen : 
 The simmer had been cauld an' wat, 
 
 An' stuff was unco green ; 
 An' ay a rantin' kirn* we gat, 
 
 An' just on Halloween 
 
 % It fell that night. 
 
 " Our stibble-rig' was Kab M'Graen, 
 
 A clever, sturdy fallow ; 
 He 's sin* gat Eppie Sim wi' wean, 
 
 That lived in Achmacalla ; 
 He gat Tiemp-seed^^ I mind it weel. 
 
 An' he made unco light o 't ; 
 But monie a day was ly himsel^^ 
 
 He was sae sairly frightet 
 
 That very night." 
 
 Then up gat fechtin"^ Jamie Fleck, 
 
 An' he swoor by 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" bade him slip frae 'mang the folk, 
 
 Some time when nae ane see'd him, 
 An' try 't that night. 
 
 He marches thro' amang the stacks, 
 
 Tho' he was something sturtin ;" 
 The graip^^ he for a harrow taks, 
 
 An' haurls at his curpin:" 
 
 > A half-grown girl.— ^ Harvest-supper. — 3 The reaper In harvest who takei 
 the lead.— < Son. 
 
 6 Steal out, unperceived, and sow a handful of hemp-seed ; harrowing it 
 with any thing you can conveniently draw after you. Repeat now and then. 
 " Hempseed, I saw thee ; hempseed, 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 tlie person invoked, in the attitude of pull- 
 ing hemp. Some traditions say, "Come after me, and shaw thee;" that is, 
 show tiiyself : in whicii case, it simply appears, Otiiers omit the harrowing, 
 and say, "Come after me, and harrow thee." 
 
 « Out of his senses.—' Figlitlng.— 8 Sow.— » Eeaehed.— 1° Bag, or sack.— 
 •» Then.— 12 Frighted.— ^^ A t>»«-ee-pronged dung-fork.— i* Crupper. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 117 
 
 An' every now an' then, he says, 
 
 " Hemp-seed I saw thee. 
 An' her that is to be my lass, 
 
 Come after me, and draw thee 
 
 As fast this night." 
 
 He whistled up Lord Lennox march, 
 
 To keep his courage cheery : 
 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 ;* 
 He by his shouther gae a keek,* 
 
 An' tumbled wi' a wintle*j 
 
 Out-owre that night. 
 
 He roar'd a horrid murder-shout, 
 
 In dreadfu' desperation ! 
 An' young an' auld cam rinnin' out. 
 
 An' hear the sad narration : 
 He swoor 'twas hilchin' Jean M'Oraw, 
 
 Or crouchie® Merran Humphie, 
 'Till stop ! she trotted thro' them a'; 
 
 An' wha was it but grumpMe^ 
 
 Asteer^** that night ! 
 
 Meg fain wad to the lam hae gaen 
 
 To win^^ three wechts^'^ <?' naething ;'^ 
 But for to meet the Deil her lane,^* 
 
 She pat but little faith in : 
 She gies the herd a pickle^^ nits,^" 
 
 An' twa red cheekit apples, 
 
 - Scared, frighted. — 2 Afraid of spirits.— 3 Groan. — 4 Grunting noise. — 
 * To peep. — « A stagger. — ' Halting, — ^ d-Qoked-backed. — ®A sow. — 
 10 Abroad. — 11 To winnow as corn. — 12 ^n instrument for winnowing corn. 
 
 ^3 Thi» charm must likewise be performed unperceived, and alone. You 
 go to the ham, and open botli doors, taking them off the hinges if possible ; 
 for there is danger that the being, about to appear, may shut the doors, and 
 do you some mischief. Then take that instrument used in winnowing tho 
 corn, which, in our country dialect we call a wecht; and go through all tho 
 attitudes of letting down corn against the wind. Eepeat it three times; and 
 the third time an apparition will pass through the barn, in at the windy door, 
 and out at the other, having both the figure in question, and the appearance 
 or retinue, marking the employment or station in life. 
 
 1* Herself alone.— i^ A few.— is Nuts. 
 
118 
 
 To "watcli, while for the barn she sets,' 
 In hopes to see Tarn Kipples 
 That vera night. 
 
 Sh/i turns the key wi' cannie thraw, 
 
 And owre the threshold ventures ; 
 But first on Sawnie gies a ca', 
 
 Syne^ bauldly in she enters ; 
 A ration^ rattled up the wa', 
 
 An' she cried, L — d preserve her ! 
 An' ran thro' midden-hole* an' a', 
 
 An' pray'd wi' zeal an' fervor, 
 
 Fu' fast that night. 
 
 They hoy't* out Will, wi' sair advice : 
 
 They hecht" him some fine braw ane ;^ 
 It chanced the stacTc hQfaddom'cI? 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 blypes" came haurlin'^* 
 
 Aff 's nieves*® that night. 
 
 A wanton widow Leezie was, 
 
 As canty as a kittlen ;" 
 But, och ! that night, amang the shaws, 
 
 She got a fearfu' settlin' ! 
 She thro' the whins,^® an' by the cairn," 
 
 An' owre the hill gaed scrievin','*" 
 Whare three laircW lands meet at a hurn^^ 
 
 To dip her left sark -sleeve in, 
 
 "VVas bent that night. 
 
 * Sets off.— 2 Then.— 3 A rat— ■* A dung-hole.—* Urged.— « Promised to 
 foretell something that is to be got or given. — "^ A fine handsome sweetheart.— 
 8 Fathomed. 
 
 » Take an opportunity of going, unnoticed, to a hean-stack, and fathom it 
 three times round. The la<st fathom of the last time, you will catch in your 
 arms the appearance of your future conjugal yoke-fellow. 
 
 10 Twisting, or inclining to fall, therefore propt with timber.— ^^ Knotty. — 
 12 Grim-looking, ugly old woman. — 13 Swore an oath. — i^ Shreds. — ^^ Peel- 
 ng.— 1« Off his knuckles. — i' Frisky as a kitten.— 18 Furze, or gorse.— i* A 
 heap of stones.— 2 Swiftly. 
 
 •-«* You go out, one or more, for this is a social spell, to a south-running 
 •pring or rivulet, where three lairds' lands meet, and dip your left shirt-sleeve. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 119 
 
 Whyles* owre a linn'* the burnie plays, 
 
 As thro' the glen it wimpl't ;' 
 Whyles round a rocky scaur it strays ; 
 
 Whyles in a wieP it dimpl't; 
 Whyles glitter'd to the nightly rays, 
 
 Wi' bickering, dancing dazzle ; 
 "Whyles cookit^ underneath the braes,* 
 
 Below the spreading hazel. 
 
 Unseen that night. 
 
 Amang the brachens,^ on the brae 
 
 Between her an' the moon. 
 The Deil, or else an outler quey,^ 
 
 Gat up an' gae a croon :* 
 Poor Leezie^s heart maist lap the hool ;" 
 
 Near lav'rock" height she jumpit, 
 But mist a fit," an' in the pool 
 
 Out-owre the lugs she plumpit," 
 
 Wi' a plunge that night. 
 
 In order, on the clean hearth-stane, 
 
 The luggies three^* are ranged. 
 And every time great care is ta'en 
 
 To see them duly changed : 
 Auld uncle John, wha wedlock's joys 
 
 Sin' Mar's-year^^ did desire. 
 Because he got the toomdish'^ thrice. 
 
 He heaved them on the fire 
 
 In wrath that night. 
 
 Go to bed in sight of a fire, and hang your wet sleeve before it to dry. Lie 
 awake; and some time near midnight, an apparition, 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. 
 
 1 Sometimes. — ^ ^ waterfall. — ^ Waved. — * Whirlpool. — ^ Appeared and 
 disappeared by fits. — « Declivity or precipice.—''' Fern. — ^ A young cow run- 
 ning at large, not housed. — ' To roar, or bellow. — lo Leaped out of her skin. 
 — 11 Lark. — 12 Missed a foot. — ^^ Over head and ears. 
 
 1* Take three dishes: put clean water in one, foul water in another, 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 repeated three times ; and every time the arrange- 
 ment of the dishes Is altered. 
 
 16 The year 1T15.— 1« Krapty dish. 
 
120 BURNS S POEMS. 
 
 Wi' meriy sangs, an' friendly cracks,* 
 
 I wat they did na weary ; 
 An' nnco^ tales, an' funny jokes, 
 
 Their sports were cheap an' cheery, 
 'Till buttered so^ns^ wi' fragrant lunt,* 
 
 Set a' their gabs° a-steerin' ;^ 
 Syne' wi' a social glass o' strunt,* 
 
 They parted aff career! n' 
 
 Fu' blythe that night. 
 
 SCOTCH DRINK. 
 
 Gie him strong drink until he wink, 
 
 That 's sinking in despair; 
 An' liquor guid to fire his bluid, 
 
 That 's prest wi' grief an' care ; 
 There let him bouse an' deep carouse, 
 
 Wi' bumpers flowing o'er, 
 Till he forgets his loves or debts, 
 
 An' minds his griefs no more. 
 
 Solomon^ s Proverbs, xxxi. 6, 7. 
 
 Let other poets raise a fracas 
 
 'Bout vines, an' wines, an' drunken Bacchus, 
 
 An' crabbit names an' stories wrack us, 
 
 An' grate our lug, 
 I sing the juice Scots lear can mak us. 
 
 In glass or jug. 
 
 O thou, my Muse ! guid auld Scotch drinTc^ 
 AVhether thro' wimplin' worms thou jink, 
 Or, richly brown, ream o'er the brink, 
 
 In glorious faem, 
 Inspire me, till I lisp and wink. 
 
 To sing thy name ! 
 
 Let husky Wheat the haughs adorn ; 
 An' Aits set up their awnie horn. 
 An' Peas an' Beans, at e'en or morn, 
 
 Perfume the plain, 
 Leeze me on thee, John Barleycorn^ 
 
 Thou king o' grain I 
 
 To converse.—'^ Strange, marvellous. 
 
 Sowcns— oatmeal made into a kind of pudding. This is always ih« 
 Halloween supper. 
 4 Smoke of tobacco—* Mouths.—' Stirring.— ' Then.— s Spirituous liquor, 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 121 
 
 On thee aft Scotland chows her cood, 
 In souple scones,^ the wale'' o' food ! 
 Or turablin' 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', 
 When heavy dragg'd wi' pine an' grievin';* 
 
 But, oil'd by thee. 
 The wheels o' life gae down hill, scrievin',^ 
 
 "Wi' rattlin' glee. 
 
 Thou clears the head o' doited^ Lear f 
 Thou cheers the heart o' drooping Oare ; 
 Thou strings the nerves o' Labor sair. 
 
 At 's weary toil ; 
 Thou even brightens dark Despair 
 
 Wi' gloomy smile. 
 
 Aft clad in massy siller weed,' 
 Wi' gentles thou erects thy head ; 
 Yet humbly kind in time o' need. 
 
 The poor man's wine,' 
 His wee drap parritch, or his bread. 
 
 Thou kitchens^" fine. 
 
 Thou art the life o' public haunts ; 
 
 But*^ thee, what were our fairs and rants? 
 
 Even godly meetings o' the saunts, 
 
 By thee inspired. 
 When gaping they besiege the tents. 
 
 Are doubly fired. 
 
 That merry night we get the corn in, 
 O sweetly then thou reams^^ the horn in ! 
 
 1 Flexible bread ; i. e. Bannocks made of barley meal, &c., which when 
 baked are so flexible as to admit of being easily rolled together. 
 
 2 The choice.— 3 The belly.— ^ Grieving,— ^ Swiftly.— e Stupefied, fatigued 
 with study. — ''' Learning, knowledge. 
 
 8 Silver dress ; alluding to the silver cups and tankards used at the tables 
 of the gentry. 
 
 ^ Ale is here intended, a small portion of which is frequently mixed M'itU 
 the porridge of the poorer sort of people. 
 
 10 Gives a relish to.— n Without,— 12 Foams. 
 1] 
 
]22 BURlss's POEMS 
 
 Or reeking on a N'ew-year mornin'' 
 
 In cog or bicker,* 
 An' JQst a wee drap sp'ritual burn in,* 
 
 An' gusty' sucker !* 
 
 When Yulcan gies his bellows breath, 
 An' ploughmen gather wi' their graith,* 
 O rare ! to see thee fizz® an' freath' 
 
 I' th' lugget caup !' 
 Then Burnewin' comes on like death 
 
 At every chaup." 
 
 JiTae mercy then for airn" or steel ; 
 The brawnie, bainie," ploughman chiel. 
 Brings hard owrehip, wi' sturdy wheel, 
 
 The strong fore-hammer," 
 Till block an' studie" ring an' reel 
 
 Wi' dinsome clamor. 
 
 When skirlin' weanies*^ see the light, 
 Thou maks the gossips clatter*® bright. 
 How fumblin' cuifs^' their dearies slight ; 
 
 Wae worth the name ; 
 Nae howdie^® gets a social night, 
 
 Or plack frae them. 
 
 When neebors anger at a plea, 
 An' just as wud*® as wud can be, 
 How easy can the barley Iree^ 
 
 Cement the quarrfel ! 
 It 's aye the cheapest lawyer's fee. 
 
 To taste the barrel. 
 
 Alake ! that e'er my Muse has reason 
 To wyte" her countrymen wi' treason I 
 But monie daily weet their weason'" 
 
 Wi' liquors nice. 
 An' hardly, in a winter's season 
 
 E'er spier''^ her price. 
 
 1 A wooden cup or dish. — ' A small quantity of spirits burnt in a spoon, 
 and put into the ale.— ^ Tasteful. — * Sugar.— ^ Tackle, geer. — « To make a 
 hissing noise.— ' Froth. — ^ a. cup with a handle. — • Burn-the-wind ; the 
 blacksmith.— 1<> Stroke.— ^i Iron.— ^'^ Bony.— 1 3 The smith's large hammer, 
 —1* Anvil.— 1» Crying children. — 1« Tell idle stories. — i' Ninnies.— ^^ A 
 midwife— 1» Mad.— 20 Juice.— 21 To blame.— 22 Weasand.— ^a To ask, to in- 
 quire. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 123 
 
 Wae worth that "brandy^ burning trash ! 
 Fell source o' monie a pain an' brash P 
 Twins* monie a poor, doylt,^ drunken 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 mysel ! 
 
 It sets you ill, 
 "Wi' bitter dearthfu' wines to mell,* 
 
 Or foreign gill. 
 
 May gravels round \\\b^ blether wrench, 
 An' gouts torment him inch by inch, 
 "Wha twists his gruntle^ wi' a glunch® 
 
 O' sour disdain, 
 Out-owre a glass o' whislcy punch 
 
 Wi' honest men. 
 
 O Whislcy ! soul o' plays an' pranks ! 
 Accept a Bardie's humble thanks ! 
 When wanting thee, what tuneless cranks 
 
 Are my poor verses ! 
 Thou comes ! — they rattle i' their ranks 
 
 At ither's a — s ! 
 
 Thee, Ferintosh P sadly lost ! 
 Scotland, lament frae coast to coast ! 
 Now colic grips, an' barkin' hoast,^" 
 
 May kill us a' ; 
 For loyal Forbes's charter'd boast" 
 
 Is ta'en aw a ! 
 
 Thae curst horse-leeches o' th' excise, 
 Wha mak the whislcy stells their prize ! 
 
 1 Sudden illness.— 2 Parts, deprives.— 3 Stupid.— ^ A fellow who knows 
 neither how to act or dress with propriety. — ^ Pennyless.— « To meddle.— 
 '' Tlie phiz.— 8 A frown ; sour look.— » A very superior kind of whisky made 
 in a district of the Highlands called by that name.— 10 Coughing. 
 
 ^^ Lord Forbes, of Ferintosh, in the county of Cromarty, formerly held by 
 charter a right for all his tenantry to distil whisky without paying any duty 
 to the king. 
 
124 . BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 Haud up thy hand, Deil ! ance, twice, thrice ! 
 
 There, seize the Winkers !^ 
 An' bake them up in brunstane'* pies 
 
 For poor d — n'd drinkers. 
 
 Fortune ! if thou '11 but gie me still 
 Hale breeks,^ a scone,* an' whisky gill^ 
 An' rowth^ o' rhyme to rave at will, 
 
 Tak a' the rest. 
 An' deal 't about as thy blind skill 
 
 Directs thee best. 
 
 THE AUTHOR'S EARNEST CRY AND PRAYER« 
 
 TO THE SCOTCH EEPEESENTATIVES IN THE HOUSE OF COMMOXa 
 
 Dearest of distillation ! last and best— 
 
 —How art thou lost 1 
 
 Parody on Milton. 
 
 Ye Irish Lords, ye Knights an' Squires, 
 "Wha represent our brughs an' shires, 
 An' doucely manage our affairs 
 
 In parliament. 
 To you a simple Poet's prayers 
 
 Are humbly sent. 
 
 Alas! my roupet' Muse is hearse!® 
 
 Your Honors' heart wi' grief twad pierce ! 
 
 To see her sitting on her a — e 
 
 Low i' the dust. 
 An' scriechin' out prosaic verse. 
 
 An' like to brust I 
 
 Tell them wha hae the chief direction, 
 Scotland an' me's in great affliction, 
 E'er sin' they laid that curst restriction 
 
 On Aquavitm ; 
 An' rouse them up to strong conviction. 
 
 An' move their pity. 
 
 * A term of contempt— '^ Brimstone.— ' Whole breeches.—'* A cake; kind 
 of bread,— 5 Plenty. 
 
 < This was written before the act ancnt the Scotch distilleries, of Session 
 ?T86; for which Scotland and the Author return their most grateful thanks. 
 
 7 Hoarse, as with a cold. — '^ Hoarse. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 125 
 
 Stand forth, an' tell yon Premier youth, 
 
 The honest, open, naked truth : 
 
 Tell him o' mine an' Scotland's drvouth, 
 
 His servants humble : 
 The muckle^ Devil blaw ye south, 
 
 If ye dissemble ! 
 
 Does onie great man glunch'' an' gloom ? 
 Speak out, an' never fash your thumb !^ 
 Let posts an' pensions sink or soom* 
 
 Wi' them wha grant 'em ! 
 If honestly they canna come. 
 
 Far better want 'em. 
 
 In gathering votes you were na slack ; 
 Now stand as tightly by your tack ; 
 Ne'er claw your lug,^ an' fidge your back, 
 
 An' hum an' haw ; 
 But raise your arm, an' tell your crack 
 
 Before them a'. 
 
 Paint Scotland greetin'® owre her thrissle,' 
 Her mutchkin stoup® as toom 's a whissle ;• 
 An' d-mn'd Exciseman in a bussle. 
 
 Seizin' a stell^^^ 
 Triumphant crushin' 't like a mussel 
 
 Or lampit" shell. 
 
 Then on the tither hand present her, 
 
 A blackguard Smuggler right behint her, 
 
 An' cheek-for-chow a chuffie^^ Vintner, 
 
 Colleaguing join. 
 Picking her pouch^' as bare as winter 
 
 Of a' kind coin. 
 
 Is there that bears 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' plunder'd o' her hindmost groat 
 
 By gallows knaves ? 
 
 * Great. — ^ Frown.—' Don't be afraid, never trouble your head about it 
 — •* Swim. — 5 Ear,— « Weeping. — '' Thistle, the national emblem.— « Pint 
 mug.— 9 Empty .—10 A still, used for making whisky.— ii Lympet, a shell 
 fish.— 12 Fat-faced.— 13 Pocket.— i* Knocked to pieces. 
 
12G BURKS'S POEMS. 
 
 Alas ! I 'm but a nameless wight, 
 Trode i' the mire an' out o' sight ! 
 But could I like Montgomeries fight, 
 
 Or gab^ like Boswell, 
 There 's some sark-necks' I wad draw tight, 
 
 An' tie 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 ! 
 
 Some o' you nicely ken the laws. 
 To round the period, an' pause. 
 An' wi' rhetoric clause on clause 
 
 To mak harangues ; 
 Then echo thro' Saint Stephen's wa's 
 
 Auld Scotland's wrangs. 
 
 Dempster,® a true-blue Scot I'se warran ; 
 Thee, aith®-detesting, chaste Kilkerran ;^" 
 An' that glib-gabbet^^ Highland baron, 
 
 The laird o' Graham ;'^ 
 An' ane, a chap that 's d-mn'd auldfarran,*^ 
 
 Dundas his name. 
 
 Erskine, a spunkie iN'orland billie ; 
 True Campbells, Frederick, an' Hay ; 
 An' Livingstone, the bauld Sir Willie ; 
 
 An' monie ithers, 
 Whom auld Demosthenes or TuUy 
 
 Might own for brithers. 
 
 Thee, sodger Hugh," my watchman stented. 
 If bardies e'er are represented ; 
 
 J To speak boldly.—'* Shirt-collsrs.— 3 Old lady.—* Weep.—* Not.— ^ Make. 
 -7 Will not. 
 
 8 George Dempster, Esq., of Dunnichen, Forfarshire. He was many 
 years M. P. for the Dundee district of boroughs, and always spoke and voted 
 on the liberal side of politics. 
 
 » An oath.— '° Sir Adaui Ferguson.— 1» That speaks smoothly and readily. 
 -—12 The Duke of Montrose.— '^ Sagiicious, cunnins,— ^^ Earl of Eglintouoj 
 then Colonel Montgomery, and representative for Ayrshire. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 127 
 
 I ken if that your sword were wanted, 
 
 Ye 'd lend your hand, 
 But when there 's aught to say anent it, 
 
 Ye 're at a stand. 
 
 Arouse, my boys ! exert your mettle, 
 To get auld Scotland back her Tcettle ;* 
 Or, faith ! I '11 wad^ my new pleugh-pettle,' 
 
 Ye '11 see 't or lang,* 
 She '11 teach you wi' a reekin' whittle,^ 
 
 Anither sang. 
 
 This while she 's been in crankous^ mood, 
 Her lost Militia' fired her bluid ; 
 (Deil na they never mair do guid, 
 
 Play'd her that pliskie !*) 
 An' now she 's like to rin red-wud,* 
 
 About her Avhisky. 
 
 An' L— d ! if ance they pit her till 't,^» 
 Her tartan petticoat she '11 kilt," 
 An' dirk an' pistol at her belt, 
 
 She '11 tak the streets, 
 An' rin her whittle to the hilt, 
 
 I' the first she meets. 
 
 For G-d's sake. Sirs ! then speak her fair. 
 An' straik her cannie^'* wi' the hair, 
 An' to the muckle House^^ repair, 
 
 Wi' instant speed, 
 An' strive, wi' a' your wit an' lear," 
 
 To get remead.^^ 
 
 Yon ill-tongued tinkler, Charlie Fox, 
 May taunt you wi' his jeers an' mocks ; 
 But gie him 't het,^^ my hearty cocks ! 
 
 E'en cowe the caddie ;" 
 An' send him to his dicing box 
 
 An' sporting lady. 
 
 i Her still.— 2 To bet or wager.— 3 Plough-staflF.— 4 Ere lorg.— s A bloody 
 i^word,— 6 Fretful. 
 
 ^ Burlesque allusion to the bill for a Scotch militia, which was, shortly be- 
 fore that time, negatived in Parliament. 
 
 8 A trick.— 9 Run stark mad.— J" Put her to it—" To truss up the clothes. 
 —-12 stroke her gently.— 13 The parliament house.— ^^ Learning.— is Remedy. 
 —1^ Hot.— 17 Frighten the fellow, make him knock under. 
 
128 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 Tell yon guid bluid^ o' auld Boconnock\ 
 I '11 be his debt twa mashlum bonnocks,^ 
 An' drink his health in auld Nanse Tinnock's," 
 
 Nine times a week, 
 If he some scheme, like tea an' winnocks,* 
 
 Wad kindly seek. 
 
 Could ho some commutation broach, 
 I '11 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. 
 Though by the neck she should be strung, 
 
 She '11 no desert. 
 
 An' now, ye chosen Five-and-Forty^^ 
 May still your mither's heart support ye ; 
 Then, though a minister grow dorty,* 
 
 An' kick your place, 
 Ye '11 snap your fingers, poor an' hearty. 
 
 Before his face. 
 
 God bless your honors a' your days 
 "Wi' sowps o' kaiP° an' brats o' claise," 
 In spite o' a' the thievish kaes" 
 
 That haunt Saint Jamie's ! 
 Your liumble poet sings an' prays 
 
 While Rab his name is. 
 
 POSTSCRIPT. 
 
 Let half-starved slaves, in warmer skies. 
 See future wines, rich-clustering, rise — 
 
 * Good blood.— 2 Two bannocks or cakes made of mixed corn. 
 
 3 A worthy old hostess of the Author's lu Mauchline, where he sometimes 
 Btudied politics over a glass of guid auld Scotch drink. 
 ■* Tea and windows; an allusion to Mr. Pitt's commutation tax 
 
 * Confusedly mixed.— « Rash, fearless.—'^ A cudgel.— ^ The Scotch members 
 of parliament— » Saucy.— 1° Sups of kail-broth.— " Rags of clothes.— 12 Jack- 
 daws. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 120 
 
 Their lot auld Scotland ne'er envies, 
 
 But blythe and frisky, 
 She eyes her free-born, martial boys 
 
 Tak aff their whisky. 
 
 What tho' their Phoebus kinder warms, 
 AVhile fragrance blooms and beauty charms ! 
 "When wretches range, in famish'd swarms, 
 
 The scented groves, 
 Or hounded forth, dishonor arms 
 
 In hungry droves : 
 
 Their gun 's a burden on their shouther ; " 
 
 , They downa^ bide the stink o' pouther ; 
 Their bauldest thought 's a hank'ring swither' 
 
 To Stan' or rin, 
 Till skelp — a shot! — they're aff a' throwther,' 
 
 To save their skin. 
 
 But bring a Scotsman frae his hill. 
 Clap in his cheek a Highland gill,* 
 Say, such is royal George's will. 
 
 An' there 's the foe. 
 He has nae thought but how to kill 
 
 Twa at a blow. 
 
 IN'ae cauld, faint-hearted doubtings tease him ; 
 Death comes, wi' fearless eye he sees him ; 
 Wi' bluidy hand 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 wliislcy^s name in Greek, 
 
 I '11 tell the reason. 
 
 Scotland, my auld respected Mither! 
 Tho' w^hyles® ye raoistify your leather, 
 
 - Cannot— 2 Ilesitat.ion.— ' All pell-mell, or in confusion.— 4 A gill of High- 
 iitnd whisky.- 5 Leaves.— ^ Shut—''' Smoke.— ^ Sometimes. 
 
 4* 
 
130 BUR5>S|'S POEMS. 
 
 Till whare ye sit, on craps* o' heather, 
 Ye tine your dam ;* 
 
 {Freedom and Whisky gang thegither !) 
 Tak aff your dram !^ 
 
 THE VISION. 
 
 DUAN FIRST.* 
 
 The sun had closed the winter day, 
 The curlers^ quat" their roaring play, 
 An' hunger'd maukin' ta'en her way 
 
 To kail-yards green, 
 While faithless snaws ilk^ step betray 
 
 Whar she has been. 
 
 The thresher's ^^qqxj flingin-tree^ 
 The lee-lang^" day had tired me ; 
 And whan the day had closed his e'e, 
 
 Far i' the west, 
 Ben i' the spence^^ right pensivelie, 
 
 I gaed to rest. 
 
 There, lanely, by the ingle-cheek," 
 
 I sat and eyed the spewing reek," ' 
 
 That fill'd, wi' hoast-provoking smeek,'* 
 
 The auld clay biggin ;** 
 An' heard the restless rattons squeak 
 
 About the riggin'. 
 
 All in this mottie," misty clime, 
 I backward mused on wasted time, 
 
 1 Crops.— 2 Lose your nrine. 
 
 3 Burns was not so much the votary of Bacchus as this and "Scotch Drinks," 
 the preceding poem, would lead the reader to suppose. When ''Auld Nanse 
 Tinnock," the Mauchline landlady, found her name celebrated in this poem, 
 she said, "Eobin Burns may be a clever enough lad, but he has little regard 
 to truth ; for I'm sure the chiel' was never in a' his life aboon three times i' 
 my house." 
 
 * Duan, a term of Ossian's for the different divisions of a digressive poem. 
 See his Cath-Loda. 
 
 * A game on the ice.— « Did quit.— "^ A hnre.— » Each.— » A flail.— i" Live- 
 long. — 11 In the country parlor. — 12 Fireside. — ^^ Smoke. — ** Cough-provok* 
 Ing smoke. — ^^ Building.— 1« Full of motes. 
 
MlSCELLAK-EOrS. 131 
 
 How I had spent my youlhfu' prime, 
 
 An' done nae-thing, 
 But stringin' blethers^ up in rhyme, 
 
 For fools to sing. 
 
 Had I to guid advice but harkit,* 
 I might, by this, hae led a market. 
 Or strutted in a bank and clarkit^ 
 
 My cash-account : 
 While here, half-mad, half-fed, half-sarkit,' 
 
 Is a' th' amount. 
 
 I started, muttering, blockhead! coof !^ 
 And heaved on high my waukit loof,® 
 To swear by a' yon starry roof. 
 
 Or some rash aith,^ 
 That I, henceforth, would be rTiyme proof 
 
 Till my last breath — 
 
 "When click ! the string the snick® did draw ; 
 And jee ! the door gaed to the wa' ; 
 An' by my ingle lowe^ I saw, 
 
 Now bleezin'^" 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 glower'd as eerie 's I 'd been dush't^' 
 
 In some wild glen ; 
 When sweet, like modest Worth, she blusht, 
 
 And stepped ben." 
 
 Green, slender, leaf-clad holly -hougJis 
 Were twisted, gracefu', round her brows ; 
 I took her for some Scottish Muse, 
 
 By that same token ; 
 An' come to stop those reckless vows. 
 
 Would soon been broken. 
 
 ' Foolish or romantic ideas. — ^ Hearkened. — ' Wrote. — ■* Badly provided 
 with shirts.— 5 Ninny.— « Thick or clumsy hand.— '^ Oath.— 8 The latch of a 
 door.— 9 Flame of the fire.— lo Blazing.— n A young girl.— 12 Was silent. 
 
 " Stared frightfully, as if I had been suddenly pushed, or attacked by 
 an ox. 
 
 1* Into the parlor. 
 
132 BURNS S rOEMS. 
 
 A "hair-brain'd sentimental trace," 
 Was strongly marked in her face; 
 A. wildy-witty, rustic grace 
 
 Shone full upon her ; 
 Her eye, even turn'd on empty space, 
 
 Beam'd keen with Honor. 
 
 Down flow'd her robe, a tartan sheen,* 
 Till half a leg was scrimply'* seen ; 
 And such a leg! my bonnie Jean 
 
 Could only peer^ it ; 
 Sae straught,* sae taper, tight, 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 seemM, to my astonish'd view, 
 
 A well-known 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 his far-fetch'd floods ; 
 There, well-fed Irwine stately thuds ;° 
 Auld hermit Ayr staw' thro' his woods, 
 
 On to the shore ; 
 And many a lesser torrent scuds. 
 
 With seeming roar. 
 
 Low, in a sandy valley spread. 
 
 An ancient horough rear'd her head ; 
 
 Still, as in Scottish story read. 
 
 She boasts a race. 
 To every nobler virtue bred, 
 
 And polishM grace. 
 
 1 A bright, or shining tartan, or checkered woollen stuff, much worn in 
 Bcolland, particularly in the Highlands. 
 
 2 Scantily.— 3 Equal.—'* Straight.—^ To make a loud continued noise.— 
 « Stole. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 133 
 
 By stately tower 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. 
 
 Mj heart did glowing transport feel. 
 
 To see a race^ heroic wheel, 
 
 And brandish round the deep-dyed steel 
 
 In sturdy blows ; 
 While back-recoiling seem'd to reel 
 
 Their Suthron foes. 
 
 His Oountry''s Saviour^^ mark him well ; 
 Bold Richardton's^ heroic swell ; 
 The chief on Sark* who glorious fell. 
 
 In high command ; 
 And He whom ruthless fates expel 
 
 His native land. 
 
 There, where a scepter'd Pictish shade* 
 Stalk'd round his ashes lowly laid, 
 I mark'd a martial race, portray'd 
 
 In colors strong ; 
 Bold, soldier-featured, undismayed 
 
 They strode along. 
 
 Thro' many a wild, romantic grove," 
 
 Near many a hermit-fancied cove, 
 
 (Fit haunts for Friendship or for Love,) 
 
 In musing mood. 
 An aged Judge^ I saw him rove. 
 
 Dispensing good 
 
 1 The Wallaces.— 2 "William Wallace. 
 
 3 Adam Wallace, of Eichardton, cousin to the immortal preserver of Scot- 
 tish Independence. 
 
 * Wallace, laird of Craigie, who was second in command, tinder Douglas, 
 earl of Ormond, at the famous battle on the banks of Sark, fought anno 1448. 
 That glorious victory was principally owing to the judicious conduct and 
 intrepid valor of the gallant laird of Craigie, who died of his wounds after 
 the action. 
 
 ^ Coilus, 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 Montgome- 
 ries of Coirs-field, where his burial-place is still shown. 
 
 « Barksimming, the seat of the late Lord Justice Clerk. 
 12 
 
134 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 With deep-struck reverential awe* 
 The learned Sire and Son I saw, 
 To Nature's God and Nature's law 
 
 They gave their lore : 
 This, all its source and end to draw ; 
 
 That, to adore. 
 
 Brjdone's brave ward* I well could spy^ 
 Beneath old Scotia's smiling eye ; 
 Who oall'd on Fame, low standing by, 
 
 To hand him on 
 Where many a Patriot-name on high, 
 
 And hero shone. 
 
 DUAN SECOND. 
 
 With musing deep, astonish'd stare, 
 I view'd the heavenly-seeming Fair^ 
 A whispering throb did witness bear. 
 
 Of kindred sweet. 
 When, with an elder sister's air. 
 
 She did me greet : — 
 
 All hail ! my own inspired Bard ! 
 In me thy native Muse regard : 
 Nor longer mourn thy fate is hard, 
 
 Thus poorly low ! 
 I come to give thee such reward 
 
 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 labors ply. 
 
 They Scotia's race among them share ; 
 Some fire the Soldier on to dare ; 
 Some rouse the Patriot up to bare 
 
 Corruption's heart ; 
 Some teach the Bard, a darling care. 
 
 The tuneful art. 
 
 ' Obtrlne, the seat of the late Doctor, and present Professor Stewart, 
 ' CJolonel Fullarton. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 135 
 
 '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. 
 
 And >Yhen the Bard, or hoary Sage, 
 Charm or instruct the future age, 
 They bind the wild poetic rage 
 
 In energy. 
 Or point the inconclusive page 
 
 Full on the eye. 
 
 Hence Fullarton, the brave and young ; 
 Hence Dempster's zeal-inspired tongue ; 
 Hence sweet harmonious Beattie sung 
 
 His Minstrel lays ; 
 Or tore, with noble ardor stung, 
 
 The SlcejpUc's^ bays. 
 
 To lower orders are assign'd, 
 
 The humbler ranks of human kind. 
 
 The rustic Bard, the laboring Hind, 
 
 The Artisan ; 
 All choose, as various they 're inclined. 
 
 The various man. 
 
 When yellow waves the heavy grain. 
 The threatening storm some strongly rein ; 
 Some teach to meliorate the plain 
 
 With tillage skill ; 
 And some instruct the shepherd train 
 
 Blithe o'er the hill. 
 
 Some hint the lover's harmless wile ; 
 Some grace the maiden's artless smile ; 
 Some soothe the laborer's weary toil 
 
 For humble gains, 
 And make his cottage-scenes beguile 
 
 His cares and pains. 
 
 Some, bounded to a district-space. 
 Explore at large man's infant race, 
 
 1 David Hume. 
 
136 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 To mark tLe embryotic trace, 
 
 Of rustic Bard ; 
 And careful note each opening grace, 
 
 A guide and guard. 
 
 Of these am /— Ooila* my name ; 
 And this district as mine I claim, 
 Where once the Campbells, chiefs of fame, 
 
 Held ruling power ; 
 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 carolPd, chiming phrase, 
 
 In uncouth rhymes. 
 Fired at the simple, artless lays 
 
 Of other times. 
 
 I saw thee seek the sounding shore, 
 Delighted with the dashing roar ; 
 Or when the North his fleecy store 
 
 Drove thro' the sky, 
 I saw grim Nature's visage hoar, 
 
 Struck thy young eye. 
 
 Or when the deep green-mantled earth 
 Warm cherish'd every floweret's birth, 
 And joy and music pouring forth 
 
 In every grove, 
 I saw thee eye the general mirth 
 
 With boundless love. 
 
 When ripen'd fields and azure skies, 
 Oall'd forth the reapers' rustling noise, 
 I saw thee leave their evening joys, 
 
 And lonely stalk, 
 To vent thy bosom's swelling rise 
 
 In pensive walk. 
 
 When youthful love, warm-blushing, strong, 
 Keen-shivering shot thy nerves along, 
 
 1 Colla, from Kyle, a district in Ayrshire, so called, saith tradition, fVom 
 Coil, or Coilus, a Pictish monarch. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 137 
 
 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 
 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 loves, tlie 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 can I show, 
 To paint with Thomson'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 the unrivall'd rose, 
 
 The lowly daisy sweetly blows ; 
 
 Tho' large the forest's monarch throws 
 
 His army shade. 
 Yet green the juicy hawthorn grows, 
 
 Adown the glade. 
 
 Then never murmur nor repine ; 
 Strive in thy humble sphere to shine ; 
 And trust me, not Potosi's' mine. 
 
 Nor kings' regard. 
 Can give a bliss o'ermatching thine, 
 
 A rustic Bard, 
 
 To give my counsels all in one, 
 Thy tuneful flame still careful fan ; 
 
 1 In South America, famed for its gold mlnoa. 
 
138 BURNS'S POEMB. 
 
 Preserve the Dignity of Man^ 
 
 With soul erect; 
 
 And trust the Universal Plan 
 Will all protect. 
 
 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. 
 
 A DREAM. 
 
 Thoughts, words, and deeds, the statute blames with reason, 
 But surely Dreams were ne'er indicted treason. 
 
 [On reading in the public papers, the Laureate's Ode, with the other parade oi 
 June 4, 17 S6, the Author was no sooner dropt asleep, than he imagined 
 himself transported to tiie birth-day levee ; and in his dreaming fancy made 
 the following address.] 
 
 Guid-mornin' to your Majesty ! 
 
 May Heaven augment your blisses, 
 On every new Mrth-day ye see, 
 
 A humble poet wishes ! 
 My Bardship here, at your levee. 
 
 On sic a day as this is. 
 Is sure an uncouth sight to see, 
 
 Amang thae* birth-day dresses 
 
 Sae fine this day. 
 
 I see ye 're complimented thrang,* 
 
 By monie a lord and lady ; 
 God save the king! 's a cuckoo sang. 
 
 That 's unco^ easy said ay ; 
 The Poets too, a venal gang, 
 
 Wi' rhymes weel-turn'd and ready. 
 Wad gar ye trow* ye ne'er do wrang, 
 
 But ay unerring steady, 
 
 On sic a day. 
 
 For me ! before a monarch's face, 
 Even there I winna^ flatter; 
 
 » Among those.— 2 By a crowd.—' Very.—* Believe.—* Will not 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 130 
 
 For neither pension, post, nor place, 
 
 Am I your humble debtor ; 
 So, nae reflection on your grace^ 
 
 Your kingship to bespatter ; 
 There 's monie waur* been o' the race, 
 
 And aiblins ane'' been better 
 
 Than you this day. 
 
 rris very true, my sovereign King, 
 
 My skill may weel be doubted ; 
 But facts are chiels that winna ding,' 
 
 An' downa* be disputed : 
 Your royal nest,* beneath your wing, 
 
 Is e'en right reft an' clouted," 
 And now the third part o' the string, 
 
 And less, will gang about it. 
 
 Than did ae day.*^ 
 
 Far be 't frae me that I aspire 
 
 To blame your legislation. 
 Or say, ye wisdom want, or fire. 
 
 To rule this mighty nation ! 
 But, faith ! I muckle^ doubt, my Sire, 
 
 Ye 've trusted ministration 
 To chaps, wha in a barn or byre® 
 
 Wad better fiU'd their station 
 
 Than courts yon day. 
 
 And now ye 've gien auld Britain peace. 
 
 Her broken shins to plaster : 
 Your sair taxation does her fleece. 
 
 Till she has scarce a tester : 
 For me, thank God, my life 's a lease^ 
 
 Nae hargain wearing faster. 
 Or, faith ! I fear, that wi' the geese, 
 
 I shortly boost^° to pasture 
 
 I' the craft'^ some day. 
 
 I 'm no mistrusting Willie Pitt, 
 When taxes he enlarges, 
 
 1 Worse. — 2 Perhaps one. — ^ -^{n not give way. — ■* Cannot. — * \o\it do- 
 minions. — 8 Torn and patched. — "^ Written in allusion to the recent loss of 
 America.— 8 Must — ^ A cow stable. — lo Must needs. -^^ Croft, grass 
 field. 
 
140 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 (An' Will 's a true gnid fallow's get, 
 
 A name not envy spairges,^) 
 That he intends to pay yonr debt, 
 
 An' lessen a' your charges ; 
 But, G-d sake ! let nae saving-fit 
 
 Abridge your bonnie barges' 
 
 An' boats this day. 
 
 Adieu, my liege ! may freedom geek' 
 
 Beneath your high protection ; 
 An' may ye rax* con-uption's neck, 
 
 An' gie her for dissection \ 
 But since I 'm here, 1 11 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 Poet gies ye ? 
 Thae bonnie bairn-time,^ Heaven has lent. 
 
 Still higher may they heeze" ye 
 In bliss, till fate some day is sent, 
 
 Forever to release ye 
 
 Frae care that day. 
 
 For you, young Potentate o' Wales, 
 
 I tell your Highness fairly, 
 Down pleasure's stream, wi' swelling sails^ 
 
 I 'm tauld you 're driving rarely ; 
 But some day ye may gnaw your nails, 
 
 An' curse your folly sairly. 
 That e'er you brak Diana's pales. 
 
 Or rattled dice wi' 01«arlie, 
 
 By night or day. 
 
 Yet aft a ragged cowte^ 's been known 
 
 To mak a noble aiver;* 
 So, ye may doucely* fill a throne. 
 
 For a' their clish-ma-claver ;^* 
 
 » Soils or disparages.— 2 Ships of the navy.—' Hold up her head.—* Stretch 
 —6 Family of children.— « Elevate.—''' Colt— ^ Horse.— » Wisely.-** Idle con- 
 versation. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 141 
 
 There, him at Agincourt* wha shone, 
 
 Few better were or braver ; 
 An' yet wi' funny queer Sir John,* 
 
 He was an unco^ shaver 
 
 For monie a day. 
 
 For you, right reverend Osnaburg, 
 
 Nane sets the lawn-sleeve sweeter, 
 Altho' a ribbon at your lug* 
 
 "Wad been a dress completer : 
 As ye disown yon paughty® dog 
 
 That bears the keys of Peter, 
 Then swith !° an' get a wife to hug. 
 
 Or, trouth ! ye '11 stain the mitre 
 Some luckless day. 
 
 Young, royal Tarry Breeks,^ I learn, 
 • Ye 've lately come athwart her ; 
 A glorious galley ^^ stem an' stern, 
 
 Weel rigg'd for Venus' barter ; 
 But first hang out, that she '11 discern 
 
 Your hymeneal charter. 
 Then heave aboard your grapple airn,* 
 
 An' large upo' her quarter 
 
 Come full that day. 
 
 Ye, lastly, bonnie blossoms a'. 
 
 Ye royal lasses dainty. 
 Heaven mak you guid as weel as braw," 
 
 An' gie you lads a plenty : 
 But sneer na British boys awa'. 
 
 For kings are unco scant" ay ; 
 An' German gentles are but 8ma\ 
 
 They 're better just than want ay 
 On onie day. 
 
 God bless you a', consider now, 
 
 Ye 're unco muckle dautet :^^ 
 But, ere the course o' life be thro', 
 
 It may be bitter sautet :" 
 
 i,King Henry V. — 2 Sir John FalstaflF. Vide Shakspeare. — 3 Strange, 
 whimsical.— 4 Ear.— 5 Proud, haughty.— « Get away.—''' Breeches.— 8 Allud- 
 ing to the newspaper accounts of a certain royal sailor's amour. — ^ Iron. — 
 10 Fine, handsome. — 11 Yery few. — 12 Very much cai-essed.- 13 Salted, 
 pickled. 
 
142 
 
 An' I liae seen their coggie fon,* 
 That yet hae tarrow'd* at it : 
 
 But or the day was done, I trow, 
 The laggen' they hae clautet* 
 
 Fu' clean that day. 
 
 ADDRESS TO THE DEIL. 
 
 O Prince 1 O Chief of many throned Powers, 
 That led th' embattled Seraphim to -vrar.— JfiZtoa. 
 
 O THOU I whatever title suit thee, 
 Auld Ilornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie, 
 "Wha in yon cavern, grim an' sootie. 
 
 Closed nnder hatches, 
 Spairges^ about the brunstane cootie,* 
 
 To scaud' poor wretches ! 
 
 Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee,* 
 And let poor damned bodies be ; 
 I'm sure sma'* pleasure it can gie,^ 
 
 E'en to a Deil, 
 To skelp" an' scaud poor dogs like me, 
 
 An' hear us squeel ! 
 
 Great is thy power, an' great thy fame ; 
 Far kenn'd" and noted is thy name ; 
 An' tho' yon lowin' heugh" 's thy hame. 
 
 Thou travels far ; 
 An' faith ! thou 's neither lag nor lame, 
 
 l!»ror blate," nor scaur.** 
 
 "Whyles*^ ranging like a roaring lion 
 For prey, a' holes an' corners tryin' ; 
 "Whyles on the strong- wing'd tempest flyin\ 
 
 Tirhng" the kirks: 
 Whyles in the human bosom pryin', 
 
 Unseen thou lurks. 
 
 * Cnp or dish full. — * Murmured. — * The angle between the side and bot- 
 om of a wooden dish.—* Scraped. — * To dash, or throw about. — ' Brinistone 
 «i8h, or ladle.—'' Scald.— » Little.— » Small.— lo Give.— »i Strike, or beat— 
 " Known.— 15 Flaming pit.— ^^ Bashful.— »5 Apt to bo scared.— »» Some- 
 limes. — 17 Uncovering. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 143 
 
 1 've heard my reverend grannie say, 
 In lanely glens ye like to stray ; 
 Or where auld, ruin'd castles, gray, 
 
 Nod to the moon. 
 Ye fright the nightly wanderer's way 
 
 Wi' eldritch croon.^ 
 
 When twilight did my grannie summon, 
 To say her prayers, douce,*^ honest woman ! 
 Aff yont' the dyke she 's heard yon bummin', 
 
 Wi' eerie* drone ; 
 Or, rnstlin', thro' the boortries® comin', 
 
 Wi' heavy groan. 
 
 Ae* dreary, windy, winter night. 
 
 The stars shot down wi' sklentin'^ lig^it; 
 
 Wi' you, mysel, I gat a fright,- 
 
 Ayont the lough ;® 
 Ye, like a rash-bush,® stood in sight, 
 
 Wi' waving sugh." 
 
 The cudgel in my nieve" did shake. 
 
 Each bristled hair stood like a stake, 
 
 "When wi' an eldritch stour," quaick — quaick — 
 
 Amang the springs, 
 Awa' ye squatter' d^^ like a drake. 
 
 On whistling wings. 
 
 Let wa/rlock^^ grim, an' wither'd liags^ 
 Tell how wi' you on ragweed^® nags, 
 They skim the muirs an' dizzy crags, 
 
 Wi' wicked speed ; 
 And in kirk-yards renew their leagues 
 
 Owre howkit" dead. 
 
 J FrightfiA. hollow moan.— 2 Wise, good.— 3 Beyond.— * Frighted, or fright 
 ftil. — ' Elder-ti-ees. — « One. — '' Glimmering. — ^ ^ poo], or sheet of water.— 
 * A bush, or large tuft of rushes. — 1° Eushing noise of wind or water.— 
 11 Hand, or fist. — 12 The raising a cloud of dust — ^^ Fluttered in water.— 
 1* Wizards. — i^ Kagwort 
 
 i« Digged up, or disinterred. Those who are, or were, believers in the old 
 traditions relative to witchcraft, supposed that the incantations of these de 
 moniacs were frequently performed over dead bodies, which they dug 
 Bcratched, or conjured out of their graves in order to perforni their deyilisb 
 orgies more effectually. 
 
144 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 Thence countra wives wi' toil an' pain, 
 May plunge an' plunge the kirn' in vain; 
 For, oh ! the yellow treasure 's ta'en 
 
 By witching skill : 
 An' dawtit,' twal-pint^ Hawkie's^ gaen^ 
 
 As yell 's" the Bill/ 
 
 Thence mystic knots mak great abuse, 
 
 On young guidmen,® fond, keen, an' crouse;' 
 
 When the best wark-lume*° i' the house, 
 
 By cantrip" wit. 
 Is instant made no worth a louse, 
 
 Just at the bit. 
 
 When thowes" dissolve tke snawy hoord^ 
 An' float the jingling icy-boord. 
 Then Water Icelpies^^ haunt the foord, 
 
 By your direction, 
 An' 'nigh ted travellers are allured 
 
 To their destruction. 
 
 An' aft your moss-traversing Spunhies^^* - 
 
 Decoy the wight that late an' drunk is. 
 The bleezin', curst, mischievous monkeys 
 
 Delude his eyes. 
 Till in some miry slough he sunk is, 
 
 Ne'er mair to rise. 
 
 AVhen Masons^ mystic word an' grip 
 In storms an' tempests raise you up, 
 
 I Churn. — ^ Fondled, caressed. — ' Twelve-pint — * Cow. — * Gone.— 
 • Barren. 
 
 '^ Bull.— The literal English meaning of these last two lines is, that a fa- 
 vorite cow, that gave daily twelve Scotch pints of milk (equal to forty-eight 
 English pints), is becoming as barren as a bull, in consequence of witchcraft 
 
 8 Men newly married. — • Courageous. 
 
 !•> A working tool. Fully to appreciate the meaning of the stanza begin- 
 ning "Thence mystic knots,'' it is neces.sary for the English reader to know, 
 that a tradition was entertained in Scotland of the power of witchcraft to 
 prevent consummation on the bridal night, by rendering the "young guid 
 man" powerless "just at the bit," or momeut when, «fec. 
 
 II A charm or 8i)ell.— ^^ Thaws. 
 
 13 A mischievous kind of spirits, said to haunt fords, or ferries, particularly 
 n stormy nights. 
 ^^ Will-o'-the-wisp, or Jack-a-lantern. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 145 
 
 Some cock or cat your rage maiin stop, 
 
 Or, strange to tell ! 
 The youngest brother ye wad whip 
 
 Aff straught to h-lU 
 
 Lang syne in Eden's bonnie yard, 
 When youthfu' lovers tirst were pair'd, 
 An' a' the soul of love they shared 
 
 The raptured hour, 
 Sweet on the fragrant, flowery swaird, 
 
 In shady bower ; 
 
 Then you, ye auld, snick-drawing^ dog ! 
 
 Ye came to Paradise incog. 
 
 An' played on man a cursed brogue, 
 
 (Black be your fa' !) 
 An' gied the infant warld a shog,^ 
 
 'Maist ruin'd a'. 
 
 D 'ye mind that day, when in a bizz,' 
 Wi' reekit duds,* an' reestit gizz,° 
 Ye did present your smoutie^ phiz, 
 
 'Mang better folk, 
 An' sklented'^ on the man of Uz 
 
 Your spitefu' joke ? 
 
 An' how ye gat him i' your thrall. 
 An' brak him out o' house an' hall, 
 While scabs an' blotches did him gall, 
 
 "Wi' bitter claw. 
 An' lows'd^ his ill-tongued wicked scawl,* 
 
 Was warst ava ? 
 
 But a' your doings to rehearse, 
 Your wily snares an' fechting^° fierce, 
 Sin' that day Michael" did yoti pierce, 
 
 Down to this time, 
 Wad ding" a' Lallan tongue, or Erse, 
 
 In prose or rhyme. 
 
 An' now, auld Cloots., I ken ye 're thinkin', 
 A certain Bardie's rantin', drinkin', 
 
 * Trick-contriving. — "^ K violent shock. — 3 Bustle. — * Smoky clothes.-- 
 * Withered, or scorched wig.— c Ugly, or smutty. — "^ Hit aslant, or obliquely. 
 —8 Loosed.— 9 A scold.— 10 Fighting.— ii Vide Milton, book vi.— 12 Pu2a:le. 
 
 13 
 
146 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 Some luckless hour will send him linking 
 To your black pit ; 
 
 Bat, faith ! he '11 turn a corner jinkin',* 
 An' cheat you yet. 
 
 But fare you weel, auld N'ickie-'ben ! 
 
 wad ye tak a thought an' men' ! 
 Ye aiblins' might — I dinna ken'' — 
 
 Still hae a stahe — 
 
 1 'm wae to think upon yon den, 
 
 Even for your sake !° 
 
 ADDRESS TO EDINBURGH. 
 
 Edina ! Scotia's darling seat ! 
 
 All hail thy palaces and towers, 
 Where once beneath a monarch's feet 
 
 Sat Legislation's sovereign powers ! 
 From marking wildly-scatter'd flowers, 
 
 As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd. 
 And singing, lone, the lingering hours, 
 
 I shelter in thy honor'd shade. 
 
 Here Wealth still swells the golden tide, 
 
 As busy Trade his labors 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 enlarged, their liberal mind. 
 
 Above the narrow, rural vale ; 
 Attentive still to sorrow's wail, 
 
 Or modest merit's silent claim ; 
 
 '* Tripping. — ^ Dodging. — ' Perhaps. — "• Do not know. 
 6 Written in the winter of 1T84-5. "Tiie idea of an Address to the Deil 
 was suggested to the poet, by running over in his mind tlic many ludicrous 
 accounts and representations we have, from various quarters, of this august 
 personage." — Gilbert Burns. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 14^ 
 
 And never may their sources fail ! 
 And never envy blot their name ! 
 
 Thy daughters bright thy walks adorn ! 
 
 Gay as the gijded summer sky, 
 Sweet as the dewy milk-white thorn, 
 
 Dear as the raptured thrill of joy ! 
 Pair Burnet^ strikes th' adoring eye, 
 
 Heaven's beauties on my fancy shine, 
 I see the Sire of love on high. 
 
 And own his work indeed divine ! 
 
 There, watching high the least alarms. 
 
 Thy rough, rude fortress gleams afar ; 
 Like some bold veteran, gray in arms. 
 
 And mark'd with many a seamy scar ; 
 The ponderous wall and massy bar. 
 
 Grim-rising o'er the rugged rock ; 
 Have oft withstood assailing war. 
 
 And oft repell'd the invader's shock. 
 
 With awe-struck thought, and pitying tears, 
 
 I view that noble, stately dome. 
 Where Scotia's kings of other years. 
 
 Famed heroes, had their royal home. 
 Alas ! how changed the times to come ; 
 
 Their royal name low in the dust ! 
 Their hapless race wild- wandering roam ! 
 
 Tho' rigid law cries out, 'twas just! 
 
 Wild beats my heart to trace your steps. 
 
 Whose ancestors, in days of yore, 
 Thro' hostile ranks and ruin'd gaps. 
 
 Old Scotia's bloody lion bore : 
 Even I who sing in rustic lore. 
 
 Haply my sires have left their shed, 
 And faced grim danger's loudest roar. 
 
 Bold-following where your fathers led I 
 
 Edina ! Scotia's darling seat ! 
 
 All hail thy palaces and towers, 
 Wliere once beneath a monarch's feet 
 
 Sat Legislation's sovereign powers ! 
 
 1 Miss Burnet of Monboddo. 
 
148 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 From marking wildly-scatter'd flowers, 
 As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd, 
 
 And singing, lone, the lingering hours, 
 I shelter in thy honor'd shade.* 
 
 ADDRESS TO THE SHADE OF THOMSON, 
 
 ON CROWNING HIS BUST, AT EDNAM, ROXBURGHSHIRE, "WITH BAY8 
 
 [Written by desire of the poet's friend, the Earl of Buchan.l 
 
 While virgin Spring, by Eden's flood, 
 
 Unfolds her tender mantle green, 
 Or pranks tbe sod in frolic mood. 
 
 Or tunes Eolian strains between : 
 
 While Summer, with a matron grace, 
 Ketreats to Dryburgh's cooling shade, 
 
 Yet 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 his bounty fed : 
 
 While maniac Winter rages o'er 
 
 The hills whence classic Yarrow flows, 
 •Kousing the turbid torrent's roar. 
 
 Or sweeping wild, a waste of snows : 
 So long, sweet Poet of the Year, 
 
 Shall bloom that wreath thou well hast won ; 
 While Scotia, with exulting tear, 
 
 Proclaims that Thomson was her son. 
 
 THE POET'S WELCOME 
 
 TO HIS ILLEGITIMATE CHILD.* 
 
 Thou 's welcome, wean, mishanter fa' me. 
 If aught of thee or of thy mammy, 
 
 1 This poem Is chiefly remarkable for the grand stanzas on the castle and 
 Holyrood "with which it concludes. — Lock-hart. 
 
 a This " Address" is omitted by Dr. Currie, and as its contents are rather 
 of too indelicate a complexion to need elucidation, the commentator has with- 
 held his pen. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 140 
 
 Shall ever danton me or awe me, 
 
 My sweet wee lady, 
 Or if I blush when thou shalt ca' me 
 
 Tit-ta or daddy. 
 
 Wee image of my bonnie 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 
 
 That's out o'h-11. 
 
 What tho' they ca' me fornicator. 
 An' tease my name in kintry-clatter : 
 The mair they tauk I 'm kent the better, 
 
 E'en let them clash ; 
 An auld wife's tongue 's a feckless matter 
 
 To gie ane fash. 
 
 Sweet fruit o' monie 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 half o't. 
 
 An' if thou be what I wad hae thee. 
 An' tak the counsel I shall gie thee, 
 A lovin' father I '11 be to thee. 
 
 If thou be spared ; 
 Thro' a' thy childish years I '11 e'e thee, 
 
 An' think 't weel war'd. 
 
 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 I 
 'Twill please me mair to hear an' see 't 
 
 Than stocket mailins. 
 
150 BURNS^S POEMS, 
 
 TO A HAGGIS.i 
 
 Fair fa' your honest, sonsie'* face, 
 Great chieftain o' the puddin'-race I 
 Aboon^ them a' ye tak your place, 
 
 Painch,^ tripe, or thairin :* 
 Weel are ye wordy •^ of a grace 
 
 As lang's my arm. 
 
 The groaning trencher there ye fill. 
 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 labor dight,' 
 An' cut you up wi' ready slight, 
 Ti*enching your gushing entrails bright 
 
 Like onie ditch ; 
 And then, O what a glorious sight, 
 
 "Warm-reeking 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, raaist like to rive," 
 
 Bethankit^^ hums. 
 
 Is there that o'er his French ragout^ 
 Or olio that wad staw" a sow, 
 Ov fricassee wad make her spew 
 
 Wi' perfect sconner,** 
 Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view 
 
 On sic a dinner ? 
 
 Poor devil \ see him owre his trash, 
 As feckless" as a wither'd rash, 
 
 1 A kind of puddteg boiled in the stomach of a cow, or sheep. — ' Enga- 
 I ping, pleasing. — » Above. — * Paunch. — * A small gut. — « Worthy. — ^ Wipe 
 lelean. — ^ A spoon made of horn. — * Bellies.— 1° By and by. — '^ To split.— 
 ^^2 Grace after meat.— ^^ Surfeit.- 1* Loathing.— i'^ Puny, weak. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 151 
 
 His spindle-shank a guid whip-lash, 
 
 His nieve* a nit ;^ 
 Thro' bloody flood or field to dash, 
 
 O how unfit ! 
 
 But mark the rustic, haggis-fed^ 
 
 The trembling earth resounds his tread, 
 
 Clap in his walie'' nieve a blade, 
 
 He '11 mak it whissle ; 
 An' legs, an' arms, an' heads will sned,* 
 
 Like taps o' thrissle.^ 
 
 Ye Powers wha mak mankind your care, 
 And dish them out their bill o' fare, 
 Auld Scotland wants nae skinking^ ware 
 
 That jaups^ in luggies®; 
 But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer, 
 
 Gie her a Haggis ! 
 
 ADDRESS TO THE TOOTHACHE. 
 
 My curse upon thy venom'd stang. 
 That shoots my tortured gums alang ; 
 And thro' my lugs* gies monie a twang, 
 
 Wi' gnawing vengeance ; 
 Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang. 
 
 Like racking engines. 
 
 When fevers burn, or ague freezes, 
 Rheumatics gnaw, or colic squeezes ; 
 Our neighbor's sympathy may ease us, 
 
 Wi' pitying moan ; 
 But thee — thou hell o' a' diseases. 
 
 Ay mocks our groan ! 
 
 Adown my beard the slavers trickle ! 
 I throw the wee stools o'er the mickle,^* 
 
 1 The fist.— 2 Nut.— 3 Large, ample.— -» To lop off.— « Tops of thistles.— 
 * Small portions. — ''' A jerk of waters, or a thin potion that will jerk or quash 
 like water. — ^ A. small wooden dish with a handle. — ^ Ears. — -o The 
 greater. 
 
152 BURNS S POEMS. 
 
 As round the fire the giglets* keckle* 
 To see me loup ;^ 
 
 While, raving mad, I wish a heckle* 
 Were in their doup.® 
 
 O' a' the numerous human dools,® 
 
 III har'sts,' daft bargains,® cuUy-stooU^ 
 
 Or worthy friends raked i' the mools,^' 
 
 Sad sight to see ! 
 The tricks o' knaves, or fash" o' fools. 
 
 Thou bear'st the gree.^* 
 
 Where'er that j)lace be priests ca' hell, 
 Whence a' the tones o' misery yell, 
 And ranked plagues their numbers tell, 
 
 In dreadfu' raw," 
 Thou, Toothache, surely bear'st the bell 
 
 Aboon^* them a' I 
 
 O thou grim, mischief-making chiel', \ 
 
 That gars^° the notes of discord squeel. 
 Till daft mankind aft dance a reel 
 
 In gore a shoe-thick, — 
 Gie a' the faes o' Scotland's weal 
 
 A towmond's^* Toothache ! 
 
 TO A POSTHUMOUS CHILD, 
 
 BORN IN PECULIAR 0IR0UMSTAN0E3 OP DISTRESS, 
 
 Sweet floweret, pledge o' meikle" love, 
 
 And ward o' monie a prayer, 
 What heart o' stane wad thou na move, 
 
 Sae helpless, sweet, and fair ! 
 
 !N'ovember hirples" o'er the lea. 
 Chill, on thy lovely form ; 
 
 " Fools.--^ Laugh.—' Leap, Jump. 
 
 < A board In which are driven a number of sharp iron pins, used for dress- 
 fng hemp, flax, &c. 
 
 6 Backside.— « Sorrows.—^ Bad harvests.— « Foolish bargains.—* Stool ot 
 repentance. — i® Laid in the grave.— *^ Trouble. — ^"^ The victory. — ^^ Kow. 
 —14 Above. — 15 Makes. — ^^ A twelvemontli. — i''' Much. — ^^ Creeps, ot 
 Uraps. , 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 153 
 
 And gaae, alas ! the shelt'ring 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 stounds,* 
 
 Protect and guard the mother-plant, 
 And heal her cruel wounds I 
 
 But late she flourish 'd, rooted fast, 
 Fair on the summer morn ; 
 
 iRow, feebly bends she in the blast, ^ • 
 Unshelter'd and forlorn. 
 
 Blest be thy bloom, thou lovely gem, 
 Unscathed^ by ruffian hand ! 
 
 And from thee many a parent stem 
 Arise to deck our land ! 
 
 TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY, 
 
 On turning one down with the plough, in April, 1784^ 
 
 Wee,^ modest, crimson-tipped flower. 
 Thou 'st met me in an evil hour ; 
 Por I maun crush amang the stoure* 
 
 Thy slender stem ; 
 To spare thee now is past my power. 
 
 Thou bonnie gem. 
 
 Alas ! it 's no** thy neebor sweet ! 
 The bonnie Larh^ companion meet ! 
 Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet!^ 
 
 Wi' spreckled breast, 
 When upward-springing, blythe, to greet 
 
 The purpling East. 
 
 Cauld blew the bitter-biting North 
 Upon thy early, humble birth, 
 
 ' Acute pains.— 2 Unhurt.— 3 Small.— ^ Dust.— ^ Not.— « Wet, wetness. 
 
154: BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 Yet cheerfully thou glinted^ forth 
 
 Amid the storm, 
 Scarce rear'd above the parent earth 
 
 Thy tender form. 
 
 The flaunting flowers our gardens yield, 
 High sheltering woods and wa's maun shield ; 
 But thou, beneath the random bield^ 
 
 0' clod or stane, 
 Adorns the histie^ stihhle-field^ 
 
 Unseen, alane. 
 
 There, in thy scanty mantle clad, 
 Thy snawie bosom sunward spread, 
 Thou lifts thy unassuming head 
 
 In humble guise ; 
 But now the share up-tears thy bed, 
 
 And low thou hes ! 
 
 Such is the fate of artless Maid, 
 Sweet Jlow^ret of the rural shade! 
 By love's simplicity betray'd. 
 
 And guileless trust. 
 Till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid 
 
 Low r the dust. 
 
 Such is the fate of simple Bard, 
 
 On life's rough ocean luckless starr'd : 
 
 Unskilful he to note the card 
 
 01 prudent lore^ 
 Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, 
 
 And whelm him o'er ! 
 
 Such fate to suffering worth is given. 
 
 Who long with wants and woes has striven, 
 
 By human pride or cunning driven. 
 
 To mis'ry's brink, 
 Till wrenched of ev'ry stay but Hea'oen^ 
 
 He, ruin'd, sink! 
 
 Even thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate. 
 That fate is thine — no distant date; 
 
 ^ Peeped. — ^ Shelter.—' Dry, cbapt, barren. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 15c 
 
 Stern Euin's plougJi-sliare drives, elate, 
 
 Full on thy bloom, 
 Till crush'd beneath the furrow's weight, 
 
 Shall be thy doom!' 
 
 TO A MOUSE, 
 
 On turning her up in her nest, with the plough, November, 1785 
 
 Wee, sleekit,^ cow'rinV tira'rous beastie, 
 Oh, what a panic 's in thy breastie I 
 Thou need na start awa' sae hasty, 
 
 Wi' bick'rin' 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 thee startle 
 At me, thy poor earth-born companion^ 
 
 An' fellow-mortal. 
 
 I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve : 
 What then ? poor beastie, thou maun live ; 
 A daimen icTcer' in a thrave^ 
 
 'S a sma' request : 
 I '11 get a blessing wi' the lave,^ 
 
 And never miss 't. 
 
 Thy wee bit housie^ too, in ruin ! 
 Its silly wa's the wins'" are strewin' ! 
 An' nae thing, now, to big" a new ane, 
 0' foggage'^ green ! 
 *^ An' bleak December's wins ensuin', 
 
 Baith snelP^ and keen ! 
 
 ^ When Burns first arrived in Edinburgh, the "Lounger," a weekly paj er, 
 edited by Henry Mackenzie, Esq., author of the "Man of Feeling," was in 
 course of publication. In that periodical a whole number (the "Lounger for 
 Saturday, December 9, 178G*') was devoted to " An account of Eobert Burns, 
 the Ayrshire ploughman,^' in which were given the address " To a Mountain 
 Daisy," and an extract from the " Vision," as specimens of his poetry. 
 
 2 Sleek. — 3 Cowering. — * A short race. — 5 Loth. — ^ Plough-staff.—''' An ear 
 of corn now and then.— ^ A shock of corn.— ^ The rest— lo Winds.— ii To 
 build.— 12 Aftergrass.— 13 Bitter, biting. 
 
156 
 
 Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste, 
 And weary winter comin' fast, 
 An' cozie^ here, beneath the blast, 
 
 Thou thought to dwell. 
 Till, crash ! the cruel coulter pass'd 
 
 Out thro' thy cell. 
 
 That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble, 
 Has cost thee monie a weary nibble! 
 ITow thou 's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble. 
 
 But'' house or hald,^ 
 To thole* the winter's sleety dribble, 
 
 An' cranreuch* cauld ! 
 
 But, Mousie, thou art no tliy lane,® 
 In ^voYmg foresight may be vain : 
 The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men^ 
 
 Gang aft a-gley,' 
 And lea'e us naught but grief and pain. 
 
 For promised joy. 
 
 Still thou art blest, compared wi' me ! 
 The present only toucheth thee : 
 But, och ! I backward cast my e'e, 
 
 On prospects drear ! 
 An' forward, tho' I canna see^ 
 
 I guess an' fear? 
 
 LINES 
 
 ON SOARING SOME WATER-FOWL IN LOOH-TURIT, 
 
 A wild scene among the hills of Oaehtertyre. 
 
 Why, ye tenants of the lake, 
 For me your watery haunt forsake ? 
 Tell me, fellow-creatures, why 
 At my presence thus you fly? 
 "Why disturb your social joys, 
 
 » Snugly.-— 2 "Withoui— ' Hold, home.— < To endure.—'* The boar frost- 
 Not alone.— "^ Off the right time. 
 8 "The verses to the Mouse, and Mountain Daisy, were composed on tho 
 
 occasions mentioned, and while the author was holding the plough."— (rt^ 
 
 lert Bitnis. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 157 
 
 Parent, filial, kindred ties, — 
 Common friend to you and me, 
 Nature's gifts to all are free : 
 Peaceful keep your dimpling wave, 
 Busy feed, or wanton lave ; 
 Or beneath the shelt'ring rock. 
 Bide the surging billow's shock. 
 
 Conscious, blushing for our race, 
 Soon, too soon, your fears I trace : 
 Man, your proud usurping foe, 
 Would be lord of all below ; 
 Plumes himself in Freedom's pride, 
 Tyrant stern to all beside. 
 
 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, 
 Glories in his heart humane — 
 And creatures for his pleasure slain. 
 
 In these savage, liquid plains, 
 Only known to wandering SAvains, 
 Where the mossy rivulet strays. 
 Far from human haunts and ways ; 
 All on Nature you depend. 
 And life's poor season peaceful spend. 
 
 Or, if man's superior might, 
 •Dare invade your native right. 
 On the lofty ether borne, 
 Man with all his powers you scorn; 
 Swiftly seek on clanging wings. 
 Other lakes and other springs ; 
 And the foe you cannot brave, 
 Scorn at least to be his slave, 
 U 
 
158 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 WEITTEX JAXUAEY 25, 1793, THE BIETH-DAY OF THE 
 
 AUTHOR, 
 
 On hearing a thrush in a morning walk. 
 
 Sing on, sweet thrush, npon 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 furrow'd 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 aught to hope or fear. 
 
 I thank thee. Author of this opening day ! 
 
 Thou whose bright sun now gilds yon orient skies! 
 
 Riches denied, thy boon was purer joys, 
 What wealth could never give nor take away ! 
 
 Yet come, thou child of Poverty and Care ; 
 The mite higli Heaven bestow'd, that mite with thee 
 I '11 share. 
 
 VERSES 
 
 On seeing a wounded hare limp by me, which a fellow had just shot. 
 
 Inhthvian man ! curse on thy barbarous art. 
 And blasted be thy murder-aiming eye : 
 May never Pity soothe thee with a sigh, 
 
 Nor ever Pleasure glad thy cruel heart I 
 
 Go, live, poor wanderer of the wood and field. 
 
 The bitter little that of life remains : 
 
 No more the thickening brakes and verdant plains 
 To thee shall home, or food, or pastime yield. 
 
 Seek, mangled wretch, some place of wonted rest — 
 No more of rest, but now thy dying bed I 
 The sheltering rushes whistling o'er thy head, 
 
 The cold earth with thy bloody bosom press'd. 
 
^^ ''^^^:^^^ 
 
 Go live poor wan.derer ofttLe Wood. axLcJ. field , 
 Thfilnlter little tltat of life remain.s 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 159 
 
 Oft as by winding Kith I, musing, wait 
 The sober eve, or hail the cheerful dawn, 
 I '11 miss thee sporting o'er the dewy lawn, 
 
 And curse the ruffian's aim, and mourn thy help- 
 less fate. 
 
 THE AULD FARMER'S 
 
 NEW- YEAR MOENING SALUTATION TO HIS AULD MARE 
 MAGGIE, 
 
 On giving her the accustomed ripp of corn to hansel in the New- Year. 
 
 A GUiD new year, I wish thee, Maggie ! 
 Hae there 's a ripp* to thy auld baggie \^ 
 Tho' thou 's howe-backit,' now, an' knaggie,* 
 
 I 've seen the day 
 Thou could hae gaen like onie staggie* 
 
 Out-owre the lay. 
 
 Tho' now thou 's dowie,* stiff, an' crazy, 
 An' thy auld hide 's as white 's a daisy, 
 I 've seen thee dappled, sleek, and glaizie,^ 
 
 A bonnie gray : 
 He should been tight that daur't to raise^ thee, 
 
 Ance in a day. 
 
 Thou ance was i' the foremost rank, 
 A filly ^ buirdly,* steeve,*" an' swank," 
 An' set weel down a shapely shank, 
 
 As e'er tread yird ;^* 
 An' could hae flown out-owre a stank," 
 
 Like onie bird. 
 
 It 's now some nine-an'-twenty year. 
 Sin' thou was my guid-father's meere ; 
 He gied me thee, o' tocher** clear, 
 
 An' fifty mark ; 
 Tho' it was sma', 'twas weel won gear, 
 
 An' thou was stark.*^ 
 
 1 A handful of unthreshed corn.— 2 Belly.— 3 Sunk in the back.— ■* Like 
 knaggs, or points of rocks.— s Diminutive of stag.— « Worn with fatigue.— 
 ''Smooth like glass.— « To inflame, or madden.— » Stout made.— ^o Firm, 
 compacted.— 11 Stately.— 12 Earth.— 13 A pool of standing water.— 1* Amar- 
 riage portion.— is Stout: 
 
160 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 When first I gaed to woo my Jenny, 
 Ye then was trottin' wi' your minnie :* 
 The' ye was trickle, slee, an' funnie, 
 
 Ye ne'er was donsie ;' 
 But haraely, tawie,^ quiet, an' cannie, 
 
 An' unco sonsie.* 
 
 That day ye danced wi' muckle pride. 
 When ye bure hame my bonnie bride ; 
 An' sweet an' gracefu' she did ride, 
 
 Wi' maiden air! 
 Kyle Stewart^ I could bragged^ wide. 
 
 For sic a pair. 
 
 Tho' now ye dow^ but hoyte^ and hobble, 
 An' wintle like a saumont-cobble,* 
 That day ye was a j inker*" noble. 
 
 For heels an' win' ! 
 An' ran- them till they a' did wauble," 
 
 Far, far behin'. 
 
 When thou an' I were young an' skeigh," 
 
 An' stable-meals at fairs were dreigh," 
 
 How thou wad prance, an' snore, an' skreigh," 
 
 An' tak the road ! 
 . Town's bodies*^ ran and stood abeigh," 
 
 And ca't thee mad. 
 
 When thou was corn't," an' I was mellow, 
 We took the road ay like a swallow : 
 At Brooses'® thou had ne'er a fellow, 
 
 For pith an' speed ; 
 But evVy tail thou paid them hollow, 
 
 Where'er thou gaed. 
 
 The sma', droop-rumpl't,'* hunter-cattle. 
 Might aiblins** waur'f^* thee for a brattle ;** 
 
 1 Mother, dam.— ^ Unlucky.— » Peaceable to be handled.— < Good-looking. 
 — » A district in Aberdeenshire.— ^ Challenged.—' Can.— » Amble crazily.— 
 » Salmon fishing-boat— 1° That turns quickly.— ^i To reel.— 12 Proud, high- 
 mettled.— "^^ Tedious, long about it— 1* To scream.— 1* Town people.— ^^ At 
 ft shy distance.— 1' Well fed with oats. 
 
 18 A race at country weddings, who shall first roach the bridegroom's hous« 
 »n returning from church. 
 
 19 That droops at the crupper.— =" Perhaps.- 21 Worsted.— 22 A short 
 race. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS, IGl 
 
 But sax Scotch miles, thou try't their mettle 
 An' gar't them whaizle :^ 
 
 Kae whip nor spur, but just a wattle'^ 
 0' saugh' or hazle. 
 
 Thou was a noble Jittie-lan\* 
 
 As e'er in tug or tow° was drawn ! 
 
 Aft thee an' I, in aught° hours gaun,^ 
 
 On guid March weather, 
 Ilae turn'd sax^ rood beside our han' 
 
 For days thegither. 
 
 Thou never braindg't,® an' fecht," an' fliskit," 
 But thy auld tail thou wad hae whiskit. 
 An' spread abreed thy weel-fill'd brisket," 
 
 Wi' pith and power, 
 Till spritty knowes^' wad rair't and risket," 
 
 And slypet^" owre. 
 
 When frosts lay lang an' snaws were deep, 
 An' threaten'd labor back to keep, 
 I gied thy cog^° a wee bit heap 
 
 Aboon the timmer ;" 
 I kenn'd my Maggie wad na sleep 
 
 For that, or simmer." 
 
 In cart or car thou never reestit ;^' 
 
 The steyest brae^" thou wad hae faced it ; 
 
 Thou never lap,^^ and stent,'" and breastit,"* 
 
 Then stood to blaw; 
 But just thy step a wee thing hastit,'** 
 
 Thou snoov't^ awa. 
 
 My pleugJi is now thy bairn-time a' ;^ 
 Four gallant brutes as e'er did draw : 
 
 1 Made them wheeze.— 2 A twig.— 3 Willow. — 4 The near-horse of lh« 
 hindmost pair in the plough.— ^ Rope.— « Eight.— ' Going. — ^ Six.—' Keeled 
 forward.— 10 Fought— 11 Fretted.— 12 Thebreast.— ^3 Small hills full of tough- 
 rooted plants or weeds.— ^^ Make a noise like the tearing of roots.— is Fell 
 — 1' Wooden dish. — i' Above the brim.— ^^ Summer.— ^^ Stood restive. — 
 20 Steepest hill. — 21 Leaped. — 22 Reared. — 23 Sprung up, or forward.— 
 24 Hastened. — 25 Went smoothly.— 2 « All the team belonging to my plougt 
 »re of thy brood. 
 
1G2 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 Forbye sax mae I 've sell't awaV 
 
 That thou hast nurst : 
 
 They drew me thretteen pund aa' twa'* 
 The vera warst. 
 
 Monie a sair darg^ we twa hae wrought, 
 An' wi' the weary warl' fought ! 
 An' monie an anxious day I thought 
 
 We wad be beat ! 
 Yet here to crazy age 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' 
 
 For my \sistfou* 
 A heapet^ stimpart^^ I '11 reserve ane, 
 
 Laid by for you. 
 
 We 've worn to crazy years thegither ; 
 We '11 toyte' about wi' ane anither ; 
 Wi' tentie' care I '11 flit thy tether, 
 
 To some hain'd^ rig, 
 Where ye may nobly rax^" your leather, 
 
 Wi' sma' fatigue. 
 
 THE DEATH AND DYING WORDS OF POOR MAHJE, 
 
 The Author's only pet yowe. 
 AN UNCO MOURNFU' TALE. 
 
 As Mailie, an' her lambs thegither. 
 Were ae day nibbling on the tether, 
 Upon her cloot" she coost" a hitch, 
 An' owre she warsled'^ in the ditch: 
 There, groaning, dying, she did lie. 
 When Hughoc" he came doytin'^' by» 
 
 1 Besides six more which I have sold. 
 
 s Thirteen pounds and two— perhaps fifteen pounds is hero meant, &3 the 
 poet praises the goodness of Maggie's stoclc, 
 
 3 Day's labor.—'* My last drinking bout.—* Heaped. — « The eighth part of a 
 bushel.—' Totter.- 8 Cautious.- » Spared. — »» Stretch.- 1» Hoof. — ^^ Did 
 cast— 13 Wrestled, or fell struggling.- 1* A neebor herd callan.— i* Stupidly 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 163 
 
 Wi' glowrin' een/ an lifted han's, 
 Poor Hnghoc like a statue stan's ; 
 He saw her days were near-hand ended, 
 But, waes my heart! he could na mend it; 
 He gaped wide, but naething spak ! 
 At length poor Mailie silence brak : 
 
 " thou, whase lamentable face 
 Appears to mourn my wofu' case ! 
 My dying words attentive hear. 
 And bear them to my Master dear. 
 
 '* Tell him, if e'er again he keep 
 As muckle gear as buy a sheep, 
 Oh, bid him never tie them mair 
 AYi' wicked strings o' hemp or hair ! 
 But ca' them out to park or hill. 
 An' let them wander at their will ; 
 So may his flock increase, and grow 
 To scores o' lambs, and packs o' woo' ! 
 
 '' Tell him he was a Master kin', 
 An' ay was guid to me and mine; 
 An' now my dying charge I gie him. 
 My helpless lambs I trust tliem wi' him. 
 
 '' Oh, bid him save their harmless lives, 
 Frae dogs, an' tods,* an' butchers' knives ' 
 But gie them good cow-milk their fill, 
 Till they be fit to fend themsel' : 
 An' tent them duly, e'en and morn, 
 Wi' teats o' hay an' rips o' corn. 
 
 " An' may they never learn the gaets' 
 Of ither vile wanrestfu''* pets ; 
 To shnk 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 shears : 
 So wives will gie them bits o' bread. 
 An' bairns greet® for them when they 're dead 
 
 " My poor toop-lamh^ my son an' heir, 
 Oh, bid him breed him up wi' care ! 
 An' if he live to be a beast. 
 To pit some bavins^" in his breast ! 
 
 » 8tarin<;r eyes.— 2 Foxes. — 3 Manners. — * Eestless.— s Gates.— « Eove.— « 
 Forefatlaftrs.— 8 Weep. — ' Kam-lamb. — '^^ Good-manners. 
 
164 BURxSrs's POEMS. 
 
 An' warn him, what I winna name, 
 To stay content wi' yowes* at harae ; 
 An' no to rin an' wear his cloots" 
 Like ither menseless,^ graceless brutes. 
 
 "An' niest* my yowie^ silly thing, 
 Gude* keep thee frae a tether string ! 
 Oh, may thou ne'er forgather' up 
 Wi' onie blastit,' moorland toop ;® 
 But ay keep mind to moop' an' meir° 
 Wi' sheep o' credit like thysel ! 
 
 "And now, my bairns, wi' my last breath, 
 I lea'e my blessin' wi' you baith ; 
 An' when you think upo' your mither, 
 Mind to be kin' to ane anither. 
 
 " Kow, honest Hughoc, dinna fail 
 To tell my Master a' my tale ; 
 An' bid him burn this cursed tether, 
 An' for thy pains, thou 's get my blether."" 
 
 This said, poor Mailie turn'd her head, 
 An' closed her een" amang the 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' remead ;" 
 The last sad cap-stane" of his woes ; 
 
 Poor Mailie 's dead I 
 
 It 's no the loss o' warl's gear, 
 That could sae bitter draw the tear. 
 Or mak 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 ; 
 A lang half mile she could descry him ; 
 
 » Ewes.— 2 Hoofs.— 3 Ill-bred.—'* Next— » God.— « To meet.— ^ Blasted.— 
 • Ram.- » To nibble as a sheep.- ^o Meddle.—" Bladder.— ^ 2 Eyes — »3 Salt 
 ■»* Remedy. — '^ Cope-stone, or top-stone— '« Worn with grief. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 1G5 
 
 Wi' kindly bleat, when she did spy him, 
 
 She ran wi' speed : 
 A friend mair faithfu' ne'er cam nigh him, 
 
 Than Mailie dead. 
 
 I wat she was a sheep o' sense, 
 
 An' could behave herself wi' mense :* 
 
 I '11 say 't, she never brak a fence 
 
 Thro' thievish greed ;" 
 Our Bardie, lanely, keeps the spence* 
 
 Sin' Mailie 's dead. ...^ 
 
 Or, if he wanders up the ho we,* 
 
 Her living image in her yowe 
 
 Comes bleating to Mm, o'er the knowe, 
 
 For bits o' bread ; 
 An' down the briny pearls rowe^ 
 
 For Mailie dead. 
 
 She was nae get o' moorland tips,** 
 
 Wi' tauted ket^ an' hairy hips ; 
 
 For her forbears^ were brought in ships 
 
 Frae 'yont the Tweed ; 
 A bonnier j^^^sA^ ne'er cross'd the clips 
 
 Than Mailie dead. 
 
 "Wae worth the man wha first did shape 
 That vile wanchancie^" tiling — a rape!^^ 
 It maks guid fellows girn^^ an' gape, 
 
 Wi' chokin' dread ; 
 An' Eobin's bonnet wave wi' crape, 
 
 For Mailie dead. 
 
 Oh, a' ye bards on bonnie Doon ! 
 An' wha on Ayr your chanters tune ! 
 Come, join the melancholious croon^^ 
 
 O' Robin's reed! 
 His heart will never get aboon 
 
 His Mailie dead ! 
 
 J Decency.— 2 Greediness.— 3 The country parlor.— * A hollow, or dell.— 
 » Eoll.— 6 Earn.- "^ Matted fleece.— ^ Progenitors.— » Fleece.— 1° Uniucky.— 
 " Eope.— 12 To twist the features in agony. — 13 a hollow moan. 
 
166 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 THE HUMBLE PETITION OF BRUAR WATER,! 
 
 To the noble Duke of Athole. 
 
 My Lord, I know your noble ear 
 
 Woe ne'er assails in vain; 
 Embolden'd thus, I beg you '11 hear 
 
 Your humble slave complain. 
 How saucy Phoebus' scorching beams, 
 . In flaming summer-pride, 
 
 Dry- withering, waste my foamy streams, 
 
 And drink my crystal tide-. 
 
 The lightly-jumping glowrin'^ trouts, 
 
 That thro' my waters play, 
 If, in their random, wanton spouts. 
 
 They near the margin stray ; 
 If, hapless chance! they linger lang, 
 
 I 'm scorching up so shallow. 
 They 're left the whit'ning stanes amang. 
 
 In grasping death to wallow. 
 
 Last day I grat' wi' spite and teen,* 
 
 As Poet Burns came by. 
 That, to a Bard, I should be seen 
 
 Wi' half my channel dry : 
 A panegyric rhyme, I ween. 
 
 E'en as I was he shor'd* me; 
 But had I in my glory been. 
 
 He, kneeling, wad adored me. 
 
 Here, foaming down the shelvy rocKs, 
 
 In twisting strength I rin ; 
 There, high my boiling 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 gaun^ a mile to see. 
 
 1 Bruar Falls, in Athole, are exceedingly picturesque and beautiful; but 
 the effect is much impaired by the want of trees and shrubs. 
 
 2 Staring.— 3 Wept— ■* Grief, sorrow.—* OflFered.— « A precipice, or water- 
 fall.— ' Going. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 16 Y 
 
 Would then my noble master please 
 
 To grant my highest wishes, 
 He '11 shade my banks wi' tow'ring trees, 
 
 And bonnie spreading bushes ; 
 Delighted doubly then, my Lord, 
 
 You '11 wander on my banks, 
 And listen monie a grateful bird 
 
 Keturn you tuneful thanks. 
 
 The sober lav'rock^ warbling wild, 
 
 Shall to the skies aspire ; ^ 
 
 The gowdspink,^ music's gayest child, 
 
 Shall sweetly join the choir : 
 The blackbird strong, the lintwhite' clear, 
 
 The mavis* mild and mellow ; 
 The robin pensive autumn cheer. 
 
 In all her locks of yellow : 
 
 This, too, a covert shall insure. 
 
 To shield them from the storm ; 
 And coward maukin* sleep secure, 
 
 Low in her grassy form : 
 Here shall the shepherd make his seat. 
 
 To weave his crown of flowers ; 
 Or find a shelt'ring, safe retreat. 
 
 From prone descending showers. 
 
 And here, by sweet, endearing stealth, 
 
 Shall meet the loving pair. 
 Despising worlds with all their wealth, 
 
 As empty, idle care. 
 The flowers shall vie in all their charms, 
 
 The hour of heaven to grace. 
 And birks® extend their fragrant arms, 
 
 To screen the dear embrace. 
 
 Here haply too, at vernal dawn. 
 
 Some musing Bard may stray. 
 And eye the smoking dewy lawn, 
 
 And misty mountain, gray ; 
 Or, by the reaper's nightly beam, 
 
 Mild-check'ring thro' the trees, 
 
 » Lark.— 2 Goldfinch.— 3 Linnet.—* Thrush.— « The hare.— • Birch-treea 
 
168 BURNS S POEMS. 
 
 Have to my darkly dashing stream, 
 Hoarse-swelling on the breeze. 
 
 Let lofty firs and ashes cool 
 
 My lowly banks o'erspread, 
 And view, deep-bending in the pool, 
 
 Their shadows' wat'ry bed : 
 Let fragrant birks,' in woodbines drest, 
 
 My craggy cliffs adorn ; 
 And for the little songster's nest, 
 
 The close embow'ring thorn. 
 
 So may old Scotia's darlinghope, 
 
 Your little angel band, 
 Spring, like their fathers, up to prop 
 
 Their honor'd native land ! 
 So may, thro' Albion's farthest ken, 
 
 To social-flowing glasses. 
 The grace be — " Athole's honest men, 
 
 And Athole's bonnie lasses!" 
 
 THE BRIGS^ OF AYR. 
 
 Inscribed to J. Ballantyne, Esq., Ayr. 
 
 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 ; 
 
 The soaring lark, the perching red-breast shrill, 
 
 Or deep-toned plovers, gray, wild whistling o'er the hill' 
 
 Shall he, nursed in the peasant's lowly shed, 
 
 To»hardy Independence bravely bred, 
 
 By early Poverty to hardship steel'd, 
 
 Andtrain'd to arms in stern Misfortune's field; 
 
 Shall he be guilty of their hireling crimes. 
 
 The servile, mercenary Swiss of rhymes? 
 
 Or labor hard the panegyric close, 
 
 With all the venal soul of dedicating Prose? 
 
 No! though his artless strains he rudely sings, 
 
 And throws his hand uncouthly o'er the strings, 
 
 1 Birch-trees.— 2 Bridsfcs. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 1C9 
 
 He glows with all the spirit of the Bard — 
 Fame, honest fame, his great, his dear reward ! 
 Still, if some patron's generous care he trace, 
 Skiird, in the secret, to bestow with grace ; 
 When Ballantyne* befriends his humble name. 
 And hands the rustic stranger up to fame. 
 With heart-felt throes his grateful bosom swells. 
 The god-like bliss, to give, alone excels. 
 
 * * * * * X- 
 
 'Twas when the stacks get on their winter-hap,* 
 And thack and rape' secure the toil- won crap ; 
 Potatoe-bings are snugged up frae skaith* 
 Of coming Winter's biting, frosty breath ; 
 The bees, rejoicing o'er their summer toils, 
 Unnumber'd buds, an' flowers' delicious spoils, 
 Seal'd 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' brimstone reek ;* 
 The thundering guns are heard on ev'ry side, 
 Tlie wounded coveys, reeling, scatter wide; 
 The feather'd field-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 !) 
 Nae mair the flower in field or meadow springs ; 
 i^ae mair the grove with airy concert rings. 
 Except perhaps the robin's whistling glee. 
 Proud o' the height o' some bit half-lang tree : 
 The hoary morns precede the sunny days, 
 Mild, calm, serene, wide spreads the noon-tide blaze, 
 While thick the gossamer waves wanton in the rays. 
 'Twas in that season, when a simple Bard, 
 Unknown and poor, simplicity's reward ; 
 Ae night within the ancient burgh of Ayr, 
 By whim inspired, or haply press'd wi' care ; 
 He left his bed, and took his wayward rout, 
 And down by Simpson's' wheeled the left about : 
 (Whether impell'd by all-directing Fate, 
 To witness what I after shall narrate ; 
 
 » John Ballantyne, Esq., Banker, Ayr, one of our poet's earliest patroiii.— 
 * Covering. — 3 Thatch secured witti ropes of straw, &c. — •* Damage.— 
 » Smothered. — e Smoke.—''' A noted tavern at the Auld Brig end. 
 
 15 
 
170 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 Or whether, rapt in meditation hi^b, 
 He wander'd out, he knew not where nor why :) 
 The drowsy Dungeon-clock had numbered two, 
 And Wallace Tower^ had sworn the fact was true ; 
 The tide-swoln Firth, with sullen-sounding roar, 
 Through the still night dash'd hoarse along the 
 
 shore ; 
 All else was hush'd as Nature's closed e'e ; 
 The silent moon shone high o'er tower and tree : 
 The chilly frost, beneath the silver beam, 
 Crept, gently-crusting, o'er the glittering stream. 
 
 "When, lo ! on either hand the list'ning Bard, 
 The clanging sugh* of whistling wings he heard ; 
 Two dusky forms dart thro' the midnight air. 
 Swift as the Gos^ drives on the wheeling hare ; 
 Ane on th' Auld Brig his hairy shape uprears, 
 The ither flutters o'er the rising piers ; 
 Our warlock* Rhymer instantly descried 
 The Spirits that owre the Brigs of Ayr preside. 
 (That bards are second-sighted is nae joke. 
 And ken the lingo o' the sp'ritual folk ; 
 Fays, spunkies, kelpies, a', they can explain them, 
 And even the vera deils they brawly ken them.) 
 AvMj Brig appear'd of ancient Pictish race, 
 The vera wrinkles Gothic m his face : 
 He seem'd as he wi' Time had warstled^ 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" and whirlygigums" at the head. 
 The Goth was stalking round with anxious search 
 Spying the time-worn flaws in every arch; 
 It chanced his new-come neebor took his e'e. 
 And e'en a vex'd and angry heart had he I 
 Wi' thieveless" sneer to see his modish mien, 
 He, down the Avater, gies him this guid-e'en :" 
 
 * Dungeon-clock and "Wallace Tower, the two steeples.— ^ The continued 
 rushing noise of wind. — ^ The gos-hawk, or falcon. — * Wizard. — ^ Wrestled. 
 — « Toughly durable.—' Did bide, sustain, or endure.— ^ Sustained the re« 
 peated shocks of the floods and currents. — » Dressed.— lo A ring which sur- 
 rounds a column, &c. — ^^ Useless ornaments.—^'' Cold, dry— spoken of a per 
 son's demeanor.— 13 Salutation, or good evening. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 1 1 1 
 
 AULD BRIG. 
 
 I doubt na', frien', ye '11 think ye 're nae sheep- 
 shank,* 
 Ance ye were streekit^ o'er frae bank to bank ! 
 But gin ye be a brig as auld as me, 
 Tho' faith that day, I doubt, ye '11 never see ; 
 There '11 be, if that date come, I '11 wad a bodle,^ 
 Some fewer whigmeleeries* in your noddle. 
 
 NEW BRIG. 
 
 Auld Yandal, ye but show your little mense,** 
 Just much about it wi' your scanty sense ; 
 Will your poor, narrow foot-path of a street, 
 "Where twa wheel-barrows tremble when they meet ; 
 Your ruin'd, formless bulk o' stane an' Hme, 
 Compare wi' bonnie brigs o' modern time? 
 There 's men o' taste would take the Duckat stieam,® 
 Tho' they should cast the very sark^ and swim. 
 Ere they would grate their feelings wi' the view 
 Of sic an ugly Gothic hulk as you. 
 
 AULD BRIG. 
 
 Conceited gowk !^ puff'd up wi' windy pride ! 
 This monie a year I 've stood the flood an' tide ; 
 And tho' wi' crazy eild^ I 'm sair forfairn,"*' 
 I '11 be a brig when ye 're a shapeless cairn ;" 
 As yet ye little ken about the matter, 
 But 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 Lugar's mossy fountains boil, 
 Or where the Greenock winds his moorland'course, 
 Or haunted GarpaP'' draws his feeble source, 
 
 * No mean personage. — ^ Stretched.— ^ Bet a bodle ; i. e. a small coin.— 
 * Whims, foncies.— 5 Good-breeding.— e A noted ford just above Auld Brig. 
 —'' Shirt.— 8 Cuckoo ; applied as a term of contempt.— » Old age.— 1° Worn 
 out, — 11 A loose heap of stones. 
 
 12 The banks of Garpal Water is one of the few places in the west of Scot- 
 land, where those fancy-scaring beings, known by the name of Ghaists, still 
 continue pertinaciously to inhabit. 
 
1 12 BURNS 'S POEMS. 
 
 Aroused by blustering winds an' spottiHg tliowes/ 
 In monie a torrent down his snaw-broo rowes ;'' 
 While crashing ice, borne on the roaring speat," 
 Sweeps dams, an' mills, an' brigs, a' to the gate ; 
 And from Glenbuck,* down to the Ratton-key,* 
 Auld Ayr is just one lengthen'd, tumbling sea; 
 Then down ye '11 hurl — deil nor ye never rise ; 
 And dash the gumlie jaups" up to tlie pouring skies : 
 A lesson sadly teaching, to your cost, 
 That architecture's noble art is lost. 
 
 Fine architecture ! trowth, I needs must say 't o 't, 
 The L — d be thankit that we 've tint the gate' o 't! 
 Gaunt, ghastly, ghaist-alluring edifices. 
 Hanging with threatening jut, like precipices; 
 O'er-arching, mouldy, gloom-inspiring coves, 
 Supporting roofs fantastic, stony groves ; 
 Windows and doors in nameless sculpture drest, 
 With order, symmetry, or taste unblest ; 
 Forms like some bedlam statuary's dream, 
 The crazed 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, in air, or sea. 
 Mansions that would disgrace the building taste 
 Of any mason, reptile, bird, or beast ; 
 Fit only for a doited* monkish race. 
 Or frosty maids, forsworn the dear embrace ; 
 Or cuifs* of latter times, wha held the notion 
 That sullen gloom was sterling true devotion ; 
 Fancies that our guid Burgh" denies protection. 
 And soon may they expire, unbless'd with resurrection 
 
 AULD BRIO. 
 
 O ye, my dear-remember'd ancient yealings," 
 Were ye but here to share my wounded feelings ! 
 Ye worthy Proveses, an' monie a Bailie, 
 Wha in the paths of righteousness did toil ay ; 
 
 * Thaws.— 2 Snow-water rolls.—' A sweeping torrent after a thaw.—* Th« 
 •ource of the river Ayr. — ^ A small landing-place above the large quay.— 
 
 • The muddy jerks of agitated water. — "^ Lost the way of it. — ^ Stupefied. — 
 
 • Blockheads.— 10 Borough.— ^^ Coevals. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. . lT3 
 
 Ye dainty Deacons, and ye douce* Oonveeners, 
 To whom our moderns are but causey-cleaners ; 
 Ye godly Councils wha hae bless'd this town, 
 Ye godly Brethren of the sacred gown, 
 "Wha 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, 
 \Yere ye but here, what would you say or do ? 
 How would your spirits groan in deep vexation, 
 To see such melancholy alteration ; 
 And, agonizing, curse the time and place, 
 "When ye begat the base, degenerate race? 
 Nae langer reverend 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^ and ruin of the country ; 
 Men, three-parts made by tailors and by barbers, 
 "Wha waste your weel-hain'd gear^ on d — d new Jyrigs 
 and harbors ! 
 
 NEW BRIG. 
 
 Kow baud® you there ! for faith ye 've said enough, 
 
 And muckle^ mair than ye can make to through." 
 
 As for your priesthood, I shall say but little, 
 
 Corhies^^ and clergy are a shot right kittle :^^ 
 
 But under favor o' your langer beard, 
 
 Abuse o' magistrates might weel be spared : 
 
 To liken them to your auld-warld squad, 
 
 I must needs say comparisons are odd. 
 
 In Ayr, wag-wits nae mair can hae" a handle 
 
 To mouth a '^ citizen," a term o' scandal ; 
 
 Nae mair the council waddles down the street. 
 
 In all the pomp of ignorant conceit ; 
 
 Men wha grew wise priggin'" owre hops an' raisins, 
 
 Or gather'd liberal views in bonds and seisins. 
 
 If haply Knowledge, on a random tramp, 
 
 Had shor'd^^ them with a glimmer of his lamp, 
 
 1 Wise.— 2 The loins— 3 Broad.— 4 Wise, prudent.— ^ Half-witted.- « Plun- 
 derers—'' Well-saved nnoney.— ^ Hold.— ^ Much.— ^^ Make out, or prove.-- 
 1 A species of crows.— 12 Ticklish, diflacult to come at.— 13 To have.— 
 14 Cheapening.— 15 Offered. 
 
174 , BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 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 appeared in order bright : 
 Adown the glittVing stream they featly danced, 
 Bright to the moon their various dresses glanced ; 
 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^Lauchlan,* thairm^-inspiring sage. 
 Been there to hear this heavenly band engage, 
 When through his dear strathspeys they bore with 
 
 Highland rage ; 
 Or when they struck old Scotia's melting airs. 
 The lover's raptured joys or bleeding cares; 
 How would his Highland lug* been nobler fired. 
 And e'en his matchless hand with finer toucli inspired I 
 No guess could tell what instrument appear'd. 
 But all the soul of Music's self was heard ; 
 Harmonious 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 advanced in years; 
 His hoary head with water-lilies crown'd, 
 His manly leg with garter-tangle* bound ; 
 Next came the loveliest pair in all the ring, 
 Sweet Female Beauty hand in hand w^ith Spring; 
 Til en, crown'd with flowery hay, came Rural Joy, 
 And Summer, with his fervid-beaming eye; 
 All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn, 
 Led yellow Autumn, wreathed with nodding corn; 
 Then Winter's time-bleach'd locks did hoary show. 
 By Hospitality, with cloudless brow. 
 Next follow'd Courage with his martial stride. 
 From where the Feal" wild-woody coverts hide ; 
 Benevolence, with mild, benignant air, 
 
 * Idle tale.— 2 A well-known performer of Scottish music on the violin. — 
 Fiddle-string.—'* Ear.— ^ Sea- weed.— ' Field, meadow. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. lT5 
 
 A female form,' came from the towers of Stair ; 
 Learning and Worth ia equal measures trode 
 From simple Catrine,* their long-lo^ed abode; 
 Last, white-robed Peace, crownM with a hazel wreath, 
 To rustic Agriculture did bequeath 
 The broken iron instruments of Death ; 
 At sight of whom our Sprites forgot their kindling 
 wrath- 
 
 LINES 
 
 Writtea with « pencil, standing by the Fallot Fyers, near Loch-Ness. 
 
 Amoxo 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 bursting torrents flow, 
 
 As deep recoiling surges foam below. 
 
 Prone down the rock the whitening sheet descends, 
 
 And viewless Echo's ear, astonish'd, rends. 
 
 Dim seen thro' rising mists and ceaseless showers, 
 
 The hoary cavern, wide-surrounding, lowers. 
 
 Still thro'' the gap the struggling river toils, 
 
 An' still, below, the horrid cauldron boils — 
 
 LINES 
 
 Written witfi a pejvcil, ■over the chitaaney-pieee, m the parlor of an ina 
 a-t Kenraore^ Taj'mouth. 
 
 Admiring ItTature in her wildest grace. 
 These northern scenes witli weary feet I trace ; 
 O'er many a winding dale and painful steep. 
 The abodes of covey'd grouse and timid sheep. 
 My savage journey, curious, I pursue, 
 Till famed Breadalbane opens to my view. 
 The meeting cliffs each deep-sunk glen divides. 
 The woods, wild-scatter'd, clothe their ample sides ; 
 Th' outstretching lake, embosom''d 'mong the hills, 
 
 1 Mrs. Stewart— 2 gee note 1, p. 134. 
 
170 BURNS'S POEMS 
 
 The eye with wonder and amazement fills ; 
 The Tay meand'ring sweet in infant pride, 
 The palace rising on his verdant side ; 
 The lawns wood-fringed in Nature's native taste ; 
 The hillocks dropt in Nature's careless haste ; 
 The arches striding o'er the new-born stream ; 
 The village glittering in the noon-tide beam — 
 
 * * V * ^ 
 Poetic ardors in my bosom swell, 
 
 Lone, wandering by the hermit's messy cell : 
 
 The sweeping theatre of hanging woods ; 
 
 Th' incessant roar of headlong tumbling floods — 
 
 * * * * -x- 
 
 Here Poesy might w^ake her heaven-taught lyre, 
 And look through Nature with creative fire ; 
 Here, to the wrongs of Fate half reconciled. 
 Misfortune's lighten'd steps might wander wild ; 
 And Disappointment, in these lonely bounds. 
 Find balm to sooth her bitter, rankling wounds . 
 Here heart-struck Grief might heavenward stretch 
 
 her scan, 
 And injured Worth forget and pardon man.* 
 
 INSCRIPTION FOR AN ALTAR TO INDEPENDENCE, 
 
 At Kerroiightry, the seat of Mr. Heron, author of a Life of the poet, History 
 of Scotland, Ac, <fec. ; written in the summer, 1795. 
 
 Thou of an independent mind. 
 
 With soul resolved, with soul resigned ; 
 
 Prepared power's proudest frown to brave, 
 
 Who wilt not be, nor have a slave ; 
 
 Virtue alone who dost revere. 
 
 Thy own reproach alone dost fear, — 
 
 Approach this shrine, and worship here. 
 
 1 These two Fragments were composed in tlie autumn of 17ST, when tlie 
 poet was on a tour to the Highlands with Mr. W. Nicol, of the High School, 
 Edinburgh. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. l*Jl 
 
 ON PASTORAL POETRY. 
 
 Hail, Poesie ! thou nympli reserved ! 
 
 In chase o' thee what crowds hae swerved 
 
 Frae common sense, or sunk enerved 
 
 'Mang heaps o' clavers ;* 
 And och ! o'er aft* thy joes^ hae starved, 
 
 'Mid a' thy favors ! 
 
 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 shepherd-sang, 
 
 But wi' miscarriage ? 
 
 In Homer's craft Jock Milton thrives ; 
 Eschylus' pen Will Shakspeare drives ; 
 Wee* Pope, the knurlin,* tilF him 'rives 
 
 Horatian fame ;® 
 In thy sweet sang, Barbauld, survives 
 
 Even Sappho's flame. 
 
 But thee, Theocritus ! wha matches ? 
 They 're no herd's ballats, Maro's catches : 
 Squire Pope but busks* his skinklin^® patches 
 
 0' heathen tatters : 
 I pass by hunders," nameless wretches. 
 
 That ape their betters. 
 
 In this braw age 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 /^* 
 
 » Idle etories.— 2 Over often.— « Thy lovers.—* Trip.— ^ Little.—* Dwarf, 
 — ^ To. — 8 'Kives Horatian fame; i. e. divides, or shares fame with Horace.— 
 • Dresses. — 1° A small portion. — n Hundreds. — 12 Learning.— ^ 3 Boy.— 
 ** Forward.— ^^ Allan Eamsay. 
 
178 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 Thou need na jouk^ beyond the hallan,' 
 A chiel sae clever ; 
 
 The teeth o' time may gnaw Tamtallan^ 
 But thou 's forever ! 
 
 Thou paints auld Nature to the nines, 
 
 In thy sweet Caledonian lines : 
 
 !N"ae gowden^ stream thro' myrtles twines, 
 
 Where Philomel, 
 While nightly breezes sweep the vines, 
 
 Her griefs will tell ! 
 
 In gowany glens® thy burnie' strays, 
 Where bonuie lasses bleach their claes ;* 
 Or trots by hazelly shaws and braes, 
 
 Wi' hawthorns gray, 
 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. 
 
 ON THE LATE CAPTAIN GROSE'S PEREGRINATIONS 
 THROUGH SCOTLAND, 
 
 COLLECTING THE ANTIQUITIES OF THAT KINGDOM. 
 
 Hear, Land o' Cakes, and brither Scots, 
 Frae Maidenkirk to Johnie Groat's ; 
 If there 's a hole in a' your coats, 
 
 I rede you tent it :" 
 A chield 's amang you takin' notes. 
 
 And, faith, he '11 prent it. 
 
 If in your bounds ye chance to light 
 Upon a fine, fat, fodgeP' wight, 
 
 1 To hang the head. — ^ A party-wall in a cottage.—' The name of a moun- 
 tain. —* Exactly, to a nicety.— * Golden. — « Daisied dales.— ^ Eivulet.— 
 8 Clothes.— » Self.— »o Torrents.—" Short.— i'* I advise you to bo eautioa& 
 — ^3 Pursy, bloated* 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 179 
 
 O' stature short, but genius bright, 
 
 That 's he, mark weel — 
 
 And wow!^ he has an unco slighf* 
 0' cauk and keel.^ 
 
 By some auld houlet^-haunted biggin',® 
 
 Or kirk deserted by its riggen, 
 
 It 's ten to ane ye '11 find him snug in 
 
 Some eldritch^ part, 
 Wi' deils they say, L — d safe 's ! colleaguin' 
 
 At some black art. — 
 
 Ilk ghaist^ that haunts auld ha' or cham'er, * 
 
 Ye gipsey gang that deal in glamor,** 
 
 And you deep-read in hell's black grammar, 
 
 Warlocks^" an' witches ; 
 Ye '11 quake at his conjuring hammer, 
 
 Ye midnight b — es ! 
 
 It 's tauld he was a sodger" bred, 
 And ane wad rather fa'n than fled ; 
 But now he 's quat^'' the spurtle blade," 
 
 And dog-skin wallet, 
 And taen the — Antiquarian trade^ 
 
 I think they call it. 
 
 He has a fouth" o' auld nick-nackets : 
 Eusty airn caps** and jingling jackets,*^ 
 Wad baud the Lothians three in tackets," 
 
 A towmont guid;*^ 
 An' parritch-pats,*^ and auld saut-backets. 
 
 Before the flood. 
 
 Of Eve's first fire he has a cinder ; 
 And Tubal-Oain's fire-shool and fender ; 
 That which distinguished the gender ' 
 
 O' Balaam's ass ; 
 
 1 An exclamation of pleasure, or wonder.— 2 Great sleight, or dexterity.— 
 • Chalk and red clay.— ^ An owl.— * Building. See his Antiquities of Scot- 
 land.— « Frightful, ghastly.— 7 Each ghost— 8 Old hall, or chamber.— « For- 
 tune-telling, pretending to a knowledge of future events by magic, &c.— 
 10 Wizards.— 11 Soldier.- 12 Did quit— ^3 A sort of nickname for a sword. 
 —14 A plenty.— 15 Iron helmets.— is Coats of mail, &c. See his Treatise on 
 Ancient Armor.— 17 Small nails.— is Would furnish tacks enough to supply 
 the three counties of Lothian for a twelvemonth.— i^ Porridge-pots. 
 
180 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 A broom-stick o' the Witch of Endor, 
 Weel shod wi' brass. 
 
 Forbye,* he '11 shape you alf, fu' gleg,* 
 The cut of Adam's philibeg ;' 
 The knife that nicket Abel's craig,* 
 
 He '11 prove you fully 
 It was a faulding jocteleg,^ 
 
 Or long-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 
 
 Guid fellows wi' him ; 
 And port^ port! shine thou a wee, 
 
 And then ye '11 see him I 
 
 ISTow, by the powers o' verse and prose ! 
 Thou art a dainty chield,' O Grose ! 
 "Whae'er o' thee shall ill suppose, 
 
 They sair misca' thee; 
 I 'd take tlie rascal by the nose, 
 
 Wad say. Shame fa' thee ! 
 
 VERSES "WRITTEN AT SELKIRK.* 
 
 Atjld chuckle Reekie* 's sair distrest, 
 Down droops her ance weel burnisht crest, 
 Nae joy her bonnie buskit^* nest 
 
 Can yield ava," 
 Her darling bird that she lo'es best, 
 
 Willie's awa! 
 
 Willie was a witty wiglit," 
 And had o' things an unco" slight; 
 Auld Reekie ay he keepit tight, 
 
 And trig an' braw :" 
 
 1 Besidf^.— 2 Quite readily.— » The short petticoat part of the Highland 
 dress.— 4 Throat—* A folding or clasp knife.— • A large knife used for cutting 
 kail.—' Fellow. 
 
 8 To William Creech, Esq., Edinburgh, author of "Fugitive Pieces," Ac, 
 and the Poet's worthy publisher. 
 
 * Edinburgh. — ^^ Dressed.- ' i.t all. — ^^ a. superior genius.- *3 y^ry 
 great — ** Spruce and fine. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 161 
 
 But now they '11 busk* her like a fright, 
 Willie 's awa 1 
 
 The stiffest o' them a' he bow'd, 
 The bauldest o' them a' he cowM f 
 They durst nae mair than he allow'd, 
 
 That was a law : 
 We Ve lost a birkie^ weel worth gowd, 
 
 Willie 's awa ! 
 
 Kow gawkies, tawpies, gowks and fools,* 
 Frae colleges, and boarding-schools, 
 May sprout like simmer puddock-stools,* 
 
 In glen or shaw f 
 He who could brush them down to mools,' 
 
 Willie 's awa ! 
 
 The brethren o' the Commerce-chaumer® 
 May mourn their loss wi' doolfu' clamor ; 
 He was a dictionar and grammar 
 
 Amang them a' ; 
 I fear they '11 now mak mony a stammer, 
 
 Willie 's awa ! 
 
 Kae mair we see his levee door 
 Philosophers and poets pour,' 
 And toothy critics by the core, 
 
 In bloody raw ! 
 The adjutant o' a' the score, 
 
 Willie 's awa ! 
 
 Kow worthy Gregory's Latin face, 
 Ty tier's and Greenfield's modest grace ; 
 M'Kenzie, Stuart, such a brace 
 
 As Kome ne'er saw ; 
 They a' maun" meet some ither place, 
 
 Willie 's awa ! 
 
 Poor Burns — e'en Scotch drink canna quicken, 
 He cheeps" like some bewilder'd chicken, 
 
 • Dress.— 2 Frightened. — ^ Clever fellow.—'* Foolish, thoughtless youim 
 persons. — ^ Mushrooms. — ^ A small wood in a hollow. — '' Dust. 
 
 8 The Chamber of Commerce of Edinburgh, of which Mr. C. was secretary. 
 
 8 Many literary gentlemen were accustomed to meet at Mr. C.'s house at 
 breakfast. 
 
 10 Must— 11 Chirps. 
 
 16 
 
182 
 
 Scared frae its minnie* and the clecken' 
 By hoodie-craw ;* 
 
 Grief 's gien* his heart an unco kicking 
 Willie 's awa ! 
 
 Kow every sour-mou'd, girnin" blellum,* 
 And Calvin's fock'' are fit to fell him ; 
 And self-conceited critic skellum® 
 
 His quill may draw ; 
 He wha could brawlie' ward their helium," 
 
 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 ! 
 
 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 wicked men bamboozle him I 
 Until a pow'^ as auld" 's Methusalem ! 
 
 He canty claw!^* 
 'Then to the blessed, new Jerusalem, 
 
 Fleet wing awa ! 
 
 LIBERTY.— A FRAGMENT. 
 
 Thee, Caledonia, thy wild heaths among — 
 Thee famed for martial deed and sacred song— 
 
 To thee I turn with swimming eyes ; 
 'Where is that soul of freedom fled ? 
 
 1 Mother.— 2 Brood.— » The pewIt-guU.— * Given.- » Grinning.— « A talk- 
 .teg fellow.— 7 People.— 8 A worthless fellow.— » Finely.— i® Their lU-natura. 
 — " Meandering.— 12 Stretched.— 13 Head.— »< Old.— i* Cheerfully scratch. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 183 
 
 Immingled with tlie mighty dead ! 
 
 Beneath that hallow'd turf where Wallace lies! 
 Hear it not, Wallace, in thy bed of death ! 
 
 Ye babbling winds, in silence sweep ; 
 
 Disturb not ye the hero's sleep, 
 Kor 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, 
 
 Crushing the despot's proudest bearing, 
 That arm which, nerved with thundering fate, 
 
 Braved usurpation's boldest daring ! 
 One quenched in darkness like the sinking star, 
 And one the palsied arm of tottering, powerless age. 
 
 THE YOWELS.— A TALE. 
 
 'TwAs where the birch and sounding thong are plied, 
 
 The noisy domicile of pedant pride ; 
 
 Where Ignorance her darkening vapor throws. 
 
 And cruelty directs the thickening blows ; 
 
 Upon a time, Sir Abece the great, 
 
 In all his pedagogic powers elate, 
 
 His awful chair of state resolves to mount. 
 
 And call the trembling vowels to account. 
 
 First enter'd A, a grave, broad, solemn wight, 
 But, ah ! deform'd, dishonest to the sight ! 
 His twisted head look'd backward on his way, 
 And flagrant from the scourge, he grunted, ai I 
 
 Keluctant, E stalk'd in ; with piteous grace 
 The justling tears ran down his honest face ! 
 That name, that well-worn name, and all his own. 
 Pale he surrenders at the tyrant's throne ! 
 The pedant stifles keen the Roman sound 
 Not all his mongrel diphthongs can compound ; 
 And next the title following close behind. 
 He to the nameless, ghastly wretch assign'd. 
 
 The cobweb'd gothic dome resounded Y I 
 In sullen vengeance, I, disdain'd reply : 
 The pedant swung his felon cudgel round, 
 And knock'd the groaning vowel to the ground! 
 
184 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 In rueful apprehension enter'd 0, 
 The wailing minstrel of despairing woe ; 
 Th' Inquisitor of Spain the most expert, 
 Might there have learnt new mysteries of his art: 
 So grim, deformed, with horrors entering U, 
 His dearest friend and brother scarcely knew ! 
 
 As trembling U stood staring all aghast, 
 The pedant in his left hand clutch'd him fast, 
 In helpless infants' tears he dipp'd his right, 
 Baptized him eu^ and kick'd him from his sight. 
 
 FRAGMENT, 
 
 Inscribed to the Right Hon. C. J. Fox. 
 
 How wisdom and folly meet, mix, and unite ; 
 How virtue and vice blend their black and their white ; 
 How genius, the 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 go whistle. 
 
 But now for a patron, whose name and whose glory 
 At once may illustrate and honor my story. 
 
 Thou first of our orators, first of our wits ; 
 Yet whose parts and acquirements seem mere lucky hits ; 
 "With knowledge so vast, and with judgment so strong, 
 Ko man with the half of 'em e'er went far wrong ; 
 With passions so potent, and fancies so bright, 
 Ko man with the half of 'em e'er went quite 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 develop his hooks and his crooks; 
 With his depths and his shallows, his good and his evil, 
 All in all he 's a problem must puzzle the devil. 
 
 On his one ruling passion Sir Pope hugely labors, 
 That, like th' old Hebrew walking-switch, eats up its 
 
 neighbors : 
 Mankind are his show-box — a friend, would you know 
 
 him ? 
 Pull the string, ruling passion, the picture will show him. 
 "What pity, in rearing so beauteous a system, 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 185 
 
 One trifling particular, truth, should have miss'd him ; 
 For, spite of his 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 found this, or t'other? there's more in the 
 
 wind. 
 As by one drunken fellow his comrades you '11 find. 
 But such is the flaw, or the depth of the plan. 
 In the make of that wonderful creature call'd Man, 
 IsTo two virtues, whatever relation they claim, 
 !N"or 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. 
 
 SKETCH.i 
 
 A LITTLE, upright, pert, tart, tripping wight. 
 And still his precious self his dear delight ; 
 Who 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 mve la lagatelle^ et mve V amour ; 
 So traveird monkeys their grimace improve, 
 Polish they 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 mend. 
 
 1 This sketch seems to be one of a series, intended for a projected work,, 
 under the title of "The Poet's Progress." This character was sent as a speci-- 
 men, accompanied by a letter, to Professor Dugald Stewart, in which it is 4 
 thus noticed: "The fragment beginning 'A little, upright, pert, tart,' «&c., I. 
 have not shown to any man living, till I now show it to you. It forms the. 
 postulata, the axioms, the definition of a character, which, if it appear at all, , 
 Eh all be placed in a variety of lights. This particular part I send you merel// 
 »s a sample of wj hand at portrait sketching.'" 
 
186 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 SCOTS PROLOGUK 
 
 For Mr. Sutherland's Benefit Night, Dumfries. 
 
 What needs this din about the town o' Lon'on, 
 How this new play an' that new sang is comin' ? 
 Why is outlandish stuff sae mickle courted ? 
 Does nonsense mend like whisky, when imported ? 
 Is there nae poet, burning keen for fame, 
 "Will try to gie us sangs and plays at hame ? 
 Tor comedy abroad he need na toil, 
 A fool and knave are plants of every soil ; 
 Nor need he hunt as far as Rome and Greece, 
 To gather matter for a serious piece ; 
 There 's themes enough in Caledonian story, 
 AVould show the 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 could produce 
 A drama worthy o' the name o' Bruce ; 
 How here, even here, he first unsheathed the sword 
 'Gainst mighty England and her guilty lord ; 
 And after mony a bloody, deathless doing, 
 Wrench'd his dear country from the jaws of ruin ? 
 O for a Shakspeare or an Otway scene, 
 T9 draw the lovely, hapless Scottish queen ! 
 Yain all th' omnipotence of female charms 
 'Gainst headlong, ruthless, mad Eebellion's- arms. 
 She fell, but fell with spirit truly Roman, 
 To glut the vengeance of a rival woman : 
 A woman, tho' the phrase may seem uncivil, 
 As able and as cruel as the devil ! 
 One Douglas lives in Home's immortal page, 
 But Douglases were heroes every age : 
 And though your fathers, prodigal of life, 
 A Douglas foUow'd to the martial strife. 
 Perhaps if bowls row right, and Right succeeds, 
 Ye yet may follow where a Douglas leads I 
 
 As ye hae generous done, if a' the land, 
 Would take the muses' servants by the hand ; 
 N'ot only hear, but patronize, befriend them, 
 And where ye justly can commend, commend them ; 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 187 
 
 And aiblins* when they winna stand the test, 
 "Wink hard and say, the folks hae done their best ; 
 "Would a' the land do this, then I '11 be caution'* 
 Ye '11 soon hae poets o' the Scottish nation, 
 Will gar'' Fame blaw until her trumpet crack, 
 An' warsle* Time an' lay him on his back ! 
 
 For us and for our stage should ony spier,^ 
 " Whase aught thae chiels^ maks a' this bustle here ?" 
 My best leg foremost, I '11 set up my brow, 
 "We have the honor to belong to you ! 
 "We 're your ain bairns, e'en guide us as ye like. 
 But like good mithers, shore' before you strike, — 
 An' gratefu' still I hope ye '11 ever find us. 
 For a' the patronage and meikle kindness 
 "We 've got frae a' professions, sets and ranks : 
 God help us ! we 're but poor — ye 'se get but thanks. 
 
 PROLOGUE, 
 
 Spoken at the Theatre, Dumfries, on New-Tear-Day evening. 
 
 No song nor dance I bring from yon great city 
 That queens it o'er our taste — the more 's the pity : 
 Tho', by the by, 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 ! 
 Old Father Time deputes me here before ye, 
 Kot for to preach, but tell his simple story. 
 The sage grave ancient cough'd, 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-roguish leer and wink, 
 He bade me on you press this one word — "think!" 
 Ye sprightly youths, quite flush with hope and 
 spirit, 
 "Who think to storm the world by dint of merit. 
 To you the dotard has a deal to say, 
 
 1 Perhaps.— 2 Security.— 3 Mak>,— < To struggle.— ^In<iaire.—» Fellowa- 
 To chide 
 
5 BURNS S POEMS. 
 
 In Lis sly, dry, sententious, proverb way ! 
 
 He bids you mind, amid your thoughtless rattle, 
 
 That the first blow is ever half the battle ; 
 
 That tho' 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, tho' not least in love, ye youthful fair, 
 Angelic forms, high Heaven's peculiar care ! 
 To you old Bald-pate smooths his wrinkled brow. 
 And humbly begs you *11 mind th' important — now ! 
 To crown your happiness he asks your leave, 
 And offers, bliss to give and to receive. 
 
 For our sincere, tho' haply weak endeavors. 
 With grateful pride we own your many favors ; 
 And howsoe'er our tongues may ill reveal it, 
 Believe our glowing bosoms truly feel it. 
 
 PROLOGUE, 
 
 Spoken by Mr. Woods, on his Benefit Night, Monday, April 16, 1787 
 
 "When by a generous public's kind acclaim. 
 That dearest meed is granted — honest fame ; 
 When here your favor is the actor's lot, 
 Nor even the man in private life forgot ; 
 What breast so dead to heavenly virtue's glow, 
 But heaves impassion'd with the grateful throe ? 
 Poor is the task to please a barbarous throng, 
 It needs no Siddons' power in Southern's song : 
 But here an ancient nation, famed afar 
 For genius, learning high, as great in war — 
 Hail, Caledonia I name forever dear ! 
 Before whose sons I 'in honor'd to appear ! 
 Where every science, every nobler art — 
 Tliat 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, 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 1 89 
 
 The tide of Empire's fluctuating course ; 
 Here Douglas forms wild Shakspeare into plan, 
 And Harley^ rouses all the god in man. 
 When weK-form'd taste, and sparkling wit unite, 
 With manly lore, or female beauty bright, 
 (Beauty, where faultless symmetry and grace 
 Can only charm us in the second place,) 
 Witness my heart, how oft with panting fear, 
 As on this night, I Ve met these judges here ! 
 But still the hope Experience taught to live. 
 Equal to judge — you 're candid to forgive. 
 No hundred-headed Riot here we meet. 
 With decency and law beneath his feet, 
 Nor Insolence assumes fair Freedom's name ; 
 Like Caledonians, you applaud or blame. 
 
 Thou, dread Power ! whose empire-giving hand 
 Has oft been stretch'd to shield the honor'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. 
 
 TRAGIC FRAGMENT. 
 
 (The following verses were written when our Poet was In his eighteenth or 
 nineteenth year. It is an exclamation by a great character on meeting 
 with a child of misery.] 
 
 All devil as I am, a damned wretch, 
 A harden'd, stubborn, unrepenting villain, 
 Still my heart melts at human wretchedness ; 
 And with sincere tho' unavailing sighs, 
 I view the helpless children of distress. 
 With tears indignant I behold th' oppressor 
 Rejoicing in the honest man's destruction. 
 Whose unsubmitting heart was all his crime. 
 Even you, ye helpless crew, I pity you ; 
 
 1 The Man of Feeling, written by Mr. Mackenzie. 
 
190 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 Ye, whom the seeming good think sin to pity : 
 
 Ye poor despised, abandon'd vagabonds, 
 
 Whom vice, as usual, has turn'd o'er to ruin. 
 
 — O, but for kind, tho' ill-requited friends, 
 
 I had been driven forth like you forlorn, 
 
 The most detested, worthless wretch among yon. 
 
 REMORSE.— A FRAGMENT. 
 
 [These lines were found in a note-book of the Poet's, written in 
 early life.] 
 
 Of 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 sting is added — " Blame thy foolish self," 
 
 Or, worser far, the pangs of keen remorse ; 
 
 The torturing, gnawing consciousness of guilt — 
 
 Of guilt, perhaps, where we've involved others; 
 
 The young, the innocent, who fondly loved us, 
 
 Nay more, that very love their cause of ruin 1 
 
 O burning hell ! in all thy store of tovments, 
 
 There 's not a keener lash ! 
 
 Lives there a man so firm, who, while his heart 
 
 Feels all the bitter horrors of his crime, 
 
 Can reason down its agonizing throb^; 
 
 And after proper purpose of amendment. 
 
 Can firmly force his jarring thoughts to peace? 
 
 happy, happy, enviable man! 
 
 glorious magnanimity of soul I 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 191 
 
 ODE 
 
 ON THE BIRTHDAY OF PRINCE CHARLES EDWARD. 
 
 [Burns having been present at a meeting held at Edinburgh, on the 31st Dec, 
 1787, to celebrate the birth-day of the unfortunate Prince Charles Edward, 
 and being appointed poet-laureate for the occasion, he produced an ode, of 
 which an extract is here presented to the reader,] 
 
 ik ijfi ^ ^ ^ :^ 
 
 ***** 
 
 False flatterer, Hope, away ! 
 Kor 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 honor'd, mighty dead ! 
 Who nobly perish'd in the glorious cause, 
 Your king, your country, 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 Balmerino's undying name. 
 Whose soul of fire lighted at Heaven's high flame, 
 Deserves the proudest wreath departed heroes claim. 
 
 Not unrevenged your fate shall be, 
 
 It only lags the fatal hour ; 
 Your blood shall with incessant cry 
 
 Awake at last th' unsparing power. 
 As from the clifi^, with thundering course, 
 
 The snowy ruin smokes along 
 With doubling speed and gathering force. 
 Till deep it crashing whelms the cottage in the vale : 
 So vengeance * * * * 
 
 ADDRESS, 
 
 Spoken by Miss Fontenelle, on her Benefit Night, Dec. 4, 1795, at the Theatre, 
 Dumfries. 
 
 Still anxious to secure your partial favor, 
 And not less anxious, sure, this night than ever, 
 A Prologue, Epilogue, or some such matter, 
 'T would vamp my bill, said I, if nothing better : 
 
192 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 So, sought a Poet, roosted near the skies ; 
 Told him I came to feast my curious eyes ; 
 Said, nothing Uke his works was ever printed : 
 And last my Prologue-business slily hinted. 
 •'Ma'am, let me tell you," quoth my man of rhymes, 
 " I know your bent — these are no laughing times : 
 Can you — but Miss, I own I have my fears, — 
 Dissolve in pause — and sentimental tears. 
 With laden sighs, and solemn-rounded sentence. 
 Rouse from his sluggish slumbers fell Repentance ; 
 Paint Vengeance as he takes his horrid stand. 
 Waving on high the desolating brand, 
 CaUing the storms to bear him o'er a guilty land?" 
 
 I could no more — askance the creature eyeing, 
 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 ! 
 
 Firm as my creed, sirs, 'tis my fixed belief. 
 That Misery 's another word for Grief; 
 I also think — so may I be a bride ! 
 That so much laughter, so much life enjoy'd. 
 
 Thou man of crazy care and ceaseless sigh. 
 Still under bleak Misfortune's blasting eye ; 
 Doom'd to that sorest task of man alive — 
 To make three guineas do the work of five : 
 Laugh in Misfortune's face — the beldam witch ! 
 Say, you '11 be merry, tho' you can't be rich. 
 
 Thou other man of care, the wretch in love. 
 Who long with jiltish arts and airs hast strove; 
 Who, as the boughs all temptingly project, 
 Measur'st in desperate thought — a rope — thy neck— 
 Or, where the beetling cliff o'erhangs the deep, 
 Peerest to meditate the healing leap; 
 Wouldst thou be cured, thou silly, moping elf, 
 Laugh at her follies — laugh e'en at thyself ; 
 Learn to despise those frowns now so terrific. 
 And love a kinder — that 's your grand specific. 
 
 To sum up all, be merry, I advise ; 
 And as we 're merry may we etill be wise. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 193 
 
 THE RIGHTS OF WOMAN: 
 
 An Occasional Address spoken by Miss Fontenelle on her Benefit Night. 
 
 While Europe's eye is fix'd on mighty things, 
 The fate of empires and the fall of kings ; 
 While quacks of state must each produce 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 the sexes' intermixed connection, 
 One sacred Eight of Woman is protection — 
 The tender flower that lifts it head elate, 
 Helpless must fall before the blasts of fate. 
 Sunk on the earth, defaced its lovely form. 
 Unless your shelter w^ard the 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 polish'd days, 
 A time when rough, rude man had naughty ways ; 
 AVould swagger, swear, get drunk, kick up a riot, 
 Nay, even thus invade a lady's quiet : 
 Kow, thank our stars ! these Gothic times are fled, 
 Now, well-bred men — and you are all well-bred — 
 Most justly think (and we are much the gainers) 
 Such conduct neither spirit, wit, nor manners. 
 
 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 
 Most humbly own — 'tis dear, dear admiration ! 
 In that blest sphere alone w^e live and move; 
 There taste that life of life — immortal love. — 
 Smiles, glances, sighs, tears, fits, 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! ga ira I the Majesty of Woman! 
 17 
 
194 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 VERSES 
 
 Written under the portrait of Fergusson, the poet, in a copy of the Author's v^crk8 
 presented to a young lady in Edinburgh, March 19, 1787. 
 
 CuESE on ungrateful man, that can be pleased, 
 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 pity thy unhappy fate ! 
 Why is the bard unpitied by the world, 
 Yet has so keen a relish of its pleasures ? 
 
 THE HENPECKED HUSBAND. 
 
 CuESED 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. 
 Who dreads a curtain lecture worse than hell. — 
 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 b — h. 
 
 LINES ON AN INTERVIEW WITH LORD DAER. 
 
 This wot ye all whom it concerns, 
 I, Rhymer Robin, alias Burns, 
 
 October twenty -third, 
 A ne'er-to-be-forgotten day, 
 Sae far I sprachled* up the brae,' 
 
 I dinner'd wi' a Lord. 
 
 I 've been at drunken writers' feasts, 
 Kay, been bitch-fou 'mang godly priests, 
 (Wi' reverence be it spoken ;) 
 
 » Crawled, or clambered on the hands and knees.—'* Ilill. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 195 
 
 I 've even join'd the honor'd jorura, 
 When mighty Squireships of the quorum 
 Thek hydra drouth* did sloken.' 
 
 But wi' a Lord — stand out my shin, 
 
 A Lord — a Peer — an Earl's son, • 
 
 Up higher yet, my honnet ; 
 An' sic a Lord — lang Scotch ells twa,* 
 Our Peerage, he overlooks them a' 
 
 As I look o'er my sonnet ! 
 
 But oh for Hogarth's magic power ! 
 To show Sir Bardie's willyart* glower. 
 
 And how he stared and stammer'd, 
 When goavan® as if led wi' branks,® 
 An' stumpin' on his ploughman shanks, 
 
 He in the parlor hammer'd. 
 
 To meet good Stuart little pain is, 
 Or Scotia's sacred Demosthenes, 
 
 Thinks I, they are but men ! 
 But Burns, my Lord — Guid God ! I doited,' 
 My knees on ane anither knoited,® 
 
 As faltering I gaed ben !' 
 
 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. 
 An' (what surprised me) modesty, 
 
 I marked naught uncommon. 
 
 I watch' d the symptoms of the great. 
 The gentle pride, the lordly state. 
 
 The arrogant assuming; 
 The fient a pride, nae pride had he. 
 Nor sauce, nor state that I could see, 
 
 Mair than an honest ploughman. 
 
 * Thirst— 2 Slacken, or quench.— 3 i. e. he was six feet high.— 4 Bashftil 
 look.- 5 Going, or walking.— « A kind of wooden curb for horses.—"^ Was 
 Btupified.— 5 Knocked together.- « Went into the parlor. 
 
196 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 Then from his Lordship I shall learn, 
 Henceforth to meet with unconcern 
 
 One rank as weel 's another ; 
 !N'ae honest, wortliy man need care, 
 To meet with noble, youthful Daer, 
 
 For he but meets a brother. 
 
 A PRAYER. 
 
 Left iu a room of a reverend friend'si house, where the Author slept. 
 
 O THOU, dread Power who reign'st above ! 
 
 I know thou wilt me hear ; 
 When for this scene of peace and love, 
 
 I make my prayer sincere. 
 
 The hoary sire — the mortal stroke, 
 
 Long, long, be pleased 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. 
 Oh 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 ; 
 
 1 Dr. Laurie, minister of Loudoun, from whom the poet received many 
 essential favors, one of which, and none of the least, will be best explained in 
 his own words: — "I had taken the last farewell of my few friends— my chest 
 was on the road to Greenock, from whence I was to embark in a few days 
 for America. I had composed the last song I should ever measure in Cale- 
 donia, ' The gloomy night is gathering fast,' when a letter from Dr. Black- 
 lock, to a friend of mine (Dr. Laurie, who had sent to Dr. Blacklock a copy 
 of our Poet's works), overthrew all my schemes, by opening new prospects to 
 my poetic ambition. The doctor belonged to a set of critics for whose ap- 
 plause I had not dared to hope. His opinion that I would meet with en- 
 couragement in Edinburgh for a second edition, fired me so much, that away 
 I posted for that city, without a single acquaintance, or a single letter of in- 
 troduction. The baneful star that had so long shed its blasting influence in 
 my zenith, for once made a revolution to the nadir; and a kind Providence 
 placed me under the patronage of one of the noblest of men, the Earl of 
 Slencairn." 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 197 
 
 Bless him, thou God of love and truth, 
 Up to a parent's wish ! 
 
 The beauteous seraph sister-band, 
 
 With earnest tears I pray. 
 Thou know'st the snares on every hand, 
 
 Guide thou their steps alway ! 
 
 When soon or late they reach that coast, 
 
 O'er life's rough ocean driven, 
 May they rejoice, no wanderer lost, 
 
 A family in heaven ! 
 
 A PRAYER, 
 
 UNDER THE PRESSURE OF VIOLENT ANGUISH. 
 
 O THOTJ, great Being ! what thou art 
 
 Surpasses me to know ; 
 Yet 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 ! 
 Oh, free my weary eyes from tears I 
 
 Or close them fast 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 ! 
 
 A PRAYER, 
 
 IN THE PROSPECT OF DEATH. 
 
 O Tnou, unknown. Almighty cause 
 
 Of all my hope and fear ! 
 In whose dread presence, ere an hour 
 
 Perhaps I must appear ! 
 
198 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 If I have wander'd in those paths 
 
 Of life I ought to shun ; 
 As something^ loudly, in my breast 
 
 Remonstrates I have done : 
 
 Thou know'st that Thou hast formed me 
 With passions wild and strong ; 
 
 And listening to their witching voice 
 Has often led me wrong. 
 
 Where human weakness has come short, 
 
 Or frailty 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 goodness still 
 
 Dehghteth to forgive. 
 
 STANZAS ON THE SAME OCCASION. 
 
 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. 
 Is it departing pangs my soul alarms ; 
 
 Or death's unlovely, dreary, dark abode ? 
 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! 
 
 Fain promise never more to disobey ; 
 But should my Author health again dispense, 
 
 Again 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 sin so oft have mourn'd, yet to temptation ran? 
 
MTSCELIANEOUS. ] DO 
 
 O Thou, great Governor of all below ! 
 
 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 controlling power assist even me, 
 
 Those headlong furious passions to confine, 
 For all unfit I feel my ix)wers to be. 
 
 To rule their torrent in th' allowed line ; 
 Oh, aid me with thy help, Omni])otence Divine 1 
 
 THE FIRST PSALM. 
 
 The man in life, wherever placed, 
 
 Hath happiness in store. 
 Who walks not in the wicked's way, 
 
 Nor learns their guilty lore ! 
 
 'Nov 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 given them peace and rest. 
 
 But hath decreed that wicked men 
 Shall ne'er be truly blest. 
 
 THE FIRST SIX VERSUS OF THE 90TH PSALM. 
 
 O THOU, the first, the greatest Friend 
 
 Of all the human race ! 
 Whose strong right hand has ever been 
 
 Their stay and dwelling-place ! 
 
200 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 Before the mountains heaved their heads 
 
 Beneath thy forming hand, 
 Before this ponderous glohe itself 
 
 Arose at thy command : 
 
 That Power which raised and still upholds 
 
 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 siglit 
 
 Than yesterday that 's past. 
 
 Thou giv'st the word : thy creature, man, 
 
 Is to existence brought : 
 Again, thou say est, " Ye sons of men, 
 
 Keturn ye into naught!" 
 
 Thou lay est them, with all their cares, 
 
 In everlasting sleep : 
 As with a flood thou tak'st them off 
 
 With overwhelming sweep. 
 
 They flourish like the morning flower, 
 
 In beauty's pride array'd ; 
 But long ere night cut down it lies 
 
 All wither'd and decay'd. 
 
 A GRACE BEFORE DIIS3ER. 
 
 O THOU, who )iindly dost provide 
 
 For every 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, 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 201 
 
 VERSE 
 
 Written in Friar's-Carse Hermitage on Nith-side. 
 
 Tnou ■whom chance may hither lead, 
 Be thou clad in russet weed, 
 Be thou deck'd 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 lower. 
 
 As youth and love with sprightly dance, 
 Beneath thy morning-star advance. 
 Pleasure, with her syren air. 
 May delude the thoughtless pair ; 
 Let prudence bless enjoyment'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-pinion'd, bold 
 Soar around each chffy hold ; 
 While cheerful peace, with linnet song. 
 Chants the lowly dells among.* 
 
 As the shades of evening close. 
 Beckoning thee to long repose ; 
 As life itself becomes disease. 
 Seek the chimney-neuk of ease ; 
 There, ruminate with sober thought. 
 On all thou 'st seen, and heard, 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 ? 
 
 1 See " Grongar Hill," a Poem by Dyer. 
 
202 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 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 awful Heaven 
 To virtue or to vice is given. 
 Say, " To he just, and kind, and wise, 
 There solid self-enjoyment lies ; 
 That foolish, selfish, faithless ways 
 Lead to the wretched, vile, and hase." 
 
 Thus resigned and quiet creep 
 To the bed of lasting sleep ; 
 Sleep, whence thou shalt ne'er awake, 
 Night, where dawn shall never break. 
 Till future life — future no more. 
 To light, and joy, and good restore — 
 To light and joy unknown before ! 
 
 Stranger, go ! Heaven be thy guide 1 
 Quoth the Beadsman of Nith-side. 
 
 WINTER— A DIRGK 
 
 The wintry west extends his blast. 
 
 And hail and rain does blaw ; 
 Or the stormy north sends driving forth 
 
 The blinding 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 : 
 The tempest's howl, it soothes my soul, 
 
 My griefs it seems to join ; 
 The leafless trees my fancy please, 
 
 Their fate resembles mine I 
 
 Thou Power Supreme, whose mighty scheme 
 These woes of mine fulfil, 
 
 1 Dr. Young. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 203 
 
 Here, firm, I rest — they must be best, 
 Because they are Thy will ! 
 
 Then all I want (oh, do thou grant 
 This one request of mine !) 
 
 Since to enjoy thou dost deny, 
 Assist me to resign. 
 
 MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN.— A DIRGE. 
 
 "When chill N"ovember's surly blast 
 
 Made fields and forests bare. 
 One evening, as I wander'd forth 
 
 Along the banks of Ayr, 
 I spied 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. 
 
 "Young stranger, whither wand'rest thou?" 
 
 Began the reverend sage ; 
 " Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain, 
 
 Or youthful i)leasure's rage ? 
 Or, haply, prest with cares and woes. 
 
 Too soon thou hast began 
 To wander forth with me to mourn 
 
 The miseries of man ! 
 
 " The sun that overhangs yon moors, 
 
 Outspreading far and wide, 
 Where hundreds labor to support 
 
 A haughty lordling's pride ! 
 I 've seen yon weary winter-sun 
 
 Twice forty times return ; 
 And every time has added proofs 
 
 That man was made to mourn. 
 
 " O man ! while in thy early years 
 
 How prodigal of time ! 
 Misspending all thy precious hours, 
 
 Thy glorious youthful prime ! 
 Alternate follies take the sway ; 
 
 Licentious passions burn ; 
 
204 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 Whicli 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 riglit ; 
 But see him on the edge of life, 
 
 With cares and sorrows worn, 
 Then age and want, oh! ill-match'd pair! 
 
 Show man was made to mourn. 
 
 " A few seem favorites of Fate, 
 
 In pleasure's lap carest ; 
 Yet, think not all the rich and great 
 
 Are likewise truly blest. 
 But, oh ! what crowds in every land, 
 
 Are wretched and forlorn ! 
 Thro' weary life this lesson learn. 
 
 That man was made to mourn. 
 
 " Many and sharp the numerous ills 
 
 Inwoven with our frame ! 
 More pointed still we make ourselves, 
 
 Kegret, remorse, and shame ! 
 And man, whose heaven-erected face 
 
 The smiles of love adorn, 
 Man's inhumanity to man 
 
 Makes countless thousands mourn ! 
 
 " See yonder poor, o'erlabor'd wight, 
 
 So abject, mean, and vile, 
 "Who begs a brother of the earth 
 
 To give him leave to toil ;^ 
 And see his lordly fellow-worm 
 
 The poor petition spurn, 
 Unmindful, tliougli a weeping wife 
 
 And helpless offspring mourn. 
 
 "If I'm design VI yon lordling's slave — 
 By Nature's law design'd — 
 
 1 The contrast between his own worldly circumstances and intellectaa. 
 rank, was never perhaps more bitterly nor more loftily expressed by our 
 Poet, than in these four lines, and the flrsthalf of the following stanza. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 205 
 
 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 power 
 
 To make his fellow mourn ? 
 
 " Yet let not this too much, my son, 
 
 Disturb thy youthful breast : 
 This partial view of human kind 
 
 Is surely not the last ! 
 The poor, oppressed, honest man 
 
 Had never, sure, been born. 
 Had there not been some recompense 
 
 To comfort those that mourn ! 
 
 " O Death ! the poor man's dearest friend I 
 
 The kindest and the best ! 
 "Welcome the hour my aged limbs 
 
 Are laid with thee at rest ! 
 The great, the wealthy, fear thy blow, 
 
 From pomp and pleasure torn ; 
 But, oh ! a blest relief to those 
 
 That weary-laden mourn !"^ 
 
 DESPONDENCY.—AN ODE. 
 
 Oppeess'd with grief, oppressed with care, 
 A burden more than I can bear, 
 
 I sit me down and sigh : 
 O Life ! thou art a galling load. 
 Along a rough, a weary road. 
 
 To wretches such as I ! 
 Dim, backward, as I cast my view. 
 
 What sickening scenes appear ! 
 What sorrows yet may pierce me thro', 
 
 Too justly I may fear ! 
 Still caring, despairing. 
 Must be my bitter doom ; 
 
 1 In "Man ivas macle to Mourn," Burns appears to have taken many hints 
 from an ancient ballad, entitled "The Life and Age of Man." 
 18 
 
206 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 My woes here shall close ne'er, 
 But with the closing tomb I 
 
 Happy, ye sons of busy life. 
 Who, equal to the bustling strife, 
 
 No other view regard ! 
 Even when the wished end''s denied, 
 Yet while the busy means are plied. 
 
 They bring their own reward : 
 Whilst I, a hope-abandon'd wight. 
 
 Unfitted with an aim^ 
 Meet every sad returning night. 
 And joyless morn, the same. 
 You, bustling, and justling, 
 
 Forget each grief and pain ; 
 I listless, yet restless. 
 
 Find every 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 his crystal well ! 
 Or, haply, to his evening thought, 
 
 By unfrequented stream. 
 The ways of men are distant brought, 
 A faint collected dream: 
 While praising, and raising 
 
 His thoughts to Heaven on high. 
 As wandering, meandering. 
 He views the solemn sky. 
 
 Than I, no lonely hermit placed 
 Where never human footstep traced. 
 
 Less fit to play the part ; 
 The lucky moment to improve. 
 And just to stop and just to move. 
 
 With self-respecting art : 
 But ah I those pleasures, loves, and joya, 
 
 Which I too keenly taste. 
 The Solitary can despise, 
 
 Can want, and yet be blest I 
 He needs not, he heeds not, 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 207 
 
 Or human love or hate, 
 Whilst I here must cry here, 
 At perfidy ingrate I 
 
 Oh ! enviable, early days, 
 
 AYhen dancing thoughtless pleasure's maze, 
 
 To care, to guilt unknown ! 
 How ill exchanged for riper times. 
 To feel the foUies, or the crimes, 
 
 Of others, or my own ! 
 Ye tiny elves that guiltless sport. 
 
 Like linnets in the bush. 
 Ye little know the ills ye court, 
 When manhood is your wish ! 
 The losses, the crosses. 
 
 That active man engage ! 
 The fears all, the tears all. 
 Of dim declining age ! 
 
 TO KTJIN. 
 
 All hail ! inexorable lord ! 
 
 At whose destruction-breathing word 
 
 The mightiest empires fall ! 
 Thy cruel, woe-delighted train. 
 The ministers of grief and pain, 
 
 A sullen welcome, all ! 
 With stern-resolved despairing eye, 
 
 I see each aimed dart ; 
 For one has cut my dearest tie^ 
 And quivers in my heart. 
 Then lowering and pouring, 
 
 The storm no more I dread ; 
 Tho' thickening and blackening, 
 Kound my devoted head. 
 
 And thou, grim Power, by life abhorr'd, 
 While life a pleasure can aiford. 
 
 Oh ! hear a wretch's prayer ! 
 Ko more I shrink, appall'd, afraid, 
 I court, I beg thy friendly aid, 
 
 To close this scene of care I 
 
208 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 "When shall my soul, in silent peace, 
 
 Eesign life's joyless day ; 
 My weary heart its throbbing cease, 
 Cold mouldering in the clay? 
 IN"© fear more, no tear more, 
 To stain my lifeless face ; 
 Enclasped and grasped 
 Within thy cold embrace ! 
 
 A WINTER NIGHT. 
 
 Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are, 
 That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm I 
 How shall your houseless heads, and unfed sides, 
 Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend yoa 
 From seasons such as these!— ^S/iafopeare. 
 
 When biting Boreas, fell and doure,^ 
 Sharp shivers thro' the leafless bower ; 
 When Phoebus gies a short-lived glower^ 
 
 Far south the lift,^ 
 Dim darkening thro' the flaky shower 
 
 Or whirlin' drift : 
 
 Ae"* night the storm the steeples rock'd, 
 Poor labor sweet in sleep was lock'd, 
 While burns,* in snawy wreaths up-chock'd, 
 
 Wild-eddying swirl,** 
 Or thro' the mining outlet bock'd,^ 
 
 Down headlong hurl. 
 
 Listening the doors and winnocks* rattle, 
 I thought me on the ourie' cattle. 
 Or silly sheep, wha bide this brattle 
 
 C winter war, 
 And thro' the drift, deep-lairing*® sprattlo 
 
 Beneath a scar." 
 
 Ilk happing^^ bird, wee, helpless thing. 
 That, in the merry months o' spring. 
 Delighted me to hear thee sing, 
 
 Sullen.— 2 Glimmer.— 8 The sky.- < One.— » Rivulets.— « Curve.- 
 ' Gushed. — ^ Windows.— » Shivering.— 1° Wading and sinking in snow, or 
 mud. — U A cliff, or precipice.— i^* Each hopping. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 209 
 
 What comes o' thee? 
 "Whare wilt thou cower thy chittering wing, 
 And close thy e'e ? 
 
 E'en you en murdering errands toil'd, 
 Lone, from your savage homes exiled, 
 The blood-stain'd roost, and sheep-cote spoil'd, 
 
 My heart forgets, 
 While pitiless the tempest wild 
 
 Sore on you beats. 
 
 ITow Phoebe, in her midnight reign. 
 Dark, muffled, view'd the dreary plain ; 
 Still crowding 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 I 
 And freeze, thou bitter-biting frost! 
 Descend, ye chilly, smothering snows ! 
 Not all your rage, as now united, shows 
 More hard unkindness, unrelenting, 
 Yengeful malice, unrepenting, 
 Than heaven-illumined man on brother man bestows, 
 
 " See stern oppression's iron grip. 
 
 Or mad ambition's gory hand. 
 Sending, like bloodhounds from the shp. 
 
 Woe, want, and murder o'er a land ! 
 
 " E'en in the peaceful rural vale, 
 
 Truth, weeping, tells the mournful tale, 
 
 How pamper'd Luxury, Flattery by her side. 
 
 The parasite empoisoning 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 glittering show, 
 
 A creature of another kind. 
 
 Some coarser substance, unrefined. 
 Placed for her lordly use thus far, thus vile, below. 
 
 " Where, where is Love's fond, tender throe, 
 With lordly Honor's lofty brow. 
 
210 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 The powers you proudly own? 
 Is there, beneath Love's noble name, 
 Can harbor, dark, the selfish 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, 
 
 Kegardless of her tears, and unavailing prayers ! 
 Perhaps, this hour, in misery's squalid nest, 
 She strains your infant to her joyless breast, 
 And with a mother's fears shrinks at the rocking blast I 
 
 " 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 quite disown ! 
 Ill-satisfied keen nature's clamorous call, 
 
 Stretch'd on his straw, he lays himself to sleep, 
 While, through the ragged roof and chinky wall, 
 
 Chill o'er his slumbers piles the drifty heap ! 
 
 " 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 . ^ 
 
 By 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 off the pouthery snaw,* 
 And hail'd the morning with a cheer, 
 
 A cottage-rousing craw. 
 
 But deep this truth impress'd my mind — 
 
 Through all his works abroad. 
 The heart, benevolent and kind. 
 
 The most resembles God. 
 
 1 Flaky snow. 
 
F-egardleoS of iLcr tear?, arid. iru=>-T—'il-UL,:; |rvyt-i .' 
 Pejiiaps this Iloxlt ixLixu-c- erv s -^ pj -'Ii 1 ij ^ s+ 
 bh.e streoaas Iter inlVait IoIj^l -|oylr*-'- Lit j. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 211 
 
 THE LAMENT, 
 
 OCCASIONED BY THE UNFORTUNATE ISSUE OF A FRIEND's AMOUR, 
 
 Alas ! how oft does Goodness wound itself, 
 
 And sweet Affection prove the spring of woe \—JIome. 
 
 THOU pale orb, that silent shines, 
 While care-untroubled mortals sleep ! 
 
 Thou seest a wretch that 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 power. Remembrance, cease ! 
 Ah ! must the agonizing thrill 
 
 Forever bar returning peace ! 
 
 No idly-feign'd poetic pains. 
 
 My sad love-lorn lamentings claim ; 
 1^0 shepherd's pipe — Arcadian strains ; 
 
 !N'o fabled tortures, quaint and tame : 
 The plighted faith ; the mutual flame ; 
 
 The oft attested Powers above ; 
 The promised father's tender name — 
 
 These were the pledges of my love ! 
 
 Encircled in her clasping arms, 
 
 How have the raptured moments flown I 
 How have I wish'd for Fortune's charms 
 
 For her dear sake, and hers alone ! 
 And must I think it ! Is she gone. 
 
 My secret heart's exulting boast ? 
 And does she heedless hear my groan ? 
 
 And is she ever, ever lost ? 
 
 Oh ! can she bear so base a heart, 
 So lost to honor, lost to truth, 
 
^12 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 As from the fondest lover part, 
 
 The plighted husband of her yonth ! 
 
 Alas ! life's path may be nnsmooth ! 
 
 Her way may lie through rough distress ! 
 
 Then, who her pangs and pains will soothe, 
 Her sorrows share, and make them less ? 
 
 Ye winged hours that o'er ns past. 
 
 Enraptured more, the more enjoy'd, 
 Your dear remembrance in my breast 
 
 My fondly treasured thoughts employed. 
 That breast, how dreary now and void. 
 
 For her too scanty once of room ! 
 Even every ray of hope destroy'd, 
 
 And not a wish to gild the gloom ! 
 
 The morn that warns the approaching day, 
 
 Awakes me up to toil and woe : 
 I see the hours in long array. 
 
 That I must suffer, lingering, slow. 
 Eull many a pang, and many a throe, 
 
 Keen recollection's direful train, 
 Must wing my soul, ere Phoebus, low, 
 
 Shall kiss the distant western main. 
 
 And when my nightly couch I try. 
 
 Sore harass'd out with care and grief, 
 My toil-beat nerves, and tear-worn eye. 
 
 Keep watchings with the nightly thief: 
 Or, if I slumber, Fancy, chief. 
 
 Reigns haggard-wild, in sore affright : 
 Even day, all-bitter, brings relief 
 
 From such a horror-breathing night ! 
 
 O thou bright queen, who o'er the expanse 
 
 Now highest reign'st, with boundless sway I 
 Oft has thy silent-marking glance 
 
 Observed us, fondly- wandering, 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 I scenes in strong remembrance set! 
 Scenes never, never, to return I 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 213 
 
 Scenes, if, in stupor, I forget, 
 
 Again I feel, again I burn : 
 From evei'y joy and pleasure torn. 
 
 Life's weary vale I'll wander through : 
 And hopeless, comfortless, I '11 mourn 
 
 A faithless woman's broken vow.^ 
 
 LAMENT.^ 
 
 Written when the Author was about to leave his native country. 
 
 O'ee the mist-shrouded cliffs of the lone mountain straying, 
 Where the wild winds of winter incessantly rave. 
 
 What woes wring my heart while intently surveying 
 The storm's gloomy path on the breast of the wave ! 
 
 Ye foam-crested billows, allow me to wail. 
 
 Ere ye toss me afar from my loved native shore ; 
 
 Where the flower which bloom'd sweetest in Ooila's green 
 vale. 
 The pride o' my bosom, my Mary 's no more. 
 
 No more by the banks of the streamlet we '11 wander. 
 And smile at the moon's rimpled face in the wave ; 
 
 1^0 more shall my arms cling with fondness around her. 
 For the dewdrops of morning fall cold on her grave. 
 
 !N"or more shall the soft thrill of love warm my breast, 
 I baste with the storm to a far distant shore ; 
 
 Where unknown, unlamented, my ashes shall rest, 
 And joy shall revisit my bosom no more. 
 
 LAMENT, 
 
 FOR JAMEg, EARL OF GLENCAIRN. 
 
 The wind blew hollow frae the hills, 
 
 By fits the sun's departing beam 
 Look'd on the fading yellow woods 
 
 That waved o'er Lugar's winding stream : 
 
 1 A detail of the circumstance on which this affecting Poem was composed 
 will be found in Lockhart's Life of the Poet, p. 85. 
 
 2 First published in the Dumfries Weekly Journal, July 5th, 1815. 
 
214 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 Beneath a craigy steep, a Bard, 
 Laden with years and meikle^ pain, 
 
 In loud lament bewail'd his lord, 
 "Whom death had all untimely taen." 
 
 He lean'd him to an ancient aik,* 
 
 Whose trunk was mouldering down with years ; 
 His locks were bleached white wi' 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 notes alang. 
 
 " Ye scattered birds that faintly sing, 
 
 The relics of the vernal choir ! 
 Ye woods that shed on a' the winds 
 
 The honors of the aged year ! 
 A few short months, and glad and gay, 
 
 Again ye '11 charm the ear and e'e ; 
 But nocht* in all revolving time 
 
 Can gladness 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 hald* of earth is gane : 
 Kae leaf o' mine shall greet the spring, 
 
 Nae simmer sun exalt my bloom ; 
 But I maun lie before the storm. 
 
 And ithers plant them in my room. 
 
 " I 've seen sae monie changefu' years, 
 
 On earth I am a stranger grown ; 
 I wander in the ways of men. 
 
 Alike unknowing and unknown : 
 Unheard, unpitied, unrelieved, 
 
 I bare alane my lade o' care. 
 For silent, low, on beds of dust. 
 
 Lie a' that would my sorrows share. 
 
 "And last (the sum of a' my griefs !) 
 My noble master lies in clay ; 
 
 » Much.— 2 Taken.— 3 Oak.— ^ Naught.—* Hold, 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 215 
 
 The flower amang our barons bold, 
 His country's pride, his country's stay : 
 
 In weary being now I pine, 
 For a' the life of life is dead. 
 
 And hope has left my aged ken. 
 On forward wing forever fled. 
 
 " Awake thy last sad voice, my harp ! 
 
 The voice of woe and wild despair ! 
 Awake I resound thy latest lay. 
 
 Then sleep in silence evermair ! 
 And thou, my last, best, only friend, 
 
 That fillest an untimely tomb. 
 Accept this tribute from the Bard 
 
 Thou brought from Fortune's mirkest* gloom* 
 
 " In poverty's low barren vale, 
 
 Thick mists, obscure, involved me round ; 
 Tho' oft I turn'd the wistful eye, 
 
 Nae ray of fame was to be found : 
 Thou found'st me like the morning sun 
 
 That melts the fogs in limpid air ; 
 The friendless Bard and rustic song 
 
 Became alike thy fostering care. 
 
 " Oh ! why has worth so short a date ? 
 
 "While villains ripen gray with time, 
 Must thou, the noble, generous, great. 
 
 Fall in bold manhood's hardy prime ? 
 Why did I live to see that day ? 
 
 A day to me so full of woe ! 
 Oh ! had I met the mortal shaft 
 
 Which laid my benefactor low ! 
 
 " The bridegroom may forget the bride 
 
 Was made his wedded wife yestreen ; ' 
 
 The monarch may forget the crown 
 
 That on his head an hour has been ; 
 The mother may forget the child 
 
 That smiles sae sweetly on her knee ; 
 But I '11 remember thee, Glencairn, 
 
 And a' that thou hast done for me !"* 
 
 1 Darkest. — ^ gee note on page 196. 
 
216 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 LINES 
 
 Sent to Sir John Whitefoord, of Whitefoord, Bart,, with the 
 foregoing Poem. 
 
 Thotj, who thy honor as thy God rever'st, 
 
 Who, save thy mind's reproach, naught earthly fear'st, 
 
 To thee this votive offering I impart, 
 
 The tearful tribute of a broken heart. 
 
 l^he friend thou valued'st, I the patron loved ; 
 
 His worth, his honor, all the world approved. 
 
 "We '11 mourn till we too go as he has gone, 
 
 And tread the dreary path to that dark world unknown. 
 
 LAMENT OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 
 
 ON THE APPROACH OF SPRING. 
 
 !N"ow Nature hangs her mantle green 
 
 On every blooming tree, . 
 And spreads her sheets o' daisies white 
 
 Out o'er the grassy lea : 
 Il^ow Phoebus cheers the crystal streams, 
 
 And glads the azure skies ; 
 But nocht can glad the weary wight 
 
 That fast in durance lies. 
 
 Now lav'rocks 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 i 
 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 ; 
 
 1 The Blackbird.— 2 The Thrush. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 217 
 
 But I, the Queen of a' Scotland, 
 Maun^ lie in prison Strang.'* 
 
 I was the Queen o' bonnie France, 
 
 Where happy I hae been ; 
 Fu" lightly raise I in the morn, 
 
 As blythe lay down at e'en : 
 And I 'm the Sovereign of Scotland, 
 
 And monie a traitor there : 
 Yet here I lie in foreign bands, 
 
 And never-ending care. 
 
 But as for thee, thou false woman, 
 
 My sister and my fae, 
 Grim Vengeance, yet, shall whet a sword 
 
 That through thy soul shall gae : 
 The weeping blood in woman's breast 
 
 Was never known to thee ; 
 Nor th' balm that drops on wounds of woe 
 
 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 ! 
 God keep the frae thy mother's faes. 
 
 Or turn their hearts to thee ; 
 And where thou meet'st thy mother's frieno, 
 
 Eemember him for me ! 
 
 Oh ! soon, to me, may summer suns 
 
 ITae 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 round me rave ; 
 And the next flowers that deck the spring. 
 
 Bloom on my peaceful grave ! 
 
 > Must— « Strong.— 3 Full.—'* Would shine— ^ No rooMV 
 19 
 
EPISTLES. 
 
 EPISTLE TO JAMES SMITH.' 
 
 Friendship 1 mysterious cement of the soul I 
 Sweet'ner of life, and solder of society t 
 I owe thee much.— Blair. 
 
 Dear Smith, the sleest,'* pawkie^ thief, 
 That e'er attempted stea^lth or rief,* 
 Ye surely hae some warlock-breeP 
 
 Owre human hearts ; 
 For ne'er a bosom yet was prief ° 
 
 Against your arts. 
 
 For me, I swear by sun and moon. 
 And every star that blinks aboon. 
 Ye 've cost me twenty pair o' shoon 
 
 Just gaun to see you ; 
 And every ither pair that 's done, 
 
 Mair taen' I 'm wi' you. 
 
 That auld capricious carlin® Nature, 
 To mak amends for scrimpit* stature, 
 She 's turn'd you aff, a human creature 
 
 On her first plan. 
 And in her freaks, on every feature, 
 
 She 's wrote " the man." 
 
 Just now I 've taen the fit o' rhyme, 
 My banny^° noddle 's working prime, 
 My fancy yerkit" up sublime 
 
 Wi' hasty summon : 
 Hae ye a leisure-moment's time 
 
 To hear what 's comm' I 
 
 J Then a shopkeeper In Mauchllne. lie afterwards went to the West 
 Indies, where he died. 
 
 2 Pronounced slee-est, slyest—* Cunning.—* Plunder,—* Wizard-spell.— 
 • Proof.— "^ More delighted.— « A stout old woman.—* Scanty.— lo Like barm, 
 or yeast.— 11 Jerked, lashed. 
 
EPISTLES. 210 
 
 Some rhyme, a neebor's name to lasli ; 
 
 Some rhyme (vain thought!) for needfu' cash; 
 
 Some rhyme to court the countra clash,^ 
 
 An' raise a din ; 
 For me, an aim I never fash l"^ 
 
 I rhyme for fun. 
 
 The star that rules my luckless lot, 
 
 Has fated me the russet coat, 
 
 An' damn'd my fortune to the groat ;' 
 
 But, in requit. 
 Has bless'd me wV a random shot 
 
 O' countra wit. 
 
 This while my notion 's taen a sklent,^ 
 To try my fate in guid black prent ; 
 But still the mair I 'm that way bent, 
 
 Something cries — " Hoolie !* 
 I red* you, honest man, tak tent !^ 
 
 Ye '11 shaw your folly. 
 
 " There 's ither poets, much your betters. 
 Far seen in Greek, deep men o' letters, 
 Hae thought they had insured their debtors 
 
 A' future ages ; 
 N'ow moths deform in shapeless tetters 
 
 Their unknown pages." 
 
 Then fareweel hopes o' laurel-boughs. 
 To garland my poetic brows ! 
 Henceforth I '11 rove where busy ploughs 
 
 Are whistling thrang. 
 And teach the lanely heights an' howes® 
 
 My rustic sang. 
 
 I '11 wander on wi' tentless^ heed 
 How never-halting moments speed. 
 Till fate shall snap the brittle thread ; 
 
 Then, all unknown, 
 T '11 lay me witli th' inglorious dead. 
 
 Forgot and gone ! 
 
 » Country talk.— 2 To care for.— ^ Doomed me to poverty.—'* Aslant— 
 Take time and consider. — « Counsel. — "^ Take heed. — ^ Hollows, or dales.— 
 Thoughtless. 
 
220 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 But why o' death begin a tale ? 
 
 Just now we 're living, sound, and hale, 
 
 Then top and main-top crowd the sail, 
 
 Heave care owre-side ! 
 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, hand in hand. 
 
 Dance by fu' light. 
 
 The magic wand then let us wield ; 
 For, ance^ that five-an'-forty 's speel'd,* 
 See crazy, weary, joyless eild,' 
 
 Wi' wrinkled face, 
 Oome hostin',* hirphn',^ owre the field, 
 
 Wi' creepin' pace. 
 
 When ance life's day draws near the gloamin ^* 
 Then fareweel vacant careless roamin' ; 
 An' fareweel cheerfu' tankards foamin', 
 
 An' social noise ; 
 An' fareweel, dear, deluding woman, 
 
 Thejoy of joys! 
 
 O Life ! how pleasant in thy morning, 
 Young Fancy's rays the hills adorning I 
 Cold-pausing Caution's lesson scorning. 
 
 We frisk away. 
 Like school-boys at th' expected warning. 
 
 To joy and play. 
 
 We wander there, we wander here, 
 We eye the rose upon the brier, 
 Unmindful that the thorn is near 
 
 Amang the lea^•es ; 
 And tho' the puny wound appear. 
 
 Short while it grieves. 
 
 Once.—'* To climb.—' Old age.—* Coughing.— ^ Hobbling.—' Twilight 
 
EPISTLES. 221 
 
 Some, lucky, find a flowery spot, 
 
 For which they never toil'd nor swat ;* 
 
 They drink the sweet, and eat the fat. 
 
 But'' care or pain ; 
 And, haply, eye the barren hut 
 
 "With high disdain. 
 
 With steady aim some fortune chase ; 
 Keen Hope does every sinew brace ; 
 Thro' fair, thro' foul, they urge the race, 
 
 And seize the prey ; 
 Then cannie,' in some cozie* place, 
 
 They close the day. 
 
 And others, like your humble servan'. 
 Poor wights ! nae rules nor roads observing 
 To right or left, eternal swervin', 
 
 They zig-zag on ; 
 Till curst with age, obscure an' starvin'. 
 
 They aften groan. 
 
 Alas ! what bitter toil an' straining — 
 But truce with peevish, poor complaining ! 
 Is Fortune's fickle luna waning ? 
 
 E'en let her gang ! 
 Beneath what light she has remaining 
 
 Let 's sing our sang. 
 
 My pen I here fling to the door. 
 
 And kneel, "Ye Powers!" and warm implore, 
 
 *' Though 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 hang frae their beards ; 
 Gie fine braw claes" to fine life-guards, 
 
 And maids of honor : 
 And yilP an' whisky gie to cairds,^ 
 
 Until they sconner.* 
 
 " A title, Dempster^" merits it ; 
 A garter gie to Willie Pitt ; 
 
 > Did sweat.— 2 Without— 3 Dexterously.—-* Snug,— s Plenty.— « Clothes.*. 
 -''Ale.— 8 Tinkers.- 9 Loathe it— i" George Dempster, Esq., of Dunnichem. 
 
222 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 Gie wealth to some be-ledger'd cit, 
 
 In cent, per cent. ; 
 But gie me real, sterling wit, 
 
 And I 'm content. 
 
 " While ye are pleased to keep me hale, 
 I '11 sit down o'er my scanty meal, 
 Be 't water-brose* or muslin-kail,'* 
 
 Wi' cheerfu' 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 misfortune's blows 
 
 As weel 's I may ; 
 Sworn foe to sorrow, care, and prose, 
 
 I rhyme away. 
 
 ye douce^ folk that live by rule, 
 Grave, tideless-blooded, calm and cool, 
 Compared wi' you — O fool ! fool ! fool ! 
 
 How much unlike ! 
 Your hearts are just a standing pool, 
 Your lives, a dyke ! 
 
 Kae hair-brain'd, sentimental traces 
 In your unletter'd, nameless faces ! ' 
 In arioso trills and graces 
 
 Ye never stray. 
 But, gravissimo, solemn basses 
 
 Ye hum away. 
 
 Ye are sae grave, nae doubt ye 're wise ; 
 Kae ferly* tho' you do despise 
 The harum-scarum, ram-stam* boys, 
 The rattlin' squad : 
 
 1 see you upward cast your eyes — 
 
 Ye ken the road. — 
 
 Whilst I — ^but I shall baud me there — 
 Wi' you I '11 scarce gang onie where — 
 
 » Made of meal and water only.— ^ Broth, composed of water, shelled bar» 
 tiey, and greens.— ^ To stoop.—* Wise.—* With contempt— « Thoughtless. 
 
EPISTLES. 223 
 
 Then, Jamie, I shall say nae mair, 
 But quit my sang, 
 
 Content wi' you to make a pair. 
 Where'er I gang. 
 
 TO JOHi^ LAPRAIK, 
 
 AN OLD SCOTTISH BARD. 
 
 April 1, 17S5k 
 "While briers an' woodbines budding green. 
 An' paitricks^ scraichin' loud at e'en. 
 An' morning pousie^ whiddin'^ seen. 
 
 Inspire my Muse, 
 This freedom in an unknown frien' 
 
 I pray excuse. 
 
 On Fasten-e'en* we had a rockin',* 
 
 To ca' the crack® and weave the stockin' ; 
 
 And there was muckle fun an' jockin'. 
 
 Ye need nae doubt ; 
 At length we had a hearty yokin' 
 
 At sang about. 
 
 There was ae sang,^ amang the rest, 
 Aboon them a' it pleased me best, 
 That some kind husband had addrest 
 To some sweet wife : 
 
 1 Partridges.— 2 A hare.— ^ Eunning as a hare does.—* Fastens-even. 
 
 ^ This is a term derived from those primitive times, when the country 
 women employed their leisure hours in spinning on the rock or distaflF. This 
 instrument being very portable, was well fitted to accompany its owner to a 
 neighbor's house ; hence the phrase of ffoing a rocking or with the rock 
 The connection, however, which the phrase had with the implement was for 
 gotten after the rock gave place to the spinning-wheel, and men talked oi 
 going a-rocking as well as women. It was at one of these rockings, or social 
 parties, that Mr. Lapraik's song was sung. Burns being informed who was 
 the author, wrote his first epistle to Lapraik ; and his second in reply to his 
 answer. 
 
 ^ To call upon some one in the company for a song or a story. 
 
 ^ The song here alluded to was written by Mr. Lapraik after sustaining a 
 eonsiderable pecuniary loss. In consequence of some connection as security 
 for several persons concerned in the failure of the Ayr bank, he was obliged 
 to sell his farm of Dalfram, near Muirkirk. One day, while his wife was fret- 
 
224 BURNS S POEMS. 
 
 It tliirl'd the heart-strings thro' the breast, 
 A' to the life. 
 
 I Ve scarce heard anght describes sae weel, 
 What generous, manly bosoms feel ; 
 Thought I, " Can this be Pope, or Steele, 
 
 Or Beattie's wark?" 
 They tauld me 'twas an odd kind chieP 
 
 About Muirkirk. 
 
 It pat me fidgin'-fain'' to hear 't. 
 And sae about him there 1 spier't ;' 
 Then a' that kent him round declared 
 
 He had ingine,* 
 That nane excelPd it, few cam near 't, 
 
 It was sae fine. 
 
 ting over their misfortunes, he composed it with a view to moderate her grielf 
 and fortify^ her resignation. It is as follows : 
 
 When I upon thy bosom lean, 
 
 And fondly clasp thee a' my ain, 
 I glory in the sacred ties 
 
 That made us ane, wha ance were twain : 
 A mutual flame inspires us haith, 
 
 The tender look, the melting kiss : 
 Even years shall ne'er destroy our love. 
 
 But only gie us change o' bliss. 
 
 Ilae I a wish ? it 's a' for thee ; 
 
 I ken thy wish is me to please ; 
 Our moments pass sae smooth away, 
 
 That numbers on us look and gaze ; 
 Weel pleased they see our happy days. 
 
 Nor Envy's sel finds aught to blame ; 
 And ay when weary cares arise. 
 
 Thy bosom still shall be my hame. 
 
 I '11 lay me there, and take my rest. 
 
 And if that aught disturb my dear, 
 I '11 bid her laugh her cares away, 
 
 And beg her not to drap a tear : 
 Hao I a joy ? it 's a' her ain ; 
 
 United still her heart and mine ; 
 They 're like the woodbine round the tree, 
 
 That's twined till death shall them disjoin. 
 
 t A droll, good fellow.— ^ Very anxious.—' Inquired.—* Possessed of wJl 
 
 And genius. 
 
EPISTLES. 225 
 
 That, set Lim to a pint of ale, 
 
 An' either douce,^ or merry tale, 
 
 Or rhymes an' sangs he 'd made himsel, 
 
 Or witty catches, 
 'Tween Inverness and Tiviotdale, 
 
 He had few matches. 
 
 Then up I gat, an' swoor an aith, 
 
 Tho' I should pawn my pleugh and graith,* 
 
 Or die a cadger-pownie's' death. 
 
 At some dyke-back, 
 A pint an' gill I 'd gie them baith 
 
 To hear your crack.* 
 
 But, first an' foremost, I should tell, 
 Amaist as soon as I could spell 
 I to the crambo-jingle^ fell, 
 
 Tho' rude an' rough, 
 Yet crooning*' to a body's sel. 
 
 Does weel enough. 
 
 I am nae Poet, in a sense, 
 
 But just a Ehymer, like, by chance. 
 
 An' hae to learning nae pretence. 
 
 Yet, what the matter ? 
 Whene'er my Muse does on me glance, 
 
 I jingle at her. 
 
 Your critic-folk may cock their nose. 
 And say, " How can you e'er propose, 
 You wha ken hardly verse frae prose. 
 
 To mak a sang?" 
 But, by your leaves, my learned foes. 
 
 Ye 're may be wrang. 
 
 What 's a' your jargon o' your schools, 
 Your Latin names for horns and stools ; 
 If honest Nature made you fools, 
 
 What sairs^ your grammars ? 
 Ye 'd better taen up spades and shools. 
 
 Or knappin'-hammers. 
 
 1 Serious. — ^ Furniture. — ^ x carrier's poney.— ■* Converse. — ^ XJbymin^ 
 -6 Humming. — ^ Serves, what service. 
 
226 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 A set o' dull, conceited hashes,* 
 Confuse their brains in college classes ! 
 They gang in stirks,'' and come out assea, 
 
 Plain truth to speak ; 
 An' syne' they think to climb Parnassus 
 
 By dint o' Greek ! 
 
 Gie me ae spark o' Nature's lire, 
 
 That 's a' the learning I desire ; 
 
 Then tho' I drudge thro' dubj and mire, 
 
 At pleugh or cart, 
 My Muse, tho' hamely in attire, 
 
 May touch the heart. 
 
 Oh for a spunk o' Allan's glee. 
 
 Or Fergusson's, the bauld and slee,^ 
 
 Or bright Lapraik's, my friend to be, 
 
 If I can hit it ! 
 That would be lear" 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 fu',' 
 
 I 'se no insist. 
 But gif ye want a friend that 's true, 
 
 I 'm on your list. 
 
 I winna blaw® about mysel ; 
 
 As ill I like my fauts to tell ; 
 
 But friends, and folk that wish me well. 
 
 They sometimes roose® me, 
 Tho' I maun own, as monie still 
 
 As sair^° abuse me. 
 
 There 's ae wee faut" they whiles lay to me, 
 
 I like the lasses — Gude forgie me ! 
 
 For monie a plack" they wheedle frae me ! 
 
 At dance or fair ; 
 Maybe some ither thing they gie me. 
 
 They weel can spare. 
 
 * Stupid fellows, who know neither how to dress, or to behave with 
 propriety. 
 
 2 Large calves.— ^ Then. — * A pond. — » Sly. — « Learning. — ''' Full. — 
 ^ Win not boast— 8 Praise me.— 1° Sore.— ^i One small fault.—" An old 
 Scotch coin, the third part cf a Scotch penny. 
 
EPISTLES. 227 
 
 But Maucliline race, or Mauchline fair; 
 I should be proud to meet you there ; 
 "We 'se gie a night's discharge to care, 
 
 If we forgather,^ 
 An' hae a swap o' rhymin'-ware 
 
 Wi' ane anither. 
 
 The four-gill chap,'' we 'se gar^ him clatter 
 An' kirsen* him wi' reeking water ; 
 Syne^ we '11 sit down an' tak our whitter," 
 
 To cheer our heart ; 
 An' faith we 'se be acquainted better 
 
 Before we part. 
 
 There 's naething like the honest nappy ! 
 Whaur '11 ye e'er see men sae happy, 
 Or women sonsie, saft an' sappy, 
 
 'Tween morn an' morn, 
 As them wha like to taste the drappie 
 
 In glass or horn ? 
 
 I 've seen me daez'f^ upon a time ; 
 I scarce could wink or see a styme ; 
 Just ae half muchkin does me prime, 
 
 Aught less is little. 
 Then back I rattle on the rhyme 
 
 As gleg 's a whittle ! 
 
 Awa' ye selfish, warly® race, 
 
 "Wha think that bavins,® sense, an' grace, 
 
 Even love an' friendship should give place 
 
 To catch theplack!'° 
 I dinna like to see your face 
 
 Nor hear your crack. 
 
 But ye whom social pleasure charms, 
 "Whose hearts the tide of kindness warms, 
 "Who hold your being on the terms — 
 
 " Each aid the others 1" 
 Come to my bowl, come to my arras, 
 
 My friends, my brothers ! 
 
 - Meet — 2 ^ pot or measure, in which whisky or other spirits was served 
 out to customers at alehouses. 
 
 « Make.— 4 To christen.— ^ Then.— « A hearty draught of liquor.— ^ Stupid. 
 —8 Worldly. — ^ Good manners. — ^^ To get money. 
 
228 BURNS'S POEMS 
 
 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 fervent, 
 While I can either sing or whissle. 
 
 Your friend and servant. 
 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 April 21, 17«. 
 
 While new-ca^d kye^ rout at the stake. 
 An' pownies reek in pleugh or braik,^ 
 This hour, on e'enin's edge, I take. 
 
 To ovrn I 'm debtor 
 To honest-hearted, auld Lapraik, 
 
 For his kind letter. 
 
 Forjesket^ sair, with weary legs, 
 Kattlin' the corn out-owre the rigs, 
 Or dealing thro' amang the naigs 
 
 Their ten-hours^ bite, 
 My awkwart Muse sair pleads and begs, 
 
 I would na write. 
 
 The tapetless* ramfeezl'd^ hizzie. 
 
 She 's saft at best, and something lazy. 
 
 Quo' she, " Ye ken we 've been sae busy. 
 
 This month an' mair. 
 That trouth my head is grown right dizzie, 
 
 An' something sair." 
 
 Her dowff ® excuses pat me mad : 
 "Conscience," says I, "ye thowless jad! 
 I '11 write, an' that a hearty blaud, 
 
 This vera night ; 
 So dinna ye affront your trade. 
 
 But rhyme it right. 
 
 " Shall bauld Lapraik, the king o' hearts, 
 Tho' mankind were a pack o' cartes, 
 
 * Bustle. — ^ Cows having newly calved.—' A kind of harrow. — * Jaded 
 with fatigue. — * A slight bate given to horses in the forenoon, while in the 
 yoke.— « Foolish.—'' Fatigued.—- Pithless, wanting force. 
 
EPISTLES. 229 
 
 Roose* you sae weel for your deserts, 
 
 In terms sae friendly. 
 Yet ye '11 neglect to shaw your parts, 
 
 An' thank him kindly !" 
 
 Sae I gat paper in a blink, 
 
 An' down gaed stumpie in the ink ; 
 
 Quoth I, " Before I sleep a wink, 
 
 I vow I '11 close it ; 
 An' if you winna mak it clink, 
 
 By Jove I '11 prose it !" 
 
 Sae I 've begun to scrawl, but whether 
 
 In rhyme or prose, or baith thegither, 
 
 Or some hotch-potch that 's rightly neither, 
 
 Let time mak proof; 
 But I shall scribble down some blether" 
 
 Just clean aff-loof.^ 
 
 My worthy friend, ne'er grudge an' carp, 
 Tho' Fortune use you hard and sharp ; 
 Come, kittle up your moorland harp 
 
 Wi' gleesome touch ! 
 ISTe'er mind how Fortune waft and warp ; 
 
 She 's but a bitch. 
 
 She 's gien me mony a jirt an' fleg. 
 Sin' I could striddle* owre a rig f 
 But, by the Lord, tho' I should beg 
 
 Wi' lyart pow,° 
 I '11 laugh an' sing, an' shake my leg 
 
 As lang 's I dow T 
 
 Now comes the sax-an' -twentieth simmer 
 I 've seen the bud upo' the tiramer,^ 
 Still persecuted by the limmer* 
 
 Frae year to year ; 
 But yet, despite the kittle kimmer,^" 
 
 I, Rob, am here . 
 
 Do ye envy the city gent.^ 
 Behind a kist^^ to lie and sklent," 
 
 1 Praise, commend.— ^ Nonsense.— 3 Unpremeditated, off-hand.—'* Strad- 
 dle.— 5 Eidge.— 6 With gray hairs.— ^ Can.— 8 Tree.— ^ Kept mistress.— 
 10 Skittish girl.— 11 Shop counter.— 12 To look sideways, and cunning. 
 20 
 
230 BURXS'S POEMS. 
 
 Or purse-proud, big wi' cent, per cent. 
 
 And muckle wame,^ 
 In some bit burg^ to represent 
 
 A bailie's name ? 
 
 Or, is 't the paughty, feudal thane, 
 "Wi' ruffled sark^ an' glancing cane, 
 Wha thinks himself nae sheep-shank bane, 
 
 But lordly stalks, 
 While caps and bonnets aff are taen, 
 
 As by he walks ? 
 
 " O Thou, wha gies us each good gift I 
 Gie me o' wit an' sense a lift. 
 Then turn me, if thou please, adrift. 
 
 Thro' Scotland wide ; 
 Wi' cits nor lairds I wadna shift, 
 
 In a' their pride!" 
 
 Were this the charter of our state — 
 " On pain of hell be rich and great ;" 
 Damnation then would be our fate. 
 
 Beyond remead ;* 
 But, thanks to Heaven ! that 's no the gate* 
 
 We learn our creed : — 
 
 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 Nature's plan, 
 
 An' none but he." 
 
 O mandate glorious and divine ! 
 The ragged followers of the Nine, 
 Poor, thoughtless devils I yet may shine 
 
 In glorious light. 
 While sordid sons of Mammon's line 
 
 Are dark as night. 
 
 Tho' here they scrape, an' squeeze, an' growl, 
 Their worthless nievefu"' of a soul 
 May in some future carcase howl. 
 The forest's fright ; 
 
 > Large belly.— * Small borough. — 3 Shirt. — * No mean personage. - 
 • Remedy.—" The way.— "^ Ilandful. 
 
EPISTLES. 231 
 
 Or in some day-detesting owl, 
 
 May shun the light. 
 
 Then may Lapraik and Burns arise, 
 To reach their native, kindred skies, 
 And sing their pleasures, hopes, an' joys, 
 
 In some mild sphere, 
 Still closer knit in friendship's ties 
 
 Each passing year ! 
 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 Sept. 13th, 1785 
 
 GuiD speed an' farder to you, Johnie, 
 
 Guid health, hale han's, an' weather honnie • 
 
 Now when ye 're nickan^ down fu' cannie- 
 
 The staff o' bread, 
 May ye ne'er want a stoop^ o' brany 
 
 To clear your head. 
 
 May Boreas never thresh your rigs, 
 Kor kick your rickles aff their legs, 
 Sendin' the stuff o'er muirs an' haggs* 
 
 Like drivin' wrack ; 
 But may the tapmast grain that wags 
 
 Come to the sack. 
 
 I 'm bizzie* too, an' skelpin"* at it. 
 But bitter, daudin showers hae wat it, 
 Sae my auld stumpie pen I gat it, 
 
 Wi' muckle wark, 
 An' took my jocteleg^ an' whatt® it, 
 
 Like ony clerk. 
 
 It 's now twa month that I 'm your debtor, 
 For your braw, nameless, dateless letter, 
 Abusin' me for harsh ill nature 
 
 On holy men, 
 While deil a hair yoursel ye 're better, 
 
 But mair profane. 
 
 1 Cutting.— 2 Dexterous.— 3 Jug or dish with a handle,—* Scars or guTfe In 
 mosses. — ^ Busy. — « Drivirg or pressing for-vard. — '' A kind of knife. — ^ Xo 
 polish by cutting. 
 
232 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 But let the kirk-folk ring their bells, 
 Let 's sing about our noble sels ; 
 We '11 cry nae jads frae heathen hills 
 
 To help, or roose us, 
 But browster wives and whiskie stills, 
 
 They are the muses. 
 
 Your friendship. Sir, I winna quat^ it, 
 
 An' if ye mak objections at it, 
 
 Then han' in nieve'^ some day we '11 knot it, 
 
 An' witness take. 
 An' when wi' usquabae we 've wat it 
 
 It winna break. 
 
 But if the beast and branks^ be spared 
 Till kye* be gaun^ without the herd, 
 An' a' the vittel in the yard. 
 
 An' theckit° rigkt, 
 I mean your ingle-side to guard 
 
 Ae winter night. 
 
 Then muse-inspirin' aqua-vitae 
 
 Shall make us baith sae blithe an' witty. 
 
 Till ye forget ye 're auld an' gatty,^ 
 
 An' be as canty,® 
 As ye were nine years less than thretty. 
 
 Sweet ane an' twenty ! 
 
 But stooks® are cowpet" wi' the blast, 
 An' now the sun keeks" in the west. 
 Then I maun rin^^ amang the rest 
 
 An' quat my chanter ; 
 Sae T subscribe mysel in haste. 
 
 Yours, Rab the Ranter. 
 
 Quit.—* Hand in hand. — * A kind of wooden curb.—'* Cows.— » Going 
 —• Thatched.— T Infirm.— ^ Merry.— » Shocks of corn.— lo Upset-" Peep* 
 —Ja Must run. 
 
EPISTLES. 233 
 
 EPISTLE TO DAYIE,! 
 
 A BROTHER POET. 
 
 Jan. — — . 
 
 "While winds frae aff 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 westlin'* jingle. 
 While frosty winds blaw in the drift, 
 
 Ben to the chimla lug,® 
 I grudge a wee the great folks' gift. 
 That live sae bien° and 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 power 
 To keep, at times, frae being sour, 
 
 To see how things are shared ; 
 How best o' chiels® are whiles in want. 
 While coofs' on countless thousands rant, 
 
 And ken na how to wair 't :** 
 But, Davie lad, ne'er fash" your head 
 
 Tho' we hae little gear. 
 We 're fit to win our daily bread 
 As lang 's we 're hale and fier ;^* 
 " Mair spier^' na, nor fear na'," 
 Auld age ne'er mind a feg,^" 
 The last o 't, the warst o 't, 
 Is only for to beg. 
 
 To lie in kilns and barns at e'en, 
 
 When banes are crazed and bluid is thin, 
 
 Is, doubtless, great distress ! 
 Yet then content could make us blest : 
 
 1 David Sillar, author of a volume of Poems in the Scottish dialect— 
 * Hang.— 3 Fireplace.—* West country.— s The fireside.— « In plenty.—' Heed, 
 —8 Best of men.— 9 Blockheads.— 10 To spend it.— "Trouble.— 12 gound.— 
 13 More ask not.— 14 Eamsay.— '^ Fig. 
 
234 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 Even 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'd the ba', 
 Has ay some cause to smile : 
 And mind still, you '11 find still, 
 
 A comfort this nae sma' ; 
 Kae mair then, we '11 care then, 
 iTae farther can we fa'. 
 
 What tho', like commoners of air, 
 'We wander out, we know not where, 
 
 But^ either house or hall ? 
 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, 
 "With honest joy our hearts will bound, 
 To see the coming year : 
 
 On braes when we please, then, 
 
 We '11 sit an' sowtli^ a tune ; 
 Syne' rhyme till 't,* we '11 time till 't, 
 And sing 't when we hae 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' muckle mair ;^ 
 It 's no in books ; it 's no in lear. 
 
 To make us truly blest : 
 If happiness hae not her seat 
 
 And centre in the breast, 
 We may be wise, or rich, or great, 
 But never can be blest : 
 
 iTae treasures, nor pleasures. 
 
 Could make us happy lang ; 
 The heart ay 's the part ay. 
 That makes us right or wrang. 
 
 Think ye, that sic as you and I, 
 
 Wha drudge and drive thro' wet an' dry, 
 
 i Without— 2 Hum, or whistle.—* Then.—* To it.—* Much more. 
 
EPISTLES. 235 
 
 Wi' never-ceasing toil ; 
 Think ye, are we less blest than ihey, 
 "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 good, 
 They riot in excess ! 
 Baith careless and fearless 
 Of either heaven or hell ! 
 Esteeming and deeming 
 It 's a' an idle tale ! 
 
 Then let us cheerfu' acquiesce ; 
 E"or make our scanty pleasures less. 
 
 By pining at our state ; 
 And even should misfortunes come, 
 I, here wha sit, hae met wi' some, 
 
 An' 's thankfu' for them yet. 
 They gie the wit o' age to youth ; 
 
 They let us ken oursel ; 
 They make us see the naked truth, 
 The real good and ill. 
 Tho' losses and crosses 
 
 Be lessons right severe, 
 There 's wit there, ye '11 get there. 
 Ye '11 find nae other where. 
 
 But tent me, Davie, ace o' hearts ! 
 
 (To say aught less wad wrang the cartes, 
 
 And flattery I detest,) 
 This life has joys for you and I ; 
 And joys that riches ne'er could buy ; 
 
 And joys the very best. 
 There 's a' the pleasures o' the heart, 
 
 The lover an' the frien' ; 
 Ye hae your Meg, your dearest part, 
 And I, my darling Jean ! 
 It warms me, it charms me. 
 To mention but her name : 
 It heats me, it beets^ me. 
 And sets me a' on flame ! 
 
 ' Adds fuel to fire. 
 
236 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 . O all ye powers who rule above ! 
 O Thou, whose very self art love ! 
 Thou know'st my words sincere I 
 The life-blood streaming thro' my heart, 
 Or my more dear immortal part, 
 
 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, all-seeing, 
 
 Oh hear my fervent prayer ; 
 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 ; 
 Long since, this world's thorny ways 
 Had number'd out my weary days, 
 
 Had it not been for you ! 
 Fate still has blest me with a friend, 
 
 In every care and ill ; 
 And oft a more endearing band, 
 A tie more tender still : 
 It lightens, it brightens 
 The tenebrific^ scene. 
 To meet with and greet with. 
 My Davie or my Jean. 
 
 Oh, how that name inspires my style ! 
 The words come skelpin'^ rank and file, 
 
 Amaist before I ken I 
 The ready measure rins as fine. 
 As Phoebus and the famous Nine 
 
 Were glow'rin" o'er my pen. 
 My spaviet* Pegasus will liiui). 
 
 Till ance he 's fairly het ;"* 
 And then he '11 hilch," and stilt,^ and jimp,' 
 
 An' rin an unco fit ;' 
 
 - Dark, gloomy.— ^ Tripping.—" Loolilng.— • Ilaving the spavin.—* Ileated. 
 — » Ilobble.— 7 Limp, or halt— « Jump.— » Go speedily. 
 
EPISTLES. 231 
 
 But lest then, the heast then 
 Should rue this hasty ride, 
 
 I '11 light now, and dight now, 
 His sweaty, wizen'd* hide. 
 
 TO THE SAMRa 
 
 AULD NeEBOR — 
 
 I 'm three times douhly o'er your debtor, 
 For your auld-farrant,' frien'ly letter ; 
 Tho' I maun say 't, I doubt ye flatter, 
 
 Ye speak sae fair; 
 For my puir, silly, rhymin' clatter, 
 
 Some less maun sair.* 
 
 Hale be your heart, hale be your fiddle ; 
 Lang may your elbuck^ jink^ an' diddle. 
 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 red^ ye 're glaikit ;* 
 I 'm tauld the Muse ye hae negleckit ; 
 An' gif " it 's sae, ye sud" be licket" 
 
 Until ye fyke ;^' 
 Sic hauns as you sud ne'er be faikit,^* 
 
 Be hain't^^ wha like. 
 
 For me, I 'm on Parnassus' brink, 
 
 Rivin' the words to gar them clink ; 
 
 "Whyles dais't^^ wi' love, whyles dais't wi' drink, 
 
 Wi' jads^^ or masons ; 
 An' whyles, but ay owre late, I think 
 
 Braw sober lessons. 
 
 * Shrunk, hide-bound. 
 
 * This is prefixed to the poems of David Slllar, published at Kilmar- 
 nock, 1T89. 
 
 ' Sagacious.— 4 Must serve.— ^ Elbow.— « A sudden turning.—'^ Children's 
 children.— 8 Informed.— » Inattentive, foolish.— i" If.—" Should.— 12 Lickt^d; 
 beaten. — 13 Become agitated.—'* Such hands as you should ne'er be un- 
 known.— is Spared, or excused.— i^ Sometimes stupified.— i'' Women. 
 
238 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 Of a' the thoughtless sons o' man, 
 Oommen' me to the Bardie clan ; 
 Except it he some idle plan 
 
 O' rhymin' clink, 
 The devil-haet,* that I sud han,'* 
 
 They ever think. 
 
 Nae thought, nae view, nae scheme o' living 
 Kae cares to gie us joy or grievin' ; 
 But just the pouchie' put the nieve* in, 
 
 An' while aught 's there, 
 Then, hiltie, skiltie, we gae scrievin',® 
 
 An' fash nae mair.* 
 
 Leeze me"' on rhyme ! it 's aye a treasure, 
 My chief, amaist my only pleasure. 
 At hame, a-fieP,® at wark or leisure. 
 
 The Muse, poor hizzie ! 
 Though rough an' raploch° be her measure, 
 
 She 's seldom lazy. 
 
 Hand*** to the Muse, my dainty Davie ; 
 The warl' may play you monie a shavie ; 
 But for the Muse, she '11 never leave ye, 
 
 Tho' e'er sae puir, 
 'N'a, even tho' limpin' wi' the spavie" 
 
 Frae door to door. 
 
 TO MR. WILLIAM TYTLER, 
 
 With a portrait of the Author. 
 
 Edinburgh, 1787. 
 
 Eevered defender of beauteous Stuart, 
 
 Of Stuart, a name once respected, 
 A name, which to love was the mark of a true heai't, 
 
 But now 'tis despised and neglected. 
 
 • Tho' something like moisture conglobes in my eye. 
 Let no one misdeem me disloyal ; 
 
 The devil forbid.— 'J Swear.—' Pouch, or purse.— * Tho hand.—* Dashing 
 a^^.l7.— « Care for nothing more. — ' A phrase of endearment. — ^ in the field. 
 — > Coarse.— 10 Hold.— ^i Spavin. 
 
EPISTLES. 239 
 
 A poor friendless wanderer may well claim a sigb, 
 Still more if that wanderer were royal. 
 
 My fathers that name have revered on a throne ; 
 
 My fathers have fallen to right it ; 
 Those fathers would spurn their degenerate son, 
 
 That name should he scolSingly slight it. 
 
 Still in prayers for King George I most heartily join, 
 The Queen, and the rest of the gentry. 
 
 Be they wise, be they foolish, is nothing of mine ; 
 Their title 's avow'd by my country. 
 
 But why of this epocha make such a fuss, 
 
 ***** 
 
 But loyalty, truce ! we 're on dangerous ground, 
 Who knows how the fashions may alter ? 
 
 The doctrine to-day that is loyalty sound, 
 To-morrow may bring us a halter. 
 
 I send you a trifle, a head of a Bard, 
 
 A trifle scarce worthy your care ; 
 But accept it, good Sir, as a mark of respect ; 
 
 Sincere as a saint's dying prayer. 
 
 !N"ow life's chilly evening dim shades on your eye, 
 
 And ushers the long dreary night ; 
 But you, like the star that athwart gilds the sky, 
 
 Your course to the latest is bright. 
 
 TO WILLIAM SIMPSOIT, OCHILTREE. 
 
 May, 1785k 
 
 T GAT your letter, winsome Willie ; 
 Wi' gratefu' heart I thank you brawlie ; 
 Tho' I maun say 't, I wad be silly, 
 
 And unco vain, 
 Should I believe, my coaxing billie. 
 
 Your flatterin' strain. 
 
240 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 But I 'se believe ye kindly meant it, 
 I sud^ be laith' to think ye hinted 
 Ironic satire, sidelins^ sklented 
 
 On my poor Musie ; 
 Tho' in sic phrasin'* 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' Allan or wi' Gilbertfield, 
 
 The braes o' fame ; 
 Or Fergusson, the writer-chiel ; 
 
 A deathless name ! 
 
 (0 Fergusson I thy glorious parts 
 
 111 suited law's dry, musty arts ! 
 
 My curse upon your whunstane' hearts. 
 
 Ye E'nburgh^ gentry ! 
 The tithe o' what ye waste at cartes,* 
 
 Wad stow'd his pantry !) 
 
 Yet when a tale comes i' my head. 
 
 Or lasses gie my heart a screed," 
 
 As whyles they 're like to be my dead," 
 
 (0 sad disease !) 
 I kittle up my rustic reed ; 
 
 It gies me ease. 
 
 Auld Coila" now may fidge fu' fain," 
 
 She 's gotten Poets o' her ain, 
 
 Ohiels wha their chanters" winna hain," 
 
 But tune their lays. 
 Till echoes a' resound again 
 
 Her weel-sung praise. 
 
 Xae Poet thought her worth his while. 
 To set her name in measured style ; 
 She lay like some unkenn'd-of-isle, 
 
 Beside New Holland, 
 Or whare Avild-meeting oceans boil 
 
 Besouth Magellan. 
 
 » Should.— 2 Loth.— 3 Sidelong.—* Flattering.— » A fisli-baskct.— « To climb. 
 —'A hard rocky stone.— ^ Edinburgh.— » Cards.- '•» A rent. — -^ To bo my 
 death. — ^2 From Kyle, a district of Ayrshire. — '3 Manifest strong symptoms 
 of pleasure, or delight— i* Part of a bagpipe.— '^ Spare. 
 
EPISTLES. 24 1 
 
 Ramsay and famous Fergusson 
 Gied Forth and Tay a lift aboon ; 
 Yarrow an' Tweed, to monie a tune, 
 
 Owre Scotland rings, 
 While Irwin, Lugar, Ayr, an' Doon, 
 
 Kae body sings. 
 
 Th' IHssus, Tiber, Thames, an' Seine, 
 Glide sweet in monie a tunefu' line ! 
 But, Willie, set your fit^ to mine, 
 
 An' cock your crest, 
 "We '11 gar^ our streams and burnies' shine 
 
 Up wi' the best. 
 
 "We '11 sing auld Coila's plains and fells,* 
 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 Southron billies.® 
 
 At Wallace' name what Scottish blood 
 But boils up in a spring-tide flood ! 
 Oft have our fearless fathers strode 
 
 By Wallace' side. 
 Still pressing onward, red-wat shod,^ 
 
 Or glorious died. 
 
 Oh, sweet are Coila's haughs® an' woods, 
 When lintwhites^ chant amang the buds, 
 And jinking hares, in amorous whids,^"^ 
 
 Their loves enjoy, 
 While thro' the braes the cushat croods" 
 
 Wi' wailfu' cry ! 
 
 Even winter bleak has charms to me, 
 When winds rave thro' the naked tree ; 
 Or frosts on hills of Ochiltree 
 
 Are hoary gray ; 
 Or blinding drifts wild furious flee, 
 
 Darkening the day ! 
 
 J Foot.— 2 Make.— 3 Elvers and brooks.— -* Fields.— ^ Obtained thovictorj. 
 — « Englishmen. — ''' To walk in blood over the shoe-tops. — ^ Valleys. — ^ Lin- 
 nets. — 10 The motion of a hare in running, when not frightened, — ^^ Tho 
 dove coos. 
 
 21 
 
2 '4 2 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 Nature! a' thy shows an' forms 
 
 To feeling, pensive hearts hae charms ; 
 Whetlier the summer kindly warms 
 
 Wi' life an' light, 
 Or winter howls, in gusty storms, 
 
 The lang, dark night ! 
 
 The Muse, nae Poet ever fand* her. 
 Till by himsel' he learn'd to wander, 
 Adown some trotting burn's meander, 
 
 And no think lang ;" 
 Oh, sweet to stray and pensive ponder 
 
 A heart-felt sang ! 
 
 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. 
 Fareweel, " my rhyme-composing brither " 
 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 I 
 
 While Highlandmen hate tolls an' taxes ; 
 While moorlan' herds like guid fat braxies ;® 
 While terra firma on her axis 
 
 Diurnal turns. 
 Count on a friend, in faith an' practice, 
 
 In Robert Burns. 
 
 POSTSCRIPT. 
 My memory 's no worth a preen ;*" 
 
 1 had amaist forgotten clean. 
 
 You bade me write you what they mean 
 By this new-light," 
 
 » Found.— 2 And not think the time long, or be weary.— s Justle with the 
 «honlder.— 4 Justle.—* Describe.—" To hum.—' Unknown to each other.— 
 ® Struggle as an animal whose tether gets entangled. — • Morbid sheep. — i"* A 
 pin. 
 
 11 New-light, a cant phrase in the west of Scotland for those religious 
 opinions which Dr. Taylor, of Norwich, defended so strenuously. 
 
EPISTLES. 243 
 
 'Bout wWcli our h^rds sae aft hae been 
 Maist like to fight. 
 
 In days when mankind were but callans^ 
 
 At grammar, logic, and 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. 
 
 In thae' auld times they thought the moon 
 Just like a sark,* or pair o' shoon, 
 "Wore by degrees, till her last roon,* 
 
 Gaed past their viewin'. 
 An' shortly after she was done. 
 
 They gat a new one. 
 
 This past for certain, undisputed. 
 
 It ne'er came i' their heads to doubt it. 
 
 Till chiels gat up an' wad confute it. 
 
 An' ca'd it wrang ; 
 An' muckle din there was about it, 
 
 Bath loud an' lang. 
 
 Some herds, weel learn'd upo' the beuk,® 
 "Wad threap' auld folk the thing misteuk ; 
 For 'twas the auld moon turn'd a neuk,* 
 
 An' out o' sight. 
 An' backlins-comin' to the leuk. 
 
 She grew mair bright. 
 
 This was denied — it was affirm' d : 
 
 The herds and hissels*** were alarm'd ; 
 
 The reverend gray-beards raved an' storm'd, 
 
 That beardless laddies 
 Should think they better were inform'd 
 
 Than their auld daddies. 
 
 Frae less to mair it gaed to sticks ; 
 
 Frae words an' aiths to clours" an' nicks ; 
 
 » Boys.— 2 The Scottish dialect.— ^ These.— * A shirt.— ^ A shred.— « Book. 
 — ~ Maintain by dint of assertion. — ^ Corner. — ^ Keturning. — lo So many cattle 
 IS one person can attend. — i^ A wound occasioned by a blow. 
 
244 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 And 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 youngsters look the sands 
 
 Wi' nimble shanks. 
 The lairds forbade, by strict command, \ 
 
 Sic bluidy pranks. 
 
 But new-light herds gat sic a cowe,* 
 Folk thought them ruin'd stick-an'-stowe,' 
 Till now amaist on every knowe,^ 
 
 Ye '11 find ane placed ; 
 An' some their new-light fair avow, 
 
 Just quite barefaced. 
 
 Nae doubt the auld-light flocks are bleatin' ; 
 Their zealous herds are vex'd an' sweatin' ; 
 Mysel, I 've even seen them greetin'^ 
 
 Wi' girnin'' spite. 
 To hear the moon sae sadly lied on 
 
 By word an' write." 
 
 But shortly they will cowe the louns ! 
 Some auld-light herds in neebor towns 
 Are mind 't, in things they ca' balloons. 
 
 To tak a flight. 
 And stay ae month amang the moons 
 
 An' see them right. 
 
 Guid observation they will gie them ; 
 
 An' when the auld-moon 's gaen to lea'e them. 
 
 The hindmost shaird," they '11 fetch it wi' them, 
 
 Just i' their pouch. 
 An' when the new-light billies" see them, 
 
 I think they '11 crouch ! 
 
 1 A blow oil the head with a cudgel. — ^ Burnt 
 
 ■ Literally ticket-porters, or trusty persons who are employed on errands ; 
 but the appellation is frequently used in a more general way, and applied to 
 other persons. 
 
 * Did bear.—* A fright or beating.— • Altogether.—''' Ilillock.— 8 "Weeping. 
 -^ With rage, or agony of spirit. — ^'^ Both in conversation and books. — ^^ A 
 »hred.— 12 Brethren. 
 
EPISTLES, 245 
 
 Sae, ye observe that a' this clatter 
 Is naething but a inoonsliine matter ; 
 But tho' dull prose-folk Latin splatter 
 
 In logic tulzie,* 
 I hope we bardies ken some better, 
 
 Than mind sic brulzie." 
 
 TO JOHN GOUDIE, KILMARNOCK, 
 
 On the publication of his Essays. 
 
 O GoTJDiE ! terror o' the Whigs, 
 Dread o' black coats an' reverend wigs, 
 Sour 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 
 
 To see her water ! 
 Alas ! there 's ground o' great suspicion 
 
 She '11 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 thrappla, 
 
 An' gasps for breath. 
 
 Enthusiasm 's past redemption, 
 Gaen' in a gallopping consumption, 
 l^ot a' the quacks wi' a' their gumption' 
 
 Will ever mend her. 
 Her feeble pulse gies strong presumption 
 
 Death soon will end lier. 
 
 To quarrel.— 2 A broil.— ^ Twisting the features in agony.— 4 Staring.— 
 Gresft weakness in the back, or loins. — « That the prayers of the congreg»» 
 Won may be offered up in her behalf.—' Going.— » Skill 
 
246 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 'Tis you and Taylor* are the cliief 
 Wha are to blame for this mischief; 
 But gin* the Lord's ain focks^ gat leave, 
 
 A toom^ tar-barrel 
 And twa red peats^ wad send relief, 
 
 An' end the quarrel. 
 
 TO J. RANKINE, 
 
 Inclosing some poems. 
 
 O EOUGH, rude, ready-witted Kankine, 
 The wale" o' cocks for fun and drinkin' I 
 There 's monie godly folks are thinkin', 
 
 Your dreams' an' tricks 
 "Will send you, Korah-like, a-sinkin', 
 
 Straught to auld Nick's. 
 
 Ye hae sae monie cracks® an' cants, 
 And in your wicked, drucken rants, 
 Ye mak a devil o' the saunts. 
 
 An' fill them fou f 
 And then their failings, flaws, an' wants, 
 
 Are a' seen thro'. 
 
 Hypocrisy, in mercy spare it ! 
 
 That holy robe, oh dinna 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 skaithing,^- 
 It's just the blue-gown badge an' claithing 
 0' saunts ;" tak that, ye la'e^^ them naething 
 
 To ken them by, 
 Frae onle unregenerate heathen 
 
 Like you or I. 
 
 » Dr. Taylor of Norwich.— ^ If, against.— ^ Folk, people— ■* Empty.—* Two 
 red-hot turfs, such as are used for fuel.— « Choice. 
 
 f A certain humorous dream of his was then making a noise in the coun- 
 try-side. 
 
 8 Conversation. — ' Make them drunk. — ^^ Rends.— ii Injuring. — ^^ gajnts. 
 •-* 3 Leave. 
 
EPISTLES. 24:1 
 
 I Ve sent you Iiere some rhyming ware, 
 A' that I bargain'd for, an' mair ; 
 Sae, when you hae an hour to spare, 
 
 I will expect 
 Yon sang,^ ye '11 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 bonnie spring,* 
 
 An' danced my fill; 
 I 'd better gaen an' sair'd* the king 
 
 At Bunker's Hill. 
 
 'Twas ae night, lately, in my fun, 
 
 I gaed a-roving wi' the gun. 
 
 An' brought a paitrick® to the grun',^ 
 
 A bonnie hen. 
 An' as the twilight was begun, 
 
 Thought nane wad ken. 
 
 The poor wee thing was little hurt ; 
 
 I straiket® it a wee for sport, 
 
 Ke'er thinkin' they wad fash^ me for 't ; 
 
 But deil-ma-care ! 
 Somebody tells the poacher-court 
 
 The haW affair. 
 
 Some auld-used hands had taen a note, 
 That sic a hen had got a shot ; 
 I was suspected for the plot : 
 
 I scorn'd to lie. 
 So gat the whissle o' my grbt,^- 
 
 An' pay't the fee. 
 
 But, by my gun, o' guns the wale,^* 
 An' by my pouther an' my haiV^ 
 An' by my hen, an' by her tail, 
 
 I vow an' swear ! 
 The game shall pay o'er moor an' dale, 
 
 For this, neist year. 
 
 1 A song he had promised t6e Author. — ^ Dexterous. — ' Can, or dare. — 
 « A Scottish reel.— ^ Served. — « A partridge. — '^ Ground. — 8 Stroked.— 
 » Trouble.— 10 W^hole.— n I played a losing game.— 12 The choice.— 1 3 Shot. 
 
248 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 As soon 's tbe clocking-time* is by, 
 An' the wee pouts begun to cry, 
 Lord, 1 'se liae sporting by an' by, 
 
 For my gowd guinea, 
 Tho' I should herd the buckskin kye'* 
 
 For 't in Virginia. 
 
 Trowth, they had muckle for to blame ! 
 'Twas neither broken wing nor limb, 
 But twa-three draps about the wame' 
 
 Scarce thro' the feathers ; 
 And baith a yellow George to claim. 
 
 An' thole their blethers!* 
 
 It pits me ay as mad 's a hare ; 
 
 So I can rhyme nor write nae mair ; 
 
 But pennyworths again is fair, 
 
 When time 's expedient ; 
 Meanwhile I am, respected sir. 
 
 Your most obedient. 
 
 TO TPIE SAME, 
 
 On his writing to the Author that a girl was with child by him. 
 
 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' thegither. 
 
 I hae been in for 't ance or twice. 
 And winna say o'er far for thrice. 
 Yet never met with that surprise 
 
 That broke my rest, 
 But now a rumor 's like to rise, 
 
 A whaup' 's i' the nest. 
 
 * Hatching time.— ^ Bo transported to America, and made a cow-herd - 
 • Belly.—* Endure their abuse.— "^ If.— « Curlew. 
 
249 
 
 TO DR. BLACKLOCK. 
 
 Ellisland, Oct. 21, 1789. 
 
 Wow, but your letter made me vauntie !* 
 And are ye hale, and weel, and can tie ?* 
 I kenn'd it still your wee bit j auntie' 
 
 Wad bring ye to : 
 Lord send you ay as weel 's I want ye, 
 
 And then ye '11 do. 
 
 The ill-thief blaw the Heron* south ! 
 And never drink be near his drouth ! 
 He tald mysel', by word o' mouth, 
 
 He 'd tak my letter ! 
 I lippen'd* to the chiel* in troutli, 
 
 And bade nae better. 
 
 But aiblins'' honest Master Heron 
 Had at the time some dainty fair one, 
 To wear his theologio care on. 
 
 And holy study ; 
 An' tired o' sauls to waste his lear® on, 
 
 E'en tried the body. 
 
 But what d' ye think, my trusty fier?* 
 I 'm turn'd a ganger — peace be here ! 
 Parnassian queens, I fear, I fear. 
 
 Ye '11 now disdain me. 
 And then my fifty pounds a year 
 
 Will little gain me. 
 
 Ye glaiket," gleesome, dainty damies, 
 Wha by Oastalia's wimplin'" streamies, 
 Loup, sing, and lave your pretty limbics, 
 
 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'/^ 
 
 J Proud.— 2 Cheerful— 3 Short journey.-'* Mr. Heron, author of a Ilistory 
 of Scotland, and of various other works. — ^ Depended. — ^ Fellow. — '^ Perhaps, 
 — 8 Learning. — » Friend. — lo Inattentive. — ^i Meandering. — 12 Little, — 
 3 Food and raiment. 
 
250 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 Ye ken yoursel my heart right proud is, 
 
 I needna vaunt, 
 But I '11 sned* besoms — thraw saugh woodies,' 
 
 Before they want. 
 
 Lord help me thro' this warld o' care ! 
 I 'm weary sick o 't late and air !' 
 ]!!^ot but I hae a richer share 
 
 Than monie ithers ; 
 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 heart 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 fireside clime 
 
 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 Luckie ; 
 I wat* she is a daintie chuckle. 
 
 As e'er tread clay ! 
 An' gratefully, my guid auld cockie, 
 
 I 'm yours for ay. 
 
 Robert Burns. 
 
 TO COLONEL DE PEYSTER. 
 
 Dumfries, 1796. 
 
 My honored Colonel, deep I feel 
 Your interest in the Poet's weal ; 
 Ah ! now sma' heart hae I to speel" 
 The steep Parnassus, 
 
 * Iiop, or cut.—- Twist willow ropes.—' Late and early.— < Sometlmoa.- 
 • Know.— 6 To climb. 
 
EPISTLES. 251 
 
 Surrounded thus by bolus pill 
 
 And potion glasses. 
 
 Oh what a cantie* warl were it, 
 
 Would pain, and care, and sickness spare it ; 
 
 And Fortune favor worth and merit, 
 
 As they deserve ; 
 (And ay a rowth* roast-beef and claret, 
 
 Syne' wha wad starve ?) 
 
 Dame Life, tho' fiction out may trick her. 
 And in paste gems and frippery deck her ; 
 Oh ! flickering, feeble, and unsicker* 
 
 I 've found her still. 
 Ay wavering like the willow- wicker, 
 
 'Tween good and ill. 
 
 Then that curst carmagnole, auld Satan, 
 "Watches, like baudrans® by a rattan,® 
 Our sinfu' saul to get a claut' on 
 
 Wi' felon ire ; 
 Syne, whip ! his tail ye '11 ne'er cast saut on, 
 
 He 's aff like fire. 
 
 Ah Nick ! ah Kick ! it is na fair, 
 First showing us the tempting ware. 
 Bright wines and bonnie lasses rare. 
 
 To put us daft ;® 
 Syne weave, unseen, thy spider snare, 
 
 0' hell's damn'd waft. 
 
 Poor man, the fly, aft bizzes® by. 
 And aft as chance he comes thee nigh. 
 Thy auld damn'd elbow yeuks^" wi' joy, 
 
 And heUish 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, 
 
 I Cheerful.— 2 Plenty —3 Then.—* Unsteady.— » The cat— « A rat.-^ To 
 get hold of. — 8 Mad, or off our guard. — ^ To buzz. 
 
 10 Literally, itches. Some persons manifest a high degree of pleasure by a 
 quick motion of the elbow. 
 
 II Sure.— 12 Topsy-turvy. 
 
252 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 Thy girning* laiigli enjoys his pangs 
 
 And murdering wrestle. 
 
 As dangling in the wind he hangs 
 A gibbet's tassel. 
 
 But lest you think I am uncivil, 
 
 To plague you with this draunting^ drivil, 
 
 Abjuring a' intentions evil, 
 
 I quit my pen : 
 The Lord preserve us frae the Devil 1 
 
 Amen! Amen! 
 
 TO A TAILOR, 
 
 In answer to an epistle which he had sent to the Anthi^'. 
 
 "What ails ye now, ye lousie b — ch, 
 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 louse, 
 
 An' jag the flae. 
 
 King David, o' poetic brief, 
 "Wrought 'mang the lasses sic mischief 
 As fill'd his after life with grief 
 
 An' bluidy rants, 
 An' yet he 's rank'd amang the chief 
 
 0' lang-syne saunts. 
 
 » Grinning liideously.— ^ Drawling. 
 
 3 This answer to a trimming letter, is omitted in Dr. Carrie's edition o 
 the Poems, published for the benefit of the Author's family ; not because he 
 bad any doubt that the verses were written by Burns, but because he was ol 
 opinion that they were discreditable to his memory— and for the same rea- 
 son, the editor and commentator, In this edition, has forborne to elucidate 
 what he deems already sulBciently indelicate. 
 
EPISTLES. 253 
 
 And maybe, Tarn, for a' my cants, 
 My wicked rhymes, an' drucken rants, 
 I '11 gie auld cloven Clooty's haunts 
 
 An unco slip yet. 
 An' snugly sit amang the saunts. 
 
 At Davie 's hip yet. 
 
 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 Olinkum, at the inner po.t. 
 
 Cried three times, "Robin! 
 Come hither lad, an' answer for 't. 
 
 Ye 're blamed for jobbin' !'* 
 
 Wi' pinch I put a Sunday face on. 
 An' snoov'd awa before the Session — 
 I made an open, fair confession, 
 
 I scorn to lie ; 
 And 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," 
 Quo' I, " I fear, unless ye geld me, 
 
 I '11 ne'er be better." 
 
 "Geld you!" quo' he, "and whatfore no? 
 If that your right hand, leg, or toe, • 
 Should ever prove your spiritual foe, 
 
 You should remember 
 To cut it aff, an' whatfore no 
 
 Your dearest member ?" 
 
 "Na, na," quo' I, "I 'm no for that, 
 Gelding 's nae better than 'tis ca't, 
 I 'd rather suffer for my faut 
 
 A hearty flewit, 
 22 
 
254 
 
 As sair owre hip as ye can draw 't ! 
 Tho' I should rue it. 
 
 " Or gin je like to end the bother, 
 To please us a\ I Ve just ae ither, 
 "When next wi' yon lass I forgather, 
 
 Whatever betide it, 
 I '11 frankly gie her 't a' thegither, 
 
 An' let her guide it I" 
 
 But, Sir, this pleased them warst ava, 
 And, therefore, Tarn, when that I saw, 
 I said, ^' Gude night," and cam awa'. 
 
 An' left the Session ; 
 I saw they were resolved a' 
 
 On my oppression. 
 
 THE INVENTORY, 
 
 'Jn answer to a mandate by Mr. Aikin, Surveyor of the Taxes. 
 
 SiE, as your mandate did request, 
 I 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. 
 As ever drew afore a pettle.^ 
 My han'-afore,^ a guide auld has been, 
 An^ wight an' wilfu' a' his days been. 
 My han'-ahin* 's a weel gaun* fillie, 
 That aft has borne me hame frae Killie,^ 
 An' your auld burro', monie a time. 
 In days wiien riding was nae crime. 
 But ance when in my wooing pride, 
 I, like a blockhead boost® to ride, 
 The wilfu' creature sae I pat* to, 
 (L — d pardon a' my sins and that too !) 
 I play'd my fillie sic a shavie," 
 
 ^ Tackle.— 2 Oath.— 3 A plongh-staflf.— -» The fore-horse on the left hand In 
 the plough.— s The hindmost horse on the same side. — ^ Going. — ^ Kilmar- 
 nock.— » Must needs.— » Put.— 10 Trick, frolic. 
 
EPISTLES. 255 
 
 She 's a' be-deviPd wi' the spavie.* 
 
 My fur-ahin 's^ a wordy' beast, 
 
 As e'er in tug or tow* was traced. 
 
 The fourth's a Highland Donald hastie, 
 
 A damn'd red-wud^ Kilburnie blastie ;' 
 
 Forbye'' a cowte® o' cowtes the wale,^ 
 
 As ever ran afore a tail. 
 
 An' he be spared to be a beast, 
 
 He '11 draw me fifteen pun'^" at least. 
 
 Wheel-carriages I hae but few. 
 Three carts, an' twa are feckly" new ; 
 Ae auld wheel-barrow, mair for token, 
 Ae leg and baith the trams^^ are broken ; 
 I made a poker o' the spin'le, 
 And my auld mither brunt the trin'le.^' 
 
 For men, I 've three mischievous boys, 
 Eun" deils for rantin' an' for noise ; 
 A gaudsman^^ ane, a thrasher t' other ; 
 "Wee Davock bauds the nowte in fother.** 
 I rule them as I ought, discreetly. 
 And aften labor them completely ; 
 An' ay on Sundays duly nightly, 
 I on the Questions tairge" them tightly, 
 Till, faith, wee Davock 's turn'd sae gleg,^® 
 Tho' scarcely langer than your leg. 
 He '11 screed^^ you aff Effectual Calling^ 
 As fast as onie in the dwalling. 
 
 I 've nane in female servan' station, 
 (Lord keep me ay frae a' temptation!) 
 I hae nae wife — and that my bliss is. 
 An' ye have laid nae tax on misses ; 
 An' then if Kirk folks dinna clutch me, 
 I ken the devils daur na touch me. 
 
 Wi' weans^° I ''m mair than weel contented, 
 Heaven sent me ane mae^^ than I wanted. 
 
 1 Spavin.— 2 The hindmost horse on the right hand in the plougn.— 
 ' Worthy.— 4 Eope. — s Stark mad.— » A term of contempt— ''' Besides.-— 
 8 A colt— 9 Choice.— 10 Pounds.— " Partly, nearly.— 12 Handles.— 1 a Burnt 
 the wheel.— 14 Eight down.— 15 The boy who drives the horses in the plough. 
 ^i« Little David fothers the black cattle.— i^ Examine.— i^ Sharp, ready.- 
 
 To repeat any thing fluently.— 20 Children.— 21 One more. 
 
256 BURNS's POEMS. 
 
 My sonsie,- smirking, dear-bought Bess, 
 
 She stares the daddy in her face, 
 
 Enough of aught ye like but grace ; 
 
 But her my bonnie, sweet wee lady, 
 
 I Ve paid enough for her already. 
 
 An' gin'* ye tax her or her mither, 
 
 B' the Lord ! ye 'se get them a' thegither. 
 
 And now remember, Mr. Aikin, 
 'Nue kind of license 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 '11 paidle, 
 Ere I sae dear pay for a saddle ; 
 My travel, a' on foot I '11 shank it, 
 I 've sturdy bearers, Gude be thankit. 
 
 The Kirk an' you may tak you that, 
 it puts but little in your pat ;* 
 Sae dinna put me in your buke 
 I^or for my ten white shillings luke. 
 
 This list, wi' my ain hand I wrote it 
 Day and date as under notit. 
 Then know all ye whom it concerns, 
 Subscripsi Jiuic Robert Bubns. 
 
 MossGiEL, Feb. 22, 1TS6. 
 
 TO J— S T— T, GL-NC-R. 
 
 AuLD comrade dear and brither sinner, 
 How 's a' the folk about Gl— nc— r ? 
 How do you this blae eastlin' wind. 
 That 's hke to blaw a body blind ! 
 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 ; 
 Smith, wi' his sympathetic feeling, 
 An' Reid, to common sense appealing. 
 
 ' Having a sweet engaging countenance.— ^ If.— 3 Filly, or mare.—* Pot 
 * Impotent. 
 
EPISTLES. 257 
 
 Philosophers have fought and wrangled, 
 An' meikle* Greek an' Latin mangled, 
 Till wi' their logic jargon tired. 
 An' in the depth of science mired. 
 To common sense they now appeal, 
 "What wives and 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 douce,^ 
 I pray an' ponder butt* the house ; 
 My shins, my lane,* I there sit roasting, 
 Perusing Bunyan, Brown, and Boston ; 
 Till by an' by, if I haud^ on, 
 I '11 grunt a real gospel groan : 
 Already I begin to try it. 
 To cast my een up like a pyet,^ 
 When, by the gun, she tumbles o'er, 
 Fluttering an' gasping in her gore : 
 Sae shortly you shall see me bright, 
 A burning an' a shining light. 
 
 My heart-warm love to guid auld Glen, 
 The ace an' wale® of honest men; 
 When bending down with auld gray hairs, 
 Beneath the load of years and cares. 
 May He who made him still support him. 
 An' views beyond the grave comfort him : 
 His worthy family far and near, 
 God bless them a' wi' grace and gear.' 
 
 My auld school-fellow, preacher Willie, 
 The manly tar, my mason Billie, 
 An' Auchenbay, I wish him joy ; 
 If he 's a parent, lass or boy, 
 May he be dad, and Meg the mither. 
 Just five-an'-forty years thegither ! 
 An' no forgetting wabster Charlie, 
 I 'm tauld he offers very fairly. 
 And Lord remember singing Sannock, 
 Wi' hale breeks, saxpence, an' a bannock. 
 An' next my auld acquaintance Nancy, 
 Since she is fitted to her fancy ; 
 
 - Much.— '-^ Weavers. — ^ Sober. — * The country kitchen. — ^ Myself a.ono, . 
 -•Hold. — 7 Magpie. — « Choice. — ^ liiches. 
 
258 BURNS'S POEMS 
 
 An' her kind stars hae airted^ till her 
 
 A guid chieP wi' a pickle siller.^ 
 
 My kindest, best respects I sen' it, 
 
 To cousin Kate and sister Janet ; 
 
 Tell them frae me, wi' chiels be cautious, 
 
 For, faith, they '11 aiblins* find them fashions ;• 
 
 To grant a heart is fairly civil, 
 
 But to grant a maidenhead 's the devil [ 
 
 An' lastly, Jamie, for youi^el. 
 
 May guardian angels tak a spell, 
 
 An' steer you seven miles south o' hell : 
 
 But first, before you see heaven's glory, 
 
 May ye get monie a merry story, 
 
 Monie a laugh, and monie a drink. 
 
 An' ay eneugh o' needfu' clink. 
 
 Now fare you weel, an' joy be wi' you : 
 For my sake this I beg it o' you. 
 Assist poor Simson a' ye can. 
 Ye '11 find him just an honest man ; 
 Sae I conclude and quit my chanter. 
 Yours, saint or sinner, 
 
 Rob the Raxter. 
 
 TO A GENTLEMAN, 
 
 Who had sent hira a newspaper, and offered to continue it free of expenwu 
 
 Ellisland, 1790. 
 
 IviXD Sir, I 've read your paper through, 
 And faith, to me, 'twas really new ! 
 How guess'd ye. Sir, what maist I wanted ? 
 This monie a day I 've grain'd* and gaunted, 
 To ken what French mischief was brewin' ; 
 Or what the drumlie' Dutch were doin' ; 
 That vile doup-skelper,* Emperor Joseph, 
 If Venus yet had got his nose off; 
 Or how the collieshangie® works 
 Atween the Russians and the Turks ; 
 
 » Moved to her; an allusion to the wind shifting to a particular quarter- 
 * Good fellow. — 3 A quantity of silver.—* Perhaps.—* Troublesomo.- 
 '• Groaned. — ''' Muddy. — ^ One who strikes the tail — » Quarrelling. 
 
ilPISTLES 259 
 
 Or if the Swede, before he halt, 
 
 Would play anitjier Charles the Tvvalt;* 
 
 If Denmark, any body spak o't ! 
 
 Of 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 Britain's court keep up the game ; 
 
 How Royal George, the Lord leuk o'er him ! 
 
 "Was managing St. Stephen's quorum; 
 
 If sleekit' Chatham Will" was livin'. 
 
 Or glaiket^ Charlie^ gat his nieve^ in : 
 
 How daddie Burke the plea was cookin', 
 
 If Warren Hastings' neck was yeukin' ;^" 
 
 How cesses, stents," and fees were rax'd,^* 
 
 Or if bare a — s yet were tax'd ; 
 
 The news o' princes, dukes, and earls, 
 
 Pimps, sharpers, bawds, and opera-girls ; 
 
 If that daft buckie, Geordie Wales, 
 
 Was threshin' still at hizzies' tails. 
 
 Or if he was grown oughtlins doucer,^^ 
 
 And no a perfect kintra cooser :^* 
 
 A' this and mair I never heard of; 
 
 And but for you I might despair'd of; 
 
 So, gratefu', back your news I send* you, 
 
 And pray, a' guid things may attend you ! 
 
 TO GAYHS" HAMILTON, ESQ, 
 
 [A Dedication.] 
 
 Expect na. Sir, in this narration, 
 A fleechin',^^ fletherin',^^ dedication. 
 To roose^^ you up, an' ca' you guid, 
 An' sprung o' great an' noble bluid, 
 
 1 Twelfth.— 2 The guiding, or governing of it.— ^ Hanging.—'* Castrated.— 
 • Slender.— 8 William Pitt, son of the Earl of Chatham.—"^ Thoughtless, 
 giddy.— 8 The celebrated Charles James Fox. — » The fist— lo Yoked.— 
 iiTribute, dues.— 12 Stretched, increased.— ^^ Wiser.— ^^ Country stallion.— 
 15 Supplicating.— IS Flattering.— i^ To praise. 
 
260 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 Because ye 're surnamed like His Grace, 
 
 Perhaps related to the race ; 
 
 Then when I 'm tired — and sae are ye, 
 
 "Wi' monie a fulsome, sinfu' lie, 
 
 Set up a face, how I stopt 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 ! sae laigh^ I needna bow, 
 For, Lord be thankit, I can plough ; 
 And when I downa* yoke a naig. 
 Then, Lord be thankit, I can beg ; 
 Sae I shall say, an' that 's nae flatt'rin', 
 It 's just sic Poet an' sic Patron. 
 
 The Poet, some guid 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 w^inna lie, come what will o' me,) 
 On every 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 it, 
 "What ance he says he winna break it ; 
 Aught he can lend he '11 no refuse 't. 
 Till aft his goodness is abused : 
 And rascals whyles that him do wrang, 
 E'en that he does not mind it lang ; 
 As master, landlord, husband, father, 
 He does na fail his part in either. 
 
 But then, nae thanks to him for a' that ; 
 Nae godly symptom ye can ca' that ; 
 It 's naething but a milder feature. 
 Of our poor, sinfu' corrupt nature : 
 Ye '11 get the best o' moral works, 
 'Mang black Gentoos and pagan Turks, 
 Or hunters wild of Ponotaxi, 
 Wha never heard of orthodoxy. 
 That he 's the poor man's friend in need, 
 
 J Must— 2 Bellyful— 8 Low.— 4 Cannot—" To strike 
 
EPISTLES. 261 
 
 The gentleman in word and deed, 
 It 's no thro' terror of damnation : 
 It 's just a carnal inclination. 
 
 Morality ! thou deadly bane, 
 Thy tens o' thousands thou hast slain ! 
 Vain is his hope, whose stay and trust is 
 In moral mercy, truth, and justice! 
 
 1^0 — stretch a point to catch a plack ; 
 Abuse a brother to his back ; 
 Steal thro' a winnock^ frae a whore, 
 But point the rake that takes the door ; 
 Be to the poor like onie whunstane,'^ 
 And hand their noses to the grunstane f 
 Ply every art o' legal thieving ; 
 No matter — stick to sound believing. 
 
 Learn three-mile prayers, and 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 '11 warrant then, ye 're nae deceiver, 
 A steady, sturdy, stanch believer. 
 
 O ye wha leave the springs of Oalvin, 
 For gumlie^ dubs® of your ain delvin' ! 
 Ye sons of heresy and error. 
 Ye '11 some day squeeP in quakin' terror ! 
 "When Vengeance draws the sword in wrath, 
 And in the fire throws the sheath ; 
 When Ruin with his sweeping besom. 
 Just frets till Heaven commission gies him : 
 While o'er the harp pale Misery moans. 
 And strikes the ever-deepening 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 still are sure to lose me. 
 
 So, Sir, ye see 'twas nae daft^ vapor, 
 But I maturely thought it proper. 
 When a' my works I did review, 
 To dedicate them. Sir, to You ; 
 
 Window. — 2 ^ jiard rock stone — 3 Grindstone — ■* Hands. — ^ Muddy.— 
 » A small pond. — ' Scream. — ^ Almost. — » Foolish. 
 
262 BURNS S POEMS 
 
 Because (ye needna tak it ill) 
 
 I thought them something like yoursel. 
 
 Then patronize them wi' your favor, 
 And your petitioner shall ever — 
 I had amaist said, exier pray^ 
 But that 's a word I needna 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 prayer, 
 That kens or hears about you, Sir : — 
 
 " May ne'er misfortune's growling bark 
 Howl thro' the dwelling o' the Olerk ! 
 May ne'er his generous, honest heart, 
 For that same generous spirit smart : 
 May Kennedy's far-honor'd fame, 
 Lang beet^ his hymeneal flame. 
 Till Hamiltons, at least a dizen. 
 Are frae their nuptial labors risen : 
 Five bonnie lasses round their table, 
 And seven braw fellows, stout an' able 
 To serve their king and country weel, 
 By word, or pen, or pointed steel ! 
 May health and peace, with mutual rays, 
 Shine on the evening 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 lang conclusion, 
 Wi' complimentary cff'usion : 
 But whilst your wishes and endeavors 
 Are blest wi' Fortune's smiles and favors, 
 I am, dear Sir, with zeal most fervent, 
 Your much indebted, humble servant. 
 
 But if (which Powers above prevent !) 
 That iron-hearted carl. Want, 
 Attended in his grim advances. 
 By sad mistakes and black mischances. 
 While hopes, and joys, and pleasures fly lima. 
 Make you as poor a dog as I am. 
 Your Immble servant then no more ; 
 For who would humbly serve the poor ? 
 
 1 Averse.—^ Add fuel to.— ^ Great-grandchilf* 
 
EPISTLES. 203 
 
 But, by a poor man's hopes in Heaven ! 
 
 While recollection's power is given, 
 
 If, in the vale of humble life, 
 
 The victim sad of Fortune's strife, 
 
 I, thro' the tender gushing tear. 
 
 Should recognize my master dear. 
 
 If, friendless, low, we meet together. 
 
 Then, Sir, your hand — my friend and brother I 
 
 TO THE SAME, 
 
 (Recommending a boy.) 
 
 MosGAViLLE, May 3, 1796 
 
 I HOLD it. Sir, my bounden duty 
 
 To warn you how 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 ban' i"^ 
 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 lieve^ then I 'd have then. 
 Your clerkship he should sair,® 
 
 If sae be, ye may be 
 Not fitted otherwhere. 
 
 Altho' I say 't, he 's gleg^ enough. 
 
 An' bout a house that 's rude an' rough, 
 
 The boy might learn to swear ; 
 But then wi' you, he '11 be sae taught, 
 An' get sic fair example straught, 
 
 I hae na ony fear. 
 Ye '11 catechise him every quirk, 
 
 An' shore^ him weel wi' hell ; 
 
 ' Master Tootie then lived in Mauchline ; a dealer in cows. It was his 
 common practice to cut the nicks or markings from the horns of cattle, to 
 disguise their age. He was an artful, trick-contriving character ; hence he is 
 called a bnick-draioer. In the Poet's " Address to the Deil," he styles that 
 august personage an auld., snicTc-draioing dog! — Beliques^ p. 397. 
 
 2 Off hand.— 3 Boy.— 4 Old cow.— ^ Rather.— « Serve.— "^ Sharp.— 8 Threaten 
 
264 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 An' gar him follow to the kirk 
 
 — Ay when ye gang yoursel. 
 If ye then, maun be then 
 
 Frae hame this comin' Friday, 
 Then please, Sir, to lea'e, Sir, 
 
 The orders wi' your lady. 
 
 My word of honor I hae gien. 
 
 In Paisley John's, that night at e'en, 
 
 To meet the Warld'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 your Laureat scorns : 
 
 The prayer still, you share still, 
 Of grateful Minstrel Burns. 
 
 TO ROBERT GRAHAM, ESQ, OF FINTRA 
 
 AYhen Nature her great master-piece design'd, 
 And framed her last, best work, the human mind, 
 Her eye intent on all the 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 peasants, farmers, native sons of earth, 
 And merchandise' whole genus take their birth. 
 Each prudent cit a warm existence finds, 
 And all mechanics' many-apron'd kinds. 
 Some other rarer sorts are wanted yet. 
 The lead and buoy are needful to the net : 
 The caput mortuum of gross desires 
 Makes a material for mere kniglits and squires ; 
 The martial phosphorus is taught to flow, 
 She kneads the lumpish, philosophic dough, 
 
 * Afifree.— 2 Earnest money. 
 
EPISTLES. 265 
 
 Then marks the unyielding mass with grave design^, 
 Law, physic, politics, and deep divines : 
 Last, she sublimes the Aurora of the poles. 
 The flashing elements of female souls. 
 
 The order'd system fair before her stood, 
 Nature, well-pleased, pronounced it very good ; 
 But here she gave creating labor o'er. 
 Half-jest, she tried one curious labor more. 
 Some spumy, fiery ignis fatuus matter ; 
 Such as the slightest breath of air might scatter ; 
 With arch-alacrity and conscious glee 
 (N'ature 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 to amuse his graver friends. 
 Admired and praised — and there the homage ends ; 
 A mortal quite unfit for Fortune's strife. 
 Yet oft the sport of all the ills of life ; 
 Prone to enjoy each pleasure riches give, 
 Yet haply wanting wherewithal to live ; 
 Longing to wipe each tear, to heal each groan. 
 Yet freqent all unheeded in his own. 
 
 But honest Nature 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 find ; 
 And, to support his helpless woodbine state, 
 Attach'd him to the generous truly great — 
 A title, and the only one I claim. 
 To lay strong hold for help on bounteous Graham. 
 
 Pity the tuneful Muses' hapless train. 
 Weak, timid landsmen on life's stormy main ! 
 Their hearts no selfish, stern, absorbent stufi", 
 That never gives — though humbly takes enough ; 
 The little fate allows, they share as soon. 
 Unlike sage, proverb'd Wisdom's hard-wrung boon. 
 The world were blest did bliss on them depend : 
 Ah ! that the friendly e'er should want a friend ! 
 Let prudence number o'er each sturdy son, 
 Who life and wisdom at one race begun. 
 Who feel by reason, and who give by rule, 
 23 
 
266 BURXS'S POEMS. 
 
 (Instinct -s a brute, and sentiment a fool !) 
 
 Who make poor will do wait upon / should — 
 
 We own they 're prudent ; but who feels they 're good 
 
 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 of love would grasp the human race : 
 Come, thou who giv'st with all the 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 thy friendly aid ? 
 I know my need, I know thy giving hand, 
 I crave thy friendship at thy kind command ; 
 But there are such who court the tuneful nine — 
 Heavens ! should the branded character be mine ! 
 Whose verse in manhood's pride sublimely flows, 
 Yet vilest reptiles in their begging prose. 
 Mark, how their lofty, independent spirit 
 Soars on the spurning wing of injured merit ! 
 Seek not the proofs in private life to find ; 
 Pity the best of words should be but wind ! 
 So to heaven's gates the lark's shrill song ascends. 
 But grovelling on the earth the carol ends. 
 In all the clamorous cry of starving want. 
 They dun benevolence with shameless front : 
 Oblige them, patronize their tinsel lays, 
 They persecute you all your future days ! 
 Ere my poor soul such deep damnation stain. 
 My horny fist assume the plough again ; 
 The piebald jacket let me patch once more : 
 On eighteen-pence a- week I 've lived before. 
 Though, thanks to Heaven, I dare even that last shifl- 
 I trust, meantime, my boon is in thy gift ; 
 That placed by thee upon the wish'd-for height, 
 Where, Man and Nature fairer in her sight, 
 My Muse may imp her wing for some sublimer flight. 
 
EPISTLES. 267 
 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 L&.TE crippled of an arm, and now 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 Graham list to bis Poet's wail ? 
 (It soothes poor Misery hearkening to her tale) 
 And hear him curse the light he first survey'd. 
 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 sjrarns the ground : 
 Thou giv'st the ass his hide, the snail his shell. 
 The envenom'd wasp, victorious, guards his cell. 
 Thy minions, kings, defend, control, devour. 
 In all the omnipotence of rule and power. 
 Foxes and statesmen, subtle wiles insure ; 
 The cit and polecat stink, and are secure. 
 Toads with their poison, doctors with their drug. 
 The priest and hedgehog in their robes are snug. 
 Even silly woman has her warlike arts. 
 Her tongue and eyes, her dreaded spear and darts. 
 
 But oh ! thou bitter step-mother and hard. 
 To thy poor, fenceless, naked child — the Bard ! 
 A thing unteachable in world's skill, 
 And half an idiot too, more helpless still. 
 No heels to bear him from the opening dun ; 
 No claws to dig, his hated sight to shun ; 
 No horns, but those by luckless Hymen worn, 
 And those, alas ! not Amalthea's horn : 
 No nerves olfact'ry. Mammon's trusty cur, 
 Olad in rich Dulness' comfortable fur. 
 In naked feeling, and in aching pride. 
 He bears the unbroken blast from every side : 
 Yampyre booksellers drain him to the heart, 
 And scorpion critics cureless venom dart. 
 
 Critics ! appall'd, I venture on the name. 
 Those cut-throat bandits in the paths of fame , 
 Bloody dissectors, worse than ten Monroes ; 
 He hacks to teach, they mangle to expose. 
 
268 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 His heart by causeless, wanton malice wrung, 
 By blockheads' daring into madness stung ; 
 His well-won bays, than life itself more dear, 
 By miscreants torn, who ne'er one sprig must wear, 
 Foil'd, bleeding, tortured, in the unequal strife. 
 The hapless Poet flounders on through life. 
 Till fled each hope that once his bosom fired. 
 And fled each Muse that glorious 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 shelter'd haven of eternal rest ! 
 
 Thy sons ne'er madden in the fierce extremes 
 Of Fortune's polar frost, or torrid beams. 
 If mantling high she fills the golden cup. 
 With sober, selfish ease they sip it up : 
 Conscious the bounteous meed they well deserve. 
 They only wonder some folks do not starve. 
 The grave, sage hern thus easy picks his frog. 
 And thinks the mallard a sad worthless dog. 
 "When Disappointment snaps the clue of hope. 
 And through disastrous night they darkling grope. 
 With deaf endurance sluggishly they bear. 
 And just conclude that fools are Fortune's care. 
 So, heavy, passive to the tempest's shocks. 
 Strong on tlie sign-post stands the stupid ox. 
 
 Not so the idle Muses' mad-cap train, 
 ITot such 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 1 
 Already one strong hold of hope is lost, 
 Glencairn, the truly noble, lies in dust ; 
 (Fled, Uke the sun eclipsed at noon appears, 
 And left us darkling in a world of tears :) 
 Oh ! hear my ardent, grateful, selfish prayer ! 
 Fintra, my other stay, long bless and spare 1 
 
EPISTLES. 269 
 
 Thro' a long life his hopes and wishes crown ; 
 And bright in cloudless skies his sun go down : 
 May bliss domestic smooth his private path ; 
 Give energy to life ; and soothe his latest breath, 
 With many a filial tear circling the bed of death ! 
 
 TO THE SAME, 
 
 ON BECEIVINQ A FAVOR. 
 
 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 accorded, goodness ever new. 
 The gift still dearer, as the giver you. 
 
 Thou orb of day ! thou other paler light ! 
 And all ye many sparkling stars of night ! 
 If aught that giver from my mind efiace ; 
 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 ! 
 
 TO MRS. DUNLOP, 
 
 ON new-tear's day. 
 
 This day. Time winds the exhausted chain, 
 To run the twelvemonth's length again : 
 1 see the old bald-pated fellow. 
 With ardent eyes, complexion sallow. 
 Adjust the unimpair'd machine. 
 To whedl the equal, dull routine. 
 
 The absent lover, minor heir, • 
 * In vain assail him with their prayer ; 
 Deaf as my friend, he sees them press, 
 'Nov makes the hour one moment less. 
 
 Will you (the Major's with the hounds, 
 The happy tenants share his rounds ; 
 Ooila 's fair Rachel's care to-day,^ 
 
 1 This young lady was drawing a picture of Coila, from the '• Vision." 
 
270 BURNS'S I'OEMS. 
 
 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 did yesternight deliver? 
 " Another year is gone forever." 
 And what is this day's strong suggestion ? 
 " The passing moment 's all we rest on !" 
 Eest on — for what ? what do we here ? 
 Or why regard the passing year ? 
 Will Time, amused with proverb'd lore, 
 Add to our date one minute more ? 
 A few days may — a few years must — 
 Eepose us in the silent dust. 
 Then is it wise to damp our bliss ? 
 Yes — all such reasonings are amiss ! 
 The voice of nature 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 honor'd first of friends, 
 On this poor being all depends ; 
 Let us the important now employ. 
 And live as those that never die. 
 
 Tho' you, with days and honors crown d, 
 Witness tliat filial circle round, 
 (A sight life's sorrows to repulse, 
 A sight pale envy to convulse,) 
 Others now claim your chief regard; 
 Yourself, you wait your bright reward. 
 
EPISTLES. 
 
 TO THE SAME, 
 
 ON SENSIBILITY. 
 
 Sexsibilitt, how charming, 
 
 Thou, my friend, canst truly tell ; 
 
 But distress with horrors arming. 
 Thou hast also known too well ; 
 
 Fairest flower, 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 ! a prey the 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 ! 
 
 271 
 
 TO A YOUNG FRIEND.i 
 
 Mat, 1786. 
 
 I LAXG hae thought, my 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 '11 try the world soon, my lad, 
 
 And, Andrew dear, believe me. 
 Ye '11 find mankind an unco^ squad. 
 
 And muckle they may grieve ye : 
 
 *■ Mr. A. A. Aikin, now of Liverpool, the son of Eobert Aikin, Esq.-^ Un- 
 eoath, untoward. 
 
2*72 ^ BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 For care and trouble set your thought, 
 
 E'en when your end 's attain'd ; 
 And a' your views may come to naught, 
 
 "When every nerve is strain'd. 
 
 I '11 no say, men are villains a' ; 
 
 The real, hardened wicked, 
 Wha hae nae check but human law, 
 
 Are to a few restricked :^ 
 But, och ! mankind are unco'* weak, 
 
 An' little to be trusted ; 
 If self the wavering balance shake, 
 
 It 's rarely right adjusted ! 
 
 Yet they wha fa' in Fortune's strife, 
 
 Their fate we should na censure, 
 For still the important end of life. 
 
 They equally may answer : 
 A man may hae an honest heart, 
 
 Tho' 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 cronie : 
 But still keep something to yoursel 
 
 Ye scarcely tell to onie. 
 Conceal yoursel as weel 's ye can, 
 
 Frae critical dissection ; 
 But keek* thro' every other man, 
 
 Wi' sharpen'd sly inspection. 
 
 The sacred lowe' o' weel-placed love. 
 
 Luxuriantly indulge it : 
 But never tempt the illicit rove, 
 
 Tho' naething should divulge it : 
 I wave the quantum o' the sin. 
 
 The hazard of concealing ; 
 But, och ! it hardens a' within, 
 
 And petrifies the feeling I 
 
 1 Eestricted. In the use of this word, in common with many other Eng- 
 lish words, Burns has perhaps taken more than a poet's liberty with tho or- 
 thography, in order to accommodate his rhyme. 
 
 * Very.— 3 Poverty. — < Peep into, or scrutinize. — ^ Flame. 
 
 .■^ 
 
EPISTLES. 273 
 
 To catcli dame Fortune's golden smile, 
 
 Assiduous wait upon her ; 
 And gather gear by every wile 
 
 That 's justified by honor : 
 Not for to hide it in a hedge, 
 
 Nor for a train-attendant; 
 But for the glorious privilege 
 
 Of being independent. 
 
 The fear o' hell 's a hangman's whip 
 
 To hand the wretch in order ; 
 But where ye feel your honor grip,* 
 
 Let ay that be your border : 
 It-s slightest touches, instant pause — 
 
 Debar a' side pretences ; 
 And resolutely keep its laws, 
 
 Uncaring consequences. 
 
 The great Creator to revere. 
 
 Must sure become the creature ; 
 But still the preaching cant forbear. 
 
 And even the rigid feature : 
 Yet ne'er with wits profane to range, 
 
 Be complaisance extended ; 
 An atheist's laugh 's a poor exchange 
 
 For Deity offended ! 
 
 When ranting round in pleasure's ring. 
 
 Religion may be blinded ; 
 Or if she gie a random sting, 
 
 It may be little minded : 
 But when on life we 're tempest driven, 
 
 A conscience but a canker — 
 A correspondence fix'd wi' Heaven, 
 
 Is sure a noble anchor. 
 
 Adieu, dear, amiable youth ! 
 
 Your heart can ne'er be wanting ; 
 May prudence, fortitude, and truth 
 
 Erect your brow undaunting ! 
 In ploughman phrase, " God send you speed,*' 
 
 Still daily to grow wiser ! 
 And may you better reck the rede,^ 
 
 Than ever did the adviser . 
 
 1 Pinch. — 2 Take heed, or pay due attention to good advice. 
 
274 BURxVS'S POEMS. 
 
 TO THE KEY. JOHN M'MATH. 
 
 Inclosing a copy of Holy "Willie's Prayer, which he had requested.- 
 
 Sept. 17th, 1785. 
 
 While at the stook* the shearers cower 
 To shun the hitter hlaudin'^ shower, 
 Or in gulravage^ rinnin' scower, 
 
 To pass the time. 
 To 3'ou I dedicate the hour 
 
 In idle rhyme. 
 
 My musie, tired wi' mony a sonnet 
 
 On gown, an' han', an' douse hlack bonnet, 
 
 Is grown right eerie* now she 's done it, 
 
 Lest they should blame her, 
 An' rouse their holy thunder on it 
 
 And anathem her. 
 
 I own 't was rash, an' rather hardy. 
 That I, a simple, kintra^ bardie. 
 Should meddle wi' a pack sae sturdy, 
 
 "Wha, if they ken me. 
 Can easy, wi' a single wordie, 
 
 Lowse h-11 upon me. 
 
 But I gae mad at their grimaces. 
 Their sighin', can tin', grace-prood faces, 
 Their three-mile prayers, an' half-mile graces, 
 
 Their raxin'^ conscience, 
 Whase greed, revenge, an' pride disgraces 
 
 Waur nor^ their nonsense. 
 
 There 's Gaun,^ miska't' waur than a beast, 
 Wha has mair honor in his breast 
 Than mony scores as guid 's the priest 
 
 Wha sae abus't him ; 
 An' may a bard no crack his jest 
 
 What way they 've use't him 'i 
 
 See him," the poor man's friend in need. 
 The gentleman in word an' deed; 
 
 * Shock of corn.— 2 Teltlng.— ' Riotous merriment.—* Frighted.—* Coun- 
 try.— « Stretching.—"^ Worse than. — ^ Gavin Hamilton, Esq.— » Miscalled. 
 
 1" The poet has introduced the first two lines of this stanza into the dedi- 
 cation of his works to Mr. Hamilton. 
 
275 
 
 An' shall his fame an' honor bleed 
 
 By worthless skellums,* 
 
 An' not a muse erect her head 
 
 To cowe the blellums?'* 
 
 Pope, had I thy satire's darts 
 To gie the rascals their deserts, 
 
 1 'd rip their rotten, hollow hearts, 
 
 An' tell aloud 
 Their jugglin' hocus-pocus arts. 
 
 To cheat the crowd. 
 
 God knows, I 'm no the thing I should be, 
 'Nor am I even the thing I could be. 
 But twenty times I rather would be. 
 
 An atheist clean, 
 Than under gospel colors hid be 
 
 Just for a screen. 
 
 An honest man may like a glass. 
 An honest man may like a lass, 
 But mean revenge, an' malice fause,^ 
 
 He '11 still disdain. 
 An' then cry zeal for gospel laws, 
 
 Like some we ken. 
 
 They take religion in their mouth ; 
 They talk o' mercy, grace, an' truth, 
 For what ? to gie their malice skouth* 
 
 On some puir wight, 
 An' hunt him down, o'er right an' ruth, 
 
 To ruin streight. 
 
 All hail, Religion ! maid divine I 
 Pardon a muse sae mean as mine. 
 Who in her rough imperfect line 
 
 Thus daurs to name thee ; 
 To stigmatize false friends of thine 
 
 Can ne'er defame thee. 
 
 Tho' blotcht an' foul wi' mony a stain. 
 An' far unworthy of thy train, 
 "With trembling voice I tune my strain 
 To join with those, 
 
 1 Fellows.— 2 Idle talkers.— 3 False.—'* Scope. 
 
276 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 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 robes, 
 
 But hellish spirit. 
 
 O Ayr, my dear, my native ground, 
 "Within thy presbytereal bound 
 A candid, liberal band is found 
 
 Of public teachers, 
 As men, as Christians too, renown'd. 
 
 An' manly preachers. 
 
 Sir, in that circle you are named ; 
 Sir, in that circle you are famed ; 
 An' some by whom your doctrine 's blamed, 
 
 (Which gies you honor,) 
 Even, Sir, by them your heart 's esteem'd. 
 
 An' winning manner. 
 
 Pardon this freedom I have ta'en. 
 An' if impertinent I've been, 
 Impute it not, good Sir, in ane 
 
 Whase heart ne'er wrang'd ye, 
 But to his utmost would befriend 
 
 Aught that belang'd ye. 
 
 TO MR. M'ADAM, OF CRAIGEN-GILLAN, 
 
 Ixx answer to au obliging letter he sent in the commencement of my poetic car«er. 
 
 Sir, o'er a gill I gat your card, 
 
 I trow it made me proud ; 
 See wha takes notice o' the bard, 
 
 I lap* and cried fu' loud. 
 
 Now deil-ma-care about their jaw, 
 The senseless, gawky million ; 
 
 1 Did leap. 
 
EPISTLES. 2 7 "7 
 
 I '11 cock my nose aboon them a\ 
 I 'm roosed by Craigen-Gillan ! 
 
 'Twas noble, Sir ; 'twas like yonrsel, 
 
 To grant your high protection ; 
 A great man's smile ye ken fu' well, 
 
 Is ay a blest infection. 
 
 Though, by his banes wha in a tub 
 
 Match'd Macedonian Sandy ! 
 On my ain legs thro' dirt an' dub, 
 
 I independent stand ay. — 
 
 And when those legs to guid, warm kail, 
 
 Wi' welcome canna bear me ; 
 A lee* dyke*-side, a sybow^-tail, 
 
 And barley-scone* shall cheer me. 
 
 Heaven spare you lang to kiss the breath 
 
 O' mony flowery simmers !^ 
 And bless your bonnie lasses baith,^ 
 
 I 'm tald they 're loosome kimmers V 
 
 And God bless young Dunaskin's laird, 
 
 The blossom of our gentry ! 
 And may he wear an auld man's beard, 
 
 A credit to his country ! 
 
 TO TERRAUGHTY' OX HIS BIRTH-DAY. 
 
 Health to the Maxwells' veteran chief; 
 Health, ay unsour'd by care or grief: 
 Inspired, I turn'd Fate's sibyl leaf. 
 
 This natal morn, 
 I see thy life is stuif o' prief,® 
 
 Scarce quite half-worn. — 
 
 This day thou metes three-score eleven. 
 And I can tell that bounteous Heaven, 
 
 1 Shaded, or grassy.— 2 Wall.— 3 A sort of leek.— ^ Cake.— « Snnimers.- 
 • Both. — ■'' Lovely girls. — ^ jji-^ Maxwell, of Terraughty, near Dumfriea.- 
 " Proof. 
 
 24 
 
278 BURNS's POEMS. 
 
 (The second sight, ye ken, is given 
 
 To ilka poet,) 
 On thee a tack o' seven times seven 
 
 Will yet bestow it. 
 
 If envious buckles view wi' sorrow. 
 
 Thy lengthened days on this blest morrow, 
 
 May desolation's lang-teeth'd harrow, 
 
 Nine miles an hour, 
 Eake them like Sodom and Gomorrah, 
 
 In brunstane stoure.* 
 
 But for thy friends, and they are monie, 
 Baith honest men and lasses bonnie, 
 May couthie'^ fortune, kind and cannie, 
 
 In social glee, 
 ^YV mornings blythe and e'enings funny, 
 
 Bless them and thee ! 
 
 Fareweel, auld birkie !^ Lord be near ye, 
 And then the Deil he daur na steer* ye : 
 Your friends ay love, your faes ay fear ye ; 
 
 For me, shame fa' me, 
 If neist^ my heart I dinna wear ye, 
 
 While BuENS they ca' me. 
 
 TO CAPTAIN RIDDEL, GLENRIDDEL. 
 
 (Extempore lines on returning a newspaper.) 
 
 Ellisland, Monday Evening. 
 
 YouB 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 murders 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 '11 boldly pronounce they are none, Sir. 
 
 ^ Brimstpnc dust.— ^ Loving.—' Clever fellow.—'* Dare not molest— * Next 
 
EPISTLES. 
 
 210 
 
 My goose-quill too rude is, to tell all your goodness 
 Bestow'd on your servant, the Poet ; 
 
 Would to God I had one like a beam of the sun, 
 And then all the world, Sir, should know it I 
 
 TO MR. MITCHELL, 
 
 Collector of Excise, Dumfries, l~%. 
 
 Feiend 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. 
 
 I modestly fu' fain^ wad hint it, 
 That one pound one, I sairly want it : 
 . If wi' the hizzie* down ye sent it. 
 
 It would be kind ; 
 And while my heart wi' life-blood dunted.* 
 
 I 'd bear 't in mind. 
 
 So 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. 
 
 POSTSCEIPT. 
 
 Ye 've heard this while how I 've been licket. 
 And by fell death was nearly nicket : 
 Grim loun ! he gat me by the fecket,® 
 
 And sair me sheuk ; 
 But by guid luck I lap^ a wicket. 
 
 And turn'd a neuk.^** 
 
 1 stanch, faithful.— 2 Tripping.— 3 Very desirous.— * The girl.—* Boats.- 
 The place of milking. — ^ Whole.— 8 A jacket.— » Leaped. — 10 Corner. 
 
280 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 But by that health, I 've got a share o't, 
 And by that hfe, I 'm promised mair o't, 
 My hale and weel,* I '11 take a care o't 
 
 A tentier^ way ; 
 Then farewell folly, hide and hair o't, 
 
 For ance and ay. 
 
 TO A GENTLEMAN WHOM HE HAD OFFENDED 
 
 The friend whom wild from wisdom's way 
 
 The fumes of wine infuriate send 
 (i^ot moony madness more astray ;) 
 
 Who but deplores that hapless friend ? 
 
 Mine was the insensate frenzied part, 
 Ah why should I such scenes outlive ! 
 
 Scenes so abhorrent to my heart ! 
 'Tis thine to pity and forgive. 
 
 TO AN OLD SWEETHEART, 
 
 After her marriage, with a present of a copy of his Poems ', 
 
 Once fondly loved, and still remember'd dear, 
 Sweet early object of my youthful vows, 
 
 Accept this mark of friendship, warm, sincere, 
 Friendship ! — 'tis all cold duty now allows : — 
 
 And when you read the simple, artless rhymes, 
 One friendly sigh for him, (he asks no more,) 
 
 Who distant burns in flaming, torrid climes, 
 Or haply lies beneath the Atlantic roar. 
 
 TO MISS LOGAN, 
 
 With Seattle's Poems, as a New-Year's gift. 
 
 Jan, 1, 1787. 
 
 Again the silent wheels of time 
 Their annual round have driven, 
 
 i Health and welfare.—^ More cautious. 
 
EPISTLES. 281 
 
 And you tlio' scarce in maiden prime, 
 Are so much nearer heaven. 
 
 ISTo gifts have I from Indian coasts 
 
 The infant year to hail ; 
 I send you more than India boasts, 
 
 In Edwin'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 YOUNG LADY, 
 
 Miss Jessy Lewars, Dumfries ; 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 A YOUNG LADY, 
 
 With a present of songs. 
 
 Heee, where the Scottish Muse immortal lives, 
 In sacred strains and tuneful numbers join'd, 
 
 Accept the gift ; tho' humble he who gives, 
 Kich 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 : 
 
282 BURNS'S POEMS 
 
 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 seals. 
 
 TO A LADY, 
 
 With a present of a pair of drinking-glasses. 
 
 Fair empress of the Poet's soul, 
 
 And queen of Poetesses — 
 Olarinda, take this little boon, 
 
 This humble pair of glasses. 
 
 And fill them high with generous juice, 
 
 As generous as your mind ; 
 And pledge me in the generous toast — 
 
 " The whole of human kind !" 
 
 "To those who love us!" — second fill! 
 
 But not to those whom we love ; 
 Lest we love those who love not us ! 
 
 A third — " To thee and me, love !" 
 
 TO MISS CRUICKSHANKS, 
 
 A very young lady, with a present of a book. 
 
 BEAiJTEors rose-bud, young and gay, 
 Blooming on thy early May, 
 Never may'st thou, lovely flower 
 Chilly shrink in sleety shower ! 
 Never Boreas' hoary path, 
 Never Eurus' pois'nous breath. 
 Never baleful stellar lights, 
 Taint thee with untimely blights ! 
 Never, never reptile thief 
 Kiot on thy virgin leaf! 
 Nor even Sol too fiercely view 
 Thy bosom blushing still with dew ! 
 
 May'st thou long, sweet crimson gem, 
 Richly deck thy native stem ; 
 
EPISTLES. 28S 
 
 Till some evening, sober, calm. 
 Dropping dews, and breathing balm, 
 "While all around the woodland rings, 
 And every bird thy requiem sings : 
 Thou amid the dirgeful sound. 
 Shed thy dying honors round. 
 And resign to parent earth 
 The loveliest form she e'er gave birth ! 
 
 TO A LADY, 
 
 ?{'liom the Author had often celebrated under the name of Chloris, with » 
 present of a copy of his Poems. 
 
 'Tis Friendship's pledge, my young fair friend, 
 
 Nor thou the gift refuse, 
 ITor with unwilling ear attend 
 
 The moralizing muse. 
 
 Since thou, in all thy youth and 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, 
 
 Still much is left behind ; 
 Still nobler wealth hast thou in store, 
 
 The comfort^ of the mind! 
 
 Thine is the self-approving glow, 
 
 On conscious honor'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 
 
 Those joys could he improve. 
 
284 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 TO MRS. SCOTT, OF wauchope-hous:e; 
 
 In answer to an epistle which she had sent the Author. 
 
 March, 1787. 
 
 I MIND it weel, in early date, 
 
 When I was beardless, young, and blate,' 
 
 And first could thresh the barn ; 
 Or haud'^ a yokin' at the pleugh ; 
 An' though forfoughten^ sair eneugh, 
 
 Yet unco proud to learn ! 
 When first amang the yellow corn 
 
 A man I reckon'd was. 
 And wi' the lave* ilk merry morn 
 Could rank my rig and lass ; 
 Still shearing and clearing, 
 The tither stooked raw,* 
 Wi' clavers® an' haivers,^ 
 Wearing the day awa. 
 
 Even then, a wish, (I mind its power), 
 A wish that to my latest hour 
 
 Shall strongly heave my breast — 
 That I for poor auld Scotland's sake 
 Some usefu' plan or book could make, 
 
 Or sing a sang at least. 
 The rough burr-thistle, spreading wid© 
 
 Amang the bearded bear,® 
 I turn'd the weedin'-heuk® aside. 
 An' spared the symbol dear ; 
 No nation, no station. 
 
 My envy e'er could raise, 
 A Scot still, but^» blot stj^l, 
 I knew nae higher j^raise. 
 
 But still the elements o' sang 
 
 In formless jumble, right an' wrang, 
 
 AVild floated in my brain ; 
 Till on that har'st^^ I said before. 
 My partner in the merry core, 
 
 She roused the forming strain : 
 
 > Bashful.— 2 Hold.— 8 Fatigued.—* Others.— » Sheaves of corn in tows.^ 
 Idle stories.-'^ Nonsense.— » Barley.— » Hook.— lo Without.—" Harvest 
 
EPISTLES. 285 
 
 I see her yet, tlie sonsie* quean, 
 
 That lighted up her jingle, 
 Her witching smile, her pawky* een, 
 That gart^ my heart-strings tingle. 
 I fired, inspired, 
 
 At every kindling keek,* 
 But hashing, and dashing, 
 I feared ay to speak. 
 
 Hale^ to the set, ilk guid chieP says, 
 Wi' merry dance in winter days, 
 
 An' we to share in common ; 
 The gust o' joy, the balm of woe, 
 The sauP o' life, the heaven below. 
 
 Is rapture-giving woman. 
 Ye surly sumphs,® who hate the name, 
 
 Be mindfu' o' your mither ; 
 She, honest woman, may think shame 
 That ye 're connected with her. 
 Ye 're wae men, ye 're nae men, 
 That shght the lovely dears ; 
 To shame ye, disclaim ye. 
 Ilk honest birkie swears. 
 
 For you, no bred to barn or byre,* 
 Wha sweetly tune the Scottish lyre. 
 
 Thanks to you for your hue. 
 The marled^^ plaid ye kindly spare, 
 By me should gratefully be ware ; 
 
 'Twad please me to the nine. 
 I 'd be mair vauntie o' my hap," 
 
 Douse hinging o'er my curple,^'* 
 Tlmn onie ermine ever lap. 
 Or proud imperial purple. 
 Fareweel then, lang hale then. 
 
 An' plenty be your fa' ; 
 May losses and crosses 
 ^Ne'er at your hallan^^ ca'. 
 
 K. BuEXS. 
 
 1 Having sweet engagring looks.— 2 Sly —3 Made, or forced.— ^ Peep.— 
 Health.— « Good fellow.—'^ Soul.— 8 Stupid, sullen fellow.— » Cow-stable.— 
 
 -» Variegated.— 11 Mantle.— 12 Decently hanging over my loins.— ^3 A seat 
 
 of tarf outside a cottage door. 
 
280 BURNS' S POEMS. 
 
 S A T I E E S. 
 
 THE HOLY FAIR.^ 
 
 A robe of seeming truth and trust 
 
 Hid crafty Observation ; 
 And secret hung, with poison'd crust. 
 
 The dirk of Defamation : 
 A mask that like the gorget show'd, 
 
 Dye-varying, on the pigeon; 
 And for a mantle large and broad, 
 
 He wrapt him in Religion. 
 
 Hypocrisy a-la-Mod» 
 
 Upon a simmer Sunday morn, 
 
 When Nature's face is fair, 
 I walked forth to view the corn, 
 
 An' snuff the caller^ air. 
 The rising sun owre Galston^ muirs, 
 
 "Wi' glorious light was glintin' ;* 
 The hares were hirplin'^ down the furs,* 
 
 The lav'rocks they were chantin' 
 Fu' sweet that day. 
 
 As lightsomely I glower'd'' abroad, 
 
 To see a scene sae gay. 
 Three hizzies, early at the road, 
 
 0am skelpin'* up the way ; 
 Twa had manteeles o' dolefu' black, 
 
 But ane wi' lyart* lining ; 
 The third, that gaed a wee aback,*' 
 
 Was in the fashion shining, 
 Fu' gay that day. 
 
 The twa appear'd like sisters twin. 
 In feature, form, an' claes ;" 
 
 1 Holy Fair is a common phrase in the west of Scotland for a sacramental 
 occasion. 
 
 2 Fresh.— 3 The name of a parish adjoining Mauchline— -* Peeping.— 
 * Creeping.— 8 Furrows.—'^ Looked.— » Walking.— » Gray.— ^o Went a little 
 aloof.— 11 Clothes. 
 
SATIRES. 287 
 
 Their visage, wither'd, lang, an' thin, 
 
 An' sour as onie slaes ;^ 
 The third cam up, hap-step-an'-lonp,'' 
 
 As light as onie lammie, 
 An' wi' a curchie low did stoop, 
 
 As soon as e'er she saw me, 
 Fu' kind that day. 
 
 \yi' bonnet aff, quoth I, " Sweet lass, 
 
 I think ye seem to ken me ; 
 I 'm sure I 've seen that bonnie face, 
 
 But yet I canna name ye." 
 Quo' she, and laughin' as she spak, 
 
 An' taks me by the hands, 
 " Ye, for my sake, hae gien the feck' 
 
 Of a' the ten commands 
 
 A screed'' some day. 
 
 "My name is Fun — your cronie dear, 
 
 The nearest friend ye hae ; 
 An' this is Superstition here, 
 
 An' that 's Hypocrisy. 
 I 'm gaun to Mauchline Holy Fair, 
 
 To spend an hour in daffin' :** 
 Gin ye '11 go there, yon runkled* pair, 
 
 We will get famous laughin' 
 At them this day." 
 
 Quoth I, " With a' my heart, I '11 do 't ; 
 
 I '11 get my Sunday's sark^ on. 
 An' meet you on the holy spot ; 
 
 Faith we's hae fine remarkin' " ! 
 Then I gaed^ hame at crowdie-time,^ 
 
 An' soon I made me ready ; 
 For roads were clad, frae side to side, 
 
 Wi' monie a weary body, 
 
 In droves that day. 
 
 Here -farmers gash,^" in riding graith," 
 Gaed hoddin'^'^ by their cotters ; 
 
 1 Sloes.— 2 Hop, step, and jump.— 3 The greater part.—* A rent, or tear.— 
 « Merriment— 8 Wrinkled.— ^ Shirt— ^ Went— » Breakfast-time.— i <> Talka- 
 tive.— 11 Accoutrements.— 12 The motion of a sage countryman riding a cart- 
 horse. 
 
288 BURXS'S POEMS. 
 
 There, swankies* young, in braw braid claith^ 
 
 Are springing o'er the gutters. 
 The lasses, skelpin'* bare-fit, thrang. 
 
 In silks an' scarlets glitter ; 
 Wi' sweet-milk-cheese, in monie a whang,^ 
 
 An' farls* baked wi' butter 
 
 Fu' crump that day. 
 
 When by the plate we set our nose, 
 
 Weel heaped up wi' ha'pence, 
 A greedy glow'r® Black Bonnet throws, 
 
 An' we maun' draw our tippence. 
 Then in we go to see the show, 
 
 On every side they 're gath'rin'. 
 Some carrying deals, some chairs an' stools, 
 
 An' some are busy bleth'rin'^ 
 
 Right loud that day. 
 
 Here stands a shed to fend the showers. 
 
 An' screen our countra gentry. 
 There, racer Jess, an' twa-three® w — s. 
 
 Are blinkin' at the entry. 
 Here sits a raw of tittlin"* jads, 
 
 Wi' heavin' breast and bare neck. 
 An' there a batch of wabster^" lads, 
 
 Blackguarding frae Kilmarnock, 
 For fun this day. 
 
 Here some are thinkin' on their sins. 
 
 An' some upo' their claes ; 
 Ane curses feet that fyl'd" his shins, 
 
 Anither sighs an' prays : 
 On this hand sits a chosen swatch," 
 
 Wi' screw'd-up grace-proud faces ; 
 On that a set o' chaps at watch, 
 
 Thrang" winkin' on the lasses 
 
 To chairs that day. 
 
 Oh happy is that man and blest ! 
 
 (Nae wonder that it pride him !) 
 Whase ain dear lass, tliat he likes best, 
 
 Gomes clinkin' down beside him ! 
 
 * A tight, strapping young fellow.— ^ Walking barefoot. — 3 ^ large, thick 
 lllce.— ■* A cake of bread.—* Look.— « Must.- ^ Talking idly.— « A few.— 
 ■Whispering.— 10 A weaver.— ii Defiled.— ^^ A sample.— ^ 3 Busy. 
 
SATIRES. 289 
 
 Wi' arm reposed on the chair back, 
 
 He sweetly does compose him I 
 Which, by degrees, sHps round her neck, 
 
 An' 's loof ^ upon her bosom, 
 
 Unkenn'd tliat day. 
 
 "Now a' the congregation o'er 
 
 Is silent expectation ; 
 For '•'**** speels'* the holy door, 
 
 Wi' tidings o' damnation.^ 
 Should Hornie, as in ancient days, 
 
 'Mang sons o' God present him. 
 The very sight o' *****'s face. 
 
 To 's ain het* hame had sent him 
 Wi' fright that day. 
 
 Hear how he clears the points o' faith 
 
 Wi' rattlin' an' wi' thumpin' ! 
 Now meekly calm, now wild in wrath. 
 
 He 's stampin' an' he 's jumpin' ! 
 His lengthen'd chin, his turn'd-up 'snout, 
 
 His eldritch squeeP and gestures, 
 Oh how they fire the heart devout. 
 
 Like cantharidian plasters, 
 On sic a day ! 
 
 But, hark ! the tent® has changed its voice ; 
 ' There 's peace an' rest nae langer ; 
 
 For a' the real judges rise. 
 
 They canna sit for anger! 
 ***** opens out his cauld harangues, 
 
 On practice and on morals ; 
 An' aff the godly pour in thrangs. 
 To gie the jars an' barrels 
 
 A lift that day. 
 
 What signifies his barren shine 
 
 Of moral powers and reason ? 
 His English style an' gestures fine 
 
 Are a' clean out o' season. 
 
 » Palm of the hand.— « To climb. 
 
 3 This word was originally printed salvation. The present reading wai 
 Adopted in the Edinburgh edition, at the suggestion of Dr. Blair, by whioll 
 the wit of the verse is undoubtedly improved. 
 
 4 Hot home.— 6 Frightful scream.— « A field pulpit. 
 
 25 
 
290 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 Like Socrates or Antonine, 
 
 Or some auld pagan heathen, 
 The moral man he does define, 
 
 But ne'er a word o' faith in 
 
 That's right that day. 
 
 In guid time comes an antidote 
 
 Against sic poison'd nostrum ; 
 Yov *****=»=*^ fi-ae the water-fit,^ 
 
 Ascends the holy rostrum : 
 See, up he 's got the word o' God, 
 
 An' meek an' mim'' has view'd it. 
 While Common Sense has taen the road, 
 
 An' aff an' up the Oowgate,^ 
 
 Fast, fast, that day. 
 
 "Wee ****** niest* the guard relieves. 
 
 An' Orthodoxy raibles,^ 
 Tho' in his heart he weel believes. 
 
 An' thinks it auld wives' fables : 
 But, faith ! the birkie^ wants a manse,' 
 
 So, cannily he hums them ; 
 Altho' his carnal wit and sense 
 
 Like hafflins-ways^ o'ercomes him 
 At times that day. 
 
 Kow, butt an' ben® the change-house^" fills, 
 
 Wi' yill-caup" commentators : 
 Here 's crying out for bakes and gills. 
 
 An' there the pint stowp^^ clatters ; 
 While thick an' thrang, an' loud an' lang, 
 
 Wi' logic and wi' Scripture, 
 They raise a din, that in the end, 
 
 Is like to breed a rupture 
 
 0' wrath that day. 
 
 Leeze me" on drink! it gies us mair 
 
 Than either school or college : 
 It kindles wit, it waukens lear," 
 
 It pangs us fou" o' knowledge. 
 
 » Water-foot— 2 Prim.— « A street bo called.—* Next.— <* To rattle noa» 
 
 i^Ti9e. — « A clever fellow. — ' The paraonage-houso where the minister liveiw 
 
 ^8 Partly, nearly half.—' Kitchen and parlor.— i" Country inn, or alc-hou8<v 
 
 — " Ale-cup.— J 2 Pint-pot— ^3 A phrase of endearment— i* Learning. • 
 
 6 Crams us full. 
 
SATIRES. 291 
 
 Be 't whisky gilP or penny wlieep,' 
 
 Or onie stronger potion, 
 It never fails, on drinking deep. 
 
 To kittle^ up our notion 
 
 By night or day. 
 
 The lads an' lasses blythely bent 
 
 To mind baith saul an' body, 
 Sit round the table weel content, 
 
 An' steer about the toddy. 
 On this ane's dress, an' that ane's leuk,* 
 
 They 're making observations ; 
 While some are cozie i' the neuk,*' 
 
 An' forming assignations. 
 
 To meet some day. 
 
 But now the Lord's ain trumpet touts,* 
 
 Till a' the hills are rairin',^ 
 An' echoes back return the shouts : 
 
 Black ****** is nae spearin' : 
 His piercing words, like Highland swords, 
 
 Divide the joints an' marrow ; 
 His talk o' hell, where devils dwell, 
 
 Our vera sauls does harrow^ 
 
 Wi' fright that day. 
 
 A vast, unbottom'd, boundless pit, 
 
 Fill'd fou o' lowin' brunstane,® 
 Whase raging flame an' scorchin' heat, 
 
 Wad melt the hardest whunstane !^* 
 The half-asleep start up wi' fear. 
 
 An' think they hear it roarin'. 
 When presently it does appear 
 
 'T was but some neebor snorin' 
 Asleep that day. 
 
 'T wad be owro lang a tale to tell 
 
 How monie stories past, 
 An' how they crowded to the yill," 
 
 When they were a' dismist : 
 
 > A gill of whisky.— 2 Small beer.— 3 Tickle.- ^ Look, appearance.—" Snug 
 In the corner.— 6 The blast of a trnmpet. — "^ Eoaring, — 8 Shakspeare's Hainlet. 
 1— » Flaming brimstone. — ^° The hard rock found in the Ayrshire quanics.— 
 * Ale. 
 
292 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 How drink gaed round in cogs an' caups, 
 Amang the furms an' benches ; 
 
 An' cheese an' bread, frae women's laps, 
 Were dealt about in lunches 
 
 An' dawds* that day. 
 
 In comes a gaucie,'* gash^ guidwife, 
 
 An' sits down by the fire, 
 Syne* draws her kebbuck^ an' her knife : 
 
 The lasses they are shyer. 
 The auld guidmen, 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 gets nae lass, 
 
 Or lasses that hae naething ! 
 Sma' need has he to say a grace, 
 
 Or melvie^ his braw claithing ! 
 O wives, be mindfu' ance yoursel 
 
 How bonnie lads ye wanted, 
 An' dinna, for a kebbuck-heel,® 
 
 Let lasses be affronted 
 
 On sic a day I 
 
 Now Olinkumbell,* wi' rattlin' 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 slip their shoon : 
 "Wi' faith and hope, an' love an' drink, 
 
 They 're a' in famous tune 
 
 For crack" that day. 
 
 How monie hearts this day converts 
 
 O' sinners and o' lasses ! 
 Their hearts o' stane, gin night, are gane 
 
 As saft as onie flesh is. 
 
 * Largo pieces.—'-' Jolly.— s Sagacious.— * Then.—* Cheese. — * Alas?— 'To 
 •oil with meal— 8 The heel of cheese.— ^ Who rings the church bell.— ^° Hope. 
 — »» The motion of ringing, and sound of the bell.— ^3 ^ yfQ\\ as they can — 
 " Gates.— »< Young men.— »* A little time.— le Talk. 
 
SATIRES. 203 
 
 There 's some are fou* o' love divine ; 
 
 There 's some are fou o' brandy ; 
 An' monie jobs that day begin, 
 
 May end in honghmagandie'* 
 Some ither day. 
 
 THE ORDINATION. 
 
 For sense they little owe to frugal Heaven — 
 To please the mob, they hide the little given. 
 
 KiLMAENOCK wabsters,^ fidge an' ciaw,* 
 
 An' pour your creshie° 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's in a raw,' 
 
 An' pour divine libations 
 
 For joy this day. 
 
 Curst Common Sense, that imp o' hell. 
 
 Cam in wi' Maggie Lauder,® 
 But O ****** aft made her yell. 
 
 An' Eussel sair misca'd her ; 
 This day M'Kinlay taks the flail, 
 
 An' he 's the boy will, blaud^ her ; 
 He '11 clap a shangan^" on her tail, 
 
 An' set the bairns" to daub her 
 Wi' dirt this day. 
 
 Mak haste an' turn king David owre, 
 
 An' lilt^'* wi' holy clangor ; 
 0' double verse come gie us four, 
 
 An' skirP^ up the Bangor : 
 
 1 Full.— 2 Fornication.— 3 Weavers.— ^ Scrarcii.- » Greasy.— ^ Stretch. Am 
 allusion to shoemakers. — '' Eow. 
 
 8 Alluding to a scoffing ballad which was made on the admission of the late- 
 reverend and worthy Mr. L. to the Laigh Kirk. 
 
 9 To slap or strike.— i" A cleft stick, sometimes mischievously fastened t<>' 
 the tail of a dog.— n Children.— 12 To sing.— is To shriek, or cry aloud. 
 
294 BURNS'S POEMS, 
 
 This day the Kirk kicks up a stour,* 
 Nae mair the knaves shall wrang her; 
 
 Tor Heresy is in her power, 
 
 And gloriously she '11 whang'* her 
 Wi' pith this day. 
 
 Come, let a proper text he read, 
 
 An' touch it aff wi' vigor, 
 How graceless Ham^ leugh* at his dad, 
 
 Which made Canaan a niger ;* 
 Or Phineas* drove the murdering hladei, 
 
 Wi' w — e-abhorring rigor ; 
 Or Zipporah,^ the scauldin'® jade, 
 
 Was like a bluidy® tiger 
 
 I' th' inn that day. 
 
 There, try his mettle on the creed, 
 
 And hind him down, wi' caution, 
 That stipend is a carnal, weed 
 
 He taks 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 suflScient threshin' ; 
 
 Spare them nae day. 
 
 Kow, auld Kilmarnock, cock thy tail. 
 
 And toss thy horns fu' canty ;^® 
 Nae mair thou 'It rowte" out-owre the dale, 
 
 Because thy pasture 's scanty ; 
 For lapfu's large o' gospel kail" 
 
 Shall fill thy crib in plenty. 
 And runts" o' grace the pick and wale," 
 
 No gien by way o' dainty, ^ 
 
 But ilka" day. 
 
 Nae mair by Babel's streams we '11 weep, 
 
 To think upon our Zion ; 
 And hing*^ our fiddles up to sleep. 
 
 Like baby-clouts a-dryin' : 
 
 » Dust— 2 To give the strappado.— ' Gen. ix. 22.— * Did laugh.—* A negro. 
 -• Numb. XXV. 8.-7 Exod. iv. 25.-8 Scolding.— » Bloody.— lo Merrily.— 
 • » Roar, bellow.— 12 Colewort— ^3 The stems of colewort, or cabbage.— 
 « Choice.—!* Every.— 1 » Hang. 
 
SATIRES. • 205 
 
 Come, screw the pegs wi' tunefu' cheep,' 
 
 And o'er the thairms'^ be try in' ; 
 O rare ! to see our elbncks' wlieep,* 
 
 An' a' like lamb-tails flyin' , 
 Fu' fast this day I 
 
 Lang Patronage, wi' rod o' airn,* 
 
 Has shored^ the Kirk's undoin', 
 As lately Fenwick, sair forfairn,' 
 
 Has proven to its ruin: 
 Our Patron, honest man ! Glencaim, 
 
 He saw mischief was brewin' ; 
 And, like a godly elect bairn, 
 
 He 's waled® us out a true ane, 
 
 And sound this day, 
 !N"ow p**-2«**** harangue nae mair, 
 
 But steek your gab^ forever : 
 Or try the wicked town of Ayr, 
 
 For there they'll think you clever: 
 Or, nae reflection on your lear,'® 
 
 Ye may commence a shaver ; 
 Or to the Netherton repair. 
 
 And turn a carpet-weaver 
 
 Aff-hand this day. 
 
 M***** and you were just a match, 
 
 We never had sic tAva drones : 
 Auld Hornie did the Laigh Kirk watch, 
 
 Just like a winkin' baudrons ;" 
 And ay he catch'd the tither wretch, 
 
 To fry them in his caudrons ; 
 But now his honor maun detach, 
 
 Wi' a' his brimstone squadrons, 
 Fast, fast this day. 
 
 See, see auld Orthodoxy's faes" 
 
 She 's swingin"^ thro' the city : 
 Hark! how the nine-tail'd cat she plays! 
 
 I vow it 's unco" pretty : 
 There, Learning, wi' his Greekish face, 
 
 Grunts out some Latin ditty ; 
 
 2 C) p. — 2 Fiddle-strings. — 3 Elbows. — ^ Move nimbly.— ^ Iron.—' Offerea, 
 or attempted. — 7 Distressed. — ^ Picked. — ^ Shut your mouth. — 1° Learning.— 
 " A eat— 12 Foes.— 13 Whipping.— i^ Very. 
 
206 
 
 An' Common Sense is gaun, she says, 
 To mak to Jamie Beattie* 
 
 Her plaint this day. 
 
 But there 's* Morality himsel, 
 
 Embracing all opinions ; 
 Hear, how he gies the tither yell 
 
 Between his twa companions ! 
 See, how she peels the skin an' fell,'* 
 
 As ane were peeling onions ! 
 Kow there — they 're packed aff to hell, 
 
 And banish'd our dominions, 
 
 Henceforth this day. 
 
 O happy day! rejoice, rejoice! 
 
 Come, bouse about the porter ! 
 Morality's demure decoys 
 
 Shall here nae mair find quarter : 
 M'Kinlay, Russel, are the boys, 
 
 That Heresy can torture ; 
 They '11 gie her on a rape^ a hoyse,* 
 
 And cowe^ her measure shorter 
 
 By th' head some day. 
 
 Come, bring the tither mutchkin'' in ; 
 
 And here 's, for a conclusion. 
 To every new-lighf mother's son. 
 
 From this time forth, confusion ; 
 If mair they deave® us wi' their din, 
 
 Or patronage intrusion. 
 We '11 light a spunk,' and every skin, 
 
 We '11 rin^° them aff in fusion 
 
 Like oil some day. 
 
 1 James Bcattie, LL.D., author of "The Minstrel," 'Evidences of the 
 Christian Eeligion," &c. 
 
 2 The flesh immediately under the skin. — ^ Rope. — * Hoist — * To lop, of 
 cut off.— « An English pint.—' See note 11, p. 242.-8 To deafen.— » A fire. 
 -I* Run, 
 
SATIRES, 297 
 
 ADDRESS TO THE UNCO GUID. 
 
 OE THE RIGIDLY RIGHTEOUS. 
 
 My son, these maxims make a rule, 
 
 And lump them ay thegither;! 
 The rigid Righteous is a fool, 
 
 The rigid Wise anither: 
 The cleanest corn that e'er was dight3 
 
 May hae some pyles o' cafif3 in; 
 So ne'er a fellow-creature slight 
 
 For random fits o' daffiu'.4 
 
 Solomon.—Eccles. vii. 17. 
 
 O YE wha are sae guid yoursel, 
 
 Sae pious and sae holy, 
 Ye 've naught to do but mark and tell 
 
 Your neebor's faults and folly 1 
 Whase life is like a weel-gaun* mill, 
 
 Supplied wi' store o' water, 
 The heapet happer^ 's ebbing still. 
 
 And still the clap' plays clatter. 
 
 Hear me, ye venerable core, 
 
 As counsel for poor mortals. 
 That frequent pass douce® Wisdom's door 
 
 For glaikit^ Folly's portals ; 
 I, for their thoughtless, careless sakes, 
 
 "Would here propone defences. 
 Their donsie^" tricks, their black mistakes, 
 
 Their failings and mischances. 
 
 Ye see your state wi' theirs compared, 
 
 And shudder at the nifPer ;" 
 But cast a moment's fair regard, 
 
 What maks the mighty differ ? 
 Discount what scant occasion gave 
 
 That purity ye pride in. 
 And (what's/ift mair than a' the lave^') 
 
 Your better art o' hiding. 
 
 Think, when your castigated pulse 
 Gies now and then a wallop, 
 
 * Always together. — 2 Cleaned from chaff. — ^ Grains cf chaff.—'* Merri- 
 ment. — s Well-going. — 3 Heaped hopper. — ''' Clapper of a milL—^ Sober.— 
 » Thoughtless.— 10 Unlucky.— n Exchange.— 12 All the rest 
 
298 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 TVhat ragings must his veins convulse, 
 
 That still eternal gallop : 
 "Wi' wind and tide fair i' your tail, 
 
 Eight on ye scud your sea-way ; 
 But in the teeth o' baith* to sail, 
 
 It makes an unco^ lee-way. 
 
 See social life and glee sit down. 
 
 All joyous and unthinking, 
 Till, quite transmugrified, they 're grown 
 
 Debauchery and drinking : 
 Oh, would they stay to calculate 
 
 Th' eternal consequences ; 
 Or, your more dreaded hell to state, 
 
 Damnation of expenses ! 
 
 Ye high, exalted, virtuous dames. 
 
 Tied up in godly laces. 
 Before ye gie poor Frailty names, • 
 
 Suppose a cliange o' cases ; 
 A dear loved lad, convenience snug, 
 
 A treacherous inch nation — 
 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 why they do it : 
 And just as lamely 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 mute, 
 
 AVe never can adjust it ; 
 What 's done we partly may compute, 
 
 But know not what 's resisted, 
 
 ' Both.—' Awkward.— 3 Pcrhaos.— ^ A little, a small matter. 
 
SATIRES. 299 
 
 THE TWA HERDS. 1 
 
 The "Twa Herds" -were Mr. Moodie, minister of Riccarton, and Mr. John 
 Kussel, then minister of Kilmarnock, and afterwards of Stirling. 
 
 O 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-twenty simmers past. 
 
 Oh, dooPtotell! 
 Hae had a bitter, black outcast" 
 
 Atween themsel. 
 
 O M'Kinlay, man, and wordy^ Russel, 
 How could you raise so vile a bustle ? 
 Ye '11 see how new-light herds will whistle, 
 
 And think it fine ! 
 The Lord's cause ne'er gat sic a twistle,^ 
 
 Sin' I hae mine. 
 
 O, Sirs ! whae'er wad hae expeckit, 
 
 Your duty ye wad sae negleckit, 
 
 Y^e wha were ne'er by lairds respeckit. 
 
 To wear the plaid, 
 But by the brutes themselves eleckit,^ 
 
 To be their guide. 
 
 "What flock wi' M'Kinlay's flock could rank, 
 Sae hale and hearty every shank ! 
 Nae poison'd sour Arminian stank,^° 
 
 He let them taste ; 
 Frae Calvin's well, ay clear they drank — 
 
 sic a feast ! 
 
 1 "This is the first of my poetic offspring that saw tt.e light." — JSurns'a 
 Letters. 
 
 2 Dogs. — 3 Strayed, and not yet claimed. — ^ Ewes too old for breeding. — 
 » Sorrowful.— « Quarrel.— ^ Worthy.— e To twist, to twine— » Elected.— i » Pool 
 of standing water. 
 
300 BURNS'S POEMS, 
 
 The thummart,^ wiP-cat, brock,'* and tod,* 
 "Weel kenn'd his voice thro' a' the wood, 
 He smell'd their ilka hole and road, 
 
 Baith out and in, 
 And weel he lik'd to shed their bluid, 
 
 And sell their skin. 
 
 What herd like Russel telPd his tale ? 
 His voice was heard thro' muir and dale ; 
 He kenn'd the Lord'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 them o'er the burnin' dub," 
 
 Or heave them in. 
 
 Sic twa! — oh, do I live to see't! — 
 Sic famous twa should disagreet. 
 An' names, like villain, hypocrite. 
 
 Ilk ither gien,^ 
 While new-light herds, wi' laughin' spite. 
 
 Say neither 's liein' ! 
 
 A' ye wha tent the gospel fauld. 
 
 There 's D n deep, and P s shaul ;' 
 
 But chiefly thou, apostle Auld, 
 
 We trust in the«, 
 . That thou wilt work them, hot and 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. 
 
 Dalrymple has been lang our fiie, 
 M'Gill has wrought us meikle wae,' 
 
 ' Pcle-cat— 2 Badger.—' Fox.— 4 If.— » Healthy.—* Pond. -' Each othoi 
 give.— 8 Shallow.— Much woo. 
 
SATIRES. 301 
 
 And that cursed rascal ca'd M e, 
 
 And baith the Shaws, 
 That aft hae made ns black and blae, 
 
 Wi' vengefu' paws. 
 
 Auld W ^w lang has hatch'd mischief, 
 
 "We thought ay death wad bring relief, 
 But he has gotten, to our grief, 
 
 Ane to succeed him, 
 A chiel wha'll soundly buff our beef; 
 
 I meikle dread him. 
 
 And monie a ane that I could tell, 
 Wha fain would openly rebel, 
 Forbye turn-coats amang oursel. 
 
 There 's S h for ane, 
 
 I doubt he 's but a gray-nick quill, 
 
 An' that ye '11 fin'. 
 
 Oh 1 a' ye flocks, o'er a' the hills. 
 By mosses, meadows, moors, and fells, 
 Oome join your counsel and your skills, 
 
 To cowe^ the lairds. 
 And get the brutes the poAver themsels. 
 
 To choose their herds. 
 
 Then Orthodoxy yet may prance. 
 And Learning in a woodie 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'Q-: 's pathetic manly sense, 
 
 And guid M'Math,^ 
 "Wi' Smith, wha thro' the heart can glance, 
 
 May a' pack aff. 
 
 J Frighten.— 2 Dance in a rope, i. e. be banged.— ^ See page 274 
 26 
 
302 BURNS's POEMS. 
 
 THE KIRK'S ALARM.» 
 
 Orthodox, Orthodox, 
 
 Wha believe in John Knox, 
 Let me sound an alarm to your conscience ; 
 
 There 's a heretic blast, 
 
 Has been blawn in the wast. 
 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 onie pretence. 
 Is heretic, damnable error. 
 
 Town of Ayr, town of Ayr, 
 
 It was mad, I declare. 
 To meddle wi' mischief a-brewin' ; 
 
 Provost John is still deaf 
 
 To the church's relief. 
 And orator Bob^ is its ruin. 
 
 D'rymple mild, D'rymple mild. 
 
 Though your heart 's like a child, 
 And your life like the new driven snaw, 
 
 Yet that winna save ye, 
 
 Auld Satan must have ye. 
 For preaching that three 's ane and twa. 
 
 Rumble John,* Rumble John, 
 
 Mount the steps wi' a groan. 
 Cry the book is wi' heresy cramm'd ; 
 
 Then lug out your ladle. 
 
 Deal brimstone like adle,* 
 And roar every note of the damn'd. 
 
 Simper James,' Simper James, 
 Leave the fair Killie dames 
 
 1 Thlfl poem was written a short time after the publication of Dr. M'Giirs 
 Essay. 
 
 'Dr. M'Gill— 3 Robert Aiken.—'* Mr. Eussell.— » Putrid water. -« Mr. 
 M'Kinlay. 
 
SATIRES. 303 
 
 There 's a holier chase in your viev? ; 
 
 I '11 lay on your head, 
 
 That the pack ye '11 soon lead, 
 For puppies like you there 's but few. 
 
 Signet Sawiley,^ Signet Sawney, 
 
 Are ye herding the penny, 
 Unconscious what evils await ? 
 
 Wi' a jump, yell, and howl. 
 
 Alarm every soul. 
 For the foul thief is just at your gate. 
 
 Daddy Auld,^ Daddy Auld, 
 
 There 's a tod^ in your fauld, 
 A tod meikle waur than the clerk ; 
 
 Though ye can do little skaith,* 
 
 Ye '11 be in at the death. 
 And gif ye canna bite ye may bark. 
 
 Davie Bluster,^ Davie Bluster, 
 
 If for a saint ye do muster. 
 The corps is no nice of recruits ; 
 
 Yet to worth let 's be just. 
 
 Royal blood ye might boast. 
 If the ass was the king of the brutes. 
 
 Jamie Goose,® Jamie Goose, 
 
 Ye hae made but toom roose,^ 
 In hunting the wicked lieutenant ; 
 
 But the doctor 's your mark. 
 
 For the Lord's holy ark. 
 He has cooper'd and caw'd^ a wrang pin in 't. 
 
 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 astride, 
 Ye but smelt, man, the place where he s — t. 
 
 Andro Gouk,^° Andro Gouk, 
 Ye may slander the book, 
 
 1 Mr. M. .. . y.— 2 Mr. A ... . d.— » Fox.— * Harm.— Mr. G. ... t of 0. I. -e. 
 ^« Mr. Y....gof C..n..k.— 7 Empty praise.— ^ Driven.— » Mr. P..b..s of 
 Ayr.— 10 Dr. A. M.... 11. 
 
304 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 And the book nane the waur,^ let me tell ye I 
 
 Ye are rich, and look big, 
 
 But lay by hat and wig. 
 And ye '11 hae a calf's head o' sma' value. 
 
 Barr Steenie,^ Barr Steenie, 
 
 What mean ye ? what mean ye ? 
 If ye '11 meddle nae mair wi' the matter, 
 
 Ye may hae some pretence 
 
 To bavins^ and sense, 
 Wi' people wha ken ye nae better. 
 
 Irvine Side,* Irvine Side, 
 Wi' your turkey-cock pride. 
 Of manhood but sma' is your share : 
 
 Ye 've the figure, 'tis true, 
 
 E'en your foes will allow. 
 And your friends, they dare grant you nae mair. 
 
 Muirland Jock,^ Muirland Jock, 
 
 When the Lord makes a rock 
 To crush Common Sense for her sins. 
 
 If ill manners were wit. 
 
 There 's no mortal so fit 
 To confound the poor doctor at once. 
 
 Holy Will,« Holy Will, 
 
 There was wit i' your skull, 
 When ye pilfer'd 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. 
 
 Calvin's sons, Calvin's sons. 
 
 Seize your spiritual guns. 
 Ammunition you never can need ; 
 
 Your hearts are the stuff. 
 
 Will be pouther** enough, 
 And your skulls are storehouses o' lead. 
 
 Poet Burns, Poet Burns, 
 
 AVi' your priest-skelping turns, 
 
 1 None the worse. — * S....nY....gofB — r. — ' Good manners. — * Mr, 
 B ...h of G....n.— 5 Mr. S....d.— • An Elder in M-.-e.— ' Timber. - 
 Rope.—" Powder 
 
305 
 
 "Why desert ye your auld native shire ? 
 Your Muse is a gypsie, 
 E'en though she were tipsie, 
 
 She could ca' us nae waur* than we are. 
 
 HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER.' 
 
 Thou, wha in the heavens dost dwell, 
 Wha, as it pleases best thyseP, 
 
 Sends ane to heaven and ten to hell, 
 
 A' for thy glory, 
 And no for onie guid or ill 
 
 They 've done afore thee : 
 
 1 bless and praise thy matchless might, 
 Whan thousands thou hast left in nighty 
 That I am here afore thy sight. 
 
 For gifts an' grace, 
 A burnin' an' a shinin' light. 
 
 To a' this place. 
 
 What was I, or my generation, 
 That I should get such exaltation? 
 I, wha deserve such just damnation, 
 
 For broken laws, 
 Five thousand years 'fore my creation, 
 
 Through Adam's cause. 
 
 When frae my mither's womb I fell, 
 Thou might hae plunged me into hell. 
 To gnash my gums, to weep and wail, 
 
 In burnin' lake. 
 Where damned devils roar and yell, 
 
 Ohain'd to a stake. 
 
 Yet I am here a chosen sample, 
 
 To show thy grace is great and ample ; 
 
 Worse. 
 2 "Holy Willie's Prayer is a piece of satire more exquisitely severe that 
 any which Burns ever afterwards wrote ; but, unfortunately, cast in a form 
 most daringly profane."— /S'ir Walter Scott, Quarterly Review, vol. 1. p. 22 
 
o(}G BURNS'S POEiirf, 
 
 I 'm liere a pillar in thy temple^ 
 Strong as a rock, 
 
 A guide, a buckler, an' example 
 To a' thy flock. 
 
 O Lord, thou kens what zeal I bear, 
 When drinkers drink, and swearers swear, 
 And singin' there and d&ncin' here, 
 
 Wi' great and sma' : 
 For I am keepit by thy fear, 
 
 Free frae them a'. 
 
 But yet, Lord ! confess I must, 
 At times I 'm fash'd wi' fleshly lust. 
 An' sometimes too, wi' warldly trust, 
 
 Vile self gets in ; 
 But thou remembers we are dust, 
 
 Defiled in sin. 
 
 Lord ! yestreen, thou kens, wi' Meg— 
 
 Thy pardon I sincerely beg, 
 
 Oh! may 't ne'er be a livin' plague 
 
 To my dishonor. 
 An' I '11 ne'er lift a lawless leg 
 
 Again upon her. 
 
 Besides, I farther maun allow, 
 
 Wi' Lizzie's lass, three times I trow ; 
 
 But, Lord, 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 hand maun e'en be borne, 
 
 Until thou lift it. 
 
 Lord, bless thy chosen in this place, 
 For here thou hast a chosen race ; 
 But God confound tlieir stubborn face, 
 
 And blast tlieir name, 
 Wha bring thy elders to disgrace. 
 
 An' public shame. 
 
SATIRES. 30 Y 
 
 Lord, mind Gavin Hamilton's deserts, 
 He drinks, an' swears, an' plays at cartes, 
 Yet lias sae monie takin' arts, 
 
 Wi' grit an' sma'^ 
 Frae God's ain priest the people's hearts 
 
 He steals awa'. 
 
 An' whan we chasten'd him therefor. 
 Thou kens how he bred sic a splore. 
 As set the warld in a roar 
 
 0' laughin' at lis ; 
 Curse thou his basket and his store. 
 
 Kail and potatoes ! 
 
 Lord, here my earnest cry an' prayer, 
 
 Against that presbyt'ry o' Ayr ; 
 
 Thy strong right hand, Lord, make it bare 
 
 Upo' their heads ; 
 Lord weigh it down, and dinna spare, 
 
 For their misdeeds. 
 
 O Lord my God, that glib-tongued^ Aiken, 
 
 My very heart and saul are qnakin', 
 
 To think how we stood sweatin', shakin', 
 
 An' p — d wi' dread. 
 While he, wi' hingin' lips an' snakin', 
 
 Held up his head. 
 
 Lord, in the day of vengeance try him • 
 Lord, visit them wha did employ him, 
 And pass not in thy mercy by 'em. 
 
 Nor hear their prayer ; 
 But, for thy people's sake, destroy 'em, 
 
 And dinna spare. 
 
 But, Lord, remember me and mine, 
 "Wi' mercies temporal and divine, 
 That I for gear and grace may shine, 
 
 ExceU'd by nane. 
 An' a' the glory shall be thine, 
 
 Amen^ Amen, 
 
 * Having readiness of speech. 
 
308 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 EPITAPH ON HOLY WnXIE. 
 
 Here Holy Willie's sair worn clay, 
 
 Taks up its last abode ; 
 His saul has taen some other 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-tail cat a-wee, 
 Till ance you 've heard my story. 
 
 Your pity I will not implore, 
 
 For pity ye have nane ; 
 Justice, alas ! has gien 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. 
 
 THE CALF. 
 
 TO THE REVEREND MR. , 
 
 On his text, Malachi Iv. 2—" And they shall go forth, and grow up, lik« 
 calves of the stall." 
 
 Right, Sir ! your text, I '11 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 '11 find 
 
 Ye 're still as great a stirk !^ 
 
 1 A very calf.—' A yearling bullock. 
 
SATIRES. 309 
 
 But, if the lover's raptured hour 
 
 Shall ever be your lot, 
 Forbid it, every lieavenly power, 
 
 You e'er should be a stot!^ 
 
 Tho', when some kind, connubial dear, 
 
 Your butt-and-ben'^ adorns, 
 The like has been, that you may wear 
 
 A noble head of horns I 
 
 And in your lug, most reverend James, 
 
 To hear you roar and rowte,^ 
 Few men o' sense will doubt your claims 
 
 To rank amang the nowte l"^ 
 
 And when ye 're number'd wi' the dead. 
 
 Below a grassy hillock, 
 "Wi' justice they may mark your head — 
 
 "Here lies a famous bullock!" 
 
 TO A LOUSE, 
 
 On seeing one on a lady's bonnet at church. 
 
 Ha ! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin^ ferlie ?^ 
 Your impudence protects you sairly ; 
 I canna say but ye strunt*^ rarely 
 
 Owre gauze and lace ; 
 Tho', faith, I fear ye dine but sparely 
 
 On sic a place. 
 
 Ye ugly, creepin', blastit wonner,^ 
 Detested, shunn'd, by saunt an' sinner. 
 How dare you set your fit^ upon her, 
 
 Sae fine a lady ! 
 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 
 
 - An ox. — 2 The country kitchen and parlor, — ^ To bellow. — ■* Black cattle. 
 —5 Crawling.— 6 A term of contempt. — ^ To walk sturdily. — ^ a contempt- 
 nous appellation. — « Feet— 1° Get away. — ii The side of the head.— ^^ To 
 Bprawl. 
 
310 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 Wi ither kindred, jumpin' cattle, 
 
 In shoals and nations ; 
 Whare liorn nor bane ne'er dare unsettle 
 
 Your thick plantations. 
 
 N"ow hand ye there, ye 're out o' sight, 
 Below the fatt'rils,* snug and tight ; 
 "Na, faith ye yet ! ye '11 no be right 
 
 Till ye 've get on it. 
 The vera tapmost, to^vering height 
 
 0' Miss's bonnet. 
 
 My sooth ! right bauld ye set your nose out 
 As plump and gray as onie grozet ;'* 
 
 for some rank, mercurial rozet,' 
 
 Or fell, red smeddum,* 
 I'd gie you sic a hearty dose o 't. 
 
 Wad dress your droddum !* 
 
 1 wad na be surprised to spy 
 You on an auld wife's flainen toy ;• 
 Or aiblins^ some bit duddie^ boy, 
 
 On 's wyliecoat f 
 But Miss's fine Lunardi ! fie. 
 
 How dare ye do 't ? 
 
 O Jenny, dinna toss your head. 
 An' set your beauties a' abread!^** 
 Ye little ken what cursed speed 
 
 The blastie 's makin' I 
 Thae" winks and finger-ends I dread, 
 
 Are notice takin' ! 
 
 O wad some power the giftie gie us 
 To see oursels as others see us I 
 It wad frae monie a blunder free us 
 
 And foolish notion : 
 What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us. 
 
 And e'en devotion ! 
 
 * Trimmings. — ^ Gooseberry. — ^ Rosin. — * Powder. — * Breech-. — « An an* 
 cient head-dress. — ''' Perhaps. — * Eagged.— • A flannel vest. — ^® Abroad.— 
 "Those. 
 
SATIRES. 311 
 
 ODE, 
 
 SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF MRS. ( 
 
 Dweller in yon dungeon dark, 
 Hangman of creation ! mark 
 Who in widow-weeds appears, 
 Laden with unhonor'd years, 
 Noosing with care a bursting purse, 
 Baited with many a deadly curse ! 
 
 Yiew the withered beldam's face — 
 Can thy keen inspection trace 
 Aught of humanity's sweet melting grace ? 
 Note that eye, 'tis rheum o'erflows, 
 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, 
 (Awhile forbear, ye torturing fiends,) 
 Seest thou whose step unwilling hither bends ? 
 
 No fallen angel, hurl'd from upper skies ; 
 'Tis thy trusty quondam mate^ 
 Doom'd to share thy fiery fate. 
 
 She, tardy, hell-ward plies. 
 
 And are they of no more avail. 
 Ten thousand glittering pounds a-year ? 
 
 In other worlds can Mammon fail, 
 Omnipotent as he is here ? 
 
 Oh, bitter mockery of the pompous bier, 
 "While down the wretched vital part is driven ! 
 
 The cave-lodged beggar, with a conscience clear, 
 Expires in rags, unknown, and goes to heaven. 
 
312 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 MONODY 
 
 ON A LADY FAMED FOR HER CAPRICE. 
 
 How cold is that bosom which folly once fired ! 
 
 How pale is that cheek where the rouge lately 
 glisten'd ! 
 How silent that tongue which the echoes oft tired ! 
 
 How dull is that ear which to flattery so listen'd ! 
 
 If sorrow and anguish their exit await, 
 
 From friendship and dearest affection removed, 
 
 How doubly severer, Eliza, thy fate — 
 
 Thou diedst unwept as thou livedst unloved ! 
 
 Loves, Graces, and Virtue, I call not on you ; 
 
 So shy, grave, and distant, ye shed not a tear ; 
 But come all ye offspring of Folly so tru^. 
 
 And flowers let us cull for Eliza's cold bier. 
 
 We '11 search thro' the garden for each silly flower. 
 We'll roam thro' the forest for each idle weed; 
 
 But chiefly the nettle, so typical, shower. 
 
 For none e'er approach'd her but rued the rash 
 deed. 
 
 We'll sculpture the marble,.we '11 measure the lay : 
 Here Vanity strums on her idiot lyre ; 
 
 There keen Indignation shall dart on her prey, 
 AVhich spurning Contempt shall redeem from 
 her ire. 
 
 TUB 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. 
 
ELEGIES. 
 
 ELEGY OK MISS BURNET, OF MONBODDO. 
 
 Life ne'er exulted in so rich a prize, 
 
 As Burnet, lovely, from her native skies ; 
 
 Nor envious Death so triuraph'd in a blow, 
 
 As that which laid the accomplish'd 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 shown, 
 As by his noblest work the Godhead best is known. 
 
 In vain ye flaunt in summer's pride, ye groves ; 
 
 Thou crystal streamlet with thy flowery shore, 
 Ye woodland choir that chant your idle loves, 
 
 Ye cease to charm — Eliza is no more ! 
 
 Ye heathy wastes, immix'd with reedy fens; 
 
 Ye mossy streams, with sedge and rushes stored • 
 Ye rugged clifls, o'erhanging dreary glens. 
 
 To you I fly — 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 liglit, that beams beyond the 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 now sunk, a prey to grief and care; 
 
 So deck'd the woodbine sweet yon aged tree. 
 So from it ravish'd, leaves it bleak and bare. 
 2T 
 
314 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF ROBERT RIDDEL, ESQ., 
 
 OF GLEN-RIDDEL, APRIL, 1794. 
 
 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 the untimely tomb where 
 Riddel lies. 
 
 Yes, pour, ye warblers, pour the notes of woe, 
 And soothe the Virtues weeping on this bier : 
 The Man of Worth, who has not left his peer, 
 
 Is in his narrow house forever darkly low. 
 
 Thee, Spring, again with joy shall others greet; 
 Me, memory of my loss will only meet. 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF SIR JAMES HUNTER BLAIR. 
 
 The lamp of day, with ill-presaging glare. 
 
 Dim, cloudy, sunk beneath the western wave ; 
 
 The inconstant blast howl'd though the darkening air, 
 And hollow whistled in the rocky cave. 
 
 Lone, as I wander'd by each cliff and dell, 
 Once the loved haunts of Scotia's royal train ;* 
 
 Or mused where limpid streams, once hallow'd well,* 
 Or mouldering ruins mark'd the sacred fane f 
 
 The increasing blast roared 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 caught the startled eye ; 
 
 The paly moon rose in the livid east. 
 And 'mong the clifi's disclosed a stately form, 
 
 1 The King's Park, at Ilolyrood-house.— 2 St. Anthony's Well.—' St 
 Anthony's Ghapel. 
 
315 
 
 In weeds of woe that frantic beat her breast, 
 And mix'd her wailings with the raving storm. 
 
 TVild to my heart the filial pulses glow, 
 'Twas Caledonia's trophied shield I view'd ; 
 
 Her form majestic droopM in pensive woe, 
 The lightning of her eye in tears imbued. 
 
 Eeversed that spear, redoubtable in war, 
 Eeclined that banner, erst in fields unfurl'd, 
 
 That like a deathful meteor gleam'd afar. 
 And braved the mighty monarchs 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 pride! 
 
 "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. 
 
 " 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 this Guardian low. 
 
 " My patriot falls — and shall he lie unsung. 
 While empty greatness saves a worthless name? 
 
 !N"o ; every Muse shall join her tuneful tongue, 
 And future ages hear his growing fame. 
 
 "And I will join a mother's tender cares. 
 Thro' future times to make his virtues last. 
 
 That distant years may boast of other Blairs." — 
 She said, and vanish'd with the sweeping blast. 
 
 ON READING, IN A NEWSPAPER, THE DEATH OF 
 JOHN M'LEOD, ESQ., 
 
 BROTHER TO A TOUNG LADY, A PARTICULAR FRIEND OP 
 THE author's. 
 
 Sad thy tale, thou idle page, 
 And rueful thy alarms ; 
 
316 BURXS'S POEMS. 
 
 Death tears the brother of her love 
 From Isabella's arms. 
 
 Sweetly deck'd with pearly dew 
 The morning rose may blow ; 
 
 But cold successive noontide blasts 
 May lay its beauties low. 
 
 Fair on Isabella's morn 
 The sun propitious smiled ; 
 
 But, long ere noon, succeeding clouds 
 Succeeding hopes beguiled. 
 
 Fate oft tears the bosom chords 
 That Nature finest strung : 
 
 So Isabella's heart was form'd. 
 And so that heart was wrung. 
 
 Dread Omnipotence alone 
 Can heal the wound he gave ; 
 
 Can point the brimful grief- worn eyes 
 To scenes beyond the grave. 
 
 Virtue's blossoms there shall blow, 
 And fear no withering blast, 
 
 There Isabella's spotless worth 
 Shall happy be at last. 
 
 ELEGY ON CAPTAIN MATTHEW HENDERSON, 
 
 A. GENTLEMAN WHO HELD THE PATENT FOR HIS HONORS IMMEDIAT^l 
 FROM ALMIGHTY GOD. 
 
 But now his radiant course is run, 
 
 For Matthew's course was bright ; 
 Ilis soul was like the glorious sun, 
 
 A matchless, heavenly light I 
 
 O Death! thou tyrant fell and bloody! 
 The muckle Devil wi' a woodie* 
 Haurl thee haine to his black smiddie,'' 
 
 O'er hurcheon^ hides. 
 And like stock-fish come o'er liis studdie* 
 
 Wi' thy auld sides ! 
 
 * A halter.— 2 Smithy.— ^ Heclgehog.— ■* An anvil. An allusion is here hal 
 •o the ber.ting of dried stock-fish, to make them tender. 
 
ELEGIES. 317 
 
 He 's gane ! he 's gane ! he 's frae us tore, 
 
 The ae best fellow e'er was born ! 
 
 Thee, Matthew, Nature's sel' shall mourn 
 
 By wood and wild, 
 "Where, haply. Pity strays forlorn, 
 
 Frae man exiled. 
 
 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 ! 
 Ye burnies,^ wimplin'^ down your glens, 
 
 Wi' todlin'^ din. 
 Or foaming Strang, wi' hasty stens,^ 
 
 Frae linn to linn P° 
 
 Mourn, little harebells owre the lee ; 
 Ye stately foxgloves fair to see ; 
 Ye woodbines hanging bonnilie. 
 
 In scented bowers ; 
 Ye roses on your thorny tree. 
 
 The first o' flowers ! 
 
 At dawn, w^hen 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 through a clud ;^^ 
 Ye whistling plover ; 
 
 1 Stars.— 2 A heap of stones piled up in tlie form of a cone. 
 
 3 Eagles: they are here called "sailing yearns," in allusion to their flying 
 without that motion of the wings which is common to most other birds. 
 
 4 Children.— 5 The dove, or wood-pigeon.— « Kivulets.— ^ Meandering.— 
 8 Wimpling.— 9 To rear as a horse.— 1° A water-fall.— ii Hares.— 12 jiunning 
 as a hare.— 13 Cloud. 
 
318 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 And mourn, ye whirring* pai trick brood* 
 He 's gane forever ! 
 
 Mourn, sooty coots, and speckled teals. 
 Ye fisher herons, watching eels ; 
 Ye duck and drake, wi' airy wheels 
 
 Circling the lake ; 
 Ye bitterns, till the quagmire reels, 
 
 Rair* for his sake ! 
 
 Mourn, clamoring 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 howlets,* frae your ivy bower, 
 In some auld tree, or eldritch^ tower, 
 What time the moon, wi' silent glower, 
 
 Sets up her horn. 
 Wail through the weary midnight hour 
 
 Till waukrife' morn ! 
 
 O rivers, forests, hills, and plains ! 
 Oft have ye -heard my cantie^ 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 his head. 
 Thy gay, green, flowery tresses shear, 
 
 For him that's dead! 
 
 Thou, Autumn, wi' thy yellow hair. 
 In grief thy sallow mantle tear! 
 Thou, Winter, hurling through the air 
 The roaring blast, 
 
 * The noise made by the wings of a covey of partridges. — * Tc roar.— 
 Birds called in England landrails, in Scotland, corn-craiks.— * Those.— 
 Owls.— « Ghastly.—' The waking hour.— 8 Cheerful.— » Each.— »<> Catch. 
 
ELEGIES. 319 
 
 Wide o'er the naked world declare 
 
 The worth we We lost! 
 
 Mourn him, thou Sun, great source of light! 
 Mourn, empress of the silent night ! 
 And you, ye twinkling starnies bright, 
 
 My Matthew mouru! 
 For through your orbs he 's taen^ his flight, 
 
 Ne'er to return. 
 
 O Henderson ! the man ! the brother ! 
 And art thou gone, and gone forever ? 
 And hast thou cross'd that unknown river, 
 
 Life's dreary bound ? 
 Like thee, where shall I find another, 
 
 The world around? 
 
 Go to your sculptured tombs, ye great, 
 In a' the tinsel trash o' state ! 
 But by thy honest turf I '11 wait. 
 
 Thou man of worth ! 
 ^nd weep the ae best fellow's fate 
 
 E'er lay in earth. 
 
 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 hast. 
 
 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 bright man. 
 
 1 Takeu. 
 
320 BURNS S POEMS. 
 
 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 stanch 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 fan, and fire, 
 And ne'er guid wine did fear, man; 
 
 This was thy billie,* dam, and sire, 
 For Matthew was a queer man. 
 
 If onie whiggish, whingin'* sot, 
 
 To blame poor Matthew dare, man ; 
 
 May dooP and sorrow be his lot, 
 For Matthew was a rare man. 
 
 TAM SAMSON'S^ ELEGY. 
 
 An honest man 's the noblest work of God.— Pop*. 
 
 Has auld k* ******** seen the Deil? 
 Or great M' ****** *^ thrawn^ his heel ? 
 Q^. ;^ ****** *jo again grown weel. 
 
 To preach an' read? 
 "Na, waur" than a' !" cries ilka^'' chiel, 
 
 '^Tam Samson's dead!" 
 
 K********* lang may grunt and grane, 
 An' sigh, an' sab, an' greet her lane," 
 
 1 Call.— 2 Would.— 3 Fall.—* Brother.— « Fretful— « Lamentation. 
 
 ' When this worthy old sportsman went out last muirfowl season, he sup- 
 posed it to be, In Osslan's phrase, "the last of his fields;" and expressed an ar- 
 dent wish to die and be buried in the muirs. On this hint the Author com- 
 posed his Elegy and Epitaph. 
 
 8 A certain preacher, a great favorite with the million. Vide the Ordina^ 
 tion, stanza ii.— ® Sprained. 
 
 »o Another preacher, an equal favorite with the few, who was at that time 
 ailing. For him, see also the Ordination, stanza ix. 
 
 »» Worse.— *2 Eyery.— 13 Weep alone. 
 
ELEGIES. 321 
 
 An' deed her bairns,^ man, wife, an' wean,'* 
 
 In mourning weed ; 
 To death slie 's dearly paid the kane,^ 
 
 Tarn Samson 's dead ! 
 
 The brethren of the mystic level. 
 May hing^ their head in wofu' bevel,® 
 "While by their nose the tears will revel. 
 
 Like onie bead ; 
 Death's gien the lodge an unco devel ;• 
 
 Tarn Samson 's dead ! 
 
 ,When Winter muffles up his cloak. 
 And binds the mire up like a rock; 
 When to the lochs^ the curlers® flock, 
 
 Wi' gleesome speed, 
 Wha will they station at the cock ?* 
 
 Tarn Samson's dead! 
 
 He was the king o' 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 hog-score," 
 
 Tarn Samson 's dead ! 
 
 Kow safe the stately sawmont" sail, 
 And trouts bedropp'd wi' crimson hail. 
 And eels weel kenn'd for souple tail, 
 
 And geds"for greed,^* 
 Since dark in death's fish-creeP^ we wail 
 
 Tam Samson dead ! 
 
 Clothe her children. — 2 ^ young child. — 3 Rent, paid in fowls. — * Hang. 
 —5 In sorrowful posture. — ' An awkward blow. — ''' A large pond, or sheet of 
 water. 
 
 ^ Those who play at the game of curling. Curling is a game of high celeb- 
 rity in Scotland, and in some degree resembles the game of coits, or bowls. — 
 An iron pin, called a cock, is driven into the ice as a mark, at which heavy 
 pieces of stone (with an iron handle fixed in the upper part, and having a flat 
 and smooth surface at the bottom, so as to glide on the ice) are hurled. — The 
 party who lodge their stones nearest to the cock are the victors. 
 
 » The winning place in curling. — 10 To strike a stone in an oblique dlrec- 
 tior.— 11 The course of the stones at the game of curling.— 12 A kind of 
 iistance line, in curling, drawn across the rink.—^^ Salmon.— ^^ Pike.— 
 ^ Greediness.~i6 Fish-Basket. 
 
322 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 Eejoice, ye birring paitricks^ a' ; 
 
 Ye cootie* niiiircocks crousely craw ;* 
 
 Ye maukins,* cock your fud fu' braw,* 
 
 Withouten dread ; 
 Your mortal fae is now awa\ 
 
 Tarn Samson 's dead ! 
 
 That waefu' morn be ever mournM, 
 
 Saw him in shootin' graith* adorn'd, 
 
 "While pointers round impatient burn'd, \ 
 
 Frae couples freed ; 
 But, och ! he gaed and ne'er returned, 
 
 Tam Samson 's dead ! 
 
 In vain auld age his body batters ; 
 
 In vain the gout his ankles fetters ; 
 
 In vain the burns^ came down like waters 
 
 An acre braid !* 
 Kow every auld wife, greetin'^ clatters, 
 
 " Tam Samson 's dead l" 
 
 Owre many a weary hag^° he limpit," 
 An' ay the tither shot he thumpit. 
 Till coward Death behind him jumpit, 
 
 ^ Wi' deadly feide ;^* 
 N'ow he proclaims, wi' tout^^ o' trumpet, 
 " Tam Samson 's dead !" 
 
 When at his heart he felt the dagger, 
 He reel'd his wonted bottle-swagger, 
 But yet he drew tlie mortal trigger, 
 
 Wi' weel-aim'd heed ; 
 • "Lord, five!"" he cried, and owre did stagger; 
 
 Tam Samson 's dead ! 
 
 Ilk hoary hunter mourn'd a brither ; 
 Ilk sportsman youth bemoan'd a father ; 
 Yon auld gray stane, amang the heather, 
 
 Marks out .his head, 
 Whare Burns has wrote, in rhyming blether, 
 
 " Tam Samson 's dead !" 
 
 * Partridges. — ^ Birds whicli liave feathers on the legs are said to be cootie. 
 — * Crow courageously.— 4 Hares.— <> Cock your tail handsomelys — « Accoutre- 
 ments.—'^ Rivulets. — 8 Broad.—* Crying.— lo A scar or gulf in inossos or 
 oioors.— 11 Limped, or hobbled.— i" Feud, enmity. — 13 Blast — i* An excla- 
 mation at finding be bad killed five birds. 
 
ELEGIES. 323 
 
 There low he lies, in lasting rest; 
 Perhaps upon his mouldering breast 
 Some spitefu' muirfowl bigs^ her nest, 
 
 To hatch an' breed ; 
 Alas ! nae mair he '11 them molest ! 
 
 Tarn Samson 's dead ! 
 
 When August winds the heather wave, 
 And sportsmen wander by yon grave, 
 Three volleys let his memory crave 
 
 0' pouther an' lead, 
 Till Echo answer frae her cave, 
 
 " Tam Samson 's dead !" 
 
 Heaven rest his saul, where'er it be ! 
 Is the wish o' monie mae'* than me ; 
 He had twa faults, or maybe three, 
 
 Yet what remead ?^ 
 Ae social, honest man want we : 
 
 Tam Samson 's dead ! 
 
 THE EPITAPH. 
 
 Tam Samson's weel-worn clay here lies ; 
 
 Ye canting zealots, spare him ! 
 If honest worth in heaven rise, 
 
 Ye '11 mend or ye win* near him. 
 
 PER CONTRA. 
 
 Go, Fame, and canter like a filly 
 Thro' a' the streets an' neuks o' Killie,* 
 Tell every social, honest billie* 
 
 To cease his grievin', 
 For yet, unskaith'd^ by Death's gleg gullie,* 
 
 Tam Samson 's livin'. 
 
 ON A SCOTTISH BARD, 
 
 Gone to the West Indies. 
 
 A' YE wha live by soups o' drink, 
 A' ye wha live by crambo-clink,* 
 A' ye wha live and never think, 
 
 - Boilds.— 2 Many more.— 3 Eemedy.— * Get— ^ Kilmarnock.—* Honest 
 fe.low. — "^ Unhurt — ^ Sharp knife. — ^ Rhymes; doggerel verses. 
 
324 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 Come, mourn wi' me I 
 Our billie's gien* us a' the jink,'* 
 An' owre the sea. 
 
 Lament him, a' ye rantin' core, 
 Wha dearly like a random splore,' 
 Kae mair he '11 join the merry roar, 
 
 In social key ; 
 For now he 's taen anither shore. 
 
 An' owre the sea. 
 
 The bonnie lasses weel may wiss* him, 
 And in their dear petitions place him ; 
 The widows, wives, an' a' may bless him, 
 
 Wi' tearfu' e'e ; 
 For weel I wat they '11 sairly miss him. 
 
 That 's owre the sea. 
 
 O Fortune ! they hae room to grumble 
 Hadst thou taen aff some drowsy bummle,* 
 "Wha can do naught but fyke' an' fumble, 
 
 'Twad been nae plea ; 
 But he was gleg' as onie wumble,^ 
 
 That 's owre the sea. 
 
 Auld cantie Kyle' may weepers wear, 
 And stain them wi' the saut,^° saut tear, 
 'Twill mak her poor auld heart, I fear. 
 
 In flinders" flee ; 
 He was her laureate monie a year. 
 
 That 's owre the sea. 
 
 Hq saw misfortune's cauld nor' west 
 Lang mustering up a bitter blast; 
 A jiUet" brak his heart at last, 
 
 111 may she be ! 
 So, took a berth afore the mast. 
 
 An' owre the sea. 
 
 To tremble under Fortune's cummock," 
 On scarce a bellyfu' o' drumniock," 
 "\Vi' his proud, independent stomach, 
 Could ill agree ; 
 
 « Given.— ^ A dodge.— 3 A frolic— < Wish.— » A blunderer.— c Trifle.— 
 ' Sljarp, ready.— 8 Wimble.—* A district in Ayrshire.— i" Salt— ^^ Brokan 
 pieces. — ^"^ Jilt.— * 3 i>o(j, or staff. — ^* Raw meal and water. 
 
ELEGIES. 825 
 
 So, row'd* liis hurdles'* in a hammock, 
 An' owre the sea. 
 
 He ne'er was gien to great misgnidin', 
 Yet coin his pouches^ wad na bide in ; 
 "Wi' him it ne'er was under hiding ; 
 
 He dealt it free ; 
 The Muse was a' that he took pride in, 
 
 That 's owre the sea. 
 
 Jamaica bodies, use him weel, 
 An' hap* him in a cozie blel :^ 
 Ye '11 find him ay a dainty chiel, 
 
 And fou o' glee ; 
 He wad na wrang'd the vera Dell, 
 
 That 's owre the sea. 
 
 Fareweel, my rhyme-composing billie I 
 Your native soil was right ill-willie ;• 
 But may ye flourish like a lily, 
 
 Now bonniely ! 
 I '11 toast ye in my hindmost gillie,'^ 
 
 Though owre the sea. 
 
 ELEGY ON THE YEAR 1788. 
 
 January 1, 17K. 
 
 Foe lords or kings I dinna mourn, 
 E'en let them die — for that they 're born ! 
 But oh I prodigious to reflect, 
 A towmont,* sirs, is gane to wreck ! 
 O Eighty-eight, in thy sma' space 
 What dire events hae taken place ! 
 Of what enjoyments thou hast reft us ! 
 In what a pickle thou hast left us ! 
 
 The Spanish empire 's tint' a head, 
 And my auld teethless Bawtie 's^® dead ; 
 The toolzie 's" teugh^'' 'tween Pitt and Fox, 
 An' our gudewife's wee birdie cocks ; 
 
 * Eolled, wrapped.— 2 Loins, or backside.— ^ Pockets.—'* To wrap, to corer, 
 — » Snug shelter. — « Ill-natured, malicious. — ''' Diminutive of GilL— 
 • Twelvemonth.— 9 Lost. — 1° Name for a dog.— ^^ Quarrel.- ^^ Obstinate. 
 28 
 
326 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 The tane is game, a bluidy devil, 
 liut to the hen-birds unco civil; 
 The tither 's dour,^ has nae sic breedin', 
 But better stuff ne'er claw'd a midden.' 
 
 Ye ministers, come mount the pulpit, 
 An' cry till ye be hearse an' rupit ;^ 
 For Eighty-eight he wish'd you weel, 
 And gied* ye a' baith gear^ an' meal ; 
 E'en monie a plack,^ an' monie a peck, 
 Ye ken yoursels, for little feck!^ 
 
 Ye bonnie lasses, dight^ your een. 
 For some o' you hae tint a frien' ; 
 In Eighty-eight, ye ken, was taen 
 What ye '11 ne'er hae to gie again. 
 
 Observe the very nowt^ an' sheep. 
 How dowff^° an' dowie" now they creep ; 
 Nay, e'en the yirth^^ itself does cry. 
 For E'nbrugh wells are grutten^^ dry. 
 
 O Eighty-nine, thou 's but a bairn, 
 An' no owre auld, I hope, to learn ! 
 Thou beardless boy, I pray tak care ! 
 Thou now hast got thy daddie's chair; 
 Nae hand-cuff'd, muzzled, half-shackled regent, 
 But, like himsel', a full, free agent. 
 Be sure to follow out the plan 
 Nae waur" than he did, honest man . 
 .As muckle better as you can. 
 
 'ETJSGY ON THE DEATH OF ROBERT RUISSEAUX." 
 
 Now Robin lies in his last lair," 
 
 He '11 gabble rhyme, nor sing nae mair, 
 
 Cauld poverty, wi' hungry stare, 
 
 Nae mair shall fear him ; 
 
 > Inflexible, unbending. — ^ Dungliill. — » Hoarse. — * Gave.—* Goods, effectaL 
 — • An old coin, the third part of a Scotch penny, — ' Value, or consideration. 
 ^8 Wipe.— 'Black cattle.— lo Pithless.- »i Worn with grief.— i^ Earth.— 
 *« Wept— 1< Worse.— 1' Euisseaux, a play on his own name.—" A plac« 
 • lor lying down. 
 
ELEGIES. 32T 
 
 Nor anxious fear, nor cankert^ care, 
 
 E'er mair come near him. 
 
 To tell the truth, they seldom fasht' him ; 
 Except tho moment that they crusht him ; 
 For sune as chance or fate had husht 'em, 
 
 Though e'er sae short. 
 Then \vi' a rhyme or song he lasht 'em. 
 
 An' thought it sport. — 
 
 Though he was bred to kintra' wark. 
 And counted was baith wight and stark,* 
 Yet that was never Kobin's mark 
 
 To mak a man ; 
 But tell him he was learn'd and dark,** 
 
 Ye roos'd him then ! 
 
 ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF PEG NICHOLSON, 
 
 A favorite mare belonging to Mr. W. Nicol, of the High School, Edinburgh— 
 the " Willie that brew'd a peck o' maut." 
 
 Peg Nicholsoit was a gude bay mare, 
 
 As ever trode on airn ;' 
 But now she' s floating down the Nith, 
 
 An' past the Mouth o' Cairn.'' 
 
 Peg Nicholson was a gude bay mare, 
 
 An' rode through thick an' thin ; 
 But now she 's floating down the Nith, 
 
 An' wanting even the skin. 
 
 Peg Nicholson was a gude bay mare. 
 
 An' ance she bare® a priest ; 
 But now she 's floating down the Nith, 
 
 For Solway fish a feast. 
 
 Peg Nicholson was a gude bay mare. 
 
 An' the priest he rode her sair ; 
 An' meikle^ oppress'd an' bruised she was, 
 
 As priest-rid cattle are. 
 
 1 Cross, ill-conditioned.— 2 Troubled.— ^ Country.- ^ Strong, powerful— 
 fi Learned and clever. — « Iron. — "^ A tributary stream of the Nith. — 8 Di(j 
 bear. — ^ Much. 
 
328 BURNS S POEMS. 
 
 EPIGEAMS, ETC. 
 
 EPIGRAM 
 
 On Elphinstone's translation of Martial's Epigrams. 
 
 O THOir whom Poetry abhors, 
 Whom Prose has turned out of doors, 
 Heard'st thou that groan ? — proceed no further, 
 'Twas laurell'd Martial roaring murder. 
 
 WRITTEIST IN A LADY^S POCKET-BOOK. 
 
 Geant me, indulgent Heaven, that I may live 
 To see the miscreants feel the pains they give : 
 Deal Freedom's sacred treasures free as air. 
 Till slave and despot be but things which were. 
 
 VERSES 
 
 Written on the windows of the Globe Tavern, Dumfries. 
 
 The gray-beard, 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. 
 
 4( ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ 
 
 I MURDER hate by field or flood, 
 
 Tho' glory's name may screen us ; 
 In wars at hame I '11 spend my blood, 
 Life-giving wars of Yenus. 
 
 The deities that I adore, 
 
 Are social Peace and Plenty ; 
 I 'm better pleased to make one more. 
 
 Than be the death of twenty. 
 
EPIGRAMS, ETC. 329 
 
 * * * 
 
 In politics if tliou would'st mix, 
 And mean thy fortunes be ; 
 
 Bear this in mind, " Be deaf and blind ; 
 Let great folks hear and see." 
 
 EPIGRAM ON CAPTAIN GROSE. 
 
 The Devil got notice that Grose was a-dying, 
 So whip ! at the summons, old Satan came flying ; 
 But when he approach'd where poor Francis lay 
 
 moaning, 
 And saw each bed-post with its burden a-groaning, 
 Astonish'd, confounded, cried Satan, '^By G — d, 
 I '11 want 'im ere I take such a damnable load !"* 
 
 EXTEMPORE, 
 
 In answer to an invitation to spend an hour at a tavern. 
 
 The King's most humble servant, I 
 Can scarcely spare a minute ; 
 
 But I '11 be wi' you by and by ; 
 Or else the Deil 's be in it. 
 
 EPIGRAM. 
 
 [Barns, accompanied by a friend, having gone to Inverary at a time when 
 some company were there on a visit to the Duke of Argyll, finding himself 
 entirely neglected by the innkeeper, whose attention was occupied by the 
 visitors of his Grace, expressed his disapprobation of the incivility witlL 
 which they were treated in the following lines.] 
 
 "Whoe'er he be that sojourns here, 
 
 I pity much his case. 
 Unless he comes to wait upon 
 
 The Lord, their God, his Grace. 
 
 I Mr. Grose was exceedingly corpulent, and used to rally himself, with the- 
 gi-eatest good humor, on the singular rotundity of his figure. This Epigram,, 
 written by Burns in a moment of festivity, was so much relished by the an- 
 tiquarian, that he made it serve as an excuse for prolonging the convivial oc- 
 casion that gave it birth to a very late hour. 
 
830 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 There 's naething here but Highland pride, 
 And Highland scab and hunger ; 
 
 If Providence has sent me here, 
 'Twas surely in an anger. 
 
 A VERSE, 
 
 Tresented, by the Author, on taking leave, to the master of a house in th« 
 Highlands, by whom he had been hospitably entertained., 
 
 When Death's dark stream I ferry o'er, 
 
 A time that surely shall come ; 
 In heaven itself, I '11 ask no more, 
 
 Than just a Highland welcome. 
 
 THE TOAST. 
 
 [Written with a diamond pencil on a glass tumbler, and presented to Misa 
 
 Jessy Lewars, now Mrs, Thomson, Dumfries ; a deservedly great favorite 
 
 of the Poet's, and a kind and soothing friend to Mrs. Burns at the time ol 
 
 his death.] 
 
 Fill me with the rosy wine, 
 Call a toast, a toast divine ; 
 Give the Poet's darling flame. 
 Lovely Jessy be the name ; 
 Then thou mayest freely boast. 
 Thou hast given a peerless toast. 
 
 EPITAPH ON MISS JESSY LEWARS. 
 
 {The same lady complaining of some slight indisposition, Burns told her 
 ho should take care to have an epitaph ready for her in case of the worst, 
 which he likewise wrote on a glass tumbler, to make a pair with the other 
 AS follows :] 
 
 Say, sages, what 's the charm on earth. 
 
 Can turn Death's dart aside ? 
 It is not purity and worth. 
 
 Else Jessy had not died. 
 
EPIGRAMS, ETC. 331 
 
 ON HER RECOVERY. 
 
 But rarely seen since Nature's birth, 
 
 The natives of the sky ; 
 Yet still one Seraph 's left on earth, 
 
 For Jessy did not die. 
 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 [About the end of May, 1796, the surgeon who attended Burns in his last 
 illness, happened to call on bim at the same time with Miss Jessy Lewars. 
 In the course of conversation Mr. Brown mentioned that he had been to 
 see a collection of wild beasts just arrived in Dumfries. By way of aid- 
 ing his description, he took the advertisement (containing a list of the 
 animals to be exhibited) from his pocket As he was about to hand it 
 to Miss Lewars, the Poet took it out of his hand, and with some red ink 
 standing beside him, wrote on the back of the advertisement the following 
 lines.] 
 
 Talk not to me of savages 
 
 From Afric's burning sun, 
 No savage e'er could rend my heart, 
 
 As, Jessy, thou hast done. 
 
 But Jessy's lovely hand in mine, 
 
 A mutual faith to plight, 
 Not even to view the heavenly choir 
 
 Would be so blest a sight. 
 
 LINES 
 
 WBITTEN ON THE BACK OF A BANK NOTE. 
 
 Wae worth thy power, thou cursed leaf, 
 Fell source o' a' my woe and grief; 
 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 cursed restriction. 
 I 've seen the oppressor's cruel smile 
 Amid his hapless victim's spoil : 
 
332 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 And for thy potence vainly wisli'd, 
 
 To crush the villain in the dust. 
 For lack o' thee I leave this much-loved shore, 
 ISTever, perhaps, to greet old Scotland more. 
 Kylb. r. B 
 
 LINES ON MISS J. SCOTT, OF AYR. 
 
 Oh ! had each Scot of ancient times, 
 Been, Jeany Scott, as thou art, 
 
 The bravest heart on English ground 
 Had yielded like a coward. 
 
 LINES 
 
 On being asked, why God had made Miss Davies so little, and 
 Mrs. » * * so large. 
 
 WRITTEN ON A PANE OF GLASS IN THE INN AT MOFFAT. 
 
 Ask why God made the gem so small. 
 And why so huge the granite ? 
 
 Because God meant mankind should set 
 The higher value on it. 
 
 LINES 
 
 Written under the picture of the celebrated Miss Burns. 
 
 Cease, ye prudes, your envious railing. 
 Lovely Burns has charms — confess ; 
 
 True it is, she had one failing — 
 Had a woman ever less. 
 
 LINES 
 
 Written and presented to Mrs. Kerable, on seeing her in the character 
 of Yarico. 
 
 Kemule, thou cur'st my unbelief 
 
 Of Moses and his rod ; 
 At Yarico's sweet notes of grief 
 
 The rock with tears had flow'd. 
 
 Dumfries Theatre, 1794. 
 
EPIGRAMS, ETC. 333 
 
 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 guagers : 
 Kay, what are priests ? those seeming godly wisemen ; 
 What are they, pray ? but spiritual Excisemen. 
 
 VEESES 
 
 Written on a window of the inn at Carron. 
 
 We cam na here to view your warks 
 
 In hopes to be mair wise, 
 But only, lest we gang' to hell, 
 
 It may be nae surprise : 
 
 But when we tirl'd" at your door. 
 Your porter dought na^ hear us ; 
 
 Sae may, should we to hell's yetts* come, 
 Your billy* Satan sair* us ! 
 
 TO DR. MAXWELL. 
 
 On Miss Jessy Staig's recovery. 
 
 Maxwell, if merit here you crave, 
 
 That merit I deny — 
 Tou save fair Jessy from the grave ! 
 
 An angel could not die. 
 
 • Go.— 2 Knocked.—' Was unable to.—* Gates.— ^ Brother.— Servcw 
 
334 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 EPIGRAM ON A HENPECKED COUNTRY SQUIRE. 
 
 O Death ! hadst thou but spared his !ife, 
 
 "Whom we this day lament ; 
 We freely wad exchanged the wife, 
 
 And a' been weel content. 
 
 E'en as he is, cauld in his graff,* 
 
 The swap'* we yet will do 't ; 
 Tak you the carlin's® carcase aff, 
 
 Thou 'se get the saul to boot. 
 
 ANOTHER. 
 
 One Queen Artemisia, as old stories tell, 
 When deprived of her husband she loved so well. 
 In respect for the love and affection he 'd shown her, 
 She reduced him to dust, and she drank up the powder. 
 But Queen N*******, of a different complexion, 
 When call'd on to order the funeral direction. 
 Would have eat her dead lord on a slender pretence. 
 Not to show her respect, but — to save the expense. 
 
 A TOAST 
 
 [At a meeting of the Dumfries-shire Volunteers, held to commemorate the 
 anniversary of Eodney's victory, April 12, 17S2, Burns was called upon for 
 a song, instead of which he delivered the following lines eostempore.'] 
 
 Instead of a song, boys, I '11 give you a toast — 
 Here 's the memory of those on the twelfth that we lost ; 
 That we lost, did I say ? nay, by Heaven, that we found, 
 For their fame it shall last while the world goes round. 
 The next in succession, I '11 give you the King, 
 Whoe'er would betray him, on high may he swing; 
 And here 's the grand fabric, our free Constitution, 
 As built on the base of the great Revolution ; 
 And longer with politics, not to be cramm'd, 
 Be anarchy cursed, and be tyranny d — d ! 
 And who would to Liberty e'er prove disloyal, 
 May his son be a hangman, and he his first trial. 
 
 * Grave. — ^ Exchange.—' Stout old woman. 
 
EPIGRAMS, ETC. 335 
 
 IMPROMPTU 
 
 On Mrs. R 's birthday, 4tli Nov. 1793. 
 
 Old "Winter with his frosty heard, 
 Thus once to Jove his prayer preferred : 
 " What have I done, of all the year, 
 To hear this hated doom severe ? 
 My cheerless sons no pleasure know ; 
 Night's horrid car drags dreary, slow : 
 My dismal months no joys are crowning, 
 But spleeny English hanging, drowning. 
 
 " Now, Jove, for once, he mighty civil, 
 To counterbalance all this evil ; 
 Give me, and I 've no more to say. 
 Give me Maria's natal day ! 
 That brilliant gift will so enrich me. 
 Spring, summer, autumn, cannot match me." 
 "'Tis done!" says Jove; — so ends my story. 
 And Winter once rejoiced in glory. 
 
 THE LOYAL NATIVES' VERSES.^ 
 Ye sons of sedition, give ear to my song. 
 Let Syme, Burns, and Maxwell, pervade every throng. 
 With Oracken, the attorney, and Mundell, the quack. 
 Send Wilhe the monger to hell with a smack. 
 
 BURNS— exi:empore. 
 
 Ye true "Loyal Natives," attend to my song. 
 
 In uproar and riot rejoice the night long; 
 
 Erom envy and hatred your corps is exempt ; 
 
 But where is your shield from the darts of contempt ? 
 
 ^ At this period of our Poet's life, when political animosity was made the 
 ground of private quarrel, the above foolish verses were sent as an attack on 
 Burns and his friends for their political opinions. They were written by 
 Rome member of a club styling themselves the "Loyal Natives" of Dumfries, 
 or rather by the united genius of that club, which was more distinguished for 
 drunken loyalty, than either for respectability or poetical talent. The verses 
 were handed over the table to Burns at a convivial meeting, and he instantly 
 endorsed the subjoined reply.— jKeZi^wea, p. 108. 
 
336 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 EXTEMPORANEOUS EFFUSION 
 
 On being appointed to the Excise. 
 
 Seaeohing auld wives' barrels, 
 
 Och, ho ! the day ! 
 That clarty barm* should stain my laurels, 
 
 But — what '11 ye say ? 
 These muvin"* things ca'd wives and weans 
 Wad muve the very hearts o' stanes! 
 
 ON SEEING THE BEAUTIFUL SEAT OF LOUD G. 
 
 WhaI dost thou in that mansion fair? 
 
 Flit, G , and find 
 
 Some narrow, dirty, dungeon cave. 
 
 The picture of thy mind I 
 
 ON THE SAME. 
 
 No Stewart art thou, G , 
 
 The Stewarts all were brave ; 
 
 Besides, the Stewarts were but fools— 
 Not one of them a knave. 
 
 ON THE SAME. 
 
 Bbight ran thy li»e, G , 
 
 Thro' many a far-famed sire I 
 
 So ran the far-famed Koman way — 
 So ended in a mire. 
 
 1 Dirty yeast— ^ Moving. 
 
EPIGRAMS, ETC. 337 
 
 TO THE SAME, 
 
 On the Author being threatened with his resentment. 
 
 Spare me thy vengeance, G , 
 
 In quiet let me live : 
 I ask no kindness at thy hand. 
 
 For thou hast none to give. 
 
 EXTEMPORE IN THE COURT OF SESSION. 
 
 Tu^E.—Gillicranlcie. 
 LORD A — TE. 
 
 He clench'd his pamphlets in his fist, 
 
 He quoted and he hinted. 
 Till in a declamation mist, 
 
 His argument he tint^ it : 
 He gap'd for 't, he grap'd for 't. 
 
 He fand it was aw a, man ; 
 But what his common sense came short, 
 
 He eked it out wi' law, man. 
 
 MR. ER — NE. 
 
 Collected Harry stood awee. 
 
 Then open'd out his arm, man ; 
 His lordship sat wi' ruefu' e'e. 
 
 And eyed the gathering storm, man: 
 Like wind-driven hail it did assail, 
 
 Like torrents owre a linn,' man ; 
 The Bench sae wise, lift up their eyes, 
 
 Half-wauken'd wi' the din, man. 
 
 ON HEARING THAT THERE WAS FALSEHOOD IN THE REV. DR. B- 
 VERY LOOKS. 
 
 That there is falsehood in his looks 
 
 I must and will deny : 
 They say their master is a knave — 
 
 And sure they do not lie. 
 
 1 Lost.— 2 Waterfall. 
 29 
 
338 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 EXTEMPORE, 
 
 Ou the late Mr. William Smellie, Author of the Philosophy of Natural Historyj 
 and Member of the Antiquarian and Royal Societies of Edinburgh. 
 
 To Crochallan came 
 The old cock'd hat, the gray surtout, the same ; 
 His bristling beard just rising in its might, 
 'Twas four long nights and days till shaving night ; 
 His uncomb'd grizzly locks wild staring, thatch'd 
 A head for thought profound and clear, unmatch'd ; 
 Yet tho' his caustic wit was biting, rude, 
 His heart was warm, benevolent, and good. 
 
 EXTEMPORE, TO MR. SYME,i 
 
 On refusing to dine with him, after having been promised the first of company, 
 and the first of cookery; 17th Dec, 1795. 
 
 ITo more of your guests, be they titled or not, 
 
 And cookery the first of the nation ; 
 "Who is proof to thy personal converse and wit, 
 
 Is proof to all other temptation. 
 
 TO MR. S**E, 
 
 With a present of a dozen of porter. 
 
 On, had the malt thy strength of mind, 
 Or hops the flavor of thy wit, 
 
 'Twere drink for first of human kind, 
 A gift that e'en for S**e were fit. 
 
 Jerusalem Tavern, Dumfries. 
 
 LINES ADDRESSED TO MR. J. RANKINE, 
 
 While he occupied the farm of Adamhill, in Ayrshire. 
 
 Ae day, as Death, that grusome carl,^ 
 Was driving to the tither warl',' 
 
 1 An intimate friend of the Poet's, with whom he made a very pleasant tour 
 over the counties of Kirkcudbright and Galloway, in July and August, 17931 
 
 2 Grim old man.— s Other world. 
 
EPIGRAMS, ETC. 339 
 
 A mixtie-maxtie* motley squad, 
 And monie a guilt-bespotted lad ; 
 Black^ gowns of each denomination, 
 And thieves of every rank and station, 
 From him that vrears the star and garter, 
 To him that wintles^ in a halter ; 
 Ashamed himself to see the wretches. 
 He mutters, glowering at the bitches : 
 
 " By God, I '11 not be seen behint them, 
 !N"or 'mang the spiritual corps present them, 
 "Without at least ae honest man. 
 To grace this damn'd infernal clan." 
 
 By Adamhill a glance he threw, 
 "Lord God I" quoth he, "I have it now; 
 There 's just the man I want, i' faith ;" 
 And quickly stopped Rankine's breath. 
 
 LINES WRITTEN BY BURNS, 
 
 While on his death-bed, to John Rankine, and forwarded to him immediately 
 after the Poet's death. 
 
 He who of Rankine sang, lies stiff and dead, 
 And a green grassy hillock hides his head ; 
 Alas I alas ! a devilish change indeed ! 
 
 J Oonftiscdly mixed.— 5» Swliiga. 
 
340 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 EPITAPHS. 
 
 EPITAPH FOR THE AUTHOR'S FATHER. 
 
 O YE, whose cheek the tear of pity stains, 
 Draw near with pious reverence and attend! 
 
 Here lie the loving husband's dear remains, 
 The tender father, and the generous 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 even his failings lean'd to virtue's side.'" 
 
 INSCRIPTION TO THE MEMORY OF FERGUSSOK 
 
 HERE LIES ROBERT FERGUSSON, POET. 
 Born September 5th, 1750.— Died 16th October, 1774. 
 
 No sculptured 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. 
 
 FOR ROBERT AIKEN, ESQ. 
 
 Know thou, O stranger to the fame 
 Of this much loved, much honor'd name ! 
 (For none that knew him need be told) 
 A warmer heart Death ne'er made cold. 
 
 1 Goldsmith. 
 
EPITAPHS. 341 
 
 A BARD'S EPITAPH. 
 
 Is there a whim-inspired fool, 
 
 Owre^ fast for thought, owre hot for rule, 
 
 Owre blate^ to seek, mvre proud to snool,* 
 
 Let him draw near ; 
 And ow^re* this grassy heap sing dool,* 
 
 And drap a tear. 
 
 Is there a Bard of rustic song. 
 
 Who, noteless, steals the crowds among 
 
 That weekly this area throng. 
 
 Oh 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 softer flame. 
 But thoughtless follies laid him low. 
 
 And stain'd his name. 
 
 Reader, attend — whether thy soul 
 Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole, 
 Or darkling grubs this earthy hole, 
 
 In low pursuit ; 
 Know, prudent, cautious, self-control, 
 
 Is wisdom's root. 
 
 ON A FRIEND. 
 
 An honest man here lies at rest. 
 As e'er God with his image blest ; 
 
 > Too- -2 Bashful— 3 To submit tamely, to sneak.—'* Over.— ^ To lament^ 
 to mourn 
 
BURNS S POEMS. 
 
 The friend of man, the friend of truth ; 
 The friend of age, and guide of youth ; 
 Few hearts like his, with virtue warm'd, 
 Few heads with knowledge so inform'd : 
 If there's another world, he lives in bliss; 
 If there is none, he m'ade the best of this. 
 
 FOR GAVIN HAMILTON, ESQ. 
 
 The poor man weeps — here Gavin sleeps, 
 Whom canting wretches blamed : 
 
 But with such as he, where'er he be, 
 May I be saved or d d ! 
 
 ON W. NICHOL. 
 
 Ye maggots, feed on Nichol's brain. 
 For few sic feasts you 've gotten ; 
 
 And fix your claws in Nichol's heart, 
 For deil a bit o 't 's rotten. 
 
 ON A WAG IN MAUCHLINE. 
 
 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. 
 
 Ye Mauchline bairns, as on ye pass 
 To school in bands thegither, 
 
 O tread you liglitly on his grass, 
 Perhaps he was your father I 
 
EPITAPHS. 343 
 
 ON A HENPECKED COUNTRY SQUIRE. 
 
 As father Adam first was fool'd, 
 (A case that 's still too common,) 
 
 Here lies a man a woman ruled, 
 The Devil ruled the woman. 
 
 ON A NOISY POLEMIC. 
 
 Below thir stanes lie Jamie's banes ; 
 
 O Death ! it 's my opinion, 
 Thou ne'er took such a bleth'rin' bitch, 
 
 Into thy dark dominion ! 
 
 ON A CELEBRATED RULING ELDER. 
 
 Heee souter Will in death does sleep ; 
 
 To hell, if he 's gane thither, 
 Satan, gie him thy gear to keep. 
 
 He '11 hand it weel thegither. 
 
 ON JOHN DOVE, INN-KEEPER, MAUCHLINE. 
 
 Here lies Johnie Pidgeon — 
 
 What was his religion, 
 
 Whae'er desires to ken, 
 
 To some other warl' 
 
 Maun follow the carl. 
 
 For here Johnie Pidgeon had nane. 
 
 Strong ale was ablution. 
 Small beer persecution, 
 A dram was memento mori; 
 But a full-flowing bowl 
 Was the saving his soul. 
 And port was celestial glory. 
 
344 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 ON WEE JOHNIE. 
 
 Hie jacet wee Johnie. 
 
 Whoe'er thou art, reader, know, 
 That death has murder'd Johnie ! 
 
 And here his hody lies fu' low — 
 For saul he ne'er had onie ! 
 
 ON J Y B y, WRITER IN DUMFRIES. 
 
 Here lies J y B y, honest man ! 
 
 Cheat him, Devil, if you can. 
 
 ON A PERSON NICKNAMED THE MARQUIS, 
 
 Who desired Burns to write one on him. 
 
 Here lies a mock Marquis, whose titles were shamm'd, 
 If ever he rises it will be to be d — d. 
 
 ON A SCHOOLMASTER IN CLEISH PARISH, 
 FIFESHIRE. 
 
 Hebe lie Willie M— hie's banes : 
 
 O Satan, when ye tak him, 
 Gie him the schulin'* of your weans ;'' 
 
 For clever Deils he '11 mak 'em ! 
 
 FOR MR. GABRIEL RICHARDSON, 
 
 Brewer, Dumfries ; (but who, much to the satisfaction of his friends, 
 has not yet needed one, 1819. 
 
 Here Brewer Gabriel's fire 's extinct, 
 
 And empty all his barrels : 
 He 's blest — if, as he brew'd, he drink 
 
 In upright honest morals. 
 
 Educating.— 2 Children. 
 
EPITAPHS. 345 
 
 ON WALTER S- 
 
 Sio a reptile was Wat, 
 Sic a miscreant slave, 
 
 That the worms e'en d — d him 
 When laid in his grave. 
 
 In his flesh there 's a famine, 
 A starved reptile cries ; 
 
 And his heart is rank poison. 
 Another replies. 
 
 ON A LAP-DOG NAMED ECHO. 
 
 In wood and wild, ye warbling throng, 
 
 Your heavy loss deplore ; 
 ITow 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. 
 
340 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 SONGS AND BALLADS. 
 
 BANNOCKBURN. 
 
 ROBERT BRUCe'S ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY. 
 
 *I am delighted," says Burns to Mr. Thomson, "with many little melodies vrhiclj 
 the learned musician despises as silly and insipid. I do not know whether the old 
 air " Hev tuttie tattie," may rank among this number; but well I know that, 
 with Frazer's hautboy, it has filled my eyes with tears. There is a tradition, 
 which I have met with in many places of Scotland, that it was Robert Bruce's 
 march at the battle of Bannockburn. This thought, in my solitary wanderings, 
 warmed me to a pitch of enthusiasm on the theme of liberty and independence, 
 which I threw into a kind ot Scottish ode, fitted to the air, that one might sup- 
 pose to be the gallant royal Scot's address to his heroic followers on that eventful 
 morning." 
 
 Tune— fley tuttie tattie 
 
 Soots, wlia hae wi' Wallace bled ; 
 Scots, wham Bruce has aften led ; 
 Welcome to your gory bed, 
 Or to victorie. 
 
 N'ow 's the day, and now 's the hour ; 
 See the front o' battle lower ; 
 See approach proud Edward's power — 
 Chains and slaverie ! 
 
 Wha will be a traitor knave ? 
 Wha can fill a coward's grave? 
 Wha sae base as be a slave ? 
 Let him turn and flee! 
 
 Wha for Scotland's king and law 
 Freedom's sword will strongly draw, 
 Free-man stand, or free-man fa' ? 
 Let him follow me I 
 
 By oppression's woes and pains I 
 By your sons in servile chains! 
 We will drain our dearest veins, 
 But they shall be free ! 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 347 
 
 Lay the proud usurpers low ! 
 Ty-rants fall in every foe ! 
 Liberty 's in every blow ! 
 Let us do, or die!^ 
 
 THE SAME. 
 
 As altered, at the suggestion of Mr. Thomson, to suit the air 'it 
 " Lewie Gordon." 
 
 Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled ; 
 Scots, wham Bruce has aften led ! 
 "Welcome to your gory bed. 
 Or to glorious victorie. 
 
 Kow 's the day, and now 's the hour ; 
 See the front o' battle lower ; 
 ^ See approach proud Edward's power — 
 Edward ! chains and slaverie ! 
 
 Wha will be a traitor knave? 
 Wha can fill a coward's grave ? 
 Wha sae base as be a slave ? 
 
 Traitor ! coward ! turn and flee ! 
 
 Wha for Scotland's king and law 
 Freedom's sword will strongly draw, 
 Eree-raan stand, or free-man fa' ? 
 Caledonian ! on wi' me ! 
 
 By oppression's woes and pains ! 
 By your sons in servile chains ! 
 We will drain our dearest veins. 
 
 But they shall be — shall be free ! 
 
 Lay the proud usurpers low ! 
 Tyrants fall in every foe ! 
 Liberty 's in every blow ! 
 
 Forward ! let us do, or die ! 
 
 • This verse is chiefly borrowed from Blind Harry's Wallace: 
 " A false usurper sinks in every foe, 
 ^ And Liberty returns with every blow." 
 
348 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 AULD LANG SYNE. 
 
 Burns gave this song to the public as a production of the " olden ti ne ;" but it wM 
 afterwards discovered to be his own. 
 
 •' Auld Lang Syne" owes all its attractions, if it owes not its origin, to the mnsa 
 of Burns. So exquisitely has the poet eked out the old with the new, that it would 
 puzzle a very profound antiquary to separate the ancient from the modern. 
 
 Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 
 
 And never brought to min' ! 
 Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 
 
 And days o' lang syne ? 
 
 For auld lang syne^ my dear^ 
 
 For auld lang syne^ 
 We HI tah a cup o' hindness yet^ 
 
 For auld lang syne. 
 
 We twa hae run about the braes, 
 
 And pu'd the go wans* fine ; 
 But we 've wandered raony a weary foot, 
 
 Sin' auld lang syne. 
 For auld lang syne, &c. 
 
 We twa hae paidrf* i' the burn,' 
 
 Frae mornin' sun till dine ; 
 But seas between us braid hae roar'd. 
 
 Sin' auld lang syne. 
 For auld lang syne, &c. 
 
 And here 's a hand, my trusty fier,^ 
 
 And gie's a baud o' thine; 
 And we '11 tak a right guid-willie waught,* 
 
 For auld lang syne. 
 For auld lang syne, &c. 
 
 And surely ye '11 be your pint-stowp, 
 
 As sure as I '11 be mine ; 
 And we '11 tak a cup o' kindness yet, 
 
 For auld lang syne. 
 For auld lang syne, &c. 
 
 » Wild daisies.— 2 To wade or walk in the water.—' Kivulet.— * Friend.— 
 » Liberal draught. • 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 34S 
 
 DAINTY DAVIE. 
 
 •Dainty Davie" is the title of an old song from whicli Burns has talcen 
 nothing but the name and the measure. 
 
 Kow rosy May comes in wi' flowers, 
 To deck her gay, green-spreading bowers; 
 And now comes in my happy hours, 
 To wander wi' my Davie. 
 
 Meet me on the warloch Tcnowe^ 
 Dainty Davy^ dainty Davie^ 
 
 There I ''II spend the day wi* you, 
 My ain dear dainty Davie. 
 
 The crystal waters round us fa', 
 The merry birds are lovers a'. 
 The scented breezes round us blaw, 
 A wandering wi' my Davie. 
 Meet me, &c, 
 
 "When purple morning starts the hare 
 To steal upon her early fare. 
 Then thro' the dews I will repair, 
 To meet my faithfu' Davie. 
 Meet me, &c. 
 
 When day, expiring in the west, 
 The curtain draws o' nature's rest, 
 I '11 flee to his arms I lo'e best. 
 And that 's my ain dear Davie. 
 
 Meet me on the warloch hnowe, 
 Bonnie Davy, daintie Davie, 
 
 There Fll spend the day wV yoiL, 
 My ain dear dainty Davie, 
 
 BEHOLD THE HOUR, THE BOAT AEKIVE. 
 
 •• September, 1793. I have this moment finished the song for Oran Gaoil, so yoii 
 have it glowing from the mint. If it suit you, well t— if not, 'tis also well." — BiK-m 
 \o TJiomson. 
 
 Tune— Oran Gaoil, 
 
 Behold the hour, the boat arrive; 
 
 Thou goest, tliou darling of my heart! 
 Sever'd from thee, can I survive? 
 
 But fate has will'd, and we must part 
 30 
 
350 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 I '11 often greet this surging swe.l, 
 Yon distant isle will often hail ; 
 
 " E'en here I took the last farewell ; 
 There latest mark'd her vanish'd sail." 
 
 Along the solitary shore, 
 
 "While flitting sea-fowl round me cry, 
 Across the rolling, dashing roar 
 
 I '11 westward turn my wistful eye : 
 Happy, thou Indian grove, I '11 say. 
 
 Where now my Nancy's path may be ; 
 While through thy sweets she loves to stray, 
 
 O tell me, does she muse on me ? 
 
 THOU HAST LEFT ME EVER, JAMIE. 
 
 • I inclose you the music of ' Fee him, Father,' with two verses, which I composed 
 lit the time in which Patie Allan's mither died, that was about the back o' mid- 
 night, and by the lee-side of a bowl of punch, which had overset every mcrtal in 
 company except the hautboys and the music." — Burns to Thomson. 
 
 TvNE—Fee Mm, Father, 
 
 Thou hast left me ever, Jamie, 
 
 Thou hast left me ever. 
 Thou hast left me ever, Jamie, 
 
 Thou hast left me ever. 
 Aften hast thou vow'd that death 
 
 Only should us sever, 
 Now thou 'st left thy lass for ay — 
 
 I maun see thee never, Jamie, 
 I '11 see thee never. 
 
 Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie, 
 
 Thou hast me forsaken, 
 Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie, 
 
 Thou hast me forsaken. 
 Thou canst love anither jo. 
 
 While my heart is breaking. 
 Soon my weary een I '11 close — 
 
 Never mair to waken, Jamie. 
 Never mair to waken. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 351 
 
 FAIR JENNY.^ 
 
 Tune— ^aw ye my Father ? 
 
 "Wheee are the joys I have met in the morning, 
 
 That danced to the lark's early song? 
 Where is the peace that awaited my wandering, 
 
 At evening the wild woods among ? 
 
 iN'o more a- winding the course of yon river, 
 
 And marking sweet flowerets so fair ; 
 Ko 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 hees humming round the gay roses, 
 
 Proclaim it the pride o' 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 hosom. 
 
 Is Jenny, fair Jenny alone. 
 
 Time cannot aid me, my griefs are immortal, 
 
 Nor hope dare a comfort bestow ; 
 Come then, enamor'd and fond of my anguish, 
 
 Enjoyment I '11 seek in my woe. 
 
 DELUDED SWAIISr, Em 
 
 In a letter to Mr. Thomson, inclosing this song, Burns quaintly calls it " an olJ 
 Bacchanal." It is, however, well known to be one of his own. 
 
 Tune— rAe Collier^s Dochtcr. 
 
 Deluded swain, the pleasure 
 
 The fickle Fair can give thee. 
 Is but a fairy treasure ; 
 
 Thy hopes will soon deceive thee. 
 
 1 Written for Mr. Thomson's Collection, to whom the Poet thus speaks 
 eoncerning it : "I have finished my song to * Saw ye my Father ?' and in 
 English, as you will see. There is a syllable too much for the expression of 
 the air, but the mere dividing of a dotted crotchet into a crotchet and a quaver 
 is no great matter. Of the poetry, I speak with confidence; but the music 
 is a business where I hint my ideas with the utmost diffidence.'' 
 
352 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 The billows on the ocean, 
 The breezes idly roaming, 
 
 The clouds' uncertain motion. 
 They are but types of woman, 
 
 Oh, 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. 
 
 TO ANNA. 
 
 Wiitten on the "Anna" of the song beginning—" Yestreen I had 
 a pint o' wine." 
 
 Ani^a, thy charms my bosom fire, 
 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 despair, 
 
 So much in sight of Heaven. 
 
 ANNA 
 
 Burns considered this to be the best love song he ever composed. T»» 
 Postscript, which former editors have suppressed, is here restored. 
 
 TuifZ—Banks of Banna. 
 
 Yesteeex I had a pint o' wine, 
 
 A place where body saw na ; 
 Yestreen lay on this breast o' mine 
 
 The raven locks of Anna : « 
 
 The hungry Jew, in wilderness, 
 
 Rejoicing o'er his manna. 
 Was naething to my honey bliss 
 
 Upon the lips of Anna. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 352 
 
 Ye monarchs, take the east and west, 
 
 Frae Indus to Savannah ; 
 Gie me within my straining grasp 
 
 The melting form of Anna. 
 Then I '11 despise imperial charms, 
 
 An empress or sultana ; 
 While dying raptures in her arms, 
 
 1 give and take wi' Anna. 
 
 Awa, thou flaunting god o' day ! 
 
 Awa, thou pale Diana ! 
 Ilk star gae hide thy twinkling ray, 
 
 "When I 'm to meet my Anna ! 
 Come in thy raven plumage, night ; 
 
 Sun, moon, and stars, withdraw a' ; 
 And bring an angel pen to write 
 
 My transports wi' my Anna. 
 
 The kirk and state may join, and tell 
 
 To do such things I mauna : 
 The kirk and state may gae to h-11, 
 
 And I'll gae to my Anna. 
 She is the sunshine o' my e'e, 
 
 To live but her^ I canna ; 
 Had I on earth but wishes three, 
 
 The first should be my Anna. 
 
 THE RIGS O' BARLEY. 
 
 One of onr Poet's earliest productions.— J". G. LocTiharVs Life of Burnt. 
 Tune— Corn rigs are honnie. 
 
 It was upon a Lammas night, 
 
 When corn rigs are bonnie, 
 Beneath the moon's unclouded light, 
 
 I held awa' to Annie : 
 The time flew by wi' tentless heed, 
 
 Till 'tween the late and early, 
 Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed. 
 
 To see me thro' the barley. 
 
 1 Without her. 
 
354 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 The sky was blue, the wind was still, 
 
 The moon was sliining clearly ; 
 I set her down wi' right good will 
 
 Araang the rigs o' barley. 
 I kent her heart was a' my ain ; 
 
 I loved her most sincerely ; 
 I kiss'd her owre and owre again 
 
 Amang the rigs o' barley. 
 
 I lock'd her in my fond embrace ; 
 
 Her heart was beating rarely ! 
 My blessings on that happy place 
 
 Amang the rigs o' barley. 
 But by the moon and stars sae bright, 
 
 That shone that hour sae clearly ! 
 She ay shall bless that happy night, 
 
 Amang the rigs o' barley. 
 
 I hae been blithe wi' comrades dear ; 
 
 I hae been merry drinking ; 
 I hae been joyfu' gathering gear; 
 
 I hae been happy thinking; 
 But a' the pleasures e'er I saw, 
 
 Though three times doubled fairly, 
 That happy night was worth them a' 
 
 Amang the rigs o' barley. 
 
 Corn rigs an* larley rigs^ 
 And corn rigs are honnie ; 
 
 I HI ne'^er forget that hap2>y night 
 Amang the rigs wi' Annie, 
 
 THE BLUE-EYED LASSIE. 
 
 The lady, in honor of whose blue eyes this fine song was written, was Miss Jeffrey 
 •f Ix>chraaben, now (1826) residing at New York, iu America— a wife and a mother 
 '^Allan Cunningham. 
 
 Tusz—TIie bla'hrie o '<. 
 
 I QAED* a waefu' gate'* yestreen, 
 
 A gate, I fear, I '11 dearly rue ; 
 I gat my death frae twa sweet een, 
 
 Twa lovely een o' bonnie blue. 
 
 > Went—' Way, manner, road. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 355 
 
 Twas not her golden ringlets bright j 
 
 Her lips like roses wat wi' dew — 
 Her heaving bosom, lily-white — 
 
 It was her een sae bonnie blue. 
 
 She talk'd, she smiled, my heart she wyled, 
 
 She charm'd my soul, I wist na how ; 
 And aye the stound,* the deadly wound, 
 
 Cam frae her een sae bonnie blue. 
 But spare to speak, and spare to speed ; 
 
 She '11 aiblins listen to my vow : 
 Should she refuse, I '11 lay my dead 
 
 To her twa een sae bonnie blue. 
 
 BLYTHE WAS SHE. 
 
 This song was written during a visit of the Poet at Ochtertyre with Sir Willfana 
 Murray. The lady, whom it celebrates, and who was there at the time, was Misi 
 Euphemia Murray, of Lentrose. She was called, by way of eminence, the Flower (A 
 Strathmore. The chorus is from an old song of the same measure. 
 
 TvNV,—Andro and Jus cutty gun. 
 
 Ely the., "hlytlie^ and merry teas she, 
 
 Ely the was she hut and hen;^ 
 Ely the hy the han'ks of Ern.^ 
 
 And llythe in Glenturit glen. 
 
 By Ochtertyre grows the aik,* 
 
 On Yarrow banks the birken shaw ;" 
 
 But Phemie was a bonnier lass 
 Than braes o' Yarrow ever saw. 
 Elythe^ &g. 
 
 Her looks were like a flower in May, 
 Her smile was like a simmer morn; 
 
 She tripped by the banks of Ern, 
 As hght 's a bird upon a thorn. 
 Elythe.^ &c. 
 
 Her bonnie face it was as meek 
 As onie lamb upon a lee ; 
 
 * Beguiled.— 2 A shooting pain.— 3 The country kitchen and parlor.— 
 * Oak.— fi A small wood. 
 
356 BURNS S POEMS. 
 
 The evening sun was ne'er sae sweet 
 As was the blink o' Phemie's e'e. 
 Blythe^ &c. 
 
 The Highland hills I Ve wander'd wide, 
 And o'er the Lowlands I hae been ; 
 
 But Phemie was the blythest lass 
 That ever trod the dewy green. 
 BlytTie^ <&e. 
 
 DECEMBER NIGHT. 
 
 This song -was first printed in Johnson's "Musical Museum." " The contrast of 
 the first and last verses," says an eminent critic and poet, " is very great, yet very 
 natural. The Poet imagines himself warmed with wine, and seated among his com- 
 panions, to whom he announces, as the glass goes round, the attractions of his mis- 
 tress, and his good fortune in her affections. His confidence goes no farther ;— the 
 uame of his love is not to be told ; and for this poetical tyranny there is no remedy." 
 
 O May, thy morn was 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 dare na name, 
 
 But I will ay remember. 
 
 And dear was she, &c. 
 
 And here 's to them, that like oursel, 
 
 Can push about the jorum ; 
 And here 's to them that wish us weel, 
 
 May a' that 's good watch o'er them ; 
 And here 's to them we dare na tell, 
 
 The dearest o' the quorum. 
 
 And here 's to them, &c. 
 
 PEGGY'S CHARMS. 
 
 "This Bong I composed on one of the most accomplished of women. Miss Peggy 
 Chalmers that was, now Mru. Lewis Hay, of Forbes iS: Co.'s Bank, Edinburgh."— 
 humans ReUquea. 
 
 TvjfE—Neil Gow^a Lament /or Ahtrcaimey. 
 
 Where braving angry winter's storms, 
 
 Tlie lofty Ochils rise. 
 Far in the shade my Peggy's charms 
 
 First blest my wondering eyes: 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 357 
 
 As one who by some savage stream 
 
 A lonely gem surveys, 
 AstonishM, doubly marks its beam, 
 
 With art's most polish'd blaze. 
 
 Blest be the wild, sequester'd shade, 
 
 And blest the day and hour. 
 Where Peggy's charms I first survey'd — 
 
 When first I felt their power ! 
 The tyrant Death, with grim control, 
 
 May seize my fleeting breath ; 
 But tearing Peggy from my soul 
 
 Must be a stronger death. 
 
 TAM GLEN. 
 
 Burns sf^toilttod th?s song to several of his friends as a lyric of the olden tim*^ 
 •nd heard 14 praised before he acknowledged it his own. The old " Tam Gflen ' 
 •however, has ossl8t?»d both in the conception and expression of the new. 
 
 Tone — The mucking d* Geordie's tyre. 
 
 My heart is a breaking, dear Tittie,' 
 
 Some counsel unto me come len' ;'* 
 To anger them a' is a pity, 
 
 But what will I da 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 mauna* marry Tam Glen ? 
 
 There 's Lowrie, the laird o' Drnmeller, 
 " Gude day to you, brute," he comes ben :• 
 
 He brags and he blaws o' his siller. 
 But when will he dance like Tam Glen ? 
 
 My minnie^ does constantly deave^ me. 
 And bids me beware o' young men : 
 
 They flatter, she says, to deceive me. 
 But wha can think sae o' Tam Glen ? 
 
 J A female confidante —2 Lend.— 3 Poverty.—* Fend ; to live comfortablf 
 ^« Must not.—' Into the parlor.—'^ Mother.— » To deafen. 
 
358 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 My daddie says, gin* I '11 forsake him, 
 He '11 gie me gude hunder* marks ten ; 
 
 But, if it 's ordain'd I maun' take him, 
 Oh wha will I get but Tam Glen? 
 
 Yestreen,* at the valentines' dealing, 
 My heart to my mou gied a sten f 
 
 For thrice I drew ane without failing. 
 And thrice it was written, " Tam Glen I" 
 
 The last Halloween I was waukin'^ 
 My droukit^ sark^-sleeve, as ye ken, 
 
 His likeness cam up the house staukin'. 
 And the very gray breeks o' Tam Glen ! 
 
 Some counsel, dear Tittie, don't tarry ; 
 
 I '11 gie you my bonnie black hen, 
 Gif ye will advise me to marry 
 
 The lad I lo'e dearly, Tam Glen. 
 
 YOUNG JOCKEY. 
 
 First published in the Reliqnes, from a copy communicated to the editor, 
 by E. Riddel, Esq., of Glenriddel. 
 
 Young Jockey was the blythest lad 
 
 In a' our town or here awa ; 
 Fu' blythe he whistled at the gaud," 
 
 Fu' lightly danced he in the ha' I 
 He roos'd" my een sae bonnie blue. 
 
 He roos'd my waist sae genty*^ sma' ; 
 And ay my heart came to my mou," 
 
 When ne'er a body heard or saw. 
 
 My Jockey toils upon the plain. 
 
 Thro' wind and sleet, thro' frost and snaw ; 
 
 And o'er the lee" I look fu' fain 
 
 When Jockey's ovvsen" hameward ca'.'" 
 
 * IC — ' An hundred.—* Must—* Yesternight—" To rise or rear like a 
 horw.— • Stiffening, or thickening.— ' Wet— 8 Shirt — » If.— lo Plough.— 
 »> Praised.- »2 Elegantly formed.— i' Mouth.— »* Grass fields.— 1 5 Oxen.— 
 »» Drive. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 359 
 
 And ay the night comes round again, 
 
 When in his arms he taks me a' ; 
 And ay he vows he '11 be ray ain 
 
 As lang 's he has a breath to draw. 
 
 BLYTHE HAE I BEEN ON YON HILL. 
 
 *Liggeram cosh" is a delightful air. I have become such an enthusiast about it, 
 Ihat I have made a song for it, which I think is not in my worst manner.— Xc«er to 
 Mr. TJiomson. 
 
 Tvyv^—Liggeram cosh, 
 
 Bltthe 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 langer sport and play, 
 
 Mirth or sang can please me ; 
 Leslie is sae fair and coy. 
 
 Care and anguish seize me. 
 
 Heavy, heavy is the task, 
 
 Hopeless love declaring : 
 Trembling, I do 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 dwelling. 
 
 JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO. 
 
 In the first volume of a collection, entitled " Poetry, Original and Selected," 
 published by Brash and Reid, of Glasgow, in 1801, this song is inserted, with four 
 additional stanzas, said to be by Robert Burns. Of these additional stanzas, 
 Dr. Currie says, '* Every reader of discernment will see .they are by an inferiof 
 hand." 
 
 John Anderson, my jo,^ John, 
 
 When we were first acquent, 
 Y'our locks were like the raven. 
 
 Your bonnie brow was brent ;^ 
 
 ' Sweetheart.— 2 Smooth. 
 
360 BURNS S POEMS. 
 
 But now your brow is bald, Jolin, 
 Your locks are like the snow ; 
 
 But blessings on your frosty pow, 
 John Anderson, my jo. 
 
 John Anderson, my jo, John, 
 
 We clamb the hill thegither. 
 And monie a cantie^ day, John, 
 
 We Ve had wi' ane anither. 
 Now we maun totter down, John, 
 
 But hand in hand we '11 go ; 
 And sleep thegither at the foot, 
 
 John Anderson, my jo. 
 
 OLD AGE. 
 
 • This Bong," says Allan Cunningham, •' has never been a favorite. Youth wishes 
 to enjoy the golden time upotx its hands, and age is far from fond of chanting of de- 
 clining strength, white pows, and general listlessness." 
 
 Tune— TA« death of the Linnet. 
 
 But lately seen in gladsome green 
 
 The woods rejoiced the day. 
 Thro' gentle showers the laughing flowers 
 
 In double pride were gay ; 
 But now our joys are fled. 
 
 On winter blasts awa ; 
 Yet maiden May, in rich array. 
 
 Again shall bring them a'. 
 
 But my white pow,' nae kindly thowe* 
 
 Shall melt the snaws of age ; 
 My trunk of eild,* but buss or bield," 
 
 Sinks in time's wintry rage. 
 Oh, age has weary days. 
 
 And nights o' sleepless pain : 
 Thou golden time o' youth fu' prime. 
 
 Why com'st thou not again ? 
 
 » Gray hairs.— ^ Cheerful — ' Head.— < Tha^r. — » Old agfi. — « Without 
 shelter. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 861 
 
 MAEY MORRISON. 
 
 "Mary Morrison," says Burns in a letter to Thomson, "is one of my juvenile 
 works. I do not think it very remarkable, either for its merits or demerits." All 
 his critics and commentators, however, agree in thinking it one of the best songa 
 ho ever wrote. 
 
 TvNE—Bide ye yet. 
 
 Mart, at thy window be, 
 
 It is the wish'd, the trysted^ hour ; 
 Those smiles and glances let me see, s 
 
 That make the miser^s treasure poor : 
 How blythely wad I bid the stoure,'' 
 
 A weary slave frae sun to sun. 
 Could I the rich reward secure. 
 
 The lovely Mary Morrison. 
 
 Yestreen, when to the trembling string, 
 The dance gaed round the lighted ha',' 
 
 To thee my fancy took its wing — 
 I sat, but neither heard nor saw : 
 
 Though this was fair and that was braw,* 
 And yon the toast of a' the town, 
 
 1 sigh'd, and said, amang them a', 
 
 ''Ye are na Mary Morrison." 
 
 O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace, 
 
 Wha for thy sake wad gladly die ? 
 Or canst thou break that heart of his, 
 
 Whase only fault 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 Morrison. 
 
 SWEETEST MAY. 
 
 Altered from Allan Ramsay's song : — 
 
 " There 's my thumb, I '11 ne'er beguile thee." 
 
 Tea Table Miscellany, vol. 1. p. 70L 
 
 Sweetest May, let love inspire thee ; 
 Take a heart which he desires thee ; 
 
 1 Appointed.— 2 Dust in motion.— 3 Hall.— ^ Fine.— ^ Give. 
 31 
 
362 BQRNS'S POEMS. 
 
 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 bonnie ; 
 Kot high-born, but noble-minded, 
 In love's silken band can bind it. 
 
 LOVELY NANCY. 
 
 Burns frequently went to the Bible for some of his finest sentimenta. 
 The two lines 
 
 " Turn away these eyes of love, 
 Lest I die with pleasure," 
 
 are almost the same as the following passage in the Song of Solomon, chap, 
 ▼i. ver. 5 : " Turn away thine eyes from me, for they have overcome me.", 
 
 TvffE—The Quaker^ 8 Wife. 
 
 TniXE am I, my faithful fair, 
 
 Thine, my lovely Nancy ; 
 Every pulse along my veins. 
 
 Every roving fancy. 
 
 To thy bosom lay my heart. 
 There to throb and languish : 
 
 Though despair had wrung its core, 
 That would heal its anguish. 
 
 Take away these rosy lips. 
 
 Rich with balmy treasure ; 
 Turn away these eyes of love 
 
 Lest I die with pleasure. 
 
 What is life when wanting love? 
 
 Night witliout a morning : 
 Love 's the cloudless summer's sun^ 
 
 Nature gay adorning. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS.. 3G3 
 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE. 
 
 Tune— Jtfyjo, Janet. 
 
 This song was written for Mr. Thomson's collection. "Tell me," says 
 Burns, in a letter to that gentleman, dated December, 1793, " how you like 
 my song to 'Jo, Janet.' " 
 
 SHE. 
 
 Husband, husband, cease your strife, 
 
 Nor longer idly rave, sir, — 
 Though I am your wedded wife, 
 
 Yet I am not your slave, sir. 
 
 One of two must still obey, 
 
 Nancy, Nancy ; 
 Is it man or woman, say, 
 
 My spouse, Nancy ? 
 
 If 'tis still the lordly word. 
 Service and obedience ; 
 
 I '11 desert my sovereign lord, 
 And so, good-by allegiance ! 
 
 Sad will I be, so bereft, 
 
 Nancy, Nancy; 
 Yet I '11 try to make a shift, 
 
 My spouse, Nancy. 
 
 My poor heart then break it must. 
 My last hour I 'm near it : 
 
 "When you lay me in the dust, 
 Think, think how you will bear it. 
 
 HE. 
 
 I will hope and trust in Heaven, 
 
 Nancy, Nancy ; 
 Strength to bear it will be given. 
 
 My spouse, Nancy. 
 
364 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 Well, sir, from the silent dead, 
 Still I '11 try to daunt you ; 
 
 Ever round your midnight bed, 
 Horrid sprites shall haunt you. 
 
 I '11 wed another, like my dear 
 
 Nancy, Nancy; 
 Then all hell will fly for fear, 
 
 My spouse, Nancy. 
 
 POORTITH CAULD. 
 
 This excelleut song has never become popular, owibg, perhaps, to the want m 
 ttnlty between the music and the verses. The air is lively, the words plaintive. 
 
 TUKE— I had a horte. 
 
 Oh poortith^ cauld and restless love. 
 Ye wreck my peace between ye ; 
 
 Yet poortith a' I could forgive, 
 An* 'twere na for my Jeanie. 
 
 why should Fate sic pleasure have^ 
 Life\ dearest 'bands untwining ? 
 
 Or why sae sweet a flower as love^ 
 Depend on Fortune's shining f 
 
 This warld's wealth when I think on, 
 
 It 's pride, and a' the lave' o 't. 
 Fie, fie on silly coward man. 
 
 That ho should be the slave o 't. 
 ichy should Fate, &c. 
 
 Her een, sae bonnie blue, betray 
 
 IIow she repays my passion ; 
 But prudence is her owre-word aye, 
 
 Slie talks of rank and fashion. 
 why should Fate, &c. 
 
 » Poverty.— a Rest 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 365 
 
 O wlia can prudence think upon, 
 
 And sic a lassie by him ? 
 O "wha can prudence think upon, 
 
 And sae in love as I am ? 
 why should Fate^ &c. 
 
 How blest the humble cotter's fate ! 
 
 He woos his simple dearie ; 
 The silly bogles,* wealth and state, 
 
 Can never make them eerie.'* 
 why should Fate^ &c. 
 
 THE BANKS OF DOON. 
 
 On the '* Banks of Doon," and near to each other, are the house in whieb 
 tlie Poet was born, and the ruins of " Alloway's auld haunted Kirk." 
 
 Tune — The Caledonian HunVs Delight. 
 
 Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon, 
 
 How can ye bloom so fresh and fair. 
 How can ye chant, ye little birds. 
 
 And I sae weary, fu' o' care ! 
 Thou 'It break my heart, thou warbling bird, 
 
 That wantons thro' the flowering thorn ; 
 Thou minds me o' departed joys. 
 
 Departed — never to return. 
 
 Oft hae I roved by bonnie Doon, 
 
 To see the rose and woodbine twine ; 
 And ilka bird sang o' its love. 
 
 And fondly sae did I o' mine. 
 Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, 
 
 Fu' sweet upon Its thorny tree ; 
 And my fause lover stole my rose. 
 
 But, ah ! he left the thorn wi' me. 
 
 1 Hobgoblins.— 2 Afraid. 
 
366 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 BANKS 0' BONNIE DOON 
 
 The reader will perceive that the measure of this copy of the *' Banks an' Brses o* 
 Bonnie Doon" differs considerably from the foregoing. The Poet was obliged tfl 
 adapt his words to a particular air, and in so doing, he lost much of the simplicitj 
 and beauty which the original version of the song possesses. 
 
 Ye flowery banks o' bonnie Doon, v 
 
 How can ye blume* so fair ; 
 How can ye chant, ye little birds, 
 
 And I sae fu' o' care ? 
 
 Thou 'It break my heart, thou bonnie bird, 
 
 That sings upon the bough ; 
 Thou minds me o' the happy days '' 
 
 When my fause" luve' was true. 
 
 Thou 'It break my heart, thou bonnie bird, 
 
 That sings beside thy mate ; 
 For sae I sat, and sae I sang. 
 
 An' wist na o' my fate. 
 
 Aft hae I roved by bonnie Doon, 
 
 To see the woodbine twine ; 
 An' ilka* bird sang o' its luve, 
 
 An' 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, 
 
 And left the thorn wi' me. 
 
 DUNCAN GRAY. 
 
 Tbtt Rong has nothing in common with the old licentious ballad of the same name, 
 but the first line and part of the third. The rest is original. 
 
 DiTNOAN Gray came here to woo, 
 
 Ha, ha, the wooing o 't. 
 On blythe Yule night when we were fou,^ 
 
 Ila, ha, the wooing o 't : 
 
 » Bloom.—' False.—' Lovo.- < Every.—* Did pull.— « Did steal.— "^ Drunk, 
 v«r had been drinking. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 367 
 
 Maggie coost^ her head fu' heigh,' 
 
 Look'd asklent^ and unco skeigh,* 
 
 Gart° poor Duncan stand abeigh f 
 
 Ha, ha, the wooing o 't. 
 
 Duncan fleech'd,^ and Duncan pray'd ; 
 
 Ha, ha, the wooing o 't, 
 Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig,® 
 
 Ha, ha, the wooing o 't. 
 Duncan sigh'd baith out and in, 
 Grat his een baith bleer't and blinY 
 Spak o' louping owre a linn ;^" 
 
 Ha, ha, the wooing o 't. 
 
 Time and chance are but a tide, 
 
 Ha, ha, the wooing o 't. 
 Slighted love is sair to bide ! 
 
 Ha, ha, the wooing o' t. 
 "Shall I, like a fool," quoth he, 
 " For a haughty hizzie die ? 
 She may gae to — France for me!" 
 
 Ha, ha, the wooing o 't. 
 
 How it comes — ^let doctors tell. 
 
 Ha, ha, the wooing o 't, 
 Meg grew sick — as he grew well, 
 
 Ha, ha, the wooing o 't. 
 Something in her bosom wrings, 
 • For relief a sigh she brings ; 
 And oh, her een, they spak sic things ! 
 
 Ha, ha, the wooing o 't. 
 
 Duncan was a lad o' grace, 
 
 Ha, ha, the wooing o 't, 
 Maggie's was a piteous case. 
 
 Ha, ha, the wooing o 't. 
 Duncan could na be her death. 
 Swelling pity smoor'd" his wratli, 
 N'ow they 're crouse^^ and cantie" baith, 
 
 Ha, ha, the wooing o 't. 
 
 1 Cast, or carried.— 2 Fall high.— 3 Asquint.—* Very proud.— ^ Made.— 
 • At a shy distance. — 7 Entreated. — 3 ± well-known rock in the frith of 
 Clyde. — 8 Wept till his eyes were sore and dim. — ^° Talked of jumping over 
 a precipice, or waterfall. — ^i Smothered. — 12 Cheerful. — 13 Gentle. 
 
3 08 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 THE COUNTRY LASSIE. 
 
 "I wish Burns had written more of his songs in this lively and dramatic way. 
 The enthusiastic afifection of the maiden, and the suspicious care and antique wis- 
 dom of the ' dame of wrinkled eild,' animate and lengthen the song without making 
 it tedious. • Robie' has indeed a faithful and eloquent mistress, who vindicates true 
 love and poverty against all the insinuations of one whose speech is spiced with very 
 pithy and biting proverbs."— J.Han Cunningham. 
 
 Tune — John, come hiss me now. 
 
 In" simmer when the hay was mawn, 
 
 And corn waved green in ilka field, 
 While clover blooms white o'er the lea,* 
 
 And roses blaw in ilka bield ;* 
 Blythe Bessy in the milking shiel,^ 
 
 Says, " I '11 be wed, come o 't what will ;" 
 Out spak a dame in wrinkled eild,* 
 
 " 0' guid advisement comes nae ill. 
 
 " It 's ye hae wooers monie ane, 
 
 And, lassie, ye 're but young, ye ken ; 
 Then wait a wee,* and cannie wale^ 
 
 A routhie butt, a routhie ben 'J 
 There 's Johnie o' the Buskie-glen, 
 
 Fu' is his barn, fii' is his byre ; 
 Tak this frae me, my bonnie hen, 
 
 It 's plenty beets® the lover's fire." 
 
 " For Johnie o' the Buskie-glen, 
 
 I dinna care a single flie ; 
 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 ee, 
 
 And weel I wat he lo'es me dear : 
 Ae blink o' him I wad na gie 
 
 For Buskie-glen and a' his gear."^* 
 
 " thoughtless lassie, life 's a faught ;" 
 The canniest gate," the strife is sair ;" 
 
 But ay lu'-han't is fechtin' best," 
 A hungry care 's an unco" care ; 
 
 ' The green field. — ' Every sheltered spot — ' Shed. — ^ old age. — ^ Little. 
 — « Choose. — '' Plentiful or well-stocked house. — ^ Adds fuel to. — » Crops.— 
 ^0 Wealth.— 1» Fight.— ^2 Gentlest manner.— ^ 3 Sore.— i* Tis ahvnys best to 
 fiaht full-handed.—^* Strange, or very great. 
 
I'll oi'i lUc' vU'v.ii .ii;<i .>iii;- auM ypixi. 
 "WluJo lai^ (Icyn'OLl^ the sinimei' suji. 
 Blp.vi wV conumt. and milk .indim'al 
 <.) leezG me on my .•:pimjJLi:ig' wbet-i! 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 369 
 
 But some will spend, and some will spare, 
 An' wilfu' folk maun hae their will ; 
 
 Syne^ as ye brew, my maiden fair, 
 Keep mind that ye maun drink the yill."* 
 
 " Oh, gear will buy me rigs o' land. 
 
 And gear will buy me sheep and kye ; 
 But the tender heart o' leesome^ love, 
 
 The gowd and siller canna buy : 
 We may be poor — Robie and I, 
 
 Light is the burden love lays on ; 
 Content and love brings peace and joy, 
 
 What mair hae queens upon a throne?" 
 
 BESSY AND HER SPINNING-WHEEL. 
 
 Written for Johnson's "Musical Museum." The old song of the " Lass and her 
 Spinning- Wheel," though animated by love, must have suggested to Burns the idea 
 of this eulogy to household thrift. It is a pity that there is now so little to do— in 
 Scotland at least— for "spinning-wheels." 
 
 Tone— Bottom of the Punch Bowl. 
 
 O LEKZE me** on my spinning-wheel, 
 
 leeze me on my rock and reel ; 
 Frae tap to tae that deeds me bien,^ 
 And haps me fieP and warm at e'en ! 
 
 1 '11 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 fishes' caller rest ;^^ 
 The sun blinks kindly in the biel,^^ 
 Where blythe I turn my spinning-wheel. 
 
 •* Since. — ^ Ale. — 3 Pleasant. — 4 j^ phrase of attachment. — ^ Clothes me 
 plentifully.— 8 Covers me soft.—*'' Low.— ^ Every.— ^ Rivulets.— lo Thatched^ 
 —11 Birch-u-ee.- 12 Cool.— i a Shade. 
 
370 BURNS'S POEMS, 
 
 On lofty aiks* the cushats'* wail, 
 And echo cons the doolfu' tale ; 
 The lintwhites^ in the hazel braes/ 
 Delighted, rival ither's lays : 
 The craik* amang the claver^ hay, 
 The paitrick whirrin' o'er the leyj 
 The swallow jinkin' round my shiel,* 
 Amuse me at my spinning-wheel. 
 
 Wi' sma' to sell, and less to buy, 
 Aboon® distress, below envy. 
 Oh wha would leave this humble state 
 For a' the pride of a' the great? 
 Amid their flaring, idle toys. 
 Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys. 
 Can they the peace and pleasure feel 
 Of Bessy at her spinning-wheel ? 
 
 BONNIE JEAN. 
 
 The heroine of this ballad was Miss M. of Dumfries. She is not painted hi the rank 
 Which slie held in life, but in the dress and character of a cottager. 
 
 There was a lass, and she was fair, 
 
 At kirk and market to be seen ; 
 When a' the fairest maids were met. 
 
 The fairest maid was bonnie Jean. 
 
 And 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 lintwhite's nest ; 
 
 And frost will blight the fairest flowers, 
 And love will break the soundest rest. 
 
 Young Bobio was the brawest lad. 
 The flower and pride of a' the glen; 
 
 And he had owsen, sheep, and kye. 
 And wanton naiges^" nine or ten. 
 
 » Oak8.— 5 Doves.— 3 Linnets.— < The slope of a, hill.—* The lanarall.— 
 Clover.—' Pasture ground.— ^ Shed.— » Above.— ^o Horses. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. / 37l 
 
 He gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryst,* 
 
 He danced wi' Jeanie on the down : 
 And lang ere witless Jeanie wist, 
 
 Her heart was tint,'* her peace was stown. 
 
 As in the bosom of the stream 
 
 The moonbeam dwells at dewy e'en, 
 So, trembling, pure, was tender love, 
 
 Within the breast o' bonnie Jean. 
 
 And now she works her mammie's wark, 
 
 And ay she sighs wi' care and pain ; 
 Yet wist na what her ail might be. 
 
 Or what wad mak her weel again. 
 
 But did na Jeanie's heart loup^ light, 
 
 And did na joy blink in her ee. 
 As Robie tauld a tale o' love, 
 
 Ae e'enin' on the lily lea ? 
 
 The sun was sinking in the west. 
 
 The birds sang sweet in ilka grove ; 
 His cheek to hers he fondly prest. 
 
 And whisper'd thus his tale of love. 
 
 " O Jeanie fair, I lo'e thee dear ; 
 
 Oh canst thou think to fancy me ? 
 Or wilt thou leave thy mammie's cot. 
 
 And learn to tent the farm wi' me ? 
 
 " At barn or byre thou shalt na drudge, 
 
 Or naething else to trouble thee ; 
 But stray amang the heather-bells, 
 
 And tent the waving corn wi' me." 
 
 Kow what could artless Jeanie do ? 
 
 She had nae will to say him na : 
 At length she blush'd a sweet consent, 
 
 And love was ay between them twa. 
 
 1 Fair.— 2 Lost.— 3 Leap. 
 
372 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 THE LASS THAT MADE THE BED TO ME. 
 
 This ballad is founded on an amour of Charles the Second, when skulking in tht 
 north, about Aberdeen, in the time of the usurpation. The lass that made the bed 
 to him was a daughter of the house of Port Letham, where he was entertained 
 The old verses are greatly inferior to this improved version of the story. 
 
 "When Januar' wind was blawing cauld, 
 
 As to the north I took my way, *^ 
 
 The mirksome^ night did me enfauld,* 
 I knew nae where to lodge till day. 
 
 By my good luck a maid I met, 
 
 Just in the middle o' my care ; 
 And kindly she did me invite 
 
 To walk into a chamber fair. 
 
 I bow'd fu' low unto this maid. 
 
 And thank'd her for her courtesie ; 
 I bow'd fu"* low unto this maid. 
 
 And bade her mak a bed to me. 
 
 She made tlie bed baith large and wide, 
 Wi' twa white hands she spread it down ; 
 
 She put the cup to her rosy lips. 
 And drank, " Young man, now sleep ye soun', " 
 
 She snatch'd the candle in her hand, 
 And frae my chamber went wi' speed ; 
 
 But I call'd her quickly back again 
 To lay some mair^ below my head. 
 
 A cod* she laid below my head, 
 
 And served me wi' due respect ; 
 And to salute her wi' a kiss, 
 
 I put my arms about her neck. 
 
 " Hand aif your hands, young man," she says, 
 
 *'And dinna sae uncivil be: 
 If ye hae onie love for me, 
 
 Oh wrang nae my virginitiel" 
 
 Her hair was like the links o' gowd, 
 
 Her teeth were like the ivorie ; 
 Her cheeks like lilies dipt in wine. 
 
 The lass that made tlie bed to me. 
 
 » Darksome.— 2 Enfold.—' More.—'* A sort of pillow. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 373 
 
 Her bosom was the driven snaw, 
 
 Twa drifted heaps sae fair to see; 
 Her limbs the polish'd marble stane, 
 
 The lass that made the bed to me. 
 
 I kiss'd her owre and owre again, 
 
 And aye she wist na what to say ; 
 I laid her between me and the wa', 
 
 The lassie thought nae lang till day. 
 
 Upon the morrow when we rose, 
 
 I thank'd her for her courtesie ; 
 But aye she blush'd, and aye she sigh'd, 
 
 And said, " Alas ! ye Ve ruin'd me." 
 
 I clasp'd-her waist, and kiss'd.her syne,* 
 "While the tear stood twinklin' in her ee ; 
 
 I said, "My lassie, dinna cry, 
 
 For ye aye shall mak the bed to me." 
 
 She took her mither's Holland sheets. 
 
 And made them a' in sarks^ to me : 
 Blythe and merry may she be. 
 
 The lass that made the bed to me. 
 
 The bonnie lass made the bed to me. 
 
 The braw lass made the bed to me : 
 I '11 ne'er forget till the day I die, 
 
 The lass that made the bed to me ! 
 
 TO MR. CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 This gentleman was an intimate friend and correspondent of the Poet's. One of 
 iJie last letters he wrote, dated from Brow, Sea-bathing Quarters, July 7, 1796, four* 
 U«n days before his death, was addressed to Mr, A. Cunningham. 
 
 Tune— TAc Hopeless lover. 
 
 Now spring has clad the groves in green, 
 
 And strew'd the lea wi' flowers : 
 The furrow'd, waving corn is seeu 
 
 Kejoice in fostering showers : 
 
 1 Then.— 2 Shirts. 
 32 
 
3*74 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 While ilka thing in nature join 
 
 Their sorrow to forego, 
 Oh why thus all alone are mine 
 
 The weary steps of woe ! 
 
 The trout within yon wimpling- burn 
 
 Glides swift, a silver dart. 
 And safe beneath the shady thorn 
 
 Defies the angler's art : 
 My life was ance that careless stream, 
 
 That wanton trout was I ; 
 But love, wi' unrelenting beam, 
 
 Has scorch'd my fountain dry. 
 
 The little floweret's peaceful lot, 
 
 In yonder cliff that grows, 
 (Which, save the linnet's flight, I«wot 
 
 Nae 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 waken'd lav'rock^ warbling springs, 
 
 And climbs the early sky. 
 Winnowing blythe her dewy wings 
 
 In morning's rosy eye ; 
 As little reckt' I sorrow's power. 
 
 Until the flowery snare 
 0' witching love, in luckless hour. 
 
 Made me the thrall o' care. 
 
 Oh had my fate been Greenland snows. 
 
 Or Afric's burning zone, 
 "Wi' man and nature leagued my foes, 
 
 So Peggy ne'er I 'd known ! 
 The wretch whase doom is, "Hope nae mairl" 
 
 "What tongue his woes can tell ? 
 Within whase bosom, save despair, 
 
 Nae kinder spirits dwell. 
 
 1 Meandering.— 2 Lark.—' Heeded. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 375 
 
 CA' THE YOWES TO THE KNOWES. 
 
 The chorus of this song is old, "The music," says Burns, in his Remarks :r 
 Bcottish Songs and Ballads (Reliques), "is in the true Scotch taste." 
 
 GoD tlie yowes^ to the Tcnowes^ 
 Co' them ichere the heather grows^ 
 (7a' them where the durnie rows^ 
 My lonnie dearie, 
 
 Haek the mavis'^ evening sang 
 Sounding Olouden's'' woods amang ; 
 Then a faulding® let us gang,° 
 My bonnie dearie. 
 
 Ca^ the yowes^ &c. 
 
 We '11 gae down by Olouden side, 
 
 Thro' the hazels spreading wide, 
 
 O'er the waves that sweetly glide 
 
 To the moon sae clearly. 
 
 Ca'' the yowes^ &c. 
 
 Yonder Clouden's silent towers, 
 "Where at moonshine, midnight hours, 
 O'er the dewy bending flowers. 
 Fairies dance sae cheery. 
 Ca'' the yowes^ &c, 
 
 Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear ; 
 Thou 'rt to love and heaven sae dear, 
 Nocht^ of ill may come thee near. 
 My bonnie dearie. 
 
 Ca^ the yowes^ &c. 
 
 Fair and lovely as thou art. 
 Thou hast stown my very heart ; 
 I can die — but canna part. 
 My bonnie dearie. 
 
 Co' the yowes^ &c. 
 
 "While waters wimple to the sea ; 
 While day blinks in the lift® sae hie ; 
 Till clay-cauld death shall blin' my ee, 
 Ye shall be my dearie. 
 Ca'' the yowes^ &c. 
 
 Ewes.— 2 Small hillocks.— 3 Thrush.-'* The river Clouden, a tributary 
 atream to the NUh.— ^ Folding.— e Go.— ^ Naught— ^ Sky. 
 
376 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 BONNIE MAKY. 
 
 In the notes to " Johnson's Museum," Burns claims all this song as his composi 
 tion, except the first four lines. It is written to the old melody, " The Silver Tas 
 8ie." The air is Oswald's. 
 
 Go fetch to me a pint o^ wine, 
 
 And fill it in a silver tassie ;* 
 That I may drink before I go, 
 
 A service to my bonnie lassie. 
 The boat rocks at the pier of Leith ; 
 
 Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the ferry; 
 The ship rides by the Berwick-law — 
 
 And I maun leave my bonnie Mary. 
 
 The trumpets sound, the banners fly, 
 
 The glittering spears are ranked ready; 
 The shouts o' war are heard afar. 
 
 The battle closes thick and bloody. 
 But it 's not the roar o' sea or shore 
 
 Wad make me langer wish to tarry ; 
 Nor shout o' war that 's heard afar, 
 
 It 's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary. 
 
 WILT THOU BE MY DEAEIE? 
 
 '* I like the music of the ' Sutor's Dochter' ; your verses to it art 
 pretty." — Thomson to Burns. 
 Tune— rAc Sutor^s Dodder. 
 
 Wilt thou be my dearie? 
 
 When sorrow rings thy gentle heart, 
 Wilt thou let me cheer thee? 
 
 By the treasure of my soul, 
 And 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 'It refuse me : 
 
 If it winna, canna be, 
 
 » Cup. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 377 
 
 Thou for thine may choose me — 
 
 Let me, lassie, quickly die, 
 Trusting that thou lo'es me. 
 
 Lassie, let me quickly die. 
 
 Trusting that thou lo'es me. 
 
 WHISTLE OWllE THE LAYE 'T. 
 
 First published in the Reliques, from a copy communicated to the editor 
 by Mrs. Burns. 
 
 Tune— TFTien more is meant than meets the ear. 
 
 FiEST when Maggie was my care, 
 Heaven, I thought, was in her air : 
 ^ow we 're married — spier nae mair* — 
 
 "Whistle owre the lave o 't.* 
 Meg was meek, and Meg was mild, 
 Bonnie Meg was nature's child — 
 Wiser men than me 's beguiled — 
 
 Whistle owre the lave o 't. 
 
 How we live, my Meg and me, 
 How we love and how we 'gree, 
 I care na by how few may see — 
 
 Whistle owre 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 owre the lave o 't. 
 
 WHA IS THAT AT MY BOWER DOOR? 
 
 The idea of this song is taken from the '• Auld Man's best Argument" 
 of Allan Ramsay, beginning— 
 
 " Oh wha 's that at my chamber door? 
 Fair widow, are ye waukiu' ?" 
 
 WnA is that at my bower door ? 
 
 Oh wha is it but Eindlay 1 
 Then gae your gate,^ ye 'se nae be here ; 
 
 Indeed maun I, quo' Findlay. 
 
 1 Ask no more. — "^ Over the rest of it. — 3 Way. 
 
378 BURNS S POEMS. 
 
 "Wliat make ye sae like a thief? 
 
 Oh come and gee, quo' Findlay : 
 Before the morn ye '11 work miscliief ; 
 
 Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 
 
 If I rise and let you in — 
 
 Let me in, quo' Findlay : 
 Ye '11 keep me waukin'^ wi' your din f 
 
 Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 
 In my bower if ye should stay — 
 
 Let me stay, quo' Findlay : 
 I fear ye '11 bide till break o' day ; 
 
 Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 
 
 Here this night if ye remain — 
 I'll remain, quo' Findlay: 
 
 I dread ye '11 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. 
 
 HONEST POVERTY. 
 
 ' A great critic (Dr. Aiken) on song says, that love and wine are the exclusivt 
 themes for song writing. The following is on neither subject, and consequently is 
 no song ; but will be allowed to be, I think, two or three pretty good prose thoughts 
 inverted into rhyme." In this manner Burns speaks of this witty, clever, mascu* 
 line song. 
 
 Tune— 2^ar a' tJtat and a' that. 
 
 Is there, for honest poverty, 
 
 "VVha hangs his head, and a' that? 
 Xl^e coward-slave, we pass him by, 
 "We dare be poor for a' that. 
 For a' that, and a' that. 
 
 Our toils obscure, and a' that. 
 The rank is but the guinea stamp, 
 The man's the gowd^ for a' that. 
 
 What tho' on hamely fare we dine, 
 
 "Wear hodden' gray, and a' that; 
 Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, 
 
 A man 's a man for a' that. 
 
 1 Awake.—'' Noise.—' EoacL— < Gold.- ^ Humble. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 379 
 
 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. 
 
 You see yon birkie^ ca'd a lord, 
 
 "Wha struts, and stares, and a' that, 
 Tho' hundreds worship at his word, 
 He 's but a coof ^ for a' that ; 
 For a' that, and a' that. 
 
 His riband, star, and a' that ; 
 The man of independent mind. 
 He looks and laughs at a' that. 
 
 A prince can mak a belted knight, 
 
 A marquis, duke, and a' that ; 
 But an honest man 's aboon^ his might, 
 Guid 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 ranks than a' that. . 
 
 Then let us pray that come it may, 
 
 As come it will for a' that. 
 That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, 
 May bear the gree,® and a' that. 
 For a' that, and a' that. 
 
 It 's coming yet, for a' that, 
 When man to man, the warld o'er. 
 Shall brothers be for a' that. 
 
 CAPTAIN GKOSE. 
 
 The following verses were written in an envelope, inclosing a letter to 
 Captain Grose, to be left with Mr. Cardonnel, antiquarian. 
 
 Tune— (Sir John Malcolm. 
 
 Ken ye aught o' Captain Grose ? 
 
 Igo, & ago, 
 If he 's amang his friends or foes ? 
 
 Iram, coram, dago. • 
 
 1 Fine fellow —2 Blockhead —3 Above.—* He must not try, or attempt 
 ihat— 5 The laurel, the vVtorj. 
 
380 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 Is he south, or is he north ? 
 
 Igo, &ago, 
 Or drowned in the river Forth ? 
 
 Iram, coram, dago. 
 
 Is he slain by Highland bodies ? 
 
 Igo, & ago, 
 And eaten like a wether-haggis? 
 
 Iram, coram, dago. 
 
 Is he to Abraham's bosom gane ? 
 
 Igo, & ago. 
 Or haudin' Sarah by the wame ? 
 
 Iram, coram, dago. 
 
 Where'er he be, the Lord be near hiin, 
 
 Igo, & ago. 
 As for the Deil, he daur na steer^ him. 
 
 Iram, coram, dago. 
 
 But please transmit tli' inclosed letter, 
 
 Igo, & ago. 
 Which will oblige your humble debtor. 
 
 Iram, coram, dago. 
 
 So may ye hae auld stanes in store, 
 
 Igo, & ago, 
 The very stanes that Adam bore. 
 
 Iram, coram, dago. 
 
 So may ye get in glad possession, 
 
 Igo, & ago. 
 The coins o' Satan's coronation I 
 
 Iram, coram, dago. 
 
 ^ D«re not molest 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 381 
 
 MY AIN KIND DEARIE 0. 
 
 This is the first song which Burns wrote for Mr. Thomson's collection. Dr. Cnrrie 
 inpposes it to have been suggested to the Poet's fancy by t\^e old song of the 
 "rioughman," beginning — 
 
 " My ploughman he comes hame at e'en, 
 He 's aften weet an' weary, 
 Cast aflf the weet, put on the dry. 
 An' gae to bed, my dearie." 
 
 Tune— T/ifi Lea-rig. 
 
 When o'er the hill the eastern star 
 
 Tells bughtin'-time^ is near, my jo; 
 And owsen^ frae the furrow'd field, 
 
 Eeturn sae dowjP and weary O ; 
 Down by the burn, where scented birks 
 
 "Wi' dew are hanging clear, my jo, 
 I '11 meet thee on the lea-rig,* 
 
 My ain kind dearie O. 
 
 In mirkest" glen, at midnight hour, 
 
 I 'd rove, and ne'er be 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 wearie 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, my jo ; 
 At noon the fisher seeks the glen. 
 
 Along the burn to steer, my jo ; 
 Gie me the hour o' gloamin'® gray. 
 
 It maks my heart sae cheery O, 
 To meet thee on the lea-rig, 
 
 My ain kind dearie O. 
 
 1 The time of collecting the sheep in the pens to be milked.— 2 Oxen.^ 
 » Pithless. — 4 Grassy ridge.— s Darkest. — « Frighted. — ' Went— ^ Twi- 
 light 
 
382 BURXS'S POEMS. 
 
 PEGGY'S CHARMS. 
 
 This is one of the many songs which Burns wrote for the Museum, and an ex- 
 cellent song it is. The second verse is admirable, both in sentiment and ex 
 pression. 
 
 My Peggy's face, my Peggy's form, 
 
 The frost of hermit age might warm ; 
 
 My Peggy's worth, my Peggy's mind, v. 
 
 Might charm the first of human kind. 
 
 I love my Peggy's angel air. 
 
 Her face so truly heavenly fair. 
 
 Her native grace so void of art ; 
 
 But I adore my Peggy's heart. 
 
 The lily's hue, the rose's dye, 
 The kindling lustre of an eye ; 
 Who but owns their magic sway ? 
 "Who but knows they all decay ? 
 The tender thrill, the pitying tear. 
 The generous purpose, nobly dear. 
 The gentle look, that rage disarms — 
 These are all immortal charms. 
 
 LORD GREGORY. 
 
 This song appears to have been suggested to the Poet's fancy, by the " Lass of 
 Lochroyan," a very old ballad, a fragment of which will be found in Herd's coUec- 
 lion, 1774. A copy of it still more enlarged has since been published in the " Min- 
 strelsy of the Scottish Border." 
 
 On mirk, mirk 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 ; 
 At least some pity on me shaw,* 
 
 If love it may na be. 
 
 Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the grove, 
 
 By bonnie Irwine side. 
 When first I own'd that virgin-love 
 
 I lang, lang had denied ? 
 1 Show. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 383 
 
 How aften didst thou pledge and vow, 
 
 Thou wad for aye bj8 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, 
 
 Oh ! wilt thou give me rest ? 
 
 Ye mustering thunders from above. 
 
 Your willing victim see ! 
 But spare and pardon my false love 
 
 His wrangs to heaven and me. 
 
 FRAGMENT. 
 
 These are eight beautiful lines. They are too few to sing, too good to cast away, 
 and too peculiar and happy ever to be eked out by a hand inferior to the hand of 
 their Author. They will long continue a fragment.— Cwnnin.^^am's ScottisJi Songs. 
 
 Her flowing locks, the raven's wing, 
 Adown her neck and bosom hing ; 
 How sweet unto that breast to cling, 
 And round that neck entwine her ! 
 
 Her lips are roses wat wi' dew, 
 Oh what a feast her bonnie mou! 
 Her cheeks a mair celestial hue, 
 A crimson still diviner ! 
 
 THE BLISSFUL DAY. 
 
 " I composed this song," says Burns, "out of compliment to one of the happiest 
 and worthiest married couples in the world— Robert Riddel, Esq., of Gleuriddel, and 
 his lady. At their fireside I have enjoyed more pleasant evenings than all the houses 
 of fashionable people in this country put together ; and to their kindness and 
 hospitality I am indebted for many of the happiest hours of my life." 
 
 HxjiCE.— Seventh of November. 
 
 The day returns, my bosom burns, 
 The blissful day we twa did meet ; 
 
 Tho' winter wild in tempest toiPd, 
 Ne'er summer sun was half sae sweet : 
 
384 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 Than a' the pride that loads the tide, 
 And crosses o'er the sultry line ; 
 
 Than kingly robes, and crowns and globes, 
 Heaven 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 tliee alone, I live ; 
 When that grim foe of life below 
 
 Comes in between to make us part. 
 The iron hand that breaks our band, 
 
 It breaks my bliss — it breaks my heart. 
 
 JEANIE'S BOSOM. 
 
 This Is an early composition. It was the first of the Poet's songs composed 
 in praise of " Bonnie Jean," afterwards Mrs. Burns. 
 
 Tune — My motJier^s ay glowering owre me. 
 
 Louis, what reck I by thee. 
 
 Or Geordie on his ocean : 
 Dyvor,* beggar louns^ to me, 
 
 I reign in Jeanie's bosom. 
 
 Let her crown my love her law, 
 And in her breast enthrone mo 
 
 Kings and nations swith^ awa, 
 Rief randies,* I disown ye ! 
 
 WILLIE'S WIFE. 
 
 Thii song is founded on an old border ditty, beginnings 
 
 •• Willie Wastle dwells In his^castle, 
 An' nae a loiin in a' the town 
 Can tak Willie Wastle doun." 
 
 Tune— r/Wie FotcUr in the glen. 
 
 Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed, 
 
 Tlio spot they ca'd it Linkumdoddie ; 
 Willie was a wabster* guid 
 
 • Bankrupt—' Eagamufflns.— « Get away.—* Thievish queans.— » Weaver. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 385 
 
 Cou'd stown* a clue wi' onie bodie ; 
 He had a wife was dour and din,^ 
 Oh, tinkler^ Madgie was her mither : 
 
 Sic a wife as Willie Jiad^ 
 
 I wad na gie a 'button for Tier. 
 
 She has an ee, she has but ane, 
 
 The cat has twa the very color ; 
 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^ &c. 
 
 She 's bow-hough'd,° she' s hein-shinn'd,' 
 Ae limpin' leg a hand-breed* shorter ; 
 
 She 's twisted right, she 's twisted left, 
 To balance fair on ilka^ quarter ; 
 
 She has a hump upon her breast, 
 The twin o' that upon her shouther : 
 Sic a wife^ &c. 
 
 Auld baudrans^" by the ingle" sits. 
 And wi' her loof ^^ her face a-washin' ; 
 
 But "Willie's wife is nae sae trig. 
 
 She dights her grunzie wi' a hushion ;" 
 
 Her walie nieves" like midden-creels,^^ 
 Her face wad fyle^^ the Logan water : 
 Sic a wife^ &c. 
 
 * Stolen — supposed to allude to the dishonest practices of some ■weaven 
 who purloin the yarn that is sent to the loom. 
 
 2 Sullen and shallow. — 3 ^ gipsey woman. — * Besides. — ^ Deafen. — « Knock- 
 kneed.—''' Bony-shinned. — ^ Hand-breadth. — ® Every. — 1° The cat. — ii Fire- 
 place.— *2 Hand. — 13 Cleans her mouth with a cushion. — ^^ Large fists.— 
 IS Dung-baskets.— 1« Make dirty. 
 
386 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 I HAE A WIFE 0' MY AIN. 
 
 The Poet was accustomed to say that the most happy period of kis life 
 was the first winter he spent at Elliesland, — for the first time under a roof of 
 his own — with his wife and children about him. It is known that he wel • 
 corned his wife to her roof-tree at Elliesland in this song.—LocJchari, 
 
 I HAE a wife o' my ain, 
 
 I '11 partake wi' naebody ; 
 I '11 tak cuckold frae nane, 
 
 I '11 gie cuckold to naebody. 
 
 I liae a penny to spend, 
 There — thanks to naebody ; 
 
 I hae naething to lend, 
 I '11 borrow frae naebody. 
 
 I am naebody's lord, 
 
 I '11 be slave to naebody ; 
 I hae a guid braid sword, 
 
 I '11 tak dunts* frae naebody. 
 
 I '11 be merry and free, 
 
 I '11 be sad for naebody ; 
 If naebody care for me, 
 
 I '11 care for naebody. 
 
 BONNIE WEE THING. 
 
 CooipOBed," says Burns, "on my little idol, the charming, lovely Daviea.*' 
 Tune— 2%e Lads of Saltcoats. 
 
 Bonnie wee thing^ cannie wee thing^ 
 Lovely wee thing^ wast thou mine^ 
 
 J wad wear thee in my bosom, 
 Lest my jewel I should tine,^ 
 
 Wishfully I look and languish, 
 
 In that bonnie face o' thine; 
 And my heart it stounds wi^ anguish, 
 
 Lest my wee thing be na mine. 
 Bonnie wee thing^ &c, 
 
 » Blows.— « Lose. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 387 
 
 Wit and grace, and love and beauty, 
 
 In ae constellation shine : 
 To adore thee is my duty, 
 
 Goddess o' this soul o' mine. 
 Bonnie wee tiling^ &c. 
 
 THE SOLDIER'S RETURN. 
 
 The " Poor and Honest Sodger" laid hold at once on public feeling, and it wag 
 everywhere sung with enthusiasm, which only began to abate when Campbell's 
 Exile of Erin aud Wounded Hussar were published, — LockharVs Life of Burns. 
 
 Tune— I%e mill, mill, O. 
 
 When wild war's deadly blast was blawn, 
 
 And gentle peace returning, 
 Wi' monie a sweet babe fatherless, 
 
 And monie 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 but honest sodger. 
 
 A leal, light heart was in my breast, 
 
 My hand unstained wi' plunder, 
 And for fair Scotia hame again, 
 
 I cheery on did wander. 
 I tiiought upon the banks o' Coil, 
 
 % thought upon my Nancy, 
 I thought upon the witching smile 
 
 That caught my youthful fancy. 
 
 At length I reach'd the bonny glen. 
 
 Where early life I sported, 
 I pass'd the mill and try sting thorn, 
 
 Where Nancy aft I courted ; 
 Wha spied I but my ain dear maid, 
 
 Down by her mother's dwelHng ! 
 And turn'd me round to hide the flood, 
 
 That in my een was swelling. 
 
 Wi' alter'd voice, quoth I, " Sweet lass, 
 Sweet as yon hawthorn's blossom. 
 
 Oh happy, happy may he be 
 That 's dearest to thy bosom ! 
 
388 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 My purse is light, I Ve far to gang, 
 And fain would be thy lodger ; 
 
 I 've served my king and country lang, 
 Take pity on a sodger." 
 
 Sae wistfully she gazed 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 cockade, 
 
 Ye 're welcome for the sake o't." 
 
 She gazed — she redden'd like a rose — 
 
 Syne pale like onie lily, 
 She sank within mine arms and cried, 
 
 " Art thou my ain dear Willie ?" 
 " By Him who made 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 still 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 mailen^ plenish'd fairly : • 
 
 And come, my faithful sodger lad. 
 
 Thou 'rt welcome to it dearly !" 
 
 For gold the merchant ploughs the main. 
 
 The farmer ploughs the manor ; 
 But glory is the sodger's prize, 
 
 The sodger's wealth his 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. 
 
 iFwrm. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 389 
 
 LOGAN BRAES. 
 
 The title of this song, but nothing more, is taken from the old verses tn 
 Logaa Water, beginning— 
 
 '• Ae simmer night, on Logan braes, 
 I help'd a bonnie lass on wi' her claes, 
 First wi' her stockings, an' syne wi' her shoon— 
 But she gied me the glaiksi when a' was done I" 
 
 Air — Logan Water. 
 
 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 banks appear 
 
 Like drumlie winter, dark and drear. 
 
 While my dear lad maun face his faes, * 
 
 Far, far frae me and Logan braes. 
 
 Again the merry month o' May 
 
 Has made our hills and valleys gay ; 
 
 The birds rejoice in leafy bowers. 
 
 The bees hum round the breathing flowers : 
 
 Blythe morning lifts his rosy eye, 
 
 And evening's tears are tears of joy ; 
 
 My soul, delightless, a' surveys, 
 
 W^hile Willie 's far frae Logan braes. 
 
 Within yon milk-white hawthorn bush, 
 Amang her nestlings sits the thrush ; 
 Her faithfu' mate will snare 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. 
 
 Oh wae upon you, men o' state. 
 That brethren rouse to deadly hate ! 
 As ye make monie a fond heart mourn, 
 Sae may it on your heads return ! 
 How can your flinty hearts enjoy 
 The widow's tears, the orphan's cry ? 
 But soon may peace bring happy days, 
 And Willie hame to Logan braes ! 
 
 1 Jilted me.— 2 Since then. 
 
590 BURNS'S PC EMS. 
 
 BY ALLAN STREAM, Etc. 
 
 Of this song Burns says, " I think it not in my worst style." It has nothing ia 
 eommon with the Allan Water of Ramsay, in the Tea Table Miscellany, vol. i. p. 86, 
 out the title. 
 
 Tv^E— Allan Water. 
 
 By Allan stream I chanced to rove, 
 
 While Phoebus sank beyond Benleddi ;^ 
 The winds were whispering thro' the grove, 
 
 The yellow Qorn was waving ready ; 
 I listen'd to a lover's sang, 
 
 And thought on youthfu' pleasures monie ; 
 And ay the wild-wood echoes rang — 
 
 " Oh, dearly do I love thee, Annie !" 
 
 « 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 ! 
 Her head upon my throbbing breast. 
 
 She, sinking, said, "I'm thine forever!" 
 While monie a kiss the seal imprest. 
 
 The sacred vow, we ne'er should sever. 
 
 The haunt o' spring 's the primrose brae. 
 
 The simmer joys the flocks to follow ; 
 How cheerly thro' her shortening day, 
 
 Is autumn, in her weeds o' yellow ! 
 But can they melt the glowing heart. 
 
 Or chain the soul in speechless pleasure ? 
 Or thro' each nerve the rapture dart. 
 
 Like meeting her, our bosom's treasure ? 
 
 SHE 'S FAIR AND FAUSK 
 
 Ine fickleness of a lady of the name of Stewart occasioned this vigorous and em- 
 phatic song. The four concluding lines are quoted and highly praised in the Ediu. 
 burgh Beview for January, 1809. 
 
 She 's fair and fause' 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 mountain west of Stratballan, 8009 feet high.—'* False.— 3 Much and long. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 391 
 
 A coof ^ came in wi' routh o' gear,' 
 And I hae tint my dearest dear ; 
 But woman is but warld's gear, 
 Sae let the bonnie lass gang. 
 
 Whae'er ye be tbat woman love, 
 
 To this be never blind, 
 !N"ae ferlie' 'tis though fickle she prove, 
 
 A woman has 't by kind : 
 O woman lovely, woman fair ! 
 An angel form 's faun* to thy share, 
 'Twad been owre meikle to gien thee mair, 
 
 I mean an angel mind. 
 
 SHE SAYS SHE LO'ES ME BEST 0? A. 
 
 "She says she lo'es me best of a'," is one of the pleasantest table song* 
 I have seen, and henceforth shall be mine when the song is going round. 
 —'Thomson to Burns. 
 
 TuyiE—Onaqh's Waterfall. 
 
 Sae flaxen were her ringlets, 
 
 Her eyebrows of a darker hue, 
 Bewitchingly o'er-arching 
 
 Twa laughing een o' bonnie blue. 
 Her smiling sae wyling. 
 
 Wad make a wretch forget his woe ; 
 What pleasure, what treasure. 
 
 Unto these rosy lips to grow ! 
 Such was my Chloris' bonnie face. 
 
 When first her bonnie face I saw, 
 And ay my Chloris' dearest charm, 
 
 She says she lo'es me best of a'. 
 
 Like harmony her motion ; 
 
 Her pretty ankle is a spy 
 Betraying fair proportion. 
 
 Wad make a saint forget the sky. 
 Sae warming, sae charming. 
 
 Her faultless form and gracefu' air ; 
 Ilk feature — auld ITature 
 
 Declared that she could do nae mair : 
 
 » Blockhead.— 2 Plenty of wealth.— 3 Wonder.—* Fallen. 
 
'392 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 Hers are tlie willing, chains o' love, 
 By conquering beauty's sovereign law ; 
 
 And ay my Chloris' dearest charm, 
 She says she lo'es me best of a'. 
 
 Let others love the pity, 
 
 And gaudy show at sunny noon ; 
 Gie me the lonely valley, 
 
 The dewy eve and rising moon 
 Fair beaming, and streaming. 
 
 Her silver light the boughs amang ; 
 While falling, recalling. 
 
 The amorous thrush concludes her sang : 
 There, dearest Chloris wilt thou rove 
 
 By wimpling burn and leafy shaw, 
 And hear my vows o' truth and love. 
 
 And say thou lo'es me best of a' ? 
 
 LAMENT OF A MOTHER FOR THE DEATH OF 
 HER SON. 
 
 Bnrns in this song: personifies Mrs. Ferguson of Craigdarroch, who lost her son, a 
 promising youth of eighteen years of age. He composed it one morning, on horse- 
 sack, after three o'clock, as he jogged on in the dark, from Nithsdale to EUiesland. 
 
 IVNE—Finlayston House. 
 
 Fate gave the word, the arrow sped, 
 
 And pierced my darling's heart ; 
 And with him all the joys are lied 
 
 Life can to me impart. 
 By cruel hands the sapling drops, 
 
 In dust dishonored 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 darling's sake, 
 
 Lament the live-day long. 
 Death, oft I 've fear'd thy fatal blow^ 
 
 Now, fond I bare my breast. 
 Oh, do thou kindly lay me low 
 
 With him I love at rest I 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 393 
 
 THE LOVELY LASS OF INVERNESS. 
 
 For an old and beautiful version of the "Lass of Inverness," see "Harp 
 of Caledonia," vol. iii. p. 171. 
 
 The lovely lass o' laverness, 
 
 Nae J07 nor pleasure can she see ; 
 Tor e'en and morn she cries — "Alas!" 
 
 And ay the saut tear blin's her ee : 
 " Drumossie moor, Drumossie 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 them lies the dearest lad 
 
 That ever blest a woman's ee. 
 Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord, 
 
 A bluidy man I trow thou be ; 
 For monie a heart thou hast made sair. 
 
 That ne'er did wrong to thine or thee." 
 
 liaE RAVING WINDS. 
 
 These verses were composed for Isabella M'Leod of Raza, as expressive oT her 
 feelings on the death of her sister, and the still more melancholy death of her sister'* 
 husband, the Earl of Loudon, who shot himself in consequence of some mortifica* 
 tions he jaflfered, owing to the deranged state of his finances. 
 
 TuJXE—M'Grigor o/ltero\i Lament. 
 
 Raving winds around her blowing, 
 Yellow leaves the woodlands strowing. 
 By a river hoarsely roaring 
 Isabella stray'd deploring : — 
 " Farewell, hours that 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. 
 On the hopeless future pondering ; 
 Chilly grief my life-blood freezes. 
 Fell despair my fancy seizes. 
 
394 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 Life, thou soul of every blessing, 
 Load to misery most distressing, 
 Oh how gladly I 'd resign thee, 
 And to dark oblivion join thee!" 
 
 THE YOUNG HIGHLAND BOVEK. 
 
 •'The Young Highland Rover," is Prince Charles Stuart. Burns was 
 fclwaya a Jacobite, but more so after his tour to the Highlands, when this 
 song was composed. 
 
 Loud blaw the frosty breezes. 
 
 The snaws the mountains cover ; 
 Like winter on me seizes, 
 
 Since my young Highland Rover 
 
 Far wanders nations over. 
 Where'er he go, where'er he stray, 
 
 May Heaven be his warden : 
 Return him srife to fair Strathspey, 
 
 And bonnie Castle-Gordon ! 
 
 The trees now naked groaning. 
 
 Shall soon wi' leaves be hinging,* 
 The birdies dowie'^ moaning. 
 
 Shall a' be blythely singing. 
 
 And every flower be springing. 
 Sae I '11 rejoice the lee-lang^ day, 
 
 When by his mighty warden 
 My youth 's return'd to fair Strathspey 
 
 And bonnie Castle-Gordon. 
 
 STBATHALLAN'S LAMENT. 
 
 Strathallan, it is presumed, was one of the followers of the young Cheva- 
 lier, and is supposed, in the following verses, to be lying concealed in some 
 cave of the Highlands, after the battle of Culloden. 
 
 Thickest night o'erliang my dwelling ! 
 
 Howling tempestii o'er me rave ! 
 Turbid torrents, wintry swelling. 
 
 Still surround my lonely cave I 
 
 » Ilanglng.-^^ Worn with grief.— ^ Live-long. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 395 
 
 Crystal streamlets gently flowing, 
 
 Busy haunts of 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 denied success. 
 
 Ruin's wheel has driven o'er us, 
 
 Not a hope that dare attend ; 
 The wild world is all before us — 
 
 But a world without a friend ! 
 
 THE BANKS OF NITH. 
 
 A Fragment. 
 
 To thee, loved Kith, thy gladsome plains. 
 Where late wi' careless thought I ranged, 
 
 Though prest wi' care and sunk in woe, 
 To thee I bring a heart unchanged. 
 
 I love thee, Kith, thy banks and braes, 
 Though memory there my bosom tear ; 
 
 For there he roved that brak my heart — 
 Yet to that heart, ah ! still how dear ! 
 
 FAREWELL TO NANCY. -' 
 
 The last four lines of the second verse of this song have furnished Byron 
 with a motto, and Scott has said that that motto is worth a thousand romances ; 
 " Had we never loved sae kindly," <fec. 
 
 Ae fond kiss, and then we sever ! 
 Ae fareweel, alas, forever ! 
 Deep in heart- wrung tears I '11 pledge thee, 
 Warring sighs and graans I '11 wage thee. 
 Who shall say that Fortune grieves him. 
 While the star of hope she leaves him ? 
 Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me ; 
 Dark despair around benights me. 
 
396 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 I '11 ne'er blame my partial fancy, 
 Naething could resist my Nancy : 
 But to see her, was to love her ; 
 Love but her, and love forever. 
 Had we never loved sae kindly. 
 Had we never loved sae blindly. 
 Never met — or never parted, 
 "VVe had ne'er been broken-hearted. • 
 
 Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest ! 
 Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest I 
 Thine be ilka joy and treasure, 
 Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure ! 
 Ae fond kiss, and then we sever ! 
 Ae fare weel, alas ! forever ! 
 Deep in heart- wrung tears I '11 pledge thee, 
 "Warring sighs and groans I '11 wage thee. 
 
 FAREWELL TO ELIZA. 
 
 WrHten for Johnson's Museum. This song has latterly been rendered 
 popular by the musical talents of Miss Stephens. 
 
 TvNK—Gilderoj/. 
 
 From thee, Eliza, I 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 heart and soul from thee. 
 
 Farewell, farewell, Eliza dear, 
 
 The maid that I adore ! 
 A boding voice is in my ear, 
 
 We part to meet no more ! 
 But th^ last throb that leaves my heart. 
 
 While Death stands victor by, 
 That throb, Eliza, is thy part. 
 
 And thine that latest sigh. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 39'! 
 
 FAIR ELIZA. 
 
 "The bonniebrucket lassie," to the music of which this superior song 
 Is composed, was written by an eccentric character, who was well known 
 in Edinburgh about forty years ago by the name of "Balloon Tytler." H« 
 also wrote the popular song, of " Loch Erroch Side." 
 
 TviXE— The bonnie hrucket lassie. 
 
 TuEN again, thou fair Eliza, 
 
 Ae kind blink before we part, 
 Eiie on thy despairing lover ! v 
 
 Canst thou break his faithfu' heart ? 
 Turn again, thou fair Eliza ! 
 
 If to love thy heart denies. 
 For pity hide the cruel sentence 
 
 Under friendship's kind disguise ! 
 
 Thee, dear maid, hae I offended? 
 
 The oftence is loving thee : 
 Canst thou wreck his peace forever 
 
 Wha for thine wad gladly die? 
 While the life beats in my bosom. 
 
 Thou shalt mix in ilka throe : 
 Turn again, thou lovely maiden, 
 
 Ae sweet smile on me bestow ! 
 
 ISTot the bee upon the blossom, 
 
 In the pride o' sunny noon ; 
 Not the little sporting fairy, 
 
 All beneath the simmer moon ; 
 Not the poet in the moment 
 
 Fancy lightens in his ee. 
 Kens the. pleasure, feels the rapture, 
 
 That thy presence gies to me. 
 
 THOUGH CRUEL FATE, Etc. 
 
 This beautiful fragment is an early composition. 
 
 THouan cruel Fate should bid us part, 
 As far 's the Pole and Line, 
 
 Her dear idea round my heart 
 Shonld tenderly entwine. 
 84 
 
396 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 Though mountains frown and deserts howl, 
 
 And oceans roar between ; 
 Yet, dearer than my deathless soul, 
 
 I stiU would love my Jean. 
 
 THE HIGHLAND LASSIE. 
 
 Barns composed these verses in early life, before he was at all known in the 
 •world. The object of his affection was Mary Campbell, a native of the Highlands. 
 The deep impression which she made on his mind can hardly be inferred from this 
 Bong, From those which follow, however, we can more readily imagine the intense 
 rinterest which she excited in his bosom. 
 
 Tune— jT/ifi deuk s dang owre my daddy. 
 
 !N"ae gentle dames, though e'er sae fair. 
 Shall ever be my Muse's care ; 
 Their titles a' are empty show ; 
 Gie me my Highland lassie, O. 
 
 Within the glen sae lushy^ (9, 
 Aboon the plain sae rushy ^ 6^, 
 I set me down wf right good will 
 To sing my Highland lassie^ 0. 
 
 Oh, were yon hills and valleys mine. 
 Yon palace and yon gardens fine, 
 The world then the love should know 
 I 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 flow 
 I '11 love my Highland lassie, O. 
 Within the glen^ &e. 
 
 Although thro' foreign climes I range, 
 I know her heart will never change. 
 For her bosom burns with honor's glow, 
 My faithful Highland lassie, O. 
 Within the glen^ &c. 
 
 For her I '11 dare the billow's roar. 
 For her I '11 daro the distant shore, 
 
SOIiGS AND BALLADS. 399 
 
 That Indian wealth may lustre throw 
 Around my Highland lassie, O. 
 Within the glen^ &c. 
 
 She has my heart, she has my hand, 
 By sacred truth and honor's band ! 
 Till the mortal stroke shall lay me low, 
 I 'm thine, my Highland lassie, 0. 
 
 Farewell the glen sae lushy^ 0^ 
 Farewell the plain sae rushy ^ 6', 
 To other lands I now must go 
 To sing my Highland lassie^ 0. 
 
 TO MARY. 
 
 Another of the Poet's many songs in praise of '* Highland Mary,* 
 
 OouLD aught of song declare my pains. 
 Could artful numbers move thee. 
 
 The Muse should tell in labor'd strains, 
 O Mary, how I love thee ! 
 
 They who but feign a wounded heart, 
 May teach the lyre to languish ; 
 
 But what avails the pride of art. 
 When wastes the soul with anguish! 
 
 Then let the sudden bursting sigh 
 
 The heart-felt pang discover ; 
 And in the keen, yet tender eye, 
 
 Oh read the imploring lover. 
 
 For well I know thy gentle mind 
 
 Disdains art's gay disguising ; 
 Beyond what fancy e'er refined, 
 
 The voice of nature prizing. 
 
400 BURNS'S rOEMS. 
 
 PRAYER FOR MARY. 
 
 Supposed to be written on the eve of the Poet's intended departure for the West 
 Indies. First published in the Eeliques, from a copy supplied by the Rev. James 
 Gray, of Dumfries, the kind friend of the widow and family of the Poet, 
 
 Powers celestial, whose protection 
 
 Ever guards the virtuous fair, 
 While in distant climes I wander, 
 
 Let my Mary be your care : 
 Let her form, sae fair and faultless. 
 
 Fair and faultless as your own — 
 Let my Mary's kindred spirit. 
 
 Draw your choicest influence down. 
 
 Make the gales you waft around her, 
 
 Soft and peaceful as her breast ; 
 Breathing in the breeze that fans her, 
 
 Soothe her bosom into rest ; 
 Guardian angels, oh protect her, 
 
 "When in distant lands I roam ! 
 To realms unknown while fate exiles me, 
 
 Make her bosom still my home. 
 
 HIGHLAND MARY. 
 
 Ib this song, so exquisitely mournful, we see all the anticipations, all the hopes, 
 of Burns laid low. His Prayer was not heard. His Mary was, as it were, struck 
 dead at his feet. She met him, by appointment, in a sequestered spot by the banks 
 of Ayr, where she spent the day with him in taking a farewell, before she should 
 embark for the West Highlands, to arrange matters among her friends for her pro- 
 jected change in life. Shortly after she crossed the sea to meet him at Greenock, 
 where she had scarcely landed when she was seized with a malignant fever, which 
 hurried her to the grave in a few days, before he could even hear of her illness. 
 
 Tvaz—KatJiarine Ogie. 
 
 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 unfald' her robes. 
 
 And there the langest tarry I 
 For there I took the last fareweel 
 
 0' my sweet Highland Mary. 
 
 » Unfolds. 
 
The golden hours. an Aigela -wings . 
 Elew oet me and my deane ! 
 For dp.ar to tae.as Jij^ht and life 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 401 
 
 How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk ! 
 
 How rich the hawthorn's blossom ! 
 As underneath their fragrant shade, 
 
 I clasp'd 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' monie a vow and lock'd embrace, 
 
 Our parting was fu' tender ; 
 And pledging aft to meet again, 
 
 We tore oursels asunder : 
 But, oh 1 fell death's untimely frost. 
 
 That nipt my flower sae early ! 
 ITow green 's the sod, and cauld 's the clay, 
 
 That wraps my Highland Mary ! 
 
 Oh pale, pale now, those rosy lips, 
 
 I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly ! 
 And closed for ay the sparkling glance 
 
 That dwelt on me sae kindly! 
 And mouldering now in silent dust. 
 
 That heart that lo'ed me dearly ! 
 But still within my bosom's core 
 
 Shall live my Highland Mary. 
 
 TO MARY m HEAVEN. 
 
 We have seen Burns celebrate the youth and beauty of his Mary. We have seen 
 bim bewail her death in the most pathetic and agonizing strains. In this sub lima, 
 and tender elegy, which he composed on the anniversary of her decease, his whole 
 Boul seems overwhelmed with sadness. Agitated by the tumult of his feelings, io 
 retired from his family, then residing on the farm of Ellisland, and wandered on th«s 
 banks of the Nith and about the farm-yard nearly the whole of the night. At length : 
 he threw himself on the side of a corn-stack, and gave utterance to his grief in tliif^ 
 divine strain of sensibility— this heart-rending address *' To Mary in Heaven." 
 
 Tune— J/tss Forhes's Farewell to Banff. 
 
 Thotj lingering star, with lessening ray, 
 That lov'st to greet the early morn. 
 
 Again thou usher'st in the day 
 My Mary from my soul was torn. 
 
402 BURNS S POEMS. 
 
 O Mary ! dear departed shade ! 
 
 "Where is thy place of blissful rest ? 
 Seest thou thy lover lowly laid ? 
 
 Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast ? 
 
 That sacred hour can I forget, 
 
 Can I forget the hallow'd grove, 
 Where by the winding Ayr we met, 
 
 To live one day of parting love ? 
 Eternity will not efface 
 
 Those records dear of transports past — 
 Thy image at our last embrace ! 
 
 Ah ! little thought we 'twas our last ! 
 
 Ayr, gurgling, kiss'd his pebbled shore, 
 
 O'erhung with wild- woods, thickening, green . 
 
 The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar. 
 Twined amorous round the raptured 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 memory wakes, 
 
 And fondly broods with miser care ; 
 Time but the impression deeper makes. 
 
 As streams their channels deeper wear. 
 My Mary ! dear departed shade ! 
 
 Where is thy place of blissful rest? 
 Seest thou thy lover lowly laid ? 
 
 Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? 
 
 THE AUTHOR'S FAREWELL 
 
 TO HIS NATIVE COUNTRY. 
 
 Barns Intended this song rb a farewell dlrj^e to his native land, from which ha 
 ira« to embark in a few days for Jamaica. *' I had taken," says he, "the last tare. 
 well of my friends : my chest was on the road to Greenock : I composed the last 
 tong I should ever measure in Caledonia—' The gloomy night is gathering fast.' " 
 
 Tvuz—Eoslin Castle. 
 
 The gloomy night is gathering fast, 
 Loud roars the wild inconstant blast, 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 403 
 
 Yon murky cloud is foul with rain, 
 I see it driving o'er the plain ; 
 The hunter now has left the moor. 
 The scatter'd coveys meet secure, 
 "While here I wander, prest wi' care, 
 Along the bonnie banks of Ayr. 
 
 The Autumn mourns her ripening corn, 
 By early Winter's ravage torn ; 
 Across her placid azure sky, 
 She sees the scowhng 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 bonnie banks of Ayr. 
 
 'Tis not the surging billow's roar, 
 'Tis not that fatal deadly shore : 
 Tho' death in every shape appear, 
 The wretched have no more to fear : 
 But round my heart the ties are bound, 
 That heart transpierced with many a wound: 
 These bleed afresh, those ties I tear. 
 To leave the bonnie 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 ! 
 My peace with these, my love with those — 
 The bursting tears my heart declare, 
 Farewell the bonnie banks of Ayr ! 
 
 THE FAREWELL 
 
 TO TUB BRETHREN OF ST. JAMES's LODGE, TARBOLTON. 
 TviiE— Glide night and jot/ be vyV you a'. 
 
 Adieu ! a heart- warm fond adieu, 
 Dear brothers of the mystic tie ! 
 
 Ye favor'd, ye enlighten'd few. 
 Companions of my social joy ! 
 
404 BURNS S POEMS. 
 
 Tho' I to foreign lands must hie, 
 Pursuing fortune's slippery baV 
 
 "With melting heart and brimful eye, 
 I '11 mind you still, tho' far awa. 
 
 Oft have I met your social band, 
 
 And spent the cheerful, festive night ; 
 Oft, honor'd with supreme command, 
 
 Presided o'er the sons of light ; 
 And by that hieroglyphic bright. 
 
 Which none but craftsmen ever saw I 
 Strong memory on my heart shall write 
 
 Those happy scenes when far awa. 
 
 May freedom, harmony, and love. 
 
 Unite you in the grand design. 
 Beneath the omniscient Eye above. 
 
 The glorious Architect divine ! 
 That you may keep the unerring line. 
 
 Still rising by the plummet's law. 
 Till order bright completely shine. 
 
 Shall be my prayer, when far awa. 
 
 And you, farewell ! whose merits claim, 
 
 Justly, that highest badge to wear! 
 Heaven bless your honor'd, noble name, 
 
 To Masonry and Scotia dear ! 
 A last request, permit me here, — 
 
 When yearly ye assemble a', 
 One round, I ask it with a tear. 
 
 To him — The Bard that's far awa ! 
 
 THE RUINED MAID'S LAMENT. 
 
 On meikle do I rue, fause' love, 
 
 Oh sairly do 1 rue. 
 That e'er I heard your flattering tongue, 
 
 That e'er your face I knew. 
 
 I Ball.— a False. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 405 
 
 Oh I hae tint my rosy cheeks, 
 
 Likewise my waist sae sma' ; 
 And I hae lost my lightsome heart, 
 
 That little wist a fa'. 
 
 JSTow I maun thole the scornfu' sneer 
 
 O' monie a saucy quean ; 
 "When, gin the truth were a' but kent, 
 
 Her life's been waur than mine. 
 
 Whene'er my father thinks on me, 
 
 He stares into the wa' ; 
 My mither, she has taen the bed 
 
 Wi' thinking on my fa'. 
 
 Whene'er I hear my father's foot, 
 
 My heart wad burst wi' pain ; 
 "Whene'er I meet my mither's ee. 
 
 My tears rin down like rain. 
 
 Alas ! sae sweet a tree as love 
 
 Sic bitter fruit should bear ! 
 Alas ! that e'er a bonnie face 
 
 Should draw a sauty tear ! 
 
 AND MAUN I STHiL ON MENIE DOAT. 
 
 It was the opinion of Dr. Currie, that the chorus originally attached to the follow- 
 ing beautiful stanzas, both interrupted the narrative, and marred the sentiment ol 
 each verse. We have therefore omitted it. 
 
 TvTXE—JoTivny^s gray breeJis. 
 
 Again rejoicing Nature sees 
 
 Her robe assume its vernal hues ; 
 
 Her leafy locks wave in the breeze, 
 All freshly steep'd in morning dews. 
 
 In vain to me these cowslips blaw, 
 In vain to me these violets spring : 
 
 In vain to me, in glen or shaw. 
 The mavis^ and the lintwhite'^ sing. 
 
 1 The thrush.— 2 The linnet. 
 
406 BURNS S POEMS. 
 
 The merry plonghboy cheers his team, 
 Wi' joy the tentie^ seedsman stalks, 
 
 But life 's to me a weary dream, 
 A dream of ane that never wanks. 
 
 The wanton coot the water sldms, 
 Amang the reeds the ducklings cry, 
 
 The stately swan majestic swims. 
 And every thing is blest but I. 
 
 The shepherd steeks his faulding slap,'' 
 And owre the moorlands whistles shrill ; 
 
 Wi' wild, unequal, wandering step 
 I meet him on the dewy hill. 
 
 And when the lark, 'tween light and dark, 
 Blythe waukens by the daisie's side. 
 
 And mounts and sings on fluttering wings, 
 A woe-worn ghaist I haraeward glide. 
 
 Come, Winter, with thine angry howl, 
 And raging bend the naked tree ; 
 
 Thy gloom will soothe my cheerless soul^ 
 "When nature all is sad like me ! 
 
 THE DEAN OF FACULTY.— A NEW BALLAD. 
 
 A fragment, first published in the " Reliques." 
 Tune— r^e Dragon of WantUy. 
 
 Dire was the hate at old Harlaw, 
 
 That Scot to Scot did carry ; 
 And dire the discord Langside saw. 
 
 For beauteous, hapless Mary : 
 But 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 number'd ; 
 
 1 Careful.—' Shuts the gate of his fold. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 
 
 But pious Bob, 'mid learning's store, 
 Commandment tenth remember'd. 
 
 Yet simple Bob the victory got, 
 And wan his heart's desire ; 
 
 Which shows that Heaven can bcjil the pot 
 Though the Devil p ss in the fire. 
 
 Squire Hal besides had, in this case. 
 
 Pretensions rather brassy. 
 For talents to deserve a place ^ 
 
 Are qualifications saucy ; 
 So 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 purged was the sight 
 
 Of a son of circumcision. 
 So may be, on this Pisgah height, 
 
 Bob's purblind, mental vision : 
 Nay, Bobby's mouth may be open'd yet, 
 
 Till for eloquence you hail him, 
 And swear he has the angel met 
 
 That met the ass of Balaam. 
 
 40: 
 
 JOHN BAKLEYCORN.— A BALLAD. 
 
 This is partly composed on the plan of an old song known by the same nam*. 
 
 Theee were three kings into the east, 
 Three kings both great and high, 
 
 An' they hae sworn a solemn oath 
 John Barleycorn should die. 
 
 They took a plough and plough'd him down, 
 
 Put clods upon his head. 
 And they hae sworn a solemn oath 
 
 John Barleycorn was dead. 
 
 But the cheerful spring came kindly on, 
 
 And showers began to fall ; 
 John Barleycorn got up again. 
 
 And sore surprised them all. 
 
408 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 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 wrong. 
 
 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 color sicken'd more and more, 
 
 He faded into age ; 
 And then his enemies began 
 
 To show their deadly rage. 
 
 They 've taen a weapon long and sharpj 
 
 And cut him by the knee ; 
 Then tied him fast upon a cart, 
 
 Like a rogue for forgerie. 
 
 They laid him down upon his back. 
 And cudgell'd him full sore : 
 
 They hung him up before the storm, 
 And turn'd him o'er and o'er. 
 
 They filled up a darksome pit 
 
 With water to the brim, 
 They heaved in John Barleycorn, 
 
 There let him sink or swim. 
 
 They laid him out upon the floor, 
 
 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 used liim worst of all. 
 
 For he crush'd him between two stones. 
 And tliey 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 you do but taste his blood, 
 
 'Twill make your courage rise. 
 
» SONGS AND BALLADS. 409 
 
 '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 her eye. 
 
 Then let ns toast John Barleycorn, 
 
 Each man a glass in hand ; 
 And may his great posterity 
 
 Ne'er fail in old Scotland. 
 
 A BOTTLE AND A FRIEND. 
 
 First published in^the "Reliques." 
 
 Here 's a bottle and an honest friend ! 
 
 What wad ye wish for mair, man ? 
 Wha kens, before his life may end, 
 
 What his share may be of care, man? 
 
 Then catch the moments as they fly, 
 And use them as ye ought, man : 
 
 Believe me, happiness is shy. 
 And comes not ay when sought, man. 
 
 WILLIE BEEWED A PECK 0' MAUT. 
 
 These verses were composed to celebrate a visit -which the Poet and Allan 
 Masterton made to William Nichol, of the High-school, Edinburgh, -who hap- 
 pened to be at MoflFat during the autumn vacation. The air is by Masterton. 
 
 O Willie brew'd a peck o' maut,^ 
 And Bob and Allan cam to see ; 
 
 Three blyther hearts that lee-lang^ night. 
 Ye wad na find in Christendie.^ 
 
 We are nafou^* we'' re nae thatfou^ 
 But just a drappie in our ee ; 
 
 The cock may craw^ tJie day may daw^ 
 But ay we HI taste the larley-lree.^ 
 
 Here are we met, three merry boys. 
 Three merry boys I trow are we ; 
 
 And monie a night we 've merry been, 
 And monie mae we hope to be ! 
 We are nafou^ &c. 
 
 Malt. — 2 Live-long.— 3 Christendom.—'* Drunk.— ^ Dawn.— ^ Juice, 
 35 
 
410 BURKS'S POEMS. 
 
 It is the moon, I ken her horn, 
 That 's blinkin' in the lift^ sae hie ; 
 
 She shines sae bright to wyle'* us hame ; 
 But by my sooth she '11 wait a wee ! 
 We are nafou, &c. 
 
 Wha first shall rise to gang awa, 
 A cuckold, coward loun is he ! 
 
 Wha last beside his chair shall fa'. 
 He is the king amang us three ! 
 We are nafou^ &c. 
 
 GUDEWIFE, COUNT THE LAWIN. 
 
 The following is one of the verses of the old Bacchanalian ditty which suggested 
 this song to Burns : 
 
 " O, ilka day my wife tells me, that yill and brandy will ruin me, 
 But tho' gude drink should be my dead, I' se hae this written on my head— 
 * O gudewife, count the lawin, the lawin, the lawin, 
 O gudewife, count the lawin, an' bring a coggie mair.' " 
 
 Gane is the day, and mirk 's^ the night, 
 But we '11 ne'er stray for faut o' light, 
 For ale and brandy 's stars and moon. 
 And blude-red wine 's the rising sun. 
 
 Tlien^ gudewife^^ count the lawin^^ 
 
 The lawin,, the lawin,, 
 Then,, gudewife,, count the lawin,, 
 
 And Iring 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^ gudewife,, &c. 
 
 My coggie is a haly' pool, 
 That heals tlie wounds of care and dool \^^ 
 And pleasure is a wanton trout. 
 An' yo drink it a' ye '11 find him out. 
 Then,, gudewife,, &c, 
 
 1 The sky.— 2 Beguile.— ' Dark.—* The landlady, or mistress of the honse. 
 •-* The bill, or reckoning.—' A cup.— "^ Figlit and struggle.— ^ Every.— 
 Holy.— 10 Borrow. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 411 
 
 I 'M OWRE YOUNG TO MARRY YET. 
 
 Of this song the chorus and second stanza are old. 
 
 I AM my mammie's ae bairn,^ 
 AYi' unco folk I weary, Sir ; 
 And lying in a man's bed, 
 1 'm fley'd^ wad mak me eerie, Sir. 
 /'m owre young ^ Pm owre young ^ 
 Vm owre young to marry yet; 
 Pm owre young ^ Hwad le a sin 
 To tah mefrae my mammie yet. 
 
 My mammie coft' me a new gown, 
 The kirk maun hae the gracing o 't ; 
 
 "Were I to lie wi' you, kind Sir, 
 
 I 'm fear'd ye 'd spoil the lacing o 't. 
 /'m owre young ^ &c, 
 
 Hallowmas is come and gane, 
 
 The nights are lang in winter, Sir ; 
 
 And you an' I in ae bed, 
 
 In troth I dare na venture, Sir. 
 /'m owre young ^ &c, 
 
 Fu' loud and shrill the frosty wind 
 Blaws thro' the leafless timmer,^ Sir ; 
 
 But if ye come this gate^ again, 
 I '11 aulder be gin simmer,® Sir. 
 J'm owre young ^ &c. 
 
 THE LASS 0' BALLOCHMYLE. 
 
 The scenery of this song was taken from real life. Burns had roved out as chance 
 directed, in the favorite haunts of his Muse, on the hanks of the Ayr, to view nature 
 in all the gayety of the vernal year. In a corner of his prospect he spied one of the 
 loveliest creatures that ever crowned a poetical landscape, or met a poet's eye. On 
 his return home he composed the following verses in honor of her charms. 
 
 Tune— ifiss Forles's Farewell to Banff. 
 
 'TwAS even — the dewy fields were green. 
 
 On every blade the pearls hang ; 
 The zephyr wanton'd round the bean 
 
 And bore its fragrant SAveets alang : 
 
 1 Only child— 2 Afraid.— 3 Bought.—* Timber, trees.— s Way.— e I'll be 
 older against summer. 
 
412 BURNS S POEMS. 
 
 In every glen the mavis sang, 
 All nature listening seem'd the while, 
 
 Except where green-wood echoes rang, 
 Amang the the hraes o' Ballochmyle. 
 
 With careless step I onward stray'd, 
 
 My heart rejoiced in nature's joy, 
 When musing in a lonely glade, 
 
 A maiden fair I chanced to spy ; 
 Her look was like the morning's eye. 
 
 Her air like nature's vernal smile ; 
 Perfection whisper'd, passing by, 
 
 Behold the lass o' Ballochmyle ! 
 
 Fair is the morn in flowery May, 
 
 And sweet is night in autumn mild. 
 When roving thro' the garden gay. 
 
 Or wandering in a lonely wild : 
 But woman, nature's darling child ! 
 
 There all her charms she does campile ; 
 Even there her other works are foil'd 
 
 By the bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle. 
 
 Oh, had she been a country maid. 
 
 And I the happy country swain, 
 Tho' sheltered in the lowest shed 
 
 That ever rose in Scotland's plain ! 
 Thro' weary winter's wind and rain 
 
 With joy, with rapture, I would toil ; 
 And nightly to my bosom strain 
 
 The bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle. 
 
 Then pride might climb the slippery steep, 
 
 Where fame and honors 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 joys divine. 
 
 With the bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 413 
 
 THE BRAES 0' BALLOCHMYLE. 
 
 This song was written on the occasion of Sir John Whitefoord leaving 
 Sallochmyle. The Maria mentioned in the first stanza was the eldest daugh- 
 ter of that gentleman. 
 
 Tune— J/ws Forles's Farewell to Banj^. 
 
 The Catrine woods were yellow seen, 
 
 The flowers decay'd on Oatrine lee, 
 Nae lav'rock sang on hi^ock green, 
 
 But nature sicken'd on the ee. 
 Thro' faded groves Maria sang, 
 
 Hersel in beauty's bloom the while, 
 And ay the wild-wood echoes rang, 
 
 Fareweel the braes o' Ballochmyle ! 
 
 Low in your wintry beds, ye flowers. 
 
 Again ye '11 flourish fresh and fair : 
 Ye birdies dumb, in withering bowers. 
 
 Again ye '11 charm the vocal air : 
 But here, alas ! for me nae mair 
 
 Shall birdie charm, or floweret smile ; 
 Fareweel the bonnie banks of Ayr, 
 
 Fareweel, fareweel, sweet Ballochmyle! 
 
 BONNIE LESLIE. 
 
 This song was composed on a charming Ayrshire girl, as she passed througlk 
 jDumfries to England. 
 
 Tune — TJie collier'' s bonnie dochter. 
 
 Oh saw ye bonnie Leslie 
 
 As she gaed o'er the border ? 
 ' She 's gane, like Alexander, 
 
 To spread her conquests farther. 
 
 To see her is to lovejier. 
 
 And love but her forever ; 
 For Nature made her what she is. 
 
 And ne'er made sic anither. 
 
 Thou art a queen, fair Leslie, 
 Thy subjects we, before thee: 
 
 Thou art divine, fair Leslie, 
 The hearts o' men a^ore thee. 
 
414 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 The Deil he could na scaith^ thee, 
 Or aught that wad belang thee ; 
 
 He 'd look into thy bonnie face, 
 And say, " I canna wrang thee." 
 
 The Powers aboon^ will tent' thee ; 
 
 Misfortune sha'na steer* thee ; 
 Thou 'rt like themselves sae lovely, 
 
 That ill they '11 ne'er let near thee. 
 
 Keturn again, fair Leslie ! 
 
 Return to Caledonia ! 
 That w^e may brag, we hae a lass 
 
 There 's nane again sae bonnie. 
 
 ON A BANK OF FLOWERS, Etc. 
 
 Written for the "Museum" to the beautiful old melody *' The lady of th« 
 flowery field," included in Ritson's "Desiderata in Scottish Song," since 
 pabllsbed in the Scots Magazine for Jan. 1802. 
 
 On a bank of flowers, in a summer day, 
 
 For summer lightly drest, 
 The youthful, blooming Nelly lay, 
 
 With love and sleep opprest : 
 
 . When Willie, wandering through the wood, 
 Who for her favor oft had sued ; 
 He gazed, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd, 
 And trembled where he stood. 
 
 Her closed eyes, like weapons sheathed, 
 
 "rt'ere seal'd in soft repose ; 
 Her lips, still as she fragrant breathed, 
 
 They richer dyed the rose. 
 
 The springing lilies sweetly prest, 
 Wild, wanton kiss'd her rival breast; 
 He gazed, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd, 
 Ilis bosom ill at rest. 
 
 Her robes, light waving in the breeze. 
 
 Her tender limbs embrace I 
 Her lovely form, her native ease, 
 
 All harmony and grace ! 
 
 > Injure— a Above.—' Tend, guard.— < Molest, 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 415 
 
 Tumultuous tides his pulses roll, 
 A faltering, ardent kiss he stole ; 
 He gazed, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blusli'd, 
 And sigh'd his very soul ! 
 
 As flies the partridge from the brake, 
 
 On fear-inspired wings ; 
 So Nelly, starting, half awake, 
 
 Away affrighted springs : 
 
 But Willie followed — as he should, 
 He overtook her in the wood : 
 He vow'd, he pray'd, he found the maid 
 Forgiving all and good. 
 
 THE BANKS OF CEEE. 
 
 The air of this song was composed by Lady Elizabeth Heron, of Heron. 
 The Cree is a beautiful romantic stream in Galloway, 
 
 Heee is the glen, and here the bower, 
 All underneath the birchen shade ; 
 
 The village-bell has told the hour — 
 Oh what can stay my lovely maid ? 
 
 'Tis not Maria's whispering call ; 
 
 'Tis but the balmy-breathing gale, 
 Mixt with some warbler's dying fall. 
 
 The dewy star of eve to hail. 
 
 It is Maria's voice I hear ! 
 
 So calls the wood-lark in the grove. 
 His little faithful mate to cheer ; 
 
 At once 'tis music — and 'tis love ! 
 
 x\nd art thou come ? and art thou true ? 
 
 Oh welcome, dear, to love and me ! 
 And let us all our vows renew, 
 
 Along the flowery banks of Oree. 
 
416 
 
 YOUNG PEGGY. 
 
 This is one of the Poet's earliest compositions. It is copied from a MS 
 book which he had before his first publication. — Cromelc. 
 
 T0NE— r^e last time I came owre the moor. 
 
 Yorxa Peggy blooms our bonniest lass, 
 
 Her blush is like the morning, 
 The rosy dawn, the springing grass, 
 
 With pearly gems adorning. 
 Her eyes outshine the radiant beams 
 
 That gild the passing shower. 
 And glitter o'er the crystal streams, 
 
 And cheer each freshening flower. 
 
 Her lips more than the cherries bright, 
 
 A richer dye has graced them ; 
 They charm the admiring gazer's sight, 
 
 And sweetly tempt to taste them. 
 Her smiles are like the evening mild. 
 
 When feather'd pairs are courting. 
 And little lambkins wanton wild. 
 
 In playful bands disporting. 
 
 Were fortune lovely Peggy's foe. 
 
 Such sweetness would relent her ; 
 As blooming spring unbends the brow 
 
 Of savage, surly winter. 
 Detraction's eye no harm can join 
 
 Her winning powers to lessen ; 
 And spiteful envy grins in vain, 
 
 The poison'd tooth to fasten. 
 
 Ye powers of honor, love, and truth^ 
 
 From every ill defend her ; 
 Inspire the highly-favor'd youth 
 
 Tlie destinies intend her : 
 Still fan the sweet connubial flame, 
 
 Responsive in each bosom ; 
 And bless the dear parental name 
 
 With many a filial blossom. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 417 
 
 THENIEL MENZIE'S BONNIE MAKY. 
 
 This song was communicated by Burns to the Musical Museum, with a 
 mark, denoting it to be an old song with alterations or additions. As he 
 published " Auld Lang Syne," and several of his songs, in a similar way, 
 and as the new of " Bonnie Mary" cannot be known from the old, there is 
 reason to believe it one of his own songs. 
 
 In coming by the brig of Dye,^ 
 
 At Dartlet we a blink did tarry ; 
 As day was dying in the sky, 
 
 We drank a health to bonnie Mary. 
 Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary, 
 Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary ; 
 Charlie Gregor tint his plaidie, 
 In wooing Theniel's bonnie Mary. 
 
 Her een sae bright, her brow sae white, 
 Her haffet locks as brown 's a berry. 
 An' ay they dimpled wi' a smile. 
 The rosie cheeks o' bonnie Mary. 
 Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary, 
 Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary ; 
 She charm'd my heart an' my twa een, 
 Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary. 
 
 We lap an' danced the lee-lang night. 
 Till piper lads were wan an' weary, 
 Yet rosie as the rising snn 
 Was Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary. 
 Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary, 
 Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary ; 
 Oh, sweet as light, and kind as night, 
 Was Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary. 
 
 LASSIE WI' THE LINT- WHITE LOCKS. 
 
 " This song," says Burn?, has at least the merit of being a regular pas- 
 toral. The vernal morn, the summer noon, the autumnal evening, and the 
 winter night, are all regularly rounded." 
 
 Tone — RothiemurcTius* Bant. 
 
 Lassie wi' the lint-white locTcs^ 
 Bonnie lassie^ artless lassie^ 
 Wilt thou loi' me tent the flocks f 
 Wilt thou l)e my dearie f 
 1 A small river in Kincardineshire, near the birthplace of the Poet's father, 
 
418 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 N'ow nature cleeds^ the flowery lea, 
 And a' is young and sweet like thee ; 
 Oh wilt thou share its joys wi' me, 
 And say thou 'It be my dearie ? 
 Lassie^ Sc. 
 
 And when the welcome simmer-shower 
 Has cheer'd ilk'' drooping little flower, 
 We '11 to the breathing woodbine bower, 
 At sultry noon, my dearie O. 
 Lassie, &c. 
 
 When Cynthia lights, wi' silver ray. 
 The weary shearer's h am e ward way, 
 Thro' yellow waving fields we '11 stray, 
 And talk o' love, my dearie O. 
 Lassie, &c. 
 
 And when the howling wintry blast 
 Disturbs my lassie's midnight rest ; 
 Enclasped to my faithfu' breast, 
 I '11 comfort thee, my dearie 0. 
 Lassie, <&c. 
 
 WAT YE WHA 'S IN YON TOWN. 
 
 The subject of tliis song was a lady, -who afterwards died at Lisbon. Bamt 
 writes in the character of her husband. She was an accomplished and lovelf 
 woman, and worthy of this beautiful strain of sensibility. 
 
 Tone— I'W gang nae mir to yon ioicn. 
 
 On wat^ ye wha 's in yon town. 
 
 Ye see the e'enin' sun upon ? 
 The fairest dame '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 flowers that round her blaw, 
 Ye catch the glances o' her ee ! 
 
 llow blest ye birds that round her sing. 
 And welcome in the blooming year ; 
 
 And doubly welcome be the spring. 
 The season to my Lucy dear. 
 
 Clothes.—'' Every.—' To wot. 
 
songS and ballads. 419 
 
 The sun blinks blytlie on yon town, 
 
 And on yon bonnie braes of Ayr ; 
 But my delight in yon town, 
 
 And dearest bliss, is Lucy fair. 
 
 "Without my love, not a' the charms 
 
 O' Paradise could yield me joy ; 
 But gie me Lucy in my arms. 
 
 And welcome Lapland's dreary sky. 
 
 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. 
 
 Oh sweet is she in yon town. 
 Yon sinking sun 's gaun down upon ; 
 
 A fairer than 's in yon town. 
 His setting beams ne'er shone upon. 
 
 If angry Fate is sworn my foe. 
 
 And suffering I am doom'd to bear ; 
 
 I careless quit aught else below. 
 But spare me, spare me, Lucy dear. 
 
 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. 
 
 THE BIRKS OF ABERFELDY. 
 
 This is written in the measure of an old Scottish song of the same name, 
 from which Burns has borrowed nothing but the chorus. He composed It 
 •while standing under the Falls of Aberfeldy, near Moness. 
 
 Bonnie lassie^ will ye go, 
 Will ye go, will ye go — 
 Bonnie lassie, will ye go 
 To the UtM of Aberfeldy ? 
 
 Kow simmer blinks on flowery braes, 
 And o'er the crystal streamlet plays, 
 
 1 Birch-trees. 
 
420 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 Come let us spend the lightsome days 
 In the birks of Aberfeldy. 
 Bonnie lassie^ &c. 
 
 "While o'er their heads the hazels hing,* 
 The little birdies blythely sing, 
 Or lightly flit on wanton wing, 
 In the birks of Aberfeldy. 
 Bonnie lassie^ &c. 
 
 The braes'* ascend like lofty wa's, 
 The foaming stream deep-roaring fa's, 
 O'erhung wi' fragrant spreading shaws, 
 The birks of Aberfeldy. 
 Bonnie 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. 
 Bonnie lassie^ &c. 
 
 Let Fortune's gifts at random flee. 
 They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me, 
 Supremely blest wi' love and thee, 
 In the birks of Aberfeldy, 
 Bonnie lassie^ &c. 
 
 LET ME IN THIS AE» NIGHT. 
 
 You have displayed great address in your song, • Let me in this ae night.' Her 
 answer is excellent, and at the same time takes away the indelicacy that otherwise 
 would have attached to his entreaties. I like the song as it now stands very much.*' 
 Thomson to Burns. 
 
 Lassie, art thou sleeping yet ? 
 Or art thou waukin', I would wit ? 
 For love has bound me hand and fit,** 
 For I would fain be in, jo.' 
 
 let me in this ae nigJit^ 
 
 This ae^ ae^ ae nighty 
 For pitf/s saice^ this ae nighty 
 
 rise and let me in^ jo. 
 
 » Hang. — 2 Slope of a hill.—' A precipice. — < Wets.— » One.— « Foot.— 
 Sweetheart 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 421 
 
 Thou hear'st the winter wind and weet,* 
 ISTae star blinks thro' the driving sleet; 
 Take pity on my weary feet, 
 And shield me frae the rain, jo, 
 let me in^ &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^ do. 
 
 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. 
 
 / tell you now this ae nighty 
 
 This ae^ ae^ ae night ; 
 And^ ancefor a\ this ae nighty 
 
 I winna let you in^ jo. 
 
 The snellest' blast at mirkest* hours. 
 That round the pathless wanderer pours, 
 Is nocht® to what poor she endures. 
 That's trusted faithless man, jo. 
 / tell you noio^ <&c. 
 
 The sweetest flower that deck'd the mead, 
 ISTow trodden like the vilest weed ; 
 Let simple maid the lesson read. 
 The weird^ may be her ain, jo. 
 / tell you now^ &c. 
 
 The bird that charm'd his summer-day. 
 Is now the cruel fowler's prey ; 
 Let witless, trusting woman say 
 How aft her fate's the same, jo. 
 / tell you note, &c, 
 
 » Eain.— 2 Way.— 3 Bitterest.—* Darkest.— s Naught.— « Fateu 
 30 
 
42^ BURNS S POEMS. 
 
 ADDRESS TO THE WOOD-LAEK. 
 
 Written for Thomson's Collection in May, 1795. " Caledonia," " whisti© 
 an' I'll come to you, my lad," "This is no my ain house," Ac, were also 
 productions of this period. 
 
 Tune — WJiereHl honnie Annie lie, or Loch-Erroch side, 
 
 O STAT, sweet warbling wood-lark, 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 wP disdaining. 
 
 Say, was thy little mate unkind, 
 And heard thee as the careless wind? 
 Oh, nocht but love and sorrow join'd, 
 
 Sic notes o' woe could wauken. 
 Thou tells o' never-ending care ; 
 O' speechless grief, and dark despair ; 
 For pity's sake, sweet bird, nae mair ! 
 
 Or my poor heart is broken ! 
 
 THE EOSE-BUD. 
 
 This bong was written on Miss Jenny Cruickshanks, only child of William 
 Cruickshanks, of the High-school, Edinburgh. 
 
 Tune— TJ^e SJiepherd's Wife. 
 
 A EOSE-BUD by my early walk, 
 A-down a corn-inclosed bawk,* 
 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 droox^ing 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. 
 
 1 A narrow footpath across a field. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 423 
 
 She soon shall see her tender brood, 
 The pride, the pleasure o' the wood, 
 Amang the fresh green leaves bedew'd, 
 Awake the early morning. 
 
 So thou, dear bird, young Jenny fair. 
 On trembling string or vocal air, 
 Shall sweetly pay the tender care 
 That tents thy early morning. 
 
 So thou, sweet rose-bud, young and gay. 
 Shall beauteous blaze upon the day. 
 And bless the parent's evening ray ^ 
 That watch'd thy early morning. 
 
 TIBBIE, I HAE SEEN THE DAY. 
 
 Burns wrote this song when he was about seventeen years of age. 
 Tune — Invercauld's Reel. 
 
 TibMe^ I liae seen the day 
 
 Ye wad na 'been sae sTiy ; 
 For lai¥ o* gear ye UgTitly me^ 
 
 But^ trotTi^ I care na by, 
 
 Yestkeen I met you on the moor. 
 Ye spak na, but gaed by like stoure ;'* 
 Ye geck^ at me because I 'm poor, 
 But fient^ a hair care I. 
 Time, &c. 
 
 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 hke to try. 
 TibUe, &c. 
 
 But sorrow tak him that 's sae mean, 
 Altho' his pouch^ o' coin were clean, 
 Wha follows onie saucy quean 
 That looks sae proud and high. 
 Tibbie, &c. 
 
 * Lack.— 2 Dust in motion.— 3 Toss the head in scorn.—'* A potty oath ol 
 negation. — ^ Cash. — ^ Pocket. 
 
424 BURNS'S PQEMS. 
 
 Altho' a lad were e'er so smart, 
 If that he want the yellow dirt, 
 Ye '11 cast your head anither airt,* 
 And answer him fu' dry. 
 Tiblie, &c. 
 
 But if he hae the name o' gear, 
 Ye '11 fasten to him like a Drier, 
 Tho' hardly he, for sense or lear,* 
 Be better than the kye.^ 
 TiUie, Sc. 
 
 But Tibbie, lass, tak my advice, 
 Your daddie's gear maks you sae nice : 
 The deil a ane wad spier* your price, 
 Were ye as poor as I. 
 TilUe, &c. 
 
 There lives a lass in yonder park, 
 I wad na gie her in her sark. 
 For thee wi' a' thy thousand mark — 
 Ye need na look sae high. 
 Time, &c. 
 
 CASTLE GORDON. 
 
 This song was written by Burns when on his tour to the Highlands, and 
 transmitted to Gordon Castle as an acknowledgment of the hospitality he had 
 received from the noble family. 
 
 Tune— Jfora^r. 
 
 Steeams 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 laves 
 The banks by Castle-Gordon. 
 
 Spicy forests, ever gay, 
 Shading from the burning ray 
 
 » Quarter.—' Learning.—* Cows.—* Inquire. 
 
SOXGS AND BALLADS. 425 
 
 Helpless wretches sold to toil, 
 Or the ruthless native's way, 
 Bent on slaughter, blood, and spoil : 
 Woods that ever verdant wave, 
 I leave the tyrant and the slave : 
 Give me the groves that lofty brave 
 The storms, by Castle-Gordon. 
 
 Wildly here, without control, 
 Nature reigns and rules the whole ; 
 In that sober pensive mood. 
 Dearest to the feeling soul. 
 She plants the forest, pours the flood : 
 Life's poor day I '11 musing rave, 
 And find at night a sheltering cave, 
 Where waters flow and wild-woods wave, 
 By bonnie Castle-Gordon. 
 
 OH, FOE ANE-AND-TWENTY, TAM. 
 
 This excellent lyric was -written for the "Museum." The air is from 
 an old and very indelicate song, which is now justly forgotten 
 
 Tune— r^e Moudiewort. 
 
 An' oil for ane-and-twenty^ Tarn ! 
 
 An' Tiey^ sweet ane-and-twenty^ Tarn ! 
 Vll learn my Tcin^ a rattUn'' sang^ 
 
 Gin I saw ane-and-twenty^ Tarn! 
 
 They snooP me sair, and baud me down. 
 An' gar me look like bluntie,^ Tam ! 
 
 But three short years will soon wheel roun', 
 An' then comes ane-and-twenty, Tam ! 
 An' o\ &c. 
 
 A gleib o' land, a claut* o' gear. 
 
 Was left me by my auntie, Tam ; 
 At kith° or kin I need na spier,® 
 
 Gin I were ane-and-twenty, Tam ! 
 An'' o\ &c. 
 
 • Kindred, relations. — ^ Oppress. — 3 A sniveller, a stupid person.—^ Good 
 portion. — ^ Kindred.— « Ask. 
 
420 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 They '11 hae me wed a wealthj coof/ 
 Though I mysel hae plenty, Tarn ; 
 
 But, hear'st thou, laddie — there 's my loof,' 
 I 'm thine at ane-and-twenty, Tam ! 
 An' o7i^ &c. 
 
 THE VISION. 
 
 This fragment is founded on a poem, bearing the same title, written by 
 Allan Ramsay. The scenery, however, is taken from nature. The 'poet is 
 supposed to be musing on the banks of the river Cluden, by the ruins of Lia- 
 cluden Abbey, founded in the twelfth century, in the reign of Malcolm IV 
 
 Tune— CM»inoc7c psalms. 
 
 As I stood by yon roofless tower, 
 
 "Where the wa'-flower scents the dewy air. 
 
 Where the howlet mourns in her ivy bower, 
 And tells the midnight moon her care : 
 
 The winds were laid, the air was still. 
 
 The stars they shot alang the sky ; 
 The fox was howling on the hill. 
 
 And the distant-echoing glens reply. 
 
 The stream, adown its hazelly path, 
 
 Was rushing by the ruin'd wa's. 
 Hasting to join the sweeping Nith, 
 
 Whase distant roaring swells and fa's. 
 
 The cauld blue north was streaming forth 
 
 Her lights wi' hissing eerie din ;^ 
 At>iort* the lift° they start and shift, 
 
 Like fortune's favors, tint as win." 
 
 By heedless chance I turn'd mine eyes, 
 And by the moonbeam shook to see 
 
 A stern and stalwart'' ghaist arise. 
 Attired as minstrels wont to be. 
 
 Had I a statue been o' stane. 
 
 His daurin'^ look had daunted me ; 
 And on his bonnet graved was plain. 
 
 The sacred posy — Libertie ! 
 
 • Blockhead.— 2 Palm of the hand.— s Frightful noise.—'* Athwart.— » Sky 
 -« Lost as soon as won.— ''^ Strong.— ^ Daring. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 42? 
 
 And frae* his harp sic' strains did flow, 
 Might roused the slumbering dead to hear ; 
 
 But oh, it was a tale of woe. 
 As ever met a Briton's ear ! 
 
 He sang wi' joy his former day. 
 
 He weeping wail'd his latter times ; 
 But what he said it was nae play, 
 
 I winna venture 't in my rhymes. 
 
 O BONNIE WAS YON ROSY BRIER. 
 
 The fine old air to which this song is written, has also been supplied with 
 words by Mr. Jamison, the editor of " Old Scottish Ballads and Songs '' in 
 2 vols. 8vo.— Edin. 1806. 
 
 Tune — I uish my love was in a mire. 
 
 O BONNIE was yon rosy brier. 
 That blooms sae far frae haunt o' man ; 
 
 And bonnie she, and ah, how dear ! 
 It shaded frae the e'enia' sun. 
 
 Yon rose-buds 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 fair I 
 
 But love is far a sweeter flower 
 Amid life's thorny path o' care. 
 
 The pathless wild, and wimpling burn, 
 
 Wi' Chloris in my arms, be mine ; 
 And I, the world, nor wish, nor scorn, 
 
 Its joys and griefs alike resign. 
 
 CAN I CEASE TO CARE? 
 
 Tune — Ay waukin' O. 
 
 Long, long the night, 
 
 ITeavy comes the morroto, 
 
 While my souVs delight 
 Is on her led of sorrow, 
 1 From.— 2 Such. 
 
428 BURNS S POEMS. 
 
 Can I cease to care, 
 Can I cease to languish, 
 
 While my darling fair 
 
 Is on the couch of anguish ? 
 Long^ &c. 
 
 Every hope is fled. 
 Every fear is terror ; 
 
 Slumber even I dread, 
 Every dream is horror. 
 Long^ &c. 
 
 Hear me, Powers divine! 
 
 Oh, in pity hear me ! 
 Take aught else of mine. 
 
 But my Chloris spare me ! 
 Long^ &c. 
 
 CLARIKDA. 
 
 The subject of this song was a young widow who encouraged a friendly 
 correspondence with Burns. 
 
 Clarinda, mistress of my soul, 
 
 The measured time is run ! 
 The wretch beneath the dreary pole, 
 
 So marks his latest sun. 
 
 To what dark cave of frozen night 
 
 Shall poor Sylvander hie ; 
 Deprived of thee, his life and light. 
 
 The sun of all his joy? 
 
 "We part — but by these precious drops 
 
 That fill thy lovely eyes ! 
 No other light shall guide my steps 
 
 Till thy bright beams arise. 
 
 She, the fair sun of all her sex. 
 
 Has blest my glorious day : 
 And shall a glimmering planet fix 
 
 My worship to its ray ? 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 429 
 
 JOCKEY 'S TAEN THE PARTING KISS. 
 
 Written to the tune and in the manner of the old song, beginning- 
 " Come kiss wi' me, come clap wi' me, 
 An' sail nae mair the saut,i saut sea." 
 
 Jockey 's taen the parting kiss, 
 Owre the mountains he is gane, 
 
 And with him is a' my bliss, 
 
 Naught but griefs with me remain. 
 
 Spare my love, ye winds that blaw, 
 Plashy sleets and beating rain ! 
 • Spare my love, thou feathery snaw, 
 Drifting owre the frozen plain ! 
 
 When the shades of evening creep 
 Owre the day's fair, gladsome ee, 
 
 Sound and safely may he sleep. 
 Sweetly blythe his waukening be ! 
 
 He will think on her he loves. 
 Fondly he '11 repeat her name ; 
 
 For where'er he distant roves, 
 Jockey's heart is still at hame. 
 
 THE BOKNIE LAD THAT 'S FAR AWA. 
 
 The original song to the tune of which the following is written, \rill be 
 found in a volume of songs printed at Edinburgh, about 1670, black-letter, 
 beginning — 
 
 ' The Elphin Knight sits on yon hill, 
 
 Ba, ba, ba, lilli ba, 
 He blew his horn baith loud an' shrill, 
 The wind has blawn my plaid awa.' 
 
 Tune — Owre the hills and far aica. 
 
 Oh how can I be blythe and glad. 
 Or how can I gang brisk and braw,' 
 
 When the bonnie lad that I lo'e best 
 Is owre the hills and far awa ? 
 
 It 's no the frosty winter wind. 
 
 It 's no the driving drift and snaw ; ' 
 
 But ay the tear comes in my ee. 
 To think o' him that 's far awa. 
 
 1 Salt— 2 Fine. 
 
450 BURNS S POEMS. 
 
 My father pat* me frae'* his door, 
 My friends they hae disown'd me a ; 
 
 But I hae ane will tak my part, 
 The bonnie lad that 's far awa. 
 
 A pair o' gloves he gave to me, 
 
 And silken snoods^ he gave me twa ; 
 
 And I will wear them for his sake, 
 The bonnie lad that 's far awa. 
 
 The weary winter soon will pass. 
 
 And spring will cleed* the birken shaw ;* 
 
 And my sweet babie will be born. 
 And he '11 come hame that 's far awa. 
 
 GREEN GROW THE RASHES. 
 
 This is the first song that Burns contributed to Johnson's Museum of Scottish 
 Songs, a work of great merit, extending to five 8vo. volumes, commenced in 1787, and 
 concluded in 1794. Besides many original contributions to that work, upwards of one 
 hundred and fifty of the old songs and ballads inserted in it bear traces of his hand 
 
 Green grow tJie rashes^ 1 
 
 Green grow the rashes^ 1 
 The sweetest hours that e''er I spend 
 
 Are spent amang the lasses^ ! 
 
 There 's naught but care on every han', 
 
 In every hour that passes, ; 
 What signifies the life o' man. 
 
 An' 'twere na for the lasses, ! 
 Green grow^ &c. 
 
 The warly' race may riches chase, 
 And riches still will fly them, O ; 
 
 And tho' at last they catch them fast. 
 Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, ! 
 Green grow, <&g. 
 
 But gie^ me a cannie® hour at e'en. 
 
 My arras about my dearie, ; 
 An' warly cares, an' warly men. 
 
 May a' gae tapsaltcerie," ! 
 Green grow, &c. 
 
 » Pat— « From.— 3 Ribbons for binding the hair.—* Clotbo.— » Small wood 
 ^« Worldly.—' Give —8 Convenient—* Topsy-turvy. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 431 
 
 For you sae douce,^ ye sneer at this, 
 Ye 're naught but senseless asses, O ; 
 
 The wisest man the war!' e'er saw, 
 
 He dearly loved the lasses, O ! 
 
 Oreen grow^ &c. 
 
 Auld ITature swears, the lovely dears, 
 
 Her noblest work she classes, ; 
 Her 'prentice han' she tried on man, 
 
 And then she made the lasses, ! 
 Green grow^ &c. 
 
 BONNIE ANN. 
 
 Burns composed this song out of compliment to Miss Ann Masterton, 
 daught*/ of his friend Allan Masterton, author of the air of " Strathallan'a 
 Lament ' *' Willie brewed a peck o' maut," &c. 
 
 Te gallants bright I red^ you right, 
 
 Beware o' bonnie Ann ; 
 Ser comely face sae fu' o' grace. 
 
 Your heart she will trepan. 
 Her een sae bright, like stars by night, 
 
 Her skin is like the swan ; 
 Sae gimply laced 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 bonnie Ann. 
 The captive bands may chain the hands. 
 
 But love enslaves the man ; 
 Ye gallants braw, I red you a'. 
 
 Beware o' bonnie Ann. 
 
 UP IN THE MORNINa EAELY. 
 
 The chorus of this song is old. 
 
 Up in the morning ''s no for mCy 
 Up in the morning emly ; 
 
 "When cC the hills are cover''d wi^ snaio^ 
 Vm sure iVs winter fairly . 
 
 * Sober, prudent.— 2 Counsel.— ^ Elegantly formed. 
 
132 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 Cauld blaws the wind frae east to west. 
 The drift^ is driving sairly ; 
 
 Sae loud and shill 's'* 1 hear the blast 
 I 'm sure it 's winter fairly. 
 
 Up in the morning^ &c. 
 
 The birds sit chittering in the thorn, 
 A' day they fare but sparely ; 
 
 And lang's the night frae e'en to moui, 
 I 'm sure it 's winter fairly. 
 
 Up in the morning^ &c. 
 
 MY NANNIE, 0. 
 
 In the earliest editions of this song the Stinchar was said io he N&r.n!6'B 
 native stream ; but afterwards the Poet replaced it with Lugar, for what 
 reason he has not told us. Perhaps he had a similar one for chiBgiag bis 
 own name from Burness to Burns. 
 
 Behind yon hills where Lugar flows, 
 
 'Mang moors and mosses many, O, 
 The wintry sun the day has closed. 
 
 And I '11 awa to Nannie, O. 
 The westlin' wind blaws loud an' shill ; 
 
 The night 's baith mirk^ and rainy, ; 
 But I '11 get my plaid, an' out I '11 steal. 
 
 An' owre the hills to Nannie, 0. 
 
 My Nannie's charming, sweet, an' young; 
 
 Nae artfu' wiles to win ye, O ; 
 May ill befa' the flattering tongue 
 
 That wad beguile my Nannie, ; 
 Her face is fair, her heart is true, 
 
 As spotless as she's bonnie, 0; 
 The opening gowan^ wet wi' dew, 
 
 Nae purer is than Nannie, 0. 
 
 A country lad is my degree. 
 
 An' few tliere be that ken** me, ; 
 
 But what care I how few they be, 
 I 'm welcome ay to Nannie, O. 
 
 > Drifted snow.— « Shrill.— » Dark.—* Wild daisy.— » Know 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 43£ 
 
 My riches a' 's my penny-fee,^ 
 
 And I maun guide it cannie,^ ; 
 But warl's gear^ ne'er troubles me, 
 
 My thoughts are a' my Nannie, 0. 
 
 Our auld gudeman delights to view 
 
 His sheep an' kye thrive bonnie, ; 
 But I 'm as blythe that bauds his pleugh, 
 
 An' has nae care but Nannie, 0. 
 Come weal, come woe, I care na by, 
 
 I '11 tak what Heaven will sen' me, ; 
 Nae ither care in life hae I, 
 
 But live, an' love my Nannie, O. 
 
 OH WHISTLE, AND I 'LL COME TO YOU, MY LAD. 
 
 The humor and fancy of "Whistle, an' I'll come toyoii, my lad," will 
 render it nearly as great a favorite as Duncan Gray. These songs of yousa 
 will descend with the music to the latest posterity. — Thomson to Burns. 
 
 Oh whistle^ and I HI come to you^ my lad^ 
 Oil wTiistle., and Pll come to you^ my lad^ 
 TTio'' father and onither and a'' should gae mad^ 
 Oh whistle^ and Fll come to you^ my lad. 
 
 But warily tent,* when ye come to court me. 
 And come na unless the back-yett° be a-jee ; 
 Syne^ up the back-style, and let naebody see, 
 And come as ye were na comin' to me : 
 And come as ye were na comin' to me. 
 Oh whistle^ &c. 
 
 At kirk, or at market, whene'er ye meet me, 
 Gang by me as though that ye cared na a flee: 
 But steal me a blink o' your bonnie black ee, 
 Yet look as ye were na looking at me : 
 Yet look as ye were na looking at me. 
 Oh whistle^ &c. 
 
 Ay vow and protest that ye care na for me, 
 And whiles ye may lightly^ my beauty a wee ;® 
 
 * The wages earned and paid half-yearly, or yearly, to servants. — ' Dex« 
 terously. — 3 Worldly riches. — * Heed. — ^ Qate.— ^ Then. — ^ gneer at.— 
 8 Littie. 
 
 37 
 
io'i BURNS S POEMS. 
 
 But court na anither, tho' jokin' ye be, 
 For fear that she wyle^ your fancy frae me : 
 For fear that she wyle your fancy frae me. 
 Oh whistle^ &c. 
 
 OH WERE MY LOVE YON LILAC FAIR. 
 
 The two last stanzas of this song are old. Burns prefixed the two first 
 TvNK—HugTiie Graham. 
 
 Oh were my love yon lilac fair, 
 Wi' purple blossom to the spring ; 
 
 And I a bird to shelter there, 
 AVhen -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, 
 
 AYhen youthfu' May its bloom renew'd. 
 
 Oh gin'^ my love were yon red rose, 
 That grows upon the castle wa', 
 
 And I mysel a drap o' dew. 
 Into her bonnie breast to fa' ; 
 
 Oh there beyond expression blest, 
 I 'd feast on beauty a' the night ; 
 
 Seal'd on her siik-saft faulds to rest, 
 Till fley'd^ awa by Phoebus' light. 
 
 THIS IS NO MY AIN LASSIE. 
 
 The chorus of the old song, to the air of which this heautiful lyric ia 
 'aritten is curious : 
 
 " This is nae my ain house, 
 I ken by the biggin o 't — 
 Bread an' cheese are the door cheeks, 
 An' pancakes the riggin' o 't.— " 
 
 Tune— T7tw is no my ain house. 
 
 Oh this is no my ain* lassie^ 
 Fair though the lassie he ; 
 
 Oh weel I Teen my ain lassie, 
 Kind love is in her ee, 
 
 » Beguile.— 2 if._3 Scared — < Owa 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 435 
 
 I SEE a form, I see a face, 
 
 Ye weel may wi' the fairest place : 
 
 It wants, to me, the witching grace, 
 
 The kind love that 's in her ee. 
 
 Oil this is no^ &c. 
 
 She 's bonnie, blooming, straight, and tall, 
 And lang has had my heart in thrall ; 
 And ay it charms my very sanl. 
 The kind love that 's in her ee. 
 Oh this is no^ &c. 
 
 A thief sae pawkie^ is my Jean, 
 To steal a blink by a' unseen ; 
 But gleg^ as light are lovers' een, 
 When kind love is in the ee. 
 Oh this is no^ &c. 
 
 It may escape the courtly sparks, 
 It may escape the learned clerks ; 
 But weel the watching lover marks 
 The kind love that 's in her ee. 
 Oh this is no. Sc. 
 
 THE DUMFRIES VOLUNTEERS. 
 
 Burns was a member of this corps. He composed the following verses to 
 stimulate their patriotism. For though he deplored the corruptions in the 
 administration of government at home, he was unwilling to exchange even 
 them for foreign domination. 
 
 Tune — Push about the jorum. 
 
 Does haughty Gaul invasion threat ? 
 
 Then let the louns^ beware. Sir ; 
 There 's wooden walls upon our seas, 
 
 And volunteers on shore. Sir. 
 The Nith shall rin to Oorsincon,* 
 
 And CriffeP sink in Solway, 
 Ere we permit a foreign foe 
 
 On British ground to rally ! 
 
 1 Cunning.— 2 Quick.— 3 Fellows, ragamuffins.—'* A higli hill at the sourco 
 of the Nith.— 5 A high mountain at the mouth of the same river. 
 
430 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 Oh, let us not, like snarling tykes,* 
 
 In wrangling be divided ; 
 Till slap come in an unco loon," 
 
 And wi' a rung^ decide it. 
 Be Britain still to Britain true, 
 
 Amang oursels united ; 
 For never but by British hands 
 
 Maun British wrangs be righted. 
 
 The kettle o' the kirk and state, 
 
 Perhaps a claut may fail in 't ; 
 But deil a foreign tinker loon 
 
 Shall ever ca' a nail in 't ; 
 Our fathers' blude the kettle bought, 
 
 And wha would dare to spoil it. 
 By heaven, the sacrilegious dog 
 
 Shall fuel be to boil it! 
 
 The wretch that wad a tyrant own, 
 
 And the wretch (his true-born brother) 
 Who 'd set the mob aboon the throne, 
 
 May they be d — d together ! 
 "Who will not sing "God save the king," 
 
 Shall hang as high 's the steeple ; 
 But, while we sing " God save the king," 
 
 We '11 ne'er forget the people. 
 
 THE UNION. 
 
 At a meeting of a select party of gentlemen to celebrate the birth-day of 
 the lineal descendant of the Scottish race of kings, the late unfortunate 
 Prince Charles Stuart, Burns produced and sung the following song. 
 
 TvNZ—SucJi a parcel of rogues in a nation. 
 
 Fareweel to a' our Scottish fame, 
 
 Fareweel our ancient glory ! 
 Fareweel even to the Scottish name 
 
 Sae fam'd in martial story I 
 Now Sark rins o'er the Solway sands. 
 
 And Tweed rins to the ocean. 
 To mark where England's province stands ; 
 
 Such a parcel of rogues in a nation ! 
 
 * Dogs. — 2 Strange fellow, a foreigner. — s Cudgel. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 437 
 
 "What force or guile could not subdue, 
 
 Through many warlike ages, 
 Is wrought now by a coward few, 
 
 For hireling traitors' wages. 
 The English steel we could disdain, 
 
 Secure in valor's station, 
 But English gold has been our bane : 
 
 Such a parcel of rogues in a nation. 
 
 Oh would or I had seen the day 
 
 That treason thus could sell us, 
 My auld gray head had lien in clay, 
 
 Wi' Bruce and loyal Wallace ! 
 But pith and power, till my last hour, 
 
 I '11 mak this declaration, 
 We 're bought and sold for English gold: 
 
 Such a parcel of rogues in a nation ! 
 
 THE WINDING NITH. 
 
 The Gaelic air to which this song is adapted is said to have been com- 
 posed by Roderic Dall, an itinerant musician, formerly well known in tho 
 Highlands of Perthshire. He died about 1780, at a very advanced age. 
 
 TuVE—Rolie Donna Gorach. 
 
 The Thames flows proudly to the sea, 
 
 Where royal cities stately stand ; 
 But sweeter flows the Nith to me. 
 
 Where Cummins ance had high command ; 
 When shall I see that honor'd land. 
 
 That winding stream I love so dear? 
 Must wayward Fortune's adverse hand 
 
 Forever, ever keep me here ? 
 
 How lovely, Nith, thy fruitful vales, 
 
 Where spreading hawthorns gayly bloom ! 
 How sweetly wind thy sloping dales. 
 
 Where lambkins wanton thro' the broom! 
 Tho' wandering, now, must be my doom. 
 
 Far from thy bonnie banks and braes. 
 May there my latest hours consume, 
 
 Amang the friends of early days ! 
 
438 BURNS S POEMS. 
 
 MY HEART IS SAIR. 
 
 Two additional verses were written for this song by the late Mr. R. A. 
 Smith, which are now printed along with it in most collections. The new 
 verses are not unworthy to accompany the old. 
 
 Tune— TAc Higliland Watches farewell. 
 
 My heart is sair, I dare na tell, 
 
 My heart is sair for somebody ; 
 
 I could wake a winter night, 
 
 JFor the sake o' somebody. 
 
 Oh-hon ! for somebody ! 
 
 Oh-hey ! for somebody ! 
 
 I could range the world around, 
 
 For the sake o' somebody. 
 
 Ye Powers that smile on virtuous love, 
 
 Oh 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 wad I not ? 
 Eor the sake o' somebody ! 
 
 DELIA.— AN ODE. 
 
 This ode was sent to the publisher of the London Star — !n which pap«r it 
 first appeared, with the following letter ; 
 
 "Mr. Printer, — If the productions of a simple ploughman can merit a 
 place in the same paper with Sylvester Otway,i and the other favorites of 
 the Muics, who illuminate the Star with the lustre of genius, your insertion 
 of the inclosed trifle will be succeeded by future communications from 
 
 "Yours, Ac, R.BURNS. 
 
 •• EiLiSLAND, near Dumfries, May 18, 1789." 
 
 Fair the ftice of orient day, 
 
 Fair the tints of opening rose; 
 But fairer still my Delia dawns, 
 
 More lovely far her beauty blows. 
 
 The assumed name of a Mr. Oswald, an officer in the army, -who fre 
 quently contributed verses to the Star newspf^er. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 439 
 
 Sweet the lark's wild-warbling lay, 
 
 Sweet the tinkling rill to hear ; 
 But, Delia, more delightful still 
 
 Steal thine accents on mine ear. 
 
 The flower-enamor'd busy bee 
 
 The rosy banquet loves to sip ; 
 Sweet the streamlet's hmpid lapse 
 
 To the sun-brown'd Arab's Hp ; 
 
 But, Delia, on thy balmy lips 
 
 Let me, no vagrant insect, rove; 
 Oh let me steal one liquid kiss ; 
 
 For, oh ! my soul is parch'd by love ! 
 
 COME, LET ME TAKE THEE TO MY BREAST. 
 
 This and the five following songs were addressed to Jean Armour, after- 
 wards Mrs, Burns. 
 
 Tune— JSTauW Kail. 
 
 OoME, let me take thee to my breast, 
 And pledge we ne'er shall sunder ; 
 
 And I shall spurn, as vilest dust. 
 The warld's wealth and grandeur : 
 
 And do I hear my Jeanie own 
 That equal transports move her ? 
 
 I ask for dearest life alone, 
 That I may live to love her. 
 
 Thus in my arms, wi' a' thy charms, 
 
 I clasp my countless treasure ; 
 I '11 seek nae mair o' heaven to share, 
 
 Than sic a moment's pleasure : 
 
 And by thy een, sae bonnie blue, 
 
 I swear I 'm thine forever ! 
 And on thy lips I seal my vow, 
 
 And break it shall I never 1 
 
440 
 
 I'LL AY CA' IN BY YON TOWN. 
 
 I 'll ay ca'^ in by yon town 
 And by yon garden green again ; 
 
 I '11 ay ca' in by yon town, 
 And see my bonnie Jean again. 
 
 There 's nane sail ken,^ there 's nane sail gness, 
 
 What brings me back the gate again, 
 . But she, my fairest, faithfu' lass ; 
 And stowlins^ we sail meet again. 
 
 She '11 wander by the aiken*-tree. 
 
 When trystin'-time draws near again ; 
 
 And when her lovely form I see. 
 Oh, haith, she 's doubly dear again. 
 
 THE RANTING DOa THE DADDIE 'T. 
 
 Burns says, " I composed this song pretty early in life, and sent it to a 
 young girl, a ve^y particular acquaintance of mine, who was at that tima 
 under a cloud." 
 
 TuXE— JEasf nevk o' Fife. 
 
 O WHA my baby clouts' will buy ? 
 Wha will tent^ me when I cry ? 
 Wha will kiss me whare I lie ? 
 The rantin' dog the daddie o 't. 
 
 Wha will own he did the faut?^ 
 Wha will buy my groanin'-maut?* 
 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 seek nae mair, 
 The rantin' dog the daddie o 't. 
 
 Wha will crack to me my lane?'" 
 Wha will mak me fidgin' fain? 
 Wha will kiss me owre again? 
 The rantin' dog the daddie o 't. 
 
 > Call.— « Shall know.— 3 In secret— < Oak.— » Clothes.— « Heed.-" Fault 
 — ' Malt--' Stool of repentance. — i" Talk to me in secret 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 441 
 
 OF A' THE AIRTS THE WIND CAN BLAW. 
 
 This song was written in honor of Mrs. Burns, during the honey-moon. 
 Tune — Miss Admiral GordotVs Strathspey. 
 
 Of a' the airts^ the wind can blaw, 
 
 I dearly like the west ; 
 For there the bonnie lassie lives, 
 
 The lassie I lo'e best : 
 There wild- woods grow, and rivers row,* 
 
 And monie 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 in the tunefu' birds, 
 
 I hear her charm the air : 
 There 's not a bonnie flower that springs 
 
 By fountain, shaw, or green. 
 There 's not a bonnie bird that sings, 
 
 But minds me o' my Jean. 
 
 OH, WERE I ON PARNASSUS' HILL. 
 
 This song was also written in honor of Mrs. Burns, about the same time as 
 the preceding. 
 
 Tune — My love is lost to me. 
 
 On, were I on Parnassus' hill ! 
 Or had of Helicon my fill ; 
 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 bonnie sel' ; 
 On Corsincon I '11 glower^ and spell. 
 
 And write how dear I love thee ! 
 
 Then come, sweet Muse, inspire my lay 
 For a' the lee-lang"* simmer's day, 
 I couldna sing, I couldna say. 
 
 How much — how dear I love thee. 
 
 Qn?.»ters of the heavens, i. e. east, west, north, or south. — 2 UoH.— a To 
 cok with earnest and fixed attention. — ■* Live-long. 
 
442 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 I see thee dancing o'er the green, 
 Thy waist sae jimp/ thy limbs sae clean, 
 Thy tempting lips, thy roguish een — 
 By heaven and earth, I love thee ! 
 
 By night, by day, a-field, at hame. 
 The thoughts o' thee my breast inflame ; 
 And ay I muse and sing thy name : 
 
 I only live to love thee. 
 Tho' I were doom'd to wander on. 
 Beyond the sea, beyond the sun, 
 Till my last weary sand was run ; 
 
 'Till then — and then I love thee. 
 
 CRAIGIE-BURN WOOD. 
 
 CraJgie-burn wood is situated on the banks of the river Moffat, about three 
 miles distant from the village of that name, celebrated for its medicinal 
 waters. This wood, and that of Duncrieff, were at one time favorite haunts 
 of Burns. It was there he met the "Lassie wi' the lint-white locks," and 
 composed several of his songs. 
 
 Sweet fa's the eve on Craigie-burn, 
 And blythe awakes the morrow. 
 
 But a' the pride o' spring's return 
 Can yield me nochf* but sorrow. 
 
 I see the flowers and spreading trees, 
 
 I hear the wild-birds singing ; 
 But what a weary wight can please. 
 
 And care his bosom wringing? 
 
 Fain, fain would I my griefs impart. 
 
 Yet dare na 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 fa' frao the tree^ 
 
 Around my grave they '11 wither 1 
 
 - Slender.— 2 NangUt. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 443 
 
 MACPHERSON'S FAREWELL. 
 
 Bnrns composed this song to the beautiful air of " Macpherson's Fare- 
 welL" Macpherson was a famous robber in the beginning of the last 
 century, and was condemned to be hanged at the assizes at Inverness. His 
 exploits, however, as a freebooter, were debased by no act of cruelty, no 
 robbery of the widow, the fatherless, or the distressed ; nor was any raurder 
 ever committed under his command. A dispute with one of his own troop, 
 who wished to plunder a gentleman's house while his wife and two children 
 lay on the bier for interment, was the cause of his being betrayed to the ven- 
 geance of the law. He was an admirable performer on the violin, and his 
 talent for musical composition is evinced, not only in his " Rant" and 
 "Pibroch," but also in his " Farewell," which he composed while he was 
 in prison under sentence of death. He played his "Farewell" at the foot 
 of the gallows ; and then broke his violin over his knee. He died with the 
 same fortitude as he had lived— a stranger to repentance, to remorse, and to 
 fear. His sword is still preserved at Duff -house, a residence of the Earl of 
 Fife. 
 
 Tune— J[facpAcrson'5 Farewell. 
 
 Farewell, ye dungeons dark and strong, 
 
 The wretch's destinie ! 
 Macpherson's time will not be long. 
 
 Oil yonder gallows-tree. 
 
 Sae rantingly^ sae wantonly^ 
 
 8ae dauntingly gaed he ; 
 He play''d a spring^ and danced it rounds 
 
 Below the gallows-tree. 
 
 Oh, what is death but parting breath? 
 
 On. monie a bludie plain 
 I 've dared his face, and in this place 
 
 I scorn him yet again ! 
 
 Sae r anting ly^ &c. 
 
 Untie these bands from off my hands, 
 
 And bring to me my sword ; 
 And there 's not a man in all Scotland, 
 
 But I '11 brave him at a word. 
 Sae rantingly^ &c. 
 
 I 've lived a life of sturt^ and strife ; 
 
 I die by treacherie: 
 It burns my heart I must depart, 
 
 And not avenged be. 
 
 Sae rantingly^ &c. 
 
 » A quick air in music, a Scottish reel.— 2 Trouble 
 
444 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 Now farewell, liglit, thou sunshine bright, 
 
 And all beneath the sky ! 
 May coward shame di stain his name, 
 
 The wretch that dares not die ! 
 8ae rantingly^ &c. 
 
 HOW LANG AND DREARY IS THE NIGHT. 
 
 *' • How lang and dreary is the night.' I met with some such words," 
 Bays Burns, "in a collection of songs somewhere, which I have altered 
 and enlarged, and made to suit my favorite air, ' Cauld kail in Aber- 
 deen.' " 
 
 Tune— CauZd kail in Aberdeen. 
 
 How lang and dreary is the night. 
 
 When I am frae my dearie ! 
 I restless lie frae e'en to morn, 
 
 Tho' I were ne'er sae weary. 
 
 For o\ Iter lanely nights are lang ; 
 
 And oh^ her dreams are eerie^^ 
 And oh^ her widow'^d heart is sair^ 
 
 ThaVs absent frae her dearie! 
 
 When I think on the lightsome days 
 
 I spent wi' thee, my dearie; 
 And now what seas between us roar. 
 
 How can I be but eerie ? 
 For o\ &c. 
 
 How slow ye move, ye heavy liours I 
 The joyless day, how drearie ! 
 
 It was na sae ye glinted'' by. 
 When I was wi' my dearie. 
 For o\ &c. 
 
 BONNIE PEG. 
 
 First published in the Edinburgh Magazine for 1818. 
 
 As I came in by our gate end, 
 
 As day was waxin' weary, 
 Oh wlia came tripping down the street, 
 
 But bonnie Peg, my dearie ! 
 
 * Frightful.— 3 Peeped, passed quickly. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 445 
 
 Her air sae sweet, and shape complete, 
 
 Wi' nae proportion wanting. 
 The Queen of Love did never move 
 
 "Wi' motion mair enchanting. 
 
 Wi' linked hands, we took the sands 
 
 A-down yon winding river ; 
 And, oh ! that hour and broomy bower, 
 
 Can I forget it ever ? 
 
 CONTENTED WI' LIITLE. 
 
 Burns has written nothing of the kind better than the following happy 
 and most excellent song. "The old proverbial lore," says Allan Cunning- 
 ham, " lends wisdom to the verse, the love of freedom is delicately expressed 
 and vindicated, the sorrows of life are softened by song, and drink seems 
 only to flow to set the tongue of the muse a-moving." 
 
 Tone— Zmwj^s o' Pudding. 
 
 Contented wi' little, and cantie^ wi' mair, 
 Whene'er I forgather wi' sorrow and care, 
 1 gie them a skelp,^ as they 're creepin' alang, 
 Wi' a cog^ o' gude swats,"* and an auld Scottish sang. 
 
 I whyles claw^ the elbow o' troublesome thought ; 
 But man is a sodger, and life is a faught :^ 
 My mirth and gude humor are coin in my pouch, 
 And my freedom's my lairdship nae monarch daro 
 touch. 
 
 A towmond' o' trouble, should that be my fa'.^ 
 A night o' gude fellowship sowthers^ it a' : 
 When at the blythe end o' 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'en let the jad gae : 
 Come ease, or come travail; come pleasure or pain, 
 My warst word is, " Welcome, and welcome again !" 
 
 1 Cheerful.— 2 Slap, a smart stroke.— 3 Wooden dish.— * Ale.— ^ Scratch.- 
 Fight— 7 Twelvemonth.- 8 Fate.— » Cements.— 1° Stumble.—" Stagger. 
 38 
 
446 BURNS S POEMS. 
 
 WANDERING WILLIE. 
 
 Perhaps in this song Burns has not much improved upon the old " Here 
 awa, there awa, wandering Willie.' ' 
 
 Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie, 
 Here awa, there awa, hand awa hame ;^ 
 
 Come to my bosom, my ain only dearie. 
 Tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same. 
 
 Winter winds blew loud and cauld at our parting. 
 
 Fears for my Willie brought tears in my ee ; 
 Welcome now simmer, and welcome my Willie, 
 
 The simmer to nature, my Willie to me. 
 
 Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave of your slumbe.'s, 
 How your dread howling a lover alarms ! 
 
 Wauken, ye breezes, row'* gently, ye billow^s. 
 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 Willie 's my ain ! 
 
 OPEN THE DOOR TO ME, ! 
 
 Written to the old air of Lord Gregory ; the second line was originally, 
 love it may na be, I" 
 
 Oh, open the door, some pity to show, 
 
 Oh, open the door to me, O ! 
 Tho' thou hast been false, I '11 ever prove true, 
 
 Oh, open the door to me, O ! 
 
 Cauld is the blast upon my pale cheek, 
 
 But caulder thy love for me, ! 
 The frost that freezes the life at my heart, 
 
 Is naught to my pains frae thee, O ! 
 
 The wan moon is setting behind the white wave, 
 
 And time is setting with me, ! 
 False friends, false love, farewell I for mair 
 
 I '11 ne'er trouble them, nor thee, ! 
 
 1 Hold away home.— ^ Roll 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 447 
 
 She has open'd the door, she has open'd it wide, 
 She sees his pale corse on the plain, ! 
 
 "My true love!" she cried, and sank down by his side, 
 II^Tever to rise again, O ! 
 
 MY NANNIE'S AWA. 
 
 Tune — There HI never he peace till Janne comes hcmie. 
 
 The air to which this pretty pastoral song is united, was a favorite of Burns's. 
 
 He wrote some excellent Jacobite verses to the same tune. 
 
 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 snaw-drap and primrose our woodlands adorn, 
 And violets bathe in the weet o' the morn ; 
 They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw, 
 They mind me o' Nannie — and Nannie 's awa. 
 
 Thou lav'rock'' that springs frae the dews o' 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 wi' tidings o' nature's decay ; 
 The dark, dreary winter, and wild-driving snaw, 
 Alane can delight me — now Nannie's awa. 
 
 MEG 0' THE MILL. 
 
 Tune— bonnie lass, will ye lie in a harracJc ? 
 This song was originally written to a fine old air, called Jackie Hume's 
 Lament, but altered to suit the present tune. Theie is another and an older 
 Meg o' the Mill, which begias — 
 
 *' Oh ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten ? 
 Oh ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten ? 
 A braw new gown, an' the tail o' it rotten. 
 An' that 's what Meg o' the Mill has gotten." 
 
 Oh ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten ? 
 An' ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten ? 
 She has gotten a coof^ wi' a claut^ o' siller, 
 And broken the heart o' the barley Miller. 
 Every small wood. — 2 Lark. — 3 Thrush. — * Blockhead. — ^ Great quantity 
 of silver. 
 
448 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 The miller was strappin', the miller was rudd/ ; 
 A heart like a lord, and a hue like a lady ; 
 The laird was a widdiefuY bleerit knurl f 
 She 's left the gude fellow and taen the churl. 
 
 The miller he hecht' her a heart leal and loving ; 
 The laird did address her wi' matter mair moving 
 A fine pacing horse, wi' a clear-chained bridle, 
 A whip by her side, and a bonnie side-saddle. 
 
 Oh wae on the siller, it is sae prevailin' ! 
 And wae on the love that 's fixed on a mailen !* 
 A tocher 's° nae word in a true lover's parle, 
 But, gie me my love, and a fig for the warl' ! 
 
 THE BANKS OF THE DEVON. 
 
 These verses were composed on Miss Hamilton.s sister to Gavin 
 Hamilton, of Mauchline. 
 
 How pleasant the banks of the clear- winding Devon, 
 "With green-spreading bushes, and flowers blooming 
 fair ; 
 
 But the bonniest flower 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 gay 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 renew ! 
 
 Oh 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 and lawn. 
 
 Let Bourbon exult in his gay-gilded lilies, 
 
 And England triumphant display her proud rose ; 
 
 A fairer than either adorns the green valleys, 
 "Where Devon, sweet Devon, meandering flows. 
 
 > Deserving the gallows.— ^ Bleared dwarf.— ' Offered.— ■* Farm.— * Mar- 
 riage portion. 
 
 * To this lady Burns addressed several letters, which arc, imfo'-tunately 
 ost. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 449 
 
 AULD ROB MORRIS. 
 
 The two first lines of this song are taken from an old ballad. The 
 rest are original. 
 
 There 's auld Eob Morris who wons^ in yon glen, 
 He 's the king o' gude fellows and wale^ of auld men ; 
 He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kine. 
 And ae bonnie lass, his darling and mine. 
 
 She 's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May ; 
 She 's sweet as the ev'ning amang the new hay ; 
 As blythe and as artless as the lamb on the lea, 
 And dear to my heart as the light to my ee. 
 
 But, oh ! she 's an heiress, auld Kobin 's a laird. 
 And my daddie has naught but a cot-house and yard 
 A wooer like me maunna hope to come speed. 
 The wounds I must hide that 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. 
 Oh had she but been of a lower degree, 
 I then might hae hoped she wad smiled upon me ; 
 Oh how past describing had then been my bliss, 
 As now my distraction no words can express ! 
 
 THE BRAAV WOOER. 
 
 The original of this song, the "Lothian Lassie," consisted of some nine or tea 
 Tery silly verses ; one of them may be quoted : 
 
 " The mither cried butt the house, Jockie come here, 
 Ye 've naething to do but the question to speir — 
 The question was speir'd, and the bargain was struck, 
 The neebors came in and wish'd them gude luck.'' 
 
 Tune — Lothian Lassie. 
 
 Last May a braw^ 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. 
 
 1 Dwells.— 2 Choice.— 3 Handsome.— * Deafen. 
 
450 BURKS S POEMS. 
 
 He spak o' the darts in my bonnie black een, 
 
 And vow'd for my love he was dying : 
 I said he might die when he liked, for Jean, 
 
 The Lord forgie me for lying, for lying. 
 
 The Lord forgie me for lying. 
 
 A weel-stocked mailen,^ himsel for the laird, 
 And marriage, aff-hand, were his proffers, 
 
 I never loot' on that I ken'd it, or cared. 
 But thought I might hae waur^ offers, waur offers, 
 But thought I might hae waur offers. 
 
 But what wad ye think ? in a fortnight or less, 
 (The deil tak his taste to gae near me !) 
 
 He up the lang loan to my black cousin Bess, 
 
 Guess ye how, the jad ! I could bear her, could bear her 
 Guess ye how, the jad ! I could bear her. 
 
 But a' the neist week as I fretted wi' care, 
 
 I gaed to the tryste* o' Dalgarnock, 
 And wha but my fine fickle wooer was there ; 
 
 I glowr'd^ as I 'd seen a warlock,^ a warlock, 
 
 I glowr'd as I 'd seen a warlock. 
 
 But owre my left shouther I gae him a blink, 
 
 Lest neebors might say I was saucy ; 
 My wooer he caper'd as he 'd been in drink, 
 
 And vow'd I was his dear lassie, dear lassie. 
 
 And vow'd I was his dear lassie. 
 
 I spier'd^ for my cousin, fu' couthy® and sweet. 
 
 Gin she had recover'd her hearin'. 
 And how her new shoon® fit her auld shackled feet ; 
 
 But, heavens ! how he fell a-swearin', a-swearin'. 
 
 But, heavens ! how he fell a-swearin\ 
 
 He begged, for gudesake ! I wad be his wife, 
 
 Or else I wad kill him wi' sorrow ; 
 So, e'en to preserve the poor body in life, 
 
 I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morrow, 
 
 I think I maun wed him to-morrow. 
 
 ' A well-stocked farm.— a Let— * Worse.—* Fair.—" Stared.—" A wizard. 
 —'' Inquired.— 8 Loving.- « Shoes. 
 
SOXGS AND BALLADS. 451 
 
 WHAT CAN A YOUNG LASSIE DO, Etc. 
 
 Burns is indebted to an old song for the following happy and very graphio 
 verses. They were written for Johnson's "Museum." 
 
 Tune— TT/iaf can a lassie do ? 
 
 What can a young lassie, what shall a young lassie, 
 What can a young lassie do wi' an auld man ? 
 
 Bad luck on the pennie that tempted my minnie^ 
 To sell her poor Jenny for siller an' Ian' ! 
 Bad luck on the pennie, &c. 
 
 Ho 's always compleenin' frae mornin' to e'enin'. 
 He hosts^ and he hirples^ the weary day lang ; 
 
 He 's doyl't* and he 's dozin', his bluid it is frozen, 
 
 Oh dreary 's the night wi' a crazy auld man ! 
 
 He 's doyl't and he 's dozin', &c. 
 
 He hums and he hankers, he frets and he cankers, 
 I never can please him, do a' that I can ; 
 
 He 's peevish and jealous of a' the young felows, 
 
 Oh dooP on the day I met wi' an auld man ! 
 
 He 's peevish and jealous, &c. 
 
 My auld auntie Katie upon me taks pity, 
 I '11 do my endeavor to follow her plan : 
 
 I '11 cross him, and wrack him, until I heart-break him, 
 And then his auld brass will buy me a new pan. 
 I '11 cross him, and wrack him, &c. 
 
 HEY FOR A LASS WI' A TOCHER. 
 
 Your " Hey for a lass wi' a tocher" is excellent, and with yon the subject is new 
 indeed. It is the first time I have seen you debasing the god of soft desire into an 
 amateur of acres and guineas. — Thomson. 
 
 TxjNE—Balinamona era. 
 
 AwA wi' your witchcraft o' beauty's alarms, 
 The slender bit beauty you grasp in your arms ; 
 O gie me the lass that has acres o' charms, 
 O gie me the lass wi' the weel-stockit farms. 
 
 1 Mother 2 Conghs.— 3 Creeps, or walks crazily.— ^ Stupid.— ^ Sorrow. 
 
452 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 Then Tieyfor a lass wV a toclier^ 
 Then hey for a lass wi^ a tocher^ 
 Then hey for a lass wV a tocher ; 
 The nice yellow guineas for me. 
 
 Your beauty 's a flower in the morning that blows, 
 And withers the faster, the faster it grows ; 
 But the rapturous charm o' the bonnie green knowes,' 
 Ilk spring they 're new deckit wi' bonnie white yowes.' 
 Then hey^ &c. 
 
 And e'en when this beauty your bosom has blest, 
 The brightest o' beauty may cloy when possest ; 
 But the sweet yellow darlings wi' Geordie imprest. 
 The langer ye hae them the mair they 're carest. 
 Then hey^ &c. 
 
 THE BIG-BELLIED BOTTLE. 
 
 To two old "bottle" songs we are partly indebted for the following verses. 
 the one the Poet has borrowed the title ; from the other the tune. 
 
 Tune — Prepare, my dear brethren, to the tavern let '« fly. 
 
 No churchman am I for to rail and to write, 
 Ko statesman or soldier to plot or to fight, , 
 No sly man of business contriving some snare, 
 For a big-bellied bottle 's the whole of my care. 
 
 The peer I don't envy, I give him his bow ; 
 I scorn not the peasant, though ever so low ; 
 But a club of good fellows, like those that are here, 
 And a bottle like this, are my glory and care. 
 
 Here passes the squire on his brother — his horse ; 
 Tliere centum per centum, the cit with his purse ; 
 But see you the Crown, how it waves in the air, 
 There a big-bellied 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-bellied bottle 's a cure for all care. 
 
 * A marriage portion.—* HlllocliS.— ' £we8. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 453 
 
 I once was persuaded a venture to make ; 
 A letter inform'd me that all was to wreck ; 
 But the pursy old landlord just waddled 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 gown ; 
 And faith, I agree with the old prig to a hair ; 
 For a big-bellied bottle 's a heaven of care. 
 
 A STANZA ADDED IN A MASON LODGE. 
 
 Then fill up a bumper and make it overflow, 
 And honors masonic prepare for to throw ; 
 May every true brother of the compass and square 
 Have a big-bellied bottle when harassed with care. 
 
 SONG OF DEATH. 
 
 " The circumstance," says Burns, "that gave rise to the following verses, was 
 /coking over, with a musical friend, M'Donald's Collection of Highland airs. I was 
 Struck with one, entitled ' Oran an Aoig,' or ' The song of Death,' to the measure ot 
 vhich I have adapted my stanzas." 
 
 Scene — A field of battle. Time of the day — Evening. The wounded and dying 
 of the victorious army are supposed to join in the song. 
 
 Faeewell, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies, 
 
 ]S'ow gay with the bright setting sun ! 
 Farewell, loves and friendships, ye dear, tender ties. 
 
 Our race of existence is run ! 
 
 Thou grim king of terrors, thou life's gloomy foe, 
 
 Go, frighten the coward and slave ! 
 Go, teach them to tremble, fell tyrant ! but know, 
 
 Ko terrors hast thou for the brave ! 
 
 Thou strik'st the poor peasant — he sinks in the dark, 
 
 Nor saves e'en the wreck of a name : 
 Thou strik'st the young hero — a glorious mark ! 
 
 He falls in the blaze of his fame ! 
 
 In the field of proud honor — our swords in our hands. 
 
 Our kiug and our country to save — 
 While victory shines on life's last ebbing sands — 
 
 Oh ! who would not die with the brave ? 
 
 1 Young's Night Thoughts. 
 
454 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 OUT-OVER THE FORTH, Etc. 
 
 The second of the following verses was first published by Currie, the first bj 
 Cromek. United, they make an exquisite little song. 
 
 OoT-OYEE the Forth I look to the north, 
 But what is the north and its Highlands to me ^ 
 
 The south nor the east give ease to my breast, 
 The far foreign land nor the wild rolling sea. 
 
 But I 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 best, 
 The lad that is dear to my babie and me. 
 
 BY YON CASTLE WA', Etc. 
 
 Written in imitation of an old Jacobite song, of which the following are twj 
 idnes— 
 
 " My lord 's lost his land, and my lady her name, 
 There '11 never be right till Jamie comes hame." 
 
 By yon castle wa', at the close o' the day, 
 I heard a man sing, though his head it was gray ; 
 And as he was singing, the tears fast down came — 
 There '11 never be peace till Jamie comes hame. 
 
 The church is in ruins, the state is in jars. 
 Delusions, oppressions, and murderous wars ; 
 We dare na weel say 't, but we ken Avha 's to blame — 
 There '11 never be peace till Jamie comes hame. 
 
 My seven braw sons for Jamie drew sword. 
 And now I greet round their green beds in the yird ;* 
 It brak the sweet heart o' my faithfu' auld dame — 
 There Ul never be peace till Jamie cornes hame. 
 
 Now life is a burden that sair bows me down. 
 Sin' I tinf^ my bairns,^ and he tint his crown : 
 But till my last moment my words are the same — 
 There '11 never be peace till Jamie comes hame. 
 
 1 Earth.— 2 Lost— « Children. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 455 
 
 THE CHEVALIER'S LAMENT. 
 
 •* Wlien Prince Charles Stuart saw that utter ruin had fallen on a 1 those wh* 
 lOved hira and fought for him— that the axe and the cord were busy with their per- 
 lons, and that their wives and children -v^ere driven desolate, he is supposed by 
 Burns to have given utterance to his feelings in this Lament." — Allan Cunningham. 
 
 Tune— C«ptotn O^Kaine. 
 
 The small birds rejoice in the green leaves returning ; 
 
 The murmuring streamlet winds clear thro' the vale ; 
 The hawthorn trees blow in the dews of the morning, 
 
 And wild scatter'd cowslips bedeck the green dale : 
 
 But what can give pleasure, or what can seem fair. 
 While the lingering moments are number'd by care ? 
 
 ITo flowers gayly 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 sheltei') but I can find none. 
 
 But 'tis not my sufferings, thus wretched, forlorn. 
 My brave gallant friends, 'tis your ruin I mourn ; 
 
 Your deeds proved so loyal in hot bloody trial, . 
 Alas ! can I make you no sweeter return ? 
 
 THEIR GROVES 0' SWEET MYRTLE, Etc, 
 
 *' Love of country and domestic affection have combined to endear this 
 song to every bosom. It was written in honor of Mrs. Burns." — Allan Cun- 
 ningham. 
 
 TvHK— Rumors of Glen. 
 
 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 bowers. 
 
 Where the blue-bell and gowan" lurk lowly unseen : 
 For there, lightly tripping amang the wild flowers, 
 
 A-listening the linnet, aft wanders my Jean. 
 
 » Fern.— 2 The wild daisy 
 
456 BURNS S POEMS. 
 
 Tho' rich is the hreeze in their gay sunny valleys, 
 
 And cauld Caledonia's blast on the wave ; 
 Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud 
 palace, 
 
 "What are they ? the haunt o' the tyrant and slave I 
 The slave's spicy forests, and gold-bubbling fountains, 
 
 The brave Caledonian views wi' disdain ; 
 He wanders as free as the winds of his mountains. 
 
 Save love's wilUng fetters, the chains o' his Jean. 
 
 CALEDONIA. 
 
 This excellent national song was first published by Dr. Currie. It has never 
 become, popular, however. The words and the tune are by no means a verj 
 suitable pair. 
 
 Tune— TAc Caledonian HunVs Delight. 
 
 There was once a day, but old Time then was young, 
 
 That brave Caledonia, the chief of her line, 
 From some of your northern deities sprung, 
 
 (Who knows not that brave Caledonia 's divine ?) 
 From Tweed to the Orcades was her domain, 
 
 To-hunt, or to pasture, or do what she would : 
 Her heavenly relations there fixed her reign. 
 
 And pledged her their godheads to warrant it good. 
 
 A lambkin in peace, but a lion in war. 
 
 The pride of her kindred, the heroine grew: 
 Her grandsire, old Odin, triumphantly swore — 
 
 " Whoe'er shall provoke thee, the encounter shall 
 rue!" 
 With tillage or pasture at times she would sport. 
 
 To feed her fair flocks by her green rustling corn ; 
 But chiefly the woods were her favorite resort ; 
 
 Her darling amusement, the hounds and the horn. 
 
 Long quiet she reign'd ; till thitherward steers 
 A flight of bold eagles from Adria's strand :^ 
 
 Bepeated, successive, for many long years. 
 
 They darken'd the air, and they plunder'd the land ; 
 
 ^ The Bomans 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 459 
 
 Thus Robert, victorious, the triumph has gain'd ; 
 Which now in his house has for ages reraain'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 ; 
 Craigdarroch, so famous for wit, worth, and law ; 
 And trusty Glenriddel, so skill'd in old coins ; 
 And gallant Sir Robert, deep read in old wines. 
 
 Craigdarroch began, with a tongue smooth as oil, 
 Desiring 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 !" Glendriddel replies, 
 " Before I surrender so glorious a prize, 
 I '11 conjure the ghost of the great Rorie More,^ 
 And bumper his horn with him twenty times o'er." 
 
 Sir Robert, a soldier, no speech could pretend, 
 But he ne'er turn'd his back on his foe or his friend, 
 Said, " Toss down the whistle, the 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 drowning 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 : 
 Bright Phoebus ne'er witness'd so joyous a core, 
 And vow'd that to leave them he was quite forlorn, 
 Till Cynthia hinted he 'd see them next morn. 
 
 ^ See Johnson's Tour to the Hebrides 
 
460 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 Six bottles a-piece had well wore out the night, 
 "When gallant Sir Robert, to finish the fight, 
 Turn'd 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 high-ruling elder to wallow in wine ! 
 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 
 
 Kext up rose our Bard, like a prophet in drink : 
 " Craigdarroch, thou 'It soar when creation shall sink . 
 But if thou would flourish immortal in rhyme. 
 Come — one bottle more — and have at the sublime ! 
 
 " Thy line, that has struggled for freedom with Bruce, 
 
 Shall heroes and patriots ever produce ; 
 
 So thine be the laurel, and mine be the bay ; 
 
 The field thou hast won, by yon bright god of day!" 
 
 AFTON WATER. 
 
 Afton Water is one of the tributary streams of the Nith. The song was written in 
 honor of Mrs. Dugald Stewart, of Afton Lodge, a lady of considerable literary abili- 
 ties. She wrote the beautiful and well-known song—" The tears I shed must ever 
 fell." 
 
 Flow gentl}', sweet Afton, among the green braes. 
 Flow gently, I '11 sing thee a song in thy praise ; 
 My Mary 's asleep by thy murmuring stream, 
 Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. 
 
 Thou stock-dove whose echo resounds 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 neighboring hills. 
 Far mark'd witli the courses of clear winding rills I 
 There daily I wander as noon rises high. 
 My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 461 
 
 How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below, 
 Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow ! 
 There oft as mild evening weeps over the lea, 
 The sweet-scented birk^ shades my Mary and me. 
 
 Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides, 
 And winds by the cot where my Mary resides ; 
 How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave. 
 As gathering sweet flow'rets she stems thy clear wai o. 
 
 riow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,' 
 Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays ; 
 My Mary 's asleep by thy murmuring stream. 
 Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. 
 
 THE BELLES OF MAUCHLINE. 
 
 This is one of our Bard's early productions.— Miss Armour was afterwards 
 Mrs. Burns. 
 
 TvNK— Bonnie Dundee. 
 
 In Mauchline there dwells six proper young Belles, 
 The pride of the place and its neighborhood 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. 
 
 Miss 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'. 
 
 MY HARRY WAS A GALLANT GAY. 
 
 "The oldest title," says Bums, "I ever heard to this air was 'The Highland 
 Watch's Farewell to Ireland.' The chorus I picked up from an old woman in Dun- 
 blane ; the rest of the song is mine." 
 
 TuXE — Highlander's Lament. 
 
 My Harry was a gallant gay, 
 
 Fu' stately strade he on the plain ! 
 
 But now he 's banish'd far away, 
 I '11 never see him back again. 
 
 1 Birch-tree.— 2 The slope of a hilL 
 
462 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 Oil for Mm 'hack again^ 
 Oh for Mm hack again^ 
 
 I wad gie a' Knockhaspie' s land 
 For HigMand Harry hack again 
 
 When a' the lave^ gae to their bed, 
 I wander dowie^ up the glen ; 
 
 I sit me down and greet^ my fill, 
 And ay I wish him back again. 
 Oh for Mm^ &c. 
 
 Oh were some villains hangit high. 
 And ilka body had their ain, 
 » Then I might see the joyfu' sight, 
 My Highland Harry back again ! 
 Oh for him^ &c. 
 
 WHEN GUH^FORD GOOD OUR PILOT STOOD. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 This ballad made its first appearance in the Edinburgh edition of the Poet's 
 vorks. When Dr. Blair read it, he uttered this pithy criticism— " Bur ns'l 
 politics always smell of the smithy." 
 
 1\]:xiE,—Gillicrankie. 
 
 When Guilford good our pilot stood. 
 
 And did our hellim thraw, man, 
 Ae night, at tea, began a plea, 
 
 Within America, man : 
 Then up they gat the maskin-pat,* 
 
 And in the sea did jaw,* man; 
 An' did nae less, in full congress. 
 
 Than quite refuse our law, man. 
 
 Then through the lakes Montgomery takes, 
 
 I wat he was na slaw, man I 
 Down Lowrie's burn he took a turn, 
 
 And Oarleton did ca', man : 
 
 > Best— « Worn with grief.— « Cry.—* Teapot. 
 
 * To pour out— to jerk, or cast away. It Mill be recollected that when the 
 English parliament imposed an excise duty upon tea imported into North 
 America, tho East India Company sent several ships laden with that article 
 to Boston, and the natives went on board those ships by force of arms, and 
 emptied all the chests of tea into the sea. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 4C3 
 
 But yet, what-reck, he, at Quebec, 
 
 Montgomery-like did fa', man, 
 Wi' sword in hand, before his band, 
 
 Amang his enemies a', man. 
 
 Poor Tammy Gage, within a cage, 
 
 Was kept at Boston ha', man ; 
 Till Willie Howe took o'er the knowe* 
 
 For Philadelphia, man : 
 Wi' sword an' gun he thought a sin 
 
 Guid Christian blood to draw, man ; 
 But at New York, wi' knife an' fork, 
 
 Sirloin he hacked sma', man. 
 
 Burgoyne gaed up, like spur an' whip. 
 
 Till Fraser brave did fa', man ; 
 Then lost his way, ae misty day, 
 
 In Saratoga shaw, man. 
 Cornwallis fought as lang 's he dough t,^ 
 
 An' did the buckskins^ claw, man ; 
 But Clinton's glaive'* frae rust to save. 
 
 He hung it to the wa', man. 
 
 Then Montague, and Guilford too, 
 
 Began to fear a fa', man ; 
 And Sackville doure,® wha stood the stoure,' 
 
 The German chief to thraw, man : 
 For Paddy Burke, like ony Turk, 
 ^ !N"ae mercy had at a', man ; 
 
 ^" And Charlie Fox threw by the box. 
 
 And lows'd his tinkler^ jaw, man. 
 
 Then Rockingham took up the game, 
 
 Till death did on him ca', man ; 
 When Shelburne meek held up his cheek, 
 
 Conform to gospel 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. 
 
 » A hillock.— 2 Was able. — ^ Natives of Yirginia.— * A sword. — * Stcut, 
 etnbborn. — ^ Dust. — ''' Let loose in a strain of coarse raillery against tli€ 
 Ministry. 
 
4G4 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 Then clubs an' hearts were Charlie's cartes, 
 
 He swept the stakes awa', man, 
 Till the diamond's ace, of Indian race. 
 
 Led him a sair faux pas^ man : 
 The Saxon lads, wi' lou^ placads,* 
 
 On Chatham's boy did ca', man : 
 An' Scotland drew her pipe, an' blew, 
 
 *'Up, Willie, waur^ them a', man!" 
 
 Behind the throne then Grenville's gone, 
 
 A secret word or twa, man ; 
 While slee Dundas aroused the class 
 
 Be-north the Roman wa', man : 
 An' Chatham's wraith, in heavenly graith,' 
 
 (Inspired bardies saw, man,) 
 Wi' kindling eyes cried, " Willie, rise I 
 
 Would I hae fear'd them a', man ?" 
 
 But, word an' blow, ITorth, Fox, and Co. 
 
 Gowff'd^ Willie like a ba', man, 
 Till Suthron^ raise, and coost their claise* 
 
 Behind him in a raw, man ; 
 An' Caledon threw by the drone. 
 
 And did her whittle^ draw, man ; 
 And swoor® fu' rude, thro' dirt an' blood. 
 
 To mak it guid in law, man. 
 ***** 
 
 NOW WESTLIN' WINDS, Etc. 
 
 This is an early production. It was published in the Kilmarnock edition. 
 TuKE— I had a horse, I had nae mair. 
 
 Now westlin' winds, and slaughtering guns 
 
 Bring Autumn's pleasant weather ; 
 The moorcock springs, on whirring wings, 
 
 Amang the blooming heather : 
 Now waving grain, wide o'er the plain, 
 
 Delights the weary farmer; 
 And tlie moon shines bright, when I rove at night, 
 
 To muse upon my charmer. 
 
 > Proclamation.— ^ To worst; to defeat. — ^ Dress, accoutrements. 
 • Struck.— 6 An old name for the English nation.—' Cast their clothea.- 
 Knlfc, or sword. — ^ Swore. 
 
- ■,,-/ - .". .^i <•-*.•. .ioii^^s clear. 
 Ibick tHan the rJrimniing swallow: 
 The jikyia biiie the liftlds in -view. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 465 
 
 The partridge loves the fruitful fells ;* 
 
 The plover loves the mountains ; 
 The woodcock haunts the lonely dells ; 
 
 The soaring hern the fountains : 
 Thro' lofty groves the cushaf* roves, 
 
 The path of man to shun it ; 
 The hazel bush o'erhangs the thrush, 
 
 The spreading thorn the linnet. 
 
 Thus every kind their pleasure find, 
 
 The savage and the tender ; 
 Some social join, and leagues combine; 
 
 Some solitary wander : 
 Avaunt, away ! the cruel sway. 
 
 Tyrannic man's dominion ; 
 The sportsman's joy, the murdering cry, 
 
 The fluttering, gory pinion ! 
 
 But Peggy dear, the evening 's clear, 
 
 Thick flies the skimming swallow : 
 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 every happy creature. 
 
 We '11 gently walk, and sweetly talk. 
 
 Till the silent moon shine clearly ; 
 I '11 grasp thy waist, and, fondly prest, 
 
 Swear how I love thee dearly : 
 Not vernal showers to budding flowers, 
 
 Not autumn to the farmer. 
 So dear can be as thou to me, 
 
 My fair, my lovely charmer ! 
 
 TO MARY. 
 
 •* la my early years, when I was thinking of going to the West Indies, i took 
 this lareweel of a dear girl." — Burns to Thomson. 
 
 Tone — Ewe-hugJifs, Marion. 
 
 Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, 
 And leave auld Scotia's shore ? 
 > A field pretty level on the side or top of a hill.— ^ The dove, or wood-pigeon 
 
466 
 
 Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, 
 Across th' Atlantic's roar? 
 
 Oh sweet grows the lime and the orange^ 
 
 And the apple on the pine ; 
 But a' the charms o' the Indies, 
 
 Can never equal thine. 
 
 I hae sworn by the heavens to my Mary, 
 I hae sworn by the heavens to be true ; 
 
 And sae may the heavens forget me, 
 When I forget my vow ! 
 
 Oh plight me your faith, my Mary, 
 And plight me your lily-white hand ; 
 
 Oh plight me your faith, my Mary, 
 Before I leave Scotia's strand. 
 
 We hae jjlighted 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 ! 
 
 MY WIFE 'S A WINSOME WEE THING. 
 
 "These lines," says Burns, "are extempore. I might have tried 
 eomething more profound, yet it might not have suited the light-horse 
 fallop of the air so well as this random clink." 
 
 She is a winsome^ wee'' thing. 
 She is a handsome wee thing. 
 She is a bonnie wee thing. 
 This sweet wee wife o' mine. 
 
 I never saw a fairer, 
 
 I never lo'ed a dearer. 
 
 And neist'' my heart I '11 wear her, 
 
 For fear my jewel tine.'' v 
 
 She is a winsome wee thing. 
 Sire is a handsome wee thing. 
 She is a bonnie wee thing, 
 This sweet wee wife of mine. 
 
 * Gay.— 2 Little.— 3 Nearest— -» Be lost. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 
 
 457 
 
 Their pounces were murder, and terror their cry, 
 They 'd conquer'd and ruin'd a world beside : 
 
 She took to her hills, and her arrows let fly, 
 The daring invaders they fled or they died. 
 
 The fell harpy-raven took wing from the north, 
 
 The scourge of the seas and the dread of the sbore ;* 
 The wild Scandinavian boar issued forth 
 
 To wanton in carnage, and wallow in gore j'* 
 O'er countries and kingdoms their fury prevail'd, 
 
 Ko arts could appease them, no arms could repel ; 
 But brave Caledonia in vain they assail'd. 
 
 As Largs well can witness, and Loncartie tell.^ 
 
 The Cameleon-savage disturb'd her repose. 
 
 With tumult, disquiet, rebellion, and strife ; 
 Provoked beyond bearing, at last she arose, 
 
 And robb'd him at once of his hopes and his life :"* 
 The Anglian lion, the terror of France, 
 
 Oft prowling, ensanguined the Tweed's silver flood ; 
 But taught by the bright Caledonian lance, 
 
 He learned to fear his own native wood. 
 
 , Thus bold, independent, unconquer'd and free, 
 Her bright course of glory forever shall run : 
 For brave Caledonia immortal must be ; 
 
 I '11 prove it from Euclid as clear as the sun : 
 Kectangle-triangle, the figure we '11 choose. 
 
 The upright is Chance, and old Time is the base 
 But brave Caledonia 's the hypothenuse ; 
 Then ergo she'll match them, and match them 
 always.* 
 
 1 The Saxons.— 2 The Danes.— ^ The two famous battles in wliicli the 
 Danes or Norwegians were defeated. — * The Highlanders of the Isles. 
 
 5 This singular figure of poetry refers to the famous proposition of Pythag- 
 oras, the 47th of Euclid. In a right-angled triangle, the square of tha 
 hypothenuse is always equal to the squares of the two other sides. 
 39 
 
468 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 To equal young Jessie seek Scotland all over; 
 
 To equal young Jessie, you seek it in vain ; 
 Grace, beauty, and elegance, fetter her lover. 
 
 And maidenly modesty fixes the chain. 
 
 Oh 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, a wizard ensnaring ; 
 
 Enthroned in her een he delivers his law ; 
 And still to her charms she alone is a stranger! 
 
 Her modest demeanor 's the jewel of a'. 
 
 PHILLIS THE FAIE. 
 
 Speaking of this song to Thomson, Bui-ns says, " I have tried my hand 
 on 'Bobin Adair,' and you will probably think with little success ; but 
 it is 8uch a cursed, cramp, out-of-the-way measure, that I despair of doing 
 any thing better to it." 
 
 T0:je— iEo&i'n Adair. 
 
 While larks with little wing 
 
 Fann'd the pure air. 
 Tasting the breathing spring. 
 
 Forth 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 did I share ; 
 While yon wild-flowers among, 
 
 Chance led me there : 
 Sweet to the opening day. 
 Rosebuds bent the dewy spray; 
 Such thy bloom I did I say, 
 
 Phillis the fair. 
 
 Down in a shady walk, 
 
 Doves cooing were, 
 I mark'd the cruel hawk 
 
 Caught in a snare: 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 469 
 
 So kind may Fortune be, 
 Such make his destiny, 
 He who wouhl injure thee, 
 Phillis the fair. 
 
 HAD I A CAVE, Etc. 
 
 An unfortunate circnnistance which happened to his friend Cannlngham, bbr 
 Rested this fine pathetic song to the Poet's fancy. 
 
 TO THE SAME TUNE. 
 
 Had I a cave on some wild, distant shore, 
 Where the winds howl to the waves' dashing roar, 
 
 There would I weep my woes, 
 
 There seek my lost repose. 
 
 Till grief my eyes should close. 
 Ne'er to wake more. 
 
 Falsest of womankind, 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 ! 
 
 ADOWN WINDING NITH. 
 
 •' A favorite air of mine," says Burns, " is ' The mnckin* o' Geordie's Byre,* 
 when snng slow, with expression. I have often wished that it had had better 
 poetry : that I have endeavored to supply as follows." 
 
 Tune— TAc muddn' o' Geordie's Byre. 
 
 Adown" winding Nith I did wander. 
 
 To mark the sweet flowers as they spring ; 
 
 Adown winding Nith I did wander, 
 Of Phillis to muse and to sing. 
 
 Awa wV your helles and your "beauties^ 
 They never wV her can compare: 
 
 Whaever has met ici'' my Phillis^ 
 Has met wV the queen o' the fair. 
 40 . 
 
470 BURNS S POEMS. 
 
 The daisy amused my fond fancy, 
 
 So artless, so simple, so wild; 
 Thou emblem, said I, o' my Pliillis, 
 
 For she is simplicity's child. 
 Awa, &c. 
 
 The rose-bud 's the blush o' my charmer, 
 Her sweet balmy lip when 'tis prest: 
 
 How fair and how pure is the hlyl 
 But fairer and purer her breast. 
 Awa^ &c. 
 
 Yon knot of gay flowers in the arbor, 
 They ne'er with my Phillis can vie : 
 
 Her breath is the breath o' the woodbine, 
 Its dew-drop o' diamond her eye. 
 Awa^ &c. 
 
 Her voice is the song o' the morning, 
 That wakes thro' the green-spreading grove, 
 
 When Phoebus peeps over the mountains 
 On music, and pleasure, and love. 
 Awa^ &c. 
 
 But beauty how frail and how fleeting, 
 The bloom of a fine summer's day ! 
 
 While worth in the mind o' my Phillis 
 Will flourish without a decay. 
 Awa. &c. 
 
 ON THE SEAS AND FAR AWAY. 
 
 •• I do not think • On the Seas and far away' one of your very happy produo« 
 .tions, though it certainly contains stanzas that are worthy of all acceptation."— 
 -Th/tmson to Burns. 
 
 Tone— O'er the JtilU, ^c. 
 
 How can my poor heart be glad, 
 AVhen 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 day 
 Are with him that 's far away. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 47l 
 
 On the seas and far away^ 
 On stormy seas and far away ; 
 Nightly dreams and thoughts hy day^ 
 Are ay with him thaVsfar away, 
 
 "When in summer's noon I faint, 
 As weary flocks around me pant, 
 Haply in this scorching sun 
 My sailor 's thundering at his gun : 
 Bullets, spare my only joy ! 
 Bullets, spare my darling boy ! 
 Fate, do with me what you may, 
 Spare but him that's far away! 
 On the seas^ &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^ &c. 
 
 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 prosperous gales, 
 Fill my sailor's welcome sails. 
 To my arms their charge convey. 
 My dear lad that 's far away. 
 On the seas. &c. 
 
 SAW YE MY PHELY ? 
 
 Written for the Museum. The air must have been altered to suit the present 
 verses, as the measure of the old song is very difiFerent— " When she cam ben 
 she bobbit/u' low.^' 
 
 Tune — When she cam hen she bohbit. 
 
 Oh saw ye my dear, my Phely ? 
 Oh 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. 
 
472 BURNS S POEMS, 
 
 What says she, my dearest, my Phely ? 
 What says she, ray clearest, ray Phely? 
 She lets thee to wit that she has thee forgot, 
 And forever disowns thee her Willy. 
 
 Oh had I ne'er seen thee, my Phely ! 
 Oh had I ne'er seen thee, my Phely ! 
 As light as the air, and fause as thou 's fair. 
 Thou 's broken the heart o' thy Willy. 
 
 LET NOT WOMAN E'ER COMPLAIN". 
 
 Duncan Gray was a favorite air of the Poet's. He had already written to 
 H his admirable Scottish song " Duncan Gray cam here to woo." The fol- 
 »-*wing is an attempt to dress it in English. 
 
 Tvn'E— Duncan Gratj. 
 
 Let not woman e'er complain, 
 
 Of inconstancy in love; 
 Let not woman e'er complain, 
 
 Pickle 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 flow : 
 
 8nn 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 '11 be constant while we can — 
 You can be no more, you know. 
 
 SLEEP'ST THOU, OR WAK'ST THOU, Etc. 
 
 Written for Thomson's collection. For some curious alterations of this song 
 lee Currie's edition, vol. iv. page 137. 
 
 1\imz—Deil talc the Wars. 
 
 Sleep'st thon, or wak'st thou, fairest creature? 
 
 Rosy morn now lifts liis eye, 
 Numbering ilka bud which Nature 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 473 
 
 Waters wi' the tears o' joy : 
 
 Now to the streaming fountain, 
 
 Or up the heathy mountain, 
 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 frae my Ohloris parted. 
 
 Sad, cheerless, broken-hearted. 
 Night's gloomy shades, cloudy, dark, o'ercast my sky : 
 
 But when, in beauty's light. 
 
 She meets my ravish'd sight. 
 
 When through my very heart 
 
 Her beaming glories dart ; 
 'Tis then I wake to life, to light, and joy. 
 
 MY CHLOmS, MARK HOW GEEEN THE GROVES. 
 
 "How do you like," says Burns to Thomson, 'the simplicity and tenderness 91 
 this pastoral ? I think it pretty well." 
 
 Tune— if?/ lodging is on the cold ground. 
 
 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 the 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 his simple reed, 
 
 Blythe, in the birken shaw.^ 
 
 ' Linnet— 2 HalL— ^ Small wood in a hollovr. 
 
474 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 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 plirase will woo ; 
 
 The courtier tells a finer tale, 
 But is his heart as true ? 
 
 These wild-wood flowers I We pu'd,* to deck 
 That spotless breast o^ thine : 
 
 The courtiers' gems may witness love — 
 But 'tis na love like mine. 
 
 IT WAS THE CHARMING MONTH OF MAY. 
 
 Altered from an old English song. 
 Tune — Dainty Davie. 
 
 It was the charming month of May, 
 "When all the flowers were fresh and gay, 
 One morning by the break 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 youtliful, charming Chloe. 
 
 Lovely was she ly the dawn^ 
 
 Youthful Chloe^ charming Ghloe^ 
 
 Trippinff o'^er the pearly lawn^ 
 The youthful^ charming Chloe, 
 
 The feather'd people you might see, 
 Perch'd all around on every tree, 
 In notes of sweetest melody, 
 They hail the charming Chloe ; 
 
 Till, painting gay the eastern skies, 
 The glorious sun began to rise, 
 Out-rivaird by the radiant eyes 
 Of youthful, charming Chloe. 
 Lovely was she^ &c. 
 
 > Pulled, gathereO. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 475 
 
 FAREWELL, THOU STREAM, Etc. 
 
 This song ias nothing in common with the old verses— 
 " Nancy 's to the greenwood gane, 
 To gain her love by flattering." 
 
 Tune — Nancy 's to the greenwood gane. 
 
 Faeewell, thoii stream that winding flows 
 Around Eliza's dwelling ! 
 
 memory spare the cruel throes 
 Within my bosom swelling: 
 
 Condemn'd to drag a hopeless chain, 
 
 And yet in secret languish, 
 To feel a fire in every vein, 
 
 Nor dare disclose my anguish. 
 
 Love's veriest wretch, unseen, unknown, 
 I fain my griefs would cover ; 
 
 The bursting sigh, the unweeting groan, 
 Betray the hapless lover. 
 
 1 know thou doom'st me to despair, 
 JSTor wilt, nor canst reheve me ; 
 
 But oh, Eliza, hear one prayer. 
 For pity's sake forgive me. 
 
 The music of thy voice I heard, 
 
 Nor wist while it enslaved me ; 
 I saw thine eyes, yet nothing fear'd, 
 
 Till fears no more had saved me : 
 The unwary sailor thus aghast. 
 
 The wheeling torrent viewing, 
 'Mid circling horrors sinks at last 
 
 In overwhelming ruin. 
 
 PHILLY^ AND WILLY.— A DUET. 
 
 " I am mnch pleased," says the Poet, in a letter to George Thomson, 
 " with your idea of singing our songs in alternate stanzas. I regret that you 
 did not hint it to me sooner." 
 
 Tune— T/ic Sow^s Tail. 
 
 HE. 
 
 O Philly, happy be the day 
 
 When roving through the gathered hay, 
 
 1 The common abbreviation of Pliillis. 
 
4lG 
 
 My youtlifu' heart was stown away, 
 And by tliy charms, my Philly. 
 
 O Willy, ay I bless the grove 
 Wliere first I owii'd my maiden love, 
 Whilst thou didst pledge the Powers above 
 To be my ain dear Willy. 
 
 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. 
 
 SHE. 
 
 The little swallow's wanton wing, 
 Tho' wafting o'er the flowery spring, 
 Did ne'er to me sic tidings bring 
 As meeting o' my Willy. ' 
 
 The bee that thro' the sunny hour 
 Sips nectar in the opening flower, 
 Compared wi' my delight is poor, 
 Upon the lips o' Philly. 
 
 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. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. ill 
 
 Let fortune's wheel at random rin, 
 And fools may tyne,* and knaves may win ; 
 My thoughts are a' bound up in ane, 
 And that '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 Willy. 
 
 CANST THOU LEAVE ME THUS, MY KATY? 
 
 Of this song, Burns says, "Weill I think, to be done in two or three 
 turns across my room, and with two or three pinches of Irish blackguard,3 
 It is not so far amiss." 
 
 Tune— iJoir's Wi/e. 
 
 Canst thou leave me tJius^ my Katy ? 
 
 Canst thou leave me thus^ my Katy ? 
 
 Well thou hnow'^st my aching hearty 
 
 And canst thou leave me thus for pity? 
 Is this thy plighted, fond regard, 
 
 Thus cruelly to part, my Katy ? 
 Is this thy faithful swain's reward — 
 
 An aching, broken heart, my Katy ? 
 Canst thou^ &c. 
 
 Farewell ! and ne'er such sorrows tear 
 That fickle heart of thine, my Katy ! 
 
 Thou mayst find those will love thee dear — 
 But not a love like mine, my Katy. 
 Canst thou^ &c. 
 
 'TWAS NA HER BONNIE BLUE EE WAS MY RUIN. 
 
 The following is a verse of the old song : 
 " Lang hae we parted been, lassie my dearie, 
 Now we are met again, lassie, lie near me ; 
 Near me, near me, lassie, lie near me, 
 Lang hast thou lien thy lane, lassie, lie near me." 
 Tune — Lassie, lie near me. 
 
 'TwAs na her bonnie blue ee was my ruin ; 
 Fair tho' she be, that was ne'er my undoing : 
 
 1 Lose.— 2 Gold —3 Snuff. 
 
478 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 'Twas the dear smile when naebody 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 should fate us to sever. 
 Queen shall she be in my bosom forever. 
 
 Mary, I 'm thine wi' a passion sincerest. 
 And thou 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 ABE THE PARENTS. 
 
 Altered from an old English song, 
 TvsE— John Anderson, my jo. 
 
 How cruel are the parents 
 
 Who riches only prize : 
 And to tho wealthy booby, 
 
 Poor woman sacrifice! 
 Meanwhile the hapless daughtei 
 
 Has but a choice of strife ; 
 To shun a tyrant father's hate, 
 
 Become a wretched wife. 
 
 The ravening hawk pursuing, 
 
 The trembling dove thus flies. 
 To shun impending ruin 
 
 Awliile her pinions tries; 
 Till of escape despairing, 
 
 No shelter or retreat, 
 She trusts the rutliless falconer. 
 
 And drops beneath his feet. 
 
 MARK YONDER POMP OF COSTLY FASHION. 
 
 The Cbloris of Uiis song 1ms inspired some of the Poet's sweetest strainiL 
 
 She is said to have died lately in great poverty. 
 
 Tune— /)cf? take the tears. 
 
 Mat!K yonder pomp of costly fashion. 
 
 Hound tlie wealthy, titled bride: 
 But when compared with real passion, 
 
 Poor is all that princely pride. 
 1 Stolen. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 4Y€ 
 
 What arc the showy treasures? 
 
 "What are the noisy pleasures? 
 Tlie gay, gaudy glare of vanity and art ; 
 
 The polish'd jewel's blaze 
 
 May draw the wondering gaze, 
 
 And 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 yonder sweet opening flower is, 
 Shrinking from the gaze of day; 
 Oh 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, 
 Ev'n Avarice would deny 
 His worshipp'd deity. 
 And feel thro' every vein Love's raptures roll. 
 
 FORLOKN, MY LOVE, NO COMFORT NEAR. 
 
 "I have written this song," says Burns in one of his letters, "in the 
 course of an hour ; so much for the speed of my Pegasus, but what say 
 you to his bottom f" 
 
 TvNE—Let me in this ae night. 
 
 FoRLOEN, my love, no comfort near, 
 Far, far from thee, I wander here ; 
 Far, far from thee, the fate severe 
 At which I most repine, love. 
 
 Oh loert thou^ love^ tut near me, 
 But near^ near^ near me: 
 How hindly thou wouldst 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 those arms of thine, love. 
 Oh wert^ &c. 
 
480 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 Cold, alter'd friendship's cruel part, 
 
 To poison fortune's ruthless dart — 
 
 Let me not break thy faithful heart, 
 
 And say that fate is mine, love. 
 
 Oil wert^ &c. 
 
 But dreary tho' the moments fleet, 
 Oh let me think we yet shall meet ! 
 That only ray of solace sweet 
 Can on thy Chloris shine, love. 
 Oh wert, &c. 
 
 WHY, WHY TELL THY LOVER. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 Tune— r^e Caledonian HunVs DeligM. 
 
 Why, why tell thy lover. 
 
 Bliss he never must enjoy? 
 Why, why undeceive him, 
 
 And give all his hopes the lie ? 
 
 Oh why, while fancy, raptured, slumbers, 
 Chloris, Chloris all the theme ; 
 
 Why, why wouldst thou, cruel, 
 Wake thy lover from his dream ? 
 
 HERE'S A HEALTH TO ANE I LO'E DEAR. 
 
 This sotig was written for Mr. Thomson's Collection. The three first verse* 
 were sent in a letter to that gentleman, a few days before the Poet's death, which 
 took place on the 21st July, 1796 ; the fourth verse was afterwards found among 
 bis manuscripts ; so that this beautiful song, written under much distress of 
 body and trouble of mind, was, in all probability, the last finished oUspriag of 
 bis muse. 
 
 TUWE— Hifr«'« a htaXth to them thatU aica, hiney. 
 
 Here '« a health to arte I lo'e dear^ 
 
 Here '« a health to ane I lo'^e dear ; 
 
 Thou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers meet^ 
 
 And soft as the parting tear — Jessy ! 
 
 Altro' thou maun never be mine, 
 Altho' even hope is denied : 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 481 
 
 'Tis sweeter for thee despairing, 
 
 Than aught in the world beside — Jessy! 
 Here '« a healthy &c. 
 
 I mourn thro' the gay, gaudy day, 
 As, hopeless, I inuse on thy charms ,' 
 
 But welcome the dream o' sweet slumber, 
 For then I am lock'd in thy arms — Jessy I 
 Here'' 8 a healthy dc, 
 
 I guess by the dear angel smile, 
 
 I guess by the love-rolling ee; 
 But why urge tlie tender confession 
 
 'Gainst fortune's fell cruel decree — Jessy! 
 Here '5 a health, &c. 
 
 FAIEEST MAID ON DEVON BANKS. 
 
 This song was written at Brow, on the Solway Firth, a few days before 
 the Poet's death. 
 
 Tu^E—RoihermurcJiie\t Rant. 
 
 Fairest maid on De'con 'ban'ks^ 
 Crystal Devon^ winding Devon^ 
 
 Wilt thou lay that frown aside^ 
 And smile as thou wert wont to do ? 
 
 Full well thou know'st I love thee dear, 
 Oouldst thou to malice lend an ear? 
 Oh, did not Love exclaim, '' Forbear, 
 Nor use a faithful lover so?" 
 Fairest maid^ &c. 
 
 Then come, thou fairest of the fair. 
 Those wonted smiles, oh, lot me share! 
 And by thy beauteous self I swear. 
 No love but thine my heart shall know ! 
 Fairest maid^ &c. 
 41 
 
482 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 STAY, MY CHARMER, CAN YOU LEAA^ ME. 
 
 "The peculiar rhythm of this fine Gaelic air, and the consequent diflBculty of 
 makiag verses to suit it, must excuse the shortness of this song." — Morrison. 
 
 Tone— ^n Gille dubh ciar dhubh. 
 
 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 ! 
 
 MUSING ON THE ROARING OCEAN. 
 
 Written in compliment to Miss Hamilton, the sister of the Poet's early friend 
 and patron, Q. Hamilton, Esq. 
 
 Tune — Druimion dubh. 
 
 Musing on the roaring ocean, 
 "Which divides my love and me, 
 
 Wearying Heaven in warm devotion, 
 For his weal, where'er he be. 
 
 Hope and fear's alternate billow. 
 
 Yielding late to nature's law ; 
 Whispering spirits round my pillow 
 
 Talk of him that 's far awa I 
 
 Ye whom 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 I 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 48? 
 
 THE LAZY MIST, Etc. 
 
 This is an early production. It was originally written for the Museum, but 
 since considerably altered. 
 
 Irish air — Coolun. 
 
 The lazy mist hangs from the brow of the hill, 
 Oonceahng 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. 
 And 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 long I have lived — but how nmch lived in vain ! 
 How little of life's scanty span may remain! 
 What aspects, old Time in his progress has worn! 
 What ties, cruel fate in my bosom has torn! 
 How foohsh, or worse, till our summit is gain'd ! 
 And downward, how weakened, how darken'd, how 
 
 pain'd ! 
 This life 's not worth having with all it can give. 
 For something beyond it poor man sure must live. 
 
 MY TOCHER'S THE JEWEL. 
 
 This clever, sensible song is also an early production, and was likewise written 
 for the Museum. 
 
 On meikle^ thinks* my luve o' my beauty, 
 
 And meikle thinks my luve o' my kin ; 
 But little thinks my luve I ken brawlie,^ 
 
 My tocher 's^ the jewel has charms for him. 
 It 's a' for the apple he '11 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 can na hae luve to spare for me. 
 
 Your proffer o' luve 's an airl -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. 
 
 * Much.— 2 Know very well.— 3 Money.— * Honey. — ^ Earnest-money.— 
 * Cunning. 
 
484 BURNS S POEMS. • 
 
 Ye 're like to the timmer^ o' yon rotten wood, 
 Ye 're like to the bark o' yon rotten tree, 
 
 Ye '11 slip frae me like a knotless thread, 
 Ye '11 crack your credit wi' mae'^ nor me. 
 
 THE POSIE. 
 
 The air of this song was taken down from the singing of Mrs. Burns. The fol 
 lowing is the first verse of the old song to the same tune : 
 
 " There was a pretty May, and a milking she went, 
 Wi' her red rosie cheeks, an' her coal black hair." 
 
 On luve will venture in where it daur na weeP be seen, 
 Oh luve will venture in where wisdom ance has been ; 
 But I will down yon river rove, among the wood £ae green, 
 
 And a' to pu'^ a posie to my ain dear May. 
 The primrose I Avill pu', the firstlin' o' the year. 
 And I will pu' the pink, the emblem o' my dear. 
 For she 's the pink o' womankind, and blooms without a peer; 
 
 And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 
 I '11 pu' the budding rose, when Phoebus peeps in view. 
 For it 's like a baumy kiss o' her bonnie sweet 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, 
 In her lovely bosom I '11 place the lily there ; 
 The daisy 's for simplicity and unaftected air. 
 And a' to be a posie to my ain dt^ar May. 
 
 The hawthorn I will pu', wi' its locks o' siller gray, 
 "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. 
 
 r 11 tie the posie round wi' the silken band o' luve, 
 And I '11 place it in her breast, and I' 11 swear by a' above, 
 That to my latest draught o' life the band shall ne'er remuve, 
 And this will be a j)osie to my ain dear May. 
 Timber.— 2 More.— 3 Dare not well.—'* Pull 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 485 
 
 GLOOMY DECEMBER. 
 
 The old air, "Wat ye how the play be^an," to which this song was writ- 
 ten, is lively — the words plaintive. Burns frequently united music and 
 poetry togethel", without considering much the natural dispositions of the 
 parties. 
 
 Anoe raair^ I hail thee, ihou gloomy December! 
 
 Ance mair I hail thee, wi' sorrow and care ; 
 Sad was the parting thou makes me remember, 
 
 Parting wi' Nancy — oh, ne'er to meet mair! 
 Fond lovers' parting is sweet painful pleasure; 
 
 Hope beaming mild on the soft parting hour; 
 But the dire feeling. Oh far eio ell forever, 
 
 Is anguish unmingled and agony pure. 
 
 Wild as the winter now tearing the forest, 
 
 Till the last leaf of the summer is flown, 
 Such is the tempest has shaken my bosom. 
 
 Since my last hope and last comfort is gone ; 
 Still as I hail thee, thou gloomy December, 
 
 Still shall I hail tliee wi' sorrow and care ; 
 For sad was the parting thou makes me remember 
 
 Parting wi' Nancy — oh, ne'er to meet mair I 
 
 BONNIE BELL. 
 
 In the " Edinburgh Miscellany," 1809, a copy of this song is printed 
 with two additional verses ; but they do not appear to be the work of 
 Barns. 
 
 The smiling Spring comes in rejoicing. 
 
 And surly Winter grimly flies: 
 Now crystal clear are the falling waters, 
 
 And bonnie blue are the sunny skies ; 
 Fresh o'er the mountains breaks forth the morning, 
 
 The evening gilds the ocean's swell, 
 All creatures joy in the sun's returning. 
 
 And I rejoice in my bonnie Bell. 
 
 The flowery Spring leads sunny Summer, 
 And 3-ellow Autumn presses near, 
 
 1 Once more. 
 
486 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 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 unchanging, 
 I adore my bonnie Bell. 
 
 THE GALLANT WEAVER. 
 
 In 8omc of the earlier editions of this song, " sailor" is substituted for 
 "weaver." 
 
 Tune— TAc auld wife ayont the fine. 
 
 Wheee Cart' rins rowin'^ to the sea. 
 By mony a llower and spreading tree, 
 There lives a lad, tlie lad for me. 
 He is a gallant weaver. 
 
 Oh I had wooers aught' or nine. 
 They gied me rings and ribbons fine; 
 And I was fear'd my heart would tine,^ 
 And I gied it to the weaver. 
 
 My daddie sign'd my tocher-band,* 
 To gie the lad that has the land. 
 But to my heart I '11 add my hand. 
 And gie it to the weaver. 
 
 While birds rejoice in leafy bowers; 
 While bees rejoice in opening flowers; 
 Wliile corn grows green in simmer showers, 
 I '11 love my gallant weaver. 
 
 » The name of a rivcr.—^ Euns rolling.— 3 Eight.— ■» Would be loet- 
 Marriage-bond. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 487 
 
 A RED, RED ROSE. 
 
 The air and the first verse of this song are taken from an old Ayrsbirt 
 ballad. 
 
 Oh, my luve 's like a red, red rose, 
 
 That's newly sprung in June : 
 Oh, my luve 's like the melodie 
 
 That 's sweetly play'd in tune. 
 
 As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, 
 
 So deep in luve am I ; 
 And I will 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: 
 
 I will luve thee still, my dear, 
 AVhile the sands of life shall run. 
 
 And fare thee weel, my only luve ! 
 
 And fare thee weel a while! 
 And I will come again, my luve, 
 
 Tho' it were ten thousand mile. 
 
 ON THE BATTLE OF SHERIFF-MUIR, 
 
 BETWEEN THE DUKE OF ARGYLE AND THE EARL OP 
 MAR, FOUGHT NOV. 13, 1715. 
 
 Tune— r/je Cameronian Rant. 
 
 " On cam ye here the fight to shun, 
 
 Or herd the sheep wi' me, man? 
 Or w^ere you at the Sherra-muir, 
 
 And did the battle see, man V 
 I saw the battle, sair'^ and tough, 
 And reekin'-red ran mony a slieugh,^ 
 My heart, for fear, gae sough^ for sough, 
 To hear the thuds,* and see the cluds,*' 
 O' clans frae woods, in tartan duds,'' 
 
 AVha glaum'd^ at kingdoms three, man. 
 
 Go.— 2 Sore.— 3 Ditch.— ■* Sign— » A loud intermitting noise.— « Clondat 
 -'' In clothing made of the tartan check.— s Aimed at. 
 
488 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 The red-coat lads wV black cockades 
 To meet them were na slaw, man ; 
 
 They rut-h'd and pusliVl, and bhide outgush'd, 
 And mony a bouk^ did fa', man : 
 
 The great Argyle led on his tiles, 
 
 I wat they glanced twenty miles: 
 
 They hack'd and hash VI, while broadswords clashed, 
 
 And thro' they dash'd, and hew'd and smash'd, 
 Till fey' men died awa, man. 
 
 But had yon seen the philibegs,^ 
 
 And skyrin' tartan trews,"* man. 
 When in the teeth they dai-ed our whigs 
 
 And covenant true blues, man ; 
 In lines extended lang and large, 
 When bayonets opposed the targe,* 
 And thousands hasten'd to the cliarge, 
 Wi' Highland wrath they frae the sheath 
 Drew blades o' death, till, out o' breath, 
 
 They fled like frighted doos,^ man. 
 
 "Oh how deil Tarn can that be true? 
 
 The chase gaed frae the north, man : 
 I saw myself, tliey did pursue 
 
 The horsemen back to Forth, man ; 
 And at Dumblane, in my ain sight. 
 They took the brig' wi' a' their might, 
 And straught to Stirling wing'd their flight; 
 But, cursed lot! the gates were shut, 
 And mony a huntit, poor red-coat. 
 
 For fear amaist did swarf,^ man." 
 
 My sister Kate cam up the gate 
 
 Wi' crowdie unto me, man ; 
 She swore she saw some rebels run 
 
 Frae Perth unto Dundee, man ; 
 Their left-hand general had nae skill, 
 The Angus lads had nae good will 
 That day their neebors' blood to spill; 
 For fear, by foes, that they should lose 
 Their cogs o' brose;* all crying woes, 
 
 And so it goes, you see, man. 
 
 » Vomiting— 2 Foe.— 3 A sliort pottlcont worn by the Ilighlandcis.— 
 
 * Sliinlng checlvered trowscrs.— ' Target. — • Doves —^ Brldgo — ^ Swoon.— 
 
 • Cups of broth. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 480 
 
 They 've lost some g.allant gentlemen, 
 
 Anitang the Iligliland clans, man; 
 I fear my lord Panmure is slain. 
 
 Or fallen in whiggish hands, man: 
 Now wad ye sing this double fight. 
 Some fell for wrang and some for right; 
 But mony bade the world guid-night; 
 Then ye may tell, how pell and mell, 
 By red claymores,* and muskets' knell, 
 "Wi' dying yell, the tories fell. 
 
 And wliigs to hell did flee, man. 
 
 OH WERT THOU IN THE CAULD BLAST. 
 
 This song was found among the manuscripts of Burns, after his 
 death, entitled " An Address to a Lady." 
 
 Tune — TJie lass of Livingstone. 
 
 Oh wert thou in the cauld blast. 
 
 On yonder lea, on 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 T in the wildest Avaste, 
 
 Sae black and bare, sae black and bare, 
 The desert were a paradise. 
 
 If thou wert there, if thou wert there. 
 Or were I monarch o' the globe, 
 
 Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign ; 
 The brigiitest jewel in my crown, 
 
 "VVad be my queen, wad be my queen. 
 
 1 A broadsword.—'- Cloak.— 3 The quarter from which the wind or weathei 
 comes. — 4 Shelter. 
 
490 BURNS'S POEMS, 
 
 OH WHA IS SHE THAT LO ES ME. 
 
 This Bong was also found among the manuscripts of the Poet, after 
 bis death. He was very fond of the air "Morag," and wrote other 
 tongs to it. 
 
 Tune— J/ora^r. 
 
 On wha is she that lo'es me, 
 And has my heart a keeping? 
 
 Oh sweet is she that lo'es me, 
 As dews o' simmer weeping, 
 In tears the rose-buds steeping. 
 
 Oh that '« the lassie d' my hearty 
 
 My lassie ever dearer ; 
 Oh that 's the queen o' woman-Tcind^ 
 
 And ne\r a ane to "peer her. 
 
 If thou shalt meet a hissie 
 
 In grace and beauty cliarming, 
 
 That e'en thy chosen hxssie, 
 
 Erewhile thy breast sae warming, 
 Had ne'er sic powers alarming; 
 Oh thaVs^ &c. 
 
 If thou hadst heard lier talking, 
 And thy attentions plighted, 
 
 That ilka body talking 
 But her by thee is slighted; 
 And thou art all delighted ; 
 Oh that '«, &c. 
 
 If thou hast met this fair one; 
 "When frae her thou hast parted, 
 
 If every otlier fair one 
 
 But her thou hast deserted. 
 And thou art broken-hearted ; 
 Oh that '«, &c. 
 
 ADDRESS TO GENERAL DUMOURIER. 
 
 First published in the " Reliques." 
 (a parody on "robin ADAIR.") 
 
 You're welcome to despots, Duniourier; 
 You 're welcome to despots, Dumourier.— 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 491 
 
 How does Dampiere do ? 
 
 Aye, and Bournonville too? 
 
 Why did they not come along with you, Dumourier? 
 
 I will fight France with yon, Dumourier, — 
 
 I will fight France with you, Dumourier: — 
 
 I will fight France with you, 
 
 I will take my chance with yon; 
 
 By my soul I '11 dance a dance with you, Dumourier. 
 
 Then let us fight ahout, Dumourier; 
 
 Then let us fight about, Dumourier; 
 
 Then let us fight about. 
 
 Till freedom's spark is out, 
 
 Then we '11 be cl-mn'd no doubt — Dumourier. 
 
 OH ONCE I LOVED A BONNIE LASS. 
 
 This was our Poet's first attempt. 
 Tune— J am a man unmarried. 
 
 Oh once I loved a bonnie lass, 
 
 Ay, and I love her still. 
 And whilst that honor warms my breast, 
 
 I '11 love my handsome Nell. 
 
 Fal lal de ral^ Sc, 
 
 As bonnie lasses I hae seen. 
 
 And mony* full as braw,'* 
 But for a modest gracefu' mien. 
 
 The like I never saw. 
 
 A bonnie lass, I will confess, 
 
 Is pleasant to the ee. 
 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. 
 
 » Many.— 2 Fine. 
 
492 BURNS'S POEMS 
 
 She dresses ay sae clean and neat, 
 Both decent and genteel : 
 
 And then there's something in her gait 
 Gars^ ony dress look weel. 
 
 A gaudy dress and gentle air 
 May shglitly touch the heart, 
 
 But it's innocence and modesty 
 That polishes the dart : 
 
 'Tis this in Nelly pleases ine, 
 'Tis this enchants my soul; 
 
 For absolutely in my breast 
 She reigns without control. 
 
 Fal lal de ral, &c. 
 
 1 DREAMED I LAY WHERE FLOWERS WERE 
 SPRINGLXG. 
 
 ** These two stanzas I composed when I was seventeen,!? and are among th« 
 oldest of my printed pieces." — Bur mi's Reliques. 
 
 I dream'd I lay where flowers w^ere springing, 
 
 Gayly in the sunny beam ; 
 Listening to the wild birds singing, 
 
 By a falling, crystal stream : 
 Straight the sky grew black and daring; 
 
 Thro' the woods the whirlwinds rave; 
 Trees with aged arms were warring. 
 
 O'er the swelling, drumlie^ wave. 
 
 Such was my life's deceitful morning, 
 
 Such the pleasures I enjoy'd; 
 But lang or noon,* loud tempest storming, 
 
 A' my flowery bliss destroyed. 
 Tho' fickle fortune has deceived me, 
 
 (She promised fair, and perform'd but ill ;) 
 Of mony a joy and hope bereaved me, 
 
 I bear a heart shall su])port me still. 
 
 1 Makes. 
 
 ■ It Is perhaps worthy of remark, that in this song of seventeen^ there is, 
 Bcrictly speakincc, only one Scotch word — the word drumlie — a circuinstanc« 
 tliat promised little for our authors future eminence as a Scottish Poet. 
 
 • Muddy.—* Long before noon. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 493 
 
 THERE'S A YOUTH IN THIS CITY. 
 
 This air is claimed by Neil Gow, who calls it his lament for his orotber. 
 The first half-staiua of the song is old. 
 
 There 's a youth in this city, it were a great pity, 
 
 That he from our lasses should wander awa; 
 For he's bonnie and braw, weel-tavor'd with a', 
 
 And his hair has a natural buckle and a'. 
 His coat is the luie of his bonnet sae blue ; 
 
 His fecket* is white as the new-driven sraw; 
 H^s hose they are blae, and his shoon^ like the slae, 
 
 And his clear siller buckles they dazzle us a\ 
 His coat is the hue, &c. 
 
 For beauty and fortune the laddie 's been courtin' ; 
 
 Weel featur'd, weel tocher'd, weel mounted and braw 
 But chiefly the siller, that gars him gang till her;' 
 
 The pennie 's the jewel that beautifies a'. — 
 There 's Meg wi' the mailen/ that fain wad a haen him,* 
 
 And Susy, whase daddy was Laird o' the ha'; 
 There 's lang-tocher'd Nancy^ maist fetters his fiincy, 
 
 — But the laddie's dear sel he lo'es dearest of a'. 
 
 MY HEART'S IN THE HiaHLAND.S. 
 
 The first half-stanza of this song is old. 
 
 My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here; 
 My heart's in the Highlands a chasing the deer; 
 Ohasing the wild deer, and following the roe, 
 My heart's in the Higlilands wherever I go. 
 Farewell to the Highlands, ftirewell to the North, 
 The birthplace of valor, the country of worth; 
 "Wherever I wander, wherever I rove. 
 The hills of the Highlands forever 1 love. 
 
 Farewell to the mountains high cover'd with snow; 
 Farewell to the straths and green valleys below ; 
 
 * An nnder-waistcoat with sleeves. — ^ Shoes. — ' Causes him to go to hei 
 -■* Farm.— 5 Would have had him. — ^ Nancy with a great marriage portion 
 42 
 
494 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 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. 
 
 CRAIGIE-BURN WOOD. 
 
 This song, says Bnrns, 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 Craigie-burn wood. The chorus is part of an old 
 foolish ballad. Another copy of this will be found, ante, p. 442. 
 
 Beyond thee^ dearie^ 'beyond tJiee^ dearie^ 
 
 And oh to he lying beyond thee^ 
 Oh sweetly^ soundly^ weel may he sleep, 
 
 That '« laid in the bed beyond thee. 
 
 fcJwEET closes the evening on Craigie-burn wood, 
 
 And blythely awakens the morrow ; 
 But the pride of the spring in the Craigie-burn wood, 
 
 Can yield to me nothing but sorrow. 
 Beyond thee, &c, 
 
 I see the spreading leaves and flowers, 
 
 I hear the wild-birds singing; 
 But pleasure they hae nane for me, 
 
 "While care my heart is wringing. 
 Beyond thee, &c, 
 
 I canna tell, I raaunna tell, 
 
 I dare na for your anger; 
 But secret love will break my heart 
 
 If I conceal it langer. 
 
 Beyond thee, &c, 
 
 I see thee graceful straight, and tall, 
 
 I see thee sweet and bonnie. 
 But oh, what will my torments be, 
 
 If thou refuse thy Johnie! 
 Beyond thee, &c» 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 406 
 
 To see thee in anitlier's arms, 
 
 In love to lie and languish, 
 'Twad be my dead, that will be seen, 
 
 My heart wad burst wi' anguish. 
 Beyond thee^ &c. 
 
 But Jeanie, say thou wilt be mine. 
 
 Say, thou lo'es nane before me ; 
 An' a' my days o' life to come 
 
 I '11 gratefully adoro thee. 
 Beyond thee^ &c. 
 
 I DO CONFESS THOU ART SAE FAIR. 
 
 Ihia song is altered from a poom by Sir Robert Ayton, private secretary 
 to Mary and Anne, queens of Scotland. 
 
 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 muveu 
 
 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 may gayly bloom a while ; 
 
 Yet sune thou shalt be thrown aside. 
 Like ony common weed and vile. 
 
 YON WILD MOSSY MOUNTAINS. 
 
 Written for the " Caledonian Musical Repository," a collection of Scottish songs ana 
 airs, published at Edinburgh in 1789 ; and set to the old tune of " Falkland Fair." 
 
 YoN wild mossy mountains, sae lofty and wide, 
 That nurse in their bosom the youth o' the Clyde, 
 
 1 Ears.— 2 Not— 3 Every.—'* Soon it loses. 
 
496 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 Where the grouse lead their coveys thro' the heather tc 
 
 feed, 
 And the shepherd tents liis flock as he pipes on his reed. 
 Where the grouse, &c. 
 
 Not Gowrie's rich valley, nor Forth's sunny shores, 
 To me hae the charms o' yon wild, mossy moors; 
 For there, by a lanel}^ sequester'd, clear stream, 
 Beside a sweet lassie, my thought and my dream. 
 
 Amang 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, flie 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 armor of glances, and blushes, and sighs; 
 And when wit and refinement hae polish'd her darts, 
 They dazzle our een, as they flie to our hearts. 
 
 But kindness, sweet kindness, in the fond sparkling ee, 
 Has lustre outshining the diamond to me; 
 And the heart-beating love, as I *'m clasp'd in her arms, 
 Oh these are my lassie's all-conquering charms I 
 
 MY FATHER WAS A FARMER. 
 
 "This song is a wild rhapsody, miserahly deficient in versification, hut as the 
 icntiments are the genuine feelings of my heart, for that reason I have a particulai 
 pleasure in conning it oxer."— Burns^s Reliques, p. 329. 
 
 Tune— r/ie Weaver and Jits SJiuUle, 0. 
 
 My father was a farmer 
 
 Upon the Carrick border, O, 
 And carefully he bred mo 
 
 In decency and order, ; 
 He bade me act a manly part, 
 
 Though I had ne'er a fartliing, 0; 
 For without an honest manly heart, 
 
 No man was worth regarding, O. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 49*i 
 
 Then out into the world 
 
 My course I did determine, ; 
 Tho' to be rich was not my wish, 
 
 Yet to be great was charming, O ; 
 My talents they were not the worst, 
 
 Nor yet my education, : 
 Resolved was I, at least to try, 
 
 To mend my situation, O. 
 
 In many a way, and vain essay, 
 
 I courted fortune's favor, O ; 
 Some cause unseen, still stept between, 
 
 To frustrate each endeavor, O : 
 Sometimes by foes 1 was o'erpower'd; 
 
 Sometimes by friends forsaken, O; 
 And when my hope was at the top, 
 
 I still was worst mistaken, O. 
 
 Then sore harassed, and tired at last, 
 
 With fortune's vain delusion, 0, 
 I dropt my schemes, like idle dreams, 
 
 And came to this conclusion, : 
 The past was bad, and the future hid ; 
 
 Its good or ill untried, O ; 
 But the present hour was in my power; 
 
 And so I would enjoy it, O. 
 
 No help, nor hope, nor view had I; 
 
 Nor person to befriend me, ; 
 So I must toil, and sweat and broil, 
 
 And labor to sustain me, O, 
 To plough and sow, to reap and mow, 
 
 My father bred me early, ; 
 For one, he said, to labor bred, 
 
 Was a match for fortune fairly, O. 
 
 Thus all obscure, unknown and poor. 
 
 Thro' life I 'm doom'd to wander, O, 
 Till down my weary bones I lay^ 
 
 In everlasting slumber, ; 
 No view nor care, but shun whate'er 
 
 Might breed me pain or sorrow, O; 
 I live to-day, as well's I may. 
 
 Regardless of to-morrow, O. 
 
498 BURNS S POEMS. 
 
 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 maUce, 0; 
 I make, indeed, my daily bread, 
 
 But ne'er can make it farther, ; 
 But as daily bread is all I need, 
 
 1 do not much regard her, O. 
 
 TVhen sometimes by my labor 
 
 I earn a little money, O, 
 Some unforeseen misfortune comes 
 
 Generally upon me, O ; 
 Mischance, mistake, or by neglect, 
 
 Or my good-natured folly, : " 
 But come what will, I Ve sworn it still, 
 
 I '11 ne'er be melancholy, O. 
 
 All you who follow wealth and power 
 
 With unremitting ardor, O. 
 The more in this you look for bliss. 
 
 You leave your view tlie farther, ; 
 Had you the wealth Potosi boasts, 
 
 Or nations to adore you, O, 
 A cheerful honest-hearted clown 
 
 I will prefer before you, 0. 
 
 I 'LL KISS THEE YET. 
 
 " The name of Peggy Allison gives an air of truth and reality to thui 
 little warm afTectionHte song."— Sf-e ScoUixh Songs. 
 Our Poet was sometimes not very happy in naming his heroines: tha 
 s of Chloris, Phillis, &c., look strangely in a Scottish song. 
 Tone— ZJmcs o' Bulqulddder. 
 
 I HI hiss tliee yet^ yc% 
 AtC I'^ll kiss thee o'er again^ 
 
 ArC I HI kiss thee yet^ yet^ 
 My honnie Peggy Allison ! 
 
 Ilk* care and fear, when thou art near, 
 
 I ever mair defy them, ; 
 Young kings uf)on their hanse? throne 
 
 Are no sae blest as I am, ! 
 I HI kiss thee^ &c. 
 
 * Bach.— 2 Wliea they first mount the throne 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 499 
 
 When in my arms, wi' a thy charms, 
 
 I clasp my countless treasure, O ; 
 I seek nae mair o' Heaven to share, 
 
 Than sic^ a moment's pleasure, ! 
 I HI hiss thee^ &c, 
 
 And hy thy een, sae bonnie blue, 
 
 I swear I 'm thine forever, O ; — 
 And on thy lips I seal my vow, 
 
 And break it shall I never, ! 
 I HI hiss thee^ &c. 
 
 ON CESSNOCK BANKS THERE LIVES A LASS. 
 
 fiecovered from the recitation of a lady in Glasgow, and first published 
 by Cromek. 
 
 Tune — Ifhe be a butcher neat and trim. 
 
 Ox Cessnock banks there lives a lass — 
 Oould I describe her shape and mien ; 
 
 The graces of her w eel-fared face, 
 And the glancin' of her sparklin' een.* 
 
 She 's fresher than the morning dawn 
 When rising Phoebus first is seen, 
 
 When dew-drops twinkle o'er the lawn; 
 An' she 's twa glancin' sparklin' een. 
 
 She 's stately like yon youthful ash, 
 That grows the cowslip braes between, 
 
 And shoots its head above each bush ; 
 An' she 's twa glancin' sparklin' een. 
 
 She's spotless as the flowering thorn. 
 With flowers so white and leaves so green, 
 
 AVhen purest ii the dewy morn ; 
 An' she 's twa glancin' sparklin' een. 
 
 Her looks are like the sportive lamb. 
 When flowery May adorns the scene, 
 
 Tliat wantons round its bleating dam; 
 An' she 's twa glancin' sparklin' een. 
 
 1 Buch.— 2 Eyes. 
 
500 BURNS S POEMS. 
 
 Her hair is like the curling mist 
 That shades the mountain-side at e'en, 
 
 When flower-reviving rains are past; 
 An' she 's twa glancin' sparklin' een. 
 
 Her foreliead 's like the shov^rery bow, 
 When shining sunbeams intervene, 
 
 And gild the distant mountain's brow; 
 An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' een. 
 
 Her voice is like the evening thrush 
 That sings in Cessnock banks unseen, 
 
 While his mate sits nestling in the bush; 
 An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' een. 
 
 Her lips are like the cherries ripe 
 
 That sunny walls from Boreas screen, 
 
 They tempt the taste and charm the sight; 
 An' she 's twa glancin' sparklin' een. 
 
 Her teeth are like a flock of sheep. 
 With fleeces newly washen clean. 
 
 That slowly mount the rising steep ; 
 An' she 's twa glancin' sparklin' een. 
 
 Her breath is like the fragrant breeze 
 That gently stirs the blossom'd bean, 
 
 When Phoebus sinks behind the seas; 
 An' she 's twa glancin' sparklin' een. 
 
 But it's not her air, her form, her face, 
 Tho' matching Beauty's fabled Queen, 
 
 But the mind that shines in every grace, 
 An' chiefly in her sparklin' een. 
 
 «VAE IS MY HEART. 
 
 First published in the " Reliqaes." 
 
 Wa-b} is my heart, and the tear's in my ee;' 
 Lang, lang joy 's been a stranger to me : 
 Forsaken and friendless my bui-den I bear. 
 And the sweet voice o' pity ne'er sounds in my ear. 
 
 » Woe.— « Eye. 
 
BONGS AND BALLADS. 501 
 
 Love, thou hast pleasures ; and deep hae I loved ; 
 Love, thou hast sorrows; and sair hae I proved: 
 But this bruised heart that now bleeds in my breast, 
 I can feel by its throbbings will soon be at rest. 
 
 Oh if I were, where happy I hae been, 
 Down by yon stream and yon bonnie castle green ; 
 For there he is wandering and musing on me, 
 Wha wad soon dry the tear frae Phillis's ee. 
 
 THE DEIL 'S AWA WI' THE EXCISEMAN. 
 
 At a meeting of his brother Excisemen in Dumfries, Burns being called upo» 
 for a song, handed these verses extempore to the President, written on the back 
 of a letter. 
 
 The Deil came fiddling thro' the town, 
 And danced awa wi' the Exciseman ; 
 
 And ilka wife cried, " Auld Mahoun,^ 
 We wish you luck o' the prize, man. 
 
 " We HI male our maut^ and drew our drinTc^ 
 We HI dance^ and sing^ and rejoice^ man ; 
 
 And monie thanJcs to the mucTcle hlach Deil^ 
 That danced awa wi^ the Exciseman. 
 
 " There 's threesome reels, and foursome reels, 
 There's hornpipes and strathspeys, man; 
 
 But the ae best dance e'er cam to our Ian', 
 Was — the Deil 's awa wi' the Exciseman. 
 " We HI male our maut^^^ Sc. 
 
 I RED^ you BEWARE AT THE HUNTING. 
 
 First published in the "Reliques," from a manuscript in the possession of the 
 Poet's intimate friend, Mr. Cunningham. 
 
 The heather was blooming, the meadows were maun,' 
 Our lads gaed^ a hunting, ae day at the dawn, 
 O'er moors and o'er mosses and mony a glen ; 
 At length they discover'd a bonnie moor-hen. 
 
 * A name giyen to the Devil.— ^ Counsel, caution.— 3 Mown.—* Went. 
 
502 BURKS'S POEMS. 
 
 / red you beware at the hunting^ young men ; 
 I red you leware at the hunting^ young men ; 
 Tak some on the wing^ and some as they spring^ 
 But cannily steal on a bonnie moor-hen, 
 
 Sweet brusliing the dew from the brown heather bells, 
 Her colors betrayed her on yon mossy fells ; 
 Her plumage out-lustred the pride o' the spring, 
 And oh ! as she wantoned gay on the wing, 
 I red^ &c. 
 
 Auld Phoebus himsel, as he peep'd o'er the hill, 
 In spite at her plumage he tried his skill ; 
 He levell'd his rays where she bask'd on the brae — 
 His rays were outshone, and but mark'd where she lay. 
 Ired^ &c. 
 
 They hunted the valley, they hunted the hill; 
 The best of our lads wi' the best o' their skill; 
 But still as the fairest she sat in their sight, 
 Then, whirr ! she was over, a mile at a flight. — 
 I red, &c. 
 
 AMANG THE TREES WHERE HUMMING BEES. 
 
 From the Poet's memorandum-book ; first published in the " Reliq.ae8,' 
 Tune— r^c King of France^ he rade a race. 
 
 Amang the trees where humming bees 
 
 At buds and flowers were hinging, O, 
 Auld Caledon drew out her drone. 
 
 And to her pipe was singing, 0. 
 Twas pibroch,* sang, strathspev, or reels, 
 
 She dirl'd'* them aft; fu' clearly, ; 
 When there cam a yell o' foreign squeels,' 
 
 That dang* her tapsalteerie,* 0. 
 
 Their capon craws' and queer ha ha's, 
 They made our lugs' grow eerie,* ; 
 
 The hungry bike" did scrape and pike 
 Till we were wae and weary, O : 
 
 » A Highland war-song, adapted to the bagpipe.— ^ Struck slightly, yet 
 quick.— 3 Screams.-* Drove.— ^ Topsy-turvy.— » lieu-crowing.—^ Kara,— 
 ' Frlghtonod.— • 13ee-hivo. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 503 
 
 But a royal ghaist wha ance was cased 
 
 A prisoner aughteen years awa, 
 He fired a fiddler in the North 
 
 That dang them tapsalteerie, O. 
 
 ONE NIGHT AS I DID WANDER. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 From the Poet's Common-place Book, published by Cromek. 
 TuxE — John Anderson, my jo. 
 
 One night as I did wander, 
 When corn begins to shoot, 
 
 I sat me down to ponder 
 Upon an auld tree root : 
 
 Auld Ayr ran by before me, 
 And bicker'd to the seas ; 
 
 A cushat^ crooded o'er me, 
 That echoed thro' the braes. 
 
 THERE WAS A LAD WAS BORN AT KYLE. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 The following is also an extract from the same Common-place Book ot 
 Observations, Hints, Songs, Scraps of Poetry, Ac, by Robert Burness (for 
 80 Burns in early life spelt his name), first published by Cromek. 
 
 TuxE— 2>atnfze Davie. 
 
 Theee was a lad was born at Kyle,'* 
 But what na day o' what na style — 
 I doubt it 's hardly worth the while 
 To be sae nice wi' Robin. 
 
 Robin was a romn' boy^ 
 
 Eantin'' romn\ rantin* rovin* : 
 
 RoMn was a rovin^ 5<?y, 
 Eantin' romn' Robin., 
 
 > The dovd, or wild pigeon.— 2 A district of Ayrshire 
 
504 BURNS S POExMS. 
 
 Our monarch's hindmost year but ane 
 Was five-and-twenty days begun, 
 'Twas then a blast o' Jan war' win 
 Blew hansel in on Robin. 
 
 The gossip keekit* in his loof,* 
 Quo' scho, " Wha lives will see the proof, 
 This waly^ boy will be nae coof/ 
 I think we '11 ca' him Robin. 
 
 " He '11 hae misfortunes great and sma', 
 But ay a heart aboon them a' ; 
 He '11 be a credit tilP us a', 
 We '11 a' be proud o' Robin. 
 
 " But sure as three times three mak nine, 
 I see by ilka** score and line, 
 This chap will dearly like our kin'/ 
 So leeze* me on thee, Robin. 
 
 "Guid faith," quo' scho, "I doubt you, Sir, 
 Ye gar the lasses * * * * 
 But twenty fauts ye may hae waur® — 
 So blessin's on thee, Robin!" 
 
 Eobin loas a rovin' loy^ &c. 
 
 WHEN FIKST I CAME TO STEWART KYLK 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 Tone— 7 liad a horse and I had nae mair. 
 
 When first I came to Stewart Kyle, 
 
 My mind it was na steady, 
 Where'er I gaed,'" where'er I rade, 
 
 A mistress still I had ay : 
 
 But when I came roun' by Mauchline town, 
 
 Not dreadin' ony body. 
 My heart was caught before I thought, 
 
 And by a Mauchline lady." 
 
 * ****** 
 
 » Pfiopod.— •-' Palm of the hand.— s Jolly.—* Blockhend.— « To.— « Every. 
 -^ Kind, 80X.— 8 A plirase of congratiilatory endearuient — ' Worse.— 
 •® Went. — 'i Jean Armour, afterwards Mrs. Burna. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 505 
 
 MONTGOMERIE'S PEGGY. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 Tune— C?a?ta Water. 
 
 Altho' my bed were in yon mnir, 
 Araang the heather, in my pladdie, 
 
 Yet happy, happy would I be 
 
 Had I my dear Montgomerie's Peggy. — 
 
 When o'er the hill beat snrly 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 baron proud and high. 
 
 And horse and servants waiting ready, 
 
 Then a' 'twad gie o' joy to me. 
 
 The sharin' 't with Montgomerie's Peggy— ' 
 
 5|5 •I* •t^ '••*•* f 
 
 OH, RAGING FORTUNE'S WITHERING BLAST 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 Oh, raging fortune's withering blast 
 
 Has laid my leaf full low, O ! 
 Oh, 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 fresh, 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, 0. 
 43 
 
50G BURNS's POEMS. 
 
 HERE'S A HEALTH TO TO THEM THAT'S AW A. 
 
 The first three vers.?s of this excellent patriotic song were first published 
 in the Edinburgh Magazine for 1818, from a manuscript in the handwriting 
 of Burns. The remaining two verses appeared some time after in the same 
 periodical, with a note by the editor, proving their authenticity. The first 
 complete copy of the song was printed in a little volume entitled, " The Lyric 
 Muse of Robert Burns," published in 1819, by the late Johu Smith, book- 
 seller, Montrose. 
 
 Here 's a health to them that 's awa, 
 
 And here 's to them that 's awa ; 
 And wha winna^ wish gnid luck to om* cause. 
 
 May never guid luck be their fa' l^ 
 It 's guid to be merry and wise, 
 
 It 's guid to be honest and true, 
 It 's guid to support Caledonia's cause. 
 
 And bide by the butf and the blue. 
 
 Here 's a health to them that 's awa, 
 
 And here 's to them that 's awa ; 
 Here 's a health to Charlie, the chief o' the clan, 
 
 Altho' that his band be sma'. 
 May liberty meet wi' success ! 
 
 May prudence protect her frae evil ! 
 May tyrants and tyranny tine^ in the mist, 
 
 And wander their way to the devil ! 
 
 Here 's a health to them that 's awa, 
 
 And here 's to them that 's awa ; 
 Here 's a health to Tammie, tlie Norland laddie, 
 
 That lives at the lug* o' the law I 
 Here 's freedom to him that wad read. 
 
 Here's freedom to him that wad write! 
 There 's nane ever fear'd that the truth should be heard, 
 
 But they wham the truth wad indite. 
 
 Here 's a health to them that 's awa ; 
 
 And here 's to them that 's awa ; 
 Here's Maitlaud and AVycombe, and wha does na 
 like 'em 
 
 We '11 build in a hole o' the wa'. 
 
 » Will not.— 2 Fate, lot— 3 Be lost.-* The car; i. e. close to. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 507 
 
 Here 's timmer^ that 's red at the heart. 
 
 Here 's fruit that 's sound at the core ! 
 May he that would turn the buff and bhie coat, 
 
 Be turn'd to the back o' the door. 
 
 Here 's a health to them that 's awa, 
 
 And here 's to them tliat 's awa ; 
 Here 's Chieftain M'Leod, a chieftain worth gowd, 
 
 Though bred amang mountains o' snaw ! 
 Here 's friends on baith sides o' the Forth, 
 
 And friends on baith sides o' the Tweed, 
 And wha would betray old Albion's rights, 
 
 May they never eat of her bread. 
 
 THE PLOUGHMAN". 
 
 This and the two following Fragments are excellent ; the second, "The Wintet 
 It is past," Ac, is particularly so. It is conceived in the spirit, and expressed in th« 
 manner, of the old ballad. 
 
 As I was wandering ae morning in spring, 
 I heard a young Ploughman sae sweetly to sing. 
 And as he was singing thir'* words he did say — 
 " There 's nae life hke the Ploughman in the month o' 
 sweet May. — 
 
 "The lav'rock in the morning she'll rise frae her nest, 
 And mount to the air wi' the dew on her breast, 
 And wi' the merry Ploughman she '11 whistle and sing. 
 And at night she '11 return to her nest back again." 
 
 THE WINTER IT IS PAST, Etc. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 TuE winter it is past, and the summer comes at last, 
 And the small birds sing on every tree ; 
 
 Now every thing is glad, while I am very sad. 
 Since my true love is parted from me. 
 
 1 Timber, wood.— ^ These. 
 
508 BURNS S POEMS. 
 
 The rose upon the brier by the waters running clear, 
 May have charms for the linnet or the bee ; 
 
 Tlieir little loves are blest, and their little hearts at rest, 
 But my true love is parted from me. 
 
 DAMON AND SYLVIA. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 YoN wandering rill, that marks tiie hill, 
 And glances o'er the brae. Sir, 
 
 Slides by a bower where mony a flower. 
 Sheds fragrance on the day, Sir. 
 
 There Damon lay, with Sylvia gay : 
 To love they thought nae crime. Sir ; 
 
 The wild-birds sang, the echoes rang, 
 While Damon's heart beat time. Sir. 
 
 POLLY STEWART. 
 
 Thta happy little song was written for the Museum. It is an earl/ 
 production. 
 
 Tune — F« 're welcome, Charlie Stewart 
 
 lovely Polly Stewart, 
 
 charming Polly Stewart, 
 There '« ne'er a flower that blooms in May 
 
 ThaVs half 80 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 
 
 AVill gie to Polly Stewart. 
 
 May he whase arms shall fauld thy charms. 
 
 Possess a leal and true heart ; 
 To him be given to ken the heaven 
 
 lie grasps in Polly Stewart I 
 lovely, &c. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 500 
 
 THERE WAS A BONNIE LASS. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 There was a bonnie lass, and a bonnie, bonnie lass, 
 
 And she lo'ed her bonnie laddie dear ; 
 Till war's loud alarms tore her laddie frae her arms, 
 
 Wi' monie a sigh and tear. 
 
 Over sea, over shore, where the cannons loudly roar, 
 
 He still was a stranger to fear : 
 And noclit^ could him quell, or his bosom aasail. 
 
 But the bonnie lass he lo'ed sae dear. 
 
 TIBBIE DUNBAR, 
 
 The person who composed the air of this song was a Girvan fiddler, a Johny 
 M'Gill—he named it after himself. 
 
 Tune— Jbftn.y M'Gill. 
 
 Oh wilt thou go wi' me, sweet Tibbie Dunbar ? 
 Oh wilt thou 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? 
 I carena*^ thy daddie, his lands and his money, 
 I carena thy kin, sae high and sae lordly : 
 But say thou wilt hae me for better for waur,'* 
 And come in thy coatie, sweet Tibbie Dunbar. 
 
 ROBIN SHURE IN HAIRST. 
 
 first published in the Poetry, " Original and Selected," by Brash and 
 Keid, of Glasgow. 
 
 Eohin sTiure in Jiairst^^ 
 
 I shure wi'' him^ 
 Fient^ a heuh^ had /, 
 
 Yet I stacW hy him. 
 
 Nothing.— 2 Care not for.— 3 Worse.— * Did shear, or reap, in harvest - 
 • A petty oath of negation.—* Eeaping-hook.— ''' Stuck. 
 
510 BURNS S POEMS. 
 
 I GAED* up to Dunse, 
 To warp a wab* o' plaiden. 
 
 At his daddie's yett,* 
 Wha met me but Robin ! 
 
 Was na Robin bauld,* 
 Though I was a cotter, 
 
 Play'd me sic* a trick 
 And me the eller's dochter ?• 
 Eohin shure, &c. 
 
 Robin promised me 
 A' my winter vittle,' 
 
 Fient haet he had but three 
 Goose feathers and a whittle. 
 BoMnshure^ &c. 
 
 MY LADY'S GOWN THERE 'S GAIRS UPON 'T. 
 
 The original of this song will be found in Sibbald's " Chronicle of Scottish 
 Poetry." 
 
 My lady'^s gown there '« gairs upon H^^ 
 And gowden flowers sae rare uponH ; 
 But Jenny^sjimps^ and jirJcinet^^^ 
 My lord thinks muchle mair^^ upon H, 
 
 My lord a-hunting he is gane, 
 
 But hounds or hawks wi' him are nane, 
 
 By Colin's cottage lies his game, 
 
 If Colin's Jenny be at hame. 
 
 My lady^s gown^ dc.^ 
 
 My lady 's white, my lady 's red. 
 And kith" and kin o' Cassillis' blude. 
 But her ten-pund lands o' tocher^^ guid 
 Were a' the charms his lordsliip lo'ed. 
 My lady^s gown^ &c. 
 
 Out o'er yon muir, out o'er yon moss, 
 Whare gor-cocks thro' the heather pass, 
 
 » Went — 2 Web. — « Gate.— * Bold. — » Such. — « Elder's daughter. -^ 
 ' Victuala.— » Triangular pieces of cloth sewed on the bottom of it.— » Easy 
 •lays.— »•> Short gown.— ii Much more.— ^^^ Kindred.— ^^ Marriage ]>ortion. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 611 
 
 There wons* anld Coliii's bonnie lass, 
 A lily in a wilderness. 
 
 My lady^s goion^ &c. 
 
 Sae sweetly move her genty* limbs, 
 Like music notes o' lover's hymns : 
 The diamond de\>f in her een sae blue, 
 Where laughing love sae wanton swims. 
 My lady^s gown^ &c. 
 
 My lady's dink,^ my lady's drest, 
 The flower and foncy o' the west ; 
 But the lassie that a man lo'es best. 
 Oh that's the lass to make him blest. 
 My lady'^B goicriy &c. 
 
 WEE WILLIE GRAY. 
 
 This and the following two verses are imitations of old songs 
 
 Wee* Willie Gray, and his leatlier wallet; 
 
 Peel a willow-wand to be him boots and jacket : 
 
 The rose upon the brier will be him trouse and doublet, 
 
 The rose upon the brier will be him trouse and doublet. 
 
 Wee Willie Gray, and his leather wallet ; 
 Twice a lily flower will be him sark and cravat : 
 Feathers of a flee^ wad feather up his bonnet. 
 Feathers of a flee wad feather up his bonnet. 
 
 OH GUID ALE COMES. 
 
 Oh guid ale comes^ and guid ale goes^ 
 Quid ale gar 8^ me sell my hose^ 
 Sell my hose^ and pawn my shoon^ 
 Guid ale keeps my heart aboon. 
 
 I HAD sax owsen^ in a pleugh. 
 They drew a' weel eneugh, 
 I sell'd them a' just ane by ane; 
 Guid ale keeps my heart aboon. 
 
 ^ Dwells.~2 Elegantly formed.— 3 Neat, trim.—-* Little.— ^ Fly.— « Makos. 
 -' Six oxen. 
 
512 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 Guid ale hauds^ me bare and busy, 
 Gars me moop wi' the servant hizzie, 
 Stand i' the stooP when I hae done, 
 Guid ale keeps my heart aboon. 
 Oh guid ale comes^ &c. 
 
 OH LAY THY LOOF IN MINE, LASa 
 
 Written for the Museum. The chorus is partly old . 
 
 Oh lay thy loof^ in mine^ lass, 
 In mine^ lass^ in mine, lass, 
 
 And swear in thy white 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. 
 
 Oh lay thy loof, &c. 
 
 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, 
 Forever to remain. 
 
 Oh lay thy loof, &c. 
 
 EXTEMPORE. 5 
 
 April, 1782. 
 
 Oh why the deuce should I repine, 
 
 And be an ill foreboder ? 
 I 'm twenty- three, and five feet nine — 
 
 I '11 go and be a sodger. 
 I gat some gear wi' meikle care, 
 
 I held it weel thegither; 
 But now it's gane and something mair, 
 
 I '11 go and be a sodger. 
 
 ' Holds.— 5 stool of repentance.— 3 Palm of the hand. — * Mucn woo,— 
 • An early production. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 513 
 
 OH LEAVE NOVELS. 
 
 Extracted from the Toet's memorandam-book, when farmer at Mossgiel. 
 
 Oh leave novels, ye Manchline belles, 
 
 Ye 're safer at your spinning-wheel; 
 Such witching books are baited hooks, 
 
 For rakisli rooks like Rob Mossgiel. 
 Your fine Tom Jones and Orandisons, 
 
 They make your youthful fancies reel, 
 They heat your brains, and fire your veins, 
 
 And then you 're prey for Kob 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, tlie soft caress. 
 
 Are worse than poison'd darts of steel ; 
 The frank address, and politesse, 
 
 Are all finesse in Rob Mossgiel. 
 
 OH AY MY WIFE SHE DANG MR 
 
 The chorus and the two concluding lines of this song are from an old ballad 
 of considerable length, which tradition has still preserved in Kincardineshire. 
 
 Oh ay my wife she dang me^ 
 An' aft my wife she hanged me; 
 If ye gie a woman a' her will, 
 Quid faith she HI soon o^rgang ye. 
 
 On peace and rest my mind was bent, 
 
 And fool I was 1 married ; 
 But never honest man's intent, 
 
 As cursedly miscarried. 
 
 Some sairie* comfort still at last, 
 "When a' thir'^ days are done, man. 
 
 My pains o' hell on earth is past, 
 I 'm sure o' bliss aboon, man. 
 Oh ay my wije^ &c. 
 
 J Sorry.— 2 These. 
 
514 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 THE DEUK'S DANG O'ER MY DADDIE. 
 
 There is still much of the spirit of the old indelicate song of the same na7ii% 
 in the following verses. 
 
 The bairns^ gat out wi' an iinco^ shout, 
 
 The deuk^ 's dang* o'er my daddie, O ! 
 The fient* ma care, quo' the feirie^ auld wife, 
 
 He was but a paidlin" body, ! 
 He paidles out, and he paidles in. 
 
 An' he paidles late and early, O ; 
 This seven lang years I hae lien by his side, 
 
 An' he is but a fusionless" carlie, O. 
 
 Oh baud your tongue, my feirie auld wife, 
 
 Oh baud your tongue now, Nansie, O : 
 I've seen the day, and sae hae ye. 
 
 Ye wadna been sae donsie,^ : 
 I 've seen the day ye butter'd my brose, 
 
 And cuddled me late and earlie, ; 
 But downa^° do 's come o'er me now. 
 
 And, oh, I find it sairly, ! 
 
 THE FIVE CARLINS.— AN ELECTION BALLAD. 
 
 There is considerable humor in this ballad. It was written on a desperately 
 contested election for the Dumfries district of boroughs, between Sir James 
 Johnson of Wester-hall, and Mr. Miller* of Dalswinton. 
 
 Tune — Clicvy-cliace. 
 
 There were five Carlins" in the south. 
 
 They fell upon a scheme. 
 To send a lad to Lon'on town 
 
 To bring us tidings hame. 
 
 Kot only bring us tidings hame, 
 
 But do our errands there. 
 And aiblins" gowd and honor baith 
 
 Might be that laddie's share. 
 
 » Children.— 2 Great.—" Duck.— ■« Driven or pushed.— « Fiend.—' 8toa\ 
 vigorous.- 7 Infirm, walking with a feeble step.—" Dry, sapless.-:*' Unlucky 
 — ^- Unable, cannot.— '* Sfout old women. — >* Porlmps. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 515 
 
 There was Maggie by the banks o' Nith,* 
 
 A dame wi' pride eneiigh ; 
 And Maijorie o' the monie Loch,'* 
 
 A Carlin auld an' teugh.^ 
 
 And blinkin' Bess o' Annandale,^ 
 
 That dwells near Sol way side, 
 And whisky Jean that took her gilP 
 
 In Galloway so wide. 
 
 And auld black Joan frae Creighton peel,* 
 
 O' gipsy kith an' kin,^ 
 Five weightier Carlins were na found 
 
 The south kintra® within. 
 
 To send a lad to Lon'on town 
 
 They met upon a day, 
 And monie a Knight and monie a Laird, 
 
 That errand fain would gae. 
 
 Oh ! monie a Knight and monie a Laird, 
 
 This errand fain would gae; 
 But nae ane could their fancy please, 
 
 Oh ! ne'er a ane but twae. 
 
 The first ane was a belted Knight, 
 
 Bred o' a border band. 
 An' he wad gae to Lon'on town, 
 
 Might nae man him withstand. 
 
 And he wad do their errands weel. 
 
 And meikle he wad say. 
 And ilka ane at Lon'on court 
 
 Wad bid to him guid day. 
 
 Then neist came in a sodger youth, 
 
 And spak wi' modest grace. 
 An' he wad gae to Lon'on town. 
 
 If sae their pleasure was. 
 
 He wad na hecht^ them courtly gift, 
 
 Nor meikle speech pretend ; 
 But he wad hecht an honest heart — 
 
 Wad ne'er desert his friend. 
 
 Dumfries.— 2 Lochmaben.— 3 Tough.— '* Annan.— 5 Kirkcudbright.— 
 • Sanquhar.— "^ Kindred.— 8 Country.— » Offer, 
 
516 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 Now whom to choose and whom refuse; 
 
 To strife thae Carlins fell ; 
 For some had gentle-folk to please, 
 
 And some wad j^lease themsel. 
 
 Then out spak mim-mou'd Meg o' With, 
 
 And she spak out wi' pride, 
 An' she wad send the sodger youth 
 
 Whatever might betide. 
 
 For the auld guidman o' Lon'on court 
 
 She did not care a pin. 
 But she wad send the sodger youtli 
 
 To greet his eldest son. 
 
 Then up sprang Bess o' Annaudale : 
 
 A deadly aith she 's ta'en. 
 That she wad vote the border Knight^ 
 
 Tho' she should vote her lane. 
 
 For far off fowls hae feathers fair, 
 
 An' fools o' change are fain : 
 But I hae tried the border Knight, 
 
 I'll try him yet again. 
 
 Says auld black Joan frae Creighton peel, 
 
 A Carlin stout and grim. 
 The auld guidman or young guidman. 
 
 For me may sink or swim ! 
 
 For fools may prate o' right and wrang. 
 While knaves laugh them to scorn: 
 
 But the Sodger's friends hae blawn the bes% 
 Sae he shall bear the horn. 
 
 Then whisky Jean spak o'er her drink — 
 
 Yo weel ken, kimmers^ a', 
 The auld guidman o' Lon'on court, 
 
 His back 's been at the wa' : 
 
 And monie a friend that klss'd his caup," 
 
 Is now a frammit' wight; 
 But it's ne'er sae wi' whisky Jean — 
 
 We '11 send the border Knight. 
 
 > Gc«sipe.— 2 Wooden drinking vessel.—* Strange, or estranged. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 
 
 Then slow raise Marjorie o' the Lochs, 
 And wrinkled was her brow ; 
 
 Her ancient weed was russet gray, 
 Her auld Scots heart was true. 
 
 There 's some great folks set light by me, 
 
 I set as light by them ; 
 But I will send to Lon'on town, 
 
 "Wha I lo'e best at hame. 
 
 So how this weighty plea will end, 
 
 Nae mortal wight can tell ; 
 G-d grant the King and ilka man 
 
 May look weel to himsel. 
 
 517 
 
 OH THAT I HAD NE'ER BEEN MARRIED. 
 
 Written for the Musical Museum— the chorus is old. 
 
 Oh that I had ne'er been married, 
 
 I wad never had sic care — 
 Now I 've gotten wife an' bairns, 
 
 An' they cry crowdie ever mair. 
 
 Ance crowdie^^ tioice crowdie^ 
 Three times crotcdie in a day ; 
 
 Gin ye crowdie ony mair^ 
 
 Ye HI crowdie a' my meal aicay. 
 
 Waefu' want an' hunger fley' me, 
 
 Glowrin'^ by the hall an* en' — 
 Sair I fechf^ them at the door, 
 
 But ay I 'm eerie^ they come ben."^ 
 Ance crowdie^ &c. 
 
 1 A dish made by pouring boiling water on oatmeal, and stirring it.— 2 To 
 make afraid.— 3 Staring.— ^ Partition wall.— ^ To fight.— « Frighted.— ^ Jq, 
 vards. 
 
518 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 THE JOLLY BEGGARS. 
 
 A CANTATA. 
 
 This spirited and humorous production was first introduced to the pnhlio 
 by Mr. T. Stewart of Greenock. It appeared in a thin octavo, published at 
 Glasgow in 1801, under the title of " Poems ascribed to Robert Burns, the 
 Ayrshire Bard." Dr. Currie refused to admit it into his collection, because 
 the Poet had trespassed slightly upon the limits of Presbyterian purity, and 
 spoken rather irreverently of courts and churches. 
 
 KECITATIVO. 
 
 When lyart^ leaves bestrow the yird, 
 Or wavering like the bauckie-bird,'* 
 
 Bedim cauld Boreas' blast ; 
 "When hail-stanes drive wi' bitter skyte, 
 And infant frosts begin to bite, 
 
 In hoary cranreuch* drest; 
 Ae night at e'en a merry core 
 O' randie,^ gangrel® bodies, 
 In Posie-Nansie's' held the splore,® 
 To drink their orra duddies :' 
 Wi' quaffing and laughing, 
 
 They ranted and they sang ; 
 Wi' jumping and thumping. 
 The very girdle^" rang. 
 
 First neist" the fire, in anld red rags, 
 Ane sat, weel braced wi' mealy bags, 
 
 And knapsack a' in order ; 
 His doxy lay within his arm, 
 Wi' usquebae an' blankets warm. 
 
 She blinket on her sodger : 
 An' ay he gies the toozie" drab 
 
 The tither skelpin*^ kiss, 
 While she held up her geedy gab" 
 
 Just like an aumos'* dish. 
 
 1 Gray, or dead leaves.— ^ The razor-bill.—' To eject with great force.— 
 • Hoar-frost— 6 Turbulent— « Strolling. 
 
 ^ The landlady of a whisky -house, m the outskirts of Mauchline, in which 
 the beggars held their orgies, and where the present group actually met 
 
 8 A frolic — ' Superfluous rags, or pence : or whatever they could turn into 
 money. — lo A round plate of iron for toasting cakes over the fire. — ^' Next— 
 ^2 Swarthy.— 13 Warm, eager.- 1* Mouth.— 1« An alms-dish. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 519 
 
 Ilk smack still did crack still, 
 
 Just like a cadger's* whip; 
 Then staggering and SAvaggering 
 
 He roar'd this ditty up : 
 
 TvNE—Soldier^s 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, 
 When welcoming the French 
 
 At the sound of the drum. 
 Lai de dandle, &c. 
 
 My 'prenticeship I past 
 
 Where my leader breathed his last, 
 
 When the bloody die was cast 
 
 On the heights of Abram ; 
 I served out ray trade 
 When the gallant game was play'd, 
 And the Moro low was laid 
 
 At the sound of the drum. 
 Lai de dandle, &c. 
 
 I, lastly, was with Curtis, 
 Among the floating batt'ries. 
 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 the drum. 
 Lai de dandle, &c. 
 
 And now, tho' I must beg. 
 With a wooden arm and leg, 
 And many a tatter'd rag 
 Hanging over my bum, 
 
 1 A carrier. 
 
520 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 I 'm as happy with my wallet, 
 My bottle and my callet/ 
 As when I used in scarlet 
 To follow the drum. 
 Lai de daudle, &c. 
 
 What tho', 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 hell 
 
 At the sound of the drum. 
 Lai de daudle, &c. 
 
 RECITATIVO. 
 
 He ended ; and the kebars'* shook 
 
 Aboon^ the chorus roar ; 
 While friglited rattons^ backward look. 
 
 And seek the benmost bore :^ 
 A Merry-Andrew i' the nook, 
 
 He skirl'd out, " Encore !'* 
 But up arose the martial chuck. 
 
 And laid the loud uproar : 
 
 AIR. 
 
 TviiK— Soldier Laddie. 
 
 I ONCE was a maid, tho' I cannot tell when. 
 And still my delight is in proper young men : 
 Some one of a troop of dragoons was my daddie, 
 No wonder I 'm fond of a sodger laddie. 
 Sing, Lai de lal, &c. 
 
 The first of my loves was a swaggering blade. 
 To rattle the thundering drum was his trade; 
 His leg was so tight, and liis cheek was so ruddy. 
 Transported I was with my sodger laddie. 
 Sing, Lal de lal, &c. 
 
 But the godly old chaplain left him in the lurch. 
 The sword I forsook for the sake of the church ; 
 
 * A kind of cap.— -^ Rafters.—' Above.—* Rats.- « The innermost h(»Iau 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 521 
 
 He ventured the sonl, and I risk'd the body, 
 'Twas then I proved false to my sodger laddie. 
 Sing, Lai de lal, &c. 
 
 Full soon I grew sick of the 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. 
 Sing, Lal de lal, &c. 
 
 But the peace it reduced me to beg m despair. 
 Till I met my old boy at Oimningham fair; 
 His rags regimental they flutter'd so gaudy, 
 My heart it rejoiced at my sodger laddie. 
 Sing, Lal de lal, &c. 
 
 And now I have lived, I know 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, &c, 
 
 RECITATIVO. 
 
 Poor Merry- Andrew, i' the neuk,* 
 
 Sat guzzling wi' a tinkler hizzie;'* 
 They mind't na wha the chorus took. 
 
 Between themsels they were sae bizzy. 
 At length wi' drink and courting dizzy, 
 
 He stoiterM^ up and made a face; 
 Then turn'd and laid a smack on Grizzy, 
 
 Syne* tuned his pipes wi' grave grimace. 
 
 AIR. 
 
 Tune— 4 uld 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 book, 
 
 And I held awa to the school ; 
 I fear I my talent mistook. 
 
 But what will ye hae of a fool? 
 
 * A nook, or corner.— 2 Tinker wench.— ^ Staggered.—* Then.— » Drunk. 
 
522 BUR.VS'S POEMS. 
 
 For drink I would venture my neck; 
 
 A hizzie's the half of my craft ; 
 But what could ye other expect 
 
 Of ane that 's avowedly daft?^ 
 
 I ance was tied up like a stirk,^ 
 Tor civilly swearing and quaffing; 
 
 I ance was abused i' the kirk, 
 For touzling a lass i' my daffin.^ 
 
 Poor Andrew that tumbles for sport. 
 Let naebody name wi' a jeer; 
 
 There 's even, I 'm tauld, 1' the court 
 A tumbler ca'd the Premier. 
 
 Observed ye yon reverend lad 
 Make faces to tickle the mob ; 
 
 He rails at our mountebank squad, 
 It's rivalship jnst V the job. 
 
 And now ray conclusion I '11 tell. 
 For fjiith I 'm confoundedly dry, 
 
 Tlie chield that's a fool for himsel', 
 Gude L — d, he 's far dafter^ than I, 
 
 RECITATIVO. 
 
 Then neist^ outspak a railcle carlin,® 
 Wha kent^ fu' weel to cleek^ the sterlin' ; 
 For monie a pursie she had hookit. 
 And had in monie a well been doukit ; 
 
 Iler dove had been a Highland laddie, 
 But weary fii' the waefu' woodie !* 
 AVi' siglis and sobs slie thus began 
 To wail her braw John Highlandman. 
 
 Tone— 0^ an ye iccre dead, Gudcman. 
 
 A niGHLAND lad my love was born, 
 The Lowland laws he held in scorn; 
 But he still was faith fu' to his clan. 
 My gallant, braw'° John Highlandman ! 
 
 * Crazy, or foolish. — ^ A young bullock, or lielfcr. — 3 Pastime, gayety.— 
 * A greater fool. — ^ Next — * Kash, contemptuous terra for a woman. — 
 ' Knew.— 8 To lay hold of as with a hook.— » The gallows, on which her 
 husband had been hanged.— i" Brave. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 523 
 
 Sing^ Tiey^ my Iraw John Higlilandman^ 
 Sing, ho, my hraw John Eighlandman ; 
 There ''s vot a lad in a* the Ian'' 
 Was match for my John Highlandman, 
 
 With his philibeg^ an' tartan'' plaid, 
 An' guid claymore^ down by his side, 
 The ladies' hearts he did trepan, 
 My gallant, braw John Highlandman ! 
 Sing, hey, &c. 
 
 We ranged a- from Tweed to Spey, 
 And lived like lords and ladies gay ; 
 For a Lowland face ha feared none, 
 My gallant, braw Jchn Highlandman. 
 Sing, hey, &c. 
 
 They banish'd him beyond the sea, 
 But ere the bud was on the tree, 
 Adown my cheeks the pearls ran. 
 Embracing my John Highlandman. 
 Sing, hey, &c. 
 
 But, oh! they catch'd him at the last^ 
 And. bound him in a dungeon fast; 
 My curse upon them every one. 
 They 've hang'd my braw John Highlandman, 
 Sing, hey, &c. 
 
 And now, a widow, I must mourn 
 Departed joys that ne'er return ; 
 No comfort but a hearty can, 
 When I think on John Highlandman. 
 Sing, hey, &c, 
 
 RECITATIVO. 
 
 A pigmy scraper wi' his fiddle, 
 
 Wha used at trysts* and feirs to driddle,* 
 
 Her strappin'^ limb and gaucy' middle 
 
 (He reaclrd nae higher) 
 Had hol'd his heartie like a riddle. 
 
 An' blawn 't on fire. 
 
 - A short petticoat worn by Ilighlandmen. — ^ Checkered cloak, or nppei 
 garment — ^ ^ broadsword. — * Meetings appointed for dancing and frolic.— 
 » To move slowly.— « Tall and handsome.—''' Large, jolly. 
 
524 BURNS'S FOEMS. 
 
 TVi' hand on hannch, an' upward ee, 
 He croon'd^ his gamut, one, two, three, 
 Then, in an arioso key, 
 
 The wee Apollo 
 Set off, wi' allegretto glee, 
 
 His giga solo. 
 
 AIR. 
 Tune — Whistle owre (Tin lave o'f. 
 
 Let me ryke^ up to dight^ that tear, 
 An' go wi' me an' be my dear ; 
 An' then your every care and fear 
 May whistle owre the lave o't. 
 
 I am a fiddler to my trade., 
 An' a' the tunes that e'er I play^d^ 
 The sweetest still to wife or maid., 
 Was " Whistle owre the lave (?'^." 
 
 At kirns* and weddings we 'se be there, 
 And oh sae nicely 's we will fare ! 
 "We 'II bouse about till daddie Care 
 Sings " Whistle owre the lave o't." 
 /am, &c. 
 
 Sae merrily 's the banes we '11 pyke,* 
 ' And sun oursels about the dyke. 
 And at our leisure, when ye like, 
 We '11 whistle owre the lave o't. 
 /am, &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. 
 I am^ &c. 
 
 RECITATIVO. 
 
 Her charms had struck a sturdy caird,* 
 
 As weel as poor gut-scraper ; 
 He taks the tiddler by the beard, 
 
 And draws a rusty rapier : — 
 
 > Hummed.—' Use my power, or best endeavors, — ' "Wipe, cr clean.- 
 « Harvest suppers. — ^ The bones we'll pick. — ^ Tickle hair on guts; i. < 
 play on the violin.—"^ Tinker. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 525 
 
 He swore by a' was swearing worth, 
 
 To spit him like a phver/ 
 Unless he would from that time forth 
 
 Relinquish her forever. 
 
 "Wi' ghastly ee, poor tweedle-dee 
 
 Upon his hunkers'' bended, 
 And prayM for grace wi' ruefu' face, 
 
 And sae the quarrel ended. 
 But though his little heart did grieve 
 
 When round the tinker press'd her, 
 He feign'd to snirtle^ in his sleeve, 
 
 "When thus the caird address'd her : 
 
 AIR. 
 TxjNE— Clout the Cauldron. 
 
 My bonnie lass, I work in brass, 
 
 A tinkler is my station ; 
 I 've travell'd round all Christian ground, 
 
 In this my occupation ; 
 I 've taen the gold, I 've been enroll'd 
 
 In many a noble squadron ; 
 But vain they search'd, when off I march'd 
 
 To go and clout* the cauldron. 
 I 've taen the gold &c. 
 
 Despise that shrimp, that wither'd imp, 
 
 Wi' a' his noise and cap'rin'. 
 And take a share wi' those that bear 
 
 The budget and the apron : 
 And by that stowp,^ my faith and houp, 
 
 And by that dear Kilbagie,^ 
 If e'er ye want or meet wi' scant. 
 
 May I ne'er weet my craigie l'^ 
 And by that stowp, &c. 
 
 KECITATIVO. 
 
 The caird prevail'd — the unblushing fair 
 
 In his embraces sunk. 
 Partly wi' love o'ercome sae sair,® 
 
 And partly she was drunk. 
 
 1 Spit him like a plover.— 2 The hams, or hinder part of the thighs.— ^ To 
 Jttugh. — * To mend kettles or cauldrons. — ^ A jug. — '"> Whisky, so called from 
 a celebrated distilJery. — ^ Throat. — ^ Sove. 
 
526 BURNS'S POEMh. 
 
 Sir Violino, with an air 
 
 That show'd a man o' spnnk, 
 
 Wish'd unison between the pair, 
 And made the bottle clunk^ 
 
 To their health that night. 
 
 But urchin Cupid shot a shaft, 
 
 That play'd a dame a shavie,'* 
 The fiddler raked her fore and aft. 
 
 Behind the chicken cavie.' 
 Her lord, a wight o' Homer's craft,* 
 
 Though limping wi' the spa vie,* 
 He hirpled^ up, and lap like datV 
 
 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 no wish — but to be glad. 
 
 Nor want — but when he thirsted; 
 He hated naught — but to be sad, 
 
 And thus the Muse suggested 
 His sang that night. 
 
 Tune— for a' tJiat, an* a' that. 
 
 I AM a bard of no regard, 
 
 Wi' gentle-folks, an a' that ; 
 But Homer-like, the glowrin' byke," 
 
 Frae town to town I draw that. 
 
 For a- that^ an' a? that^ 
 
 And twice as muchle 's a' that^ 
 
 Vte lo8t hut ane^ I\e twa hehin\ 
 I he wife enough for a' that, 
 
 I never drank the Muses stank," 
 Oastalia's burn," and a' that ; 
 
 1 To gurgle In the manner of a bottle when emptying.— ' A trick.—* A 
 pen, or coop. — * Homer is aliowerl to be the oldest ballad-singer on record.— 
 » Spavin—' Limped.—' Leaped as if lie was mad.— « Offered.— » To boot,— 
 ** Staring crowd.— ii A standing pool of water.— 12 EivuleL 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 52*? 
 
 But there it reams,^ and richly streams, 
 My Helicon I ca' that. 
 
 For a' tliat^ <&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 tliraw'^ that. 
 For a' that^ &c. 
 
 In raptures sweet, this hour we meet, 
 
 Wi' mutual love, and a' that ; 
 But for how lang the flie may stang,'* 
 
 Let inclination law* tliat. 
 For a* that^ &c. 
 
 Their tricks and craft hae put me daft,* 
 They 've taen me in, and a' that; 
 
 But clear your decks, and — Here 's the sex ! 
 I like the jads for a' that. 
 
 For a' that^ an'' a* tTiat^ 
 
 And twice as muchle 's a* tJiat^ 
 
 My dearest llude to do them gude, 
 They ''re welcome till H^ for a) that. 
 
 KECITATIVO. 
 
 So sung the bard — and ITansie's wa's 
 Shook with a thunder of applause, 
 
 Re-echo'd from each mouth : 
 They toom'd their pocks,' they pawn'd their duds, 
 They scarcely left to co'er their fuds,* 
 
 To quench their lowan^" drouth. 
 
 Then owre again the jovial thrang 
 
 The poet did request. 
 To lowse his pack, and wale a sang, 
 A ballad o' the best ; 
 He, rising, rejoicing 
 
 Between his twa Deborahs, 
 Looks round him, and found them 
 Impatient for the chorus. 
 
 * Froths, or foams. — 2 To contradict— ^ Sting. — ■* Kule, or govern. — * Mad 
 ?exed.— <5To it. — ^ Emptied their bags. — ^ Bags. —« Cover their tails.— 
 " Eaging thirst. 
 
528 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 AIR. 
 
 Tune— JpZ/// mortals, fill your glasses. 
 
 Bee the smoking bowl before us ! 
 
 Mark our jovical ragged ring! 
 Round and round take up the chorus, 
 
 And in raptures let us sing : 
 
 A fig for those ly law 'protected.^ 
 
 Liberty '« a glorious feast I 
 Courts for cowards were erected., 
 
 Churches luilt 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 Avhere. 
 A fig., &c. 
 
 "With the ready trick and fable, 
 Round we wander all the day; 
 
 And at night, in barn or stable, 
 Hug our doxies on the hay. 
 A fig, &c. 
 
 Does the train-attended carriage 
 Through the country ligliter rove? 
 
 Does the sober bed of marriage 
 "Witness brighter scenes of love? 
 A fig, (&c. 
 
 Life is all a variorum, 
 
 "We regard not how it goes ; 
 Let them cant about decorum 
 
 "Who have characters to lose. 
 A fig, &c. 
 
 liere's to budgets, bags, and wallets I 
 Here's to all the wandering train! 
 
 Here 's our ragged brats' and callets !' 
 One and all cry out, Amen ! 
 A fig, &c, 
 
 • Clothing in general.— ' A woman's cap made without a border, 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 520 
 
 MY HEART WAS ANCE. 
 
 The Poet ia the Musical Museum has added a note, that " the choi 
 this song is old, the rest of it is mine." 
 
 Tune— To the Weavers gin ye go. 
 
 Mr heart was ance as blythe and free 
 
 As simmer days were lang, 
 But a bonnie, westlin weaver lad 
 
 Has gart me change my sang. 
 
 To the toeavers gin ye go^ fair maids^ 
 To the weavers gin ye go ; 
 
 I recle^ you right gang ne'er at nighty 
 To the weavers gin ye go. 
 
 My mither' sent me to the town, 
 
 To warp a ])laiden wab ; 
 But the weary, weary warpin o't 
 
 Has gart me sigh and sab. 
 
 A bonnie westlin weaver lad 
 
 Sat working at his loom ; 
 He took my heart as wi' a net, 
 
 In every knot and thrum. 
 
 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. 
 
 The moon was sinking in the west 
 
 Wi' vi.sage pale and wan, 
 As my bonnie westlin weaver lad 
 
 Convoyed me thro' the glen. 
 
 But what was said, or what was done, 
 
 Shame fa' me gin I tell ; 
 But oil ! I fear the kintra^ soon 
 
 Will ken* as weel 's mysel. 
 
 To the weavers gin ye go^ &q, 
 
 ' To counsel.— 2 Mother.— 3 Country.—'* Know. 
 45 
 
530 BUBNS'S POEMS, 
 
 THE PLOUGHMAN. 
 
 Tune— Up tcV the PlougTiman, 
 
 The ploughman he 's a bonnie lad, 
 
 His mind is ever true, jo ; 
 His garters knit below his knee, 
 
 His bonnet it is blue, jo. 
 
 Then up wi^ my ploughman lad, 
 And hey my merry ploughman / 
 
 Of a' the trades that I do hen, 
 Commend me to the ploughman. 
 
 My ploughman he comes hame at e'en, 
 He 's aften wat and weary ; 
 
 Cast off the wat, put on the dry, 
 And gae to bed, my dearie ! 
 
 I will wash my ploughman's hose. 
 And I will dress his o'erlay ; 
 
 I will mak my ploughman's bed, 
 And cheer him late and early. 
 
 I hae been east, I hae been west, 
 I hae been at Saint Johnston ; 
 
 The bonniest sight that e'er I saw 
 AVas the ploughman laddie dancin'. 
 
 Snaw- white stockins on his legs, 
 And siller buckles glancin' ; 
 
 A guid blue bonnet on his head — 
 And oh, but he was handsome 1 
 
 Commend me to the barn-yard. 
 
 And the corn-mou, man ; 
 I never gat my coggie fou, 
 
 Till I met wi' the ploughman. 
 
 THE SONS OF OLD KILLIE. 
 
 This Bong was sung by Burns in the Kilmarnock Kilwinning Lodge in 178(JL 
 TvsvT.—Shawnboy. 
 
 Ye sons of old Killie, assembled by Willie, 
 To follow the noble vocation ; 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 531 
 
 Your thrifty old mother has scarce such another 
 
 To sit in that honored 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 favorite passion. 
 
 Ye powers who preside o'er the wind and the tide, 
 
 Who marked each element's border ; 
 Who formed this frame with beneficent aim. 
 
 Whose sovereign statute is order ; 
 Within this dear mansion may wayward contention 
 
 Or withered envy ne'er enter ; 
 May secrecy round be the mystical bound, 
 
 And brotherly love be the centre ! 
 
 OH, WHAR DID YE GET. 
 
 Part of this song is old, but all that is natural and tender was added by Buma. 
 Tune— JBonnie Dundee. 
 
 Oh, whar did ye get that hauver meal bannock? 
 
 Oh silly blind body, oh dinna ye see? 
 I gat it frae a brisk young sodger laddie. 
 
 Between Saint Johnston and bonnie Dundee. 
 Oh gin I saw the laddie that gae me 't ! 
 
 Aft has he doudled me up on his knee ; 
 May Heaven protect my bonnie Scots laddie. 
 
 And send him safe hame to his babie and me ! 
 
 My blessin 's upon thy sweet wee lippie, 
 
 My blessin 's upon thy bonnie e'e brie! 
 Thy smiles are sae like my blythe sodger laddie, 
 
 Thou 's ay the dearer and dearer to me ! 
 But I '11 big a bower on yon bonnie banks, 
 
 Where Tay rins wimplin' by sae clear; 
 And I '11 deed thee in the tartan sae fine. 
 
 And mak thee a man like thy daddie dear. 
 
532 BURNS S POEMS. 
 
 THE JOYFUL WIDOWER. 
 
 Ixs^z— Maggy Lauder. 
 
 I MABEiED with a scolding wife 
 
 The fourteenth of November; 
 She made me weary of ray life, 
 
 By one unruly member. 
 Long did I bear the heavy yoke, 
 
 And many griefs attended ; 
 But, to my comfort be it spoke, 
 
 Now, now her life is ended. 
 
 We lived full one-and-twenty years 
 
 As man and wife together ; 
 At length from me her course she steer'd, 
 
 And gone I know not whither: 
 Would 1 could guess, I do profess, 
 
 I speak, and do not flatter, 
 Of all the women in the world, 
 
 I never could come at her. 
 
 Her body is bestowed well, 
 
 A handsome grave does hide her; 
 But sure her soul is not in hell, 
 
 The deil would ne'er abide her. 
 I rather think she is aloft. 
 
 And imitating thunder; 
 For why, — methinks I hear her voice 
 
 Tearing the clouds asunder. 
 
 COME DOWN THE BACK STAIRS. 
 
 The air was composed by John Bruce, an excellent fiddler, who lived in 
 Dumfries. The sentiment is taken from an old song, but every line is ver/ 
 much altered. It may be compared with the other version at page 433. 
 
 TcNE— TF7iJ«<Zc, and lUl come to you^ my lad. 
 
 Oil whistle., and I HI come 
 
 To you., my lad ; 
 Oh lohistle., and I HI come 
 
 To you^ my lad ; 
 Though father and mither 
 
 Should haith gae mad., 
 Oh whistle., and I HI come 
 
 To you, my lad. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 633 
 
 Come down the b<ack stairs 
 
 When ye come to court me; 
 Come down the back stairs 
 
 When ye come to court me, 
 Come down the back stairs, 
 
 And let naebody see, 
 And come as ye were na 
 
 Coming to me. 
 
 BKAW LADS OF GALLA WATER. 
 
 Perhaps the air of this song is the sweetest of all the Scotch aim. 
 It was considered so by Haydn. 
 
 TvifE—GaJla Water. 
 
 Braw^ hraw lads of Galla Water ; 
 
 Oil Iraw lads of Galla Water ; 
 IHl hilt my coats aboon my knee., 
 
 And follow my love through the water. 
 
 Sae fair her hair, sae brent her brow, 
 Sae bonny blue her een, my dearie ; 
 
 Sae white her teeth, sae sweet her mou\ 
 The mair I kiss she 's ay my dearie. 
 
 O'er yon bank and o'er yon brae, 
 O'er yon moss amang the heather; 
 
 I 'II kilt my coats aboon my knee. 
 And follow my love through the water. 
 
 Down amang the broom, the broom, 
 Down amang the broom, my dearie, 
 
 The lassie lost a silken snood. 
 That cost her mony a blirt and bleary. 
 Braw^ Iraw lads, &c. 
 
 MY HOGGIR 
 
 Tune— TFAai will I do gin my Hoggie die I 
 
 What will I do gin my Hoggie die? 
 
 My joy, my pride, my Hoggie! 
 Hy only beast, I had nae mae, 
 
 And vow but I was vogie ! 
 
534 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 The lee-lang night we watch'd the fauld, 
 
 Me and my faithfu' doggie; 
 We heard naught but the roaring linn, 
 
 Amang the braes sae scroggie; 
 But the Iioulet cried frae the castle wa', 
 
 The bhtter frae the boggie, 
 The tod replied upon the hill, 
 
 I trembled for my Hoggie. 
 "When day did daw, and cocks did craw, 
 
 The morning it was foggie ; 
 An' unco tyke lap o'er the dyke, 
 
 And maist has kill'd my Hoggie. 
 
 HER DADDIE FORBAD. 
 
 Borne of these verses are by Burns, and part from a humorous old Ballad, 
 " Jumpiu' John o' the green." 
 
 Tune— J'Mm/Jin' John. 
 
 Heb daddie^ forbad, her minnie^ forbad; 
 
 Forbidden she wadna^ be: 
 She wadna trow't, the browst she brew'd 
 "Wad taste sae bitterlie. 
 The lang lad they ca) Jumpin' John^ 
 
 Beguiled the honnie lassie^ 
 The lang lad they ca' Juminii' John^ 
 Beguiled the bomiie lassie. 
 
 A cow and a cauf, a yowe and a hauf. 
 And thretty gude shiUin's and three ; 
 
 A vera gude tocher,^ a cotter-man's dochter, 
 The lass with the bonnie black e'e. 
 The lang lad., &c. 
 
 HEY, THE DUSTY MILLER. 
 
 This ig a cheerful air, and was formerly played as a single hornpipe In the 
 Scottish dancing-schools ; the words are altered from an old song. 
 Tune— r/je Dimiy Miller. 
 
 Hey, the dusty miller, 
 
 And his dusty coat ; 
 He will win a shilling, 
 
 Or he spend a groat. 
 > Father.— 5 Mother.— 3 Would not.— * Dowry. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 535 
 
 Dusty was the coat, 
 
 Dusty was the color, 
 Dusty was the kiss 
 
 That I got frae the miller. 
 
 Hey, the dusty miller. 
 And his dusty sack ; 
 Leeze me on the calling 
 . Fills the dusty peck. 
 Fills the dusty peck, 
 
 Brings the dusty siller; 
 I wad gie my coatie 
 For the dusty miller. 
 
 THERE WAS A LASS. 
 
 Ve old song of this name, sung to the tune of " You'll ay be welcomo 
 back again," is much inferior to the present in wit and delicacy. 
 
 Tune — Duncan Davison. 
 
 There was a lass, they ca'd her Meg^ 
 
 And she held o'er the moors to spin ; 
 There was a lad that follow'd her. 
 
 They ca'd him Duncan Davison. 
 The moor was driegh,^ and Meg was skiegh,* 
 
 Her favor Duncan could na win ; 
 For wi' the roke she wad him knock, 
 
 And ay she shook the temper-pin. 
 
 . As o'er the moor they lightly foor, 
 
 A burn was clear, a glen was green, 
 Upon the banks they eased their shanks,^ 
 
 And ay she set the wheel between : 
 But Duncan swore a haly aith,* 
 
 That Meg should be a bride the morn ; 
 Then Meg took up her spinnin' graith. 
 
 And flung them a' out o'er the burn. 
 
 . We '11 big a house — a wee, wee house. 
 And we will live Hke king and queen, 
 8ae blythe and merry we will be 
 When ye set by the wheel at e'en. 
 
 » Dreary.— 2 Proud.— 3 Legs.— * A holy oath. 
 
536 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 A man may drink and no be drunk; 
 
 A man may fight and no be slain ; 
 A man may kiss a bonnie lass, 
 
 And ay be welcome back again. 
 
 WEARY FA» YOU, DUNCAN GRAY. 
 
 Of this the Poet says, "It is that kind of light-horse gallop of an air which 
 precludes sentiment. The ludicrous is its ruling feature." Another yersion 
 will be found at page 366. 
 
 TVNE— Duncan Gray. 
 
 Weary fa' you, Duncan Gray — 
 
 Ha, ha, the girdin o't! 
 Wae gae by you, Duncan Gray — 
 
 Ha, ha, the girdin o't! 
 When a' the lave gae to their play, 
 Then I maun sit the lee-lang day, 
 And jog the cradle wi' my tae, 
 
 And a' for the girdin o't. 
 
 Bonnie was the Lammas moon— 
 
 Ha, ha, the girdin o't! 
 Glowrin' a' the hills aboon — 
 
 Ha, ha, the girdin o't! 
 The girdin brak, the beast cam down, 
 I tint my curch, and baith my shoon; 
 , Ah ! Duncan, ye 're an unco loon — 
 
 Wae on the bad girdin o't ! 
 
 But, Duncan, gin ye '11 keep your aith — 
 
 Ha, ha, the girdin o't! 
 I'se bless you wi' my hindmost breath — 
 
 Ha, ha, the girdin o't I 
 Duncan, gin ye '11 keep your aith, 
 The beast again can bear us baith. 
 And auld Mess John will mend the skaith^ 
 
 And clout the bad girdin o't. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 53*1 
 
 LANDLADY, COUNT THE LAWIN. 
 
 The two first verses are by Burns : the last is taken from an old fiong* 
 Tune— ITe.v tnitiy taiti. 
 
 Landlady, count the lawin,* 
 
 The day is near the dawin ;'* 
 
 Ye 're a' blind drunk, boys, 
 
 And I 'm but jolly fou.* 
 
 J^^y tutti, taiti^ 
 How tutt% taiti — 
 Wlia 's fou now f 
 
 Oog an' ye were ay fou, 
 Cog an' ye were ay fou, 
 I wad sit and sing to you 
 If ye were ay fou. 
 
 "Weel may ye a' be ! 
 Ill may we never see ! 
 God bless the king, boys. 
 And the companie ! 
 
 Hey tutti^ &c. 
 
 THE BLUDE RED ROSE AT YULE MAY BLAW. 
 
 ' The sentiment is taken from a Jacobite song of the same name. 
 TuxE — To daunton me. 
 
 The blude* red rose at Yule may blaw,* 
 The simmer lilies bloom in snaw,^ 
 The frost may freeze the deepest sea ; 
 But an auld man shall never daunton^ me. 
 
 To daunton me^ and me sae young., 
 WV his fause heart and flattering tongue.^ 
 That is the thing you ne^er shall see ; 
 For an auld man shall never daunton me. 
 
 • Reckoning. — 3 Paivn. — 3 Tipsy. — « Blood. — « Blow.--* Snow. 
 ' Fondle. 
 
538 BURNS S POEMS. 
 
 For a' his meal and a' his maut, 
 For a' his fresh beef and his saut, 
 For a' his gold and white raonie, 
 An auld man shall never daunton me. 
 
 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. 
 
 He hirples twa fauld as he dow, 
 Wi' his teethless gab* and his auld held pow," 
 And the rain rains down frae his red bleer'd ee — 
 That auld man shall never daunton me. 
 To daunton me^ &c. 
 
 COME BOAT ME O'ER TO CHARLIE. 
 
 Borne of these Hues are old ; the second and most of the third stanza are orighiaL X 
 Tune — O'er (he water to diarlie. 
 
 Come boat me o'er, come row me o'er, 
 
 Come boat me o'er to Charlie ; 
 I '11 gie John Ross another bawbee, 
 
 To boat me o'er to Charlie. 
 
 We HI o^er the water and o''er tJie sea, 
 
 We HI o'^er the water to Charlie; 
 Come weal^ come woe^ we HI gather and gOj 
 
 And live or die wi* Charlie, 
 
 I lo'e weel my Charlie's name, 
 
 Tho' some there be abhor him : 
 But oh, to see auld Nick gaun harae, 
 
 And Charlie's faes before him ! 
 
 I swear and vow by moon and stars, 
 
 And sun that shines sae early. 
 If I had twenty thousand lives 
 
 I 'd die as aft for Charlie. 
 
 We HI o'er the water ^ <Sbc, 
 
 » Speech.— 3 Bald head. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 539 
 
 RATTLIN', EOABIN' WILLIK* 
 
 TvNE—RaUlin^t roarW Willie, 
 
 O eattlin', roarin' Willie, 
 
 Oh, he held to the fair, 
 An' for to sell his fiddle. 
 
 An' buy some other ware ; 
 But parting wi' his fiddle. 
 
 The saut tear blin't his ee ; 
 And rattlin', roarin' Willie, 
 
 Ye 're welcome hame to me I 
 
 Willie, come sell your fiddle, 
 
 Oh sell your fiddle sae fine ; 
 Willie, come sell your fiddlo, 
 
 And buy a pint o' wine I 
 If I should sell my fiddle, 
 
 The warl' would think I was mad; 
 For mony a ran tin' day 
 
 My fiddle and I hae had. 
 
 As I cam by Orochallan, 
 
 I cannily keekit ben— 
 Rattlin', roarin' Willie 
 
 Was sitting at yon board en' ; 
 Sitting at yon board en', 
 . And amang guid companie; 
 Rattlin', roarin' Willie, 
 
 Ye 're welcome hame to me ! 
 
 THE TAILOR. 
 
 The second and fourth verses are by Burns ; the rest is very old. The a!r ia 
 oeautiful, and is played by the Corporation of Tailors at their annual elections and 
 processions. 
 
 Tune — T7ie tailor fell thro' the led, thimbles on' o'. 
 
 The tailor fell thro' the bed, thimbles an' a'. 
 The tailor fell thro' the bed, thimbles an' a' ; 
 
 1 The hero of this song was William Dunbar, Esq., writer to the " Signet," 
 Edinburgh, and colonel of the Crochallan corps, a club of wits, who took 
 that title at the time of raising the Fencible regiments. Burns says, "he was 
 one of the worthiest fellows li the world." 
 
540 BURNS'S POEMS. - 
 
 The blankets were thin, and the sheets they were sma' 
 The tailor fell thro' the bed, thimbles an' a\ 
 
 The sleepy bit lassie, she dreaded nae ill, 
 The sleepy bit lassie, she dreaded nae ill ; 
 The weather was cauld, and the lassie lay still, 
 She thought that a tailor could do her nae ill. 
 
 Gie me the groat again, canny young man ; 
 Gie me the groat again, canny young man ; 
 The day it is short, and the night it is lang, 
 The dearest siller that ever I wan ! 
 
 There's somebody weary wi' lying her lane ; 
 There's somebody weary wi' lying her lane; 
 There 's some that are dowie, I trow wad be fain 
 To see the bit tailor come skippin' again. 
 
 SIMMER 'S A PLEASANT TIME. 
 
 The first verse is by Burns, the others are only revised by him. 
 Tune— ^y wauldn 0. 
 
 Simmer' s a pleasant time. 
 
 Flowers of every color ; 
 The water rins o'er the heugh,* 
 
 And I long for my true lover. 
 
 Ai/ wauhiv? 0^ 
 
 Wauhin still and wearie : 
 Sleep I can get nan& 
 
 For thinking on my dearie, 
 
 "When I sleep I dream, 
 
 When I wauk I 'm eerie ;* 
 Sleep I can get nane 
 
 For thinking on my dearie. 
 
 Lanely night comes on, 
 
 A' the lave are sleeping; 
 I think on my bonnie lad, 
 
 And I bleer my een with greetin*. 
 Ay wauhin^ <£:c. 
 
 » Crag.— 2 Waking.— 3 None.—* Frightened. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 541 
 
 WHEN EOSY MAY. 
 
 In other days every trade and vocation had a tune to dance or march to : 
 the air of this song is the march of the gardeners ; the title only is old ; the 
 rest is the work of Bmna.—Cunningham. 
 
 Tune — The gardener tci' his paidle. 
 
 When rosy May comes in wi' flowers, 
 To deck her gay 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 upon her early fare. 
 
 Then thro' the dews he maun repair — 
 
 The gardener wi' his paidle. 
 When day, expiring in the west. 
 The curtain draws of nature's rest. 
 He flies to her arms he lo'es best — 
 
 The gardener wi' his paidle. 
 
 MY LOVE SHE 'S BUT A LASSIE YET. 
 
 The title and some lines are old ; the rest of the song is by Barns. 
 Tune— iady BadinscotW s Reel. 
 
 My love she 's but a lassie yet ; 
 
 My love she 's but a lassie yet ; 
 We '11 let her stand a year or twa. 
 
 She '11 no be half sae saucy yet. 
 1 rue the day I sought her, 0, 
 
 I rue the day I sought her, O ; 
 Wha gets her need na say she 's woo'd, 
 
 But he may say he 's bought her, O ! 
 
 Come, draw a drap o' the best o't yet, 
 Come, draw a drap o' the best o't yet ; 
 
 Gae seek for pleasure where ye will, 
 But here I never miss'd it yet. 
 46 
 
542 BURN S's POEMS. 
 
 We're a' dry wi' drinking o't, 
 We're a' dry wi' drinking o't; 
 
 The minister kiss'd the fiddler's wife, 
 An' could na preach for thinking o't. 
 
 JAMIE, COME TRY ME. 
 
 Tone— Jamie, come try me. 
 
 Jamie.^ come try me^ 
 Jamie., come try me; 
 If thou would win my love^ 
 Jamie^ come try me. 
 
 If thou should ask my love, 
 
 Could 1 deny thee ? 
 If thou would win my love, 
 
 Jamie, come try me. 
 
 If thou should kiss me, love, 
 Wha could espy thee? 
 
 If thou wad be my love, 
 Jamie, come try me. 
 
 Jamie^ come^ &c. 
 
 THE CAPTAIN'S LADY. 
 
 Part of this song is old, and part of it by Burnt. 
 Tune— 0^ mount and go. 
 
 Oil mount and go., 
 
 Mount and make you ready; 
 Oil mount and go., 
 
 And he the captain'' s lady. 
 
 When the drums do beat. 
 And the cannons rattle, 
 
 Thou shalt sit in state, 
 And see thy love in battle. 
 
 When the vanquish'd foe, 
 Sues for peace and quiet, 
 
 To the shades we '11 go. 
 And in love enjoy it. 
 
 Oh mount ^ do. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 54§ 
 
 OUR THRISSLES FLOURISHED, Etc. 
 
 The second and fourth stanzas are original ; the others only revised 
 from a Jacobite song. 
 
 TvNE—Awa Whigs, awa. 
 
 Awa Whigs^ awa ! 
 
 Awa Whigs^ awa! 
 Ye Ve hut a pach d* traitor louns, 
 
 Ye HI do nae good at a\ 
 
 Our thrissles flourisli'd fresh and fair, 
 And bonnie bloom'd our roses ; 
 
 But Whigs came like a frost in June, 
 And withered a' our posies. 
 
 Our ancient crown 's fa'n in the dust — 
 Deil blin' them wi' the stoure o't; 
 
 And write their names in his black beuk, 
 Wha gae the Whigs the power o't. 
 
 Our sad decay in Church and State 
 
 Surpasses my descriving ; 
 The Whigs came o'er us for a curse, 
 
 And we hae done wi' thriving. 
 
 Grim vengeance lang has ta'n a nap. 
 But we may see him wauken ; 
 
 Gude help the day when royal heads 
 Are hunted like a maukin. 
 
 Awa^ Whigs^ &c. 
 
 MERRY HAE I BEEN TEETHIN' A HECKLE. 
 
 Tune— J!k)rd Breadalbane^s March. 
 
 On merry hae I been teethin' a heckle, 
 
 And merry hae I been shapin' a spoon; 
 Oh merry hae I been cloutin a kettle. 
 
 And kissin' my Katie when a' was done. 
 Oh a' the lang day I ca' at my hammer. 
 
 An' a' the lang day I whistle and sing, 
 A' the lang night I cuddle my ki miner. 
 
 An' a' the lang night as happy 's a king. 
 
544 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 Bitter in dool I lickit my winnins, 
 
 O' marrying Bess, to gie her a slave : 
 Bless'd be the hour she cool'd in her hnens, 
 
 An' blythe be the bird that sings on her grave. 
 Come to my arms, my Katie, my Katie, 
 
 An' come to my arms, and kiss me again I 
 Drunken or sober, here's to thee, Katie! 
 
 And bless'd be the day I did it again. 
 
 EPPIE ADAIR. 
 
 Tune— ify Eppie. 
 
 An' oh ! my Eppie, 
 My jewel, my Eppie! 
 "Wha wadna be happy 
 
 Wi' Eppie Adair? 
 By love, and by beauty, 
 By law, and by duty, 
 I swear to be true to 
 
 My Eppie Adair ! 
 
 An' oh ! my Eppie, 
 My jewel, my Eppie ! 
 "Wha wadna be happy 
 
 "Wi' Eppie Adair? 
 A' pleasure exile me, 
 Dishonor defile me, 
 If e'er I beguile thee, 
 
 My Eppie Adair ! 
 
 WHARE HAE YE BEEN. 
 
 Allnsion is made in this song to the battle of Killiecrankte 
 Tune— jKt'ZKcoranZa'tf. 
 
 AVhare hae ye been sae braw, lad ? 
 
 Whare hae ye been sae brankie, ? 
 Oh, whare hae ye been sae braw, lad? 
 
 Cam ye by Killiecrankie, O ? 
 An' ye had been whare I hae been, 
 
 Yo wad na been so cantie, O ; 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 545 
 
 An' ye had seen what I hae seen. 
 On the braes of Killiecrankie, 0. 
 
 I fought at land, I fought at sea ; 
 
 At hame I fought my auntie, ; 
 But I met the devil an' Dundee, 
 
 On the braes o' Killiecrankie, 0. 
 The bauld Pitcur fell in a furr, 
 
 An' Clavers got a clankie, O ; 
 Or I had fed an Athole gled, 
 
 On the braes o' Elilliecrankie, 0. 
 
 FRAE THE FRIENDS AND LAND I LOVE 
 
 Tune — Carron Side. 
 
 Feae the friends and land I love, 
 
 Driven by fortune's felly spite, 
 Frae my best beloved I rove, 
 
 Never mair to taste delight ; 
 Never mair maun hope to find 
 
 Ease frae toil, relief frae care : 
 When remembrance wracks the mind. 
 
 Pleasures but unveil despair. 
 
 Brightest climes shall mirk appear, 
 
 D6sert ilka blooming shore. 
 Till the fates, nae mair severe. 
 
 Friendship, love, and peace restore ; 
 Till Revenge, wi' laurell'd head. 
 
 Bring our banish'd hame again ; 
 And ilk loyal bonnie lad 
 
 Cross the s^eas and win his ain. 
 
 COCK UP YOUR BEAVER.^ 
 
 Tune — Cock up your heaver. 
 
 "When first my brave Johnie lad 
 Came to this town, 
 
 I On the accession of the house of Stuart, many sarcastic songs wera dl* 
 rected by the English against the Scots: the latter took it all in very good' 
 humor, as they were generally benefited by the change, and even now do 
 not object to exchange the bonnet for a good beaver. The poet prodaced the 
 present from one of these 
 
546 BURNS'S POEMS, 
 
 He had a blue bonnet 
 That wanted the crown ; 
 
 But now he has gotten 
 A hat and a feather, — 
 
 Hey, brave Johnie lad, 
 Cock up your beaver ! 
 
 Cock up your beaver, 
 
 And cock it fu' sprush, 
 We '11 over the border 
 
 And gie them a brush ; 
 There 's somebody there 
 
 We '11 teach better behavior, — 
 Hey, brave Johnie lad, 
 
 Cock up your beaver ! 
 
 HOW CAN I BE BLYTHE AND GLAD ? 
 
 This song is said to have been written in allusion to the treatment of Jean 
 Armour by her father, when he learned that she still kept up a correspond- 
 ence with the Poet. 
 
 Tune— The honnie lad thai ^s/ar awa. 
 
 Oh how can I be blythe and glad. 
 Or how can I gang brisk and braw, 
 
 When the bonnie lad that I lo'e best 
 Is o'er the hills and far awa ? 
 
 When the bonnie lad that I lo'e best 
 Is o'er the hills and far awa ? 
 
 It 's no the frosty winter wind, 
 It 's no the driving drift and snaw ; 
 
 But ay the tear comes in my e'e. 
 To think on him that 's far awa. 
 
 But ay 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 fx\ 
 
 But I hae ane will tak' my part, 
 
 s The bonnie lad that 's far awa. 
 
 But I hae ane will tak' my part, 
 The bonnie lad that 's far awa. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 547 
 
 A pair o' gloves he gae to me, 
 
 And silken snoods he gae me twa ; 
 And I will wear them for his sake, 
 
 The bonnie lad that 's far awa. 
 And I will wear them for his sake, 
 
 The bonnie lad that 's far awa. 
 
 SENSIBILITY HOW CHARMING. 
 
 The heroine of this song is said to be the fair Clarioda 
 Tune— Corn rcaZZis's Lament for Colonel Muirhead. 
 
 Sensibility how charming, 
 
 Dearest Nancy! thou canst tell, 
 But distress with horrors arming, 
 
 Thou hast also known too well. 
 Fairest flower, behold the lily. 
 
 Blooming in the sunny ray — 
 Let the blast sweep o'er the valley, 
 
 See it prostrate on the clay. 
 
 Kear the woodlark charm the forest. 
 
 Telling o'er his little joys : 
 Hapless bird ! a prey the 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. 
 
 IT IS NA, JEAN, THY BONNIE FACE. 
 
 These verses were originally in English ; Burns has bestowed on them a 
 Scottish dress. 
 
 Tune— T^e Maid's Complaint. 
 
 It is na, Jean, thy bonnie face, 
 
 ITor shape, that I admire. 
 Although thy beauty and thy grace 
 
 Might weel awake desire. 
 
648 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 Something, in ilka part o' thee, 
 To praise, to love, I find ; 
 
 But dear as is thy form to me, 
 Still dearer is thy mind. 
 
 Nae mair ungenerous wish I hae, 
 
 Nor stronger in my breast, 
 Than if I canna mak thee 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 die. 
 
 OH SAW YE MY DEARIE. 
 
 J^ltered from the old song of Eppie Macnab, which has more wit than 
 decency. 
 
 TvUE— Eppie McLcnab. 
 
 Oh saw ye my dearie, my Eppie M'N"ab ? 
 Oh 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. 
 Oh come thy ways to me, my Eppie M'Nab ! 
 Oh come thy ways to me, my Eppie M'Nab I 
 Whatever thou hast done, be it late, be it soon, 
 Thou 's welcome again to thy ain Jock Rab. 
 
 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 forever disowns thee, her ain Jock Rab. 
 Oh had I ne'er seen thee, my Eppie M'Nab ! 
 Oh had I ne'er seen thee, my Eppie M'JSTab ! 
 As light as the air, and fause as thou 's fair, 
 Thou 's broken the heart o' thy ain Jock Rab. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 549 
 
 THE TITHER MORN 
 
 TO A HIGHLAND AIB, 
 
 The tither morn 
 
 When I foi-rorn, 
 Aneath an aik sat moaning, 
 
 I did na trow, 
 
 I 'd see my Jo, 
 Beside me, gain the gloaming. 
 
 But he sae trig. 
 
 Lap o'er the rig, 
 And dawtingly did cheer me, 
 
 When I, what reck. 
 
 Did least expec', 
 To see my lad so near me. 
 
 His bonnet he, 
 
 A thought ajee, 
 Cock'd sprush when first he clasp'd me; 
 
 And I, I wat, 
 
 Wi' 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. 
 When a' were blythe and merry, 
 
 I cared na by, 
 
 Sae sad was I 
 In absence o' my dearie. 
 
 But, praise be blest, 
 
 My mind 's at rest, 
 I 'm happy wi' my Johnie : 
 
 At kirk and fair, 
 
 I 'se ay be there. 
 And be as canty 's onie. 
 
550 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 LOVELY DAVIES. 
 
 Tune— Jfts* Muir. 
 
 Oh how shall I, unskilfu', try 
 
 The poet's occupation, 
 The tunefu' powers, iri happy hours, 
 
 That whisper inspiration ? 
 Even they maun dare an eftorf. mair, 
 
 Than aught they ever gave us, 
 Or they rehearse, in equal verse, 
 
 The charms o' lovely Davies. 
 Each eye it cheers, when she appears, 
 
 Like Phoebus in the morning. 
 When, past the shower, 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 mauu 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, 'gainst female charms. 
 
 Even he her willing slave is ; 
 He hugs his chain, and owns the reign 
 
 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 splendor ; 
 I wad in vain essay the strain, 
 
 The deed too daring brave is ; 
 I '11 drap the lyre, and mute admire 
 
 The charms o' lovely Davies. 
 
 THE WEARY FUND 0' TOW. 
 
 Tune— 27jc weari/ pund o' tow. 
 
 The weary pund^ the weary pundy 
 The weary pund o' tow ; 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 551 
 
 / thinlc my wife will end Tier life 
 Before she spin her tow, 
 
 I BOUGHT ray wife a stane o' lint* 
 
 As gucle as e'er did grow ; 
 And a' that she has made o' that, 
 
 Is ae poor pund'* o' tow. 
 
 There sat a bottle in a bole, 
 
 Beyont the ingle low, 
 And ay she took the tither souk^ 
 
 To drouk the stowrie tow.* 
 
 Quoth I, For shame, ye dirty dame, 
 
 Gae spin your tap o' tow ! 
 She took the rock, and wi' a knock 
 
 She brak it o'er my pow. 
 
 At last her feet — I sang to see 't — 
 
 Gaed foremost o'er the knowe ; 
 And or I wad anither jad, 
 
 I '11 wallop in a tow. 
 
 The weary pund^ &c. 
 
 KENMUKE 'S ON AND AWA.» 
 
 Tune— Oft, Kenmure 's on and atca, Willie. 
 
 Oh, Kenmure 's on and awa, Willie ! 
 
 Oh, Kenmure 's on and awa ! 
 And Kenmure's lord 's tlie bravest lord 
 
 That ever Galloway saw. 
 
 Success to Kenmnre's band, Willie ! 
 
 Success to Kenmure's band ; 
 There 's no a heart that fears a Whig 
 
 That rides by Kenmure's hand. 
 
 Here 's Kenmure's health in wine, Willie ! 
 Here 's Kenmure's health in wine ; 
 
 1 Pound.— 2 A stone-weight of flax.— s Another drink.—* To wash away 
 the dust of the tow. 
 
 fi There is some doubt as to the portions of this song which belong to 
 Burns; it is presumed that the second and third stanzas are only original, 
 It alludes to the part taken by Viscount Kenmure in the rebellion of 1715. 
 
552 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 There ne'er was a coward o' Kenmure's blude, 
 Nor yet o' Gordon's line. 
 
 Oh, Kenmure's lads are men, Willie ! 
 
 Oh, Kenmure's lads are men ; 
 Their hearts and swords are metal true — 
 
 And that their faes shall ken. 
 
 They '11 live or die wi' fame, Willie ! 
 
 They '11 live or die wi' fame ; 
 But soon, wi' sounding victorie. 
 
 May Kenmure's lord come hame. 
 
 Here 's him that 's far awa, Willie ! 
 
 Here 's him that 's far awa ; 
 And here 's the flower that I love best — 
 
 The rose that 's like the snaw ! 
 
 MY COLLIER LADDIE. 
 
 TuNK— TAc Collier Laddie. 
 
 Where live ye, my bonnie lass ? 
 
 An' tell me what they ca' ye ; 
 My name, she says, is Mistress Jean, 
 
 And I follow the Collier Laddie. 
 My name, she says, is Mistress Jean, 
 
 And I follow the Collier Laddie. 
 
 See you not yon hills and dales. 
 The sun shines on sae brawlie ! 
 
 They a' are mine, and they shall be thine, 
 Gin ye '11 leave your Collier Laddie. 
 
 They a' are mine, and they shall be thine, 
 Gin ye '11 leave your Collier Laddie. 
 
 Ye shall gang in gay attire, 
 
 Weel buskit up sae gaudy ; 
 And ane to wait on every hand. 
 
 Gin ye '11 leave your Collier Laddie. 
 And ane to wait on every hand. 
 
 Gin ye '11 leave your Collier Laddie. 
 
 Tho' ye had a' the sun shines on. 
 And the earth conceals sae lowly ; 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 553 
 
 I wad turn my back on you and it a', 
 
 And embrace my Collier Laddie. 
 I wad turn my back on you and it a\ 
 
 And embrace my Collier Laddie. 
 
 I can win my five pennies in a day, 
 
 And spen 't at night fu' brawlie ; 
 And make my bed in the Collier's neuk, 
 
 And lie down wi' my Collier Laddie. 
 And make my bed in the Collier's neuk, 
 
 And lie down wi' my Collier Laddie. 
 
 Luve for luve is the bargain for me, 
 
 Tho' the wee cot-house should baud me ; 
 
 And the world before me to win my bread, 
 And fair fa' my Collier Laddie. 
 
 And the world before me to win my bread, 
 And fair fa' my Collier Laddie. 
 
 NITHSDALE'S WELCOME HAME. 
 
 The Maxwells, after the fall of the house of Douglas, were the most powerful 
 family in the south of Scotland ; but the name is now no longer numbered witk 
 our nobility. 
 
 The noble Maxwells and their powers 
 
 Are coming o'er the border, 
 And they '11 gae bigg Terreagle's towers, 
 
 An' set them a' in order. 
 And they declare Terreagle 's fair, 
 
 For their abode they choose it ; 
 There 's no a heart in a' the land. 
 
 But 's lighter at the news o't. 
 
 The' stars in skies may disappear, 
 
 And angry tempests gather ; 
 The happy hour may soon be near 
 
 That brings us pleasant weather : 
 Tlie weary night o' care and grief, 
 
 May hae a joyful morrow ; 
 So dawning day has brought relief— 
 
 Fareweel our night o' sorrow ! 
 47 
 
554 BURNS S POEMS, 
 
 AS I WAS A- WANDERING. 
 
 This is an old Highland air, and the title means, " my love did deceive me." 
 There is much feeling expressed in this song. 
 
 Tune— 22tnn Meudial mo Mhealladh. 
 
 As I was a-wandering ae midsummer e'enin', 
 
 The pipers and youngsters were making their game ; 
 
 Amang them I spied my faithless fause lover, 
 Which bled a' the wounds o' my dolour^ again. 
 
 Weel, since he has left me, may pleasure gae wi' him ; 
 
 I may be distressed, but I winna complain ; 
 I flatter my fancy I may get anither. 
 
 My heart it shall never be broken for ane. 
 
 I couldna get sleeping till dawin^ for greetin',' 
 
 The tears trickled down like the hail and the rain: 
 
 Had I na got greeting my heart wad a broken. 
 For, oh ! love forsaken 's a tormenting pain. 
 
 Although he has left me for greed o' the siller, 
 I dinna envy 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 has left me, may pleasure gae wi' him, 
 I may be distressed, but I winna complain ; 
 
 I flatter m'y fancy I may get anither. 
 My heart it shall never be broken for ane. 
 
 YE JACOBITES BY NAME. 
 
 This song was founded upon some old verses, in "which it was intimated that 
 the extinction of the house of Stuart was sought for by other weapons than the 
 ■word. 
 
 Tune— Fc Jacobites by name. 
 
 Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear, give an ear, 
 Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear ; 
 Ye Jacobites by name. 
 
 Your fautes I will proclaim. 
 
 Your doctrines I maun blame — 
 You shall hear. 
 
 » Griet— « Break of day.— ' Crying. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 555 
 
 What is riglit and what is wrang, by the law, by thr 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, famed afar, famed afar ? 
 What makes heroic strife famed afar ? 
 What makes heroic strife ? 
 To whet the assassin's knife, 
 Or hunt a parent's life 
 Wi' bluidie war. 
 
 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. 
 
 LADY MARY ANN. 
 
 Tune— C/*a?*9toujn's growing. 
 
 O Lady Mary Ann 
 
 Looks o'er the castle wa\ 
 She saw three bonnie boys 
 
 Playing at the ba' ; 
 The youngest he was 
 
 The flower amang them a' ; 
 My bonnie laddie 's young, 
 
 But he 's growin' yet. 
 
 O father! O father! 
 
 An' ye think it fit. 
 We '11 send him a year 
 
 To the college yet : 
 We '11 sew a green ribbon 
 
 Round about his hat, 
 And that will let them ken 
 
 He 's to marry yet. 
 
566 BURNS S POEMS. 
 
 Lady Mary Ann 
 
 Was a flower i' the dew, 
 Sweet was its smell, 
 
 And bonnie was its hue ! 
 And the langer it blossom'd 
 
 The sweeter it grew ; 
 For the lily in the bud 
 
 Will be bonnier yet. 
 
 Young Charlie Cochran • 
 
 Was the sprout of an aik ! 
 Bonnie and bloomin' 
 
 And straught was its make : 
 The sun took delight 
 
 To shine for its sake, 
 And it will be the brag 
 
 O' the forest yet. 
 
 The simmer is gane 
 
 AVhen the leaves they were green. 
 And the days are awa 
 
 That we hae seen ; 
 But far better days 
 
 I trust will come again, 
 For my bonnie laddie 's young. 
 
 But he 's growin' yet. 
 
 THE CARLE OF KELLYBURN BRAES.* 
 
 Tune— JSTeWy&urn Braes. 
 
 Thebe lived a carle on Kellyburn braes, 
 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) 
 
 And he had a wife was the plague o' his days ; 
 And the thyme it is withered, and rue is in i rime. 
 
 Ae day as the carle gaed up the lang glen, 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) 
 
 He met wi' the devil ; says, " How do yow fen V 
 And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 
 
 * The groundwork of this piece Is old, but It underwent many alterations 
 oy Burns ; the eleventh and twelfth verses are wholly his ; and as for the 
 other parts, Mrs. Burns told Mr. Cromek, " that he gae this ane a terribla 
 brushing." 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 557 
 
 " 1 'vo got a bad wife, sir ; that 's a' my complaint, 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) 
 
 For, saving your presence, to her ye 're a saint ; 
 And the thyme it is withered, and rue is in prime." 
 
 " It 's neither your stot nor your staig I shall crave, 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonnie 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." 
 
 " Oh welcome, most kindly," the blythe carle said, 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonnie with thyme,) 
 
 " But if ye can match her ye 're waur nor ye 're ca'd, 
 And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime." 
 
 The devil has got the auld wife on his back, 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) 
 
 And, like a poor peddler, 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 bonnie wi' thyme) ; 
 
 Syne bade her gae in, for a b — h and a w — e. 
 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 bonnie wi' thyme,) 
 
 Turn out on her guard in tlie clap of a hand ; 
 
 And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 
 
 The carlin gaed through them like ony wud bear, 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) 
 
 Whae'er she gat hands on came near her nae mair ; 
 And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime» 
 
 A reekit wee devil looks over the wa', 
 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) 
 
 " Oh, help, master, help, or she '11 ruin us a', 
 And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime." 
 
 The devil he swore by the edge o' his knife, 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) 
 
 He pitied the man that was tied to a wife ; 
 
 And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 
 
 The devil he swore by the kirk and the bell, 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) 
 
558 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 He was not in wedlock, thank heaven, but in hell ; 
 And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 
 
 Then Satan has travelled again wi' his pack, 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) 
 
 An' to her auld husband he 's carried her back ; 
 And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 
 
 I hae been a devil the feck o' my life, 
 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) 
 
 But ne'er was in hell, till I met wi' a wife ; 
 And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime." 
 
 LADY ONLIE. 
 
 Tune— rAe Ruffian's Rant. 
 
 A' THE lads o' Thornie-bank, 
 
 When they gae to the shore o' Bucky, 
 They '11 step in an' tak' a pint 
 
 Wi' Lady Onlie, honest Lucky ! 
 
 Lady Onlie^ honest LucTcy^ 
 Brews gude ale at shore o' Bucky ; 
 
 I wish her sale for her gude ale., 
 The lest on a' the shore (?' BucTcy. 
 
 Her house sae bien, her curch sae clean, 
 I wat she is a dainty chucky ; 
 
 And cheerlie blinks the ingle-gleed 
 Of Lady Onlie, honest Lucky ! 
 Lady Onlie, &c. 
 
 THE CARLES OF DYSART. 
 
 It i« presumed that this song is entirely original ; the air is lively and old, 
 and tho verses have an air of antiquity. 
 
 TuNK—Hei/, ca' thro\ 
 
 Up wi' the carles o' Dysart, 
 
 And the lads o' Buckhaven, 
 An' the kimmers o' Largo, 
 
 And the lasses o' Leven. 
 
 Eey., CO* thro\ ca? thro\ 
 For we hae michle ado ; 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS, 559 
 
 Hey^ ca' thro\ ca' t7iro\ 
 For we hae mickle ado, 
 
 "We hae tales to tell, 
 
 And we hae sangs to sing; 
 We hae pennies to spend, 
 
 And we hae pints to bring. 
 
 We '11 live a' our days. 
 
 And them that come behin', 
 Let them do the like. 
 
 And spend the gear they win. 
 Hey^ ca' tliro\ &c. 
 
 HAD I THE WYTE.i 
 
 Tune — Had I the icyte she hade me. 
 
 Had I the wyte, had I the wyte. 
 
 Had I the wyte she bade me ; 
 She watch'd rae by the hie-gate side, 
 
 And up the loan she shawed me; 
 And when I wadna venture in, 
 
 A coward loon she ca'd me ; 
 Had kirk and state been in the gate, 
 
 I lighted when she bade me. 
 
 Sae craftilie she took me ben. 
 
 And bade me make nae clatter; 
 " For our ramgunshoch glum giideman 
 
 Is out and owre the water ;" 
 Whae'er shall say I wanted grace 
 
 When I did kiss and dawte her, 
 Let him be planted in my place, 
 
 Syne say I was the fautor. 
 
 Could I for shame, could I for shame, 
 
 Could I for shame refused her ? 
 And wadna manhood been to blame, 
 
 Had I unkindly used her ? 
 
 The air to which Burns composed this song was called, "Come, kiss wf 
 m**, and clap wi' me," and some of the words may be found in an old lyrro 
 called, " Had I the wyte she bade me." 
 
5G0 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 He claw'd her wi' the ripplin-kame, 
 And blue and bluidy bruised her ; 
 
 "When sic a husband was frae hame, 
 "What wife but had excused her? 
 
 I dighted ay her een sae bhie, 
 
 And bann'd the cruel randy ; 
 And weel I wat her willing mou' 
 
 Was e'en like sugar-candy. 
 A gloamin-shot it was I trow, 
 
 I hghted on the Monday ; 
 But I cam through the Tysday's dew, 
 
 To wanton Willie's brandy. 
 
 COMINa THROUGH THE EYE. 
 
 This is altered from an old favorite song of the same n-una. 
 Tv^E— Coming through, the rye. 
 
 Coming through the rye, poor body, 
 
 Coming through the rye. 
 She draiglet a' her petticoatie, 
 
 Coming through the rye. 
 Jenny 's a' wat, poor body, 
 
 Jenny 's seldom dry ; 
 She draiglet a' her petticoatie, 
 
 Coming through the rye. 
 
 Gin a body meet a body — 
 
 Coming through the rye ; 
 Gin a body kiss a body — 
 
 Need a body cry ? 
 
 Gin a body meet a body 
 
 Coming through the glen, 
 Gin a body kiss a body — 
 
 Need the world ken ? 
 Jenny 's a' wat, poor body, 
 
 Jenny 's seldom dry ; 
 Bhe draiglet a' her petticoatie, 
 
 Coming through the rye. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 561 
 
 YOUNG JAMIE, PRIDE OF A' THE PLAIK 
 
 Tone— r/ic carlin o' the gien. 
 
 YouxG Jamie, pride of a' the plain, 
 Sae gallant and sae gay a swain ; 
 Thro' a' our lasses he did rove. 
 And reign'd resistless king of love: 
 But now wi' sighs and starting tears, 
 He strays amang the woods and briers ; 
 Or in the glens and rocky caves 
 His sad compla'ining dowie raves : 
 
 I wha sae late did range and rove. 
 And changed with every moon my love, 
 I little thought the time was near, 
 Kepentance I should buy sae dear : 
 The slighted maids my torment see, 
 And laugh at a' the pangs I dree ; 
 "While she, my cruel, scornfu' fair, 
 Forbids me e'er to se© her mair ! 
 
 THE LASS OF ECCLEFECHAN. 
 
 Tu'.b is altered from an old song ; the language is rendered more delicat« 
 
 and the sentiment less warm, than in the original. 
 
 Tune— Jac/ry Latin. 
 
 Gat ye me, oh gat ye me, 
 
 Oh gat ye me wi' naething? 
 Eock and reel, and spinnin'- wheel, 
 
 A mickle quarter basin. 
 Bye attour, my gutcher has 
 
 A hich house and a laigh ane, 
 A' for bye, my bonnie sel'. 
 
 The toss of Ecclefechan. 
 
 Oh baud your tongue now, Luclde Laing, 
 
 Oh baud your tongue and jauner ; 
 I held the gate till you I met, 
 
 Syne I began to wandei': 
 I tint my whistle and my sang, 
 
 I tint my peace and pleasure ; 
 But your green graff, now, Luclde Laing, 
 
 Wad airt me to my treasure. 
 
562 BURNS S POEMS. 
 
 THE COOPER 0' CUDDIE.* 
 
 Tune— ^a& at ilie loicster. 
 
 The cooper o' Cuddie cam' here awa, 
 And ca'd the girrs out owre us a' — 
 And our gude-wife has gotten a ca' 
 That anger'd the silly gude-man, O. 
 
 We '11 hide the cooper behind the door, 
 Behind the door, behind the door ; 
 We '11 hide the cooper behind the door. 
 And cover him under a mawn, 0. 
 
 He sought them out, he sought them in, 
 Wi', deil hae her ! and, deil hae him ! 
 But the body was sae doited and blin'. 
 He wist na where he was gaun, O. 
 
 They cooper'd at e'en, they cooper'd at morn, 
 'Till our gude-man has gotten the scorn ; 
 Gn ilka brow she's planted a horn, 
 And swears that they shall stan', 0. 
 
 We '11 hide the cooper behind the door, 
 Behind the door, behind the door ; 
 We '11 hide the cooper behind the door, 
 And cover him under a mawn, 0. 
 
 THE CARDIN' O'T.^ 
 
 'SUTH'R— Sail-fish and dumplings. 
 
 I coFT a stane o' haslock woo'. 
 
 To make a wat to Johnie o't ; 
 For Johnie is my only jo, 
 
 1 lo'e him best of onie yet. 
 
 ^ The delicacy of this song cannot be compared to its wit. Burns was la 
 all respects the poet of the people, and no man in wide Scotland had so many 
 merry tales to tell, and so many joyous songs to sing.—Cu7iningham. 
 
 2 The tenderness of Johnie's wife can only be fully felt by those who 
 know that hausc-lock wool is the softest and finest of the fleece, and is shorn 
 from the throats of sheep in the summer heat, to give them air and keep 
 them cool.— Cu7ininffha7P. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 563 
 
 The car din oH^ the spinnin' oH^ 
 The warpiii' oH^ the winnin' oH ; 
 
 When ilka ell cost me a groat^ 
 The tailor staw the lynin o't. 
 
 For though his locks be lyart gray, 
 
 And tho' his brow be held aboon, 
 Yet I hae seen him on a day, 
 
 The pride of a' the parishen. 
 
 The car din oH^ &c. 
 
 SAE FAR AWA.1 
 
 TuxE — DdUceiih Maiden Bridge. 
 
 Oh 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 form'd this fair sae far awa, 
 Gie body strength, then I '11 ne'er start 
 
 At this my way sae far awa. 
 
 How true is love to pure desert, 
 
 So love to her, sae far awa : 
 And nocht can heal my bosom's smart, 
 
 "While, oh ! she is sae far awa. 
 !N"ane other love, nane other dart, 
 
 I feel but hers, sae far awa ; 
 But fairer never touch'd a heart 
 
 Than hers, the fair sae far awa. 
 
 1 The youth of Scotland for many years have been much influenced by the 
 spirit of enterprise. With the exception of a few districts, in which manu- 
 factures have been introduced, the country is poor, and affords little en 
 couragement to the haidy race to whom it gives birth. The present song is 
 a beautiful expression of attachment to his fair one, who is " far awa." 
 
5G4 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 MAY, THY MORN. 
 
 The lady here celebrated is said to be the fair Clarinda. 
 Tone — May, (hy morn. 
 
 O Mat, thy morn was 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 dare na name, 
 
 But I will ay remember. 
 But dear was she I dare na name, 
 
 But 1 will ay remember. 
 
 And here's to them, that, like oursel, 
 
 Can push about the jorum; 
 And here 's to them that wish us weel, 
 
 May a' that's guid watch o'er them I 
 And here's to them, we dare na tell, 
 
 The dearest o' the quorum. 
 And here 's to them we dare na tell. 
 
 The dearest o' the quorum ! 
 
 THE HIGHLAND LADDIE.» 
 
 TUXE— X/'t7<o« Ht play me fair play. 
 
 The bonniest lad that e'er I saw, 
 
 Bonnie laddie. Highland laddie, 
 Wore a plaid, and was fu' braw, 
 
 Bonnie Highland laddie. 
 On his head a bonnet blue, 
 
 Bonnie laddie. Highland laddie; 
 His royal heart was firm and true, 
 
 Bonnie Highland laddie. 
 
 Trumpets sound, and cannons roar, 
 
 Bonnie lassie, Lowland lassie; 
 And a' the hills wi' echoes roar, 
 
 Bonnie Lowland lassie. 
 
 > Burns compressed "The Iliirhland Ind and Lowland lassie" into thes« 
 Ihree stanzas. It lias allusion to Prince Charle?, and is expressive of the affoe* 
 tion and constancy of the people to hiin and his family. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 665 
 
 Glory, honor, now invite, 
 
 Bonnie lassie, Lowland lassie. 
 For freedom and my king to fight, 
 
 Bonnie Lowland lassie. 
 
 The sun a backward course shall take, 
 
 Bonnie laddie. Highland laddie. 
 Ere aught thy manly courage shake, 
 
 Bonnie Highland laddie. 
 Go, for yourself procure renown, 
 
 Bonnie laddie. Highland laddie ; 
 And for your lawful king his crown, 
 
 Bonnie Highland laddie. 
 
 GASSILLIS' BANKS. 
 
 The stream of Girvan and the banks of CassilUa were ever present to tfa« 
 feeling and fancy of Burns ; ne loved to return to the scenes of his youth. 
 
 Tune— Unhnown. 
 
 Now bank an' brae are claith'd^ in green. 
 
 An' scatter'd cowslips sweetly spring; 
 By Girvan's fairy-haunted stream 
 
 The birdies flit on wanton wing. 
 To Oassillis' banks when e'ening fa's, 
 
 There wi' my Mary let me flee. 
 There catch her ilka glance of love. 
 
 The bonnie blink o' Mary's e'e ! 
 
 The child wha boasts o' warld's walth* 
 
 Is aften laird o' meikle care ; 
 But Mary she is a' my ain — 
 
 Ah ! fortune canna gie me mair. 
 Then let me range by Oassillis' banks, 
 
 Wi' her, the lassie dear to me. 
 And catch lier ilka glance o' love. 
 
 The bonnie blink o' Mary's e'e ! 
 
 1 Clothed —2 World's wealth. 
 48 
 
5 60 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 TO THEE, LOVED NITH. 
 
 TuNK—U7i7inown. 
 
 To thee, loved Nith, thy gladsome plains, 
 Where late wi' careless thought I ranged, 
 
 Though prest wi' care and sunk in woe. 
 To thee I bring a heart unchanged. 
 
 I love thee, Kith, thy banks and braes, 
 Tho' memory there my bosom tear ; 
 
 For there he roved that brake my heart. 
 Yet to that heart, ah ! still how dear ! 
 
 BANNOCKS 0' BARLEY. 
 
 The air to which these words were written gave the name to an old song^ ,' 
 Tune— 2%« Killogie. 
 
 Bannocks o' bear meal. 
 
 Bannocks o' barley ; 
 Here 's to the Highlandman's 
 
 Bannocks o' barley. 
 Wha in a brulzie 
 
 Will first cry a parley ? 
 Never the lads wi' 
 
 The bannocks o' barley. 
 
 Bannocks o' bear meal. 
 
 Bannocks o' barley ; 
 Here 's to the lads wi' 
 
 The bannocks o' barley. 
 Wha in his wae-days 
 
 Were loyal to Charlie ? 
 Wha but the lads wi' 
 
 Tho bannocks o' barley. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 567 
 
 HEE BALOU.i 
 
 Tune— T^e Highland Balou. 
 
 Heb balou ! my sweet wee Donald, 
 Picture o' the great Clanronald ; 
 Brawlie kens our wanton chief 
 Wha got my young Highland thief. 
 
 Leeze me on thy bonnie craigie, 
 An' thou live, thou '11 steal a naigie : 
 Travel the country thro' and thro', 
 And bring hame a Carlisle cow. 
 
 Thro' the Lawlands, o'er the border, 
 Weel, my babie, may thou furder : 
 Herry the louns o' the laigh countree, 
 Syne to the Highlands hame to me. 
 
 HERE'S HIS HEALTH IN WATER! 
 
 Tune— T^e Job of Journey-work. 
 
 Altho' my back be at the wa', 
 
 And tho' he be the fautor ; 
 Altho' my back be at the wa', 
 
 Yet, here 's his health in water ! 
 Oh ! wae gae by his wanton sides, 
 
 Sae brawlie he could flatter ; 
 Till for his sake I 'm slighted sair, 
 
 And dree the kintra clatter. 
 But tho' my back be at the wa', 
 
 And though he be the fautor ; 
 But tho' my back be at the wa', 
 
 Yet, here 's his health in water ! 
 
 1 The sentiment is that of an old Highland nursery song; the Highland 
 thief and his clan were formerly little better than robbers ; they taught it to 
 their children from their cradle, that might was right especially so far as the 
 Lowland cattle were concerned. The origin of this song is said to be, that a 
 Highland lady sung a song in Gaelic, and explained it in English to the poet, 
 when he quickly rendered it as it now appears. 
 
568 BURNS S POEMS. 
 
 HERE'S TO THY HEALTH, MY BONNIE LASS. 
 
 This was a song of the Poet's youthful days. 
 Tone— Za(7/7an Burn. 
 
 Here 's to thy health, my bonnie lass, 
 
 Gude night, and joy be wi' thee ; 
 I '11 come nae raair to thy bower door, 
 
 To tell thee that I lo'e thee. 
 Oh dinna think, my pretty pink, 
 
 But I can live without thee; 
 I vow and swear I dinna care 
 
 How lang ye look about ye. 
 
 Thou 'rt ay sae free informing me 
 Thou hast nae mind to marry ; 
 
 I '11 be as free informing thee 
 Nae time hae I to tarry. 
 
 I ken thy friends try ilka means, 
 Frae wedlock to delay thee ; 
 
 Depending on some higher chance- 
 But fortune may betray thee. 
 
 I ken they scorn my low estate. 
 
 But that does never grieve me ; 
 But I 'm as free as any he, 
 
 Sma' siller will relieve me. 
 I count my health my greatest wealth, 
 
 Sae long as I '11 enjoy it: 
 I '11 fear nae scant, I '11 bode nae want, 
 
 As lang 's I get employment. 
 
 But far off fowls hae feathers fair. 
 
 And ay until ye try them : 
 Tho' they seem fair, still have a care, 
 
 They may prove waur than I am. 
 But at twal at night, when the moon shines bright, 
 
 My dear, I '11 come and see thee ; 
 For the man that lo'es his mistress weel 
 
 Nae travel makes him weary. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 569 
 
 THE FAREWELL. 
 
 TVJXK—It was a' for our right/u' king. 
 
 There is some doubt as to the authorship of this song— Hogg attribtitcs it 
 to Captain Ogilvie, who was killed in 1695 ; but there is reason to believe that 
 It was an old song revived by Burns for Johnson's Museum. 
 
 It was a' for our riglitfu' king 
 
 We left fair Scotland's strand ; 
 It was a' for onr rightfu' king 
 
 "We e'er saw Irish land, 
 My dear ; 
 
 "We e'er saw Irish land. 
 
 Kow a' is done that men can do, 
 
 And a' is done in vain ; 
 My love and native land, farewell, 
 
 For I maun cross the main, 
 My dear ; 
 
 For I maun cross the main. 
 
 He tiirn'd him right, and round about, 
 
 Upon the Irish shore ; 
 And gae his bridle-reins a shake, 
 
 With adieu for evermore, 
 My dear ; 
 
 "With adieu for evermore. 
 
 The sodger from the wars returns, 
 
 The sailor frae the main ; 
 But I hae parted frae my love, 
 
 Never to meet again, 
 
 My dear ; 
 
 Never to meet again. 
 
 When day is gane, and night is como, 
 
 And 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 weep. 
 
5*70 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 OH, STEER HER UP. 
 
 From an old song of the same name. 
 Tone— 0^, steer her up, and Jiaud her gaun. 
 
 On, steer her up and hand her gauD, 
 
 Her mother 's at the mill, jo ; 
 And gin she winna take a man, 
 
 E'en let her take her will, jo ; 
 First shore her wi' a kindly kiss, 
 
 And ca' another gill, jo. 
 And gin she take the thing amiss, 
 
 E'en let her flyte her fill, jo. 
 
 Oh, steer her up, and be na blate, 
 
 An' gin she take it ill, jo. 
 Then lea'e the lassie till her fate. 
 
 And time nae longer spill, jo : 
 Ne'er break your heart for ae rebute, 
 
 But think upon it still, jo ; 
 Then gin the lassie winna do 't. 
 
 Ye '11 fin' anither will, jo. 
 
 THE FETE CHAMPETRE. 
 
 On the occasion of a Ffete Champfetre, given by Mr. Cunninghame, of Enter- 
 kin, on his coming to his estates— and from its novelty, it was supposed he 
 had an intention of becoming a candidate for the representation of his county. 
 
 T V2iE—KiUiecrankie. 
 
 On, wha will to Saint Stephen's house, 
 
 To do our errands there, man? 
 Oh, wha will to Saint Stephen's house, 
 
 O' th' merry lads of Ayr, man? 
 Or will we send a man-o'-law ? 
 
 Or will we send a sodger? 
 Or him wha led o'er Scotland a' 
 
 The meikle U^rsa-Major? 
 
 Come, will ye court a noble lord. 
 
 Or buy a score o' lairds, man? 
 For worth and honor pawn their word, 
 
 Their vote shall be Glencaird's, man? 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 57 1 
 
 Ane gies tliem coin, ane gies them wine, 
 
 Anither gies them clatter ; 
 Anbank, wha guess'd the ladies' taste, 
 
 He gies a F^te Champetre. 
 
 When Love and Beauty heard the news, 
 
 The gay green woods amang, man ; 
 Where gathering flowers and busking bowers 
 
 They heard the blackbird's sang, man, 
 A vow, they sealM it with a kiss. 
 
 Sir Politics to fetter, 
 As theirs alone, the patent-bliss. 
 
 To hold a F^te Champetre. 
 
 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 knew, man: 
 She summon'd every social sprite, 
 
 That sports by wood or water. 
 On the bonny banks of Ayr to meet. 
 
 And keep this Fete Champetre. 
 
 Cauld Boreas, wi' his boisterous crew. 
 
 Were bound to stakes like kye, man ; 
 And Cynthia's car, o' silver fu', 
 
 Clarab up the starry sky, man : 
 Reflected beams dwell in the streams, 
 
 Or down the current shatter ; 
 The western breeze steals through the trees 
 
 To view this F6te Ohamp^tre. 
 
 How many a robe sae gaily floats ! 
 
 What 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 magic ground, 
 
 But entrance found he nane, man : 
 
572 
 
 He blush'd for shame, he quat his name, 
 
 Forswore 't, every letter, 
 "Wi' humble prayer to join and share 
 
 The festive Fete Champetre. 
 
 THE HIGHLAND WIDOW'S LAMENT. 
 
 This is no exaggerated picture of the desolation which was commanded 
 and sanctioned by the Duke of Cumberland in putting down the rebellion 
 in 1745. 
 
 Oh! I am come to the low countrie, 
 
 Och-on, och-on, och-rie ! 
 Without a penny in my purse. 
 
 To buy a meal to me. 
 
 It was na sae in the Highland hills, 
 
 Och-on, och-on, och-rie! 
 Nae woman in the country wide 
 
 Sae happy was as me. 
 
 For then I had a score o' kye, 
 
 Och-on, och-on, och-rie! 
 Feeding on yon hills so high. 
 
 And giving milk to me. 
 
 And there I had threescore o' yowes, 
 
 Och-on, och-on, och-rie! 
 Skipping on yon bonnie knowes, 
 
 And casting woo' to me. 
 
 I was the happiest of a' the clan, 
 
 Sair, sair may I repine ; 
 For Donald was the brawest lad. 
 
 And Donald he was mine. 
 
 Till Charlie Stuart cam' at last, 
 
 Sae far to set us free ; 
 My Donald's arm was wanted then, 
 
 For Scotland and for me. 
 
 Their waefu' fate what need I tell, 
 Right to the wrang did yield : 
 
 My Donald and his country fell 
 Upon Culloden's field. 
 
SONGS AND BALLADS. 5^3 
 
 Oh ! I am come to the low countrie, 
 
 Och-on, och-on, och-rie! 
 Nae woman in the world wide 
 
 Sae wretched now as me. 
 
 PEG-A-EAMSEY. 
 
 The old song of this name was a very famous amatory son(|. 
 Tune — Cauld is the evening blast. 
 
 Cauld is the e'enin' blast 
 
 O' Boreas o'er the pool, 
 And dawin' it is dreary 
 
 When birks are bare at Yule. 
 
 Oh bitter blaws the e'enin' blast 
 When bitter bites the frost, 
 
 And in the mirk and dreary drift 
 The hills and glens are lost. 
 
 ITe'er sae murky blew the night 
 That drifted o'er the hill, 
 
 But a bonnie Peg-a-Ramse/ 
 Gat grist to her mill. 
 
 THERE WAS A BONNIE LASS. 
 
 An unSnished sketch. 
 
 There was a bonnie lass, 
 And a bonnie, bonnie lass, 
 
 And she lo'ed her bonnie laddie dear; 
 Till war's loud alarms, 
 Tore her laddie frae her arms, 
 
 Wi' mony a sigh and tear. 
 
 Over sea, over shore. 
 
 Where the cannons loudly roar, 
 He still was a stranger to fear : 
 
 And nocht could him quell, 
 
 Or his bosom assail. 
 But the bonnie lass he lo'ed sae dear. 
 
5*74 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 OH, MALLY 'S MEEK, MALLY 'S SWEET. 
 
 This stands the last of the communications to the "Museum," It is said 
 to have been produced on seeing a young countrywoman with her shoes and 
 stockings packed carefully up, and her petticoats kilted, which showed 
 •* Her straight ^are legs, that whiter were than snaw." 
 
 Oh, Mally 's meek, Mally 's sweet, 
 
 Mally 's modest and discreet, 
 Mally 's rare, Mally 's fair, 
 
 Mally 's every way complete. 
 As I was walking up the street, 
 
 A barefit maid I chanced to meet ; 
 But oh, the road was very hard 
 
 For that fair maiden's tender feet. 
 
 It were mair meet that those fine feet 
 Were weel laced up in silken shoon ; 
 
 And 'twere more fit that she should sit 
 Within yon chariot gilt aboon. 
 
 Her yellow hair, beyond compare. 
 
 Comes trinkling down her swan- white necV ; . 
 And her two eyes, like stars in skies. 
 
 Would keep a sinking ship frae wreck. 
 Oh, Mally 's meek, Mally 's sweets, 
 
 Mally 's modest and discreet, 
 Mally 's rare, Mally 's fair, 
 
 Mally 's every way complete. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 575 
 
 ADDITIONAL 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 THE FAREWELL. 
 
 These beautiful and affecting stanzas were composed under great distress 
 of mind, when his prospects in life were so gloomy, that his only hope for 
 success seemed to be directed to obtaining a situation in the West Indies. 
 
 Faeewell, old Scotia's bleak domains, 
 Far dearer than the torrid plains . 
 
 Where rich ananas blow I 
 Farewell, a mother's blessing dear ! 
 A brother's sigh ! a sister's tear ! 
 M.J Jean's heart-rending throe ! 
 Farewell, my Bess ! tho' thou 'rt bereft 
 
 Of my parental care ; 
 A faithful brother I have left, 
 My part in him thou 'It share ! 
 Adieu too, to you too, 
 
 My Smith, my bosom frien' ; 
 When kindly you mind me, 
 Oh then befriend my Jean ! 
 
 What bursting anguish tears my heart ! 
 From thee, my Jenny, must I part ! 
 
 Thou weeping answerest no : 
 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 I 
 It rustles, and whistles, 
 I '11 never see thee more ! 
 
5V6 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 WILLIE CHALMERS.* 
 
 Wi' braw new branks in mickle pride, 
 
 And eke a braw new brechan, 
 My Pegasus I 'ra got astride, 
 
 And up Parnassus pechin ; 
 "Whiles owre 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-kenn'd namo 
 
 May cost a pair o' blushes ; 
 I am nae stranger to your fame. 
 
 Nor his warm-urged wishes. 
 Your bonnie face sae mild and sweet, 
 
 His honest heart enamors. 
 And faith ye '11 no be lost a whit, 
 
 Tho' waired on Willie Chalmers. 
 
 Auld Truth hersel' might swear ye 're fair. 
 
 And Honor safely back her. 
 And Modesty assume your air. 
 
 And ne'er a ane mistak her: 
 And sic twa love-inspiring e'en 
 
 Might fire even holy Palmers; 
 Nae wonder then they've fatal been 
 
 To honest Willie Chalmers. 
 
 I doubt na fortune may you shore 
 
 Some mim-mou'd pouther'd priestie, 
 Fu' lifted up wi' Hebrew lore. 
 
 And band upon his breastie : 
 But oh ! what signifies to you 
 
 His lexicons and grammars ; 
 The feeling lieart's the royal blue, 
 
 An' that 's wi' Willie Ciialmers. 
 
 * Mr. Lockhart has given the following nccount of this filngalar piece— he 
 copied it from a small collection of MSS. sent by Burns to Lady Harriet Don, 
 accompanied witli the following explanation :— '• W. Chalmers, a gentleman 
 in Ayrshire, a particular friend of mine, asked me to write a poetical epistle 
 to a young lady, his Dulcinoa. T had sften her, but was scarcely acquainted 
 ■with her, and wrote as above." 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 577 
 
 Some gapin', glowrin' countra laird, 
 
 May warsle for your favor ; 
 May claw his lug, and straik his beard, 
 
 And host up some palaver. 
 My bonnie maid, before ye wed 
 
 Sic clumsy- witted hammers, 
 Seek Heaven for help, and barefit skelp 
 
 Awa' wi' Willie Chalmers. 
 
 Forgive the 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. 
 
 EPISTLE TO MAJOR LOGAN.* 
 
 Hail, thairm-inspirin', rattlin' Willie! 
 Though fortune's road be rough an' hilly 
 To every fiddling, rhyming billie. 
 
 We never heed. 
 But take it like the unback'd filly. 
 
 Proud o' her speed. 
 
 When idly goavan whyles we saunter 
 Yirr, fancy barks, awa' we canter 
 Uphill, down brae, till some mishanter, 
 
 Some black bog-hole, 
 Arrests us, then the scathe an' banter 
 
 We 're forced to thole. 
 
 Hale be your heart ! Hale be your fiddle ! 
 Lang may your elbuck jink and diddle, 
 To cheer you through the weary widdle 
 
 O' this wild warl'. 
 Until you on a crummock driddle, 
 
 A gray-hair'd carl. 
 
 • This gentleman lived at Parkhouse, near Ayr, and was not only a first- 
 rate performer on the violin, but a pleasant man, and not a little of a wit. 
 The original of this piece is now in the possession of David Auld, Esq., Ayr, 
 49 
 
578 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 Come wealth, come poortith, late or soon, 
 Heaven send your heart-strings ay in tune, 
 And iscrew your temper pins aboon 
 
 A fifth or mair, 
 The melancholious, lazie croon 
 
 O' cankrie care. 
 
 May still your life from day to day 
 
 Nae " lente largo" in the play, 
 
 But " allegretto forte" gay 
 
 Harmonious flow 
 
 A sweeping, kindling, bauld strathspey- 
 Encore! 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, 
 AVha count on poortith as disgrace — 
 
 Their tuneless hearts ! 
 May fireside discords jar a base 
 
 To a' their parts ! 
 
 But come, your hand, my careless brither, 
 1' 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 bonnie squad priests wyte them sheerly 
 
 For our grand fa' ; 
 ^But still, but still, I like them dearly — 
 
 God bless them a' ! 
 
 i^Ochon for poor Castalian drinkers. 
 When they fa' foul o' earthly jinkers. 
 The witching, cursed, delicious blinkers 
 Hae put me hyte, 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 5*79 
 
 And gart me weet my waukrife winkers, 
 Wi' girnan spite. 
 
 But by yon moon ! — and that 's high sweariii'^- 
 An' every star within my hearin' ! 
 An' by her een wha was a dear ane ! 
 
 I '11 ne'er forget ; 
 I hope to gie the jads a clearin' 
 
 In fair play yet. 
 
 My loss I mourn, but not repent it, 
 I '11 seek my pursie whare I tint it ; 
 Ance to the Indies I were wonted, 
 
 Some cantraip hour. 
 By some sweet elf I '11 yet be dinted, 
 
 Then, vive V amour 1 
 
 Faites mes haissemains respectueuse^ 
 
 To sentimental sister Susie, 
 
 An' honest Lucky ; no to roose you. 
 
 Ye may be proud. 
 That sic a couple fate allows ye 
 
 To grace your blood. 
 
 I^ae mair at present can I measure, 
 
 An' trowth my rhymin' ware's nae treasure ; 
 
 But when in Ayr, some half-hour's leisure. 
 
 Be 't light, be 't dark. 
 Sir Bard will do himself the pleasure 
 
 To call at Park. 
 
 Robert Buens. 
 
 MossGiKL, 30tli October, 1786. 
 
 OIS THE DEATH OF ROBERT DUNDAS, Esq.i 
 
 OF ARNISTOX, LATE LORD PRESIDENT OF THE COURT OF SESSION, 
 
 Lone on the bleaky hills the straying flocks 
 
 Shun the fierce storms among the sheltering rocks ; 
 
 • Burns has given the following account of these beautiful lines: — *'Tho 
 Inclosed was written in. consequence of your suggestion last time I had 
 the pleasure of seeing you. It cost me an hour or two of next morning's 
 Bleep, but did not please me, so it laid by, an ill-digested effort, till the other 
 day I gave it a critic-brush. These kinds of subjects are much hackneyed, 
 
580 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 Do^Tn from the rivulets, red with dasliing 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 wdntry 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-^he helpless victim see him fly. 
 And stifle, dark, the feebly-bursting cry : 
 
 Mark ruflSan Violence, distain'd with crimes, 
 
 Kousing elate in these degenerate times ; 
 
 View unsuspecting Innocence a prey. 
 
 As guileful Fraud points out the erring way : 
 
 "While subtile Litigation's pliant tongue 
 
 The life-blood equal sucks of Right and Wrong: 
 
 Hark, injured Want recounts the unlisten'd tale. 
 
 And much-wrong'd Misery pours the unpitied wail ! 
 
 and, besides, the wailings of the rhyming tribe over the ashes of the groat 
 are cursedly suspicious, and out of all character for sincerity. T^'«se ideas 
 damped my muse's fire : however I have done the best I could." And in 
 another letter to Dr. Geddes, he writes thus : " The foregoing poem has somo 
 tolerable lines in it, but the incurable wound of my pride will not suffer mo 
 to correct, or even peruse it. 1 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 solicltorsliip 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 I Did the gentleman imagine that I looked for any dirty gratuity ?" 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 581 
 
 Ye dark waste hills, and brown unsightly plains, 
 To you I sing my grief-inspired 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 wound degenerate ages cannot cure. 
 
 WRITTEN IN FRIARS-CARSE HERMITAGE, 
 
 ON THE BANKS OF NITH. 
 
 Th>»» 15 from the original rough draft of the poem, in the possession of 
 Mrs. Hyslop. 
 
 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 ; 
 
 Day, how rapid in its flight — 
 
 Day, how few must see the night ; 
 
 Hope not sunshine every hour. 
 
 Fear not clouds will always lower. 
 
 Happiness is but a name. 
 
 Make content and ease thy aim. 
 
 Ambition is a meteor gleam ; 
 
 Fame a restless idle dream : 
 
 Pleasures, insects on the wing, 
 
 Round Peace, the tenderest flower of Spring : 
 
 Those that sip the dew alone. 
 
 Make the butterflies thy own ; 
 
 Those that would the bloom devour, 
 
 Crush the locusts — save the flower. 
 
 For the future be prepared. 
 
 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 : 
 
682 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 Keep the name of man in mind, 
 And dishonor not thy kind. 
 Reverence with lowly heart 
 Him whose wondrous work thou art; 
 Keep his goodness still in view, 
 Thy trust — and thy example, too. 
 
 Stranger, go ! Heaven be thy guide ! 
 Quod, the Beadsman on Nithside. 
 
 EPISTLE TO HUGH PARKER, 
 
 One of the Poet's earliest friends. 
 
 In this strange land, this uncouth clime, 
 A land unknown to prose or rhyme ; 
 Where words ne'er crost the muse's heckles^ 
 Nor limpet in poetic shackles ; 
 A land that prose did never view it. 
 Except when drunk he stacher't through it, 
 Here, ambush'd by the chimla cheek, 
 Hid in an atmosphere of reek, 
 I hear a wheel thrum i' the neuk, 
 I Jiear 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 kend 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 ! 
 Was it for this, wi' canny care. 
 Thou bure the Bard through many a shire ? 
 At howes or hillocks never stumbled. 
 And late or early never grumbled ? — 
 Oh, had I power like inclination, 
 I 'd heeze thee up a constellation, 
 
 1 His mare. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 583 
 
 To canter with the Sagitarre, 
 
 Or loup the ecliptic like a bar ; 
 
 Or turn the pole like any arrow ; 
 
 Or, when auld Phebus bids good-mori ow, 
 
 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. — 
 
 Wi' a' this care and a' this grief, 
 
 And sma', sma' prospect of relief, 
 
 And naught but peat reek i' my head, 
 
 How can I write what ye can read ? — 
 
 Tarbolton, twenty-fourth o' June, 
 
 Ye '11 find me in a better tune ; 
 
 But till we meet and weet our whistle, 
 
 Tak this excuse for nae epistle. 
 
 EoBEET Burns. 
 
 TO JOHN M'MURDO, Esq. 
 
 He was steward to the Duke of Queensberry, and a warm friend 
 of the Poet. 
 
 Oh, 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 Bard's esteem. 
 
 WRITTEN ON A PANE OF GLASS. 
 
 Blest be M'Murdo to his latest day ! 
 No envious cloud o'ercast his evening ray I 
 No wrinkle furrow'd by the hand of care, 
 Nor ever sorrow add one silver hair! 
 Oh, may no son the father's honor stain, 
 !N or ever daughter give the mother pain t 
 
584 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 THE KIEK'S ALAEM.* 
 
 A BALLAD. — (SECOND VERSION.) 
 
 Oethodox, orthodox, 
 
 Who 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 not sense must be nonsense. 
 
 Orthodox, 
 That what is not sense must be nonsense. 
 
 Doctor Mac, Doctor Mac, 
 
 Ye should stretch on a rack, 
 To strike evil-doers wi' terror ; 
 
 To join faith and sense. 
 
 Upon any pretence. 
 Was heretic, damnable error. 
 
 Doctor Mac, 
 Was heretic, damnable error. 
 
 Town of Ayr, town of Ayr, 
 
 It was rash, I declare. 
 To meddle wi' mischief a-brewin' ; 
 
 Provost John is still deaf 
 
 To the church's relief. 
 And orator Bob is its ruin, 
 
 Town of Ayr, 
 And orator Bob is its ruin. 
 
 * Of this piece Burns has given the following account, in a letter to 
 Graham of Fintray: — "Though I dare say you have none of the Solemn 
 League and Covenant fire which shone so conspicuous in Lord George 
 Gordon and the Kilmarnock weavers, yet I think you must have heard of 
 Dr. M'Gill, one of the clergymen of Ayr, and his heretical hook. God help 
 him, poor man 1 Though he is one of the worthiest, as well as one of the 
 ablest of the whole priesthood of the Kirk of Scotland, in every sense of that 
 ambiguous term, yet the poor Doctor and his numerous family are in immi- 
 nent danger of being thrown out (9th December, 1790) to the mercy of the 
 Minter winds. The inclosed ballad on that business is, I confess, too local; 
 but I laughed myself at some conceits in it, though I am convinced in my 
 tonscience that there are a good many heavy stanzas in it, too." 
 
 To another correspondent the Poet says:— "Whether in the way of my 
 erade I can be of any service to the Rev. Doctor, is, I fear, very doubtful. 
 Ajax's shield consisted, I think, of seven bull-hides and a plate of brass, 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 585 
 
 D'rymple mild, D'rymple mild, 
 
 Tho' your heart 's like a child. 
 And your life like the new- driven snaw, 
 
 Yet that winna save ye, 
 
 Old Satan must have ye 
 For preaching that three 's ane an' twa, 
 
 D'rymple mild, 
 For preaching that three 's ane an' twa. 
 
 Calvin's sons, Calvin's sons, 
 
 Seize your spiritual guns, 
 Ammunition ye never can need ; 
 
 Your hearts are the stuff, 
 
 "Will be powder enough. 
 And your skulls are a storehouse of lead, 
 
 Calvin's sons. 
 And your skulls are a storehouse of lead. 
 
 Kumble John, Eumble John, 
 
 3fount the steps with a groan. 
 Cry the book is with heresy cramm'd ; 
 
 Then lug out your ladle, 
 
 Deal brimstone like aidle. 
 And roar every note o' the daran'd, 
 
 Kumble John, 
 And roar every note o' the damn'd. 
 
 Simper James, Simper James, 
 
 Leave the fair Killie dames, 
 There 's a holier chase in your view ; 
 
 I '11 lay on your head. 
 
 That the pack ye '11 soon lead. 
 For puppies like you there 's but few, 
 
 Simper James, 
 For puppies like you there 's but few. 
 
 Singet Sawnie, Singet Sawnie, 
 Are ye herding the penny, 
 Unconscious what danger awaits ? 
 
 which altogether set Hector's utmost force at defiance. Alas! I am not a 
 ilector, and the worthy Doctor's foes are as securely armed as Ajax was 
 Ignorance, superstition, bigotry, stupidity, malevolence, self-conceit, envy,— 
 »11 strongly bound in a massy frame of brazen impudence." 
 
586 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 I 
 
 With a jump, yell, and howl. 
 
 Alarm every soul. 
 For Hannibal 's just at your gates, 
 
 Singet Sawnie, 
 For Hannibal 's just at your gates. 
 
 Andrew Gowk, Andrew Gowk, 
 
 Ye may slander the book. 
 And the book naught the waur — let me tell you ; 
 
 Tho' ye 're rich and look big. 
 
 Yet lay by hat and wig, 
 And ye '11 hae a calf 's-head o' sma' value, 
 Andrew Gowk, 
 And ye '11 hae a calf s-head o' sma' value. 
 
 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 astride. 
 
 Ye only stood by when he sh , 
 
 Poet Willie, 
 Ye only stood by when he sh . 
 
 Barr Steenie, Barr Steenie, 
 
 What mean ye ? what mean ye ? 
 Tf ye '11 meddle nae mair wi' the matter. 
 
 Ye may hae some pretence man, 
 
 To bavins and sense man, 
 Wi' people that ken you nae better, 
 
 Barr Steenie, 
 Wi' people that ken you nae better. 
 
 Jamie Goose, Jamie Goose, 
 
 Ye hae made but toom roose, 
 O' hunting the wicked lieutenant ; 
 
 But the doctor 's your mark. 
 
 For the L — d's holy ark. 
 He has cooper'd and ca'd a wrong pin in 't, 
 
 Jamie Goose, 
 He has cooper'd and ca'd a wrong pin in 't. 
 
 Davie Bluster, Davie Bluster, 
 For a saunt if ye muster. 
 It 's a sign they 're no nice o' recruits ; 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 587 
 
 Yet to worth let 's be just, 
 
 Royal blood ye might boast, 
 If the ass were the king o' the brutes, 
 
 Davie Bluster, 
 If the ass were the king o' the brutes. 
 
 Muirland George, Muirland George, 
 
 "Whom the Lord made a scourge. 
 To claw common sense for her sins ; 
 
 If ill manners were wit, 
 
 There 's no mortal so fit 
 To confound the poor doctor at ance, 
 
 Muirland George, 
 To confound the poor doctor at ance. 
 
 Cessnockside, Oessnockside, 
 
 Wi' your turkey-cock pride, 
 O' manhood but sma' is your share ; 
 
 Ye 've the figure, it 's true. 
 
 Even our faes maun allow. 
 And your friends daurna say ye hae mair, 
 
 Cessnockside, 
 And your friends daurna sae ye hae mair. 
 
 Daddie Auld, Daddie Auld, 
 
 There 's a tod i' the fauld, 
 A tod meikle waur than the clerk ; 
 
 Tho' ye downa do skaith, 
 
 Ye '11 be in at the death. 
 
 And if ye canna bite ye can bark, 
 
 Daddie Auld, 
 
 And if ye canna bite ye can bark. 
 
 * 
 
 Poet Burns, Poet Burns, 
 
 Wi' your priest-skelping turns, 
 "Why desert ye your auld native shire ? 
 
 Tho' your Muse is a gipsy. 
 
 Yet were she even tipsy. 
 She could ca' us nae waur than we are, 
 
 Poet Burns, 
 She could ca' us nae waur than we are, 
 
 POSTSCRIPT. 
 
 Afton's Laird, Afton's Laird, 
 When your pen can be spared, 
 
588 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 A copy o' this I bequeath, 
 On the same sicker score 
 I mention'd before, 
 
 To that trusty auld worthy Olackleith, 
 Afton's Laird, 
 
 To that trusty auld worthy Olackleith. 
 
 TO ROBERT GRAHAM, ESQ., OF FINIRAY: 
 
 ON THE CLOSE OF THE DISPUTED ELECTION BETWEEN SIR JAMES 
 JOHNSTON AND CAPTAIN MILLER, FOR THE DUMFRIES DISTRICT 
 OF BOROUGHS. 
 
 FiNTRAY, my stay in worldly strife, 
 Friend o' my muse, friend o' my life. 
 
 Are ye as idle 's I am ? 
 Come then, wi' uncouth, kintra fleg. 
 O'er Pegasus I '11 fling my leg. 
 
 And ye shall see me try him. 
 
 I '11 sing the zeal Drumlanrig bears 
 Who left the all-important cares 
 
 Of princes and their darlings ' 
 And, bent on winning borough towns. 
 Came shaking hands wi' wabster lowns. 
 
 And kissing barefit carlins. 
 
 Combustion thro' our boroughs rode, 
 Whistling his roaring pack abroad 
 
 Of mad unmuzzled lions ; 
 • As Queensberry buff and blue unfurl'd, 
 And Westerha' and Hopeton hurl'd 
 
 To every Whig defiance. 
 
 But cautious Queensberry left the war, 
 The unmanner'd dust might soil his star; 
 
 Besides, he hated bleeding ; 
 But left behind him heroes bright. 
 Heroes in Csesarean fight, 
 
 Or Ciceronian pleading. 
 
 Oh I for a throat like huge Mons-meg, 
 To muster o'er each ardent Whig 
 
 Beneath Drumlanrig's banner; 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 589 
 
 Heroes and heroines commix, 
 All in the field of politics, 
 
 To win immortal honor. 
 
 M'Murdo and his lovely spouse, 
 
 (The enamorVl laurels kiss her brows !) 
 
 Led on the loves and graces : 
 She won each gaping burgess' heart, 
 While he, all-conquering, play'd his part 
 
 Among their wives and lasses. 
 
 Craigdarroch led a hght-arm'd corps. 
 Tropes, metaphors, and figures pour. 
 
 Like Hecla streaming thunder ; 
 Glenriddel, skilPd in rusty coins. 
 Blew up each Tory's dark designs. 
 
 And bared the treason under. 
 
 In either wing two champions fought, 
 Kedoubted Staig,^ who set at naught 
 
 The wildest savage Tory : 
 And Welsh,'' who ne'er yet flinch'd his ground, 
 High-waved his magnum-bonum round 
 
 With Oyclopeian fury. 
 
 Miller brought up the artillery ranks. 
 The many-pounders of the Banks, 
 
 Resistless desolation ! 
 While Maxwelton, that baron bold, 
 'Mid Lawson's' port entrench'd his hold, 
 
 And threaten'd worse damnation. 
 
 To these w^hat Tory hosts opposed, 
 With these what Tory warriors closed. 
 
 Surpasses my descriving : 
 Squadrons extended long and large. 
 With furious speed rush to the charge. 
 
 Like raging devils driving. 
 
 What verse can sing, what prose narrate, 
 The butcher deeds of bloody fate 
 
 Amid this mighty tulzie ! 
 Grim Horror girn'd — pale Terror roar'd, 
 As Murther at his thrapple shored. 
 
 And hell raix'd in the brulzie. 
 * Provost Staig of Dumfries.— ^ Sheriff Welsh.— 3 Lawson, a wino merchant 
 In l!)umfries. 
 
 50 
 
590 
 
 As Highland craigs by thunder cleft, 
 When lightnings lire the stormy lift, 
 
 Hurl down with crashing rattle: 
 As flames among 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 the approaching fellers : 
 The "Whigs come on like Ocean's roar, 
 When all his wintry billows pour 
 
 Against the Buchan Bullers. 
 
 Lo, from the shades of Death's deep night, 
 Departed Whigs enjoy the fight. 
 
 And think on former daring : 
 The muffled murtherer^ of Charles 
 The Magna Oharta flag unfurls, 
 
 All deadly gules it 's bearing. 
 
 Nor wanting ghosts of Tory fame, 
 
 Bold Scrimgeour^ follows gallant Graham," 
 
 Auld Covenanters shiver. 
 (Forgive, forgive, much-wrong'd Montrose! 
 Now death and hell engulf thy foes, 
 
 Thou liv'st on high forever !) 
 
 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 and strength o' man, 
 Alas ! can do but what they can ! 
 
 The Tory ranks are broken. 
 
 Oh that my een were flowing burns. 
 My voice a lioness that mourns 
 
 Her darling cubs' undoing ! 
 That I might greet, that I might cry, 
 While Tories fall, while Tories fly. 
 
 And furious Whigs pursuing! 
 
 ' Tlie executioner of Charles I. was masked. — ^ Scrimgeour, Lord Dundee. 
 »-« Graham, Marquis of Montrose. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 591 
 
 "What "Whig but melts for good Sir James ? 
 Dear to his country by the names 
 
 Friend, patron, benefactor! 
 ITot Pulteney's wealth can Pulteney save ! 
 And Hopeton 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 I 
 How Fox and Sheridan rejoice ! 
 And Burke shall sing, O Prince, arise, 
 
 Thy power is all-prevailing 1 
 
 For your poor friend, the Bard, afar. 
 He only hears and sees the war, 
 
 A cool spectator purely ! 
 So, when the storm the forest rends, 
 The robin in the hedge descends. 
 
 And sober chirps securely. 
 
 ADDKESS OF BEELZEBUB 
 
 TO THE PRESIDENT OF THE HIGHLAND SOCIETY. 
 First published in the " Scots Magazine" for February, 1818. 
 
 Long life, my Lord, an' health be yours, 
 Unskaith'd by hungered Highland boors ; 
 Lord grant nae duddie desperate beggar, 
 Wi' dirk, claymore, or rusty trigger. 
 May twin auld Scotland o' a hfe 
 She likes — as lambkins like a knife. 
 
 Faith, you and A s were right 
 
 To keep the Highland hounds in sight, 
 I doubt na' ! they wad bid nae better 
 Than let them ance out owre the water , 
 Then up amang thae lakes and seas 
 They '11 mak what rules and laws they please ; 
 Some daring Hancock, or a FrankHn, 
 May set their Highland bluid a ranklin' ; , 
 Some Washington again may head them, 
 Or some Montgomery fearless lead them, 
 
 1 Stewart of Hillside. 
 
592 BURNS'S POEMS, 
 
 Till God knows what may be effected 
 "When by such heads and hearts directed-* 
 Poor dunghill sons of dirt and mire 
 May to patrician rights aspire ! 
 !N"ae sage North, now, nor sager Sackville, 
 To watch and premier o'er the pack vile. 
 An' whare will ye get Howes and Clintons 
 To bring them to a right repentance, 
 To cowe the rebel generation. 
 An' save the honor o' the nation? 
 They an' be d — d ! what right hae they 
 To meat or sleep, or light o' day ? 
 Far less to riches, power, or freedom, 
 But what your lordship likes to gie them ? 
 
 But hear, my lord ! Glengarry, hear ! 
 Your hand 's owre light on them, I fear : 
 Your factors, grieves, trustees, and bailies, 
 I canna' say but they do gaylies ; 
 They lay aside a' tender mercies. 
 An' tirl the hallions to the birses ; 
 Yet while they 're only poind't and herriet, 
 They'll keep their stubborn Highland spirit: 
 But smash them! crash them a' to spails! 
 An' rot the dyvors i' the jails ! 
 The young dogs, swinge them to the labor; 
 Let wark an' hunger mak them sober ! 
 The hizzies, if they 're aughtlins fawsont, 
 Let them in Drury-lane be lesson'd ! 
 An' if the wives an' dirty brats 
 E'en thigger at your doors an' yetts, 
 Flaffan wi' duds an' gray wi' beas', 
 Frightin' awa your deucks an' geese — 
 Get out a horsewhip or a jowler. 
 The langest thong, the fiercest growler, 
 An' gar the tatter'd gypsies pack 
 Wi' a' their bastarts on their back ! 
 Go on, my lord ! I lang to meet you. 
 An' in my house at hame to greet yon ; 
 Wi' common lords ye shanna mingle, 
 The benmost neuk beside the ingle, 
 At my right ban' assign'd your seat 
 'Tween Herod's hip an' Polycrate, — 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 593 
 
 Or if you on your station tarrow, 
 Between Almagro and Pizarro, 
 A seat, I 'm sure, ye 're weel deservin 't ; 
 An' till ye come — Your humble servant, 
 
 Beelzebub. 
 
 TO JOHN TAYLOR.^ 
 
 With Pegasus upon a day 
 
 Apollo weary flying. 
 Through frosty hills the journey lay, 
 
 On foot the way was plying. 
 
 Poor slip-shod giddy Pegasus 
 
 Was but a sorry walker ; 
 To Yulcan then Apollo goes. 
 
 To get a frosty calker. 
 
 Obliging Yulcan fell to work. 
 Threw by his coat and bonnet. 
 
 And did Sol's business in a crack ; 
 Sol paid him with a sonnet. 
 
 Ye Vulcan's sons of Wanlockhead, 
 
 Pity my sad disaster ; 
 My Pegasus is poorly shod — 
 
 I '11 pay you like my master. 
 
 EOBEET BUENS. 
 
 EPISTLE FROM ESOPUS TO MARIA. 
 
 The Esopus of this epistle was Williamson, an actor, and the Maria to whom it 
 is addressed was Mrs. Riddel. 
 
 From those drear solitudes and frowzy cells. 
 Where infamy with sad repentance dwells ; 
 Where turnkeys make the jealous portal fast, 
 And deal from iron hands the spare repast ; 
 
 1 These verses were written, to induce a blacksmith to proceed at one© 
 * to sharpen his horse's shoes," as the roads hbd become slippery with ice. 
 The blacksmith is said to have lived thirty years after to say that he had 
 never been " weel paid but ance, and that was by a Poet, who paid him in 
 money, paid him in drink, and paid him in verse." 
 
594 BURNS'S POEMS 
 
 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 whore, no more ; 
 Where tiny thieves, not destined yet to swing, 
 Beat hemp for others, riper for the string : 
 From these dire scenes my wretched lines I dale, 
 To tell Maria her Esopus' fate. 
 
 " Alas ! I feel I am no actor here !" 
 
 'Tis real hangmen, real scourges bear ! 
 
 Prepare, Mai^ia, for a horrid tale 
 
 Will turn thy very rouge to deadly pale ; 
 
 Will make thy hair, tho' erst from gipsy poll'd, 
 
 By barber woven, and by barber sold. 
 
 Though twisted smooth with Harry's nicest care, 
 
 Like hoary bristles to erect and stare. 
 
 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 culottes stoop up the mountain high. 
 
 And steal from me Maria's prying eye. 
 
 Bless'd 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 first of Ireland's sons,^ 
 
 And even out-Irish his Hibernian bronze ; 
 
 The crafty colon eP 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; 
 
 Comes 'mid a string of coxcombs to display, 
 
 That ve7ii^ mdi^ mci^ is his way ; 
 
 The shrinking bard adown an alley skulks, 
 
 And dreads a meeting worse than Woolwich 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. 
 
 » Gillespie.— 2 Col. M'DowaL 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 595 
 
 (What scandal calPd Maria's jaunty stagger 
 
 The ricket reeling of a crooked swagger ? 
 
 Whose spleen e'en worse than Burns's venom when 
 
 He dips in gall unmix'd his eager pen, — 
 
 And pours his vengeance in the burning line, 
 
 Who christen'd thus Maria's lyre divine ; 
 
 The idiot strum of vanity bemused. 
 
 And even the abuse of poesy abused ! 
 
 Who call'd her verse a parish workhouse, made 
 
 For motley, foundling fancies, stolen or stray'd ?) 
 
 A workliouse ! 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 frowzy couch in sorrow steep ; 
 That straw where many a rogue has lain of yore. 
 And vermined 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 know'st, the virtues cannot hate thee worse , 
 
 The vices also, must they club their curse ? 
 
 Or must no tiny sin to others fall, 
 
 Because thy guilt 's supreme enough for all ? 
 
 Maria, 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 that fool alone is not thy due. 
 
 And quotes thy treacheries to prove it true ? 
 
 Our force united on thy foes we '11 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 conquers all reply. 
 
696 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 ON SEEING MISS FONTENELLE 
 
 IN A FAVORITE 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 'dst act a part. 
 
 R. B. 
 
 THE HERON BALLADS. 
 [ballad first.] 
 
 These were written as election squibs to serve Patrick Heron, Esq , of 
 Kerroughtree, at two contested elections. 
 
 Whom will you send to London town, 
 
 To Parliament and a' that ? 
 Or wha in a' the country round 
 The best deserves to fa' that? 
 For a' that, and a' that, 
 Thro' Galloway and a' that ; 
 Where is the laird or belted knight 
 The best deserves to fa' that? 
 
 Wha sees Kerroughtree's open yett, 
 
 And wha is 't never saw that 
 Wha ever wi' Kerroughtree 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 an' lords let Selkirk mix, 
 And weel does Selkirk fa' that. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 597 
 
 For a' that, an' a' that, 
 Here 's Heron yet for a' that! 
 ^ The independent commoner 
 Shall be the man for a' that. 
 
 Bu^ why should we to nobles jouk, 
 
 And it 's against the law that ; 
 For ^ hy, a lord may be a gouk, 
 "Wi' ribbon, star, an' a' that, 
 For a' that, an' a' that. 
 Here 's Heron yet for a' that I 
 A lord may be a lousy loan, 
 Wi' ribbon, star, an' a' that. 
 
 A beardless boy comes o'er the hills, 
 
 Wi' uncle's purse an' a' that ; 
 But we '11 hae ane frae 'mang oursels, 
 A man we ken, an' a' that. 
 For a' that, an' a' that ! 
 Here 's Heron yet for a' that I 
 For we 're not to be bought an' sold, 
 Like naigs, an' nowt, an' a' that. 
 
 Then let us drink the Stewartry, 
 
 Kerroughtree's laird, an' a' that, 
 Our representative to be. 
 For weel he 's worthy a' that. 
 For a' that, an' a' that. 
 Here 's Heron yet for a' that I 
 A House of Commons such as he, 
 They would be blest that saw that. 
 
 THE ELECTION. 
 [ballad second.] 
 
 Fy, let us a' to Kirkcudbright, 
 
 For there will be bickerin' there ; 
 For Murray's light-horse are to muster, 
 
 And oh, how the heroes will swear ! 
 An' there will be Murray commander. 
 
 And Gordon the battle to win; 
 Like brothers they '11 stand by each other, 
 
 Sae knit in alliance an' kin. 
 
598 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 An' there will be black-lippit Jolmie, 
 
 The tongue o' the trump to them a' ; 
 An' he get nae hell for his haddin' 
 
 The deil gets nae justice ava' : 
 An' there will be Kempleton's birkie, 
 
 A boy no sae black at the bane ; 
 But as for his fine nabob fortune, 
 
 We'el e'en let the subject alane. 
 
 An' there will be "Wigton's new sheriff, 
 
 Dame Justice fu' brawlie has sped, 
 She 's gotten the heart of a Bushby, 
 
 But, Lord, what 's become o' the head ? 
 An' there will be Oardoness' Esquire, 
 
 Sae mighty in Oardoness' eyes ; v 
 
 A wight that will weather damnation, 
 
 For the devil the prey will despise. 
 
 An' there will be Douglases doughty, 
 
 Kew christening towns far and near, 
 Abjuring their democratic doings, 
 
 By kissing the — o' a peer ; 
 An' there will be Kenmure sae gen'rous, 
 
 Whose honor is proof to the storm, 
 To save them from stark reprobation. 
 
 He lent them his name to the firm. 
 
 But we winna mention Redcastle, 
 
 The body e'en let him escape ! 
 He 'd venture the gallows for siller. 
 
 An' 'twere na the cost o' the rape. 
 An' where is our king's lord lieutenant, 
 
 Sae famed for his gratefu' return ? 
 The billie is gettin' his questions. 
 
 To say in St. Stephen's the morn. 
 
 An' there will be lads o' the gospel, 
 
 Muirhead wha 's gude as he 's true ; 
 An' there will be Buittle's apostle, 
 
 Wha 's more o' the black than the blue 
 An' there will be folk from St. Mary's, 
 
 A house o' great merit and note, 
 The deil ane but honors them highly,— 
 
 The deil ane will gie them his vote I 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. o9£ 
 
 An' there will be wealthy young Kichard, 
 
 Dame Fortune should hing by the neck ; 
 For prodigal, thriftless bestowing, 
 
 His merit had won him respect : 
 An' there will be rich brother nabobs, 
 
 Though nabobs, yet men of the first ; 
 An' there will be Collieston's whiskers, 
 
 An' Quintin, o' lads not the worst. 
 
 An' there will be stamp-office Johnie, 
 
 Tak tent how ye purchase a dram ; 
 An' there will be gay Cassencarrie, 
 
 An' there will be gleg Colonel Tam ; 
 An' there will be trusty Kerroughtree, 
 
 Whose honor was ever his law. 
 If the virtues were pack'd in a parcel, 
 
 His worth might be sample for a'. 
 
 An' can we forget the auld major, 
 
 "Wha '11 ne'er be forgot in the Greys ? 
 Our flattery we '11 keep for some other. 
 
 Him only 'tis justice to praise. 
 An' there will be maiden Kilkerran, 
 
 And also Barskimming's gude knight ; 
 An' there will be roarin' Birtwhistle, 
 
 Wha luckily roars in the right. 
 
 An' there, frae the Niddisdale's borders, 
 
 Will mingle the Maxwells in droves ; 
 Teugh Johnie, stanch Geordie, an' Walie, 
 
 That griens for the fishes an' loaves ; 
 An' there will be Logan MacDouall, 
 
 Sculdudd'ry an' he will be there, 
 An' also the wild Scot o' Galloway, 
 
 Sodgerin', gunpowder Blair. 
 
 Then hey the chaste interest o' Broughton, 
 
 An' hey for the blessings 'twill bring ! 
 It may send Balmaghie to the Commons, 
 
 In Sodom 'twould make him a king ; 
 An' hey for the sanctified M y. 
 
 Our land who wi' chapels has stored ; 
 He founder'd his horse among harlots, 
 
 But gied the auld naig to the Lord. 
 
600 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 AN EXCELLENT NEW SONG. 
 
 [ballad third.] 
 
 Tune — Buy broom besoms. 
 
 Wha will buy my troggin, 
 
 Fine election ware ; 
 Broken trade o' Brougliton, 
 
 A' in high repair. 
 
 Buy hraw troggin^ 
 Frae the hanks o' Dee ; 
 
 Wha wants troggin 
 Let him come to me. 
 
 There 's a noble Earl's 
 Fame and high renown, 
 
 For an auld song — 
 It 's thought the gudes were stowiu 
 Buy braw troggin^ <&c. 
 
 Here 's the worth o' Broughton 
 
 In a needle's ee ; 
 Here 's a reputation 
 
 Tint by Balmaghie. 
 
 Buy braw troggin^ &c^ 
 
 Here's an honest conscience 
 
 Might a prince adorn ; 
 Frae the downs o' Tinwald — 
 
 So was never worn. 
 
 Buy braw troggin^ &e» 
 
 Here's its stuff and lining, 
 
 Cardoness's head ; 
 Fine for a sodger 
 
 A' the wale o' lead. 
 
 Buy braw troggin^ &6, 
 
 Here's a little wadset 
 Buittle's scrap o' truth, 
 
 Pawn'd in a gin shop 
 Quenching holy drouth. 
 
 Buy braw troggin^ &6, 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 601 
 
 Here 's armorial bearings 
 
 Frae the manse o' Urr ; 
 The crest, an aiild crab-apple 
 
 Rotten at the core. 
 
 Buy hraw troggin^ <&c. 
 
 Here is Satan's picture, 
 
 Like a bizzard gled. 
 Pouncing poor Redcastle 
 
 Sprawlin' as a taed. 
 
 Buy hraw troggin^ &c. 
 
 Here 's the worth and wisdom 
 
 Collieston can boast ; 
 By a thievish midge 
 
 They had been nearly lost. 
 
 Buy hraw troggin^ <S:o. 
 
 Here is Murray's fragments 
 
 O' the ten commands ; 
 Gifted by black Jock 
 
 To get them aff his hands. 
 
 Buy hraw troggin^ Sc, 
 
 Saw ye e'er sic troggin ? 
 
 If to buy ye 're slack, 
 Hornie's turnin' chapman, — 
 
 He '11 buy a' the pack. 
 
 Buy hraw troggin^ &e. 
 
 TO A KISS. 
 
 Humid seal of soft affections, 
 Tenderest pledge of future bliss, 
 
 !Qearest tie of young connections, 
 Love's first snow-drop, virgin kiss ! 
 
 Speaking silence, dumb confession, 
 Passion's birth, and infant's play, 
 
 Dove-like fondness, chaste concession, 
 Glowing dawn of brighter day. 
 
 Sorrowing joy, adieu's last action, 
 
 When lingering lips no more must join, 
 
 What words can ever speak affection 
 So thrilling and sincere as thine ! 
 61 
 
602 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 VERSES WRITTEN UNDER VIOLEISTT GRIEF. 
 
 These lines were written in 1786, when the Poet's circumstances were so 
 embarrassed, that he had determined to emigrate to Jamaica as a means of 
 improving them. 
 
 Accept the gift a friend sincere 
 
 Wad on thy worth be pressin' ; 
 Remembrance oft may start a tear, 
 But oh ! that tenderness forbear, 
 
 Though 'twad my sorrows lessen. 
 
 My morning raise sae clear and fair, 
 I thought sair storms wad never 
 
 Bedew the scene ; but grief and care 
 
 In wildest fury hae made bare 
 My peace, my hope, forever ! 
 
 You think I 'm glad ; oh, I pay weel 
 
 For a' the joy I borrow, 
 In solitude — then, then I feel 
 I canna to mysel' conceal 
 
 My deeply ranklin' sorrow. 
 
 Farewell ! within thy bosom free 
 
 A sigh may whiles awaken ; 
 A tear may wet thy laughin' ee, 
 For Scotia's son — ance gay like thee — 
 
 Now hopeless, comfortless, forsaken I 
 
 THE HERMIT. 
 
 Keu on a marble sideboard, in the hei-mitage belonging to the Duke of 
 Athole, in the wood of Aberfeldy. 
 
 Whoe'er thou art, these lines now reading^ 
 Think not, though from the world receding, 
 I joy my lonely days to lead in 
 
 this desert drear ; 
 That fell remorse a conscience bleeding 
 
 Hath led me here. 
 
 Ko thought of guilt my bosom sours ; 
 Free- will'd I fled from courtly bowers ; 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. COS 
 
 For well I saw in halls and towers 
 
 That lust and pride, 
 The arch-fiend's dearest, darkest powers, 
 
 In state preside. 
 
 I saw mankind with vice incrusted ; 
 I saw that honor's sword was rusted ; 
 Tliat few for aught but folly lusted ; 
 That he was still deceived who trusted 
 
 To love or friend ; 
 And hither came, with men disgusted, 
 
 My life to end. 
 
 In this lone cave, in garments lowly, 
 
 Alike a foe to noisy folly, 
 
 And brow-bent gloomy melancholy, 
 
 I wear away 
 My life, and in my office holy 
 
 Consume the day. 
 
 This rock my shield, when storms are blowing, 
 The limpid streamlet yonder flowing 
 Supplying drink, the earth bestowing 
 
 My simple food ; 
 But few enjoy the calm I know in 
 
 This desert wood. 
 
 Content and comfort bless me more in 
 
 This grot, than e'er I felt before in 
 
 A palace — and with thoughts still soaring 
 
 To God on high. 
 Each night and morn, with voice imploring, 
 
 This wish I sigh : — 
 
 " Let me, Lord ! from life retire, 
 Unknown each guilty worldly fire, 
 Kemorse's throb, or loose desire ; 
 
 And when I die, 
 Let me in this belief expire — 
 
 To God I fly." 
 
 Stranger, if full of youth and riot. 
 And yet no grief has marr'd thy quiet. 
 Thou haply throw'st a scornful eye at 
 
 The hermit's prayer — 
 But if thou hast good cause to sigh at 
 
 Thy fault or care : 
 
604 
 
 If thou hast known false love's vexation, 
 Or hast been exiled from thy nation, 
 Or guilt affrights thy contemplation, 
 
 And makes thee pine, 
 Oh, how must thou lament thy station, 
 
 And envy mine ! 
 
 TO MY BED. 
 
 Thou bed, in which I first began 
 To be that various creature — Man / 
 And when again the Fates decree, 
 The place where I must cease to be ; — 
 "When sickness comes, to whom I fly, 
 To soothe my pain, or close mine eye ;— 
 When cares surround me, where I weep, 
 Or lose them all in balmy sleep ; — 
 When sore with labor, whom I court, 
 And to thy downy breast resort ; — 
 Where, too, ecstatic joys I find. 
 When deigns my Delia to be kind — 
 And full of love, in all her charms. 
 Thou giv'st the fair one to my arms. 
 The centre thou — where grief and pain, 
 Disease and rest, alternate reign. 
 Oh, since within thy little space 
 So many various scenes take place ; 
 Lessons as useful shalt thou teach. 
 As sages dictate — churchmen preach ; 
 And man, convinced by thee alone, 
 This great important truth shall own: -• 
 *' That thin partitions do divide 
 The hounds where good and ill reside ; 
 That naught is perfect here helow ; 
 But BLISS still bordering upon woe." 
 
 THE TREE OP LIBERTY. 
 
 ITkaed ye o' the tree o' France, 
 I watna what's the name o't; 
 
 Around it a' the patriots dance, 
 Weel Europe kens the fame o't. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 60S 
 
 It stands where ance the Bastile stood,* 
 
 A prison built by kings, man, 
 "When Superstition's hellish brood 
 
 Kept France in leading-strings, man. 
 
 Upo' this tree there grows sic fruit, 
 
 Its virtues a' can tell, man ; 
 It raises man aboon the brute. 
 
 It maks him ken himsel', man. 
 Gif ance the peasant taste a bit. 
 
 He 's greater than a lord, man, 
 And wi' the beggar shares a mite 
 
 0' a' he can afford, man. 
 
 This fruit is worth a' Afric's wealth, 
 
 To comfort us 'twas sent, man ; 
 To gie the sweetest blush o' health, 
 
 And mak us a' content, man. 
 It clears the een, it cheers the heart, 
 
 Maks high and low gude friends, man ; 
 And he wha acts the traitor's part. 
 
 It to perdition sends, man. 
 
 My blessings aye attend the chiel 
 
 Wha pitied Gallia's slaves, man. 
 And staw'd a branch, spite o' the deil, 
 
 Frae yont the western waves, man. 
 Fair Virtue water'd it wi' care. 
 
 And now she sees wi' pride, man. 
 How weel it buds and blossoms there. 
 
 Its branches spreading wide, man. 
 
 But vicious folk aye hate to see 
 
 The works o' Virtue thrive, man ; 
 The courtly vermin 's bann'd the tree. 
 
 And grat to see it thrive, man ; 
 King Loui' thought to cut it down. 
 
 When it was unco sma', man ; 
 For this the watchman crack'd his crown, 
 
 Cut aff his head and a', man. 
 
 A wicked crew syne, on a time, 
 
 Did tak a solemn aith, man, 
 It ne'er should flourish to its prime, 
 
 I wat they pledged their faith, man ; 
 
BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 Awa they gaed wi' mock parade, 
 Like beagles hunting game, man, 
 
 But soon grew weary o' the trade, 
 
 And wish'd they 'd been at hame, man. 
 
 For Freedom, standing by the tree, 
 
 Her sons did loudly ca', man ; 
 She sang a sang o' liberty. 
 
 Which pleased them ane and a', man. 
 By her inspired, the new-born race 
 
 Soon drew the avenging, steel, man ; 
 The hirelings ran — her foes gied chase, 
 
 And bang'd the despot weel, man. 
 
 Let Britain boast her hardy oak, 
 
 Her poplar and her pine, man, 
 Auld Britain ance could crack her joke, 
 
 And o'er her neighbors shine, man : 
 But seek the forest round and round, 
 
 And soon 'twill be agreed, man, 
 That sic a tree cannot be found 
 
 •Twixt London and the Tweed, man. 
 
 Without this tree, alake ! this life 
 
 Is but a vale o' woe, man ; 
 A scene o' sorrow mix'd wi' strife, 
 
 Nae real joys we know, man. 
 We labor soon, we labor late. 
 
 To feed the titled knave, man ; 
 And a' the comfort we 're to get, 
 
 Is that ayont the grave, man. 
 
 Wi' plenty o' sic trees, I trow. 
 
 The warld would live in peace, man ; 
 Tlie sword would help to mak a plough 
 
 The din o' war wad cease, man. 
 Like brethren in a common cause. 
 
 We'd on each other smile, man; 
 And equal rights and equal laws 
 
 Wad gladden every isle, man. 
 
 Wae worth the loon wha wadna eat 
 Sic halesome dainty cheer, man; 
 
 I 'd gie my shoon frae aff my feet. 
 To taste sic fruit, I swear, man. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 607 
 
 Syne let us pray, auld England may 
 Sure plant this far-famed tree, man; 
 
 And blythe we '11 sing, and hail the day 
 That gave us liberty, man. 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF THE POET'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 These tender lines were written, it is said, on the death of his child, in 1795. 
 
 Oh sweet he thy sleep in the land of the grave, 
 
 My dear little angel, forever ; 
 Forever — oh no ! let not man be a slave, 
 
 His hopes from existence to sever. 
 
 Though cold be the clay where thou pillow'st thy head, 
 
 In the dark silent mansions of sorrow. 
 The spring shall return to thy low narrow bed, 
 
 Like the beam of the day-star to-morrow. 
 
 The flower-stem shall bloom like thy sweet seraph form, 
 
 Ere the spoiler had nipt thee in blossom, 
 When thou shrunk frae the scowl of the loud winter storm, 
 
 And nestled thee close to that bosom. 
 
 Oh still I behold thee, all lovely in death, 
 
 Eeclined on the lap of thy mother, 
 . When the tear trickled bright, when the short stifled breatli, 
 Told how dear ye were aye to each other. 
 
 My child, thou art gone to the home of thy rest. 
 
 Where suffering no longer can harm ye. 
 Where the songs of the good, where the hymns of the blest, 
 
 Through an endless existence shall charm thee. 
 
 While he, thy fond parent, must sighing sojourn. 
 Through the dire desert regions of sorrow. 
 
 O'er the hope and misfortune of being to mouro, 
 And sigh for this life's latest morrow. 
 
 ON THE SAME. 
 
 Here lies a rose, a budding rose. 
 Blasted before its bloom ; 
 
 Whose innocence did sweets disclose 
 Beyond that flower's perfume. 
 
COS BURNS'S POEMS. 
 
 ^To tliose who for her loss are grieved, 
 This consolation 's given — 
 
 She 's from a world of woe relieved, 
 And blooms a rose in heaven. 
 
 VEBSES ON THE DESTRUCTION OF THE WOODS 
 NEAR DRUMLANRia. 
 
 • The Duke of Queensberry stripped his domains of Drumlanrig in Dumfriesshire, 
 !ind Neidpath in Peeblesshire, of all the wood fit for being cut, in order to enrich tha 
 Countess of Yarmouth, whom he supposed to be his daughter, and to whom, by a 
 singular piece of good fortune on her part, Mr. George Selwyn, the celebrated wit, 
 also left a fortune, under the same, and probably equally mistaken impression " 
 Chambers. 
 
 As on the banks o' wandering Nith, 
 
 Ae smiling simmer morn I stray'd, 
 And traced its bonnie howes and hanghs, 
 
 "Where linties sang and lambkins play'd, i 
 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 frowning rock, his brow, 
 And troubled, like his wintry wave, 
 
 And deep, as sughs the boding wind 
 Amang his caves, the sigh he gave — 
 
 " And came ye here, my son," he cried, 
 ^ " To wander in my birken shade ? 
 
 To muse some favorite Scottish theme, 
 Or sing some favorite Scottish maid ? 
 
 " There was a time, it 's nae lang syne, 
 
 Ye might hae seen me in my pride, 
 "When a' my banks sae bravely saw 
 
 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 curled up the hill. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 609 
 
 But now the cot is bare and canld, 
 
 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 twined ye o' your stately trees ? 
 Has laid your rocky bosom bare ? 
 
 Has stripped the deeding o' your braes ? 
 Was it the bitter eastern blast, 
 
 That scatters blight in early spring ? 
 Or was 't the wil'fire scorch'd their boughs, 
 
 Or canker-worm wi' secret sting ?• • 
 
 " Kae eastlin blast," the sprite replied ; 
 
 " It blew na here sae fierce and fell, 
 And on my dry and halesome banks 
 
 Nae canker-worms get leave to dwell : 
 Man! cruel man!" the Genius sigh'd — 
 
 As through the cliffs he sank him down — 
 " The worm that gnaw'd my bonnie trees, 
 
 That reptile wears a ducal crown." 
 
 THE BOOK-WOEMS. 
 
 Written in a splendidly bound, but worm-eaten copy of Shakspeare, the property 
 of a nobleman. 
 
 Theotjgh and through the inspired leaves, 
 Ye maggots, make your windings ; 
 
 But, oh ! respect his lordship's taste. 
 And spare his golden bindings. 
 
 LINES ON STIRLING. 
 
 Written on a pane of glass, on visiting this ancient seat of Royalty, in 1787. 
 
 Heee Stuarts once in glory reign'd, 
 And laws for Scotland's weal ordain'd ; 
 But now unroof 'd their palace stands, 
 Their sceptre 's sway'd by other hands ; 
 The injured Stuart line is gone, 
 A race outlandish fills their throne. 
 
610 
 
 THE REPROOF. 
 
 The lines on Stirling were considered imprudent by one of the Poet's frio ids, when 
 he immediatelywrote the "Reproof" underneath. 
 
 Rash mortal, and slanderous Poet, thj name 
 
 Shall no longer appear in the records of fame ; 
 
 Dost not know that old Mansfield, who writes like the Bible, 
 
 Says the more 'tis a truth, sir, the more 'tis a libel ? 
 
 THE KIRK OF LAMINGTOi^. 
 
 As canld a wind as ever blew, 
 A caulder kirk, and in 't but few ; 
 As cauld a minister 's e'er spak, 
 Ye 'se a' be het ere I come back. ' 
 
 THE LEAGUE AND COVENANT. 
 
 This was spoken in reply to one who sneered at the sufiFerings of Scotland for 
 conscience' sake. 
 
 The Solemn League and Covenant 
 
 Cost Scotland blood — cost Scotland tears : 
 
 But it seal'd freedom's sacred cause — 
 If thou 'rt a slave, indulge thy sneers. 
 
 INSCRIPTION ON A GOBLET. 
 
 There 's death in the cup — sae beware ! 
 
 Nay, more — there is danger in touching ; 
 But wha can avoid the fell snare ? 
 
 The man and his wine 's sae bewitching ! 
 
 THE TOAD-EATER. 
 
 Epoken in reply to one who was talking largely of his noble friends. 
 
 What of earls with whom you have supt, 
 And of dukes that you dined with yestreen? 
 
 Lord! a louse, sir, is still but a louse. 
 Though it crawl on the curls of a queen. 
 
MISCELLA^'EOUS. 611 
 
 THE SELKIRK GRACE. 
 
 When on a visit to St. Mary's Isle, the Earl of Selkirk requested Burns to 
 Bay grace at dinner ; he complied in these words. 
 
 Some hae meat, and canna eat, 
 And some wad eat that want it ; 
 
 But we hae meat and we can eat, 
 And sae the Lord be thanket. 
 
 IMPROMPTU ON WILLIE STEWART. 
 
 These verses were written on a tumbler which was in the possession of the 
 late Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 You 'ee welcome, Wilhe Stewart, 
 
 You 're welcome, WilHe 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 Strang, and friends be slack, 
 
 Ilk action may he rue it ; 
 May woman on him turn her back, 
 
 That wrangs thee, Willie Stewart. 
 
 WRITTEN ON A PANE OF GLASS, 
 
 On the occasion of a national thanksgiving for a uaval victory. 
 
 Ye hypocrites ! are these your pranks ? — 
 To murder men, and gie God thanks ! 
 For shame ! gie o'er, proceed no farther — 
 God won't accept your thanks for murther ! 
 
 A GRACE BEFORE MEAT. 
 
 Thou, in whom we live and move, 
 Who mad'st the sea and shore ; 
 
 Thy goodness constantly we prove, 
 And grateful would adore. 
 
612 BURNS S POEMS. 
 
 And if it please thee, Power above, 
 Still grant us, with such store, 
 
 The friend we trust, the fair we love, 
 And we desire no more. 
 
 EPITAPH ON MR. W. CRUICKSHANKa 
 
 Honest Will 's to heaven gane. 
 And raony shall lament him ; 
 
 His faults they a' in Latin lay, 
 In English nane e'er kent them. 
 
 EPITAPH ON W- 
 
 Stop thief! dame Nature cried to Death, 
 As Willie drew his latest breath ; 
 You have my choicest model taen, 
 How shall I make a fool again ? 
 
 ON THE SAMR 
 
 Best gently, turf, upon his breast, 
 His chicken heart 's so tender ; — 
 But rear huge castles on^liis head, 
 His skull will prop them under. 
 
 Q 
 
 THE END. 
 
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