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THE 
 
 COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS 
 
 OF 
 
 Inlint fturns. 
 
 W^v 
 
 WILLIAM P. NIMMO. 
 
 LONDON, 14 KING WILLIAM STREET, STRAND, 
 
 AND EDINBURGH. 
 
 1874. 
 
THE 
 
 COMPLETE POETICAL WOEKS 
 
 Robert Burists. 
 
 WITH AN OEIGINAL MEMOIR 
 
 WILLIAM GUNITYOK 
 
 WILLIAM P. NIMMO: 
 
 LONDON : 14 KlNG WILLIAM STREET, STRAND ; 
 
 AND EDINBURGH. 
 
 1875. 
 
EDINBUKGH : 
 PRINTED BY M'fARLANE AND ERSKINB 
 
 (late Schenck &= M'FarlaneJ, 
 
 ST JAMEs' SQUARE. 
 
 

 PREFACE. 
 
 In introducing this edition of Eobert Burns's Poetical 
 Works to the public, the Editor has to state that his aim 
 has been to produce, as far as possible, an edition which 
 might lay claim to completeness. He is aware that many- 
 readers, whose opinion he has &very desire to respect, may 
 not agree with him as to the propriety of reproducing 
 every line of each poem in all cases ; but a very consider- 
 able experience of men in relation to books induces him 
 to believe that a large proportion of the reading public 
 — and that not the least fastidious in matters of feeling 
 and taste — prefer to have an author's works as they came 
 from his pen. He also believes that the number of 
 Bowdlerised editions of popular authors which circulate 
 at the present day is the result of a want of courage on 
 the part of publishers, who have a dread of offending the 
 fancied over-sensitiveness of the bulk of the reading 
 public; for he does not believe that such a feeling exists 
 to an extent which would warrant the indiscreet purifica- 
 tion of the bulk of our standard literature. No admirer 
 of the poet can defend the too frequent coarseness of 
 many of the poems; but it should be remembered that 
 Burns himself, in the two editions of his works which he 
 lived to see through the press, did not include any of 
 
 i%^M.nr'^ 
 
4 PREFACE, 
 
 those which offend against good taste ; — most of them refer 
 to purely local matters, and were evidently looked upon by 
 the Poet as the mere fugitive emanations of his Muse, hur- 
 riedly produced for the amusement of his friends. No 
 poet was so prodigal in giving MS. copies of his poems tc 
 his intimates and correspondents ; and after his death, when 
 every line he had written was eagerly collected and read, no 
 difficulty was found in gathering them together, and no 
 regard for the Poet's memory or good name prevented their 
 publication. 
 
 While the occasional grossness of Burns is not to be 
 denied, it may with safety be affirmed that there is positively 
 nothing demoralising or seductively impure in his writings 
 — nothing that can for one moment be put in comparison 
 with the deliberate and pernicious prurience of the modern 
 sensation novel, which finds its thousands of readers. In a 
 sense, the bad even springs from the good — 
 
 " Misled by Fancy's meteor ray, 
 By passion driven ; 
 But yet the light that led astray 
 Was light from Heaven.'* 
 
 The descriptive improprieties are but the momentary ex- 
 cesses of a healthy and vigorous nature, which, though 
 prone to err, was seldom designedly gross or wicked. 
 Besides, the censorious critics have too often forgotten his 
 services on the side of purity. It ought to be remembered 
 that he found the Scottish Muse a dirty, ribald bawd, and 
 that he made her presentable everywhere. But for him the 
 ancient lyric poetry of our country would at th.e present 
 day have been all but dead and forgotten — he breathed 
 through it the spirit of his own genius, and it is now as 
 imperishable as the more immediate of his creations. 
 
 The moderate price of the series to which this volume 
 belongs rendered a very full annotation impossible; but 
 
PREFACE. 5 
 
 every Poem, Song, and Epigram, the history of whose 
 production is known, will be found to have its illustrative 
 note, care having been taken, from a collation of authori- 
 ties, to be as accurate as possible. The Editor believes 
 that in no similar edition hitherto published has any 
 attempt been made in this direction, and this must be 
 his apology for having ventured upon his present task. 
 In preparing the Glossary, he has been guided in his 
 renderings of Scottish words and phrases more by the 
 meaning conveyed in the text than by the arbitrary mean- 
 ings given by Jamieson and other authorities. Burns's 
 phraseology was in many cases his own ; and, like all men 
 of true creative power, he made his native tongue his slave, 
 and adapted and moulded it to the expression of his genius. 
 The Poems, Epistles, Epigrams, and Songs are arranged 
 separately, and as nearly as can be ascertained iri the order 
 in which they were produced. The Editor believes that this 
 mode of arrangement will be found to have its advantages. 
 
 The Appendix to the graphic Biographical Sketch by Mr 
 William Gunnyon, in which are grouped together all the 
 authentic personal sketches of the poet by his friends and 
 intimates, will, it is hoped, very materially assist the reader 
 in judging what manner of man he was, and the personal 
 and intellectual impression he made on his contemporaries. 
 
 The Editor has to thank several friends for assistance 
 received \ and he desires specially to note the valuable 
 service rendered by Mr Alexander Gunn, a reader at Paul's 
 Work printing-office. Authors and others who are hourly 
 indebted to the intelligence and industry of the reading 
 staff at their printer's will readily appreciate the value of 
 such assistance, more especially when it is stated that any 
 editorial labour bestowed on the present edition was given 
 from day to day as the sheets passed through the press, and 
 in the midst of the harass and worry of business. 
 
 It is all but needless to acknowledge obligations to pre- 
 
6 PREFACE, 
 
 vious editors and biographers of the Poet. The Editor 
 knows that every page will show that his humble labours 
 w^ould have been impossible had it not been for the nlany 
 eminent workers in the same field, from Dr Currie down to 
 Mr Kobert Chambers, the latest and ablest of them all. 
 
 NOTE TO THE NEW EDITION. 
 
 The Editor is much gratified to find that his efforts, in conjunction 
 with the Publisher, to produce a well-printed and complete edition of 
 Burns* s Poetical Wo7'kSj at a price so low as to bring it within the 
 reach of all, have been so fully appreciated. To his friends, Mr 
 William Gunnyon, Dr Longmuir, of Aberdeen, and others, he is in- 
 debted for many hints and corrections which have been made use of in 
 the present edition. 
 
 Several revieivers, who have done more than, justice to the editor^i 
 labours generally, appear to have misconceived his meaning in defend- 
 ing the complete reproduction of all the poems, and have discovered 
 some inconsistency in his doing so, after the statement made in his 
 preface, that none of those poems containing objectionable passages 
 were included by the poet in the editions publisJied under his oicn 
 superintendence. Tlie editor believed he did right in reprinting in full 
 all the poem^ and songs which had already been given to the world, in 
 a more or less fragmentary state, by pi^evious editor's. The original 
 impropriety of printing many of them cannot be questioned ; but as 
 they have now become public property, they must find a place in evci'y 
 edition of the poeVs works lohich pretends to completeness. It would 
 have been an easy matter to have introduced several pieces of the same 
 class, which were undoubtedly written by the poet, and which have 
 never appeared in any edition of his works; but to have done this 
 would only have been to repeat the offence against good taste and the 
 memory of the poet which his friends committed when they printed 
 all the MSS. which happened to hz in their possession at the time of 
 Ids death. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Biographical Sketch 
 
 APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 The Poet's Letter to Dr Moore 
 
 Letter of Gilbert Burns to Mrs DunJop , 
 
 Letter from Mr John Mui'doch 
 
 Sketch by David Sillar 
 
 Recollectiosas of William Clark . 
 
 Sketch by Dugald Stewart . , 
 
 Sketch by Professor Walker , 
 
 Sketch by Sir Walter Scott 
 
 Two Sketches fey Mrs Riddel of Woodley Park 
 
 Account by Dr Adair of a Journey with the Poet 
 
 Sketches by Mr Ramsrvy of Ochtertyre . 
 
 Account by Mr Syme of a Jouraey with the Poe4; 
 
 Domestic Sketch of the Poet 
 
 Personal Sketch of the Poet , 
 
 Letter from Mr Findlater . 
 
 Letter from Mr James Gray to Gilbert Burns 
 
 Letter from Mr Ge«rge Tltomsaa . 
 
 PA OK 
 
 xciil 
 
 en 
 
 cxi 
 
 cxv 
 
 cxvi 
 
 cxvii 
 
 cxxii 
 
 cxxiv 
 
 cxxvi 
 
 cxxxii 
 
 cxxxiv 
 
 cxxxvi 
 
 cxxxviii 
 
 cxxxix 
 
 cxli 
 
 cxliii 
 
 cxlvii 
 
 POEMa 
 
 A BaTd^s Epitaph •..,*,.. 113 
 
 Adam A 's Prayer ..-,,,,. 201 
 
 A Bed; catioQ to Gavin Hamilton, Esq, . , . . . 114 
 
 A Dream .......... 101 
 
 Address of Beelzebub to the President of the Hicrliland Society , , 99 
 
 Address Spoken by Miss IToateaelle on hei* Benefit Night . , , 216 
 
 Address to Edicburgh ..,...,, 134 
 
 Address to the Deil ........ 40 
 
 Address to the Shade of TbomsOTi, on Crowaing his Bust at Ednam, Rox- 
 burghshire, with Bays ....... 198 
 
 Address to the Toothache ....... 165 
 
 Address t© the Unco Guid, or the Rigidly Righteous . , . .89 
 
 A Mother's Lament for the Death of her Son ..... 159 
 
 Answer to a Poetical Epistle sent to the Author by a Tailor . . .68 
 
 A Prayer, Left by the Author at a Reverend Friend's House, in tlie Room 
 
 where he Slept ........ 126 
 
 A Prayer in the Prospect of Deiith . • . . 
 
S CONTENTS, 
 
 PAGH 
 
 A Prayer un-^er the Pressure of Violent Anguish . • . . 5 
 
 A Winter Night 61 
 
 Castle Gordon ....,,... 149 
 
 Death and Dr Hornbook ....... 13 
 
 Delia 104 
 
 Despondency : an Ode . , . • • . - • .97 
 
 Elegy on Captain Matthew Henderson , . , . . 183 
 
 Elegy on Miss Burnet of Monboddo ...... 194 
 
 Elegy on Peg Nicholson ........ 181 
 
 Elegy on the Death of Robert Dundas, Esq., of Arniston . . . lo3 
 Elegy on the Death of Robert Ruisseaux . . . . .12 
 
 Elegy on the Death of Sir James Hunter Blair .... 144 
 
 Elegy on the Year 1788 . . . . . . . .159 
 
 Epistle from Esopus to Maria ....... 206 
 
 Epitaph on Holy Willie ........ 23 
 
 Halloween ......... 25 
 
 Holy WilUe's Prayer 20 
 
 Impromptu on Mrs Riddel's Birthday . ..... 206 
 
 Invitation to a Medical Gentleman to Attend a Masonic Anniversary Meeting 117 
 
 Lament for James, Earl of Glencalrn ...... 196 
 
 Lament occasioned by the Unfortunate Issue of a Friend's Amour . . 94 
 
 Lament of Mary Queen of Scots on the approach of Spring . . . 195 
 
 Liberty : a Fragment ........ 210 
 
 Lines on Fergusson ........ 203 
 
 Lines on Meeting with Lord Daer ...... 132 
 
 Lines sent to Sir John Whitetoord, Bart., of Whitefoord . . . 198 
 
 Lines Written in a Wrapper, enclosing a Letter to Captain Grose . . 173 
 
 Lines Written in Friars' Carse Hermitage, on the Banks of the Nith . 156 
 
 Lines Written in Friars' Carse Hermitage, on Nithside . . . 157 
 
 Lines Written on a Bank-Note ....... 119 
 
 Lines Written to a Gentleman who had Sent him a Newspaper, and offered 
 
 to Continue it free of Expense .... . . 182 
 
 Lines Written with a Pencil over the Chimney-piece in the Pai'lour of the 
 
 Inn at Kenmore, Taymouth ....... 146 
 
 Lines Written with a Pencil, Standing by the Fall of Fyers, near Loch Ness 149 
 
 Man was Made to Mourn 
 
 Mauchline Belles .... 
 
 Monody on a Lady Famed for her Cajirice 
 
 Nature's Law .... 
 
 Ode : Snored to th.c Memory of Mrs Oswald 
 Ode to Ruin .... 
 
 Oh, why the Deuce should I Repine 
 On Scaring some Water-fowl in Loch Turit 
 On Sensibility .... 
 On the Birth of a Posthumous Child . 
 On the Death of a Favourite Child 
 
 Poara on Pastoral Poetry ...,,,. 209 
 
 Poetical Address to Mr William Tytler . . . . .152 
 
 Prologue for Mr Sutherland's Benefit Night, Dumfries . . . 179 
 
 Prologue, Spoken at the Theatre, Dumfries, on New- Year's Day Evening, 1790 176 
 Prologue, Spoken by Mr Woods on his Benefit Night . . .139 
 
 12 
 
 208 
 
 140 
 
 161 
 
 98 
 
 8 
 
 150 
 
 202 
 193 
 
 204 
 
CONTENTS, 
 
 9 
 
 
 PAUB 
 
 Remorse . .....•« 
 
 . 67 
 
 Scotch Drink . . . . . . , 
 
 . 63 
 
 Sketch : Inscribed to the Right Hon. C. J. Eox . . , 
 
 . 163 
 
 Sketch— New- Year's Day, 1790 ...... 
 
 . 174 
 
 Sketch of a Character ...... 
 
 . 143 
 
 Sonnet on Hearing a Thrush Sing in a Morning "Walk 
 
 . 205 
 
 Sonnet on the Death of Robert Riddel, Esc^., of Glenriddel . 
 
 . 210 
 
 Stanzas in the Prospect of Death .... 
 
 . 10 
 
 Stanzas on the Duke of Queensbeny .... 
 
 . 180 
 
 Tarn o' Shanter ........ 
 
 . 186 V 
 
 Tam Samson's Elegy ...... 
 
 . 122 
 
 The Auld Farmer's New- Year Morning Salutation to his Auld Mare Maggie, 
 
 on Griving her the Accustomed Rip of Corn to Hansel in the New Year . 75 
 
 Tne Author's Earnest Cry and Prayer to the Scotch Representatives in the 
 
 House of Commons ...... 
 
 . 69 
 
 The Belles of Mauchline ..... 
 
 9 
 
 The Brigs of A>'r ...... 
 
 . 126 
 
 TheCa^f 
 
 . 120 
 
 The Cotter's Saturday Night ..... 
 
 . 35 ' 
 
 The Death and Dying Words of Poor Maillie 
 
 5 
 
 The Farewell ....... 
 
 . 118 
 
 The First Psalm 
 
 . 10 
 
 The First Six Verses of the Ninetieth Psalm . 
 
 . 11 
 
 The Hermit ..... . . 
 
 . 142 
 
 The Holy Fair ....... 
 
 . 105 
 
 The Humble Petition of Bruar Water to the Noble Duke of Athole 
 
 . 147 
 
 The Inventory ..... ^ . 
 
 . 91 
 
 The Jolly Beggars ...... 
 
 . 43 
 
 The Kirk's Alarm ...... 
 
 . 166 
 
 The Ordination ....... 
 
 . 85 
 
 The Poet's Welcome to his Illegitimate Child . 
 
 . 135 
 
 The Rights of Woman ...... 
 
 . 203 
 
 The Torbolton Lasses ...... 
 
 2 
 
 , The Tree of Liberty ...... 
 
 . 212 
 
 The Twa Dogs ....... 
 
 . 78 V 
 
 The Twa Herds : or, The Holy Tulzie .... 
 
 . 18 
 
 The Vision 
 
 . 64 
 
 The Vowels : a Tale ...... 
 
 . 200 
 
 The Whistle 
 
 . 169 
 
 To a Haggis ....... 
 
 . 138 
 
 To a Kiss ....... 
 
 . 205 
 
 To a Louse, on Seeing one on a Lady's Bonnet at Church . 
 
 . ^ 84x 
 
 To a ^Mountain Daisy ...... 
 
 . 93 
 
 To a Mouse ....... 
 
 . 24 
 
 To Captain Riddel of Glenriddel .... 
 
 . 160 
 
 ToChloris ....... 
 
 . 214 
 
 To Clarinda ....... 
 
 . 154 
 
 To Clarinda ........ 
 
 . 155 
 
 To Clarinda ..... 
 
 . 155 
 
 To Clarinda . . . - . 
 
 . 156 
 
 To Collector Mitchell .... 
 
 . 217 
 
 To Colonel De Peysfcer .... 
 
 . 218 
 
 To John Taylor ....... 
 
 . 162 
 
 To Miss Cruikshank , .... 
 
 . 151 
 
 To Miss Ferrier . . .... 
 
 . 145 
 
 To Miss Jessy Lewars, Dumfries .... 
 
 . 219 
 
 To Miss Logan, with Beattie's Poems as a New- Year's Gift, January 
 
 1,1787 137 
 
 To IMrs C , on Receiving a Work of Hannah More's 
 
 . 136 
 
 To the Owl 
 
 . 177 
 
 Tragic Fragment ....... 
 
 1 
 
lo CONTENTS, 
 
 PAQB 
 
 Verses Intended to be Written Below a Noble Earl's Picture . . 137 
 
 Verses on an Evening View of the Ruins of Lincluden Abbey . . 178 
 
 Verses on a Scotch Bard Gone to the West Indies .... 112 
 
 Verses on Captain Grose's Peregrinations through Scotland Collecting the 
 
 Antiquities of that Kingdom ....... 172 
 
 Verses on Reading in a Newspaper the Death of John M'Leod, Esq. . 143 
 
 Verses on Seeing a Wounded Hare Limp by me which a Pellow had just Shot 164 
 
 Verses on the Destruction of the Woods near Drumlanrig , . . 215 
 
 Verses to an old Sweetheart After her Marriage 
 
 . 119 
 
 Verses to John Maxwell of Ten'aughty, on his Birthday 
 
 . 199 
 
 Verses to John Rankine ..... 
 
 . 202 
 
 Verses to Miss Graham of Fintry, with a Present of Songs 
 
 . 211 
 
 Yerses to my Bed ..... 
 
 . 181 
 
 Verses Written under Violent Grief . 
 
 . 120 
 
 Willie Chalmers ...... 
 
 . 121 
 
 Winter : a Dirge ...... 
 
 4 
 
 EPISTLES. 
 
 Epistle to a Young Friend ....... 250 
 
 Epistle to Davie ...... 
 
 
 
 . 222 
 
 Epistle to Dr Blacklock .... 
 
 
 
 . 264 
 
 Epistle to Gavin Hamilton, Esq. 
 
 
 
 . 248 
 
 Epistle to Hugh Parker .... 
 
 
 
 . 259 
 
 Epistle to James Smith .... 
 
 
 
 . 244 
 
 Epistle to James Tait of Glenconner . 
 
 
 
 . 262 
 
 Epistle to John Goudie, Kilmarnock . 
 
 
 
 . 233 
 
 Epistle to John Lapraik .... 
 
 
 
 . 226 
 
 Epistle to John Rankine 
 
 
 
 . 220 
 
 Epistle to Major Logan .... 
 
 
 
 . 253 
 
 Epistle to Mr M'Adam of Craigengillan 
 
 
 
 252 
 
 Epistle to the Rev. John M'Math 
 
 
 
 . 240 
 
 Epistle to William Creech 
 
 
 
 . 257 
 
 Epistle to William Simpson 
 
 
 
 . 234 
 
 First Epistle to R. Graham, Esq., of Fintry . 
 
 
 
 . 260 
 
 Fourth Epistle to Robert Graham, Esq., of Fintry 
 
 
 
 . 271 
 
 Poetical Invitation to Mr John Kennedy 
 
 
 
 . 249 
 
 Second Epistle to Davie 
 
 
 
 . 242 
 
 Second Epistle to Lapraik 
 
 
 
 . 230 
 
 Second Epistle to Robert Graham, Esq., of Fintry 
 
 
 
 . 266 
 
 Third Epistle to John Lapraik . 
 
 
 
 . 238 
 
 Third Epistle to Robert Graham, Esq., of Fintry 
 
 
 
 . 269 
 
 To the Guidwife of Wauchope House . 
 
 
 
 . 255 
 
 EPIGKAMS, EPITAPHS, &C. 
 
 A Bottle and an Honest Friend ...... 298 
 
 A Farewell ..... 
 
 
 
 
 . 273 
 
 A Grace before Dinner . 
 
 
 
 
 . 295 
 
 A Mother's Address to her Infant 
 
 
 
 
 . 296 
 
 Epigram on Bacon 
 
 
 
 
 . 285 
 
 Epitaph on a Suicide 
 
 
 
 
 . 288 
 
 Epitaph on Robert Aiken, Esq. . 
 
 
 
 
 . 2D1 
 
 Epitaph on Tarn the Chapman . . 
 
 
 
 
 . 292 
 
 Epitaph on the Author's Father 
 
 
 
 
 . 273 
 
 Epitaph on W 
 
 
 
 
 . 279 
 
 Extempore on Two Lawyers . , 
 
 
 
 
 . 275 
 
 Extempore on William Smellie . 
 
 
 
 
 . 276 
 
 Extempore, Pinned to a LadyV Coach . 
 
 
 
 
 . 287 
 
 Extempore to Mr Syme . 
 
 
 
 
 . 289 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 II 
 
 
 PAGR 
 
 Grace after Dinner . . . . . 
 
 . 299 
 
 Grace after Dinner . . . . . 
 
 . 299 
 
 HowletFace ...... 
 
 . 285 
 
 Innocence ...... 
 
 . 279 
 
 Inscription on a Goblet . . . . . 
 
 . 290 
 
 Johnny Peep ...... 
 
 . 294 
 
 Lines on Viewing Stirling Palace 
 
 . 277 
 
 Lines sent to a Gentleman whom he had Offended 
 
 . 282 
 
 Lines Spoken Extempore on being appoin^ted to the 1 
 
 xcise . . .279 
 
 Lines to John Rankin e . . . . . 
 
 . 297 
 
 Lines Written under the Picture of the Celebrated Mi 
 
 ss Burns . . 277 
 
 Lines Written on a Pane of Glass in the Inn at Mofta 
 
 t . . .279 
 
 On a Celebrated Ruling Elder . . . . 
 
 . 292 
 
 On a Country Laird . . . , . 
 
 . 290 
 
 On a Friend ...... 
 
 . 291 
 
 On a Henpecked Country Squire 
 
 . 293 
 
 On a Henpecked Country Squire 
 
 . 293 
 
 On a Henpecked Country Squire 
 
 . 294 
 
 On a Noisy Polemic . . . . . 
 
 . 292 
 
 On a Noted Coxcomb .... 
 
 . 293 
 
 On a Person Nicknamed the Marquis . 
 
 . 279 
 
 On a Schoolmaster . . . . , 
 
 . 278 
 
 On a Sheep's Head . . . . . 
 
 . 283 
 
 On a Wag in Mauchline . . . . . 
 
 . 274 
 
 On Andrew Turner . . . . . 
 
 . 295 
 
 On Burns's Horse being Impounded 
 
 . 281 
 
 On Captain Francis Grose . . . . 
 
 . 280 
 
 On Elphinstone's Translation of Martial's "Epigrams 
 
 " . . . 278 
 
 On Excisemen ..... 
 
 . 287 
 
 On Gabriel Richardson, BrewT, Dumfries 
 
 . 283 
 
 On Gavin Hamilton .... 
 
 . 292 
 
 On Grizzel Grim ..... 
 
 . 281 
 
 On Incivility shown to him at Inverary 
 
 . 277 
 
 On John Bushby ..... 
 
 . 297 
 
 On John Dove, Innkeeper, Mauchline . 
 
 . 272 
 
 On Lord Galloway .... 
 
 . 284 
 
 On Lord Galloway .... 
 
 . 285 
 
 On Miss Jean Scott of Ecclefechau 
 
 . 293 
 
 On Mr Burton ..... 
 
 . 281 
 
 On Mr W. Cruikshank .... 
 
 . 295 
 
 On Mrs Kemble . . - . ^ 
 
 . 286 
 
 On Robert Riddel .... 
 
 . 287 
 
 On Seeing Miss Fontenelle in a favourite Character 
 
 . 283 
 
 On Seeing the beautiful Seat of Lord Galloway 
 
 . 284 
 
 On the Death of a Lap-Dog named Echo 
 
 . 284 
 
 On the Illness of a Favourite Child 
 
 . 275 
 
 1 On the Kirk of Lamington, in Clydesdale 
 
 . 2C8 
 
 I On the Poet's Daughter .... 
 
 . 290 > 
 
 On the Recovery of Jessy Lewars 
 
 . 298 
 
 On the Sickness of Miss Jessy Lewai's . 
 
 . 298 
 
 On Wat ...... 
 
 . 2D5 
 
 On Wee Johnny ..... 
 
 . 293 
 
 Poetical Inscription for an Altar to Independence 
 
 . 289 
 
 Poetical Reply to an Invitation . 
 
 . 274 
 
 Voetical Reply to an Invitation 
 
 . 281 
 
12 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGB 
 
 The Black-headci Eagle 283 
 
 The Book-worms ........ 285 
 
 The Creed of Poverty 286 
 
 The Epitaph 286 
 
 The Henpecked Husband . . . . . . .294 
 
 The Highhmd Welcome ........ 276 
 
 The Parson's Looks ........ 286 
 
 The Parvenu 
 
 The Reproof 
 
 The Selkirk Grace 
 
 The Toast 
 
 The Toast 
 
 The True Loyal Natives . 
 
 Though Fickle Fortune has Deceived Me 
 
 To a Painter 
 
 To a Young Lady in a Church . 
 
 To Dr Maxwell . 
 
 To John M'Murdo, Esq. . 
 
 To John M'Murdo, Esq. . 
 
 To Lord Galloway 
 
 To Miss Jessy Lewars 
 
 To Mr Svme 
 
 To the Editor of the Star 
 
 Verses Addressed to the Landlady of the Inn at Rosslyn 
 Verses to John Rankine .... 
 
 Verses Written on a Pane of Glass, on the Occasion of a National Thanks- 
 giving for a Naval Victory 
 Verses Written on a Window of the Globe Tavern, Dumfries 
 Verses Written on a Window of the Inn at Carron . 
 Verses Written under the Portrait of Eergusson the Poet 
 
 Written in a Lady's Pocket-book . . . 
 
 SONGS. 
 
 Address to the Woodlark 
 
 Adown Winding Nith ... 
 
 Ae Fond Kiss .... 
 
 A Farewell to the Brethren of St James's Lodge, 
 
 A Fragment .... 
 
 *4 Afton Water .... 
 
 Ah, Chloris I . . . . 
 
 Amang the Trees, where Humming Bees 
 
 An Excellent New Song . 
 
 Anna, thy Charms 
 
 A Red, Red Rose 
 
 A Rosebud by my Early Walk . 
 , As I was A-wandering . 
 >^ Auld Lang Syne .... 
 
 Auld Rob Morris .... 
 
 A Vision ..... 
 
 Bannocks o' Barley 
 
 Behold the Hour .... 
 
 Bess and her Spinning- Wheel . 
 
 Beware o' Bonny Ann . . . 
 
 Blithe Hae I Been 
 
 Blithe was She .... 
 
 Blooming Nelly . . , . 
 
 Bonny Dundee . • . • 
 
CONTENTS, 
 
 13 
 
 Bonny Lesley 
 
 Bonny Peg 
 
 Bonny Peg-a-Ramsay 
 
 Bonny Peggy Alison 
 
 Braving Angry Winter's Storms 
 
 Braw Lads of Gala Water 
 
 Brose and Butter . 
 
 Bruce's Address to his Army at Bannockburn 
 
 By Allan Stream I Chanced to Rove 
 
 Caledonia 
 
 Caledonia 
 
 Canst thou Leave me thus, my Katy ? 
 
 Cassillis' Banks . 
 
 Ca' the Ewes 
 
 Ca' the Yowes 
 
 Chloris .... 
 
 Cock up your Beaver 
 1 Come Boat me o'er to Charlie 
 
 Come, let Me Take Thee 
 
 Come Rede Me, Dame . 
 
 Coming through the Braes o' Cupai* 
 , Coming through the Rye 
 
 Contented wi' Little 
 
 Countrie Lassie . 
 
 Craigie-Burn Wood 
 
 Dainty Davie 
 Damon and Sylvia 
 Deluded Swam, the Pleasure 
 Duncan Gray 
 
 Eliza ... V 
 
 Eppie Adair 
 
 Fair Eliza 
 
 Fairest Maid on Devon Banks . 
 
 Fair Jenny 
 
 Fare w eel to a' our Scottish Fame 
 
 Farewell, thou Stream . 
 
 Forlorn, my Love, no Comfort near 
 
 For the Sake of Somebody 
 
 Frae the Friends and Land I Love 
 
 Fragment— Chloris 
 
 Gala Water 
 Gloomy December 
 Green Grow the Rashes, ! 
 Guid E'en to You, Kimmer 
 Guidwife, Count the Lawin 
 
 Had I a Cave . . , 
 
 HadltheWyte . 
 
 Hai)py Friendship . , 
 
 Hee Ba ou I 
 
 Her Daddie Forbad 
 
 Here 's a Health to Them that 's Awa' 
 
 Here's his Health in AVater 
 
 Here 's to thy Health, my Bonny Lass 
 
 Her Flowing Locks 
 
 Hey for a Lass wi' a Tocher 
 
 Hey, the Dusty Miller . 
 
M 
 
 CONTENTS, 
 
 ' 4 Highland Mary . 
 V How Cruel are the Parents I 
 
 How Long and Dreary is the Night I 
 Hunting Song 
 
 I do Confess thou Art sae Fair . 
 
 I Dream'd I Lay where Flowers were Springing 
 
 I hae a "Wife o' my Ain . 
 
 I '11 Aye Ca' in by Yon Town 
 
 I 'm o'er Young to Marry Yet 
 
 Is there, for Honest Poverty 
 
 It is na, Jean, thy Bonny Face 
 
 Jamie, Come Try Me 
 
 Jeanie's Bosom . 
 
 Jenny M'Craw 
 
 Jessy 
 
 Jockey's ta'en the Parting Kiss 
 
 John Anderson, my Jo 
 
 John Barleycorn . 
 
 Katherine Jaffray 
 
 Lady Mary Ann . 
 
 Lady Onlie 
 
 Lament, Written at a Time when the Poet was about 
 
 Landlady, Count the Lawin 
 
 Lassie wi' the Lint- White Locks 
 
 Last May a Braw "Wooer 
 
 Let not Woman e'er Complain . 
 
 Lines on a Merry Ploughman . 
 
 Logan Braes 
 
 Lord Gregory 
 
 Lovely Davies . . 
 
 Lovely Polly Stewart 
 
 Luckless Fortune 
 
 Macpherson's Farewell . 
 Mark Yonder Pomp 
 - Mary ! . . ^ . 
 
 Mary Morison 
 Meg o' the Mill , 
 Meg o' the Mill . 
 Menie . . . , . 
 
 Montgomery's Peggy 
 Musing on the Roaring Ocean . 
 My Ain Kind Dearie, . 
 My Bonny Mary . 
 My Collier Laddie 
 My Father was a Farmer 
 My Handsome Nell 
 My Harry was a Gallant Gay . 
 My Heart's in the Highlands . 
 My Heart was ance as Blithe and Free 
 My Hoggie 
 My Jean ! . 
 
 My Lady's Gown, there's Gairs upon't 
 My Lovely Nancy 
 My Love she 's but a Lassie yet 
 My Nannie, O , , • 
 
 My Nannie's Awa' 
 My Peggy's Face . . 
 
 to leave S 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 IS 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 My Spouse, Nancy ...... i 
 
 . 439 
 
 My Tocher's the Jewel ....... 
 
 . 395 
 
 My Wife's a Winsome Wee Thing 
 
 . 407 
 
 Nithsdale's Welcome Harne . . . . • 
 
 . 400 
 
 Now Spring has Clad the G-rove in G-reen 
 
 . 498 
 
 Of a' the Airts the Wind can B!aw .... 
 
 . 344 
 
 Oh, Aye my Wife she Dang Me . . • • 
 
 . 508 
 
 Oh, Bonny was Yon Rosy Brier .... 
 
 . 494 
 
 Oh, can ye Labour Lea ...... 
 
 . 381 
 
 Ohfor Ane-and-Twenty, Taml ..... 
 
 . 399 ^ 
 
 Oh, Gruid Ale Comes ....%. 
 
 . 478 
 
 Oh, how can I be BUthe and Glad ? . . . . 
 
 . 396 
 
 Oh, Kenmure 's on and Awa* ..... 
 
 . 419 
 
 Oh, Lay thy Loof in Mine, Lass .... 
 
 . 448 
 
 Oh, Luve will Venture in .... . 
 
 . 402 
 
 Oh, Mally's Meek, Mally's Sweet .... 
 
 . 448 
 
 Oh, Merry hae I been Teethin' a Heckle 
 
 . 377 
 
 Oh, Saw ye my Dearie ...... 
 
 . 414 
 
 Oh, Steer Her Up 
 
 . 469 
 
 Oh, that I had Ne'er been Married .... 
 
 . 505 
 
 Oh, Wat ye Wha's in Yon Town? .... 
 
 . 490 
 
 Oh, wat ye what My Minnie did? . 
 
 . 478 
 
 Oh, were I on Parnassus' Hill ..... 
 
 . 345 
 
 Oh, were my Love Yon Lilac fair . . . . < 
 
 . 440 
 
 Oh, Wert Thou in the Cauld Blast .... 
 
 . 501 
 
 Oh, Wha is She that Lo'es Me ? 
 
 . 609 
 
 • Oh, Whistle, and I '11 Come to You, my Lad . 
 
 . 434^ 
 
 Oh, Willie Brew'd a Peck o' Maut .... 
 
 . 360 
 
 Lassie, art thou Sleeping yet ? 
 
 . 483 
 
 On Cessnock Banks ...... 
 
 , 303 
 
 On Chloris being III ..... • 
 
 . 492 
 
 On the Seas and Far Away ..... 
 
 . 449 
 
 Open the Door to Me, oh I . . , « • 
 
 . 425 
 
 Philly, Happy be that Day ...... 
 
 . 459 
 
 Tibbie, I hae seen the Day ..... 
 
 . 302 
 
 Our Thrissles flourished Fresh and Fair 
 
 . 376 
 
 Out Over the Forth ...... 
 
 . 442 
 
 Peggy 
 
 . 311 
 
 Phillis the Fair 
 
 . 432 
 
 Rattlin', Roarin' Willie . . . , . . ' . 
 
 . 357 
 
 Raving Winds around her Blowing .... 
 
 . 342 
 
 Robin ........ 
 
 . 315 
 
 Robin Shure in Hairst ...... 
 
 . 506 
 
 Sae Far Awa' ....... 
 
 . 473 
 
 Saw ye my Phely? ...... 
 
 . 455 
 
 Sic a Wife as Willie had ...... 
 
 . 404 
 
 Simmer 's a Pleasant Time . . • . • 
 
 . 384 
 
 ShelahO'Neil . ' 
 
 . 510 
 
 c She says she Lo'es Me best of a' . . . • 
 
 . 451 , 
 
 She's Fair and Pause ...... 
 
 . 4(i6 
 
 Smiling Spring Comes in Rejoicing ... . . 
 
 . 405 
 
 Song ........ 
 
 . 422 
 
 Song, in the Character of a Ruined Farmer . 
 
 . 326 
 
 Stay, my Charmer ...••. 
 
 . 340 
 
 Strathallan's Lament ,,.... 
 
 . 341 
 
 Sveetest May ....... 
 
 . 507 
 
i6 
 
 CONTENTS, 
 
 Tam G^Ien . • . 
 
 The American War , 
 
 The Banks of Cree 
 
 Tne Banks o' Doon 
 
 The Banks of Doon 
 
 The Banks of the Devon 
 
 The Banks of Nith 
 
 The Battle of Killiecrankie 
 
 The Battle of Sheriff-Muii* 
 
 The Birks of Aberfeldy . 
 
 The Blue-Eyed Lassie 
 
 The Bonny Banks of Ayr 
 
 The Bonny Lass of Albany 
 
 The Bonny Wee Thing . 
 
 The Braes o' Ballochmyle 
 
 The Captain's Lady 
 
 The Cardin' o't . 
 
 The Carle of Kellyburn Braes . 
 
 The Carles of Dysart 
 
 The Charming Month of May . 
 
 The Chevalier's Lament 
 
 The Cooper o' Cuddie 
 
 The Cure for all Care 
 
 The Day Returns 
 
 The Dean of Faculty 
 
 The Deil's awa' wi' the Exciseman 
 
 The Deuk's Dang o'er my Daddie, 
 
 The Discreet Hint 
 
 The Dumfries Volunteers 
 
 The Farewell . . , 
 
 The Fete Cnampetre 
 
 The Five Carlines 
 
 ?he Gallant Weaver 
 
 The Gowden Locks of Anna 
 
 The Heron Election Ballads — 
 
 Ballad L 
 
 Ballad II. . . . 
 
 Ballad III.— John Bushbv's Lamentation 
 The Highland Laddie . 
 The Highland Lassie 
 The Highland Widow's Lament 
 The Joyful Widower 
 The Laddies by the Banks o' Nith 
 The Lass of Ballochmyle 
 The Lass of Ecclefechan 
 The Lass that Made the Bed to Me 
 The Last Braw Bridal . 
 The Last Time I Came o'er the Moor 
 The Lazy Mist 
 
 The Lovely Lass of Inverness . 
 The Lover's Morning Salute to his Mistre 
 The Maucbline Lady 
 The Mirk Night o' December , 
 Theniel Menzie's Bonny Mary . 
 The Piper , 
 
 Tiie Ploughman . 
 -p Tlie Poor and Honest Sodger . 
 The Raiitin' Dog the Daddie o't 
 There'll never be Peace till Jamie Comes Hame 
 There's a Youth in this City 
 There 's News, Lasses, News 
 There was a Bonny Lass 
 
CONTENTS. 17^ 
 
 FAGB 
 
 There was a Lass ........ 320 
 
 There was a Lass, and She was Fair 
 
 
 
 
 . 431 
 
 There was a Wife 
 
 
 
 
 . 511 
 
 The Rigs 0' Barley 
 
 
 
 
 . 310 
 
 The Ruined Maid's Lament 
 
 
 
 
 . 505 
 
 The Slave's Lament .... 
 
 
 
 
 . 417 
 
 The Sons of Old Killie . 
 
 
 
 
 . 325 
 
 The Tailor .... 
 
 
 
 
 . 574 
 
 The Tither Morn 
 
 
 
 
 . 411 
 
 The Weary Pund 0' Tow . • 
 
 
 
 
 . 417 
 
 The Winter is Past 
 
 
 
 
 . 359 
 
 The Winter of Life 
 
 
 
 
 . 465 
 
 The Young Highland Rover 
 
 
 
 
 . 341 
 
 This is no my Ain Lassie 
 
 
 
 
 . 497 
 
 Thou hast Left Me Ever 
 
 
 
 
 . 438 
 
 Tibbie Dunbar .... 
 
 
 
 
 . 367 
 
 To Chloris .... 
 
 
 
 
 . 454 
 
 To Daunton Me . 
 
 
 
 
 . 356 
 
 To Mary ..... 
 
 
 
 
 . 445 
 
 To Mary in Heaven 
 
 
 
 
 . 361 
 
 'Twas na her Bonny Blue Ee 
 
 
 
 
 . 495 
 
 Up in the Morning Early 
 
 
 
 
 . 358 
 
 Wae is my Heart .... 
 
 
 
 
 . 445 
 
 Wandering Willie 
 
 
 
 
 . 390 
 
 War Song .... 
 
 
 
 
 . 386 
 
 Weary Fa' You, Duncan Gray . 
 
 
 
 
 . 354 
 
 Wee Willie Gray 
 
 
 
 
 . 379 
 
 Welcome to General Dumourier 
 
 
 
 
 . 428 
 
 Wha is that at My Bower-Door? 
 
 
 
 
 463 
 
 What Can a Young Lassie Do ? . 
 
 
 
 
 . 395 
 
 When Clouds in Skies do Come together 
 
 
 
 
 . 314 
 
 When First I Saw Fair Jeanie's Face . 
 
 
 
 
 . 366 
 
 When I Think on the Happy Days 
 
 
 
 
 . 507 
 
 When Rosy May Comes in wi' Flowers 
 
 
 
 
 . 368 
 
 Whistle, and I'll Come to You, my Lad 
 
 
 
 
 . 340 
 
 Whistle o'er the Lave o't 
 
 
 
 
 . 381 
 
 Will ye Go to the Indies, my Mary? 
 
 
 
 
 . 323 
 
 Wilt Thou be My Dearie ? 
 
 
 
 
 . 444 
 
 Women's Minds .... 
 
 
 
 
 . 381 
 
 Ye hae Lien Wrang, Lassie 
 
 
 
 
 . 375 
 
 Ye Jacobites by Name . 
 
 
 
 
 . 416 
 
 Yon W^ild Mossy Mountains 
 
 
 
 
 . 398 
 
 Young Jamie, Pride of a' the Plais 
 
 
 
 
 . 481 
 
 Young Jessie .... 
 
 
 
 
 . 425 
 
 Young Jockey .... 
 
 
 
 
 ► . 378 
 
 Ycung Peggy . . • • r 
 
 \ . . . S17 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL' SKETCK.* 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM GUNNYON, 
 
 Egbert Burns, the Ayrshire bard, so lauded and lionised for 
 a short period of his stormy and chequered career, and com- 
 paratively so neglected during his few later years, has at 
 length risen to an elevation in the affections of his country- 
 men, and of the lovers of song in general, which has no par- 
 allel in the annals of literature. Peer and peasant alike, the 
 man of the highest culture and the humblest mechanic and 
 tiller of the soil, have enshrined him in their heart of hearts. 
 The shepherd on Australian and New Zealand plains — the 
 digger in Calif ornian and Columbian mines — the sailor on the 
 deck, and the soldier in his barrack — the colonist on the banks 
 of the St Lawrence, and by the shores of the great American 
 lakes — in short, wherever men of British birth or descent are 
 found, there are the admirers of the Scottish poet, animated 
 by a warmth of admiration which is entirely exceptional ; all 
 the warmer, doubtless, because of his marred and imperfect 
 life, and because he who has been the channel of imparting so 
 much happiness to the world was himself, on the whole, so 
 unhappy. Homer, Virgil, Dante, and Shakespeare have, per- 
 haps, more than other poets, left the impress of their mind 
 on their compatriots, but none of them has leavened the 
 ,thought and speech of the great mass of his countrymen so 
 thoroughly as Burns, for he was essentially " one of the people" 
 in birth, breeding, and instincts ; and, though it is not in- 
 tended to assert that he equals these intellectual giants in 
 perfect development and poetical results, he has been taken 
 
 * For various important testimonies explanatory and illustrative of the poet's 
 life, the reader is referred to the Appendix at the end of this Slcetch. 
 
:<x; \/ } \j^/'^(^j^AFniCAL sketch. 
 • •* •• ••'•••» 
 
 .moi;© •cIqjs^I^^ to merw's bojsoms than any of them, if A-e except, 
 tpdi'Sa^V '^liS ^^yA J^',Ayon, whose admirers belong more ex- 
 clusively to the educated classes and to habitual play-goers. 
 The poor man whom Burns's vigorous assertion of the native 
 nobility of manhood has enabled to bear up more courage- 
 ously under the proud man's contumely and the insolence of 
 office ; the patriot, of every social rank, whose sentiments he 
 has clothed in the noblest language ; the youthful lover fo) 
 whom he has uttered, more exquisitely than himself was abie^ 
 the sweetest and tenderest accents of passion ; the man whose 
 heart glows with sympathy for every liviaig thing, and who 
 sees not even the mouse, " wee sleekit, cow'iin', tim'rous 
 beastie," turned up in her nest, nor the *' mountain daisy'* 
 crushed with the tearing ploughshare, without a pang and an 
 outburst of human feeling, recognise in Burns a munificent 
 benefactor. 
 
 Robert Burns was born on the 25th of January 1759, in a 
 humble cottage about two miles south of Ayr, not far from 
 Alloway Kirk and the banks of the Doon, now rendered im- 
 mortal by his verse. The date of his birth he has quaintly 
 recorded thus : — 
 
 *' Our monarch's hindmost year but ane 
 Was five-and-twenty days begun, 
 *Twas then a blast o' Janwar' win' 
 Blew hansel in on Robin." 
 
 The " Janwar' win' " never ceased long at a time to blow ou 
 him ; and though he manfully tried to 
 
 *' Snap his fingers puir and hearty 
 Before its face," 
 
 it was in the long run too chill for him, and he succumbed 
 under it on the 21st of July 1796, in the thirty-eighth year 
 of his age. His early, and in some respects tragical, death 
 evoked a good deal of sympathy which might have been better 
 displayed during his life — though this is a sore point with his 
 countrymen, and has given rise to animated discussions in 
 which a good deal has been well said on both sides of the 
 
BIOGRAFHICAL SKETCH. xxi 
 
 question, and to which we shall have occasion to refer more 
 fully in the sequel of this biography. His father, William 
 Burness, was a native of ^g^incardineshire, having been born 
 on the estate of the Earls Marischal, forfeited for their share 
 in the rebellion of 1715. Burns delighted, with all the warmth 
 of a Jacobite minstrel, to imagine his humble " forbears " as 
 having shared in the dangers and sacrifices of the high-born 
 Keiths, though it seems there is no solid foundation for such 
 a supposition. At least, the poet's father took measures to 
 give Jacobite leanings, so far as he was concerned, the most 
 authoritative denial possible among the peasantry of Scotland 
 — a certificate, namely, under the hand of the minister of his 
 native parish, that he had had " no hand in the late wicked 
 rebellion," (1745.) He shaped his course for Edinburgh, where 
 he worked hard as a gardener, and sufiered many privations 
 He afterwards migrated to Ayrshire, serving first one gentl-e- 
 man and then another in the capacity of gardener ; and, in- 
 tending to follow out the profession of a market-gardener, he 
 leased seven acres of land near the bridge of Doon, and built 
 on it a small clay cottage, to which he brought, in December 
 1757, a young wife, Agnes Brown, the daughter of a Carrick 
 farmer; and Kobert Burns, their eldest-born, first saw the 
 light in this " clay bigging," when the " blast o' Jan war' win' " 
 aforesaid blew hansel in on him. 
 
 The poet's father was a most remarkable man, His illus- 
 trious son said of him : — " He was thrown by early misfor- 
 tunes on the world at large, where, after many years' wander- 
 ings and sojournings, he picked up a pretty large quantity of 
 observation and experience, for which I am indebted for most 
 of my little pretensions to wisdom. I have met with few who 
 have understood men, their manners, and their ways, equal 
 to him ; but stubborn, ungainly integrity, and headlong un- 
 governable irascibility, are disqualifying circumstances ; con- 
 sequently, I was born a very poor man's son." Mr Murdoch, 
 the early and almost only teacher of Burns, speaks at greater 
 length of the character of William Burness : — " I myself have 
 always considered William Burness as by far the best of the 
 human race that ever I had the pleasure of being acquainted 
 
xxii BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 with, anc^ many a worthy character I have known. I can 
 cheerfully join with Robert in the last line of his epitaph 
 (borrowed from Goldsmith) — 
 
 " Aud even his failings leaned to virtue's side." 
 
 After characterising him as a husband, father, and master, 
 and as to his deportment towards inferiors and superiors, Mr 
 Murdoch proceeds : " But I must not pretend. to give you a 
 description of all the manly qualities, the rational and Chris- 
 tian virtues, of the venerable William Burness. 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, therein did he exercise himself^ in living 
 a life void of offence towards God and towards men. Oh for 
 a world of men of such dispositions ! You will perceive from 
 these few particulars what kind of person had the principal 
 hand in the education of our poet. He spoke the English 
 language with more propriety (both with resj^ect to diction 
 and pronunciation) than any man I ever knew with no greater 
 advantages. This had a very good effect on the boys, (Robert 
 and Gilbert,) who began to talk and reason like men much 
 sooner than their neighbours." 
 
 The Burness family produced also a very respectable and 
 superior man in William's elder brother, who, settling in 
 Montrose, became one of its worthiest and most influential 
 citizens. His son, the poet's cousin, a legal practitioner in that 
 town, who acted so kindly to the poet in his last illness, and 
 to his widow afterwards, was the father of the distinguished 
 Sir Alexander Burnes, whose melancholy fate at Cabul in 1842 
 excited so much commiseration. It remains to notice the 
 poet's mother, Agnes Brown, who is described as "a very 
 sagacious woman, without any appearance of forwardness or 
 awkwardness of manner," and whom the poet resembled in 
 appearance and in address more than he did his father, though 
 inheriting from the latter an irritable and melancholy tem- 
 perament which frequently brought him to the verge of in- 
 sanity, and forms after all the best and most honest excuse 
 for those occasional excesses that marked his earlier life, and 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, xxiu 
 
 recurred in his later years with a frequency that rendered his 
 own life miserable, producing the most serious blot his tra- 
 ducers — for he has still traducers — strive to affix to his fame, 
 and which his admirers are concerned not to justify, but to 
 admit in candour and in sorrow of heart, and attempt to refer 
 to constitutional rather than to moral causes. They pro- 
 duced a flaw in a rare jewel which half destroyed its value, 
 and fixed a dark spot on a constellation which would other- 
 wise have been more of "a bright particular star" than it un- 
 fortunately is. 
 
 In August 1787, when in his twenty-ninth year. Burns ad- 
 dressed an autobiographical letter of great value to Dr Moore, 
 who, as a literary Scotchmau, could not but be much inter- 
 ested in such a prodigy as the Ayrshire bard. We will abridge 
 from this what information seems necessary for the joortion 
 of his life to which it refers, supplementing it from otbei 
 sources where it is defective. 
 
 For the first six or seven years of his life Burns's father oc- 
 cupied the small cottage in which the poet was born, acting 
 as gardener to a gentleman of no great estate in the neigh- 
 bourhood, while the mother managed a small dairy. Wishing 
 to prevent his family from being dispersed as soon as they 
 were able to do farm work of the humblest kind, William 
 Burness, with the assistance of his master, entered, at Whit- 
 suntide 1766, on a lease of the small farm of Mount Oliphant. 
 But the poverty of the soil, and the want of capital, rendered 
 it a ruinous affair ; and the " laird '^ meanwhile having died, 
 and the management of his affairs having fallen into the hands 
 of a merciless " factor" — a sort of being detested by humble 
 Scotchmen — the lease was broken after about twelve years of 
 it had run. The family then removed to Lochlea, in the 
 parish of Torbolton— (Mount Oliphant is in Ayr parish)— a 
 farm larger and better, and for four years fortune seemed to 
 smile on them ; but a misunderstanding having arisen as to 
 the conditions of the lease, and the matter having been sub- 
 mitted to the proper legal tribunals, and decided against Wil- 
 liam Barness, that worthy man — his substance swallowed up 
 in the vortex of litigation, and his family brought to the brir-k 
 
XXIV BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 of ruin — was ^ kindly released, on the 13th of February 1784 
 from further contention with adverse circumstances, harsh 
 factors, and litigious landlords, by 
 
 " Death, the poor man's dearest friend, 
 The kindest and the best." 
 
 That in this man lay imbedded not only the elements, but 
 existed in full development all the ingredients of what makes 
 a hero — above all, " the stalk of carl-hemp in man," the firm 
 resolve and spirit of independence, so much talked about — 
 so much longed for, but never possessed in any really useful 
 or practical degree by the poet, is jDatent to all who have 
 studied his history. In fact, he possessed them so fully, that, 
 coupled with his native irascibility, it is not to be wondered 
 at if he insisted on his rights, or his supposed rights, with a 
 rigour and tenacity that may partly explain the troubles of 
 his life. But his true manhood, heroism, and sterling worth 
 can never be so well appreciated or estimated as in connexion 
 with his exertions and sacrifices for the education of his 
 family — a consideration usually so dear to the Scottish peasant 
 •—which we will now briefly record. 
 
 When he was six years of age the j^oet was sent to a school 
 at Alloway Mill, taught by a person who soon after received 
 a more valuable appointment. William Burness, in conjunc- 
 tion with several neighbours, then engaged a young man, Mr 
 John Murdoch, already referred to, agreeing to pay him a 
 small quarterly salary, and to lodge him alternately in their 
 houses. This mode of securing the services of a teacher in 
 the more thinly-inhabited districts of Scotland is not yet ob- 
 solete ; and we have known young men, who have been thus 
 humbly employed, and apparently in a position less comfort- 
 able and independent than that of an ordinary hind, ulti- 
 mately rise to eminence, and what in Scotland may be termed 
 high social rank, as ministers of the word, intermarrying with 
 the " landed gentry," and sitting honoured guests at the tables 
 of noblemen. Murdoch became greatly attached to Eobert 
 Burns and his younger brother Gilbert, but above all to their 
 father, whom we have already seen him describe as a mode] 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. xxv 
 
 of every Christian virtue. The boys were taught by him 
 reading, writing, arithmetic, and grammar, in all of which, 
 thanks to Murdoch's enthusiasm, and to the father's rational 
 system of conversing with the boys on the subjects of their 
 education, and fully explaining every difficulty as it arose in 
 the course of their studies, they made extraordinary profici- 
 sncy. That household must have been a singularly inter- 
 esting one after the hours of labour were over ; — the young 
 ardent teacher, the upright, faithful, kindly-severe father, tho 
 mother looking in that father's face, and listening to his dis 
 course as if he were of men the chief, the two brothers, both 
 so superior to what is found at their age, all intent on the 
 work of education proceeding in a style and spirit so strangely 
 at variance with its humble environments. Gilbert, and not 
 Robert, would have been fixed upon by him as the likely 
 poet, he being of a " merry," while Eobert was of a " sad," 
 countenance ; but the poetic temperament is often a melarn 
 ?holy one, deep flashes of merriment streaking fitfully the 
 prevailing gloom. And strange, that poet who more than 
 any other has not merely married immortal verse to music, 
 but has produced so prodigally verse that is itself the most 
 exquisite music, had "an ear remarkably dull, and a voice 
 untunable.*' As a not unnatural concomitant of his melan- 
 choly face was what he himself calls an enthusiastic idiot 
 piety, and a boundless, though fearful, delight in all tales of 
 superstition and diablerie. " In my infant and boyish days, 
 I owed much to an old woman who resided in the family, 
 remarkable 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, dead-lights, 
 wraiths, apparitions, cantraips, giants, enchanted towers, 
 dragons, and other trumpery. This cultivated the latent 
 seeds of poetry, but had so strong an efiect on my imagina- 
 tion, that to tliis hour, in my nocturnal rambles, I some- 
 times keep a sharp look-out in suspicious places ; and though 
 nobody can be more sceptical than I am in such matters, yet 
 It often takes an effort of philosophy to shake off these idle 
 
xxvi BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 terrors." This enumeration of supernatural subjects is ex- 
 haustive ; and all, and more than all, are repeated in "Tam 
 o' Shanter/' <^ Halloween," and the "Address to the Deil." 
 
 What further teaching, in the common acceptation of the 
 term, was got by our poet may be very shortly stated. After 
 Mr Murdoch left for another situation, which was about two 
 years after the family had settled in Mount Oliphant, the 
 father undertook to teach his sons arithmetic by candle-light 
 in the winter evenings, the labour of the boys being required 
 on the farm. He was at this time almost their sole companion, 
 and to his enlightened, manly, and Christian conversation — 
 for he treated them as men — most salutary influences were 
 brought to bear on their moral and intellectual natures. To 
 improve their penmanship, they were sent week about, during 
 a summer quarter, to the parish school of Dairy mple. This 
 happened when Burns was thirteen or fourteen years old. 
 " The good man," says Mr Lockhart, " could not pay two 
 fees, or his two boys could not be spared at the same time 
 from the labour of the farm." The circumstances of the 
 family were at this time most unpropitious. The threaten- 
 ing letters of the factor, which used to set them all in tears, 
 the unproductive farm, the necessity of doing all the work on 
 it among themselves, and of opposing to these wretched con- 
 ditions the most stubborn resolution and rigid economy, 
 brought it about that the future poet, toiling beyond his 
 strength, and without a sufficiency of nutritious food, never 
 overcame in his appearance and constitution the exertions and 
 privations of that trying and depressing period. But the 
 family clung all the more fondly to each other, and acquired 
 a distant and reserved air, the result of honest pride strug- 
 gling under disastrous fortunes, which their neighbours attri- 
 buted to unworthy motives. Next year, Mr Murdoch having 
 received an appointment in Ayr, Burns went one week before 
 harvest, and two after it, to brush up his learning under his 
 old master, sharing with him the same room and bed. The 
 first w^eek was devoted to English grammar, and the other two 
 to a flirtation — a warm if a short one — with French, a lan- 
 guage in which Murdoch became extraordinarily proficient. 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH XXVii 
 
 Burns laboured at this new study with such eagerness and 
 success that he could, according to his brother, translate any 
 ordinary prose author ; and we know that to the last he loved 
 to interlard his correspondence with phrases from that lan- 
 guage. And when he bethought himself of attemj)tiDg, in 
 later life, a dramatic composition, among the books he ordered 
 from Edinburgh was a copy of Moliere. 
 
 The amount and value of his education, however, is not to 
 be judged from these fragmentary school-attendances. He 
 had emphatically "the open eye" which enables its possessor 
 to unlock mysteries never known to many after educational 
 resources have been exhausted, and which gives really a royal 
 road to knowledge. Besides, he had read and digested at an 
 early age many valuable and some ponderous books. His 
 father had borrowed for his reading in addition to his own 
 scanty stock ; and wealthy families in Ayr, as well as humble 
 families nearer home, gave him free access to what books of 
 theirs he wished to read. And the manner in which he had 
 been initiated into the proper method of getting at the mean- 
 ing of an author, coupled with his own clear insight, made his 
 reading greatly different in its effect from the slipshod skim- 
 ming of frivolous books which is too commonly dignified with 
 that name at the present day. He read the usual school 
 books, especially the Bible and " Mason's Collection." Then 
 " The Life of Hannibal/' which awoke within him the mar- 
 tial spirit, and " The Life of Wallace," which, he says, " poured 
 a Scottish prejudice into my veins which will boil along 
 there till the floodgates of life shut in eternal rest." In ad- 
 dition to these, let us note as differing widely from each other 
 in subject-matter and spirit, and evincing great intellectual 
 appetite and catholicity in their student, " Salmon's Geogra- 
 phical Grammar," " Derham's Physico-Theology," " Ray's Wis- 
 dom of God in the Works of Creation," " The Spectator," 
 "Pope's Homer," "Pope's Works," two volumes of "Ferdi- 
 nand Count Fathom," and two of " Peregrine Pickle," " Stack- 
 house's History of the Bible," " Taylor on Original Sin," 
 " Hervey's Meditations," works on gardening and agriculture, 
 "Locke's Essay on the Human Understanding," "Works of 
 
xxviii BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, 
 
 Allan Eamsay," several plays of Shakespeare, a collection of 
 letters, and a select collection of English songs. These last 
 two were great favourites of his. A relative having asked 
 in a book-shop in Ayr for a letter-writer, one of those things 
 in which apprentices and cook-maids find models for their 
 tender correspondence, was furnished instead with a collec- 
 tion of letters by distinguished writers, prefaced with a few 
 simple directions to acquire an easy epistolary style. This 
 Burns studied carefully, and even in early life was very am- 
 bitious in his letters to his young friends ; and, comparing 
 theirs in reply with his own, of which he retained copies, 
 was sufficiently self-conscious to note and be pleased with 
 his own superiority. To the last his letters betray a laboured- 
 ness resulting in a want of ease, except those to a few very 
 intimate friends, to whom he poured out the spontaneous feel- 
 ings of his heart, in chaste, nervous diction. The " Collection 
 of Songs" was his vade mecum; he carried it constantly with 
 him ; separated what was the genuine in sentiment and ex- 
 pression from what was fustian and rant; and ascribes to 
 those criticisms by hedgerow and along the highway much of 
 that knowledge of his art to which he ultimately attained. 
 
 Daily converse with a man like his father, high-spirited, 
 grave, possessed of knowledge and eager for more, full of 
 Christian feeling, versed in speculative theology, and prac- 
 tised in theological dispute, was in itself no mean educational 
 item. Combine with these the man's life-long and scarcely 
 effectual efi"orts to keep the wolf from the door, and the self- 
 denial necessary to effect it, demanded from and cheerfully 
 given by himself and his family, and the high style of his 
 thought and character affecting the household to quite a 
 noticeable and noted extent, together with the patriarchal 
 priestly functions performed by him in no formal perfunc- 
 tory spirit, but in one of godly smcerity, and we have before 
 us a school in which much is to be learned never dreamt of 
 in the highest seminaries — a school eminently qualified to 
 repress conceit, the bane of mere book-taught men — a school 
 in which charity and sympathy with human suffering, and, 
 perhaps, a tear for human frailty, may be found : where a de- 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, xxix 
 
 sire for all useful knowledge, but, above all, for the know- 
 ledge which is not of this world, is most aptly engendered. 
 In th« " Cotter's Saturday Night," which has thrown a halo 
 of poetry around the life of the Scottish peasant that could 
 never have been dreamt of as possible by many even in our 
 own land, and is never almost associated with the idea of 
 peasant life elsewhere, we have a noble picture of him drawn 
 by a son whose faihngs never completely quenched the holy 
 fire from that household altar which had been lighted up in 
 his heart' — the altar of the humble hallowed cottage of Wil- 
 liam Burness. 
 
 The fire of love was now stirred within him, and simul- 
 taneously the desire to rhyme. The passion for the sex was 
 the strongest in his nature, and for six or seven years he was, 
 without the least tinge of impropriety, under the influence 
 of "dear, deluding woman, the joy of joys," and his life, de- 
 spite the hardships of his lot, one delicious dream. Hitherto 
 he had been an awkward, shy, retiring boy ; but now his 
 partner in the harveot-rig, a honnie, sweet, sonsie lassie^ 
 " unwittingly to herself," he says, " initiated me in that 
 delicious passion which, in spite of acid disappointment? 
 gin-horse prudence, and book-worm philosophy, I hold to be 
 the first of human joys, our dearest blessing here below ! " 
 She sang sweetly, and it was to her favourite reel that he 
 composed his first song, "Handsome Nell," of which he 
 says : — " It was done at an early period of my life, when my 
 heart glowed with honest, warm simplicity, — unacquainted 
 and uncorrupted with the ways of a wicked world. It has 
 many faults ; but I remember I composed it in a wdld en- 
 thusiasm of passion ; and to this hour I never recollect 
 it but my heart melts, my blood sallies, at the remem- 
 brance." 
 
 He appears to have been less devoted to literature and the 
 Muse for some time after settling at Lochlea than his previous 
 enthusiasm and progress might have led us to expect. But, 
 though love was always his main inspiration, he was now bo 
 absorbed in his rustic amours, — which were matters possess- 
 ing all the fascination of novelty for him, and which, proso- 
 
XXX BIOGRAFHICAL SKETCH, 
 
 cuted in conformity with the usages of the district, not yet 
 obselete, might keep him abroad half the night, and involve 
 the travelHng of many miles, going and coming — that for some 
 time he gave little vent to his feelings in song. His labours 
 on the farm were also of the most arduous kind, and for a 
 short time he attended a dancing-school, (he ever after excelled 
 in dancing, and was fond of it ;) so that, between the tumult 
 of his youthful feelings, the demand on his energies of his 
 daily toil, the dancing-school, and the di2:)lomacy necessary 
 for success in his own love affairs, and to secure that of his 
 fellow-rustics with their simple maidens — for he was the con- 
 fidant of half the lovers in the parish — his time was tolerably 
 well occupied. A piece, however, written at this j)eriod, be- 
 ginning 
 
 " I dreamed I lay where flowers were springing," 
 
 shows that his powers were maturing, though it lacks the 
 originality of his later efforts, being evidently suggested by? 
 and moulded on, Mrs Cockburn's " Flowers of the Forest." 
 
 In his nineteenth summer he w^as sent to Kirkoswald Parish 
 School to learn mensuration, surveying, dialling, &c. ; and in 
 these he made good progress. The teacher had great local 
 fame as a mathematician, and Burns's maternal uncle, who 
 resided in the neighbourhood, welcomed his nephew to bed 
 and board. Thus he could prosecute his studies at no great 
 expense — a very material consideration. This episode in his 
 life coloured its whole future texture ; for the acquaintance 
 with practical mathematics he acquired here suggested and 
 quahfied him for the Excise as a means of living ; and, Kirk- 
 oswald parish having a coast line of six miles, the farmers 
 were all more or less engaged in smuggling, and led a rough, 
 roaring, hearty life ; and here Burns first learned to mingle 
 in a drunken squabble, and was introduced to a freedom of 
 life and conversation unknown to his earlier years. Super- 
 stition flourished here in unabated strength ; and in Douglas 
 Graham and his wife Helen M'Taggart, notorious for her 
 superstitious beliefs and fears, he became acquainted with 
 Tarn o' Shanter and his " ain wife Kate/' of whom he made 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. xxxi 
 
 such excellent use afterwards. Despite occasional dissipation, 
 however, " I went on," he says, " with a high hand with my 
 geometry, till the sun entered Virgo — a month which is always 
 a carnival in my bosom, when a charming fillette, who lived 
 next door to the school, overset my trigonometry, and set me 
 off at a tangent from the sphere of my studies. I, however, 
 struggled on with my sines and co-sines a few days more ; but^ 
 stepping into the garden 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 stayed I did nothing but craze the facul- 
 ties 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." His sojourn at Kirkoswald had much 
 improved him. He had considerably extended his reading; 
 he had, in common with a schoolfellow, exercised himself in 
 debate, and laid a firm foundation for fluent and correct 
 utterance on any subject presented for his consideration. He 
 had seen life under a new phase, and had become acquainted 
 with some originals whom, as already mentioned, he after- 
 wards worked up as the materials of poetry. 
 
 For three or four years after this, his life at Lochlea was 
 one of arduous rural labour. He still extended his reading, 
 and indulged occasionally in verse-making. He fell seriously 
 in love with the daughter of a small farmer at service in his 
 neighbourhood, and several of his letters to her are in exist- 
 ence. They are conceived and expressed with so much purity 
 as well of thought as of diction, (there is an elevation about 
 them, somewhat stilted, it must be confessed,) which, written 
 as they were by a peasant with an income of seven pounds a 
 year, to a girl hired to do the drudgery about a humble farm, 
 renders them almost unique as literary curiosities. He meant 
 to marry this rustic beauty; and, long after he had seen 
 the most celebrated women of the day in Edinburgh and else- 
 
Kxxu BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 where, he owned that never had he met with one who inspired 
 him with equal respect — with one whose companionship would 
 have so soothed the demon in his blood — as would that of 
 the daughter of the Galston farmer. That he might be in a 
 position to marry, he resolved to learn flax-dressing. His 
 brother and he had already grown flax on a portion of the 
 farm rented from their father. It was at Irvine, a small 
 Ayrshire seaport, where he commenced training for this new 
 mode of Hfe. His sustenance here seems to have consisted 
 chiefly of oatmeal supplied from home ; but, his sweetheart 
 having discarded him, he became a prey to his constitutional 
 melancholy, and he wrote to his father in the strain of one 
 tired of this world, and longing for the next. 
 
 But it was not in his nature to be long of one mood. Dur- 
 ing the carousals of the New- Year his flax-shop took fire, and 
 he was left, "like a true poet, not worth a sixpence." It 
 may be divined that he was not worth much more before 
 the fire. The greatest alteration in his condition, however, 
 induced by his connexion with Irvine, was that he here mixed 
 with some characters of loose morals, and lost that virgin 
 purity of soul, and freedom from personal taint, which had 
 hitherto characteriiied him. One individual he himself men- 
 tions as " a very noble character," who, uniting to the levity 
 of a sailor great strength of character and warmth of heart 
 — one of the first, too, who urged him to print his poems as 
 possessing genuine excellence — was a most dangerous associate 
 and Mentor to one of such impetuous blood. Not long after 
 he wrote " The Poet's Welcome to his Illegitimate Child," 
 and, according to the custom of the time and place, had to 
 appear in his parish church on the stool of repentance. We 
 believe Burns sincerely repented of his conduct ; and that the 
 two or three poems written in reference to this unfortunate 
 affair, treating it in a strain of most reprehensible levity, 
 though with gieat comic vis and picturesqueness of expres- 
 sion, resulted from the same feelings that make a wretch at 
 Newgate resolve to die game. This was the great turning 
 point in Burns's career as a man. He had lost caste with many 
 whose good opinion was not only desirable but valuable. He 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, xxxui 
 
 had formed habits and intimacies not calculated to benefit him 
 in any way. By presenting vice to his own mind, though 
 only as it were in self-defence and by way of bravado, as a 
 thing to be treated comically, he undermined the props of 
 virtue reared so assiduously by his noble father ; and laid the 
 foundations for much of the misery, self-accusation, and cal- 
 umny which embittered his after life. 
 
 It was during this period that the Torbolton Bachelors' 
 Club was formed, consisting of a few young men of active 
 inquiring intellects. The members met periodically and en- 
 gaged in a pre-arranged debate. The club-room was in a 
 public-house, but the members' expenses were limited to 
 threepence eacli a night. Burns was the master-spirit of the 
 club ; and the intellectual gladiatorship here indulged in, as 
 formerly at Kirkoswald, was of immense after-benefit to him. 
 He also became connected with a lodge of Freemasons, but 
 whether their nightly expenses were by statute limited to 
 threepence, is nowhere entered on the record ; though it may 
 be inferred from these lines of a well-known poem — 
 
 *' The claclian yill had made me canty — 
 I was na fou, but just had plenty — " 
 
 that the masonic ideas of brotherly compotation were more 
 liberal. 
 
 ^ Gilbert Burns thought his brother was more charming and 
 fascinating at this period of his life than at any other ; more 
 light-hearted, and humorous ; more self-denyiog and conside- 
 rate, and a universal favourite. At their daily labour, or in 
 their Sunday walks, ennui was impossible with so brilliant 
 and kindly a companion. AVhat bursts of humour, melting 
 into pathos as the thought of suffering or hardship to any 
 living thing flashed across his mind ; what " fancies, chaste 
 and noble ;" what kindlings of patriotism over the tale of 
 " Scotia's ill-requited chief;" what conning of old songs, what 
 choice "readings from the best authors,'' must not have 
 lighted up the intercourse of Robert and Gilbert Bums, and 
 made the bleak fields of Scotia an enchanted Arcadia I 
 
 Of the poems written at Lochlea we have already mentioned 
 
xxxiv BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, 
 
 one. He had sketchdd the outlines of a tragedy, but family 
 misfortunes prevented its being ever seriously begun. " Win- 
 ter, a Dirge," a piece of admirable versification ; " The Death 
 of Poor Mailie ;" ^' John Barleycorn," and three fine songs, 
 are mentioned by himself in his letter to Dr Moore as be- 
 longing to this period. "Poor Mailie" is one of the very 
 happiest of his earliest efibrts, exhibiting what Burns especi- 
 ally excelled in, humour and fancy commingled. The pictures 
 of Hughoc "wf glowering een and lifted hand," and of pool 
 Mailie, as " owre she warsled in the ditch," are perfect. The 
 pawkiness of "The Dying Words" has its source in the 
 shrewdness and real kindliness of the poet's nature, and 
 " the light that never was on sea or shore" gleams wondrously 
 from this unpretending strain. How carefully he revised hia 
 Scottish poems, and how refined and matured his taste, may 
 be learned from his extruding from the corrected copy of 
 the " Elegy " these two lines, that would have been religiously 
 retained by a j)oet of inferior taste and genius : — 
 
 *' Noo Eobin, greetin', qhews the Jiams 
 O' Mailie dead!" 
 
 From the poems of this period take the following character- 
 istic touches. His manly pride, to which even his afiectiona 
 were sacrificed, is well illustrated in these homely lines : — 
 
 ** I lo'e her mysel, but darena we el tell, 
 My poverty keeps me in awe, man, 
 For making o' rhymes, and working at times, 
 Does little or naething at a', man. 
 
 Yet I wadna choose to let her refuse, 
 Nor ha'e 't in her power to say na, man, 
 
 For though I be poor, unnoticed, obscure. 
 My stomach's as iDroud as tliem a', man." 
 
 The subjoined piece of "rustic hamely jingle," shows that 
 even at this early age and in this obscure situation, fame, the 
 last infirmity of noble minds, was not indifferent to him, 
 nor deemed beyond his reach ;-^ 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, XXXT 
 
 ** Til en out into the world my course I did determine, O; 
 Though to be rich was not my wish, yet to he great was charming, 0: 
 My taltnts they were not the ivorst, nor yet my education, O ; 
 Hesolved was I, at least to try, to mend my situation, O." 
 
 As has already been stated, Burns's father died at Loclilea 
 on tne 13th of February 1784, his end having been embittered 
 by a har£.ssing and unsuccessful litigation. To provide a 
 shelter for the family against the evil day they saw approach- 
 ing, Robert and Gilbert had leased the uplying farm of Moss- 
 giel, in the neighbouring parish of Mauchline. The poet 
 commenced his new career with a firm resolution to succeed, 
 if success were attainable by strict devotion to the duties 
 that lay before him. But bad seed the first year, and a late 
 harvest the second, lost him half his crops, and, to use his 
 own words, " I returned like the dog to his vomit, and the 
 sow that was washed to her wallowing in the mire." The 
 Mossgiel era was the determining one of his fortunes and of 
 his pursuits. He here recognised the Muse as his calling. 
 Sere in about fifteen months he produced the bulk of those 
 remarkable poems by which his fame was established, and on 
 which, it will continue mainly to rest ; here he experienced the 
 most exalted ecstasy and the profoundest grief the siren Love 
 can administer ; here hungry ruin had him so in the wind that 
 the greatest living poet saw no release from the evils wound 
 round liim by adverse fortune but expatriation to tasks and 
 scenes the most alien ; here he resolved to give his poems to 
 the world ; and hence, the cloud of misery which enveloped 
 him melting away to reveal a purer ether, he was summoned 
 to Edinburgh to a short-lived and luckless ovation. 
 
 In the summer of 1784 he was in ill health and worse spirits. 
 Several poems then written reveal him under the pangs of 
 remorse, conscious of errors, imploring Divine forgiveness, 
 and with his thoughts fixed on the life beyond life. It is cha- 
 racteristic that he pleads the strength of his passions as a 
 mitigation of his criminality, thus making the Judge an acces- 
 sory to the offence. It is also remarkable that, in the midst 
 of his despondency, he sometimes brightened up iiato wildly 
 licentious humour, as in his epistle to 
 
^^^'^ BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, 
 
 ** Eough, mde, ready-witted Eankine, 
 The wale o' cocks for fun and drinkin' ! ** 
 
 Soon after he commenced to reside at Mossgiel, he " fore- 
 gathered" with Jean Armour, the most famous, as his aftei 
 poems rendered her, of his many loves. She was the daughter 
 of a respectable master-mason, and 
 
 ** A dancin', sweet, young handsome qu^an, 
 Of guileless heart. " 
 
 Of the six Mauchline belles whom he has described, he says — 
 
 " But Armour *s the jewel for me o' them a'." 
 
 He was deeply attached to her, more so than he himself 
 knew, till circumstances threatened to deprive him of her 
 altogether. But we are anticipating. 
 
 The earliest of his poems which attracted particular notice 
 was connected with a dispute in matters theological then 
 agitating Scotland, but more especially the west country, the 
 scene of the sufferings and triumphs of the Covenanters, and 
 still in Burns's time famous for its adherence, among the 
 common people at least, to the strictest dogmas of Calvin. 
 In this district, to a notable degree, theological disputation 
 was the chief intellectual discipline of the popular mind, and 
 in the churchyard, before and after service, many and high 
 were the debates 
 
 ** Of providence, foreknowledge, will, and fate ; 
 Fix'd fate, free-will, foreknowledge absolute." 
 
 Burns, as might have been expected, entered fiercely into 
 these disputes, and from the vigour of his intellect and the 
 force and felicity of his diction, was a formidable champion 
 or assailant. Above all, the fearless freedom of his remarks, 
 and his resistless humour, made him peculiarly obnoxious to 
 the " unco guid, or rigidly righteous '^ of the district. At this 
 time some of the local clergy were tinged with views leaning 
 more to Arminianism than to the Calvinism of the 
 
 " Orthodox, orthodox; wlia believe in John Knox,^* 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. xxxvil 
 
 in some cases even verging close upon Socinianism. Burns's 
 father "had formed opinions with regard to these thorny theo- 
 logical tenets more humane than, as appears to many, the 
 doctrines of Calvin are. These views he had embodied in a 
 little manuscript volume for the guidance of his family. 
 Among William Burness's books was " Taylor on the Doctrine 
 of Original Sin;" and, doubtless, Burns, who was such an 
 omnivorous reader, had in his earlier years studied it atten- 
 tively, all the more so that it was very probably a favourite 
 with his father. Dr Macgill of Ayr had published an essay 
 which was held to contain heterodox views of the doctrine of 
 Original Sin. A few clergymen, and many of the better edu- 
 cated and more liberal of the upper classes, sympathised with 
 Macgill, while the bulk of the clergy, and the common people 
 almost to a man, were opposed to New Light doctrines, ad- 
 hering steadily to the A\dd Light Among those who took 
 part against Macgill was " Daddie Auld," the minister of 
 Mauchline, before whom Burns had already appeared in open 
 church, and done penance as to the matter of 
 
 " Sonsie, smirking, dear-bought Bess ;" 
 
 and, though Auld had only been performing a very disagree- 
 able duty, the poet would not regard him or his opinions 
 with much complacency. Besides, Bums's landlord, Gavin 
 Hamilton, a friend of " Glib-tongued Aiken" who had defended 
 Macgill before the church courts, and a high-spirited, liberal- 
 minded, generous gentleman, was at feud with Daddie Auld 
 and his session concerning some imputed irregularities, which 
 kirk-sessions in those days were not slow to note and censure. 
 Burns, his own wound fresh, came all the more readily to the 
 assistance of his landlord against what, under any circum- 
 stances, he would have deemed petty and oppressive meddling, 
 particularly as he could not but be more than dubious of the 
 morality of some of the more officious and forward of the 
 elders. It cannot be doubted that he often said and wrote 
 things to make people stare, and there is a story that he was 
 seen lounging on horseback before a Mauchline public-house 
 door on the afternoon of a " preaching Monday," and deliver- 
 
xxxviii BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 ing himself with such reckless freedom on the disputed theo- 
 logical tenets of the day to a group of villagers, that he was 
 fairly hissed off' the scene. 
 
 "Death and Dr Hornbook," another production of this 
 period, is inimitable. In the Torbolton Mason Lodge, Burns 
 and the parish dominie were rival wits. The dominie was 
 full of conceit, and to his scholastic functions had superadded 
 those of apothecary and physician. One night he seems to 
 have been more than usually ostentatious of his medical 
 skill ; and as the poet trudged along by " Willie's Mill," the 
 whimsical ide^ of death, with his scythe and leister, flashed 
 upon his brain, and the result was a poem in the very highest 
 vein of the humorous and grotesque. The two epistles to 
 J. Lapraik are extremely pleasing, exhibiting the poet in the 
 first flush and conscious inspiration of the Muse, and plainly 
 indicating that he had found his calling. The sentiments, de- 
 spite some rustic snarling at schools and colleges, are manly 
 and generous, and exhibit the poet in a most amiable light. 
 
 To revert to the theological frenzy by which the West was 
 possessed, we find Burns, in an epistle to " Goudie, terror of 
 the Whigs," (a Kilmarnock tradesman who had published a 
 volume of Essays discussing the authority of the Scriptures,) 
 associating Goudie with Taylor of Norwich as the two great 
 assailants and underminers of orthodoxy. In the same epistle 
 we have mention of " Black Jock," the favourite butt of 
 Burns's wicked humour, then a clergyman in Kilmarnock, 
 but afterwards translated to Stirling. By all accounts the 
 Reverend John Kussell must have been " a gruesome carle." 
 There is a tradition in Kilmarnock that he patrolled the 
 streets on Sundays, grasping a huge cudgel which he had 
 christened his " ruling elder," and beat Sabbath-breakers into 
 their homes. He vvas a huge black-visaged man, with the 
 voice of Stentor. Says Professor Wilson : — " We remember 
 walking one day — ^unknown to us a fast-day — in the neigh- 
 bourhood of an ancient fortress, (Stirling,) and hearing a noise 
 to be likened to nothing imaginable in this earth but the 
 bellowing of a bufl'alo fallen into a trap upon a tiger, which, 
 as we came within half a mile of the castle, we dis'^erned to 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, xxxix 
 
 be the voice of a pastor engaged in public prayer. His pby- 
 siognomy was little less alarming than his voice, and his 
 sermon corresponded with his looks and his lungs — the whole 
 being, indeed, an extraordinary exhibition of divine worship. 
 We can never think it sinful that Burns should have been 
 humorous on such a pulpiteer ; and if we shudder at some 
 of the verses in which he seems yet alive, it is not at the 
 satirist." 
 
 " Black Jock," otherwise " Bumble John," had a zealous 
 coadjutor in Alexander Moody, "Singet Sawney," minister of 
 the neighbouring parish of Kiocarton ; but these worthies 
 having had a difference, fell foul of each other in a meeting 
 of presbytery, and in their wrath uttered language so offen- 
 sive and unbecoming that the godly were scandalised, and th^ 
 adherents of the New Light doctrines in an ecstasy of delight. 
 On this occasion Burns produced " The Twa Herds, or the 
 Holy Tulzie," which, " with a certain description of the clergy, 
 as well as Ip.ity, met with a roar of applause." This was fol- 
 lowed shortly after by *'Holy Willie's Prayer," the most dar- 
 ing exposition of Calvinism ever given to the world. Viewed 
 in some aspects it might be justly characterised as profane ; 
 but taken in connexion with the cant and hypocrisy of the 
 more prominent sticklers for orthodoxy, and read now in the 
 light of the known debauchery and dishonesty of its mouth- 
 piece, Willie Pisher, it is one of the most terrible satires 
 ever written ; nor can it be said to transgress the bounds of 
 satiric exposition. With the " Holy Fair," however, no sha- 
 dow of fault can be found in the way of profanity. We have 
 here the comic Muse in her most legitimate and attractive 
 guise. And as fun points out to the bard superstition and 
 HYPOCRISY as the objects of laughter, we too join in the mirth ; 
 nor are the sanctities of religion in aught violated, nor the 
 mysteries of the sacramental supper ever once alluded to 
 throughout the whole poem. Nay, the interior of the house 
 of God is never entered ; and though that " God's acre," in 
 which " the rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep," where the 
 comedy is chiefly enacted, ought to have stirred holiest 
 thoughts within the breasts of those assembled for the cele- 
 
xl BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 bration of the great Christian festival, the poet merely de- 
 scribes what he saw, and might have seen in many church- 
 yards besides that of Mauchline. It is understood that the 
 publication of the " Holy Fair '* struck a fatal blow at the 
 absurdities and indecencies which usually attended those 
 sacramental gatherings. 
 
 *^ Halloween " is a happy effort. In it, as in the " Holy 
 Fair,*' it was evident that national manners were once more 
 in the hands of a national poet. The superstitious observ- 
 ances and pryings into the future handed down from Druidi- 
 cal times, and fascinating to the vulgar mind at all times, 
 are in " Halloween " felicitously touched of, while over all 
 breathes a fine spirit of fun, shrewd observation, and health- 
 ful humanity. Haveril Will, Wee Jenny and her granny, 
 who "fuff't her pipe wi' sic a lunt," fechtin' Jamie Fleck, 
 and Leezie the wanton widow, are alive in this exquisite 
 idyll. 
 
 The " Address to the Deil " is a universal favourite. The 
 ridiculous and the sublime are happily blended, and the tone 
 of jocular familiarity assumed towards so great a power — 
 exhibited also in " Death and Doctor Hornbook " — is peculiar 
 to Burns. Many great poets have treated of the devil, but 
 all have done so in the highest mode of seriousness. The 
 famihar hail-fellow-well-met feeling belongs to Burns alone, 
 as well as the inimitable relenting of the concluding 
 stanza. 
 
 <* The Jolly Beggars " is another poem of this period, and 
 is, as a whole, in conception and execution, the most finished 
 and artistic of all his works. But it was not published during 
 his life. The curtain rises in Poosie Nancy's humble hostelry 
 where such a jovial scene of ragged revelry, quafiing, laugh- 
 ing, jumping, thumping, blazing fire, warm blankets and 
 usquebaugh is revealed, as even the gods might regard with 
 complacency. The maimed soldier and his doxy, poor Merry 
 Andrew, the raucle Carlin, the wee Apollo, the Caird, and 
 the wight of Homer's craft, are sketched with firm and skilful 
 hand. It is in its minute fidelity like a picture of Tenier's. 
 Next day the tatterdemalions, with their budgets, bags, and 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, xll 
 
 wallets, will be wandering with the ready trick and fable, and 
 next eve in new combinations will rescue a few hours' mad 
 revelry from unpropitious fate. 
 
 Of " The Cotter's Saturday Night '^ we have already spoken. 
 It is the most sustained and equal of all his efforts, and ex- 
 hibits him in the most interesting light. It came warm and 
 gushing from the heart, and more than any of his poems 
 exhibits that warmth of devotional feeling and of natural 
 piety which was a marked feature of his genius. It procured 
 for him the acquaintance and friendship of Mrs Dunlop, a 
 descendant of the Wallaces of Elderslie, and in Scotland con- 
 sidered as belonging to the family of the great patriot him- 
 self. The *^ Address to a Mouse " and " The Mountain Daisy " 
 are universally known and admired, especially for the humane 
 interest displayed in them, and for the analogy drawn by the 
 bard himseK between their hapless fate and his own. 
 
 We have already seen that Burns, with constitutional ar- 
 \lour, had been wooing the " Mauchline belle," Jean Armour ; 
 and it soon became manifest that Jean had " loved not wisely.^ 
 but too well." To mitigate scandal and make such imme- 
 diate rej)aration as was possible, Burns gave the unfortunate 
 partner of his indiscretion a written acknowledgment of a 
 private marriage, which in Scotland entitles the holder to all 
 the legal privileges of a wife. But, as the poet's circumstances 
 were known to be straitened, and his character suspected, 
 Armour's father compelled her to surrender the paper, in 
 order to render the marriage null, though, according to the 
 best authorities, the marriage was valid in spite of such sur- 
 render. Burns offered to proceed to Jamaica, in hopes of 
 bettering his fortunes, and then return to claim his wife — 
 nay, he even proposed to become a day-labourer at home to 
 support Jean and her expected offspring — but old Armour 
 was implacable ; and Jean, naturally of feeble resolution, 
 yielded to paternal threats. The poet's affections, as well as 
 his self-love, were wounded, and he regarded his mistress's 
 conduct with the deepest resentment. He accordingly de- 
 termined to leave his native country, and engaged to go to 
 Jamaica as bookkeeper on the estate of a Dr Douglas. To 
 
xlii BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 raiss the sum necessary for his outfit and passage, lie, at the 
 instance of Gavin Hamilton, agreed to publish his poems by 
 subscription, and proposals were therefore immediately issued- 
 Hamilton's advice was tendered to willing ears ; for we have 
 seen from the suggestions of Eichard Brown, and of his 
 brother Gilbert, together with his own hankerings thereafter, 
 that the idea of publication had become almost fixed already. 
 
 The treatment of the Armours revealed to him that his 
 passion for Jean was stronger than he himself knew. 
 
 In his letter to Dr Moore he says : — '' This was a most 
 melancholy afiair, which I cannot yet bear to reflect on, and 
 had very nearly given me one or two of the principal qualifi- 
 cations 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 before leaving my native country for ever 
 I resolved to publish my poems. I weighed my productions 
 as impartially as was in my power. I thought they had 
 merit ; . . . 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 oflf six hundred 
 copies, of which I had got subscriptions for about three 
 hundred and fifty. . , , . 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. Whether I have profited 
 time will show." 
 
 His wretchedness at this crisis was extreme. He saw him- 
 self divorced from the object of his warmest love, for his 
 poverty ; and his pride rose in arms. He renewed an intimacy 
 he had formed wuth' Mary Campbell, his famous " Highland 
 Mary ;" and it was agreed that they should shortly be mar- 
 ried. Before going home to the Highlands to make arrange- 
 ments for her union with the poet, the lovers had a romantic 
 parting one Sunday in May on the beautiful banks of the 
 Ayr. Mr Cromek says — "Their adieu was performed with 
 all those simple and striking ceremonials which rustic senti- 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, xliii 
 
 ment has devised to prolong tender emotions and to impose 
 awe. The lovers stood on each side of a small purling brook/' 
 (most probably the Faile,) "they laved their hands in the 
 limpid stream — and, holding a Bible between them, pronomiced 
 their vows to be faithful to each other." The lovers exchanged 
 Bibles. That presented by Burns to Mary is now in the 
 monument at AUoway. It is in two volumes. In a blank leaf 
 of the one is inscribed in the handwriting of the bard, " And 
 ye shall not swear by My name falsely. I am the Lord/' Levit. 
 xix. 12. On the second volume, *' Thou shalt not forswear 
 thyself, but shalt perform unto the Lord thine oaths/' Matt. 
 V. 33. So keenly does he seem to have felt the faithlessness 
 of Jean that he fences his betrothal to Mary with the most 
 awful sanctions of religion. The lovers never met more, poor 
 Mary having died of fever at Greenock. But her sweet image 
 was faithfully mirrored on the heart of Burns, and few can 
 read unmoved his affecting verses "To Mary in Heaven/' 
 written many years after. Mr William Douglas, engraver, 
 Edinburgh, in a paper read before the Society of Scottish 
 Antiquaries, proved beyond a doubt that Burns's attach- 
 ment to Mary was but an episode in the affair of Armour, 
 a thing never before suspected. But it is quite in conson- 
 ance with all that we know of Burns's impulsive character. 
 His indignation against Armour was at first furious : 
 " Against two things," he writes at this period, " I am 
 fixed as fate — staying at home, and owning her conjugally. 
 The first, by heaven, I will not do ! the last, by hell, I will 
 never do ! " 
 
 The proposals for publishing, which had been circulated 
 among his friends, were so favourably entertained that the 
 printing of the poems was finally resolved upon. John Wilson, 
 a Kilmarnock bookseller, the "Wee Johnny" of a not verj'' 
 happy epigram, was the printer. During the latter part of 
 June and the whole of July 1786, the now world-famouj^ 
 poems were going through an obscure provincial press. He 
 was still fixed in jpurpose to proceed to the W^est Indies, 
 though he now wrote of the matter no longer in the high- 
 tragic, but rather in the comic, vein : — 
 
xliv BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 ** Jamaica bodies, use him weel, 
 And hap him in a cozie biel ; 
 Ye '11 find him aye a dainty cliiel, 
 
 And fou o' glee ; 
 He wad na wrang'd the very deU, 
 
 That's owre the sea." 
 
 In a more serious mood, however, is the " Farewell to the 
 Brethren of St James's Lodge, Torbolton": — 
 
 ** Adieu ! a heart-warm, fond adieu ! 
 
 Dear brothers of the mystic tie/ 
 Ye favour'd, ye enlightened few, 
 
 Companions of my social joy ; 
 Though I to foreign lands must hie, 
 
 Pursuing Fortune's slidd'ry ba', 
 "With melting heart, and brimful eye, 
 
 I '11 mind you still, though far awa' 1'* 
 
 In anticipation of his leaving the country it was rumoured 
 that old Armour was preparing to take legal measures to pro- 
 cure caution from the poet for the maintenance of his expected 
 offspring. Burns, either unable to procure the caution re- 
 quired — some five pounds a-year — or deeming himself, from 
 the shabby treatment he had experienced from Jean's father, 
 morally released from all claims of support, removed quietly 
 to the house of a relative, near Kilmarnock, taking with him 
 his chest and what was necessary for his outfit for Jamaica, 
 He was thus nearer the press ; and it is by no means unlikely 
 that he kept a sharp outlook for the bloodhounds of the law, 
 as incarceration would be the inevitable result of any dili- 
 ge7ice taken by Armour against the recalcitrant poet. A jail 
 had unusual terrors for him, as we see now, from his letter to 
 Dr Moore, and as we shall see in the sequel, immediately be- 
 fore his death. "With his poetic instincts, and out-door habits, 
 a prison were to him, as a cage to a singiag bird, as confine- 
 ment to "the commoners of air.'* It was amid circumstances 
 so untoward that, in the end of July this year, appeared the 
 wondrous volume, entitled "Poems, chiefly in the Scottish 
 dialect, by Eobert Burns," with a manly touching preface, 
 in which the poet modestly asserted his own consciousness' 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH xlt 
 
 of the poetic gift. The impression was of six hundred copies ; 
 and so great was the demand for it that within two months a 
 second edition of one thousand copies was under discussion. 
 After paying all expenses, about twenty pounds remained to 
 the bard— -a mere pittance as literary work is now remune- 
 rated, and recalling vividly the ten pounds paid to Milton for 
 the first edition of " Paradise Lost " — but perfectly satisfactory 
 as a pecuniary result to the poet himself. The ear of the 
 world was taken as it were by storm. A great original genius 
 was once more vouchsafed to Scotland ; and the harp erst 
 touched so skilfully by our Royal James and by Dunbar the 
 "Mackar," was again in hands equally potent. "Old and 
 young," says Heron, " high and low, grave and gay, learned 
 or ignorant, were alike delighted, agitated, transported. I 
 was at that time resident in Galloway, contiguous to Ayr- 
 shire, and I can well remember how even ploughboys and 
 maid-servants would have gladly bestowed the wages they 
 earned the most hardly, and with which they wanted to pur- 
 chase necessary clothing, if they might but procure the works 
 of Burns." Persons of high social and literary rank became 
 interested in him. Professor Dugald Stewart, whose summer 
 residence was then at Catrine, Dr Hugh Blair on a visit to 
 Stewart, and Mrs Dunlop of Dunlop, were all amazed at the 
 prodigality of genius exhibited in the humble volume, and 
 took a lively interest in the history and success of the rustic 
 minstrel. 
 
 The Rev. George Lawrie, minister of the parish of Loudon, 
 a man of high culture and character, and on terms of inti- 
 macy with the leading Scottish literati, had been much struck 
 with the poems. The author appeared to him a man of too 
 high mark to be allowed to pine in provincial obscurity, or to 
 expatriate himself to a pestilential climate to fulfil the duties 
 of an ignoble occupation. He brought Burns and his book 
 under the notice of Dr Blacklock of Edinburgh, that he might 
 do what he could for both with the literary magnates of the 
 capital. Meanwhile Burns, whose fame was ringing " from 
 Maidenkirk to John o' Groats,'' was perhaps the most exqui- 
 sitely miserable individual in the realm; and it was while 
 
xlvi BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 passing over a bleak moor between Loudon Manso and Moss- 
 giel in a windy autumn evening, clouds driving across the 
 sky, and *^cold ]3elting showers at intervals adding discomfort 
 of body to cheeiiessno&s of mind," that he composed " The 
 Gloomy Night is Gathering Fast," the last song he should 
 ever measure in Caledonia — 
 
 ** 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 ! " 
 
 To Lawrie's letter Blacklock returned a most enthusiastic 
 reply, and suggested that a second edition, more numerous 
 than the former, should be immediately printed. This letter 
 was at once placed in the hands of Burns, and praise so high 
 from so influential a quarter opened new prospects to his 
 poetic ambition. He did not, however, as is generally sup- 
 posed, and as one might be apt to imagine from his own 
 letters, immediately adopt the resolution of proceeding to 
 Edinburgh. The West Indian scheme was still uppermost, 
 and but for the accidental delay of the vessel in which he had 
 taken out his passage, he would probably have been on his 
 way "owre the sea" ere the prospect of success in the capital 
 had opened on his view. Professor Stewart, at whose house 
 of Catrine Burns had dined in company with Basil, Lord 
 Daer, thus describes the impression produced on him by the 
 poet at this period of his history : — "His manners were then 
 as they continued ever afterwards, simple, manly, abd inde 
 pendent, strongly expressive of conscious genius and worth, 
 but without anything that indicated forwardness, arrogance, 
 or vanity. He took his share in conversation, but not more 
 tlian belonged to him, and listened with apparent attention 
 and deference on subjects where his want of education deprived 
 him of the means of information. If there had been a little 
 more of gentleness and accommodation in his temper, he 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, xlvii 
 
 «rould, I think, have been still more interesting, but he had 
 been accustomed to give law in the circle of his ordinary 
 acquaintance, and his dread of anything approaching to mean- 
 ness or servility rendered his manner somewhat decided and 
 hard. Nothing perhaps was more remarkable among his vari- 
 ous attainments than the fluency, and precision, and origin- 
 ality of his language when he spoke in company, more particu- 
 larly as he aimed at purity in his turn of expression, and 
 avoided, more successfully than most Scotchmen, the peculi- 
 arities of Scottish phraseology." But in other, and to Burns 
 more genial, company he sought to drown care ; and among 
 the Gavin Hamiltons, and Tarn Samsons, and other local 
 worthies, it was his pride and his solace to set the table in 
 a roar. Indeed, it was only over the social bowl, or in the act 
 of composing, with the inspiring mantle of the Muse upon 
 him, that he could for a moment forget the sad conditions of 
 his lot. 
 
 He at last resolved to try his fortune in Edinburgh, im- 
 pelled thereto by Blacklock'a letter, and by Mr Ballantyne of 
 Ayr, who represented to him that that city was the fittest 
 place for bringing out a second edition with success. He 
 reached the capital on the 28fch of November ; and being 
 introduced by Mr Dalrymple of Orangefield to the Earl of 
 Glencairn, that nobleman induced Creech, then the leading 
 Edinburgh publisher, and who had in early life been his tutor, 
 to undertake the proposed republication, and got the Caledo- 
 nian Hunt, one and all, to subscribe for copies at a guinea 
 each. Besidos, Mr Mackenzie wrote a highly eulogistic and 
 genial critique of the Kilmarnock edition in the Lounger; 
 and this recognition of his genius by the greatest living 
 authority in Scotland at once established and confirmed his 
 reputation among all classes of his countrymen. He found 
 himself at once the lion of the season. The Duchess of Gordonj 
 the witty Harry Erskine, Lord Monboddo, Dr Robertson, Dr 
 Blair, Dr (^regory, Dr Adam Ferguson, Mr Mackenzie, and Mr 
 Eraser Tytler, adopted him into their society, and were more 
 captivated by the vigour of his understanding and the force 
 and brilliancy of his conversation than they had been even 
 
xlviii BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, 
 
 by his wondrous poems. Taken from the plough-tail into 
 the most distinguished society in Edinburgh, into a circle 
 more brilliant and renowned than any that has since graced 
 our ancient capital, and which could not have been surpassed 
 for all that really dignifies humanity in any capital in Europe, 
 the Ayrshire peasant never for a moment lost his head ; but, 
 with thir witching cup of flattery in his hand, remained unin- 
 toxicated ; weighed calmly his true position and relation to 
 the magnates of literature, fashion, and rank with whom he 
 was thus strangely brought into contact ; foresaw that the 
 popular breeze would soon swell other sails ; and meditated 
 an early retreat to the humble scenes and occupations he had 
 so glorified in immortal verse. No taint of awkwardness, ser- 
 vility, mauvaise hoiite, or presumption, infected his intercourse 
 with men whose fame was in all mouths, and into whose 
 society not many months before he could never have antici- 
 pated an introduction. The only noticeable trace of rustic 
 breeding was a hardness and decisiveness in delivering his 
 opinions, which made it unpleasant for any one to difier with 
 him, owing partly to his being accustomed to give the law in 
 his own circle at home, but perhaps more to his determination 
 to bate no jot of self-respect, and to assert the dignity of 
 manhood wherever he was one of two or three met together. 
 
 The new edition appeared on the 21st of April. There were 
 fifteen hundred subscribers, engaging for two thousand eight 
 hundred copies. "Death and Dr Hornbook,'* "The Ordina- 
 tion," and the "Address to the Unco Guid," though written 
 some considerable time before, were now first published. 
 The "Brigs of Ayr," "Tarn Samson's Elegy," and the "Ad- 
 dress to Edinburgh,'* were the principal new poems which 
 appeared. A few juvenile pieces of no great moment were 
 also added, and the volume was dedicated to " The Noblemen 
 and Gentlemen of the Caledonian Hunt." The dedication is 
 extremely characteristic. It breathes a noble spirit of inde- 
 pendence, but is couched in language which the severer taste 
 of the present day would pronounce somewhat inflated. To 
 Mrs Dunlop he had written that he would clear between two 
 and three hundred pounds by Creech's edition. The sum 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, xlix 
 
 actually cleared must have been about six hundred pounds ; 
 so that, on the whole, it is incorrect to charge the Scottish 
 people of that day with stinginess to Burns, as he was patron- 
 ised and paid more liberally than any Scottish author had 
 ever been before, by his own countrymen at least. 
 
 The true source of complaint is, not that the metropolitan 
 aristocracy did not give him money enough, but that they 
 first f^ted and then deserted him for some new minister of 
 excitement ; that they treated him not as a man but as a 
 thing, as a prodigy, a lusus naturce to be gazed at with vulgar 
 wonder and flung away when curiosity had been sated. He 
 foresaw this, and prepared himself for it, who shall say with 
 how much chagrin and bitterness of heart ? For if ever there 
 lived a man who yearned for the loving sympathies of his 
 fellows, and of the most exalted of his fellows, it was Bums. 
 His own heart was so noble, his own instincts so generous, 
 his own sympathies so comprehensive, that neglect hurt him 
 in a manner inconceivable to coarser natures, and " froze the 
 genial current of his soul." And this he felt all the more that 
 he was himself one of the sincerest of men ; that in his life as 
 in his poetry there was no affectation or cant ; that his loves 
 and friendships and joys were real, and his miseries " no idly 
 feigned poetic pains." 
 
 This perfect ti-uthfulness and healthfulness of soul, as has 
 been remarked by a keen observer, is nowhere more strik- 
 ingly exhibited than in his choice of subjects for his poems. 
 He does not select the distant, the imposing, the great. 
 What lies at his feet, what comes daily under his eye, the 
 joys and sorrows, loves and fears and hopes of quite unheroic 
 personages — farm-labourers and nut-brown maidens of the 
 byre and hay-field and corn-rig — ^the kye rowting in the loan, 
 the wounded hare, the owrie cattle, the " muirs and mosses 
 many" of his own Scotia, and her lone glens of green bracken, 
 more lovely and beloved than bowers of sweet myrtle, are to 
 him the subjects of finest inspiration. He is everywhere 
 and in everything natural. Strength and gracefulness and 
 perfect mastery of his subject peculiarly characterise him. 
 He is perhaps the most graphic of poets. His descriptions 
 
1 niOGRAFHICAL SKETCIL 
 
 bring the very scenes before our eyes, for his own vision was 
 clear, and often a single happy epithet makes as it were " a 
 sunshine in a shady place." Withal he is as emphatic as he 
 is vivid. There is nothing weak or garrulous in him. The 
 vigour of his intellectual conceptions is as marked as the 
 more peculiar gifts of the muse. Hence he was no mere poet. 
 In any walk of life, in any department of literature, steady 
 effort would have borne him to the van. He had a fine though 
 uncultivated gift of speculation ; and whoever deems that he 
 was a mere moonstruck, melodious singer, unfitted for the 
 ways and works of men, has yet to read his character. For 
 he was full of practical sagacity ; not to be duped by any ; 
 saw through character at a glance ; and, could he have willed 
 it strongly, might have commanded any position that he aimed 
 at. But herein lay his weakness. To will strongly he had 
 never learned. Whether his passions led him astray with 
 light NOT from heaven; whether hereditary hypochondr-ia 
 had embittered the springs of life, and made world's gear and 
 worldly distinction appear not worth contending for ; or the 
 too great strain on his youthful energies necessitated by the 
 unpropitious fortunes of his father had somehow depressed 
 his vital powers, it is needless to inquire. And yet, strong 
 and practical as was his intellect, the finer attributes of the . 
 poetic temperament had been largely given to him. In ten- 
 derness and playful pathos he is unsurpassed. Humour, 
 especially that species of it characteristic of his countrymen, 
 he possessed in rich abundance. But what intellectual stat- 
 ure, what degree of poetic development, be might have at- 
 tained under happier circumstances and a longer life, though 
 we may conjecture, we can never know. That he has never- 
 theless left his impress so strongly marked on his country's 
 thought and speech, makes it the more apparent how great 
 he was, and the more to be regretted that his sun went down 
 ere it had reached its meridian. 
 
 A character of such commingled strength and weakness 
 would feel keenly and resent fiercely the neglect of society 
 after its first outbreak of vulgar wonder had been sated. 
 And it was well known that he was, in circles less select, 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, li 
 
 wont to set the table in a roar with sarcasms aimed at the 
 social leaders of the capital. Hence, though his conversation 
 had carried a duchess off her feet, and been the more than 
 nine days* wonder of the season, he began to experience cold 
 looks and distant recognitions from those who before had been 
 boisterous in their welcome and admiration. He had antici- 
 pated this ; but still it may have so irritated him that a too 
 frequent resort to looser companions, who at least thought 
 they borrowed honour from the Ayrshire bard, and with 
 whom he could take his ease in his inn, may have been the 
 consequence. 
 
 It had always been a favourite idea with him to take 
 leisurely pilgrimages over Scotland, visiting scenes famous 
 in history and tradition, and notable as the localities of na- 
 tional song. Accordingly, after the labours of the press were 
 over, and he had the command of, to him, a considerable sum 
 of money, he left Edinburgh on Saturday the 5th of May 
 1787, in company with Mr Robert Ainslie, a young gentleman 
 of Berwickshire, then serving his apprenticeship as a writer 
 to the signet, to visit the scenery of the Southern Border, so 
 famous in the ditties of the old minstrels whose mantles had 
 fallen upon himself. His intention was to return by Dum- 
 fries to inspect the farms on the estate of Dalswinton, belong- 
 ing to Mr Patrick Miller, one of the earliest and kindest of 
 his Edinburgh patrons, who, Burns's resolution of returning 
 to his original occupation having been expressed, wished 
 greatly to have him for a tenant. Meanwhile Ainslie and the 
 poet pursued their pilgrimage on horseback, Burns bestriding 
 Jenny Geddes, named after the virago who hurled her stool 
 at the head of the Dean of Edinburgh, on the 23d of July 
 1637, when attempting to introduce the Liturgy into the 
 service of St Giles, and with whom the poet's mare seems to 
 have had much iu common. He kept a. journal of this tour, 
 ndting not merely what was picturesque in scenery and strange 
 in adventure, but remarking with great sagacity on men and 
 manners, and furnishing the germs of what might be easily 
 manufactured into several " genteel comedies." After visit- 
 ing most of the famed localities of the Southern Border 
 
Hi BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, 
 
 witli the exception of the " dowie dens " of Yarrow, which 
 he was forced to stop short of, no doubt much to his disap- 
 pointment, by bad rainy weather, he crossed over into Eng- 
 land, visiting Alnwick, Warkworth, Morpeth, Newcastle, Hex- 
 ham, Wardrew, Longtown, and Carlisle. From Carlisle, on 
 June 1st, he addressed a letter, in the broadest vernacular of 
 Scotland, to Mr William Nicol of the High School, a man of 
 some ability but of extreme coarseness and rudeness of man- 
 ners, and a teacher of extraordinary severity. His name is 
 IJreserved beyond the possibility of decay in " Willie brew'd 
 a peck o' maut." In that letter he says : " I'll be in Dum- 
 fries the morn gif the beast be to the fore and the branks bide 
 hale." From Dumfries he proceeded to Dalswinton, lingering 
 about a week in the district, admiring the beautiful scenery 
 of the Nith, but dubious of risking the profits of his muse 
 on fields stony and " out of heart." He arrived in Mauch- 
 line on the 9th of June ; and when the son who, six months 
 before, had left Mossgiel poor, comparatively obscure, skulk- 
 ing from a jail, with his tenderest affections cruelly lacerated, 
 and his relationship spurned by a village mason, opened the 
 door of Mossgiel homestead and stood unheralded amid his 
 family, his name now the most famous in the land, his genius 
 recognised by the highest tribunals, his social successes 
 ringing "Scotland thorough," great must have been his 
 mother's pride and joy, though all she said was, *' Bobert!" 
 and great the pride and joy of the faithful Gilbert and of the 
 rest of the household, though as quietly expressed as their 
 mother's had been. 
 
 He immediately called on the Armours, ostensibly to see 
 his daughter. Jean had, in the previous September, given 
 birth to twins, and it was arranged that one of them, a boy, 
 should be brought up at Mossgiel, and the other, a girl, by the 
 Armours. He found the Armours only too well pleased to 
 see him, and their servility stirred his bile, and provoked h'is 
 misanthropy. His prospects were uncertain, farming he was 
 afraid to risk, and he still entertained the idea, as a last 
 resource, of trying Jamaica. He seems, from a letter of this 
 period to Kicol, to have had an access of melancholy, dismal 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, liii 
 
 forebodings of the future, a distrust of fortune, a suspicion 
 that the great had been using him as a mere passing instru- 
 ment of excitement, and a consequent rising of his soul in 
 arms against mankind. That one who had been on a sudden 
 raised so high from an estate so low should fall foul of Fortune 
 in terms apparently so unjustifiable, has excited surprise and 
 censure ; but having lived for a season " too much in the sun," 
 nothing else could have been expected from one so tremu- 
 lously sensitive when he found himself once more in his 
 humble home, and at a distance from the excitement, and, 
 may it be said? from the flattery, refined or more gross, 
 seldom unacceptable, if given in sincerity and truth, to the 
 poetic temperament. At all events he could not as yet settle 
 down quietly to his ordinary pursuits, and it seems that he 
 started from Mauchline on a Highland tour of which the 
 particulars are not very fully known. Jenny Geddes was 
 again his travelling companion. We find him at Inverary, 
 where he composed a very unjust and injudicious epigram 
 afiecting the Duke of Argyle ; next dancing at a Highland 
 gentleman's hospitable mansion till three in the morning ; 
 thereafter plying the punch-bowl till six ; and then spending 
 the day on Loch Lomond, dining at Dumbarton, and running 
 a mad race on Jenny Geddes, with a breekless Highlandman 
 on a good horse, all the performers, horses and men, coming 
 of course to grief. '» - 
 
 He spent the month of July at Mossgiel. His fame pro- 
 cured him many friendships, and his society was much courted. 
 Dugald Stewart met him twice, once in his own house at 
 Catrine, where Burns was his guest, and again at a masonic 
 lodge at Mauchline. From what fell under Stewart's obser- 
 vation now, despite the whispers that were busy with Burns's 
 good name, he " should have concluded in favour of his habits 
 of sobriety." It was also now that Burns wrote from Moss- 
 giel that most interesting autobiographical letter to Dr Moore, 
 so characteristic of him, and to which we have so often re- 
 ferred. 
 
 That he might have a final settlement with Creech, he 
 returned to Edinburgh, arriving there on the 7th of August. 
 
liv BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 He haJ also arranged to start on a Highland tour with Nicol 
 of the High School, a man with many good qualities, yet 
 withal so irascible that Burns compared himself " with such 
 a compagnon de 'voyage to a man travelling with a loaded 
 blunderbuss at full cock ! " They left Edinburgh on Saturday, 
 25th of August 1787, and, as during the previous tour on the 
 Border, Burns kept a diary. The travellers went by Linlith- 
 gow, Falkirk, Stirling, taking Carron Ironworks and Bannock- 
 burn by the way. Burns's feelings on the field of Bannockburn 
 were wrought up to a high pitch of patriotism. He turned 
 aside to visit Harvieston, in the valley of the Devon, where 
 some relatives of Gavin Hamilton resided. Along with these 
 he visited Caudron Linn, Rumbling Brig, and Deil's MilL 
 Nicol and tjie poet made good use of their time, and we soon 
 find them at Dunkeld. Next day they hear Niel Gow play, 
 and afterwards sup with the Duchess of Athole at Blair, 
 where Josiah, afterwards Professor Walker, previously known 
 to Burns, was residing in the capacity of tutor. Walker fur- 
 nished Dr Currie with a very interesting account of the visit. 
 It appears the ducal circle was enchanted with Burns's con- 
 versation. He seemed to apprehend at once his proper rela- 
 tion to his hosts, and charmed them much by drinking to the 
 fine young family as " honest men and bonnie lasses." Nicol's 
 waywardness prevented the poet from prolonging his stay, 
 which was unfortunate in this respect, that Mr Dundas, after- 
 wards Viscount Melville, the great dispenser of Scottish 
 patronage, was daily expected on a visit. As it was, however, 
 he was fortunate in procuring the acquaintanceship of Mr 
 Graham of Fintray, who eventually proved a valuable friend. 
 To mark his sense of the kindness of his noble entertainers, 
 he transmitted from Inverness, in a letter to Walker, " The 
 humble petition of Bruar Water to the noble Duke of Athole." 
 From Blair they went up the Garry, crossed the Spey, visiting 
 as they proceeded the places of most remarkable interest, 
 such as Castle Cawdor, "where Macbeth murdered King 
 Duncan," Culloden Moor, Elgin Cathedral, and Gordon Castle, 
 where Burns, calling by himself, was invited to dinner by his 
 old acquaintance the duchess. As Nicol, however, had not 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH Iv 
 
 accompanied tlie poet, lie rose to depart as soon as decency 
 permitted, informing his hosts of his fellow-traveller's being 
 in the village. Nicol was invited to the castle ; but his blood 
 was up at the fancied slight he had received, and Burns found 
 himself under the necessity of immediately proceeding with 
 the angry dominie, or of separating from him altogether, a 
 thing not in consonance with his generous nature. To mark 
 his sense of the kindness he had received, he composed a 
 little poem, beginning, " Streams that glide in orient plains." 
 He visited his paternal relations at Stonehaven and Montrose, 
 and arrived again in Edinburgh on the 16th of September, 
 having travelled 600 miles in twenty-two days. 
 
 He had intended to be at Dalswinton again in August, but 
 had not been able to keep his appointment. Meanwhile he 
 not only entered heart and soul into the task of aiding John- 
 son in getting up his Musical Museum, but endeavoured to 
 enlist poets and musicians as fellow-workers with him — song- 
 writers, like Skinner, author of " Tullochgorum,'* and, per 
 ambages^ the noble author of " Cauld Kail in Aberdeen." He 
 again set out on a ten-days' tour. He visited his old friends 
 at Harvieston, Sir William Murray of Ochtertyre, and Mr 
 Kamsay of Ochtertyre (a different place near Stirling,) a gen- 
 tleman well qualified, from somewhat of kindred genius, to 
 sympathise with his guest, and, from his knowledge of the 
 world, to give him judicious counsel, both as a poet and a 
 man. His companion on this tour was a Dr Adair. He re 
 turned to Edinburgh on the 20th of October, ill with a cold 
 contracted on his journey. He was detained in the capital 
 apparently against his wiU, by a desire to obtain a final settle- 
 ment with Creech, the most dilatory of mortals in drawing his 
 purse ; but had at last determined to leave it, for a time at 
 least, early in December, when, having been overset by a 
 drunken coachman, he was confined to his lodgings by a bruised 
 knee. Now commenced his intimacy with Mrs M'Lehose, the 
 Clarinda of those tawdry letters, so dear to inexperienced 
 youths and maidens, but so revolting to every mature person 
 of the least taste. He was again in a complication of mise- 
 ries — ^hypochondria, remorse for past errors, doubts of Creech's 
 
Ivi BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 solvency, miseries only transiently relieved by Sylvauder's 
 tragic raptures for Clarinda. To crown all, Jean was once 
 more soon to be a mother "yet nae wife," and her father 
 had turned her out of doors, so that the poet, confined with 
 his bruised limb, had to write to a friend to procure shelter 
 for the hapless partner of his indiscretion. His ideas now 
 fixed themselves on the excise as a means of sustaining life. 
 He gav& in an application, was examined by a supervisor, 
 and applied to Graham of Fintray and the Earl of Glencairn 
 to forward his views. His mathematical training at Kirk- 
 o&wald both suggested and qualified him for this new occu- 
 pation. 
 
 While thus confined by his bruised limb, the second volume 
 of Johnson's Museum was published, owing almost all its 
 attractiveness both of poetry or music to Burns's personal 
 exertions. He left Edinburgh on Monday the 18th of Feb- 
 ruary, proceeding by Glasgow, Paisley, and Kilmarnock to 
 Mossgiel. On the 25th he went to Dalswinton, taking with 
 him a sagacious practical farmer, to aid him in coming to 
 some definite resolution as to whether he should be a tenant 
 of Mr Miller, and if so, as to what farm he should select. 
 From Cumnock he wrote hopefully to Clarinda about the 
 farming project. This was on the 2d of March, and on the 
 5th Clarinda alludes in a letter to the approaching accouche- 
 ment of Jean, and expresses sincere pity for that hapless 
 young woman. Burns thought that Jean had no legal claims 
 on him as a husband ; and it is well known that Clarinda, in 
 the fierce energy of her passion, wished him to bind himself 
 to none in marriage, in the hope that circumstances might 
 arise to allow of her own union with him. It appears, there- 
 fore, that Sylvander, Burns's Arcadian sobriquet in his cor- 
 respondence with Mrs M'Lehose, as well as that passionate- 
 hearted, ill-starred woman herself, would have hesitated little 
 to throw poor Armour over altogether, the poet however 
 taking care that Jean and her expected offspring should ex- 
 perience from his humanity that support and shelter which 
 they might have looked for in vain from his shattered love 
 Meanwhile Burns procured temporary shelter for her in Tor- 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, Ivil 
 
 bolton, and afterwards had her removed to Mauchh'ne. He 
 so far reconciled the Armours to their erring daughter, that 
 Mrs Armour attended Jean in her confinement. Again she 
 presented " Eob Mossgiel " with twins, both daughters, who 
 died a few days after their birth. 
 
 On the 13 th of IVIarch he concluded a bargain with Mr 
 Miller for the farm of Ellisland, on the banks of the Nith, 
 between five and six miles above Dumfries. He had the choice 
 of three farms, of which he chose the worst, because it was 
 the most romantically situated. It was stony and impover- 
 ished, but it must be confessed that the landlord gave him 
 an easy bargain. He had also a few days before accomplished 
 two objects of importance to him — he had got a settlement 
 with Creech, and had obtained an order from the Board of 
 Excise for his instructions in the technicalities of the profes- 
 sion. These were to be imparted to him by an officer at Tar- 
 bolton, and it was desirable that they should be completed 
 before the 25th of May, when he was to enter on his lease of 
 Ellisland. He would have at this time about i>'400 in his 
 pocket, and of this he advanced £180 to his brother Gilbert 
 to enable him to struggle on with the cold soil of Mossgiel, 
 and keep the' family together in something like comfort. 
 
 In a letter to James Smith, Avon Printfielcl, Linlithgow, 
 dated April 28, 1788, Burns first acknowledged his intention 
 to make Jean *'an honest woman." He had always had a 
 warm affection for her, chilled naturally for a time by her own 
 and her parents' conduct towards him ; but cast as she now 
 was upon his protection, his love was rekindled, being strongly 
 fanned by his natural tenderness of heart. 
 
 He took up his residence at Ellisland on the 13th of June. 
 He had to get a new steading built, and Jean and her child, 
 one of the first twins, had to remain at Mauchline. To Mrs 
 Dunlop he acknowledged his marriage, and his satisfaction 
 with his choice. That he had done her justice reconciled 
 himself to his better instincts. Providing a home by the 
 banks of the Nith for the loved one not far from the banks of 
 the Ayr, his conscience became calm, and his afiections took 
 eager flight to the quondam "Mauchline belle." It was while 
 
Iviii BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, 
 
 animated by these feelings that he composed his famous song^ 
 " Of a' the airts the wind can blaw," and the warm and luxu- 
 riant stanzas beginning, " Oh, were I on Parnassus' hill ! " 
 
 On the 5th of August, Robert Burns and Jean Armour were 
 formally declared husband and wife by the church. His new 
 house not being ready so early as he had expected, he brought 
 Mrs Burns to Dumfriesshire in the first week of December, 
 having obtained temporary accommodation for her at a neigh- 
 bouring farm. United to his wife and family, surrounded by 
 a household-train, however humble, his feelings welled over 
 in song, " I hae a wife o' my ain," &c. 
 
 It was not long, however, before he had reason to despair 
 of succeeding as the farmer of Ellisland, and he took measures 
 to obtain an appointment as an exciseman in his own district. 
 
 He disclosed his views to Dr Moore, and in the midst of 
 his despondency a flash of hope, characteristically enough^ 
 cheers him on ; for, while hinting that an excise officer's posi- 
 tion would be acceptable, he sees a supervisorship or surveyor- 
 generalship looming in the future. 
 
 Ellisland was a pleasant spot, and in the neighbourhood 
 Were some very worthy men who cultivated the acquaintance 
 of Burns. Among others, Captain Riddel of Glenriddel, and 
 Mr M'Murdo, chamberlain to the Duke of Queensberry, and 
 residing in Drumlanrig Castle. He would have been very 
 happy here had fortune been more propitious. He exerted 
 himself, in conjunction with Captain Riddel, to establish a 
 parish library, perhaps among the first of such in Scotland. 
 His feelings towards Creech had undergone a change, and he 
 now corresponded with him in friendly terms, and supplied 
 him, gratis, with copies of his more recent productions for a 
 contemplated new edition. Ecclesiastical disputes still raging 
 in the west, he wrote " The Kirk's Alarm," in behalf of Dr 
 M'Gill of Ayr, whom he looked on as an injured honest man ; 
 but M'Gill having given in a document expressive of his 
 regret for having disturbed the peace of the church, the 
 storm of persecution was allayed. 
 
 Mrs Burns, now residing in the new house at Ellisland, 
 having given birth to a son on the 18th of August 1789, the 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, lix 
 
 poet, anticipating increased household expenditure, applied to 
 Graham of Fintray to be appointed excise officer of the dis- 
 trict in which he lived. Ellisland was to be converted into a 
 dairy farm, managed principally by the females of the estab- 
 lishment, thus giving the poet time for attending to official 
 duties. 
 
 Two bacchanalian productions of the highest merit, "WilHe 
 brewed a peck o' maut," and **The Whistle," were now written- 
 It has been strenuously asserted that Burns was not present 
 at the famous contest for the whistle, but it has been clearly 
 established that he was, nor can any candid man, all circum- 
 stances considered, attach to him the slightest blame. He 
 was as sober as a lark when the contest closed. Though now 
 happy, most happy with his Jean, the vision of Mary Camp- 
 bell sometimes floated before his mental vision, and at the 
 close of an autumn day, three years after poor Mary's untimely 
 death, he composed the verses, " To Mary in Heaven." He 
 was appointed to the excise, but his district comprehended 
 ten parishes, and neither his farming operations nor his poetic 
 studies could prosper well with a man who had to ride on an 
 average two hundred miles a week. He was, however, zealous 
 and conscientious in the discharge of his official duties, and 
 his over-exertion laid him on a sick bed. His diligence grati- 
 fied his superiors to such a degree, that, when he had been 
 only a twelvemonth in the service, his promotion to a super- 
 visorship, it might have been of £200 a year, was contem- 
 plated. Old friends sometimes looked in on him, as Mr 
 Ramsay of Ochtertyre and Robert Ainslie. Such days were 
 to be marked by a white stone. In one day, at Ellisland, he 
 composed what he himself deemed the best of his poems, 
 " Tam o' Shanter," for Captain Grose's " Antiquities of Scot- 
 land." He wished Alloway Kirk to be delineated in that 
 work, and Grose agreed to do so if the ingenious Mr Robert 
 Burns should write for it a '' pretty tale." 
 
 Burns was now falling into straitened circumstances. Ellis- 
 land was eating up the profits of his muse. Yet it never 
 occurred to him to rhyme for anything but "fun." In spring 
 1791 he had stated to Lady Elizabeth Cunningham that but 
 
Ix BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, 
 
 for the excise he would have had to give up the farm. Per* 
 haps he was not a very good farmer. Such is the general and 
 perhaps correct impression. He now only waited promotion 
 to throw up the farm altogether. His hopes of a supervisor- 
 ship were for the present blasted, but he received an appoint- 
 ment to Dumfries, with a salary of £70, which was £20 more 
 than he had at Ellisland, and, besides, he was not required to 
 keep a horse. Accordingly he left Ellisland, and quitting the 
 freedom of the country for the smoky town, he settled down 
 in a small house in the southern ca]3ital of Scotland, in the 
 winter of 1791. 
 
 It is generally agreed that after settling in Dumfries his 
 moral course was downward rather than otherwise ; and if 
 fame had been busy with his character before she had fairer 
 scope now. Let it be owned once for all that there is some 
 truth in this ; at the same time, many of the tales circulated 
 to his hurt were either lies or greatly exaggerated ; nay, if 
 carefully examined in the light of co-existing circumstances, 
 in nowise discreditable to him. He was a man of too much 
 mark to escape from the consequences of even the appearance 
 of evil at the hands of those who lay in wait for his halting. 
 Your ordinary blockhead is of all men the dullest and most 
 malignant ; and a fellow-feeling of common danger leagued the 
 dull into one against such a dissector of men's minds and 
 motives, such a master of withering sarcasm and crucifying 
 impromptu. Dumfries, like most Scottish towns of similar 
 size and character even now, still more seventy-five years ago, 
 contained a goodly proportion of men of comparatively easy 
 circumstances who scarcely knew how to fill up the entire day. 
 Their meridian, or twelve-hours' dram, their four o'clock dram, 
 and a tumbler or two of toddy in the evening in their favourite 
 hovjff, was a regular part of the business, at least of the rou- 
 tine, of every day. These men seldom got highly intoxicated, 
 as may be understood from this having been a daily practice, 
 and from their having been generally men in fair businesses. 
 They were soakers, tipplers, their breath never free from the 
 smell of whisky, fresh or stale, but drunkards they were not. 
 Again, there were young doctors, lawyers, writers' clerks, who 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, Ixi 
 
 could not so indulge during the day, but who preferred some- 
 thing more sprightly in their evening com potations. By both 
 these classes a man like Burns, who, however, never indulged 
 in the forenoon, was eagerly welcomed, illustrating their orgies 
 by the splendour of his genius and renown, and bringing in 
 his conversation, whether as sallies of wit, floods of broad 
 merriment, outbursts of indefensible coarseness, or electric 
 flashes of pathos drawing tears from every eye, a wealth of 
 social stimulus that could not be found elsewhere. That he 
 had not indulged much before he came to Dumfries is indis- 
 piltably established. That a man whose clear income was £1 
 per annum, as his was at Lochlea and Mossgiel, who clothed 
 himself respectably as became his station, and owed no man 
 anything, could have been a drunkard, nay, could have been 
 often within the walls of a public-house, is clear on the very 
 face of it. Only on two suppositions could this have been the 
 case. First, that Burns was a- lounger hanging about inn 
 doors at Torbolton or Mauchline, for a chance treat from any 
 farmer or bagman, who might think the drink well earned by 
 the brilliancy of the conversation ; or, second, that he sorned 
 on his rustic compeers. But Burns was a man of the most 
 conscientious industry, and his highness of spirit would not 
 brook to accept of anything from any man without paying his 
 fair share of the lawin'. Auld Nanse Tinnock, the Mauchline 
 . hostel wife, who found herself and hostelrie suddenly rendered 
 famous by the *' Earnest Cry and Prayer," stoutly denied, and 
 truthfully, that he had been wont to study politics in her 
 house at least " over a glass of guid auld Scotch drink." And 
 when he tells Lapraik, — 
 
 ** The four-gill chap, we'se gar him clatter, 
 An' kirsen him wi' reekin' water ; 
 Syne we '11 sit down an' tak' onr whitter, 
 To cheer our heart," 
 
 — it IS well enough known that "the four-gill chap " was in the 
 same category with the delicacies of the feast of Barmecide. 
 How it fared with him in Edinburgh cannot be perfectly 
 known. But charges of habitual or even frequent intoxica- 
 
Ixii BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 tion were never preferred, though a very considerable amount 
 of free living might be pardoned him, when we consider the 
 elevation to which he was so suddenly raised, the eagerness 
 with which his company was sought after, the comparative 
 idleness in which he found himself after a life of labour so 
 severe, that he himself says it was " the unceasing moil of a 
 galley-slave," a style of living that might be called in com- 
 parison luxurious, and a greater abundance of cash than he 
 had ever before possessed. Yet, when about to leave Edin- 
 burgh, Dr Blair addressed to him a most friendly and affec- 
 tionate letter, in which his having stood firm and calm and 
 unseduced amid the dazzling circumstances by which he had 
 been tried is particularly enlarged upon. At Ellisland we 
 know his life was one of temperance and industry, and that he 
 spoke the literal truth when he said that he had taken down 
 his punch-bowl from its dusty corner on some particular occa- 
 sion of merry-making. At all times he was apt to be in- 
 truded on, sometimes by shallow blockheads who were no 
 mates for him, at other times by men of worth and standing, 
 literary and social ; and to both classes alike he was apt to 
 give up his time and impair his means by a hearty and abun- 
 dant hospitality. His was not the calculating head and the 
 chill heart in hours of good-fellowship ; in every hand that he 
 clasped he owned the hand of a brother ; and often must he 
 have thrown his pearls before those who could not appreciate 
 them, and neglected his true interests to gratify the laudable 
 or vulgar, and therefore impertinent, curiosity of many who, 
 whether fitted to appreciate or not the wondrous being with 
 whom they had been brought into contact, robbed him, and 
 through him posterity, of that which could not in any case 
 so enrich them, as it made him and has made us poor indeed. 
 The country gentry, too, for a season, were urgent for his 
 presence at their tables. And whilst it must have been grati- 
 fying both to Burns and them, it was on the whole injurious. 
 For it broke in upon his leisure, tended to produce, if it did 
 not actually produce, dissatisfaction with the humble miTiage 
 at home, and put him altogether in a false position. He 
 was the earthen pot sailing down the stream among the 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH Ixiii 
 
 brazen ones, and sure to come to grief ; as the fable of the 
 boys and frogs has it — " What is sport to you is death to us." 
 Had these local magnates exerted themselves, as it is possible 
 they might have done successfully, to have got promotion for 
 him in his humble self -elected calling, and thereby have pro- 
 cured for him an income large enough to have kept his mind 
 at ease with regard to his family, and for himself a prospect 
 of greater leisure for poetical activity, something might be 
 pardoned to their selfishness. If they had taken away much, 
 it could have been said that they had given something, or 
 had tried to give something, in return. But they threw aside 
 the flower after they had extracted half its sweetness, and 
 went on their way and made no sign. 
 
 It is said that when it was plain that farming Ellisland had 
 proved a failure, and, from some political sentiments uttered, 
 or misdemeanours or indiscretions acted, in Dumfries, his 
 prospects in the excise were overclouded, or supposed to be 
 60, his conduct was less circumspect than usual. If such 
 were the case, do we not see similar results every day % Sor- 
 row is proverbially thirsty ; and if, from a regard to human 
 frailty, we condone ordinary mortals for losing heart when 
 fortune frowns, how much more ought we to pardon a being 
 60 impressionable as a poet, and that poet Burns ! But is 
 it true that Burns so demeaned himself in actual or dreaded 
 misfortune ? And is it true, and if so, how true, that Burns 
 by his political sins brought himself under the chastisement 
 or reproof of his superiors % To answer this it will be neces- 
 sary to glance at the state of politics in Great Britain and 
 France at the period under review. 
 
 The French Ke volution of 1789 did not immediately affect 
 the sentiments and expressions of Burns, so far as can be 
 learned from his writings ; but most men of ardent tempera- 
 ment and liberal opinions watched eagerly for the results of 
 an experiment that was to introduce liberty, fraternity, and 
 equality among men. The position of the unfortunate Louis 
 was viewed with alarm by all dynasties, and by the governing 
 classes generally, as something that boded no good to their 
 order. The British Government and its functionaries, high 
 
Ixiv BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 and low, were naturally on the alert to prevent the spread of 
 those dangerous doctrines which had in their eyes proved so 
 fatal to the cause of order. Burns had a half-sentimental 
 Jacobitism, which had already subjected him to suspicion 
 from the indiscreet publicity he had given it in the unfortu- 
 nate verses written on an inn window at Stirling. At a period 
 of alarm and suspicion, this would readily be remembered ; 
 and, from his fame as a poet, and his position as a servant 
 of the Government, his conduct would be narrowly observed* 
 At a moment of public alarm a race of vile informers finds 
 encouragement and reward from the representatives of power ; 
 and men, otherwise highminded and honourable, in the panic 
 of the hour became merciless, uncharitable, and intolerant of 
 everything like independent thought and action. The latent 
 Jacobitism of Scotland came to the surface as a sort of half- 
 Jacobinism, merely because it was known to be distasteful to 
 the reigning family. Burns, not only as a quasi-Jacobite, bui 
 in common with a large proportion of the most enlightened 
 and thoughtful of his fellow-subjects generally, expressed him- 
 self more freely, in the way of sympathy with the French 
 patriots, than was discreet in one in his position. Hence 
 many eyes were turned upon him with watchful spite ; and 
 the disafifected ganger, if his conduct were out of joint, or his 
 circumstances embarrassed, would find neither generous criti- 
 cism nor brotherly sympathy. As matters grew more serious 
 in France, the most of those who at first had hailed the Re- 
 volution as the inauguration of a millennium of liberty were 
 compelled to withdraw their sympathies, and to cling with 
 increased fondness to the constitutional form of government 
 established here. Dumfries was a Tory town, and political 
 feeling is generally rancorous in direct proportion to its dis- 
 tance from the centre of power. Burns was a Whig ; and the 
 chief men who had patronised him in Edinburgh, and the 
 squires whom he mixed with oftenest in Dumfriesshire, as 
 well as his superiors in the excise there, were of the same 
 political creed. That he was a Whig, and the man of greatest 
 mark in the town, made him particularly obnoxious to the 
 Tory gentlemen, especially as there was a suspicion that he 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, Ixv 
 
 was a turncoat, and had held different opinions before he had 
 " fallen in Whiggish hands." A distich applied to Burns has 
 been preserved by Sir Walter Scott : — 
 
 " A "Whig, I guess, but Eab 's a Tory, 
 And gi'es us mony a funny story. " 
 
 Whether this be true or not, it is certain that for some time 
 Burns was a marked man. In so small a place he could not 
 but know this ; and it is not difficult to imagine that a man 
 of such haughtiness of spirit could ill brook the scorn or in- 
 solence of any, of whatever rank ; and that he would, from 
 the vivacity of his temperament, unconsciously even play into 
 his enemies' hands. His obnoxious political sentiments, and 
 his stubborn pride of character — not formed to conciliate 
 those whom he deemed treating him unworthily — had doubt- 
 less a great instrumentality in originating those tales to his 
 discredit, which, like all doubtful stories about the eminent, 
 ever find too ready credence. 
 
 The affair of the four carronades sent by him to the French 
 Convention, along with a letter expressive of his sympathy 
 with their exertions in the cause of liberty, has had perhaps 
 in some quarters undue importance attached to it. The 
 Solway Firth, from its proximity to and easiness of access 
 from the Isle of Man, was much frequented by smuggling 
 craft, and, on the Scottish side especially, there dwelt a race 
 of most daring and unscrupulous smugglers. That contraband 
 operations of almost incredible magnitude were here syste- 
 matised and regularly carried on, is familiar to every reader 
 of " Bedgauntlet." On February 27th, 1792, a suspicious- 
 looking craft was discovered in the Firth, and Burns, with 
 others, was set to watch her movements. Next day she 
 stranded, and, it being discovered that her crew were nume- 
 rous, well armed, and likely not to yield without formidable 
 resistance, two officers were despatched in different directions 
 for troops. On their arrival. Bums, putting himself at their 
 head, entered the water sword in hand, and boarded the ship, 
 when the crew, losing heart, submitted without a struggle. 
 Here, as in all his professional requirements, he exhibited 
 
Ixvi BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, 
 
 himself a brave and zealous officer. The vessel, with all her 
 stores and arms, was sold at Dumfries ; and Burns, purchasing 
 four carronades for L.3, sent them, with a letter as above 
 mentioned, to the French Convention. 
 
 Mr Chambers, by a careful examination of dates, has shown 
 that when the guns were bought, no such body as the French 
 Convention existed. This, however, matters little ; whether 
 they were sent to the Convention or the Legislative Assembly, 
 it was an extraordinary and uncalled-for act for a British 
 citizen, and a servant of the Government, so far to step out of 
 his way as to send munitions of war to a Government viewed 
 by his own with uneasy, if not exactly with hostile, feelings. 
 The sentiments of the royal family were also known to be 
 unfavourable to the French Government, and its emissary, 
 M. de Perigord, had even then been publicly slighted at a 
 levee by the Queen. The guns and letter were stopped at 
 Dover ; and it must have been regarded as a very eccenti-ic 
 action in an excise officer, personally to address a foreign 
 Government, and furnish it with material aid, which might 
 be used some time against either Britain or its alHes. The 
 whole transaction, however, regard it as we may, was done 
 deliberately, from no hasty impulse, and under no unusual 
 excitement. It was, we think, very indiscreet ; and, though 
 not visited with formal censure from his superiors, would not 
 elevate him in their estimation, nor, at a season of political 
 excitement, be otherwise than detrimental to his chances of 
 promotion. 
 
 Matters in France were proceeding rapidly to a crisis. The 
 blood spilt in torrents by the fierce democracy, the establish- 
 ment of a republic, and the dissemination of revolutionary 
 ideas in other countries — ^particularly the formation in this 
 country of poHtical societies named *' Friends of the People '* . 
 — were viewed by those in power, and by the majority of all 
 classes, as endangering the peace of society. At such a time 
 Burns ought to have been more than usually circumspect, 
 and, looking at contemporary events in the light of his con 
 nection with the Government, to have said or done nothing 
 to embarrass the powers that were, or to draw upon himself 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. Ixvii 
 
 misconstruction and obloquy ; yet, such was the strength of 
 his feelings and the vivacity of his temperament, that he 
 boldly gave utterance to his sympathy with the French, and 
 to his dissatisfaction with the British Government for its 
 hostile attitude towards the republicans, and its refusal to 
 grant the reforms insisted on by the " Friends of the People," 
 and even by the more cautious Whigs. In ordinary conver- 
 sation, but above all in animated discussion, he gave vent to 
 his sentiments with a force and fearlessness that made mode- 
 rate men shrink from him in alarm. Thus, at a private 
 dinner party he refused to drink the health of Pitt, he being 
 meanwhile a servant of Pitt's Government, and proposed 
 instead the health of Washington. Now, apart from the con- 
 sideration of the claims of these two distinguished men to pre- 
 cedence, it was surely most ill-judged in Burns to demur to 
 pledge the health of Pitt. The great officers of the Crown are 
 accustomed to be toasted at all kinds of meetings, and by 
 men of all political opinions. But it was an unguarded, 
 though doubtless an obstinate, assertion of his sympathies 
 with republicanism. Two other stories of similar tendency 
 may be here mentioned, though they may not have occurred 
 exactly at this time. Entering the Dumfries theatre one 
 night while the National Anthem was being played, the poet, 
 who was somewhat intoxicated, refused to uncover, and called 
 for pa ira. The anecdote is in its essentials confirmed by 
 two independent witnesses. A call was made by the audience 
 for his expulsion, which subsided on his doffing his hat. Such 
 an act seems, to use the phraseology of Calvinism, to savour 
 of "judicial blindness." On another occasion, at an after- 
 dinner drinking-bout, he proposed the toast — ^^May our success 
 in the present war be equal to the justice of our causeJ'* An 
 officer present, a Captain , took offence at it, and, as bear- 
 ing his Majesty's commission — ^which Burns also did, though 
 he seems to have forgotten it — took exception to it, doubtless 
 less from what was said than from what was implied, and a 
 discreditable brawl ensued, which, according to the usual code 
 of honour in those days, ought to have resulted in a hostile 
 meeting. Burns, next morning, wrote a very humble letter 
 
Ixviii BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, 
 
 to his host, exj)lainir]g and attempting — it must be confessed, 
 unsuccessfully — to defend the obnoxious toast. It was, he 
 said, "a toast that the most outrageous frenzy of loyalty 
 cannot object to." This was begging the question. Words, 
 in themselves harmless, become at certain conjunctures " flat 
 blasphemy;" and none knew this better than Burns. But, 
 in the cases we have mentioned, there can be no doubt that 
 the wine had stolen away, not the wise man's brains, but his 
 caution, and that, while under its influence, he gave expres- 
 sion to sentiments which he would have carefully repressed 
 while sober — some of which, in a state of sobriety, would 
 never have occurred to him, nay, never would have shaped 
 themselves in his mind as distinct propositions. But the bowl 
 which elevated him for a while into the most enchanting of 
 table companions, gradually gave, as Horace says, " horns to 
 the poor man." Fluent of discourse, quick of apprehension, 
 fertile in illustration ; argument, sarcasm, joke, pathos — the 
 whole armoury of successful conversational display flooding 
 his ideas in resistless stream — ^would make him, as the wine 
 flowed, and 
 
 *' The mirth and fun grew fast and furious,'* 
 
 occasionally one of the most obstinate and headstrong of men. 
 It is heartrending to read the almost abject letter in which 
 he excuses himself for not having proceeded to fatal arbitra- 
 ment on account of his wife and children, and pleads with 
 his host to get the story suppressed, as its publication might 
 bring him under the censiu'e of his superiors in the Excise. 
 No doubt, however, can be entertained that these unpleas- 
 antnesses all owed their origin to the " Social Bowl." 
 
 Some malicious, or loyal^ person had brought these or 
 similar proceedings under the notice of the Board of Excise, 
 and Mr Mitchell, the collector, was instructed to inquire into 
 his political conduct, as being a person blamed for disafiec- 
 tion to the Government. Burns was thrown into a state of 
 great alarm, as may be seen from his letters to Mr Graham 
 and Mrs Dunlop. of December 1792, and the following Janu- 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, Ixix 
 
 arj. It was even rumoured that he had been dismissed from 
 the Excise, as we learn from his own letter to Mr Erskine of 
 Mar, in which a history of the transaction, and of his defence^ 
 as well as an exposition of his political creed are given in 
 extenso. It is clear that the defence would be nearly as un- 
 palatable to the Board as the offence. Burns evidently made 
 more of the matter than the circumstances warranted. He 
 was cautioned to be more circumspect ; and as a Government 
 oflS-cial he ought not to have been surprised at this, but rather 
 that his ]3olitical delinquences were treated so leniently. It 
 may be easily imagined that a mere ganger would not have 
 been allowed to slip so easily ; and that for such neither Mr 
 Graham nor Mr Corbet would have stood his steady friends. 
 That he was told to act, and not to think, if it ever was said, 
 was simply impertinent ; and to be silent and obedient, what- 
 ever might be men or measures, though, as Eluellen says, 
 "prave 'ords," must have commended themselves to Burns 
 himself as the only proper course for him so long as he chose 
 to remain a servant of the Government. 
 
 This caution preyed on his sensitive mind, and made him 
 fear for promotion in his calling. It is a peculiarity of i\\Q 
 meaner class of animals to assail one "who has been wounded ; 
 and ignoble men seem to consider it a duty to keep down a 
 brother who has fallen. Just in proportion as they worship 
 the rising sun do they heap up their blasphemies against the 
 luminary in hi? decline. Besides, many worthy God-feariug 
 persons, aware of the freedom of speech, and taught to suspect 
 a corresponding looseness of conduct, in our poet, as well as 
 many sensible and respectable Tories who otherwise would 
 have been proud of his intimacy, but were shocked by his 
 political baokslidings, kept aloof from him. In a small, gos- 
 siping, aristocratic town like Dumfries this was singularly 
 unfortunate for Bums, because no man would suffer more 
 acutely at being tabooed in society. He had not that thorough 
 absorption in his poetical calling that would make him feel 
 poetry to be its own exceeding great reward. He must have 
 the sympathies and kind regards of his fellow-men ; and 
 though he might sing — 
 
Ixx BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 " Who does me disdain, 
 I will scorn them again, " 
 
 the averted looks and cold shoulders of his fellow-citizens 
 must have furnished him with exquisite misery. Mr Lockhart 
 records an anecdote furnished to him by David Macculloch, 
 son of the laird of Ardwall : — " He was seldom more grieved 
 than when, riding into Dumfries one fine summer's evening 
 to attend a county ball, he saw Burns walking alone, on the 
 shady side of the pnucij)al street of the town, while the oppo- 
 site side was gay with successive groups of gentlemen and 
 ladies, all drawn together for the festivities of the night, not 
 one of whom appeared willing to recognise him. The horse- 
 man dismounted and joined Burns, who, on his proposing to 
 him to cross the street, said, * Nay, nay, my young friend — 
 that 's all over now ; * and quoted, after a pause, some verses 
 of Lady Grizzel Baillie's pathetic ballad, — 
 
 " * His bonnet stood ance fu' fair on his brow, 
 
 His auld ane look'd better than mony ane's new; 
 But now he lets 't wear ony way it will hing, 
 And casts himsel' dowie upon the corn-bing. 
 
 " * Oh were we young, as we ance hae been, 
 
 We suld hae been galloping down on yon green, 
 And linking it ower the lily white lea. 
 And werena my heart light I wad die J " 
 
 It v^as little in Burns's character to let his feelings on certain 
 subjects escape in this fashion. He, immediately after citing 
 these verses, assumed the sprightliness of his most pleasing 
 manner ; and taking his young friend home with him, en- 
 tertained him very agreeably till the hour of the ball arrived, 
 with a bowl of his usual potation, and Bonnie Jean's singing 
 of some verses which he had recently composed." 
 
 We see him here in two very opposite jjhases of his char- 
 acter, which, on other occasions also, alternated with almost 
 inexplicable rapidity, like the tears and smiles of an April 
 morn. 
 
 One thing is certain, that in the performance of his ofTicial 
 duties he was conscientious and punctual to a degree of jea- 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. Ixxi 
 
 lousy. As an officer his conduct was praiseworthy, and neve? 
 were his duties performed in any but the most rigid spirit 
 of fidelity. The least appearance of remissness was explained 
 and defended with punctilious warmth. And this tallies with 
 the general sense of duty which never forsook him under any 
 circumstances, and which, when his conduct happened to 
 deflect from the exact circle of propriety, filled him with such 
 vehement remorse. His constitutional melancholy, his large 
 social susceptibilities, his sorrows, his somewhat incongruous 
 circumstances, his falling on evil tongues and evil times, 
 made him apt to snatch an hour from reflection, and drown 
 amid the jovialty of the festive board the meaner cares of his 
 ill-assorted life. And yet these cares sprang chiefly from 
 himself. Had he accepted his position in a spirit of faith, 
 and hope, and cheerfulness, talked less of independence, and 
 leant more on himself, cultivating and maturing the s^Dirit of 
 divine harmony with which he had been so largely gifted, 
 his soul might have got into tune, and, instead of his life 
 alternating between paroxysms of wild joy and overmastering 
 gloom, it might have flowed on musically like a "rejoicing 
 stream." 
 
 Burns was really as little of a Jacobin at heart as he was 
 of a Jacobite. Though he did express sympathy with the 
 patriots, and rejoiced over the capture of the Bastile, yet 
 when France assumed an attitude hostile to Britain, his 
 patriotism was in a glow at once. And his patriotism had 
 been from his earliest years one of the strongest sentiments 
 of his heart, not a sentiment so much as a passion. For 
 Scotland with her old historic, heroic memories, in the first 
 place, and as a poet ; and for the empire, of which she was 
 an integrant part, with its world-wide possessions and inter- 
 ests, in the second place, and as a man and citizen, his heart 
 ever beat with the most generous devotion. It is one thing 
 to discuss politi3al questions and possible reforms, and to 
 regard with interest and admiration the eff'orts of an enslaved 
 people to shake off the yoke of despotism, or free themselves 
 from the oppression of an insolent aristocracy ; but should 
 that same people, in the intoxication of success, threaten to 
 
Ix-xii BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 pollute the soil of a free nation by making a descent on its 
 shores for any purpose whatever, then the soul of every 
 patriot is up in arras, and the feelings which animated Burns 
 when he composed that noble war-song, " Does haughty Gaul 
 invasion threat?" pervade millions of bosoms, though none 
 but the one Tyrtoeus of his people could shape them into 
 such an inspiring and defiant war-cry. Burns was one of the 
 battalion of volunteers raised in Dumfries, as others were 
 elsewhere over the United Kingdom, to repel, if need were, 
 any hostile attack of "haughty Gaul." And, though some 
 of the respectables, God help them ! objected to the enrolment 
 of the bard, he soon became the most popular man in the 
 battalion, and voluntarily became their poet-laureate. 
 
 The "Dumfries Yolunteers" and the "Poor and Honest 
 Sodger" then rose at once to the highest popularity. All 
 classes sang them with enthusiasm, and there can be little 
 doubt that they added many a brave soldier to the ranks of 
 the British army, by investing with the finest human interest 
 the career of a humble warrior, and lifting the public imagi- 
 nation above the familiar conception of the ranks of the army 
 being recruited chiefly from the lowest and most degraded 
 of the populace. And herein surely Burns deserved well of 
 his country, well especially of its Government. That your 
 Saltmarket or Canongate losel will fight well has been 
 proved on many a bloody field. That the army is the best 
 school he could enter to acquire habifs of self-command and 
 order, obedience to lawful authority, and many other minor 
 morals, is nowise difiicult to understand and acknowledge. 
 But that he should be brought into contact with steady in- 
 telligent men of his own order, who love their profession, and 
 study its details that they may obtain promotion ; who set 
 him an example of voluntary sobriety, subordination, pursuit 
 of knowledge, and a faithful observance of the decencies 
 of life ; and all the better if they are men, as many 
 common soldiers we hope and believe are, of genuine piety 
 then not only is his chance of reformation greater, but the 
 credit of the whole service is enhanced, and the character 
 of soldier is not associated, as in many minds it still is 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, kxiil 
 
 with whatever is most dissokite and godless. Burns's song 
 produced on the public mind generally, and fortunately on 
 the minds of many young men in town and country of excel- 
 lent character and good education, and who had been brought 
 up in honest households, an impression that the army was 
 not the last resource of scapegraces, but a field from which 
 by faithful discharge of duty might be reaped honourable in- 
 dependence and possible promotion. " Scots wha ha'e wi' 
 Wallace bled " and the " Song of Death '^ tend to promote 
 patriotism, and a contempt of death in freedom's cause, in- 
 spiring the finest martial enthusiasm, admirably adapted to 
 the genius of our people, which is martial^ not military^ that 
 prompts with stern resolve to repel aggression or support 
 outraged weakness, but has no thirst for war or its triumphs 
 as such. Its motto is *' Defence." With the exception of 
 Dibdin, whose services to the navy by his excellent sailor- 
 Bongs were acknowledged by a handsome pension, no poet of 
 the time, — and to name Dibdin as a poet in the same breath 
 with Burns is " very tolerable and not to be endured," — did 
 anything to keep alive the national spirit. And yet these 
 services were never acknowledged. Burns, it is certain, never 
 looked for acknowledgment, never imagined he had done any- 
 thing more meritorious than the most prosaic volunteer who 
 appeared on parade, both having done what they could ; yet, 
 devoting his rare, his matchless gift of song to the service 
 of his country, had his country's rulers bestowed on him the 
 merest recognition, though it had cost the imperial treasury 
 no single coin, it would have thrilled his generous soul to its 
 centre with grateful delight. Had they given or promised 
 promotion in the Excise, how, from no spirit of flunkeyism, 
 but from the native promptings of the warmest and least 
 exacting yet most independent heart then beating, would his 
 gratitude have overflowed in gushing melody ; and, as he 
 mourned for Glencairn, who had done nothing for him beyond 
 the commonest courtesies of a kindly nature, and getting the 
 members of the Caledonian Hunt to subscribe for guinea 
 copies of his second edition, — as he mourned for him as 
 mother for child, as bridegroom for newly-wedded bride, so 
 
Ixxiv BIOGEAPHICAL SKRTCBC, 
 
 the raptures of his heartfelt joy would have been boundless ; 
 and many a sad pang would have been spared to him, many 
 a gloomy foreboding warded off, and his later years, instead 
 of showing life to him as a bare heath without bloom, might 
 have presented it as a not unlovely garden. And whatever 
 may be said or thought of his dissipation, this much is clear, 
 that not when skies are bright and seas are calm, but when 
 they are livid with storms and the waves run high, does the 
 poetic temperament resort to the bowl to deaden thought, 
 " and steej^ the senses in forgetfulness." 
 
 After all, what was the amount of dissipation with which 
 he could be charged? His political heresies, we believe, 
 mainly caused it to be noticed, and, of course, to be exag- 
 gerated. He was not more addicted to the use of intoxicating 
 liquors than many of the most respectable civic functionaries, 
 and even grave elders of the church. And for him, in respect 
 to this, and, it may be, other indiscretions, a strong palliation 
 may be found in his temperament, and in the temptations to 
 which he, more than others, was exposed. Among these wa8 
 the frequent seizure and confiscation of rum or other spirits, 
 which fell to the lot of the revenue officers ; and a man of 
 the generous and hospitable disposition of our bard would 
 always be too ready, in the after-part of the day, in his own 
 house, to play the host ; and thus, from an abuse of one of 
 the finest feelings of our nature, he was wont to expose him- 
 self to unnecessary and hurtful indulgence. If other short- 
 comings can be charged against him, we should remember 
 that they must have been rare, and sorrowed over with an 
 anguish of repentance almost inconceivable — as the party 
 sinned against was the first to forgive, and during the re- 
 mainder of her life cherished for his memory the most sin- 
 cere affection and admiration. And we should not forget that 
 he died when he was comparatively young, when in many men 
 the fever of the blood has not been cooled ; and that, when 
 passion had subsided, the remainder of his life might have 
 flowed on in calmness, had he been preserved to the world 
 Allan Cunningham, than whom no man had a more tender 
 regard for Burns's reputation, has. we think, been guilty of an 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. Ixxi 
 
 error in judgment, in insinuating that too close an intimacy 
 existed between him and some of the heroines of his later 
 songs. He should either have been more circumstantial, or 
 been silent altogether. Professor Walker hints something of 
 the same kind, but he is a very grave offender with regard to 
 Burns's later years, and has come under a most truculent but 
 not altogether undeserved castigation from Professor Wilson. 
 In fact, Heron, Currie, and Walker have been too free in giving 
 circulation to popular gossip, and to the whispers and inuen- 
 does of rumour, always to be distrusted in the case of any man 
 of more than usual mark who has recently died. And this, at 
 ^ time when the poet's exemplary wife and young family, as 
 well as his most respectable brother and mother, could not 
 fail to know and suffer from such gratuitous publicity given to 
 private shortcomings, on the supposition even that what they 
 published was the unvarnished truth. That Burns was a 
 ganger, and had been a ploughman, and that therefore, as one 
 of the 'plehs^ his reputation might be discussed in a spirit of 
 freedom and plain-speaking that would not have been readily 
 thought of in the case of an individual of higher social stand- 
 ing, whose dearest and nearest relatives must necessarily have 
 been cognisant of everything published affecting his memory, 
 is the excuse now made for his early biographers. It is a 
 lame one, but in the case of Currie we are willing to allow it 
 as he proved himself the most devoted and least selfish friend 
 of all that took an interest in the poet's family. His sins of 
 commission proceeded from no foolish notion of his own supe- 
 riority, nor does he ever speak in the same patronising spirit 
 of condescension which is so offensive in Professor Walker; but 
 he had not realised that Burns was no vulgar prodigy, but a 
 poet of a great and original genius, who was not merely to 
 slip into a humble niche in the temple of poesy, under shelter 
 of his ploughman's plaid, but into the most conspicuous one 
 allotted to his century, and with all a poet's singing robes 
 about him. Mr Carlyle puts the case very graphically thus: — 
 ** Dr Currie and Mr AValker have both, we think, mistaken 
 one essentially important thing : their own and the world's 
 true relation to their author, and the style in which it became 
 
Ixxvi BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 sucli men to think and to speak of such a man. Dr Currie 
 loved the poet truly — more perhaps than he avowed to his 
 readers, or even to himself — ^yet he everywhere introduces 
 him with a certain patronising, apologetic air, as if the polite 
 public might think it strange and half unwarrantable that he, 
 a man of science, a scholar, and gentleman, should do such 
 honour to a rustic. In all this, however, we readily admit 
 that his fault was not want of love, but weakness of faith, and 
 regret that the first and kindest of all our poet's biographers 
 should not have seen farther, or believed more boldly what he 
 saw. Mr Walker ofiends more deeply in the same kind," &c. 
 Towards the close of his life. Miss Aiken, daughter of his 
 early Ayr patron, encountered him on the streets of Dum- 
 fries ; he was gaunt and thin, and exhibited all the marks of 
 ill-health. She insisted that he should go home and get 
 ready for dinner in the house of the friend with whom she 
 was staying, one of the aristocracy of the town. Captain 
 Hamilton, his landlord, also was urgent for a renewal of the 
 intimacy which had formerly existed between them, but which 
 had latterly fallen off somewhat. Some of the country gentle^ 
 men and their wives, ladies of the highest culture and deli- 
 cacy, and such persons of respectability as Gray the teacher, 
 Findlater the supervisor, and Mr Syme of Kyedale, were his 
 warm friends to the last. So that we may believe that the 
 stories to his discredit were greatly exaggerated, else, in so 
 circumscribed a community, these persons would have fallen 
 away from him as from a leper. The only class that as a body 
 and to a man abjured intimacy with him were the local clergy. 
 This is not to be wondered at, nor taken as a proof, in the 
 absence of other proof, that his society was generally shunned, 
 or deserving to be shunned. In provincial towns in Scotland, 
 and perhaps elsewhere, the local clergy are in a very painful 
 position. As a rule, their fellowship is restricted to the 
 straitest professors of their own congregation. A set of old 
 ladies of unimpeachable orthodoxy and spotless decorum, pos- 
 sessed of the narrowest sympathies, and a few old men of 
 analogous character, supplemented by a sprinkhng of juniors, 
 male and female, do all the active part of the congregational 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, Ixxvii 
 
 work ; and to intercourse with these the clergyman for the 
 most part restricts himself. Rarely is he on cordial terms 
 wilih the members of another denomination. Kow, the last 
 man that can be imagined likely to have engaged the sym- 
 pathies of the Dumfries clergy was the swashbuckler and 
 iighting-man of the New Lights, the author of " The Kirk's 
 Alarm," "The Ordination," "Holy Willie's Prayer and Epi- 
 taph," and "The Holy Fair." A terror of originality and inde- 
 pendent thought has ever been the besetting sin of ordinary 
 clergymen ; and while Dr Blacklock and Dr Blair and Professor 
 Dugald Stewart would have hailed the poet with the most unaf- 
 fected cordiality, being themselves superior to misconstruction, 
 and not afraid of manly independence, these Dumfries minis- 
 ters durst not have associated with the poet at a less price 
 hhan the favour of "the unco guid or rigidly righteous.'* And 
 it is lamentable that they should have paid so dear for what 
 was worth so little. Surely if they had been zealous to pluck 
 a brand from the burning, here was a noble opportunity. In 
 the exercise of their sacred functions no inhabitant of the 
 burgh had a prior claim on them ; and, to a priest who feared 
 not the face of man, the guiding of the feet of the author of 
 " The Cotter's Saturday Night" into the way of peace should 
 have been a j)rime consideration. 
 
 We know that his official duties were always punctually 
 discharged. We know that he attended to the education of 
 his children with a degree of care and attention rare in any 
 rank of life, even among men of the most exemplary sobriety. 
 We know now, further, that when it was supposed, falsely and 
 to his hurt, that he had hung his harp on the willows, he was 
 writing the finest songs to be found in any language, restoring 
 others, collecting and writing remarks on Scottish song, cor- 
 responding with Mr Thomson and many more. In fact, 
 scarcely a day can have passed in which, in addition to his 
 arduous duties as an officer of the Government, he did not 
 throw off as much original composition, prose or verse, as 
 many professed authors have been accustomed to do, who have 
 given themselves entirely to literature. And it was his ignor- 
 ance of this latter fact in particular that kept his brother 
 
Ixxviii BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, 
 
 Gilbert so long from vindicating the poet's memory from the 
 charges brought against it so unjustly, but in such good faith, 
 by Dr Currie, otherwise so kind and generous. And to vindi- 
 cate in this way the good name of Burns required great moral 
 courage on the part of Gilbert, as it subjected him to the 
 suspicion of having come to the defence too late, and from 
 some selfish motive ; and it actually drew down upon him an 
 indignant rejoinder from Mr Roscoe, Dr Currie's friend. Yet 
 he succeeded in removing at least a part of that obloquy which 
 attached too long to the poet's reputation. 
 
 Burns's songs are by many reckoned the best of all his com- 
 positions. The inspiration is purer, and the felicities of 
 expression more curious, if that be possible, than in his other 
 productions. The greater proportion of them deals with the 
 tender passion ; and no poet of ancient or modern times has 
 treated of it with so much variety of illustration and senti- 
 ment, with so much warmth, and, on the whole, with so much 
 purity. We admit partly Lord Jeftrey's objection that he 
 exhibits no chivalry in his portraiture of the passion ; that 
 he never approaches the beloved object in a spirit of defer- 
 ential respect, but always, even when the " dear idea " is not 
 that of some nut-brown rustic maiden, but of some high- 
 born beauty, places himself on a footing of perfect equality 
 and strains her to his daring and impassioned breast. This we 
 may attribute partly to the humility of bis origin ; but also, 
 and in greater part, to the perfect loyalty and unrestrained 
 impetuosity of his feelings. " One touch of Nature makes 
 the whole world kin ;" and in certain circumstances, and witb 
 certain individuals, there is no such leveller as the tender 
 passion when it exists in purity and unrestrained strength. 
 There is a delicacy of feeling, a refinement of passion and 
 expression in his best love songs, which makes us forget their 
 tone of fearless familiarity, and sometimes a subtlety which 
 surprises like the perfume of a rose that blushes unseen— 
 
 *' Yestreen when to the trembling string 
 The dance gaed through the lighted ha', 
 To thee my fancy took its wing, 
 I safc, but neither heard nor saw. 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, Ixxix 
 
 Though this was fair, and that was braw. 
 
 And yon the toast of a' the town, 
 I sigh'd, and said amang them a', 
 
 * Ye are na Mary Morison.'" 
 
 In some of liis songs tlie warmth expands into indelicacy, but 
 always without insidiousness. No poison is ministered in 
 secret to the tender imagination, disguised in sweets. Nothing 
 like the prurience of Mr Thomas Little is to be found in 
 the direct manly strains of the Ayrshire Poet. Even in those 
 daring stanzas which bear the impress of Burns's misdirected 
 powers, which we, in common with many, have come across 
 in the course of our inquiries, but which were never intended 
 for publication, no healthy mind would find much that could 
 injure, thus testifying to the native nobility and directness 
 of his character. 
 
 To show with what skill he could seize upon a line or two 
 of a song that was floating up and down the country, and 
 complete it in the spirit of the original, we subjoin the 
 following "splendid lyric," as Mr Lockhart justly desig- 
 nates it : — 
 
 " Go fetch to me a pint of 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 o* 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 tany j 
 Nor shouts o* war that 's heard afar — 
 
 It 'b leaving thee, my bonnie Marj/* 
 
 One verse more from his love songo — 
 
Ixxx BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 *' Had we never loved sae kindly, 
 Had we never loved sae blindly, 
 Never met, or never parted, 
 We had ne'er been broken-hearted." 
 
 Byron uses this stanza as the motto to "The Bride of 
 A^bydos.'^ Scott says it contains the essence of a thousand 
 love tales. And Mrs Jameson says these lines are in them- 
 selves a complete romance. " They are the aljiha and omega 
 of feeling, and contain the essence of an existence of pain and 
 pleasure distilled into one burning drop." 
 
 Three other classes of songs have been produced by him in 
 equal perfection — First, Domestic Songs, of which "John 
 Anderson my Jo, John," is the finest specimen. Second, 
 Bacchanalian Songs, represented best by " Willie brewed a 
 peck o' maut," and illustrated by the " Earnest Prayer and 
 Cry," and " Scotch Drink." These are by no means coarse, 
 as some dull fools suppose. They breathe the finest and most 
 ethereal spirit of Bacchus, matched only by some of the ex- 
 quisite lyrics of the Elizabethan era, and infinitely raised 
 Above the emanations of Anacreon's muse by superior vigour 
 and by a rare sense of humour. We never think of Anacreon 
 but as an old debauchee, unredeemed by a single unselfish 
 trait. Beyond the solacements of Venus and Bacchus he 
 seems never to have had an aspiration. And, third, War 
 Songs, as " The Song of Death" and " Scots wha hae wi' Wal- 
 lace bled." Most people recollect Mr Syme's account of the 
 circumstances under which the last was composed. Burns 
 and he were riding over the hills of Galloway amid the sub- 
 limities of a thunder storm. It is, by acclamation, the best 
 war-ode ever written. In it he rivals Tyrtaeus. The same 
 steady gazing upon and contempt of death, the same stern 
 patriotism, and the same disregard of the horrors of a 
 " foughten field." 
 
 From his earliest years he had studied song- writing as a 
 craft. He had in the course of his ramblings over Scotland 
 visited the scene of every remarkable song except Lochaber 
 and the Braes of Bellenden. And his earliest poetic and 
 patriotic desire was that for poor auld Scotland's sake he 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. Ixxxi 
 
 " might sing a sang at least." Hence his enthusiasm in every- 
 thing pertaining to Scottish song, and his generous offer of 
 assistance to Johnson in getting up the " Scots Musical 
 Museum." From his first letter to Johnson, in May 1787, 
 to his last, in July 1797, he never ceased to take a lively 
 interest in that work. In the department of Scottish poetry 
 he was virtually the editor, though an unpaid one. Among 
 Johnson's papers Cromek saw no fewer than 184 of the pieces 
 which compose the collection written out in Burns's own hand. 
 Thus for upwards of ten years he busied himself about a work 
 for which all the remuneration he asked or expected was a 
 copy now and then for a friend. " I am ashamed,'' he writes 
 to Johnson, not much more than a fortnight before his death, 
 ** to ask another favour of you, because you have been so 
 very good already ; but my wife has a very particular friend 
 of hers, a young lady who sings well, to whom she wishes to 
 present the * Scots Musical Museum.' If you have a spare 
 copy, will you be so obliging as to send it by the very first 
 fly^ as I am anxious to have it soon." 
 
 A much more ambitious undertaking in the same line was 
 projected by George Thomson, clerk to the Board of Trustees 
 for the Encouragement of Manufactures in Scotland. He was 
 assisted by some musical amateurs in Edinburgh, and among 
 them by the Honourable Andrew Erskine. It was resolved 
 to solicit the co-operation of Burns, and Thomson wrote to 
 him in September 1792. In his letter the terms of the en- 
 gagement are explicitly stated ; and as much controversy has 
 arisen on this subject, it is well to note the following sen- 
 tences : — " We will esteem your poetical assistance a particu- 
 lar favour, besides paying any reasonable price you shall please 
 to demand for it. Profit is quite a secondary consideration 
 with us, and we are resolved to spare neither pains nor ex- 
 pense on the publication." Burns agreed, with an enthusiasm 
 that might have been anticipated, to embark with them in an 
 undertaking that jumped so exactly with his predilections, 
 and gratified his most cherished patriotic longings. He 
 wrote : — " As to any remuneration, you may think my songs 
 either above or below price ; for they shall absolutely be the 
 
Ixxxii BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 one or the other. In the honest enthusiasm with which I 
 embark in your undertaking, to talk of money, wages, fee, 
 hire, &c., would be downright prostitution of soul ! " Mr 
 Thomson's offer of remuneration was extremely guarded; 
 Burns's rejection of it was explicit and peremptory. The 
 undertaking would be expensive, and might prove a failure, 
 and Thomson was not then in much better circumstances than 
 Burns. Besides, the affairs of the poet wore a promising 
 aspect, and no immediate need of money pressed. In the 
 ordinary affairs of life, his views were much more business- 
 like than is usually supposed ; but in so congenial a task as 
 song-writing, and for a work with whose projectors "profit was 
 quite a secondary consideration," it was clearly impossible for 
 him to be influenced by pecuniary motives. 
 
 In a letter to the Eev. P. Carfrae he had said — " The profits 
 of the labours of a man of genius are, I hope, as honourable 
 as any profits whatever." And he had printed the Kilmar- 
 nock edition of his poems to raise a sum of money to pay 
 his passage out of the country. He had, further, realised 
 about i/'600 from the Edinburgh edition, printed by Creech. 
 His only motive, then, in assisting Johnson and Thomson so 
 efficiently for nothing with songs whose equals could not have 
 been purchased anywhere for money was, not a belief in the 
 impropriety of an author's living by the productions of his 
 brain, but solely a high sense of patriotism, and of boundless 
 pleasure in the work itself. Towards the close of his life his 
 circumstances, from the increase of his family, and from the 
 pressure on British commerce from the war with France, were 
 considerably more straitened than they had been in Ellisland. 
 He was sometimes obliged to borrow small sums, which, how- 
 ever, he punctually repaid ; and sometimes his accounts with 
 his landlord and his drapers, for instance, were allowed to 
 stand over longer than would have been expected from a man 
 of his punctilious independence had payment been easy for 
 him. That he never, therefore, bethought himself of adding 
 to his income by the publication of his later productions, shows 
 the generous spirit in which they were composed. The too 
 generous, the unjustly generous spirit — for no more sacred 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. Ixxxiii 
 
 obligation than the comfortable upbringing of a family, and 
 securing the peace and self-respect which freedom from petty 
 cares for paltry sums tends to produce, is incumbent on a 
 parent. It does seem strange that ho would rather stoop to 
 borrow where he could so easily have commanded money by 
 his own honourable exertions. Nobility of spirit endures no 
 severer test than the pressure of poverty. And that Burns 
 would not write songs for money, that he refused £50 a year 
 from a London newspaper for occasional poems, and that he 
 rejected with scorn the offer from a miscreant of a large sum 
 for the looser productions of his pen, and for the pieces of 
 kindred spirit that his love for the Scottish muse, even when 
 higher kilted than decorum warranted, had prompted him to 
 collect and commit to writing, all tend to prove his naturally 
 high-toned character. 
 
 And yet no man was more alive to the pleasures that 
 money could purchase, or to the respect that the possession 
 of it generally secures. His Edinburgh life, and his intercourse 
 with the local aristocracy, showed him persons in the enjoy- 
 ment of all the material comforts and agr^mens of life, of 
 whose understanding and character he thought meanly. And 
 herein lay the great mistake of his life — that he hankered 
 after and enjoyed with exquisite keenness the pleasures that 
 wealth could procure, and yet chose to act otherwise than the 
 accumulation of wealth demands. Between poesy and worldly 
 success he could never fairly decide. When his pride met 
 with a rebuff he merely talked of his independence, and forgot 
 in the next social circle the wounds under which he had lately 
 smarted. And yet had he brought his poetical talents into 
 market he could have secured worldly independence, and along 
 with it self-respect and the respect of others. However, to 
 use the words of Carlyle, "not as a hired soldier, but as a 
 patriot, would he strive for the glory of his country ; so he 
 cast from him the poor sixpence a day, and served zealously 
 as a volunteer. Let us not grudge him this last luxury of his 
 existence ; let him not have appealed to us in vain ! The 
 money was not necessary to him ; he struggled through with- 
 out it ; long since, -these guineas would have been gone, and 
 
Ixxxiv BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, 
 
 now the high-mindedness of refusing them will i)lead for him 
 in all hearts for ever." 
 
 After Burns had been contributing to Thomson's work for 
 nine months, that gentleman wrote to him that the under- 
 taking was now entirely on his own responsibility, the gentle- 
 men who had agreed to join him in the speculation having 
 requested to be let off. He goes on — " But thanks, my friend, 
 are a poor return for what you have done. As I shall be 
 benefited by the publication, you must suffer me to enclose 
 a small mark of my gratitude, [Five Pounds] and to repeat 
 it afterwards when I find it convenient. Do not return it, 
 for, by heaven ! if you do, our correspondence is at an end." 
 To this Burns's answer was extraordinary. " I assure you 
 that you truly hurt me with your pecuniary parcel. It 
 degrades me in my own eyes. However, to return it would 
 savour of affectation ; but, as to any more traffic of that 
 debtor and creditor kind, I swear, by that honour which 
 crowns the upright statue of Robert Burns's integrity, on 
 the least motion of it, I will indignantly spurn the bypast 
 transaction, and from that moment commence entire stranger 
 to you ! " What renders this the more wonderful is, that we 
 have convincing proof that at this very time the possession 
 of a few pounds would have been of great service to him ; and 
 that, in fact, he had to borrow, and with a feeling of shame, 
 and a confession and explanation of poverty, from a gentle- 
 man under no obligation to assist him. Thomson, however, 
 did continue occasionally to remunerate him in the way he 
 thought least likely to offend, as by making Mrs Burns the 
 present of a shawl, and the poet himself that of a drawing 
 by Allan from the "Cotter's Saturday Night ;" while he was 
 not niggardly in furnishing him with copies of the first half- 
 volume of the " Melodies " — all that was published in his 
 lifetime. 
 
 Ill health, and increasing pecuniary difficulties, magnified, 
 doubtless, by his depressed spirits and gloomy imagination, 
 at last, shortly before his death, made him apply, in a letter 
 written under great excitement, to Thomson for five pounds ; 
 not, however, as a gift, which under any circumstances it 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCiL Ixxxv 
 
 could not bave been, but as beforehand payment of work 
 to be furnished for the " Melodies." '* After all my boasted 
 independence, curst necessity compels me to implore you for 
 live pounds. A cruel scoundrel of a haberdasher, to whom 
 I owe an account, taking it into his head that I am dying, 
 has commenced a process, and will infallibly put me into jail. 
 Do, for God's sake, send me that sum, and that by return of 
 post. Forgive me this earnestness ; but the horrors of a jail 
 have made me half distracted. I do not ask all this gratui- 
 tously ; for, upon returning health, I hereby promise and 
 engage to furnish you with five pounds' worth of the neatest 
 song-genius you have seen." Thomson's reply is as follows : 
 — "Ever since I received your melancholy letters by Mrs 
 Hyslop [three months before, let the reader remember] I 
 have been ruminating in what manner I could alleviate your 
 sufferings. Again and again I thought of a pecuniary off'er; 
 but the recollection of one of your letters on this subject, 
 and the fear of offending your independent spirit, checked my 
 resolution. I thank you heartily, therefore, for the frankness 
 of your letter of the 12th, and with great j^leasure enclose a 
 draft for the very sum I proposed sending. Would I were 
 Chancellor of the Exchequer but for one day, for your sake ! " 
 This is all that passed between Burns and Thomson on this 
 subject. After the poet's death Thomson was blamed in diffe- 
 rent quarters for having acted shabbily to him and his family, 
 and he attempted several not very satisfactory defences. 
 Had he spoken the truth manfully, and confessed himself to 
 have been in straitened circumstances, as is well known that 
 he was when Burns wrote that last affecting letter ; that in 
 fact, the five pounds he sent so promptly had first to be bor- 
 roxoed, he w^ould have come out of the controversy more 
 honourably than he has done. 
 
 Professor Walker, whom we consider a pompous prig, came 
 to his defence. When he talks of " the delicate mind of Mr 
 Thomson," we cannot forget how far he had outraged common 
 decency in his account of his last interview with Burns, and 
 must infer that he thought Mrs Burns the ganger's widow, 
 and the ganger's other relatives, to have been, one and all. 
 
Ixxxvi BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, 
 
 without that superfine article "a delicate mind." The letter 
 he quotes from Lord Woodhouselee shows only that "that 
 highly respectable gentleman and accomplished writer " knew 
 nothing whatever of the true state of the case. That Burns 
 was as much indebted to Thomson for his good counsels and 
 active friendship as a man, as for his strictures as a critic, are 
 equally true ; for his criticisms were generally rejected, his 
 active friendship was confined to giving him £10 and a trum- 
 pery shawl for a collection of songs and other writings intrin- 
 sically priceless, and which were instrumental in yielding to 
 Thomson hundreds of pounds ; and his good counsels, if advice 
 as from a Mentor is meant, were never offered, never durst 
 have been offered, to the haughty poet on whose face he had 
 never looked, or whom at least he had never met. 
 
 We have often wondered if the following is to be included 
 among the " good counsels " referred to : — " Pray, my good sir, 
 is it not possible for you to muster a volume of poetry % If 
 too much trouble to you, in the present state of your health, 
 some literary friend might be found here, who would select 
 and arrange from your manuscripts, and take upon him the 
 task of editor. In the meantime, it could be advertised to be 
 [)ublished by subscription. Do not shun this mode of obtain- 
 ing the value of your labour ; remember, Pope published the 
 ' Iliad ' by subscription. Think of this, my dear Burns, and 
 do not reckon me intrusive with my advice. You are too well 
 convinced of the respect and friendship I bear you, to impute 
 anything I say to an unworthy motive." 
 
 Is it possible Thomson did not know, or that he thought 
 Burns had forgotten that he had himself published both the 
 Kilmarnock and Edinburgh editions of his poems by subscrip- 
 tion ? Why, he might easily have published a very respect- 
 able volume indeed, composed of the songs in the possession 
 of Johnson and Thomson, of "Tarn o' Shanter," given to 
 Captain Grose, as cheaply as to the gentlemen above men- 
 tioned their treasures had been, and of " The Jolly Beggars,'* 
 the best thing of its kind in British literature, but of which 
 Burns himself had not a copy, so prodigal was he of what 
 others would have coined, and who could have blamed them ? 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, Ixxxvii 
 
 into solid gold. A few tales like " Tarn o' Shanter," and a 
 handful of songs given annually to the public, had he been 
 strict to turn the productions of his genius, as he would not 
 have scrupled to do the labour of his hands, to good account, 
 would have brought him not only competence but wealth, 
 lighted up his home with sunshine, banished care and anxiety 
 from his troubled bosom, and furnished him with most con- 
 genial and ennobling labour — labour twice blest, and imparting 
 conscious dignity to a life, wasted in great measure in pursuits 
 which he could hardly like, in occasional indulgences which he 
 was forced to deplore, and in fretting cares for daily bread 
 which unhinged the balance of an " equal mind." When we 
 compare the ample means and leisure of Wordsworth, not 
 more divinely-gifted than Burns, with Ids worried life and 
 narrow resources, we are compelled with regret to own that 
 to Burns himself after all, more than to aught external, is the 
 difference to be attributed. 
 
 When one has a bad case to conduct he is very apt to fall 
 into contradictions. In a letter to Professor Walker, after he 
 must have realised a very good sum from the "Melodies,'^ 
 Thomson says — " I am not even yet compensated for the pre- 
 cious time consumed by me in poring over musty volumes," 
 &c. Now in his letter to Burns with the first five pounds 
 he had written : " I should be somewhat compensated for my 
 labour by the pleasure I shall receive from the music." And 
 in a letter to Robert Chambers, written apparently under a 
 partial eclipse of judgment, as he hints in it that he might 
 have retained all the songs and letters, and not have granted 
 the use of them to Dr Currie for the edition of the works he 
 was to undertake for behoof of the poet's family, after plum- 
 ing himself upon his temporary surrender of them, (he, ol 
 course, retained the right to publish them in the work for 
 which they were originally intended,) he says : — " For thus 
 surrendering the manuscripts I received, both verbally and in 
 writing, the warm thanks of the trustees for the family — Mr 
 John Syme and Mr Gilbert Burns — who considered what I had 
 done as a fair return for the poet's generosity of conduct to 
 me." He must have been at his wit's end when he had re- 
 
Ixxxviii BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 course to so lame and impotent a defence. For nearly half 
 a century he must have reaped annually a large sum from the 
 profits of a work, the great charm of which is Burns's exqui- 
 site lyrics ; and, as Mr Lockhart has remarked, the fault lay 
 in not arranging in limine the poet's proportion of the re- 
 wards. And when in ill health, and as might have easily been 
 guessed in circumstances not too comfortable, he might have 
 insisted, and Burns would not have been ill to persuade, that 
 at least a prospective interest in the profits, if any, should be 
 secured to his family in the event of his decease. 
 
 We are now drawing to a close. Ill health had broken the 
 poet down. He had gone to Brow, on the Solway, for sea- 
 bathing, but without obtaining any permanent relief. He 
 knew his end was at hand ; and he looked death calmly in the 
 face. He was even cheerful in his intercourse w^ith some 
 female friends who saw him there. His cares were all for hi? 
 family to be left unprovided for, and for his Jean about once 
 more to become a mother. Tt was from Brow he wrote that 
 letter for five pounds — from Brow that he addressed that last 
 ineffectual appeal to Mrs Dunlop for an explanation of the 
 withdrawal of her friendship. Dr Currie says that the poet 
 got a satisfactory explanation. But it was not so ; and his 
 last farewell must have touched her heart, for it was naturally 
 a kind one, with many a secret pang, when she learned that 
 the bard was beyond reach of her symjjathy or reproach. As 
 the shadows of the dark valley were closing around him, the 
 falling off of his friends would be doubly painful. His had 
 ever been the open hand, and many had been the recipients 
 of his warm-hearted charity. But nothing could be more 
 painful for his mind to dwell on, than that the wife and 
 children of one whose watchword had been Independence 
 should be indebted for daily bread to alien bounty. He had 
 given himself wholly for Scotland. Her peasant life, her 
 patriotism, superstitions, heroic-memories, history, music — 
 had all been illustrated by his splendid genius. Before him 
 the literature of his country had lost all tinge of nationality. 
 Her writers were afraid to be Scottish, and, from a dread of 
 Enghsh sarcasm, were aiming at Addisonian neatness, or 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. Ixxxix 
 
 moulding themselves on Frencli forms, or exhibiting an insipid 
 cosmo]3olitanism. With the instinctive glance of genius he 
 saw a whole world of poetry revealed to him in the everyday 
 life, the ways and customs, loves and griefs of his fellow- 
 peasants, and, as he sung, the domain of human conscious- 
 ness and happiness was enlarged. Neither Smollett nor Dr 
 Moore, both accomplished men, and one of them of splendid 
 genius, ever had the courage to attempt the Scottish dialect. 
 Moore, in fact, attempted to dissuade Burns from its use 
 But he knew better the region of his power ; and nowhere is 
 he so happy as in the use of his native dialect, which in his 
 hand is never vulgar, and to which he is not slavishly bound ; 
 for when he rises to serious passion the language insensibly 
 acquires dignity, and doffs much of its Scottish garb. Nor in 
 his Scotch is he like the modish minstrels of our own day, 
 who in their attempts in the good old Doric use a dialect that 
 belongs to no district or time, a piebald livery of words 
 differing in locality and in the era of their use. Since his 
 time, in the path which he so happily opened up, we have had 
 our Sir Walter Scott, our John Wilson, our John Gait, and 
 many others. Nowise is it now attempted to be concealed 
 that an author is Scottish and imbued with a Scottish spirit, 
 but rather otherwise. Thus far, then, Scotland was a debtor 
 to Burns ; and though she neglected him when alive, her 
 people, gentle and simple, being intent on their own well- 
 being chiefly, it was not to be doubted that she w^ould adopt 
 the family of her great minstrel, and wipe off in her generous 
 exertions for them the stigma of having allowed him to sink 
 into the grave w^ith a heart saddened for those he left behind. 
 This, we say, could not be doubted. But Burns would be the 
 last to whom it would occur. He never vapoured of what his 
 country owed him ; his thought was rather how much he 
 owed his country. He did not theatrically leave his little 
 ones as a bequest to an ungrateful, but haply in the future a 
 rej)entant, people. He knew from his first appearance as an 
 author, nay, before it, of his genius. Would that his last sad 
 hours had been illuminated by a forecast of his own immor- 
 tality, and of the zeal with which Scotland would hasten to 
 
9 
 
 XC BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, 
 
 atone to the children for their neglect of the father. The 
 sum for which he fancied that he would be thrown into jail 
 was £7, 4s., overdue for his volunteer uniform. Nothing 
 alarms an ordinary honest Scotchman so much as a letter 
 from a writer demanding payment. All the pains and penal- 
 ties of the law stare him in the face. Especially if he has 
 not the money necessary to liquidate the debt, his fears are 
 acute in proportion to his pride and his honesty. How acutely 
 Burns felt may be learnt from this, that he wrote two letters 
 on the same day, one from Dumfries to his cousin James 
 Burnes, Montrose, for £10, and one from Brow to Thomson, 
 quoted above, for £b. The £10 sent from Montrose were not 
 drawn, the draft having been found among the poet's papers 
 after his death. Mr Syme says the people of Dumfries would 
 never have allowed Burns to have been taken to prison for 
 such a sum. It is an unfortunate expression. First, as it is 
 nothing to the point of Burns's anxiety, because he could 
 not know this, nay, would have died almost ere he had ac- 
 quainted the people of Dumfries with his difficulties ; and, 
 second, because his townsmen were not aware of his being in 
 that particular pecuniary embarrassment. 
 
 As sea-bathing promised no permanent relief, he returned 
 to Dumfries on the 18th of July. It was with difficulty he 
 walked up the small hrae leading to his own house. His first 
 act was to write to his father-in-law in Mauchline to send 
 Mrs Armour to wait on her daughter, who was hourly expect- 
 ing to be brought to bed. The house in Millhole Brae must 
 have been at this time a sad one. Not, however, unblessed by 
 the light and love of human sympathy. There was the kind 
 Jessie Lewars, who tended him with filial devotion ; there 
 was Findlater, the supervisor, to soothe as far as he could the 
 last moments of his friend ; and there was Dr Maxwell, skilful 
 and affectionate. A gloom overspread Dumfries and the neigh- 
 bourhood when it was understood that the great poet was 
 indeed dying. The streets were filled with groups anxious to 
 know of their illustrious townsmen. All political and personal 
 rancours were forgotten. It was enough that a great, ill- 
 requited countryman, the greatest living Scotchman, was 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH xci 
 
 grappling with the last enemy in the humble tenement hard 
 by ; that there was a wife about to become a mother and 
 a widow, and four helpless boys to be orphans. When it was 
 known that the last moment was at hand, his four sons, who 
 had been removed to the house of Mr Lewars, were sent for 
 to witness the parting scene ; and, his family and friends 
 around him, and his bonnie Jean in bed in an adjoining 
 chamber, on the morning of the 21st July 1796, muttering 
 an execration against the legal agent whose letter had embit- 
 tered his parting hours, this world-weary soul passed away 
 into the unknown and infinite. 
 
 The body was laid out for the grave in a plain coffin, and 
 had been wrapped about with a linen sheet. In the bed and 
 round the coffin flowers were strewn. On the evening of the 
 '25th the remains were removed from his own house to the 
 town-hall. They were buried on the following day with mili- 
 tary honours by his brother volunteers. Two regiments, ono 
 of infantry and one of cavalry, lined the streets from the 
 town-hall to the burying-ground — a distance of more than 
 half a mile. It was calculated that from ten to twelve thou- 
 sand individuals took part in the procession or hned the 
 streets. The body after a little delay was lowered into the 
 grave, and few faces were dry. The volunteers fired some 
 straggling shots over the resting-place of their comrade ; the 
 grave was filled in, the green sod replaced, and the people 
 gradually melted away. 
 
 It is sad to know that while the remains of the poet were 
 being thus honoured, his widow was in the pangs of child- 
 birth. The child was named after Dr Maxwell, and died in 
 infancy. 
 
 A splendid mausoleum now covers the poet's ashes. Over- 
 looking the banks of the Doon arises a magnificent monument 
 to his memory, while another graces the Calton Hill in "Edina, 
 Scotia's darling seat." His country took charge of his Jean 
 and her children whom he had loved so well ; and at this 
 hour no dearer names thrill a Scotchman's heart than those 
 of the honoured "sons of Burns." Pilgrims from all lands, 
 with pious regard, repair to the humble cottage where he was 
 
xcii BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 born, to AUoway's auld haunted kirk, and the banks and braes 
 o' bonnie Doon. And as they wander over the scenes made 
 immortal by a peasant's song, heart cHngs closer to heart, the 
 pride of birth and wealth melts away in a feeling of common 
 humanity, and it is felt indeed that " a man 's a man for a' 
 that." 
 
 That his country was niggardly to him while he was alive, 
 — when he asked for bread giving him a stone, and then 
 piling monumental marble over " the poor inhabitant below," 
 — has been often made the theme of reproach to her. But in 
 all countries the truly great men, the prophets, who were not 
 of the market-place, who did not contribute to the material 
 wealth of the people, have often been neglected and even put 
 to death. Think of Socrates, think of the Christian apostles, 
 think of Galileo, think of Tasso. Let England think of Butler, 
 of Otway, of Bloomfield, of Clare, and 
 
 " Of Cliatterton, the wondrous boy, 
 The sleepless soul that perished in his pride,*' 
 
 and well may Scotland bear up her head in the comparison. 
 All her sons and daughters think more highly of their country 
 that Burns was of it. Let a Scotchman travel where he will, 
 he is, if otherwise worthy, made more welcome for Burns's 
 sake. That the poet was misappreciated while alive was due 
 to many causes — religious, political, and personal. Besides, 
 how often does it happen that the man we see before us, busy 
 with ourselves in the prosaic battle of life, fighting for bread, 
 jostling us perhaps, in no dignified position of brief authority, 
 we cannot properly discern. Not till he is removed from 
 us by being lifted up into some official or other eminence, or 
 hidden from us by the curtain of the grave, do we begin to 
 know his greatness. Not in this generation do we think a man 
 hke Burns would be allowed to struggle with base entangle- 
 ments. To talk of the unknowable is, however, bootless. 
 Enough that Scotland's eyes were opened in time to succour 
 and honour those who bore the poet's name, and that now 
 she cherishes with an undying love the memory of Egbert 
 Burns. 
 
APPENDIX 
 
 TO 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 The Appendix to the Biographical Sketch of Robert Burns will 
 appropriately commence with his letter to Dr Moore, a distin- 
 guished London physician, and author of several important 
 works, including " A View of Society and Manners in France^ 
 Switzerland, and Germany," " Zeluco," &c. The letter — which 
 was called forth by a strong expression of admiration for the 
 Poet's genius on the part of Dr Moore — was written in August 
 1787, immediately after his first visit to Edinburgh, and gives 
 a graphic account of his life and experience up to that time. 
 The Editor believes that in reprinting this letter, along with 
 all the more important and valuable of the sketches written by 
 contemporaries, he will materially assist the reader in form- 
 ing a distinct impression of the poet's personal appearance and 
 habits. 
 
 THE POET'S LETTER TO DR MOORE. 
 
 I HAVE not the most distant pretensions to assume that character 
 which the pye-coated guardians of escutcheons call a gentleman. 
 When at Edinburgh last winter, I got acquainted in the herald's 
 office ; and, looking through that granary of honours, I there found 
 almost every name in the kingdom ; but for me, 
 
 •'My ancient but ignoble blood 
 nas crept through scoundrels ever since the flood.'* 
 
 Gules, purpure, 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 sojourniugs, he picked up a pretty large 
 quantity of observation and experience, to which I am indebted for 
 most of my little pretensions to wi&dom. I have met with few who 
 
xciv APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 understood men, their manners, and their ways, equal to him ; hut 
 Btubborn, ungainly integrity, and headlong, ungovernable 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 
 neighbourhood of Ayr. Had he continued in that station, I must 
 have marched off to be one of the little underlings about a farm- 
 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 be- 
 tween 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 favourite with anybody. I 
 was a good deal noted for a retentive memory, a stubborn, sturdy 
 something in my disposition, and an enthusiastic idiot [idiotic] 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 I 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, remarkable 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, war- 
 locks, spunkies, kelpies, elf-candles, dead-lights, wraiths, apparitions, 
 cantraips, giants, enchanted towers, dragons, and other trumpery. 
 This cultivated the latent seeds of poetry ; but had so strong an 
 effect on my imagination that to this hour, in my nocturnal 
 rambles, I sometimes keep a sharp look out in suspicious places; 
 and, though nobody can be more sceptical than I am in such 
 matters, yet it often takes an effort of philosophy to shake off these 
 idle terrors. The earliest composition that I recollect taking plea- 
 sure in was the Vision of Mirza, and a hymn of Addison's, begin- 
 ning, " How are thy servants blest, Lord ! " I particularly remem- 
 ber one half -stanza which was music to my boyish ear — 
 "For though on dreadful whirls we hung 
 High on the broken wave." 
 I met with these pieces in Mason's English Collection, one of my 
 school-books. The first two books I ever read in private, and which 
 gave me more pleasure than any two books I ever read since, were 
 the Life of Hannibal, and 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 ot 
 Wallace poured a Scottish prejudice into my veins, which will boil 
 along there till the floodgates 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 Sundays, 
 between sermons, at funerals, &c., used a few years afterwards 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 
 
APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. XC7 
 
 My vicinity to Ayr was of some advantage to me. My social 
 disposition, when not checked by some modifications of spirited 
 pride, was, like our Catechism definition of infinitude, without bounds 
 or limits. I formed several connexions with other younkers, who 
 possessed superior ^advantages ; the youngling actors who were 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 playfellows. It takes a few dashes into the world 
 to give the young great man that proper, decent, unnoticing disre- 
 gard for the poor, insignificant, stupid devils, the mechanics and 
 peasantry around him, who were, perhaps, born in the same village. 
 My young superiors never insulted the clouterly appearance of my 
 ploughboy 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 
 Begum" scenes have tainted, helped me to a little French. Parting 
 with these my young fi'iends and benefactors, as they occasionally 
 went off for the East or West Indies, was often to me a sore afflic- 
 tion; 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, we fell into the hands of a factor, who sat 
 for the picture I have drawn of one in my tale of " The Twa Dogs." 
 My father was advanced in life when he married ; I was the eldest 
 of seven children, and he, worn out by early hardships, was unfit 
 for labour. ]\Iy 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, 
 
 * " My brother," says Gilbert Bums, "seems to set off his early companions in 
 too consequential a manner. The principal acquaintances we had in Ayr, while 
 boys, were four sons of Mr Andrew M'CuUoch, a distant relation of my mother's, 
 who kept a tea-shop, and had made a little money in the contraband trade very 
 common at that time. He died while the boys were young, and my father was 
 nominated one of the tutors. The two eldest were bred shopkeepers, tlie third 
 a surgeon, and the youngest, the only sm'viving one, was bred in a counting-house 
 in Glasgow, where he is now a respectable merchant. I believe all these boys 
 went to the West Indies. Then there were two sons of Dr Malcolm, whom I 
 have mentioned in my letter to Mrs Dunlop. The eldest, a very worthy young 
 man, went to the East Indies, where he Imd a commission in the army ; he is the 
 person whose heart my brothersays the ' Munny Begum scenes could not corrupt.' 
 The other, by the interest of Lady Wallace, got an ensigncy in a regiment rai.^ed 
 by the Duke of Hamilton during the American war. I believe neither of them 
 are now (1797) alive. We also knew the present Dr Paterson of Ayr, and a 
 younger brother of his now in Jamaica, who were much younger than us. I had 
 almost forgot to mention Dr Charles of Ayr, who was a \\XWq older than my 
 brother, and with whom we had a longer and closer intimacy than with any of 
 the others, which did not, however, continue in after life." 
 
xcvi APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 perhaps, have viewed these scenes with some satisfaction, but so dia 
 not I ; my indignation yet boils at the recollection of the scoundrel 
 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 unceas- 
 ing 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 labours 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 iu 
 that language, but you know the Scotch idiom : she was a " bonnie, 
 sweet, sonsie lass." In short, she, altogether unwittingly to herself, 
 initiated me in that delicious passion which, in spite of acid disap- 
 pointment, gin-horse prudence, and book-worm philosophy, I hold to 
 be the first of human joys, our dearest blessing here below ! 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 myseli 
 why I liked so much to loiter behind with her, when returning in 
 the evening from our labours ; why the tones of her voice made 
 my heart-strings thrill like an -^Eolian harp ; and particularly why 
 my pulse beat such a furious ratan, when I looked and fingered over 
 her little hand to pick out the cruel nettle-stings and thistles. Among 
 her other love-inspiring qualities, she sang sweetly ; and it was her 
 favourite reel to which I attempted giving an embodied 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 sang 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 ; 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 scholar-craft than 
 myself. 
 
 Thus with me began love and poetry ; which at times have been 
 my only, and, till within the last twelve months, have been my 
 highest, enjoyment. My father struggled on till he reached the 
 freedom in his lease, when he entered on a larger farm, about ten 
 miles farther in the country. The nature of the bargain he made 
 was such as to throw a little ready money into his hands at the 
 commencement of his lease, otherwise the afi'air would have been 
 impracticable. For four years we lived comfortably here, but a 
 difi'erence 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 consumption, 
 which, after two years' promises, kindly stepped in, and carried him 
 away, to where the wicked cease from troubline:, and the weary are 
 at rest ! ^ 
 
 It is during the time that we lived on this farm that my little 
 
APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. /^CVll 
 
 story is most eventful, I was, at the beginiiing of this period, per- 
 haps, the most UDgainly 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 Shakespeare, Tull and Dickson on 
 Agriculture, The Pantheon, Locke's Essay on the Human Under- 
 standing, Stackhouse's History of the Bible, Justice's British Gar- 
 dener's Directory, Boyle's Lectures, Allan Ramsay's Works, Taylor's 
 Scripture Doctrine of Original Sin, A Select Collection of English 
 Songs, 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 labour, song by song, verse by 
 verse ; carefully noting the true tender, or sublime, from affectation 
 and fustian. I am convinced I owe to this practice much of my 
 critic-craft, such 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 antipathy 
 against these meetings, and my going was, what to this moment I 
 l-epent, in opposition to his wishes.* My father, as I said before, 
 was subject to strong passions ; from that instance of disobedience 
 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 ambi- 
 tion, but they were the blind gropings of Homer's Cyclops round 
 the walls of his cave. I saw my father's situation entailed on me 
 perpetual labour. The only two openings, by which I could enter 
 the temple of fortune, were the gate of niggardly economy, or the 
 path of little chicaning bargain-making. The first is so contracted 
 an aperture I never could squeeze myself into it — the last I always 
 hated — there was contamination in the very entrance ! Thus aban- 
 doned of aim or view in life, with a strong ai^petite for sociability, 
 
 * ''I wonder," says Gilbert Burns, " how Robert could attribute to our father 
 that lasting resentment of his going to a dancing-school against his will, and 
 of which he was incapable. I believe tlie truth was that about this time he 
 began to see the dangerous impetuosity of my brother's passions, is well as his 
 not being amenable to counsel, which often irritated my fatlier, and which, he 
 would naturally think, a dancing-school was not likely to correct. But he was 
 proud of Robert's genius, which he bestowed more expense on cultivating than 
 on the rest of the family — and he was equally delighted with his warmth of 
 heart and conversational powers. lie had indeed that dislike of dancing-schools 
 which Robert mentions ; but so far overcame it during Robert's first month of 
 iiuendance that he permitted the rest of the family that were fit for it to accom- 
 pany him during the second month. Robert exuded in dancing, and was fo) 
 some time distractedly fond of it." 
 
xcviii APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 as well from native hilarity as from a pride of observation and 
 remark ; a constitutional melancholy or hypochondriacism that made 
 me fly solitude ; add to these incentives to social life my reputation 
 for bookish knowledge, a certain wild 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 always, where two or three met 
 together, there was I among them. But far beyond all other im- 
 pulses of my heart was un 'penchant a V adorable moitU du genre 
 humain. My heart was completely tinder, and was eternally lighted 
 up by some goddess or other ; and, as in every other warfare in this 
 world, my fortune was various ; sometimes I was received with 
 favour, and sometimes I was mortified with a repulse. At the 
 plough, scythe, or reap-hook, I feared no campetitor, and thus I set 
 absolute want at defiance; and, as I never cared further for my 
 labours 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 recom- 
 mended me as a proper second on these occasions ; and, I daresay, 
 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 in- 
 trigues of half the courts of Europe. The very goose-feather in 
 my hand seems to know instinctively the well-worn path of my 
 imagination, the favourite theme of my song ; and is with difficulty 
 restrained from giving you a couple of paragraphs on the love-adven- 
 tures of my compeers, the humble inmates of the farmhouse and 
 cottage ; but the grave sons of science, ambition, or avarice baptize 
 these things by the name of follies. To the sons and daughters of 
 labour and poverty they are matters of the most serious nature : 
 to them the ardent hope, the stolen interview, the tender farewell, 
 are the greatest and most delicious parts of their enjoyments. 
 
 Another circumstance in my life which made some alteration in 
 my mind and manners, w^as 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 know- 
 ledge of mankind. The contraband trade was at that time very 
 successful, and it sometimes happened to me to fall in with those 
 who 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 
 geometry, till the sun entered Virgo, a month which is always a 
 carnival in my bosom, when a charming fillette, who lived next door 
 to the school, overset my trigonometry, and set me off at a tangent 
 from the sphere of my studies. I, however, struggled on with my 
 eines and co-sines for a few days more ; but stepping into the garden 
 one charming noon to take the sun's altitude, there I met my angel 
 
APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, xcix 
 
 " 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 stayed I did nothing but craze the faculties of my 
 Boul 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 Shen- 
 stone's Works ; I had seen human nature in a new phasis ; and I 
 engaged several of my schoolfellows to keep up a literary corres- 
 pondence 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 pored over them most devoutly. I kept copies of any of my own 
 letters that pleased me, and a comparison between them and the com- 
 position 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 day-book and ledger. 
 
 My life flowed on much in the same course till my twenty-third 
 year. Yive Vamour, et vive la Lagatelle, were my sole principles 
 of action. The addition of two more authors to my library gave 
 me great pleasure ; Sterne and Mackenzie — Tristram Shandy and the 
 Man of Feeling — were my bosom favourites. Poesy was still a 
 darling walk for my mind, but it was only indulged in according 
 to the humour of the hour. I had usually half a dozen or more 
 pieces on hand ; I took up one or 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 
 a spell, soothed all into quiet I None of the rhymes of those days 
 are in print, except " Winter, a dirge," the eldest of my printed 
 pieces; " The Death of poor Mailie," " John Barleycorn," and songs 
 first, second, and third. Song second was the ebullition of that pas- 
 sion 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 flax-dresser in a neighbouring town, (Irvine,) 
 
 to learn his trade. This was an unlucky affair. My , and to 
 
 finish the whole, as we were giving a welcome 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 father's head ; and, what was worst 
 of all, he was visibly far gone in a consumption ; and to crown my 
 distresses, a belle file, whom I adored, and who ?!iad pledged her soul 
 to meet me in the field of matrimony, jilted me with peculiar circum- 
 stances of mortification. The finishing evil that brought up the 
 rear of this infernal file, was my constitutional melancholy being 
 
C APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 increased to such a degi'ee, 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 accursed ! " 
 
 From this adventure I learnt something of a town life ; but the 
 principal thing which gave my mind a turn was a friendship I formed 
 with a young fellow, a very noble character, but a hapless son of 
 misfortune.* He was the son of a simple mechanic ; but a great 
 man in the neighbourhood, 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 on shore by an American privateer, on the 
 wild coast of Connaught, stripped of everything. 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 enthusiasm, 
 and of course strove to imitate him. In some measure, I suc- 
 ceeded ; 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 I ever 
 saw who was a greater fool tlian myself where woman was the pre* 
 siding star ; 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 resumed 
 the plough, I wrote the " Poet's Welcome." f My reading only in- 
 creased 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, I had given 
 up ; but meeting with Fergusson's Scottish Poems, I strung anew 
 my wildly-sounding lyre with emulating vigour. 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 amongst us, with which, to keep us together, my brother and 
 I took a neighbouring farm. My brother wanted my hare-brained 
 imagination, as well as my social and amorous madness ; but in good 
 sense, and every sober qualification, he was far my superior. 
 
 I entered on this farm with a full resolution, " Come, go to, I will 
 be wise ! " I read farming books, I calculated crops ; I attended 
 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 the late 
 harvest, we lost half our crops. This overset all my wisdom, and I 
 returned, " like the dog to kis vomit, and the sow that was washed to 
 her wallowing in the mire." 
 
 £ now began to be known in the neighbourhood as a maker of 
 
 * ]\rr Richard Erown. 
 . t '-Hob the Rhymer's Welcome to his Bastard Child." 
 
APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH ci 
 
 rhymes. The first of my poetic offspring that saw the light was a 
 burlesque lamentation on a quarrel between two reverend Calvinists, 
 both of them dramatis personce in my *' Holy Fair." I had a notion 
 myself that the piece had some merit ; but, to prevent the worst, I 
 gave a copy of it to a friend, who was very fond of such things, and 
 told him 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 profane 
 rhymers. Unluckily for me, my wanderings led me on another side, 
 within point-blank shot of their heaviest metal. This is the unfor- 
 tunate story that gave rise to the printed poem, ** The Lament," 
 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 principal quali- 
 fications 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, 
 before leaving my native country for ever, 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 inhospi- 
 table clime, and gone to the world of spirits ! I can truly say that, 
 pauire inconnu as I then was, I had pretty nearly as high an idea 
 of myself and of my works as I have at this moment, when the public 
 has decided in their favour. It ever was my opinion that the 
 mistakes and blunders, both in a rational and religious point of 
 view, of which we see thousands daily guilty, are owing to their 
 ignorance of themselves. — To know myself had 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 
 iiTature's design in my formation — where the lights and shades in my 
 character were intended. I was pretty confident my poems would 
 meet with some applause ; but at the worst, the roar of the At- 
 lantic would deafen the voice of censure, and the novelty of West 
 Indian scenes make me forget neglect. I threw oJGf 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 de- 
 ducted, nearly twenty pounds. This sum came very seasonably, as 
 
 * "It is hardly possible to express," says the unfortunate Heron, "with what 
 eager admii-ation and delight they were everywhere received. Old and younp^, 
 high and low, grave and gay. learned or ignorant, all were alike delighted, 
 agitated, transported. I was at that time resident in Galloway, contiguous to 
 Ayr-shire, and I can well remember, how that even plough-boys and maid-ser- 
 vauts would have gladly parted with the vagcs which they eai-ned the most 
 - -- _ 
 
cii APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, 
 
 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 terrors 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 few friends ; my chest was on the road to Greenock ; 
 I had composed the last song I should ever measure in Caledonia — 
 '' The gloomy night is 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 bane- 
 ful 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 Glencairn. Ouhlie moi, grand Dieu, si jamais je VouUie I 
 
 I need relate no further. 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." Whether I have profited, time will show. 
 
 My most respectful compliments to Miss Williams. Her very 
 elegant and friendly letter I cannot answer at present, as my presence 
 is requisite in Edinburgh, and I set out to-morrow. R. B. 
 
 LETTER OF GILBERT BURNS TO MRS DUNLOP. 
 
 The following interesting letter was drawn up shortly after the poet's 
 death by his brother Gilbert, at the request of Mrs Dunlop of 
 Dunlop, who was anxious to obtain some biographical details 
 regarding the early years of her admired and lamented friend: — 
 
 Robert Burns was born on the 25th day of January 1759, in a 
 small house about two miles from the town of Ayr, and within a few 
 
 hardly, and which they wanted to purchase necessary clothing, if they might 
 hut procure the works of Burns. A copy happened to be presented from a 
 gentleman in Ayrshire to a friend in my neighbourhood ; he put it into my liands, 
 as a work containing some effusions of the most extraordinary genius. I took 
 it, rather that I might not ditoblige the lender, than from any ardour of curiosity 
 or expectation. * An iml«ttered ploughman, a poet I' said I, with contemptuous 
 incredulity. It was on a Saturday evening. I opened the volume by accident, 
 whilft I was undressing to go to bed. I closed it, not till a late hour on the rising 
 Sunday morn, afcer I had read over every syllable it contained. "* 
 
AFFENDIX TO BIOGRAFHICAL SKETCH, Ciii 
 
 hundred yards of Alio way Church, which his poem of "Tarn o' Shan- 
 ter " has rendered immortal. The name, which the poet and his 
 brother modernised into Burns, was originally Burnes, or Burness 
 Their father, William Burnes, was the son of a farmer in Kincardine- 
 shire, and had received the education common in Scotland to per- 
 sons in his condition of life ; he could read and write, and had some 
 knowledge of arithmetic. His family having fallen into reduced cir- 
 cumstances, he was compelled to leave his home in his nineteenth 
 year, and turned his steps towards the south, in quest of a livelihood. 
 The same necessity attended his elder brother Robert. "I have 
 often heard my father," says Gilbert Burns, in his letter to Mrs 
 Dunlop, *' describe the anguish of mind he felt when they parted on 
 the top of a hill on the confines of their native place, each going off 
 his several v/ay in search of new adventures, and scarcely knowing 
 whither he went. My father undertook to act as a gardener, and 
 shaped his course to Edinburgh, where he wrought hard when he 
 could get work, passing through a variety of difficulties. Still, how- 
 ever, he endeavoured to spare something for the support of his aged 
 parents : and I recollect hearing him mention his having sent a 
 bank-note for this purpose, when money of that kind was so scarce 
 in Kincardineshire, that they scarcely knew how to employ it when 
 it arrived." From Edinburgh, 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 changing his 
 service for that of Crawford of Doonside. At length, being desirous 
 of settling in life, he took a perpetual lease of seven acres of land 
 from Dr Campbell, 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 
 mother of our poet, who still survives. The first fruit of this mar- 
 riage was Robert, the subject of these memoirs, born on the 25th of 
 January 1759, as has already been mentioned. 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 neighbourhood, and en- 
 gaged him as his gardener and overseer ; and this was his situation 
 when our poet was born. Though in the service of Mr Ferguson, he 
 lived in his own house, his wife managing her family and her little 
 dairy, which consisted sometimes of two, sometimes of three milch 
 cows ; and this state of unambitious content continued till the year 
 1766. His son Robert was sent by him, in his sixth year, to a school 
 at Alloway-Mill, about a mile distant, taught by a person of the name 
 of Campbell; but this teacher being in a few months appointed mas- 
 ter of the workhouse at Ayr, William Burnes, in conjimction with 
 some other heads of families, engaged John Murdoch in his stead. 
 The education of our poet, and of his brother Gilbert, was in com- 
 mon ; and of their proficiency under Mr Murdoch we have the fol- 
 lowing account: — "With him we learnt to read English tolerably 
 well, and to write a little. He taught us, too, the English grammar. 
 
civ APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 I was too young to profit much from Lis lessons in grammar ; but 
 Robert made some proficiency in it — a circumstance of considerable 
 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; for even then he was a reader when he could get 
 a book. Murdoch, whose library at that time had no great variety iu 
 it, lent him 'The Life of Hannibal,' which was the first book he read, 
 (the school books excepted,) and almost the only one he had an 
 opportunity of reading while he was at school : for * The Life of 
 VVallace,' which he classes with it in one of his letters to you, he did 
 not see for some years afterwards, when he borrowed it from the 
 blacksmith who shod our horses." 
 
 It appears that William Burnes approved himself greatly in the 
 service of Mr Ferguson by his intelligence, industry, and integrity. 
 In consequence of this, with a view of promoting his interest, Mr 
 Ferguson leased him a farm, of which we have the following ac- 
 count : — 
 
 " The farm was upwards of seventy acres, (between eighty and 
 ninety English statute measure,) the rent of which w;xs to be forty 
 pounds annually for the first six years, and afterwards forty-five 
 pounds. My father endeavoured to sell his leasehold property, for 
 the purpose of stocking his farm, but at that time was unable, and 
 Mr Ferguson lent him a hundred pounds for that purpose. He re- 
 moved to his new situation at Whitsuntide, 1766. It was, I think, 
 not above two years after this, that Murdoch, our tutor cmd friend, 
 left this part of the country; and there being no school near us, and 
 our little services being useful on the farm, my father undertook to 
 teach us arithmetic in the winter evenings, by candle-light ; and in 
 this way my two eldest sisters got all the education they received. 
 I remember a circumstance that happened at this time, which, 
 though trifling in itself, is fresh in my memory, and may serve to 
 illustrate the early character of my brother. Murdoch came to 
 spend a night with us, and to take his leave when he was about to 
 go into Carrick. He brought us, as a present and memorial of him, 
 a small compendium of English Grammar, and the tragedy of ' Titus 
 Andronicus,' and, by way of passing the evening, he began to read 
 the play aloud. We were all attention for some time, till presently 
 the whole party was dissolved in tears. A female in the play (I 
 have but a confused remembrance of it) had her hands chopt off, and 
 her tongue cut out, and then was insultingly desired to call for water 
 to wash her hands. At this, in an agony of distress, we with one 
 voice desired he would read no more. My father observed, that if 
 we would not hear it out, it would be needless to leave the play with 
 us. Robert replied, that if it was left he would burn it. My father 
 was going to chide him for this ungrateful return to his tutor's kind- 
 ness; but Murdoch interfered, declaring that he liked to see so much 
 sensibility ; and he left ' The School for Love,' a comedy, (translated 
 I think from the French,) in its place. 
 
APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. CV 
 
 " Nothing," continues Gilbert Bums, '' could be more retired tlian 
 our general manner of living at Mount Oliphant ; we rarely saw 
 anybody but the members of our own family. There were no 
 boys of our own age, or near it, in the neighbourhood. Indeed, the 
 greatest part of the land in the vicinity was at that time possessed 
 by shopkeepers, and people of that stamp, who had retired frorn 
 business, or who kept their farm in the country, at the same time 
 that they followed business in town. My father was for some time 
 almost the only companion we had. He conversed familiarly on all 
 subjects with us, as if we had been men; and was at great pains, 
 while we accompanied him in the labours of the farm, to lead the 
 conversation to such subjects as might tend to increase our know- 
 ledge, or confirm us in virtuous habits. He borrowed * Salmon's 
 Geographical Grammar* for us, and endeavoured to make us ac- 
 quainted with the Situation and history of the different countries in 
 the world ; while, from a book-society in Ayr, he procured for us the 
 reading of ' Derham's Physico and Astro-Theology,* and * Ray s Wis- 
 dom of God in the Creation,' to give us some idea of Astronomy 
 and Natural History. Robert read all these books with an avidity 
 and industry scarcely to be equalled. My father had been a sub- 
 scriber to * Stackhouse's History of the Bible,' then lately published 
 by James Meuross, in Kilmarnock : from this Robert collected a com- 
 petent knowledge of ancient history ; for no book was so voluminous 
 as to slacken his industry, or so antiquated as to damp his researches. 
 A brother of my mother, who had lived with us for some time 
 and had learnt some arithmetic by our winter evening's candle, 
 went into a bookseller's shop in Ayr, to purchase * The Ready 
 Reckoner, or Tradesman's Sure Guide,' and a book to teach him 
 to write letters. Luckily, in place of ' The Complete Letter- Writer,' 
 he gob by mistake a small collection of letters by the most emi- 
 nent writers, with a few sensible directions for attaining an easy 
 epistolary style. This book was to Robert of the greatest conse- 
 quence. It inspired him with a strong desire to excel in letter- 
 writing, while it furnished him with models by some of the first 
 writers in our language. 
 
 *'My brother was about thirteen or fourteen, when my father, re- 
 gretting that we wrote so ill, sent us, week about, during a summer 
 quarter, to the parish school of Dalrymple, which, though between 
 two and three miles distant, was the nearest to us, that we might 
 have an opportunity of remedying this defect. About this time a 
 bookish acquaintance of my father's procured us a reading of two 
 volumes of Richardson's 'Pamela,' which was the first novel we 
 read, and the only part of Richardson's works my brother was ac- 
 quainted with till towards the period of his commencing author. 
 Till that time, too, he remained unacquainted with Fielding, with 
 Smollett, (tvv'o volumes of ' Ferdinand Count Fathom,' and two 
 volumes of ' Peregrine Pickle ' excepted,) with Hume, with Robert- 
 eon, and almost all our authors of eminence of the later timea. 
 I recollect, indeed, my father borrowed a volume of English history 
 
cvi APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 from Mr Hamilton of BourtreehiU's gardener. Ifc treated of the reign 
 of James L, and bis imfortunate son, Charles, but I do not know 
 who was the author ; all that I remember of it is something of 
 Charles's conversation with his children. About this time, Mur- 
 doch, our former teacher, after having been in different places in 
 the country, and having taught a school some time in Dumfries, 
 came to be the established teacher of the English language in Ayr, 
 a circumstance of considerable consequence to us. The remem- 
 brance of my father's former friendship, and his attachment to my 
 brother, made him do everything in his power for our improvement. 
 He sent us Pope's works, and some other poetry, the first that 
 we had an opportunity of reading, excepting what is contained in 
 * The English Collection,' and in the volume of the Edinburgh Maga- 
 zine for 1772; excepting also those 'excellent new songs' that are 
 hawked about the country in baskets, or exposed on stalls in the 
 streets. 
 
 " The summer after we had been at Dalrymple school, my father 
 sent Robert to Ayr, to revise his English grammar, with his former 
 teacher. He had been there only one week, when he was obliged 
 to return, to assist at the harvest. When the harvest was over, he 
 went back to school, where he remained two weeks ; and this com- 
 pletes the account of his school education, excepting one summer 
 quarter, some time afterwards, that he attended the parish school 
 of Kirkoswald, (where he lived with a brother of my mother's,) to 
 iearn surveying. 
 
 "During the two last weeks that he was with Murdoch, he himself 
 ?v'as engaged in learning French, and he communicated the instruc- 
 tions he received to my brother, who, when he returned, brought 
 home with him a French dictionary and grammar, and the ' Adven- 
 tures of Telemachus' in the original. In a little while, by the 
 assistance of these books, he had acquired such a knowledge of the 
 language, as to read and understand any French author in prose. 
 This was considered as a sort of prodigy, and through the medium 
 of Murdoch, procured him the acquaintajoce of several lads in Ayr, 
 who were at that time gabbling French, and the notice of some 
 families, particularly that of Dr Malcolm, where a knowledge of 
 French was a recommendation. 
 
 " Observing the facility with which he had acquired the French 
 language, Mr Robinson, the established writing-master in Ayr, and 
 Mr Murdoch's particular friend, having himself acquired a consider- 
 able knowledge of the Latin language by his own industry, without 
 ever having learned it at school, advised Robert to make the same 
 attempt, promising him every assistance in his power. Agreeably 
 to this advice, he purchased 'The Rudiments of the Latin Tongue,* 
 but finding this study dry and uninteresting, it was quickly laid 
 aside. He frequently returned to his Rudiments on any little chagrin 
 or disappointment, particularly in his love affairs; but the Latin 
 seldom predominated more than a day or two at a time, or a w^eek 
 at most. Observing himself the ridicule that would attach, to this 
 
APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, cvu 
 
 Bort of conduct if it were known, he made two or three humorous 
 stanzas on the subject, which I cannot now recollect, but they all 
 ended, 
 
 'So I'll to my Latin again.' 
 
 " Thus you see Mr Murdoch was a principal means of my brother's 
 improvement. Worthy man ! though foreign to my present purpose, 
 I cannot take leave of him without tracing his future history. He 
 continued for some years a respected and useful teacher at Ayr, till 
 one evening that he had been overtaken in liquor, he happened to 
 speak somewhat disrespectfully of Dr Dalrymple, the parish minister, 
 who had not paid him that attention to which he thought himself 
 entitled. In Ayr he might as well have spoken blasphemy. He 
 found it proper to give up his appointment. He went to London, 
 where he still lives, a private teacher of French. He has been a 
 considerable time married, and keeps a shop of stationery wares. 
 
 " The father of Dr Paterson, now physician at Ayr, was, I believe, 
 a native of Aberdeenshire, and was one of the established teachers 
 in Ayr, when my father settled in the neighbourhood. He early 
 recognised my father as a fellow-native of the north of Scotland, and 
 a certain degree of intimacy subsisted between them during Mr 
 Paterson's life. After his death, his widow, who is a very genteel 
 woman, and of great worth, delighted in doing what she thought 
 her husband would have wished to have done, and assiduously kept 
 up her attentions to all his acquaintance. She kept alive the inti- 
 macy with our family, by frequently inviting my father and mother 
 to her house on Sundays, when she met them at church. 
 
 *' When she came to know my brother's passion for books, she 
 kindly offered us the use of her husband's library, and from her we 
 got the ' Spectator,' * Pope's Translation of Homer,' and several other 
 books that were of use to us. 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 cultivation. A stronger proof of this I cannot give 
 than that, notwithstanding the extraordinary rise in the value of 
 lands in Scotland, it was, after a considerable sum laid out in im- 
 proving it by the proprietor, 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 consequence of this, soon came into difficulties, which 
 were increased by the loss of several of his cattle by accidents and 
 disease. To the buffetings of misfortune, we could only oppose hard 
 labour, and the most rigid economy. We lived very sparing. For 
 several years butcher's meat was a stranger in the house, while all 
 the members of the family exerted themselves to the utmost of 
 their strength, and rather beyond it, in the labours of the farm. 
 My brother, at the age of thirteen, assisted in threshing the crcjp 
 of corn, and at fifteen was the principal labourer 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 
 
cviii APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 above fifty,) broken down with the long continued fatigues of his 
 life, with a wife and five children, and in a declining state of circum- 
 stances — these reflections produced in my brother's mind and mine 
 sensations of the deepest distress. I doubt not but the hard labour 
 and sorrow of this period of his life, was in a great measure the 
 cause of that depression of spirits with which Robert was so often 
 afflicted through his whole life afterwards. At this time he was 
 almost constantly afflicted 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 safFocation 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 
 attempted 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 a hun- 
 dred and thirty acres, at the rent of twenty shillings an acre, in the 
 
 parish of Torbolton, of Mr , then a merchant in Ayr, and now 
 
 (1797) a merchant in Liverpool. He removed to this farm at Whit- 
 sunday, 1777, and possessed it only seven years. No writing had 
 ever been made out of the conditions of the lease ; a misunder- 
 standing 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. 
 
 " The seven years we lived in Torbolton parish (extending from 
 the seventeenth to the twenty-fourth of my brother's age,) were 
 not marked by much literary improvement ; but, during this time, 
 the foundation was laid of certain habits in my brother's character, 
 which afterwards became but too prominent, and which malice and 
 envy have taken delight to enlarge on. Though when young he 
 was bashful and awkward in his intercourse with women, yet when 
 he approached manhood, his attachment to their society became 
 very strong, and he was constantly the victim of some fair enslaver. 
 The symptoms of his passion were often such as nearly to equal 
 those of the celebrated Sappho. I never indeed knew that he 
 * fainted, sunk, and died away ; ' but the agitations of his mind 
 and body exceeded anything of the kind I ever knew in real life. 
 He had always a particular jealousy of people who were richer than 
 himself, or who had more consequence in life. His love, therefore, 
 rarely settled on persons of this description. When he selected any 
 one out of the sovereignty of his good pleasure, to whom he 
 should pay his particular attention, she was instantly invested with 
 a sufficient stock of charms, out of the plentiful stores of his own 
 imagination ; and there was often a great dissimilitude between 
 his fair captivator, as she appeared to others, and as she seemed 
 when invested with the attributes he gave her. One generally 
 reigned paramount in his affections ; but as Yorick's affections 
 
APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. Cix 
 
 flowed out toward Madame de L at the remise door, while the 
 
 eternal vows of Eliza were upon him, so Robert was frequently 
 encountering other attractions, which formed so many under-plots 
 in the drama of his love. As these connexions were governed by 
 the strictest rules of virtue and modesty, (from which he never 
 deviated till he reached his twenty-third year,) he became anxious 
 to be in a situation to marry. This was not likely to be soon the. 
 case while he remained a farmer, as the stockiDg of a farm re- 
 quired a sum of money he had no probability of being master of 
 for a great while. He began, therefore, to think of trying some 
 other line of life. He and I had for several years taken land of my 
 father for the purpose of raising flax on our own account. In the 
 course of selling it, Robert began to think of turning flax-dresser, 
 both as being suitable to his grand view of settling in life, and as 
 subservient to the flax raising. He accordingly wrought at the 
 business of a flaxdresser in Irvine for six months, but abandoned 
 it at that period, as neither agreeing with his health nor inclination. 
 In Irvine he had contracted some acquaintance of a freer manner 
 of thinking and living than he had been used to, whose society 
 prepared him for overleaping the bounds of rigid virtue which had 
 hitherto restrained him. Towards the end of the period under 
 review (in his twenty -fourth year,) and soon after his father's death, 
 he was furnished with the subject of his Epistle to John Rankin, 
 During this period also he became a freemason, which was his first 
 introduction to the life of a boon companion. Yet, notwithstanding 
 these circumstances, and the praise he has bestowed on Scotch drink 
 (which seem to have misled his historians,) I do not recollect, 
 during these seven years, nor till towards the end of his commencing 
 author, (when his growing celebrity occasioned his being often in 
 ccimpany,) to have ever seen him intoxicated ; nor was he at all given 
 to drinking. A stronger proof of the general sobriety of his conduct 
 need not be required than what I am about to give. During the 
 whole of the time we lived in the farm of Lochlea with my father 
 he allowed my brother and me such wages for our labour as he gave 
 to other labourers, as a part of which, every article of our clothing, 
 manufactured in the family, was regularly accounted for. When my 
 father's affairs drew near a crisis, Robert and I took the farm of 
 Mossgiel, consisting of a hundred and eighteen acres, at the rent of 
 ninety pounds per annum, (the farm on which I live at present,) 
 from Mr Gavin Hamilton, as an asylum for the family in case of 
 the worst. It was stocked by the property and individual savings 
 of the whole family, and was a joint concern among us. Every 
 member of the family was allowed ordinary wages for the labour 
 he performed on the farm. My brother's allowance and mine 
 was seven pounds per annum each. And during the whole time 
 this family concern lasted, which was for four years, "as well as 
 during the preceding period at Lochlea, his expenses never in any 
 one year exceeded his slender income. As I was intrusted with 
 the keeping of the family accounts, it is not possible that there can 
 
ex APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 be any fallacy in this statement in my brother's favour. His tem- 
 perance and frugality were everything that could be wished. 
 
 " The farm of Mossgiel lies very high, and mostly on a cold wet 
 bottom. The firsb four years that we were on the farm were very 
 frosty, and the spring was very late. Our crops in consequence 
 were very unprofitable ; and, notwithstanding our utmost diligence 
 and economy, we found ourselves obliged to give up our bargain, 
 with the loss of a considerable part of our original stock. ^ It was 
 during these four years that Robert formed his connexion with 
 Jean Armour, afterwards Mrs Burns. This connexion could ^ no 
 longer be concealed, about the time we came to a final determina- 
 tion to quit the farm. Robert durst not engage with his family in 
 his poor unsettled state, but was anxious to shield his partner, by 
 every means in his power, from the consequences of their im- 
 prudence. It was agreed therefore between them, that they should 
 make a legal acknowledgment of an irregular and private marriage ; 
 that he should go to Jamaica to push his fortune : and that she 
 should remain with her father till it might please Providence to 
 put the means of supporting a family in his power. 
 
 " Mrs Burns was a great favourite of her father's. The intima- 
 tion of a marriage was the first suggestion he received of her real 
 situation. He was in the greatest distress, and fainted away. The 
 marriage did not appear to him to make the matter better. A 
 husband in Jamaica appeared to him and his wife little better than 
 none, and an efi'ectual bar to any other prospects of a settlement in 
 life that their daughter might have. They therefore expressed a 
 wish to her, that the written papers which respected the marriage 
 should be cancelled, and thus the marriage rendered void. In her 
 melancholy state, she felt the deepest remorse at having brought 
 such heavy affliction on parents that loved her so tenderly, and sub- 
 mitted to their entreaties. Their wish was mentioned to Robert. 
 He felt the deepest anguish of mind. He offeied to stay at home 
 and provide for his wife and family in the best manner that his 
 daily labours could provide for them ; that being the only means 
 in his power. Even this offer they did not approve of; for humble 
 as Miss Armour's station was, and great though her imprudence 
 had been, she still, in the eyes of her partial parents, might look to 
 a better connexion than that with my friendless and unhappy 
 brother, at that time without house or biding place. Robert at 
 length consented to their wishes ; but his feelings on this occasion 
 were of the most distracting nature : and the impression of sorrow 
 was not effiiced, till by a regular marriage they were indissolubly 
 united. In the state of mind which this separation produced, he 
 wished to leave the country as soon as possible, and agreed with 
 Dr Douglas to go out to Jamaica, as an assistant overseer, or, as I 
 believe it is called, a book-keeper, on his estate. As he had not 
 Bufficient money to pay his passage, and the vessel in which Dr 
 Douglas was to procure a passage for him was not expected to sail 
 for some time, Mr Hamilton advised him to publish his poems in 
 
APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. Cxi 
 
 the meantime by subscription, as a likely way of getting a little 
 money, to provide him more liberally in necessaries for Jamaica. 
 Agreeably to this advice, subscription-bills were printed imme- 
 diately, and the printing was commenced at Kilmarnock, his pre- 
 parations going on at the same time for his voyage. The reception, 
 however, which his poems met with in the world, and the friends 
 they procured him, made him change his resolution of going to 
 Jamaica, and he was advised to go to Edinburgh to publish a second 
 edition. On his return, in happier circumstances, he renewed his 
 connexion with Mrs Burns, and rendered it permanent by a union 
 for life. 
 
 " Thus, madam, have I endeavoured to give you a simple narrative 
 of the leading circumstances in my brother's early life. The re- 
 maining part he spent in Edinburgh, or in Dumfriesshire, and its 
 incidents are as well known to you as to me. His genius having 
 procured him your patronage and friendship, this gave rise to the 
 correspondence between you, in which, I believe, his sentiments 
 were delivered with the most respectful, but most unreserved 
 confidence, and which only terminated with the last days of hia 
 life." 
 
 LETTER FROM MR JOHN MURDOCH. 
 
 "Sir, — I was lately favoured with a letter from our worthy 
 friend, the Rev. Wm. Adair, in which he requested me to com- 
 municate to you whatever particulars I could recollect concerning 
 Robert Burns, the Ayrshire poet. My business being at present 
 multifarious and harassing, my attention is consequently so much 
 divided, and I am so little in the habit of expressing my thoughts 
 on paper, that at this distance of time I can give but a very imper- 
 fect sketch of the early part of the life of that extraordinary genius, 
 with which alone I am acquainted. 
 
 " William Burnes, the father of the poet, w^as born in the shire 
 of Kincardine, and bred a gardener. He had been settled in Ayr- 
 shire ten or twelve years before I knew him, and had been in the 
 service of Mr Crawford of Doonside. He was afterwards employed 
 as a gardener and overseer by Provost Ferguson of Doonholme, in 
 the parish of AJloway, which is now united with that of Ayr. In 
 this parish, on tue road side, a Scotch mile and a half from the town 
 of Ayr, and half a mile from the bridge of Doon, William Burnes 
 took a piece of laud, consisting of about seven acres ; part of which 
 he laid out in garden ground, and part of which he kept to graze a 
 cow, &c., still continuing in the employ of Provost Ferguson. Upon 
 this little farm was erected a humble dwelling, of which William 
 Burnes was the architect. It was, with the exception of a little 
 straw, literally a tabernacle of -clay. In this mean cottage, of which 
 I myself was at times an inhabitant, I really believe there dwelt 
 a larger portion of content than in any palace in Europe. The 
 
cxii APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 * Cotter's Saturday Night ' will give some idea of the temper and 
 manners that prevailed there. 
 
 "In 1765, about the middle of March, Mr Wm. Burnes came to 
 Ayr, and sent to the school where I was improving in writing, under 
 my good friend Mr Robinson, desiring that I would come and speak 
 to him at a certain inn, and bring my writing-book with me. This 
 was immediately complied with. Having examined my writing, 
 he was pleased with it, (you will readily allow he was not difficult, ) 
 and told me that he had received very satisfactory information of 
 Mr Tennant, the master of the English school, concerning my im- 
 provement in English, and in his method of teaching. In the 
 month of May following, I was engaged by Mr Burnes, and four 
 of his neighbours, to teach, and accordingly began to teach the 
 little school at Allovvay, which was situated a few yards from the 
 argillaceous fabric above mentioned. My five employers undertook 
 to board me by turns, and to make up a certain salary at the end 
 of the year, provided my quarterly payments from the diJBferent 
 pupils did not amount to that sum. 
 
 " My pupil, Robert Burns, was then between six or seven years of 
 age ; his preceptor about eighteen. Robert, and his younger brother 
 Gilbert, had been grounded a little in English before they were 
 put under my care. They both made a rapid progress in reading, 
 and a tolerable progress in writing. In reading, dividing words into 
 syllables by rule, spelling without book, parsing sentences, &c., 
 Robert and Gilbert were generally at the upper end of the class, 
 even when ranged with boys by far their seniors. The books most 
 commonly used in the school were the Spelling-Book, the New 
 Testament, the Bible, Mason's Collection of Prose and Verse, and 
 Fisher's English Grammar. They committed to memory the hymns, 
 and other poems of that collection, with uncommon facility. This 
 facility was partly owing to the method pursued by their father and 
 me in instructing them, which was, to make them thoroughly ac- 
 quainted with the meaning of every word in each sentence that was 
 to be committed to memory. By the by, this may be easier done, 
 and at an earlier period, than is generally thought. As soon as 
 they were capable of it, I taught them to turn verse into its natural 
 prose order ; sometimes to substitute synonymous expressions for 
 poetical words, and to supply the ellipses. These, you know, are the 
 means of knowing that the pupil understands his author. These 
 are excellent helps to the arrangement of words in sentences, as well 
 as to a variety of expression. 
 
 " Gilbert always appeared to me to possess a more lively imagin- 
 ation, and to be more of the wit than Robert. I attempted to 
 teach them a little church music : here they were left far behind 
 by all the rest of the school Robert's ear, in particular, was 
 remarkably dull, and his voice untunable. It was long before I 
 could get them to distinguish one tune from another. Robert's 
 countenance was generally grave, and expressive of a serious, con- 
 templative, and thoughtful mind. Gilbert's face said, ' Mkth, with 
 
APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. CxIIl 
 
 thee I mean to live ;' and certainly, if any person who knew the 
 two boys had been asked which of them was the most likely to 
 court the Muses, he would surely never have guessed that Kobert had 
 a propensity of that kind. 
 
 " In the year 1769, Mr Barnes quitted his mud edifice, and 
 took possession of a farm (Mount Oliphant) of his own improving, 
 while in the service of Provost Ferguson. This farm being at a 
 considerable distance from the school, the boys could not attend 
 regularly ; and some changes taking place among the other sup- 
 porters of the school, I left it, having continued to conduct it for 
 nearly two years and a half. 
 
 *' In the year 1772, I was appointed (being one of five candidates 
 who were examined) to teach the English school at Ayr ; and, in 1773, 
 Robert Burns came to board and lodge with me, for the purpose 
 of revising the English grammar, &c,, that he might be better 
 qualified to instruct his brothers and sisters at home. He was now 
 with me day and night, in school, at all meals, and in all my walks. 
 At the end of one week, I told him, that, as he was now pretty 
 much master of the parts of speech, &c., I should like to teach him 
 something of French pronunciation; that when he should meet 
 with the name of a French town, ship, officer, or the like, in the 
 newspapers, he might be able to pronounce it something like a 
 French word. Robert was glad to hear this proposal, and immo' 
 diately we attacked the French with great courage. 
 
 " Now there was little else to be heard but the declension of 
 nouns, the conjugation of verbs, &c. When walking together and 
 even at meals, I was constantly telling him the names of difierent 
 objects, as they presented themselves, in French, so that he was 
 hourly laying in a stock of words and sometimes little phrases. In 
 short, he took such pleasure in learning, and I in teaching, that 
 it was difficult to say which of the two was most zealous in the 
 business : and about the end of the second week of our study 
 of the French, we began to read a little of the ' Adventures of 
 Telemachus,' in Fenelon's own words. 
 
 "But now the plains of Mount Oliphant began to whiten, and 
 Robert was summoned to relinquish the pleasing scenes that sur- 
 rounded the grotto of Calypso ; and, armed with a sickle, to seek 
 glory by signalising himself in the fields of Ceres — and so he did ; 
 for although but about fifteen, I was told that he performed the work 
 of a man. 
 
 " Thus was I deprived of my very apt pupil, and consequently 
 agreeable companion, at the end of three weeks, one of which was 
 spent entirely in the study of English, and the other two chiefly in 
 that of French. I did not, however, lose sight of him ; but was a 
 frequent visitant at his father's house, when 1 had my half -holiday ; 
 and very often went, accompanied with one or two persons more 
 intelligent than myself, that good William Barnes might enjoy a 
 mental feast. Then the labouring oar was shifted to some other 
 hand. The father and the sou sat down with us. when we enjoyed 
 
cxiv APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, 
 
 a conversation, wherein solid reasoning, sensible remar^' and a 
 moderate seasoning of jocularity, were so nicely blenaed as to 
 render it palatable to all parties. Robert had a hundred questions 
 to ask me about the French, &c.; and the father, who had always 
 rational information in view, had still some que?'',n to propose 
 to my more learned friends, upon moral or natur-vi philosophy, or 
 some such interesting subject. Mrs Burnes, too, 'Was of the party 
 as much as possible — 
 
 * But still the house affairs would draw her thence. 
 Which ever as she could with haste despatch, 
 She 'd come again, and with a greedy ear, 
 Devour up their discourse,' 
 
 and particularly that of her husband. At all times, and in all 
 companies, she listened to him with a more marked attention than, 
 to anybody else. When under the necessity of being absent, while 
 he was speaking, she seemed to regret as a real loss, that she had 
 missed what the good man had said. This worthy woman, Agnes 
 Brown, had the most thorough esteem for her husband of any 
 woman I ever knew. I can by no means wonder that she highly 
 esteemed him : for I myself have always considered William Burnes 
 as by far the best of the human race that &ver I had the pleasure 
 of being acquainted with — and many a worthy character I have 
 known. I can cheerfully join with Robert in the last line of hia 
 epitaph (borrowed from Goldsmith) : — 
 
 ' And even his failings lean'd to virtue's side.' 
 
 " He was an excellent husband, if I may judge from his assi- 
 duous attention to the ease and comfort of his worthy partner, and 
 from her affectionate behaviour to him, as well as her unwearied 
 attention to the duties of a mother. 
 
 ** 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 them- 
 selves are averse. He took care to find fault but very seldom ; and 
 therefore, when he 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 heartfelt 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 
 that were labourers under him. I think I never saw him angry 
 but 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 innuendoes and double 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 incap- 
 able of that passive, pitiful, paltry spirit, that induces some people 
 to keep booing and booing in the prese^ce of a great man. He always 
 
A F FEND IX TO BIOGRAFHICAL SKETCH. cxv 
 
 treated superior* with, a becoming respect ; but he never gave the 
 BmallesTi ^encouragement to aristocratical arrogance. But I must 
 not pretend to give you a description of all the manly qualities, 
 the rational and Christian virtues, of the venerable William Burnes. 
 Time would -^^il me. I shall only add, that he carefully practised 
 every known vi'-ity, and avoided everything that was crimiDal; 
 or, in the apostle's words, ' Herein did he exercise himself in living 
 a life 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 customary to 
 honour and perpetuate the memory of those who excel in moral rec- 
 titude, as it is to extol what are called heroic actions : then would 
 the mausoleum of the friend of my youth overtop and surpass most of 
 the monuments I see in Westminster Abbey. 
 
 " Although I cannot do justice to the character of this worthy 
 man, yet you will perceive, from these few particulars, what kind 
 of person had the principal hand in the education of our poet. He 
 spoke the English language with more propriety (both with respect 
 to diction and pronunciation) than any man I ever knew with no 
 greater advantages. This had a very good effect on the boys, who 
 began to talk and reason like men much sooner than their neigh- 
 bours. I do not recollect any of their contemporaries, at my little 
 seminary, who afterwards made any great figure, as literary cha- 
 racters, except Dr Tennant, who was chaplain to Colonel Fullarton'a 
 Regiment, and who is now in the East Indies. He is a man of genius 
 and learning ; yet affable and free from pedantry. 
 
 " Mr Burnes in a short time found that he had over-rated Mount 
 Oliphant, and that he could not rear his numerous family upon it. 
 After being there some years, he removed to Lochlea, in the parish 
 of Torbolton, where, I believe, Robert wrote most of his poems. 
 
 " But here, sir, you will permit me to pause. I can tell you but 
 little more relative to our poet. I shall, however, in my next, send 
 you a copy of one of his letters to me, about the year 1783. I 
 received one since, but it is mislaid. Please remember me, in the 
 best manner, to my worthy friend Mr Adair, when you see him or 
 write to him. 
 
 "Hart Street, Bloomsbury Square, 
 London, Ftb, 22, 1799. 
 
 SKETCH BY DAVID SILLAR. 
 David Sillar, to whom Burns addressed several of the finest of his 
 epistles, was a native of Torbolton. He was for many years 
 schoolmaster at Irvine. He published a volume of poems, in 
 the Scottish dialect, of some merit. 
 
 " Robert Burns was sometime in the parish of Torbolton, prior 
 to my acquaintaucfi with him. His Bocial disposition easily pro- 
 
cxvi APFENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 cured him acquaintance; but a certain satirical seasoning with which 
 he and all poetical geniuses are in some degree influenced, while 
 it set the rustic circle in a roar, was not unaccompanied with sus- 
 picious fear. I recollect hearing his neighbours observe, he had a 
 great deal to say for himself, but that they suspected his principles. 
 He wore the only tied hair in the parish; and in the church 
 his plaid, which was of a particular colour, (I think fiUemot,) he 
 wrapped in a peculiar manner round his shoulders. These surmises, 
 and his exterior, made me solicitous of his acquaintance. I was in- 
 troduced by Gilbert not only to his brother, but to the whole of 
 that family, where, in a short time, I became a frequent, and, I 
 believe, not unwelcome, visitant. After the commencement of my 
 acquaintance with the bard, we frequently met upon Simdays at 
 church ; when, between sermons, instead of going with our friends 
 or our lasses to the inn, we often took a walk in the fields. In these 
 walks, I have often been struck with his facility in addressing the 
 fair sex ; many times when I have been bashfully anxious how to 
 express myself, he would have entered into conversation with them, 
 with the greatest ease and freedom; and it was generally a death-blow 
 to our conversation, however agreeable, to meet a female acquaint- 
 ance. Some of the few opportunities of a noontide walk that a 
 country life allows her laborious sons, he spent on the banks of the 
 river, or in the woods, in the neighbourhood of Stair. Some book 
 or other he always carried, and read, when not otherwise employed : 
 it was likewise his custom to read at table." 
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF WILLIAM CLARK. 
 
 The following testimony by William Clark, who had lived with 
 the poet as a ploughman for six months, was communicated 
 to a gentleman in Kirkcudbright. 
 
 "Soon after Burns became tenant of Ellisland, William Clark lived 
 with him as servant during the winter half-year, he thinks, of 1789- 
 
 90 Burns kept two men and two women servants ; but he 
 
 invariably, when at home, took his meals with his wife and family 
 in the little parlour. Clark thought he was as good a manager of 
 land as the generality of the farmers in the neighboiu-hood. The 
 farm of Ellisland was said to be moderately rented, and was suscep- 
 tible of much improvement, had improvement been in repute. Bums 
 sometimes visited the neighbouring farmers, and they returned the 
 compliment; but that way of spending time and exchanging civili' 
 ties was not so common then as now, and, besides, the most of the 
 people thereabouts had no expectation that Burns's conduct and 
 writings would be so much noticed afterwards. Burns kept nine 
 or ten miich-cows, some young cattle, four horses, and several pet 
 Eheep : of the latter he was very fond. During the winter and spring 
 
APPENDIX PO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, cxvii 
 
 time, wlien he was not engaged with the excise business, he occasion- 
 ally held the plough for an hour or so for him (William Clark), and 
 was a fair workman, though the mode of ploughing now-a-days is 
 much superior in many respects. During seed-time, Burns might be 
 frequently seen, at an early hour, in the fields with his sowing- 
 sheet : but as business often required his attention from home, he 
 did not sow the whole of the grain. He was a kind and indulgent 
 master, and -spoke familiarly to his servants, both in the house and 
 out of it, though, if anything put him out of humour, he was yey 
 guldersome foi' a wee while : the storm was soon over, and there was 
 never a word of upcast afterwards. Clark never saw him really 
 angry but once, and it was occasioned by the carelessness of one of 
 the women-servants who had not cut potatoes small enough, which 
 brought one of the cows into danger of being choked. His looks, 
 gestures, and voice on that occasion were terrible ; W. C. was glad 
 to be out of his sight, and when they met again, Burns was perfectly 
 calm. If any extra work was to be done, the men sometimes got 
 a dram ; but Clark had lived with masters who were more Jlush 
 in that way to their servants. Clark, during the six months he spent 
 at Ellisland, never once saw his master intoxicated or incapable of 
 managing his own business. . . .... Burns, when at home, usually 
 
 wore a broad blue bonnet, a blue or drab long-tailed coat, corduroy 
 breeches, dark blue stockings, and cootiJcens, and in cold weather 
 a black-and-white-checked plaid wrapped round his shoulders. Mrs 
 Burns was a good and prudent housewife, kept everything in neat 
 and tidy order, and was well liked by the servants, for whom she 
 provided abundance of wholesome food. At parting, Burns gave 
 Clark a certificate of character, and, besides paying his wages in 
 full, gave him a shilling for a. fairing.^' 
 
 SKETCH BY DUGALD STEWAKT. 
 
 Contributed to Dr Currie's edition of the Life and Works of the poet. 
 
 " The first time I saw Robert Burns was on the 23d of October 
 1786, when he dined at my house in Ayrshire, together with oui 
 common friend Mr John Mackenzie, surgeon in Mauchline, to whom 
 I am indebted for the pleasure of his acquaintance. I am enabled 
 to mention the date particularly, by some verses which Burns wrote 
 after he returned home, and in which the day of our meeting is 
 recorded. — My excellent and much lamented friend, the late Basil, 
 Lord Daer, happened to nirive at Catrine the same day, and, by the 
 kindness and frankness of his manners, left an impression on the 
 mind of the poet which never was effaced. The verses I allude to 
 are among the most imperfect of his pieces ; but a few stanzas may 
 perhaps be an object of curiosity to you, both on account of the 
 character to which they relate, and of the light which they throw on 
 the situation and feelings of the writer, before his name was known 
 to the public. 
 
cxviii APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, 
 
 " I cannot positively say, at tlijs distance of time, whether at the 
 period of our first acquaintance, the Kilmarnock edition of his poema 
 had been just published, or wa» yet in the press. I suspect that the 
 latter was the case, as I have still in my possession copies in his own 
 handwriting of some of his favourite performances ; particularly of 
 Lis verses ' On the turning up a Mouse with his Plough ;' * On the 
 Mountain Daisy ; ' and ' The Lament.* On my return to Edinburgh, 
 I showed the volume, and mentioned what I knew of the author's 
 history to several of my friends ; and, among others, to Mr Henry 
 Mackenzie, who first recommended him to public notice in the 97th 
 number of 'The Lounger.' 
 
 *' At this time Burns's prospects in life were so extremely gloomy, 
 that he had seriously formed a plan of going out to Jamaica in a 
 yery humble situation, not however without lamenting that his want 
 of patronage ehould force him to think of a project so repugnant to 
 his feelings, when his ambition aimed at no higher an object than 
 the station of an exciseman or ganger in his own country. 
 
 ** His manners were then, as they continued ever afterwards, 
 simple, manly, and independent; strongly expressive of conscious 
 genius and worth; but without anything that indicated forwardness, 
 arrogance, or vanity. He took his share in conversation, but not 
 more than belonged to him ; and listened with apparent attention 
 and deference on subjects where his want of education deprived him 
 of the means of information. If there had been a little more gentle- 
 ness and accommodation in his temper, he would, I think, have been 
 still more interesting ; but he had been accustomed to give law in 
 the circle of his ordinary acquaintance; and his dread, of anything 
 approaching to meanness or servility rendered his manner somewhat 
 decided and hard. Nothing, perhaps, was more remarkable among 
 his various attainments, than the fluency, and precision, and origi- 
 nality of his language, when he spoke in company; more particularly 
 as he aimed at purity in his turn of expression, and avoided more 
 successfully than most Scotchmen^ the peculiarities of Scottish 
 phraseology. 
 
 " He came to Edinburgh early in the winter following, and re- 
 mained there for several months. By whose advice he took this 
 step, I am unable to say. Perhaps it was suggested only by his own 
 curiosity to see a little more of the world ; but, I co^ifess, I dreaded 
 the consequences from the first, and always wished that his pursuits 
 and habits should continue the same as in the former part of life ; 
 with the addition of, what I considered as then completely within his 
 reach, a good farm on moderate terms, in a part of the country 
 agreeable to his taste. 
 
 "The attentions he received during his stay in town, from all 
 ranks and descriptions of persons, were such as would have turned 
 any head but his own. I cannot say that I could perceive any un- 
 favourable effept which they left on his mind. He retained the same 
 eimplicity of manners and appearance which had struck me so for- 
 cibly when I first saw him in the country ; nor did he seem to f eeJ 
 
APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. CXix 
 
 any additional self-importance from the number and rank of his new 
 acquaintance. His dress was perfectly suited to his station, plain, 
 and unpretending, with a sufficient attention to neatness. If I re- 
 collect right, he always wore boots; and, when on more than usual 
 ceremony, buckskin breeches. 
 
 " The variety of his engagements, while in Edinburgh, prevented 
 me from seeing him so often as I could have wished. In the course 
 of the spring, he called on me once or twice, at my request, early in 
 the morning, and walked with me to Braid-Hills, in the neighbour- 
 hood of the town, when he charmed me still more by his private 
 conversation, than he had ever done in company. He was passion- 
 ately fond of the beauties of nature ; and I recollect once he told me, 
 when I was admiring a distant prospect in one of our morning walks, 
 that the sight of so many smoking cottages gave a pleasure to his 
 mind, which none could understand who had not witnessed, like him- 
 self, the happiness and the worth which they contained. 
 
 " In his political principles he was then a. Jacobite ; which was 
 perhaps owing partly to this, that his father was originally from the 
 estate of Lord Mareschal. Indeed, he did not appear to have thought 
 much on such subjects, nor very consistently. He had a very strong 
 sense of religion, and expressed deep regret at the levity with which 
 he had heard it treated occasionally in some convivial meetings 
 which he frequented. I speak of him as he was in the winter of 
 1786-7; for afterwards we met but seldom, and our conversation 
 turned chiefly on his literary projects, or his private affairs. 
 
 " I do not recollect whether it appears or not from any of your 
 letters to me, that you had ever seen Burns. If you have, it is super- 
 fluous for me to add, that the idea which his conversation con- 
 veyed of the powers of his mind, exceeded, if possible, that which 
 is suggested by his writings. Among the poets whom I have hap- 
 pened to know, I have been struck, in more than one instance, with 
 the unaccountable disparity between their general talents, and the 
 occasional inspirations of their more favourable moments. But all 
 the faculties of Burns's mind were, as far as I could judge, equally 
 vigorous ; and his predilection for poetry was rather the result of his 
 own enthusiastic and impassioned temper, than a genius exclu- 
 sively adapted to that species of composition. From his conversa- 
 tion I should have pronounced him to be fitted to excel in what- 
 ever walk of ambition he had chosen to exert his abilities. 
 
 *' Among the subjects on which he was accustomed to dwell, the 
 characters of the individuals with whom he happened to meet was 
 plainly a favourite one. The remarks he made on them were al- 
 ways shrewd and pointed, though frequently inclining too much to 
 sarcasm. His praise of those he loved was sometimes indiscriminate 
 and extravagant ; but this, I suspect, proceeded rather from the 
 caprice and humour of the moment, than from the efl'ects of attach- 
 ment in blinding his judgment. His wit was ready, and always im- 
 pressed with the marks of a vigorous ui^derstanding ; but to my 
 taste, not often pleasing or happy. His attempts at epigram, in 
 
cxx APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 his printed works, are the only performances, perhaps, that he has 
 produced, totally unworthy of his genius. 
 
 "In summer 1787, I passed some weeks in Ayrshire, and saw 
 Burns occasionally. I think that he made a pretty long excursion 
 that season to the Highlands, and that he also visited what Beattie 
 calls the Arcadian ground of Scotland, upon the banks of the Teviot 
 and the Tweed. 
 
 "I should have mentioned before, that notwithstanding various 
 reports I heard during the preceding winter, of Burns's predilec- 
 tion for convivial, and not very select society, I should have con- 
 cluded in favour of his habits of sobriety, from all of him that ever 
 fell under my own observation. He told me indeed himself, that the 
 weakness of his stomach was such as to deprive him entirely of 
 any merit in his temperance. I was, however, somewhat alarmed 
 about the effect of his now comparatively sedentary and luxurious 
 life, when he confessed to me, tbe first night he spent in my house 
 after his winter's campaign in town, that he had been much dis- 
 turbed when in bed, by a palpitation at his heart, which, he said, was 
 a complaint to which he had of late become subject. 
 
 " In the course of the same season, I was led by curiosity to attend 
 for an hour or two a mason-lodge in Mauchline, where Burns pre- 
 sided. He had occasion to make some short, unpremeditated com^ 
 pliments to different individuals from whom he had no reason to 
 expect a visit, and everything he said was happily conceived, and 
 forcibly as well as fluently expressed. If I am not mistaken, he 
 told me, that in that village, before going to Edinburgh, he ha<i 
 belonged to a small club of such of the inhabitants as had a taste for 
 books, when they used to converse and debate on any interesting 
 questions that occurred to them in the course of their reading. 
 His manner of speaking in public had evidently the marks of some 
 practice in extempore elocution. 
 
 *' I must not omit to mention, what I have always considered aa 
 characteristical in a high degree of true genius, the extreme facility 
 and good-nature of his taste, in judging of the compositions of others, 
 where there was any real ground for praise. I repeated to him 
 many passages of English poetry with which he was unacquainted, 
 and have more than once witnessed the tears of admiration and 
 rapture with which he heard them. The collection of songs by Dr 
 Aiken, which I first put into his hands, he read with unmixed de- 
 light, notwithstanding his former efforts in that very difficult 
 species of writing ; and I have little doubt that it had some effect 
 in polishing his subsequent compositions, 
 
 "In judging of prose, I do not think his taste was equally 
 sound. I once read to him a passage or two in Franklin's Works, 
 which I thought very happily executed, upon the model of Addison ; 
 but he did not appear to relish, or to perceive the beauty which 
 they derived from their exquisite simplicity, and spoke of them 
 with indifference, when compared with the point, and antithesis, 
 and quaintness of Junius. The influence of this taste ia very per- 
 
APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, cxxi 
 
 ceptible in liis own prose compositions, although their great and 
 various excellences render some of them scarcely less objects of 
 wonder than his poetical performances. The late Dr Robertson 
 used to say, that, considering his education, the former seemed to 
 him the more extraordinary of the two. 
 
 " His memory was uncommonly retentive, at least for poetry, of 
 which he recited to me frequently long compositions with the most 
 minute accuracy. They were chiefly ballads, and other pieces in our 
 Scottish dialect ; great part of them, he told me, he had learned in 
 his childhood from his mother ; who delighted in such recitations, 
 and whose poetical taste, rude- as it probably was, gave, it is presum- 
 able, the first direction to her son's genius. 
 
 *' Of the more polished verses which accidentally fell into his hands 
 in his early years, he mentioned particularly the recommendatory 
 poems, by different authors, prefixed to Hervey's Meditations; a 
 book which has always had a very wide circulation among such of 
 the country people of Scotland as affect to unite some degree of 
 taste with their religious studies. And these poems (although they 
 are certainly below mediocrity) he continued to read with a degree 
 of rapture beyond expression. He took notice of this fact himself, 
 as a proof how much the taste is liable to be influenced by acci- 
 iental circumstances. 
 
 " His father appeared to me from the account he gave of him, to 
 have been a respectable and worthy character, possessed of a mind 
 superior to what might have been expected from his station in life. 
 He ascribed much of his owm principles and feelings to the early 
 impressions he had received from his instruction and example. I 
 recollect that he once applied to Mm (and he added, that the passage 
 was a literal statement of fact) the two last lines of the following 
 passage in the ' Minstrel : * the whole of which he repeated with great 
 enthusiasm : — 
 
 ' Shall I be left forgotten in the dust, 
 
 When Fate, relentin^r, lets the flower revive ; 
 Shall Nature's voice, to man alone unjust, 
 
 Bid him, though doom'd to perish, hope to live? 
 Is it for this fair virtue oft must strive, 
 
 With disappointment, penury, and pain? 
 No ! Heaven's immortal spring shall yet arrive; 
 
 And man's majestic beauty bloom again. 
 Bright through the eternal year of love's triumphant reign. 
 
 * TMs truth siihlime, his simple sireTiad taupJtt : 
 In sooth, 'twas almost all the shepherd knew.' 
 
 *' "With respect to Bums's early education, I cannot say anything 
 with certainty. He always spoke with respect and gratitude of 
 the schoolmaster who had taught him to read English ; and who, 
 finding in his scholar a more than ordinary ardour for knowledge, 
 had been at pains to instruct him in the grammatical principles of 
 the language. He began the study of Latin, but dropt it before he 
 had finished the verbs. I have sometimes heard him quote a few 
 
cxxii APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 Latin words, Buch as omnia vinctt amor, &c., but they seemed to 
 be such as he had caught from conversation, and which he repeated 
 by rote. I think he had a project, after he came to Edinburgh, of 
 prosecuting the study under his intimate friend, the late Mr Nicol, 
 one of the masters of the grammar school here; but I do not know 
 that he ever proceeded so far as to make the attempt. 
 
 " He certainly possessed a smattering of French ; and, if he had an 
 affectation in anything, it was in introducing occasionally a word or 
 phrase from that language. It is possible that his knowledge in 
 this respect might be more extensive than I suppose it to be; but 
 this you can learn from his more intimate acquaintance. It would 
 be worth while to inquire, whether he was able to read the French 
 authors with such facility as to receive from them any improve- 
 ment to his taste. For my own part, I doubt it much; nor would 
 I believe it, but on very strong and pointed evidence. 
 
 " If my memory does not fail me, he was well instructed in 
 arithmetic, and knew something of practical geometry, particularly 
 of surveying. All his other attainments were entirely his own. 
 
 "The last time I saw him was during the winter 1788-89, 
 when he passed an evening with me at Drumseugh, in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Edinburgh, where I was then living. My friend Mr 
 Alison was the only other person in company. I never saw him 
 more agreeable or interesting. A present which Mr Alison sent 
 him afterwards of his 'Essays on Taste,' drew from Burns a letter 
 of acknowledgment which I remember to have read with some 
 degree of surprise at the distinct conception he appeared from it 
 to have formed of the general principles of the doctrine of associa- 
 tion. When I saw Mr Alison in Shropshire last autumn, I forgot 
 to inquire if the letter be still in existence. If it is, you may 
 easily procure it, by means of our friend Mr Houlbrooke." 
 
 SKETCH BY PROFESSOR WALKER, 
 
 AUTHOR OP A LIFE OF THE FOET. 
 
 After stating that Burns was simple and natural in society, and 
 never assumed airs of superiority, he says : — " Though he took his 
 full share in conversation, not only from a perception that it was 
 expected, but from a consciousness that it would gratify expecta- 
 tion, yet he did so in a manner that was dignified and manly, and 
 altogether remote from petulant vanity, or offensive exultation in an 
 importance so new to him. His deportment was plain without 
 vulgarity; and though it had little softness, and showed him ready 
 to repel any insult with decision at least, if not with roughness, yet 
 he soon made it evident that those who behaved to him with pro- 
 priety were in no danger of any unprovoked or boorish rudeness." 
 
 The Professor having first met Burns at Dr Blacklock's at break- 
 
APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH cxxiii 
 
 fast, says : — ^' I was not much struck with his first appearance, as I 
 had previously heard it described. His person, though strong and 
 well knit, and much superior to what might be expected in a plough- 
 man, was still rather coarse in its outline. His stature, from want 
 of setting up, appeared to be only of the middle size, but was rather 
 above it. His motions were firm and decided ; and though without 
 any pretensions to grace, were at the same time so free from 
 clownish constraint, as to show that he had not always been confined 
 to the society of his profession. His countenance was not of that 
 elegant cast which is most frequent among the upper ranks ; but it 
 was manly and intelligent, and. marked by a thoughtful gravity, 
 v/hich shaded at times into sternness. In his large dark eye the 
 most striking index of his genius resided. It was full of mind, and 
 would have been singularly expressive, under the management of 
 one who could employ it with more art, for the purpose of expres- 
 sion. 
 
 " He was plainly, but properly dressed, in a style midway between 
 the holiday-costume of a farmer and that of the company with 
 which he now associated. His black hair, without powder, at a time 
 when it was very generally worn, was tied behind, and spread upon 
 his forehead. Upon the whole, from his person, physiognomy, and 
 dress, had I met him near a seaport, and been required to guess his 
 condition, I should have probably conjectured him to be the master 
 of a merchant-vessel of the most respectable class. 
 
 " In no part of his manner was there the slightest degree of 
 affectation ; nor could a stranger have suspected, from anything in 
 his behaviour or conversation, that he had been for some months 
 the favourite of all the fashionable circles of a metropolis. 
 
 " In conversation he was powerful. His conceptions and expres- 
 sion were of corresponding vigour, and on all subjects were as remote 
 as possible from commonplaces. Though somewhat authoritative, it 
 was in a way which gave little offence, and was readily imputed to 
 his inexperience in those modes of smoothing dissent and softening 
 assertion which are important characteristics of polished manners. 
 After breakfast, I requested him to communicate some of his unpub- 
 lished pieces I paid particular attention to his recitation, 
 
 which was plain, slow, articulate, and forcible, but without any 
 eloquence or art. He did not always lay the emphasis with pro- 
 priety, nor did he humour the sentiment by the variations of his 
 voice. He was standing, during the time, with his face towards the 
 window, to which, and not to his auditors, he directed his eye ; thus 
 depriving himself of any additional effect which the language of his 
 composition might have borrowed from the language of his coun- 
 tenance. In this he resembled the generality of singers in ordinary 
 company, who, to shun any charge of affectation, withdraw all mean- 
 ing from their features, and lose the advantage by which vocaJ 
 performers on the stage augment the impression and give energy to 
 the sentiment of the song. 
 
 ^' The day after my first introduction to Burns, I supped in com* 
 
cxxiv APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 pany with him at Dr Blair's. The other guests were very few, and 
 as each had been invited chiefly to have an opportunity of meeting 
 with the poet, the doctor endeavoured to draw him out, and to make 
 him the central figure of the group. Though he therefore furnished 
 the greatest proportion of the conversation, he did no more than 
 what he saw evidently was expected. Men of genius have often been 
 taxed with a proheness to commit blimders in company, from that 
 ignorance or negligence of the laws of conversation which must be 
 imputed to the absorption of their thoughts in a favourite subject, 
 or to the want of that daily practice in attending to the petty modes 
 of behaviour which is incompatible with a studious life. From 
 singularities of this sort Burns was unusually free ; yet on the 
 present occasion he made a more awkward slip than any that are 
 reported of the poets or mathematicians most noted for absence. 
 Being asked from which of the public places he had received the 
 greatest gratification, he named the High Church, but gave the 
 preference as a preacher to the colleague of our worthy entertainer, 
 whose celebrity rested on his pulpit eloquence, in a tone so pointed 
 and decisive, as to throw the whole company into the most foolish 
 embarrassment. The doctor, indeed, with becoming self-command, 
 endeavoured to relieve the rest by cordially seconding the encomium 
 so injudiciously introduced; but this did not prevent the conver- 
 sation from labouring under that compulsory effort which was 
 unavoidable, while the thoughts of all were full of the only subject 
 on which it was improper to speak. Of this blunder Burns must 
 instantly have been aware, but he showed the return of good sense 
 by making no attempt to repair it. His secret mortification was 
 indeed so great, that he never mentioned the circumstance until 
 many years after, when he told me that his silence had proceeded 
 from the pain which he felt in recalling it to his memory " 
 
 SKETCH BY SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 The following was written for Lockhart's Life of the poet : — 
 
 " As for Burns, I may truly say, Virgilium vidi tantum. I was 
 a lad of fifteen, in 1786-7, when he came first to Edinburgh, but had 
 sense and feeling enough to be much interested in his poetry, and 
 would have given the world to know him ; but I had very little 
 acquaintance with any literary people, and still less with the gentry 
 of the west country, the two sets whom he most frequented. Mr 
 Thomas Grierson was at that time a clerk of my father's. He knew 
 Burns, and promised to ask him to his lodgings to dinner, but had 
 no opportunity to keep his word; otherwise I might have seen more 
 of this distinguished man. As it was, I saw him one day at the late 
 venerable Professor Fergusson's, where there were several gentle- 
 men of literary reputation, among whom I remember the celebrated 
 Mr Dugald Stewart. Of course, we youngsters sat silent, looked, and 
 
APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, cxxv 
 
 listened. The only tiling I remember, wliicli was remarkable in 
 Burns's manner, was the effect produced upon him by a print of 
 Banbury's representing a soldier lying dead on the snow, his dog 
 sitting in misery on one side, — on the other, his widow, with a child 
 in her arms. These lines were written beneath : — 
 ' Cold on Canadian hills, or Minden's plain, 
 
 Perhaps that parent wept her soldier slain ; 
 
 Bent o'er her babe, her eye dissolved in de\y, 
 
 The big drops mingling with the milk he drew, 
 
 Gave the sad presage of his future years, 
 
 The child of misery baptized in tears.' 
 
 *' Burns seemed much affected by the print, or rather the ideas 
 which it suggested to his mind. He actually shed tears. He asked 
 whose the lines were, and it chanced that nobody but myself remem- 
 bered, that they occur in a half-forgotten poem of Langhorne's, 
 called by the unpromising title of 'The Justice of Peace.' I 
 whispered my information to a friend present, who mentioned it to 
 Burns, who rewarded me with a look and a word, which, though of 
 mere civility, I then received, and still recollect, with very great 
 pleasure. 
 
 *'His person was strong and robust; his manners rustic, not 
 clownish ; a sort of dignified plainness and simplicity, which received 
 part of its effect, perhaps, from one's knowledge of his extraordinary 
 talents. His features are represented in Mr Nasmy th's picture ; but 
 to me it conveys the idea that they are diminished, as if seen in per- 
 spective. I think his countenance was more massive than it looks 
 in any of the portraits. I would have taken the poet, had I not 
 known what he was, for a very sagacious country farmer of the old 
 Scotch school; i. e., none of your modern agriculturists, who keep 
 labourers for their drudgery, but the douce gudeman who held his 
 own plough. There was a strong expression of sense and shrewd- 
 ness in all his lineaments; the eye alone, I think, indicated the 
 poetical character and temperament. It was large, and of a dark 
 cast, which glowed (I say literally glowed) when he spoke with feeling 
 or interest. I never saw such another eye in a human head, though 
 I have seen the most distinguished men of my time. His conversa- 
 tion expressed perfect self-confidence, without the slightest presump- 
 tion. Among the men who were the most learned of their time and 
 country, he expressed himself with perfect firmness, but without the 
 least intrusive forwardness ; and when he differed in opinion, he did 
 not hesitate to express it firmly, yet at the same time with modesty. 
 I do not remember any part of his conversation distinctly enough to 
 be quoted ; nor did I ever see him again, except in the street, where 
 he did not recognise me, as I could not expect he should. He was 
 much caressed in Edinburgh, but (considering what literary emolu- 
 ments have been since his day) the efforts made for his relief were 
 extremely trifling. 
 
 " I remember, on this occasion, I thoiight Burns's acquaintance 
 with English poetry was rather limited, and also, that having twenty 
 times the abilities of Allan Ramsay and of Fergusson, he talked of 
 
cxxvi APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 them with too much humility as his models : there was, doubtless- 
 national predilection in his estimate. 
 
 " This is all I can tell you about Burns. I have only to add, that 
 his dress corresponded with his manner. He was like a farmer dressed 
 in his best to dine with the laird. I do not speak in malam 
 partem, when I say, I never saw a man in company with his superiors 
 in station and information, more perfectly free from either the reality 
 or the affectation of embarrassment. I was told, but did not observe 
 it, that his address to females was extremely deferential, and always 
 with a turn either to the pathetic or humorous, which engaged their 
 attention particularly. I have heard the late Duchess of Gordon 
 remark this. — I do not know anything I can add to these recollec- 
 tions of forty years since." 
 
 TWO SKETCHES BY MRS RIDDEL OF WOODLEY PARK, 
 
 A NEIGHBOUlt AND WARM FRIEND OP THE POET'S. 
 
 The firsb Sketch occurred in a letter to a friend; the last was con- 
 tributed to the columns of the Dumfries Journal a short time 
 after the poet's death. 
 
 *' I was struck," says this lady, (in a confidential letter to a friend, 
 written soon after,) " with his appearance on entering the room. 
 The stamp of death was imprinted on his features. He seemed 
 already touching the brink of eternity. His first salutation was, 
 * Well, madam, have you any commands for the other world V I 
 replied that it seemed a doubtful case which of us should be there 
 soonest, and I hoped he would yet live to write my epitaph. (I was 
 then in a bad state of health.) He looked in my face with an air 
 of great kindness, and expressed his concern at seeing me look so 
 ill, with his accustomed sensibility. At table he ate little or nothing, 
 and he complained of having entirely lost the tone of his stomach. 
 We had a long and serious conversation about his present situation, 
 and the approaching termination of all his earthly prospects. Ho 
 spoke of his death without any of the ostentation of philosophy, 
 but with firmness as well as feeling, as an event likely to happen 
 very soon ; and which gave him concern chiefly from leaving hia 
 four children so young and unprotected, and his wife in so interest- 
 ing a situation — in hourly expectation of lying-in of a fifth. He 
 mentioned, with seeming pride and satisfaction, the promising genius 
 of ^ his eldest son, and the flattering marks of approbation he had re- 
 ceived from his teachers, and dwelt particularly on his hopes of that 
 boy's future conduct and merit. His anxiety for his family seemed 
 to hang heavy upon him, and the more perhaps from the reflection 
 that he had not done them all the justice he was so well qualified to 
 do. Passing from this subject, he showed great concern about the 
 care of his literary fame, and particularly the publication of his 
 
APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, cxxvii 
 
 posthumous works. He said lie was well aware that his death would 
 occasion some noise, and that every scrap of his writing would b« 
 revived against him to the injury of his future reputation ; that 
 letters and verses, written with unguarded and improper freedom, 
 and which he earnestly wished to have buried in oblivion, would be 
 handed about by idle vanity or malevolence, when no dread of his 
 resentment would restrain them, or prevent the censures of shrill- 
 tongued malice, or the insidious sarcasms of envy, from pouring 
 forth all their venom to blast his fame. 
 
 '* He lamented that he had written many epigrams on persons 
 against whom he entertained no enmity, and whose characters he 
 should be sorry to wound : and many indiJfferent poetical pieces, 
 which he feared would now, with all their imperfections on their 
 head, be thrust upon the world. On this account he deeply re- 
 gretted having deferred to put his papers in a state of arrangement, 
 as he was now quite incapable of the exertion." The lady goes on 
 to mention many other topics of a private nature on which he 
 spoke. " The conversation," she adds, " was kept up with great 
 evenness and animation on his side. I had seldom seen his mind 
 greater or more collected. There was frequently a considerable 
 degree of vivacity in his sallies, and they would probably have 
 had a greater share, had not the concern and dejection I could not 
 disguise damped the spirit of pleasantry he seemed not unwilling i 
 to indulge. 
 
 " We parted about sunset on the evening of that day, (the 5th 
 July 1796 ;) the next day I saw him again, and we parted to meet 
 no more !" 
 
 " The attention of the public seems to be much occupied at 
 present with the loss it has recently sustained in the death of the 
 Caledonian poet, Kobert Burns ; a loss calculated to be severely 
 felt throughout the literary world, as well as lamented in the 
 narrower sphere of private friendship. It was not, therefore, pro- 
 bable, that such an event should be long unattended with the ac- 
 customed profusion of posthumous anecdotes and memoirs which 
 are usually circulated immediately after the death of every rare and 
 celebrated personage : I had, however, conceived no intention of 
 appropriating to myself the privilege of criticising Burns's writings 
 and character, or of anticipating on the province of a biographer. 
 
 " Conscious, indeed, of my own inability to do justice to such a 
 subject, I should have continued wholly silent, had misrepre- 
 sentation and calumny been less industrious ; but a regard to 
 truth, no less than affection for the memory of a friend, must 
 now justify my offering to the public a few at least of those 
 observations which an intimate acquaintance with Burns, and the 
 frequent opportunities I have had of observing equally his happy 
 qualities and his failings for several years past, have enabled me 
 to communicate. 
 
 *' It will actually be an injustice done to Burns's character, not 
 
cxxviii APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 only by future generations and foreign countries, but even by Lia 
 native Scotland, and perhaps a number of his contemporaries, that 
 he is generally talked of, and considered, with reference to his 
 poetical talents only : for the fact is, even allowing his great and 
 original genius its due tribute of admiration, that poetry (I ap- 
 peal to all who have had the advantage of being personally ac- 
 quainted with him) was actually not his jortt. Many others, 
 perhaps, may have ascended to prouder heights in the region of 
 Parnassus, but none certainly ever outshone Burns in the charms 
 — the sorcery, I would almost call it, of fascinating conversation, 
 the spontaneous eloquence of social argument, or the unstudied 
 poignancy of brilliant repartee ; nor was any man, I believe, ever 
 gifted with a larger portion of the ' vivida ids animi.' His per- 
 sonal endowments were perfectly correspondent to the qualifications 
 of his mind ; his form was manly ; his action, energy itself ; devoid 
 in a great measure perhaps of those graces, of that polish, acquired 
 only in the refinement of societies where in early life he could 
 have no opportunities of mixing ; but where such was the irresistible 
 power of attraction that encircled him, though his appearance and 
 manners were always peculiar, he never failed to delight and to 
 excel. His figure seemed to bear testimouj'- to his earlier destina- 
 tion and employments. It seemed rather moulded by nature for 
 the rough exercises of agriculture, than the gentler cultivation of 
 the belles lettres. His features were stamped with the hardy cha- 
 racter of independence, and the firmness of conscious, though not 
 arrogant, pre-eminence ; the animated expressions of countenance 
 were almost peculiar to himself ; the rapid lightnings of his eye were 
 always the harbingers of some flash of genius, whether they darted 
 the fiery glances of insulted and indignant superiority, or beamed 
 with the impassioned sentiment of fervent and impetuous affections. 
 His voice alone could improve upon the magic of his eye : sonorous, 
 replete with the finest modulations, it alternately captivated the ear 
 with the melody of poetic numbers, the perspicuity of nervous 
 reasoning, or the ardent sallies of enthusiastic patriotism. The 
 keenness of satire was, I am almost at a loss whether to say, his 
 forte or his foible; for though nature had endowed him with a 
 portion of the most pointed excellence in that dangerous talent, 
 he suffered it too often to be the vehicle of personal, and some- 
 times unfounded animosities. It was not always that sportiveness 
 of humour, that * unwary pleasantry,* which Sterae has depicted 
 with touches so conciliatory, but the darts of ridicule were fre- 
 quently directed as the caprice of the instant suggested, or as the 
 altercations of parties and of persons happened to kindle the rest- 
 lessness of his spirit into intere-s" or aversion. This, however, was 
 not invariably the case ; his wit (which is no unusual matter in- 
 deed) had always the start of his judgment, and would lead him 
 to the indulgence of raillery uniformly acute, but often accom- 
 panied with the least desire to wound. The suppression of an arcu 
 and full-pointed hon-mot, from the dread of offending ite objects 
 
APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCIL cxxix 
 
 the sage of Zurich very properly classes as a virtue onltj to he sought 
 for in the Calendar of Saints; if so, Burns must not be too severely 
 dealt with for being rather deficient in it. He paid for his mis- 
 chievous wit as dearly as any one could do. ' 'Twas no extravagant 
 arithmetic/ to say of him, as was said of Yorick, that ' for every ten 
 jokes he got a hundred enemies : ' but much allowance will be made 
 by a candid mind for the splenetic warmth of a spirit whom Mistress 
 had spited with the world,' and which, unbounded in its intellectual 
 sallies and pursuits, continually experienced the curbs imposed by 
 ■ the waywardness of his fortune. The vivacity of his wishes and 
 temper was indeed checked by almost habitual disappointments, 
 which sat heavy on a heart that acknowledged the ruling passion of 
 independence, without having ever been placed beyond the grasp 
 of penury. His soul was never languid or inactive, and his genius 
 was extinguished only with the last spark of retreating life, Hia 
 passions rendered him, according as they disclosed themselves in 
 affection or antipathy, an object of enthusiastic attachment, or of 
 decided enmity ; for he possessed none of that negative insipidity 
 of character, whose love might be regarded with indifference, or 
 whose resentment could be considered with contempt. In this, ib 
 should seem, the temper of his associates took the tincture from 
 his own ; for he acknowledged in the universe but two classes of 
 objects, those of adoration the most fervent, or of aversion the most 
 uncontrollable ; and it has been frequently a reproach to him, that, 
 susceptible of indifference, often hating where he ought only to have 
 despised, he alternately opened his heart and poured forth the 
 treasures of his understanding to such as were incapable of appre- 
 ciating the homage ; and elevated to the privileges of an adversary 
 some who were unqualified in all respects for the honour of a contest 
 so distinguished. 
 
 ** It is said that the celebrated Dr Johnson professed to ' love a 
 good hater,' — a temperament that would have singularly adapted 
 him to cherish a prepossession in favour of our bard, who perhaps 
 fell but little short even of the surly doctor in this qualification, as 
 long as the disposition to ill-will continued ; but the warmth of his 
 passions was fortunately corrected by their versatility. He was 
 seldom, indeed never, implacable in his resentments, and some- 
 times, it has been alleged, not inviolably faithful in his engagements 
 of friendship.' Much, indeed, has been said about his inconstancy 
 and caprice ; but 1 am inclined to believe that they originated less 
 in a levity of sentiment, than from an extreme impetuosity of feel- 
 ing, which rendered him prompt to take umbrage ; and his sensat'ons 
 of pique, where he fancied he had discovered the traces of neglect, 
 scorn, or unkindness, took their measure of asperity from the over- 
 flowings of the opposite sentiment which preceded them, and which 
 seldom failed to regain its ascendancy in his bosom on the return of 
 calmer reflection. He was candid and manly in the avowal of his 
 errors, and his avowal was a reparation. His native fierte never 
 forsaking him for a moment, the value of a frank acknowledgment 
 
cxxx APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 was enhanced tenfold towards a generous mind, from its never being 
 attended with servility. His mind organised only for the stronger 
 and more acute operations of the passions, was impracticable to the 
 efiforts of superciliousness that would have depressed it into humility, 
 and equally superior to the encroachments of venal suggestions, that 
 might have led him into the mazes of hypocrisy. 
 
 " It has been observed, that he was far from averse to the incense 
 of flattery, and could receive it tempered with less delicacy than 
 might have been expected, as he seldom transgressed extravagantly 
 in that way himself; where he paid a compliment, it might indeed 
 claim the power of intoxication, as approbation from him was always 
 an honest tribute from the warmth and sincerity of his heart. It has 
 been sometimes represented by those who, it should seem, had a 
 view to depreciate, though they could not hope wholly to obscure 
 that native brilliancy, which the powers of this extraordinary man 
 had invariably bestowed on everything that came from his lips or 
 pen, that the history of an Ayrshire plough-boy was an ingenious 
 fiction, fabricated for the purposes of obtaining the interests of 
 the great, and enhancing the merits of what required no foil. * The 
 Cotter's Saturday Night,' * Tara O'Shanter,' and 'The Mountain 
 Daisy,' besides a number of later productions, where the maturity 
 of his genius will be readily traced, and which will be given to the 
 public as soon as his friends have collected and arranged them, speak 
 sufiiciently for themselves; and had they fallen from a hand more 
 dignified in the ranks of society than that of a peasant, they had, 
 perhaps, bestowed as unusual a grace there as even in the humbler 
 shade of rustic inspiration from whence they really sprung. 
 
 " To the obscure scene of Burns's education, and to the laborious, 
 though honourable station of rural industry, in which his parentage 
 enrolled him, almost every inhabitant of the south of Scotland can 
 give testimony. His only surviving brother, Gilbert Burns, now 
 guides the ploughshare of his forefathers in Ayrshire, at a farm 
 near Mauchline ; and our poet's eldest son (a lad of nine years of 
 age, whose early dispositions already prove him to be in some mea- 
 sure the inheritor of his father's talents as well as indigence) has been 
 destined by his family to the humble employment of the loom. 
 
 *^hat Burns had received no classical education, and was ac- 
 quainted with the Greek and Roman authors only through the 
 medium of translations, is a fact of which all who were in the habit 
 of conversing with him might readily be convinced. I have, in- 
 deed, seldom observed him to be at a loss in conversation, unless 
 where the dead languages and their writers have been the sub- 
 jects of discussion. When I have pressed him to tell me, why he 
 never applied himself to acquire the Latin, in particular, a language 
 which his happy memory would have so soon enabled him to be 
 master of, he used only to reply with a smile, that he had already 
 learned all the Latin he desired to knowj and that was omnia vincit 
 amor ; ^ sentence, that from his writings and most favourite pur- 
 3uits, it should undoubtedly seem that he was most thoroughly 
 
APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, cxxxi 
 
 versed in ; but I really believe his classic erudition extended little, 
 If any, further. 
 
 *' The penchant Burns had uniformly acknowledged for the festive 
 pleasures of the table, and towards tlije fairer and softer objects of 
 nature's creation, has been the rallying point from whence the 
 attacks of his censors have been uniformly directed : and to these, 
 it must be confessed, he showed himself no stoic. His poetical pieces 
 blend with alternate happiness of description, the frolic spirit of 
 the flowing bowl, or melt the heart to the tender and impassioned 
 sentiments in which beauty always taught him to pour forth his 
 own. But who would wish to reprove the feelings he has consecrated 
 "with such lively touches of nature? And where is the rugged moralist 
 who will persuade us so far to * chill the genial current of the soul,' 
 ais to regret that Ovid ever celebrated his Corinna, or that Ana- 
 creon sung beneath his vine ? 
 
 " I will not, however, undertake to be the apologist of the irregu- 
 larities even of a man of genius, though I believe it is as certain 
 that genius never was free from irregularities, as that their abso- 
 lution may, in a great measure, be justly claimed, since it is perfectly 
 evident that the woiid had continued very stationary in its intel- 
 lectual acquirements, had it never given birth to any but men 
 of plain sense. Evenness of conduct, and a due regard to the de- 
 corums of the world, have been so rarely seen to move hand in 
 hand with genius, that some have gone as far as to say, though there 
 I cannot wholly acquiesce, that they are even incompatible ; besides, 
 the frailties that cast their shade over the splendour of superior 
 merit, are more conspicuously glaring than w^here they are the 
 attendants of mere mediocrity. It is only on the gem we are dis- 
 turbed to see the dust ; the pebble may be soiled, and we never re- 
 gard it. The eccentric intuitions of genius too often yield the 
 soul to the wild effervescence of desires, always unbounded, and 
 sometimes equally dangerous to the repose of others as fatal to its 
 own. No wonder then, if virtue herself be sometime lost in the 
 blaze of kindling animation, or that the calm monitions of reason are 
 not invariably found sufficient to fetter an imagination, which scorns 
 the narrow limits and restrictions that would chain it to the level 
 of ordinary minds. The child of nature, the child of sensibility, 
 unschooled in the rigid precepts of philosophy, too often unable 
 to control the passions which proved a source of frequent erroi^a 
 and misfortunes to him. Burns made his own artless apology in 
 language more impressive than all the argumentatory vindications 
 in the world could do, in one of his own poeras, where he delineates 
 the gradual expansion of his mind to the lessons of the ' tutelary 
 muse,' who concludes an address to her pupil, almost unique for 
 simplicity and beautiful poetry, with these lines : — 
 
 * I saw thy pulse's madd'nicg play 
 Wild send thee pleasure's devious 'way: 
 Misled by fancy's meteor ray 
 By passion driven ; 
 
cxxxii APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 But yet the light that led astnay 
 
 Was light from heaven.' 
 
 " I have already transgressed beyond the bounds I had pro- 
 posed to myself, on first committing this sketch to paper, which 
 comprehends what at least I have been led to deem the leading 
 features of Burns's mind and character ; a literary critique I do not 
 aim at; mine is wholly fulfilled, if in these pages I have been 
 able to delineate any of those strong traits that distinguished him, 
 of those talents which raised him from the plough, where he passed 
 the bleak morning of his life, weaving his rude wreaths of poesy with 
 the wild field flowers that sprang around his cottage, to that enviable 
 eminence of literary fame, where Scotland will long cherish his 
 memory with delight and gratitude ; and proudly remember that 
 beneath her cold sky a genius was ripened, without care or culture, 
 that would have done honour to climes more favourable to those 
 luxuriances — that warmth of colouring and fancy in which he so 
 eminently excelled. 
 
 " From several paragraphs I have noticed in the public prints, ever 
 since the idea of sending this sketch to some one of them was formed, 
 I find private animosities have not yet subsided, and that envy 
 has not yet exhausted all her sliafts. I still trust, however, that 
 honest fame will be permanently affixed to Burns's character, which 
 I think it will be found he has merited by the candid and im- 
 partial among his countrymen. And where a recollection of the im- 
 prudence that sullied his brighter qualifications interpose, let the 
 imperfection of all human excellence be remembered at the same 
 time, leaving those inconsistencies, which alternately exalted his 
 nature into the seraph, and sunk it again into the man, to the tri- 
 bunal which alone can investigate the labyrinths of the human 
 heart — 
 
 ' Where they alike in trembh'ncr hope repose, — 
 The bosom of hia father and his Grod.'— Gray's Elecm. 
 
 "Annandale, Aug. 7, 1706." 
 
 . ACCOUNT BY DR ADAIR OF A JOURNEY WITH THE 
 
 POET. 
 
 Dr James Adair was a relative of Mrs Dunlop's and a great admirer 
 
 of the poet's genius. 
 
 " Burns and I left Edinburgh together in August 1 787. We rode 
 by Linlithgow and Carron, to Stirling. We visited the ironworkg 
 at Carron, with which the poet was forcibly struck. The resemblance 
 between that place and its inhabitants to the cave of the Cyclops, 
 which must have occurred to every classical reader, presented itseU 
 to Burns. At Stirling the prospect from the castle strongly interested 
 him; in a former visit to which, his national feelings had been power- 
 
APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, cxxxui 
 
 fully excited by the ruinous and roofless state of the hall in whict 
 the Scottish parliaments had 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 window 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 to 
 that of Burns. This was Nicol, one of the teachers of the High 
 Grammar-School at Edinburgh — the same wit and power of con- 
 versation ; the same fondness for convivial society, and thoughtless- 
 ness of to-morrow, characterised both. Jacobitical principles in 
 politics were common to both of them ; and these have been sus- 
 pected, since the revolution of France, to have given place in each, 
 to opinions apparently opposite. I regret that I have preserved no 
 memordbilia of their conversation, either on this or on other occa- 
 sions, 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 impres- 
 sive and pathetic. This he did on the present occasion. 
 
 " From Stirling we went next morning through the romantic and 
 fertile vale of Devon to Harvieston in Clackmannanshire, then inha- 
 bited 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 Mrs 
 Hamilton's eldest daughter, to whom I have been married for nine 
 years. Thus was I indebted to Burns for a connexion from which I 
 have derived, and expect further to derive, much happiness. 
 
 "During a residence of about ten days at Harvieston, we made 
 excursions to visit various parts of the surrounding scenery, inferior 
 to none in Scotland, in beauty, sublimity, and romantic interest ; 
 particularly Castle Campbell, the ancient seat of the family of 
 Argyle ; and the famous Cataract of the Devon, called the Caldron 
 Linn; and the Rumbling Bridge, a single broad arch, thrown by 
 the devil, if tradition is to be believed, across the river, q,t about 
 the height of a hundred feet above its bed. I am surprised that 
 none of these scenes should have called forth an e^e^tion of Burna'a 
 muse. But I doubt if he had much taste for the picturesque. 1 
 well remember, that the ladies at Harvieston, who accompanied us 
 on this jaunt, expressed their disappointment at his not expressing 
 in more glowing and fervid language, his impressions of the Caldron 
 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 <*' 
 
cxxxiv APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, 
 
 Robert Bruce, that Robert Bruce was sprung from her family. 
 Though almost deprived of speech by a paralytic affection, 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 mjself the honour of knighthood, remarking, that she 
 had a better right to confer that title than &ome. 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 us 
 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 Hooi 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 no- 
 thing 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 as- 
 sured me, once been one of seven who mounted the seat of shame 
 together. 
 
 " In the churchyard two broad flagstones marked the grave of 
 Robert Bruce, for whose memory Burns had more than common 
 veneration: He knelt and kissed the stone with sacred fervour, and 
 heartily {suus ut mos erat) execrated the worse than Gothic neglect 
 of the first of Scottish heroes." 
 
 SKETCHES BY MR RAMSAY OF OCHTERTYRE. 
 
 Burns was introduced to Mr Ramsay of Ochtertyre by Dr Blacklock, 
 and visited that gentleman at his country seat in 1787 and 
 1790. 
 
 " I have been in the company of many men of genius," says Mr 
 Ramsay, " some of them poets ; but never witnessed such flashes of 
 intellectual brightness as from him, the impulse of the moment, 
 Bparks of celestial fife ! I never was more delighted, therefore, than 
 with his company for two days, tUe-Ortete. In a mixed company I 
 should have made little of him ; for, in the gamester's phrase, he 
 did not always know when to play off and when to play on. ... I 
 
APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, cxxxv 
 
 not only proposed to him the writing of a play similar to the Gentle 
 Shepherd, qiLcdem decet esse sororem, but Scottish Georgics, a subject 
 which Thomson has by no means exhausted in his Seasons. What 
 beautiful landscapes of rural life and manners might not have been 
 expected from a pencil so faithful and forcible as his, which could 
 have exhibited scenes as familiar and interesting as those in the 
 Gentle Shepherd, which every one who knows our swains in their 
 unadulterated state, instantly recognises as true to nature. But to 
 have executed either of these plans, steadiness and abstraction from 
 company were wanting, not talents. When I asked him whether 
 the Edinburgh literati had mended his poems by their criticisms, — 
 * Sir,' said he, * these gentlemen remind me of some spinsters in my 
 country, who spin theii' thread so fine that it is neither fit for weft 
 nor woof.' He said he had not changed a word except one, to please 
 Dr Blair." 
 
 *' I had an adventure with him in the year 1790," says Mr Ramsay 
 of Ochtertyre, **when passing through Dumfriesshire, on a tour to 
 ":he south, with Dr Stewart of Luss. Seeing him pass quickly, near 
 Closeburn, I said to my companion, ' That is Burns.' On coming to 
 the inn, the hostler told us he would be back in a few hours to 
 grant permits ; that where he met with anything seizable he was no 
 better than any other ganger ; in everything else, that he was per- 
 fectly a gentleman. After leaving a note to be delivered to him on 
 his return, I proceeded to his house, being curious to see his Jean, 
 &c. I was much pleased with his uxor Sahina qualis, and the 
 poet's modest mansion, so unlike the habitation of ordinary rustics. 
 In the evening he suddenly bounced in upon us, and said, as he 
 entered, * I come, to use the language of Shakespeare, " stewed in 
 haste." ' In fact, he had ridden incredibly fast after receiving my 
 note. We fell into conversation directly, and soon got into the mare 
 magnum of poetry. He told me that he had now gotten a story for 
 a drama, which he was to call ' Eob Macquechan's Elshon,' from a 
 popular story of Robert Bruce being defeated on the water of Caern, 
 when the heel of his boot having loosened in his flight, he applied 
 to Robert Macquechan to fit it ; who, to make sure, ran his awl nine 
 inches up the king's heel. We were now going ou at a great rate, 
 when Mr S popped in his head, which put a stop to our dis- 
 course, which had become very interesting. Yet in a little while it 
 was resumed ; and such was the force and versatility of the bard's 
 
 genius, that he made the tears n\n down Mr S 's cheeks, albeit 
 
 unused to the poetic strain From that time we met no 
 
 more, and I was grieved at the reports of him afterwards. Poor 
 Burns ! we shall hardly ever see his like again, He was, in truth, a 
 Bort of comet in Hterature, irregular in its motions, which did not 
 do good proportioned to the blaze of light it displayed," 
 
cxxxvi APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, 
 
 ACCOUNT BY MR SYME OF A JOURls^EY WITH THE 
 POET. 
 
 This gentleman was one of Burns's most intimate friends, and one 
 of his executors after his decease. 
 
 " I got Burns a gray Highland shelty to ride on. "VVe dined the 
 first day, 27th July 1793, at Glendenwynes of Parton ; a beautiful 
 situation on the banks of the Dee. In the evening we walked out, 
 and ascended a gentle eminence, from which we had as fine a view 
 of Alpine scenery as can well be imagined. A delightful soft evening 
 showed all its wilder as well as its grander graces. Immediately 
 opposite, and within a mile of us, we saw Airds, a charming roman- 
 tic place, where dwelt Low, the author of ' Mary, weep no more for 
 me.' This was classical ground for Burns. He viewed 'the highest 
 hill which rises o'er the source of Dee ;' and would have stayed till 
 *the passing spirit* had appeared, had we not resolved to reach 
 Kenmure that night. We arrived as Mr and Mrs Gordon were sitting 
 down to supper. 
 
 "Here is a genuine barons seat. The castle, an old building, 
 stands on a large natural moat. In front, the river Ken winds for 
 several miles through the most fertile and beautiful holm^ till it 
 expands into a lake twelve miles long, the banks of which on the 
 south present a fine and soft landscape of green knolls, natural 
 wood, and here and there a gray rock. On the north, the aspect ia 
 great, wild, and, I may say, tremendous. In short, I can scarcely 
 conceive a scene more terribly romantic than the castle of Kenmure. 
 Burns thinks so highly of it, that he meditates a description of it in 
 poetry. Indeed, I believe he has begun the work. We spent three 
 days with Mr Gordon, whose polished hospitality is of an original 
 and endearing kind. Mrs Gordon's lap-dog, Echo, was dead. She 
 would have an epitaph for him. Several had been made. Burns 
 w^as asked for one. This was setting Hercules to his distafi". He 
 disliked the subject : but, to please the lady, he would try. Here 
 is what he produced : — 
 
 In wood and wild, ye warbling throng, 
 
 Your heavy loss deploi-e, 
 Now half extinct your powers of song, 
 
 Sweet Echo is no more. 
 
 * Ye Jarring, screeching things around. 
 
 Scream your discordant joys I 
 Now half your din of tuneless song 
 With Echo silent lies,' 
 
 "We left Kenmure, and went to Gatehouse. I took him tho 
 moor road, where savage and desolate regions extended wide around. 
 The sky was sympathetic with the wretchedness of the soil ; it be- 
 came lowering and dark. The hollow winds sighed, the lightnings 
 gleamed, the thunder rolled. The poet enjoyed the awful scene — 
 he spoke not a word, but seemed wrapt in meditation. In a little 
 
APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, cxxxvii 
 
 while the rain began to fall ; it poured in floods upon us. For three 
 hours did the wild elements *rumble their belly full' upon onr 
 defenceless heads. Oh ! oh ! 'twas foul. We got utterly wet ; and, 
 to revenge ourselves, Burns insisted at Gatehouse on our getting 
 utterly drunk. 
 
 '' From Gatehouse, we went next day to Kirkcudbright, through 
 a fine country. But here I must tell you that Burns had got a pair 
 oi jemmy boots for the country, which had been thoroughly wet, and 
 which had been dried in such manner that it was not possible to get 
 them on again. The brawny poet tried force, and tore them to 
 shreds. A whiffling vexation of this sort is more trying to the 
 temper than a serious calamity. We were going to St Mary's Isle, 
 the seat of the Earl of Selkirk, and the forlorn Burns was dis- 
 comfited at the thought of his ruined boots. A sick stomach and a 
 headache lent their aid, and the man of verse was quite accahle. I 
 attempted to reason with him. Mercy on us ! how he did fume 
 with rage! Nothing could reinstate him in temper. I tried various 
 experiments, and at last hit on one that succeeded. I showed him 
 
 the house of , across the bay of Wigton. Against , with 
 
 whom he was ofi'ended, he expectorated his spleen, and regained a 
 most agreeable temper. He was in a most epigrammatic humour 
 
 indeed ! He afterwards fell on humbler game. There is one ■ 
 
 whom he does not love. He had a passing blow at him :-— 
 
 * When , deceased, to the devil went down, 
 
 'Twas nothing would serve him but Satan's own crown : 
 Thy fool's head, quoth Satan, that crown shall wear never, 
 I grant thou'rt as wicked, but not quite so clever.' 
 
 " Well, I am to bring you to Kirkcudbright along with our poet, 
 without boots. I carried the torn ruins across my saddle in spite 
 of his fulminations, and in contempt of appearances ; and what is 
 more, Lord Selkirk carried them in his coach to Dumfries. He 
 insisted they were worth mending. 
 
 " We reached Kirkcudbright about one o'clock, I had promised 
 that we should dine with one of the first men in our country, J. 
 Dalzell. But Burns was in a wild and obstreperous humour, and 
 swore he would not dine where he should be under the smallest re- 
 straint. We prevailed, therefore, on Mr Dalzell to dine with us in 
 the inn, and had a very agreeable party. In the evening we set out 
 for St Mary's Isle. Robert had not absolutely regained the milki- 
 ness of good temper, and it occurred once or twice to him, as he 
 rode along, that St Mary's Isle was the seat of a lord ; yet that lord 
 was not an aristocrat, at least in his sense of the word. We ar- 
 rived about eight o'clock, as the family were at tea and coffee. St 
 Mary's Isle is one of the most delightful places that can, in my 
 opinion, be formed by the assemblage of every soft, but not tame, 
 object which constitutes natural and cultivated beauty. But not to 
 dwell on its external graces, let me tell you that we found all the 
 ladies of the family (all beautiful) at home, and some strangers; and, 
 among others, who but Urbani ! The Italian sung us many Scot^ 
 
Cixxviii APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 tish songs, accompanied with instrumental music. The two young 
 ladies of Selkirk sung also. AVe had the song of Lord Gregory, 
 which I asked for, to have an opportunity of calling on Bums to 
 recite Ais ballad to that tune. He did recite it; and such was the 
 efifect, that a dead silence ensued. It was such a silence as a mind 
 of feeling naturally preserves when it is touched with that enthu- 
 siasm which banishes every other thought but the contemplation 
 and indulgence of the sympathy produced. Burns's ' Lord Gregory' 
 is, in my opinion, a most beautiful and affecting ballad. The fas- 
 tidious critic may perhaps say, some of the sentiments and imagery 
 are of too elevated a kind for such a style of composition; for 
 instance, * Thou bolt of heaven that passest by ; * and ' Ye mus- 
 tering thunder,' &c. ; but this is a cold-blooded objection, which will 
 be said rather than felt. 
 
 " We enjoyed a most happy evening at Lord Selkirk's. We had, 
 in every sense of the word, a feast, in which our minds and our 
 senses were equally gratified. The poet was delighted with his 
 company, and acquitted himself to admiration. The lion that had 
 raged so violently in the morning, was now as mild and gentle as a 
 lamb. Next day we returned to Dumfries, and so ends our pere- 
 grination. I told you, that in the midst of the storm, on the wilda 
 of Kenmure, Burns was wrapt in meditation. What do you think 
 he was about? He was charging the English army, along with 
 Bruce, at Bannockburn. He was engaged in the same manner on 
 our ride home from St Mary's Isle, and I did not disturb him. 
 Next day he produced me the following address of Bruce to his 
 troops, and gave me a copy for Dalzell :— 
 
 * Scots wha hae wi' "Wallace bled,' &c." 
 
 DOMESTIC SKETCH OF THE POET. 
 
 BY THE LATE SIR EGERTON BRYDGES, BART. 
 
 I had always been a great admirer of his genius and of many 
 traits in his character; and I was aware that he was a person 
 moody, and somewhat difficult to deal with, I was resolved to 
 keep in full consideration the irritability of his position in society. 
 About a mile from his residence, on a bench under a tree, I passed 
 a figure, which from the engraved portraits of him I did not doubt 
 was the poet ; but I did not venture to address him. On arriving 
 at his humble cottage, Mrs Burns opened the. door; she was the 
 plain sort of humble woman she has been described ; she ushered me 
 into a neat apartment, and said that she would send for Burns, who 
 was gone for a walk. In about half an hour he came, and my 
 conjecture proved right : he was the person I had seen on the bench 
 by the roadside. At first I was not entirely pleased with his coun- 
 tenance. I thought it had a sort of capricious jealousy, as if he 
 
APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH cxxxix 
 
 was half inclined to treat me as an intruder. I resolved to bear it, 
 and try if I could humour him. I let him choose his turn of con* 
 versation, but said a few words about the friend whose letter I 
 had brought to him. It was now about four in the afternoon of 
 an autumn day. While we were talking, Mrs Burns, as if accus- 
 tomed to entertain visitors in this way, brought in a bottle of Scotch 
 whisky, and set the table. I accepted this hospitality. 1 could 
 not help observing the curious glance with which he watched me 
 at the entrance of this signal of homely entertainment. He was 
 satisfied ; he filled our glasses. ** Here 's a health to auld Caledonia ! " 
 The fire sparkled in his eye, and mine sympathetically met his. Ho 
 shook my hand with warmth, and we were friends at once. Then 
 he drank "Erin for ever!" and the tear of delight burst from his 
 eye. The fountain of his mind and his heart now opened at once, 
 and flowed with abundant force almost till midnight. He had 
 amazing acuteness of intellect, as well as glow of sentiment. I do 
 not deny that he said some absurd things, and many coarse ones, 
 and that his knowledge was very irregular, and sometimes too pre- 
 sumptuous, and that he did not endure contradiction with sufficient 
 patience. His pride, and perhaps his vanity, was even morbid. I 
 carefully avoided topics in which he could not take an active part. 
 Of literary gossip he knew nothing, and therefore I kept aloof from 
 it; in the technical parts of literature his opinions were crude and 
 uninformed ; but whenever he spoke of a great writer whom he had 
 read, his taste was generally sound. To a few minor writers he 
 gave more credit than they deserved. His great beauty was his 
 manly strength, and his energy and elevation of thought and feel- 
 ing. He had always a full mind, and all flowed from a genuine 
 spring. I never conversed with a man who appeared to be more 
 warmly impressed with the beauties of nature ; and visions of female 
 beauty and tenderness seemed to transport him. He did not merely 
 appear to be a poet at casual intervals ; but at every moment a 
 poetical enthusiasm seemed to beat in his veins, and he lived all his 
 days the inward, if not the outward, life of a poet. I thought I per- 
 ceived in Bums's cheek the symptoms of an energy which had been 
 pushed too far ; and he had this feeling himself. Every now and 
 then he spoke of the grave, as soon about to close over him. Hia 
 dark eye had at first a character of sternness ; but as he became 
 warmed, though this did not entirely melt away, it was mingled with 
 changes of extreme softness. 
 
 PERSONAL SKETCH OF THE POET. 
 
 BY ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 Burns, in his youth, was tall and sinewy, with coarse swarthy 
 features, and a ready word of wit or of kindness for all. The man 
 differed little from the lad ; his form was vigorous, his limbs shapely, 
 
Cxl APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 his knees firmly knit, his arms muscular and round, his hands large, 
 his fingers long, and he stood five feet ten inches high. All his 
 movements were unconstrained and free : — he had a slight stoop of 
 the neck ; and a lock or so of his dark waving hair was tied care- 
 lessly behind with two casts of narrow black ribbon. His looks 
 beamed with genius and intelligence ; his forehead was broad and 
 clear, shaded by raven locks inclined to curl ; his cheeks were 
 furrowed more with anxiety than time : his nose was short rather 
 than long; his mouth firm and manly; his teeth white and regu- 
 lar ; apd there was a dimple, a small one, on his chin. His eyes 
 were Urge, dark, and lustrous : I have heard them likened to coach- 
 lamps approaching in a dark night, because they were first seen 
 of any part of the poet. " I never saw," said Scott, " such an- 
 other eye in a human head, though I have seen the most distin- 
 guished men of my time." In his ordinary moods, Burns looked 
 a man of a hundred ; but when animated in company he was a man 
 of a million ; his swarthy features glowed ; his eyes kindled up 
 till they all but lightened ; his slight stoop vanished ; and his voice — 
 deep, manly, and musical — added its sorcery of pathos or of wit, till 
 the dullest owned the enchantments of genius. 
 
 His personal strength was united to great activity; he could 
 move a twenty-stone sack of meal without much apparent effort, 
 and load a cart with bags of corn in the time, one of his neighbours 
 said, that other men were talking about it. A mason was hewing 
 him a stone for a cheese-press, and Burns took pleasure, as a side 
 was squared, to turn over the huge mass unaided. A large pebble 
 is still pointed out at Ellisland, as his putting-stone ; and though no 
 living man at Nithsdale perhaps can poise it in the air, the tradition 
 proves the popular belief in his great strength. He delighted in 
 feats of rural activity and skill ; he loved to draw the straightest 
 furrow on his fields, to sow the largest quantity of seed-corn of any 
 farmer in the dale in a day, mow the most rye-grass and clover in 
 ten hours of exertion, and stook to the greatest number of reapers. 
 In this he sometimes met with his match. After a hard strife on 
 the harvest field with a fellow-husbandman, in which the poet was 
 equalled : — " Eobert," said his rival, " I'm no sae far behind this 
 time, I'm thinking ?" — " John," said he in a whisper, *' you're behind 
 in something yet : I made a sang while I was stooking ! '* I have 
 heard my father say that Burns had the handsomest cast of the 
 hand in sowing corn he ever saw on a furrowed field. 
 
 Burns desired as much to excel in conversation as he did in these 
 fits and starts of husbandry ; but he was more disposed to contend 
 for victory than to seek for knowledge. The debating club of 
 Torbolton was ever strong within him : a fierce lampoon, or a rough 
 epigram, was often the reward of those who ventured to contradict 
 him. His conversation partook of the nature of controversy, and 
 lie urged his opinions with a vehemence amounting to fierceness. 
 All this was natural enough when he was involved in argument with 
 the boors around him ; but he was disposed, when pressed in debate^ 
 
APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, cxli 
 
 to be equally discourteous and unsparing to the polite and the 
 titled. 
 
 Tn the company of men of talent he was another man ; he was 
 then among his peers, and listened with attention, and spoke with a 
 modest eloquence which surprised many. " I think Burns/' said 
 Robertson the historian, to Professor Cliristison, " was one of the 
 most extraordinary men I ever met with ; his poetry surprised me 
 very much, his prose surprised me still more, and his conversation 
 surprised me more than both his poetry and prose." *' His address," 
 says Robert Riddel, " was pleasing ; he was neither forward nor 
 embarrassed in manner; his spirits were generally high, and his 
 conversation animated. His language was fluent, frequently fine ; 
 his enunciation always rapid : his ideas clear and vigorous, and he 
 had the rare power of modulating his peculiarly fine voice, so as to 
 harmonise with whatever subject he touched upon. I have heard 
 him talk with astonishing rapidity, nor miss the articulation of a 
 single syllable ; elevate and depress his voice as the topic seemed 
 to require; and sometimes, when the subject was pathetic, he 
 would prolong the words in the most impressive and affecting man- 
 ner, indicative of the deep sensibility which inspired him. He often 
 lamented to me that fortune had not placed him at the bar or in 
 the senate ; he had great ambition, and the feehng that he could not 
 gratify it preyed upon him severely." 
 
 LETTER FROM MR FINDLATER, 
 
 COLLECTOR OF EXCISE, GLASGOW. 
 
 Mr Findlater was for some time a brother oflftcer of the poet's, 
 although of a higher grade, and a tried friend. 
 
 Glasgow, Oct 10, 1818. 
 
 Sir, — I entirely agree with you in opinion on the various accounts 
 which have been given to the world of the life of Robert Burns, and 
 can have no hesitation in expressing publicly my sentiments on his 
 official conduct at least, and perhaps in other respects, as far as may 
 appear necessary for the development of truth. Amongst his bio- 
 graphers, Dr Currie of course takes the lead, and the severity of 
 his strictures, or, to borrow the words of the poet, his "iron-justice," 
 is much to be regretted, as "his Life" has become a kind of text- 
 book for succeeding commentators, who have, by the aid of their 
 own fancies, amplified, exaggerated, and filled up the outlines he 
 has sketched, and, in truth, left in such a state as to provoke an 
 exercise of that description. 
 
 It is painful to trace all that has been written by Dr Gurrie'a 
 successors, who seem to have considered the history of the poet 
 as a thing like Ulysses's bow, on which each was at liberty to try his 
 strength, and some, in order to outdo their competitors, have 
 
cxlii APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 Btrained every nerve to throw all kinds of obloquy on his memory 
 His convivial habits, his wit and humour, his social talents, and 
 independent spirit, have been perverted into constant and habitual 
 drunkenness, impiety, neglect of his professional duty, and of hia 
 family, and in short every human vice. He has been branded with 
 cowardice, accused of attempting murder, and even suicide, and all 
 this without a shadow of proof , jar oh pudor / 
 
 Is there nothing of tenderness due to the memory of so trans- 
 cendent a genius, who has so often delighted even his libellers with 
 the felicities of his songs, and the charms of his wit and humour ? — 
 And is no regard to be had to the feelings of those near and dear 
 relatives he has left behind; or, are his ashes never to *'hope 
 repose?" — My indignation has unwarily led me astray from the 
 point to which I meant to have confined myself, and to which I will 
 now recur, and briefly state what I have to say on the subject. 
 
 My connexion with Robert Burns commenced immediately 
 after his admission into the Excise, and continued to the hour of 
 his death. In all that time, the superintendence of his behaviour 
 iS an officer of the revenue was a branch of my especial province, 
 and it may be supposed, I would not be an inattentive observer of 
 the general conduct of a man and a poet so celebrated by his 
 countrymen. In the former capacity, so far from its being "im- 
 possible for him to discharge the duties of his office with that 
 regularity which is almost indispensable," as is palpably assumed by 
 one of his biographers, and insinuated not very obscurely even by 
 Dr Currie, he was exemplary in his attention as an Excise-officer, 
 and was even jealous of the least imputation on his vigilance ; as a 
 proof of which, it may not be foreign to the subject to quote part 
 of a letter from him to myself, in a case of only seeming inattention. 
 — " I know, sir, and regret deeply, that this business glances with a 
 malign aspect on my character as an officer ; but, as I am really 
 innocent in the affair, and, as the gentleman is known to be an 
 illicit dealer, and particularly as this is the single instance of the 
 least shadow of carelessness or impropriety in my conduct as an 
 officer, I shall be peculiarly unfortunate if my character shall fall a 
 sacrifice to the dark manoeuvres of a smuggler." This of itself 
 affords more than a presumption of his attention to business, as it 
 cannot be supposed that he would have written in such a style 
 to me, but from the impulse of a conscious rectitude in this de- 
 partment of his duty. Indeed it was not till near the latter end of 
 his days that there was any falling off in this respect, and this was 
 amply accounted for in the pressure of disease, and accumulating 
 infirmities. About this period I advised him to relinquish business 
 altogether, which he complied with, but it distressed him a good 
 deal, as he was thereby liable to suffer a diminution of salary ; and 
 he wrote to Commissioner Graham, in the hope that that gentle- 
 man's influence would get his full pay continued during his illness, 
 which I have no doubt it would have done if he had recovered. 
 In the meantime, Mr Graham wrote him a letter, exhibiting a solid 
 
APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. cxliii 
 
 proof of his generosity and friendship, but, alas ! the poet was 
 by this time too far gone towards that "undiscovered country, from 
 whose bourne no traveller returns," and he could not acknowledge it. 
 
 Having stated Burns's unremitting attention to business, which 
 certainly was not compatible with perpetual intoxication, it follows 
 of course that this latter charge must fall to the ground; and I will 
 farther avow, that I never saw him, which was very frequently while 
 he lived at Ellisland, and still more so, almost every day, after he 
 removed to Dumfries, but in hours of business he was quite himself, 
 and- capable of discharging the duties of his office ; nor was he ever 
 known to drink by himself, or seen to indulge in the use of Hquor 
 in a forenoon, as the statement, that he was perpetually under its 
 stimulus, unequivocally implies. 
 
 To attempt the refutation of the various other calumnies with 
 which his memory has been assailed, some of which are so absurd 
 as hardly to merit any attention, does not fall in my way, though I 
 hope they will be suitably taken notice of ; but permit me to add, 
 that I have seen Burns in all his various phases — in his convivial 
 moments, in his sober moods, and in the bosom of his family; indeed 
 I believe I saw more of him than any other individual had occasion 
 to see, after he became an Excise-oflB.cer ; and I never beheld anything 
 like the gross enormities with which he is now charged. That Vvhen 
 set down in an evening with a few friends whom he liked, he was 
 apt to prolong the social hour beyond the bounds which prudence 
 would dictate, is unquestionable ; but in his family, I will venture to 
 say, he was never seen otherwise than attentive and affectionate to 
 a high degree. Upon the whole, it is much to be lamented that 
 there has been so much broad unqualified assertion as has been dis- 
 played in Burns's history; the virulence indeed with which his me- 
 mory has been treated, is hardly to be paralleled in the annals ol 
 literature. Wishing every success to the laudable attempt of rescu- 
 ing it from the indiscriminate abuse which has been heaped upop 
 it, — I remain, &c., A. Findlater. 
 
 To Mr Alex. Peteekin, Edinburgh. 
 
 LETTER FROM MR JAMES GRAY* TO GILBERT BURNS, 
 
 CONTAINING OBSERVATIONS ON THE LAST THREE YEARS OV 
 THE poet's life. 
 
 It was my good fortune to be introduced to the poet soon after I 
 went to Dumfries. This was early in 1794, and I saw him often 
 and intimately during the remainder of his life. I have often been 
 with him in his scenes of merriment, passing with him the social 
 hour. I have been delighted by the constant flashes of a brilliant 
 
 * Mr Gray was master of the High School of Dumfries in Burns's day. He 
 latterly became a cliax:)lain in the Hon. East India Company's service, and died 
 at Qutch in 1830. 
 
' cxliv APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, 
 
 wit, playful or caustic, as the occasion required ; but never disgusted 
 by anything coarse, vicious, or vulgar. I have not unfrequently 
 enjoyed with him the morning walk— seen him clear and unclouded, 
 I was astonished by the extent and promptitude of his information 
 
 by his keen inspection into human character — by the natural, 
 
 warm, and energetic flow of his eloquence — and by the daring flighta 
 of his imagination. I have often seen him portray, with a pencil 
 dipped in the colours of the rainbow, everything fair, great, or 
 sublime, in human character or nature at large ; and along with those, 
 I ever heard him the zealous advocate of humanity, religion, virtue, 
 and freedom. On these occasions I have heard him quote the English 
 poets, from Shakespeare down to Cowper; while their finest passages 
 seemed to acquire new beauty from his energetic recitation. His 
 countenance, on these occasions, would brighten, and his large dark 
 eyes would sparkle with delight. At other times he would roll them 
 over the purple tints of the morning sky, or the varied beauties of a 
 •ine landscape ; while he would burst out into glowing descriptions, 
 ijr enthusiastic strains of adoration, worthy of the royal Hebrew bard. 
 
 He seemed to me to frequent convivial parties from the same 
 feelings with which he wrote poetry, because nature had eminently 
 qualified him to shine there, and he never on any occasion indulged 
 in solitary drinking. He was always the living spirit of the company, 
 and, by the communications of his genius, seemed to animate every 
 one pr-esent with a portion of his own fire. He indulged in the 
 sally of wit and humour, of striking originality, and sometimes of 
 bitter sarcasm, but always free from the least taint of grossness. I 
 was, from the commencement of my acquaintance with him, struck 
 with his aversion to all kinds of indelicacy, and have seen him dazzle 
 and delight a party for hours together by the brilliancy and rapidity 
 of his flashes, without even an allusion that could give offence to 
 vestal purity. 
 
 I often met him at breakfast parties, which were then customary 
 at Dumfries ; and on these occasions, if he had been sufi'ering from 
 midnight excesses, it must have been apparent. But his whole air 
 was that of one who had enjoyed refreshing slumbers, and who arose 
 happy in himself, and to diS'use happiness on all around him ; his 
 complexion was fresh and clear, his eye brilliant, his whole frame 
 vigorous and elastic, and his imagination ever on the wing. His 
 morning conversations w^ere marked by an impassioned eloquence 
 that seemed to flow from immediate inspiration, ajid shed an atmos- 
 phere of hght and beauty around everything it touched, alternately 
 melting and elevating the souls of all who heard him. In our 
 solitary walks on a summer morning, the simplest floweret by the 
 wayside, every sight of rural simplicity and happiness, every crea- 
 ture that seemed to drink the joy of the seasons, awakened the 
 sympathy of his heart, wiiich flowed in spontaneous music from his 
 lips ; and every new opening of the beauty or the magnificence of 
 the scene before him called forth the poetry of his soul. 
 
 As a friend, no views of selfishness ever made him faithless to 
 
APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, cxlv 
 
 those whom he had once honoured with that name — ever ready to 
 aid them by the wisdom of his counsels, when his means were 
 inadequate to their relief; and, by a delicate sympathy, to soothe 
 the sufferings and the sorrows he could not heal. As a citizen he 
 never neglected a single professional duty ; and even on the slender 
 income of an Excise officer, he never contracted a single debt he 
 could not pay. He could submit to privations, but could not 
 brook the dependence of owing anything to any man on earth. To 
 the poor he was liberal beyond his limited means, and the cry 
 of the unfortunate was never addressed to him in vain ; and when 
 he could not himself relieve their necessities, he was often known, 
 by a pathetic recital of their misfortunes, to draw the tear and open 
 the purse of those who were not famed either for tenderness of heart 
 or charity ; on such occasions it was impossible to resist his solicita- 
 tions. 
 
 He was a kind and an attentive father, and took great delight in 
 spending his evenings in the cultivation of the minds of his children. 
 Their education was the grand object of his life, and he did not, 
 like most parents, think it sufficient to send them to public schools ; 
 he was their private instructor ; and even at that early age, bestowed 
 great pains in training their minds to habits of thought and reflec- 
 tion, an 1 in keeping them pure from every form of vice. This he 
 considered a sacred duty, and never, to his last illness, relaxed in 
 his diligence. 
 
 With his eldest son, a boy of not more than nine years of age, he 
 had read many of the favourite poets, and some of the best 
 historians, of our language; and, what is more remarkable, gave him 
 considerable aid in the study of Latin. This boy attended the 
 grammar school of Dumfries, and soon attracted my notice by the 
 strength of his talent, and the ardour of his ambition. Before he 
 had been a year at school, I thought it right to advance him a 
 form; and he began to read Caesar, and gave me translations of 
 that author of such beauty as, I confessed, surprised me. On 
 inquiry, I found that his father made him turn over his dictionary 
 till he was able to translate to him the passage in such a way that 
 he could gather the author's meaning, and that it was to him he 
 owed that polished and forcible English with which I was so greatly 
 struck. I have mentioned this incident merely to show what 
 minute attention he paid to this important branch of parental 
 duty. 
 
 Many insinuations have been made against his character as a 
 husband ; but I am happy to say that I have in exculpation the 
 direct evidence of Mrs Burns herself, who, among many amiable 
 and respectable qualities, ranks a veneration for the memory of her 
 departed husband, whom she never names but in terms of the pro- 
 foundest respect and the deepest regret, to lament his misforti:nes, 
 or to extol his kindnesses to herself, not as the momentary over 
 Sowings of the heart, in a season of penitence for offences generously 
 forgiven, but an habitual tenderness that ended only wich his life, 
 
cxlvi APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 I place this evidence, which I am proud to bring forward on her 
 own authority, against a thousand anonymous cahmmies. 
 
 To the very end of his existence, all the powers of his mind 
 were as vigorous as in the blossom of their spring ; and it may be 
 asked, if the numerous songs written for Mr Thomson's collection, 
 which were his last compositions, and by many considered the 
 glory of his genius, indicate any intellectual decay? I saw him four 
 days before he died, and though the hand of death w^as obviously 
 upon him, he repeated to me a little poem he had composed the day 
 before, full of energy and tenderness. 
 
 Your brother partook, in an eminent degree, of the virtues and 
 the vices of the poetical temperament. He was often hurried 
 into error by the impetuosity of his passions, but he was never 
 their slave ; he was often led astray by the meteor lights of pleasure, 
 but he never lost sight of the right way, to which he was ever 
 eager to return ; and, amid all his wanderings and his self-conflicts, 
 his heart was jiure and his principles untainted. Though he was 
 often wellnigh broken-hearted by the severity of his fate, yet he 
 was never heard to complain ; and, had he been an unconnected 
 individual, he would have bid defiance to fortune ; but his sorrows 
 for his wife and children, for whom he suffered much, and feared 
 more, were keen and acute : yet unmingled with selfishness. All 
 his life he had to maintain a hard struggle with cares; and he often 
 had to labour under those depressions to which genius is subject : 
 yet his spirit never stooped from its lofty career, and, to the very 
 end of his warfare with himself and with fortune, he continued 
 strong in its independence. The love of posthumous fame was the 
 master passion of his soul, which kept all others in subordination, 
 and prevented them from running into that disorder which his 
 great susceptibility to all those objects which pleased his fancy or 
 interested his heart, and the vivacity of all his emotions might, 
 without this regulating principle, have produced. Amidst the 
 darkest overshadowings of his fate, or the most alluring temptations 
 of pleasure, it was his consoling and leading star; and, as it 
 directed his eye to distant ages, it was often his only support in 
 the one, and the most powerful check against the dangerous 
 indulgence of the other. Possessing an eloquence that might have 
 guided the councils of nations, and which would have been eagerly 
 courted by any party, he would have pej-ished by famine rather than 
 submit to the degradation of becoming the tool of faction. It is a 
 known fact that he rejected a sum equal to his whole annual 
 income, for the support of those measures v/hich he thought most 
 for the interests of the country. He had a loftiness of sentiment 
 that raised him above making his genius a hireling even in a 
 good cause, and his laurels were never stained by a single act 
 of venality. 
 
 Though his chosen companions were not more remarkable for 
 talent than for the respectability of their character, and the purity 
 of their lives, and LUUiy ladies, of the most delicate and cultivated 
 
APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, cxlvil 
 
 minds and elegant manners, were numbered among his friends, whc 
 clung to him through good and through bad report, and still cherish 
 an affectionate and enthusiastic regard for his memory, yet has he 
 been accused of being addicted to low company. Qualified for the 
 noblest employments, he was condemned to drudge in the lowest 
 occupations — often in scenes where to avoid contamination was an 
 effort of virtue. Accumulated misfortunes, and the cruelty of man- 
 kind, actually broke his heart, and hurried him to a premature grave, 
 which to him has been no sanctuary, for the voice of calumny hag 
 been heard even there ; but prejudices will pass away, and posterity 
 will do him justice. I shall deem it the proudest work of my life, 
 if my feeble efforts shall be in the slightest degree instrumental in 
 correcting erroneous opinions, which have been too long and too 
 widely circulated. 
 
 LETTER FROM MR GEORGE THOMSON-. 
 
 The follo-Aing letter was sent to Messrs Blackie, and first appeared in 
 their very valuable edition of the poet's works. 
 
 .... Much has it vexed me that Mr [Allan] Cunningham in his 
 immensity of notes has given circulation to so many on dits, surmises, 
 and innuendos about the irregularities and dissipation of the poet ; 
 hearsay tales, resting upon very doubtful authority ; some of them 
 perhaps true, and others exaggerated or unfounded. I am far 
 from thinking that he was not guilty of many follies, remember- 
 ing his own memorable and candid confession of these, which me- 
 thinks might have served to prevent biographers from prying into 
 holes and corners in search of gossiping details to prove the truth of 
 what he had himself admitted ! Mark his contrition and humility ; — 
 
 " The poor inhabitant below 
 Was quick to learn and wise to know, 
 And keenly felt the friendly glow. 
 
 And softer Jlame ; 
 But thoughtless follies laid him low, 
 
 And stain'd his name." 
 
 But if we are forced to go into evidence, I would say that I think 
 the detailed allegations of the Herons and Cunninghams are neutra- 
 lised by the statements of the Grays, Findlaters, and Lockharts. 
 Gilbert Burns told me that his brother's frailties and errors had been 
 considerable, although hy no means so great as they were called. In 
 this Mr Lockhart, after due inquiry and consideration, decidedly 
 concurs with him. Mr Lockhart in his biography says — " that Burns 
 ever sunk into a toper — that he ever was addicted to solitary drink- 
 ing — that his bottle ever interfered with his discharge of his duties 
 as an exciseman — or that, in spite of some transitory follies, ho 
 ever ceased to be a most affectionate husband — all these charges 
 have been insinuated, and they are all false. His intemperance was, 
 as Heron says, in fits : his aberrations of all kinds were occasionaL 
 
cxlviii APPENDIX TO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, 
 
 not systematic : they were all to himself ihe sources of exquisite 
 misery in the retrospect : they were the aberrations of a man whose 
 moral sense was never deadened — of one who encountered more 
 temptation from without and from within, than the immense majority 
 of mankind, far from having to contend against, or even able to 
 imagine." 
 
 Here I take my stand in vindication of Burns, and I contend that 
 Mr James Gray, and Collector Findlater, his superior in office, both 
 resident in Dumfries, who saw him daily and knew him thoroughly, 
 and Mr Lockhart, who was at pains to investigate the charges against 
 him, are fully as well entitled to belief in his behalf as Mr Heron, 
 Mr Cunningham, and the gossips of Dumfries are, in their assertions, 
 insinuations, and assumptions to his prejudice. 
 
 It is well known that the poet was often literally dragged into 
 society on account of his wit and humour and the charms of his 
 conversation, and that strangers from distant parts frequently jour- 
 neyed to Dumfries ou purpose to see the greatest poet of the age. 
 Could he be insensible to the homage of those visitors ; and can we 
 wonder at his accepting their flattering invitations to dinner, or that 
 his flashes of wit should have prolonged the hours of social en- 
 joyment beyond prudential limits on such occasions ? Poor Burns ! 
 how cruel was his fate, doomed through life to wither at the foot 
 of fortune's ladder, with a genius that could have carried him 
 triumphantly to its summit, if the hand of power had V^en 
 stretched out to help him to ascend. One of our witty philoso- 
 phers has expressed an opinion, I am told^ for I have not yels 
 seen it, that as the public has been highly gratified by the poet's 
 works, it is of little consequence how the poet fared ! If this 
 be what he has said, I venture to dififer from him, and to think 
 that if the case were his own he would quite agree with me, and 
 would scout such preposterous doctrine. Had Burns been promoted 
 to the office of Collector in the Excise, or placed in any situation that 
 would have afi'orded him a moderate competence, and left him lei- 
 sure to cultivate the Muse, instead of being left to pine in poverty 
 and to waste his life in the drudgery of a common ganger, the public, 
 in all probability, would have been gratified by many more invalu- 
 able productions from his pen. That a man ^f such original genius, 
 of such transcendent talents, and of such independence of mind 
 as he possessed, did not find a patron in the influential class of 
 society, to rescue him from the situation of a drudge, is a matter 
 ever to be lamented. Considering his misforiunes, it might have 
 been expected, when the grave closed over him, that he would 
 have been treated with far greater sympathy by biographers and 
 reviewers, who surely have scrutinised bis conduct by too severe 
 a test, . , , . G, Thomson, 
 
POEMS. 
 
 TRAGIC FRAGMENT. 
 
 riic following lines are thus introduced by Burns in one of his manuscripts, 
 printed in "Cromek's Reliques:" — "In my early years nothing less would 
 serve me than courting the tragic muse. I was, I think, about eighteen or 
 nineteen when I sketched the outlines of a tragedy, forsooth ; but the burst- 
 ing of a cloud of family misfortunes, which had for sometime threatened us, 
 prevented my further progress. In those days I never wrote down anything ; 
 so, except a speech or two, the whole has escaped my memory. The above, 
 which I most distinctly remember, was an exclamation from a great character 
 — great in occasional instances of generosity, and daring at times in villanies. 
 lie is supposed to meet with a child of misery, c^nd exclaims to himself, as in 
 the words of the fragment " — 
 
 All devil as I am, a damned wrelch, 
 
 A harden'd, stubborn, unrepenting villain, 
 
 Still my heart melts at human wretchedress; 
 
 And with sincere, though unavailing, sighs, 
 
 I view the helpless children of distress. 
 
 With tears indignant I behold the oppressor 
 
 Rejoicing in the honest man's destruction, 
 
 "Whose unsubmitting heart was all his crime. 
 
 Even you, ye helpless crew, I pity you ; 
 
 Ye, whom the seeming good think sin to pity; 
 
 Ye poor, despised, abandon'd vagabonds. 
 
 Whom vice, as \isual, has tum'd o'er to ruin. 
 
 — Oh, but for kind, though ill-requited, friends, 
 
 I had been driven forth like you forlorn. 
 
 The most detested, worthless wretch among you ! 
 
 O injured God ! Thy goodness has endow'd me 
 
 With talents passing most of my compeers, 
 
 Which I in just proportion have abused 
 
 As far surpassing other common villains, 
 
 As Thou in natural parts hadst gi^^en me more* 
 
2 POEMS, [1 781. 
 
 THE TORBOLTON LASSES. 
 
 Tlie two following poems, written at different times, give a list of the eligible 
 damsels in the poet's neighbourhood. According to »lr Chambers, Gilbert 
 Burns had made advances to one of the daughters at " the Bennals," which 
 were declined. The poet takes occasion to hint that he himself, though not 
 unsuHceptible, was too proud to risk a rebuff. 
 
 If ye gae up to yon hill-tap, 
 
 Ye '11 there see bonny Peggy; 
 She kens her faither is a laird, 
 
 And she forsooth 's a leddy. 
 
 There Sophy tight, a lassie bright, 
 
 Besides a handsome fortune : 
 Wha eanna win her in a night, 
 
 Has little art in courting. 
 
 Gae down by Faile, and taste the alo, 
 
 And tak a look o' Mysie ; 
 She's dour^ and din, a deil within, 
 
 But aiblins^ she may please ye. 
 
 If she be shy, her sister try. 
 
 Ye '11 maybe fancy Jenny, 
 If ye '11 dispense wi' want o' sense — 
 
 She kens hersel she 's bonn3\ 
 
 As ye gae up by yon hillside, 
 
 Speer'* in for bonny Bessy; 
 She'll gie ye a beck,* and bid ye licht. 
 
 And handsomely address ye. 
 
 There's few sae bonnie, nane sae guid. 
 
 In a' King George' dominion ; 
 If ye should doubt the truth o' this — 
 
 It 's Bessy's ain opinion. 
 
 In Torbolton, ye ken, there are proper young men, 
 
 And XDroper young lasses and a', man ; 
 But ken ye the Konalds that live in the Bennals, 
 
 They carry the gree^ frae them a', man. 
 
 Their father 's a laird, and weel he can spare 't, 
 
 Braid money to tocher ^ them a', man, 
 To proper young men, he'll clink in the hand 
 
 Gowd guineas a hunder or twa, man. 
 
 There's ane they ca' Jean, I'll warrant yeVe seen 
 
 As bonny a lass or as braw, man ; 
 But for sense and guid taste she'll vie wi' the best. 
 
 And a conduct that beautifies a', man. 
 
 1 Obstinate. « Perhaps. 8 Ask or c^iU. 
 
 * Bow. « Palm. 6 Portion. 
 
^T. 23.] POEMS. 3 
 
 The charms o' the min\ the langer tliey shine, 
 
 The mair admiration they draw, man; 
 While peaches and cherries, and roses and lilies, 
 
 They fade and they wither awa, man. 
 
 If ye be for Miss Jean, tak this frae a frien\ 
 
 A hint o' a rival or twa, man, 
 The Laird o' Blackbyre wad gang through the fire, 
 
 If that wad entice her awa, man. 
 
 The Laird 0' Braehead has been on his speed, 
 
 For mair than a towmond^ or twa, man; 
 The Laird o' the Ford will straught on a board,^ 
 
 If he canna get her at a', man. 
 
 Then Anna comes in, the pride o' her kin. 
 
 The boast of our bachelors a', man ; 
 Sae sonsy ^ and sweet, sae fully complete. 
 
 She steals our affections awa, man. 
 
 If I should detail the pick and the wale^ 
 
 O' lasses that live here awa, ma.n. 
 The fault wad be mine, if they didua shine. 
 
 The sweetest and best o' them a', man. 
 
 I lo'e her mysel, but darena weel tell, 
 
 My poverty keeps me in awe, man. 
 For making o' rhymes, and working at times. 
 
 Does little or naething at a', man. 
 
 Yet I wadna choose to let her refuse, 
 
 Nor hae 't in her power to say na, man ; 
 For though I be poor, unnoticed, obscure, 
 
 My stomach 's as proud as them a', man. 
 
 Though I canna ride in weel-booted pride. 
 
 And flee o'er the hills like a craw, man, 
 I can haud up my head with the best o' the breed. 
 
 Though fluttering ever so braw, man. 
 
 My coat and my vest, they are Scotch o' the best, 
 
 O' pairs o' guid breeks I hae twa, man. 
 And stockings and pumps to put on my stumps. 
 
 And ne'er a wrang steek in them a', man. 
 
 My sarks^ they are few, but five o' them new, 
 Twal' hundred,^ as white as the snaw, man, 
 
 A ten-shilling hat, a Holland cravat; 
 There are no mony poets sae braw, man. 
 
 I never had frien's weel stockit in means, 
 
 To leave me a hundred or twa, man ; 
 Nae weel-tocher'd aunts, to wait on their drantSji^ 
 
 And wish them in hell for it a', man. 
 
 1 Twelvemonth. 2 Die and be stretched on a board. 
 
 » Comely. •* Clioice. 5 SLirta. 
 
 « A kind of cloth. 'Humours. 
 
POEMS. [1781. 
 
 I never was cannie ^ for hoarding 0' money, 
 
 Or claughtin't^ together at a', man, 
 I've little to spend, and naething to lend, 
 . But deevil a shilling I awe,^ man. 
 
 WINTER: 
 
 A DIRGE. 
 
 "Winter : a Dirge," was copied into Burns's Commonplace Book in April 1784, 
 and prefaced with the following reflections : — " As I am what the men of the 
 world, if they knew such a man, would call a whimsical mortal, I have various 
 sources of pleasure and enjoyment which are in a manner peculiar to myself, 
 or some here and there such out-of-the-way person. Such is the peculiar 
 pleasure I take in the season of Winter more than the rest of the year. This, 
 I believe, may be partly owing to my misfortunes giving my mind a melan- 
 choly cast : but there is something even in the 
 
 •Mighty tempest, and the heavy waste, 
 Abrupt, and deep, stretch'd o'er the buried earth,' 
 
 which raises the mind to a serious sublimity favourable to everything great 
 and noble. There is scarcely any earthly object gives me more— I do not know 
 if I should call it pleasure — but something which exalts me — something which 
 enraptures me— than to walk in the sheltered side of a wood, or high planta- 
 tion, in a cloudy winter-day, and hear the stormy wind howling among the trees 
 and raving over the plain. It is my best season for devotion : my mind is 
 wrapt up in a kind of enthusiasm to Ilim, who, in the pompous language ol 
 the Hebrew bard, 'walks on the wings of tlie wind.' In one of these seasons, 
 just after a train of misfortunes, I composed the following :" — 
 
 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 f rae 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 ! 
 
 Thou Power Supreme, whose mighty scheme 
 These woes of mine fulfil. 
 
 1 Careful. 2 Gathering greedily. S o^e, 
 
 * Dr Young. 
 

 U*-^*' 
 
 «.5p 
 
 The wintry west extends his blast, 
 And hail and rain does blaw : 
 
 Or the stormy north sends driving forth 
 Ihe blinding sleet, and snaw 
 
 — Winter, page 4, 
 
^T. 23.] POEMS, 
 
 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. 
 
 A PRAYER, 
 
 UNDER THE PRESSURE OF VIOLENT ANGUISH. 
 
 In the Commonplace Book already alluded to the following melancholy note 
 accompanies this Poem:— "There was a certarn period of my life that my 
 spirit was broken by repeated losses and disasters, which threatened, anJl 
 indeed effected, the utter ruin of my fortune. My body, too, was attacked bv 
 that most dreadful distemper, a hypochondria, or confirmed melancholy, lii 
 this wretched state, the recollection of which makes me yet shudder, I hiiii^ 
 my harp on the willow trees, excex»t in some lucid intervals, in one Ot which 
 I composed this Prayer : " — 
 
 O Thou 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, 
 
 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 ! 
 
 THE DEATH AND DYING WORDS OF POOR BIAILIE, 
 
 THE author's ONLY PET YOWE. 
 {An Unco Mournfu' Tale ) 
 
 Mr Lockhart has well said that the expiring animal's admonitions touching the 
 education of the "poor toop lamb," her son and heir, and the "yowie, silly 
 thing," her daughter, are from the same peculiar vein of sly homely wit, em- 
 bedded upon fancy, which he afterwards dug with a bolder hand in the " Twa 
 Dogs," and perhajjs to its utmost depth in his "Death and Doctor Hombook." 
 It need scarcely be added that poor aiailie was a real pei'sonage, though she did 
 not actually die until some time after her last words were written. 
 
 "The circumstances of the poor sheep," says Gilbert Burns, "were pretty much 
 as Robert has described them. He had, partly by way of frolic, bought a ewa 
 
3 POEMS, [17S2. 
 
 and two lambs from a neighbour, and she was tethered in a field adjoining th« 
 house at Lochlea. He and I were going out with our teams, and our two 
 younger brothers to drive for us, at mid-day, when Hugh Wilson, a curious- 
 looking, awkward boy, clad in plaiding, came to us with much anxiety in hi^s 
 face, with the information that the ewe had entangled herself in the tether, and 
 was lying in the ditch. Robert was much tickled with Hughoc's appearance 
 and postures on the occasion. Poor Mailie was set to rights, and when we 
 returned from the plough in the evening, he repeated to me her * Death and 
 Dying Words,' pretty much in the way they now stand." 
 
 As Mailie and her lambs thegither 
 Was ae day nibbling on the tether, 
 Upon her cloot she coost a hitch, 
 And owre she warsled ^ in the ditch : 
 There, groaning, dying, she did lie, 
 When Hughoc he cam doytin'^ by. 
 Wi' glowring een, and lifted ban's, 
 Poor Hughoc like a statue stan's ; 
 He saw her days were near-hand ended, 
 But, waes my heart ! he couldna mend it ! 
 He gaped wide, but naething spak — 
 At length poor Mailie silence brak : — 
 
 " O thon, -whase lamentable face 
 Appears to mourn my woefu' 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 
 Wi' wicked strings o' hemp or hair I 
 But ca' them out to park or hill. 
 And 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*, 
 And aye was guid to me and mine ; 
 And now my dying charge I gie him — 
 My helpless lambs I ti-ust them wi' him. 
 
 " Oh, bid him save their harmless lives 
 Fi-ae 3 dogs, and tods, and butchers' knives ! 
 But gie them guid cow-milk their fill, 
 Till they be fit to fend themsel : 
 And tent them duly, e'en and morn, 
 Wi' teats o' hay, and ripps o' corn. 
 
 "And maj'- they never learn the gaets* 
 Of ither vile, wanrestfu'^ pets ! 
 To slink through slaps, and reave and steal 
 At stacks o' peas or stocks o' kail. 
 So may they, like their great forbears, 
 For mony a year come through the shears : 
 So wives will gie them bits o' bread, 
 And bairns greet ^ for them when they're dead. 
 
 1 Struggled. 2 Walking stupidly. • s From. 
 
 * Habits. 6 Restless. 6 Weep. 
 
MT, 24 ] POEMS, 
 
 " My poor toop-lamb, my son and lieir, 
 Oh, bid him breed him up wi' care I 
 And if he live to be a beast, 
 To pit some havins ^ in his breast ! 
 And warn him, what I winna name, 
 To stay content wi' yowes at hame : 
 And no to rin and wear his clouts,* 
 Like ither menseless,^ graceless brutes. 
 
 "And neist my yowie, silly thing, 
 Guid keep thee frae a tether string ! 
 Oh, may thou ne'er forgather up 
 Wi' ony blastit,+ moorland toop, 
 But aye keep mind to moop and mell 
 Wi' sheej) o' credit like thysel ! 
 
 " And now, my bairns, wi' my last breath 
 I lea'e my blessin' wi' you baith : 
 And when you think upo' your mither, 
 Mind to be kin' to ane anither. 
 
 "Now, honest Hughoc, dinna fail 
 To tell my master a' my tale ; 
 And bid him burn this cursed tether, 
 And, for thy pains, thou's get my blether."'* 
 This said, poor Mailie turn'd her head, 
 And closed her een amang the dead. 
 
 THE ELEGY. 
 
 Lament in rhyme, lament in prose, 
 Wi' saut tears trickhng down your nose ; 
 Our bardie's fate is at a close. 
 
 Past a' remead ; 
 The last sad cape-stane of his woes ; 
 
 Poor Mailie 's dead ! 
 
 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 neibor dear 
 
 In Mailie dead. 
 
 Through a' the toun % she trotted by him ; 
 A lang half-mile she could descry him ; 
 
 1 Good sense. 2 Senseless. * Bladder. 
 
 * Clouts, clothes or rags, with reference to a piece of clothing with which rams 
 are cumbered at certain seasons, for a purpose which will hardly bear full ex- 
 planation. Mr Smith, in his recent edition of the poet's works, misled by the 
 usual spelling of the word cloots^ which means hoofs or feet, and being apparently 
 ignorant of this custom, robs the allusion of all its broad humour. 
 
 t A contemptuous term. i Round the farm 
 
POEMS, [1784. 
 
 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, 
 
 And could behave hersel wi' mense -?■ 
 
 I '11 say 't, she never brak a fence 
 
 Through thievish greed. 
 Our bardie, lanely, keeps the spence * 
 
 Sin' Mailie 's deiad. 
 
 Or, if he wanders up the howe,^ 
 
 Her living image in her yowe 
 
 Comes bleating to him, owre the knowe,^ 
 
 For bits o' bread ; 
 And down the briny pearls rowe 
 
 For Mailie dead. 
 
 She was nae get o' moorland tips, 
 Wi' tawted ket,^ and hairy hips ; 
 For her forbears were brought in ships 
 
 Frae yont the Tweed : 
 A bonnier fleesh ne'er cross'd the clips 
 
 Than Mailie dead. 
 
 "Wae worth the man wha first did shape 
 That vile, wanchancie^ thing — a rape ! 
 It maks guid fellows girn an' gape, t 
 
 Wi' chokin' dreatl ; 
 And Erobin'd bonnet wave wi' crape, 
 
 For Mailie dead. 
 
 Oh, a' ye bards on bonny Doon ! 
 And wha on Ayr your clianters tune ! 
 Come, join the melancholious croon 
 
 O' Robin's reed ! 
 His heart will never get aboon 
 
 His Mailie dead. 
 
 OH WHY THE DEUCE SHOULD I EEPINE. 
 The following is said to have been written extempore : — 
 
 Oh why the deuce should I repine, 
 
 And be an ill f oreboder ? 
 1 'm twenty-three, and five feet nine — 
 
 I '11 go and be a sodger. 
 
 1 Decorum. 2 Dell. s Ku 
 
 * Matted fleece. ^ Unlucky. 
 
 ♦ Shuts himself up in the parlour with his sorrow. 
 t Grin and gasp— an allusion to Iuiui;in-j. 
 
iET. 26.] POEMS, 
 
 I gat some gear wi' meikle care, 
 
 I held it weel thegither ; 
 But now it 's gane, and sometliing mair — 
 
 I '11 go and be a sodger. 
 
 THE BELLES OF MAUCHLINE. 
 
 The "Six Belles" were— Miss Helen Miller, who married Burns's friend, Dr 
 Mackenzie ; Miss Markland, who married another of the poet's friends, Mr 
 JFinlay, an Excise officer ; Miss Jean Smith, who married yet another friend, 
 Mr Candlish, and was the mother of the celebrated Dr Candlish of Edinburgh ; 
 Miss Betty (Miller), sister of Miss Helen Miller,, became Mrs Templeton ; 
 Miss Morton married Mr Paterson, a Mauchline merchant; and Jean Armour 
 became Mrs Robert Burns, and who does not know her history 1 
 
 In Mauchline there dwells six proper young belles, 
 The pride o' the place and its neighoourhood 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'. 
 
 A PEAYER 
 
 IN THE PKOSPECT OP DEATH. 
 
 "This 'Prayer' and the 'Stanzas,' which follow," the poet wrote in his Common- 
 place Book, "were composed when fainting fits, and other alarming symptoms 
 of pleurisy, or some other dangerous disorder, which indeed still threatens me, 
 first put nature on the alarm. The stanzas are misgivings in the hour of 
 uespondency and prospect of death. The grand end of human life is to culti- 
 vate an intercourse with that Being to whom we owe life with every enjoyment 
 that renders life delightful." 
 
 O Thou unknown, Almighty Cause 
 
 Of all my hope and fear ! 
 In whose dread presence, ere an hour, 
 
 Perhaps I must aj^pear! 
 
 If I have wander'd in those paths 
 
 Of life I ought to shun ; 
 As something, loudly, in my breast, 
 
 Bemonstrates I have done ; 
 
 Thou know'st that Thou hast form'd mo 
 
 With passions wild and strong ; 
 And listening to their witching voice 
 
 Has often led me wroug. 
 
lO POEMS, [1784. 
 
 Where human weaknena Las 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 
 
 Delighteth to forgive. 
 
 STANZAS 
 
 ON THE SAME OCCASION. 
 
 Why am I loath to leave this earthly scene ? 
 
 Have I so found it full of pleasing charras? 
 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 I " 
 
 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? 
 
 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 powers to be. 
 
 To rule their torrent in the allow'd line : 
 Oh, aid me with Thy help, Omnipotence Divine ! 
 
 THE FIEST PSALM. 
 
 The man, in life wherever placed, 
 
 Hath happiness in store. 
 Who walks not in the wicked's way, 
 
 Nor learns their guilty lore. 
 
^T. 26.] POEMS. 31 
 
 Nor from the seat of scornful pride 
 
 Casts forbh 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 FIEST SIX YEftSES OF THE NTN-ETIETH 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 ! 
 
 Before the mountains heaved their heads 
 
 Beneath Thy forming hand. 
 Before this ponderous globe 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 sight 
 
 Than yesterday that 's j)ast. 
 
 Thou givest the word : Thy creature, man. 
 
 Is to existence brought ; 
 Again Thou say'st, *' Ye sons of men, 
 
 Return ye into nought 1 " 
 
 Thou layest them with all their cares, 
 
 In everlasting sleep ; 
 As with a flood Thou takest them off 
 
 Witli overwhelming sweep. 
 
12 POEMS, [1784. 
 
 Tliey flourisli like the morning flower, 
 
 In beauty's pride array'd ; 
 But long ere night cut down, it lies 
 
 All wither'd and decay'd. 
 
 ELEGY ON" THE DEATH OF ROBERT RUISSEAIJX. 
 
 This fragment was found by Cromek among the poet's manuscripts. Ruisseaiui 
 —a translation of his own name — is French for rivulets. 
 
 Now Robin lies in his last lair. 
 
 He'll gabble rhyme nor sing nae mair, 
 
 Cauld poverty, wi' hungry stare, 
 
 Nae mair shall fear him ; 
 N"or anxious fear, nor cankert care, 
 
 E'er mair come near him. 
 
 To tell the truth, they seldom fasht him. 
 Except the moment that they crusht him; 
 For sune as chance or fate had husht 'em, 
 
 Though e'er sae short. 
 Then wi' a rhyme or song he laslit 'em, 
 
 And thought it sport. 
 
 Though he was bred to kintra wark, 
 And counted was baith wight and stark, 
 Yet that was never Robin's mark 
 
 To mak a man ; 
 But tell him he was leam'd and dark, 
 
 Ye roosed him than! 
 
 IMAUCHLINE BELLES. 
 
 Oh leave novels, ye Mauchline belles! 
 
 Ye 're safer at your spinning-wheel; 
 Such witching books are baited hooks 
 
 For rakish rooks like Rob Mossgiel. * 
 
 Your fine Tom Jones and Grandisons, 
 They make your youthful fancies reel ; 
 
 They heat your veins, and fire your brains. 
 And then ye 're prey for Rob Mossgiel. 
 
 Beware a tongue that's smoothly hung, 
 A heart that warmly seems to feel ; 
 
 That feeling heart but acts a part — 
 'Tis rakisli art in Rob Mossgiel. 
 
 * Rob Mossgiel— Robert Burns of Mossgiel. 
 
Mr. 26.] - POEMS, 13 
 
 The franic address, the soft caress, 
 
 Are worse than poison'd hearts of steel; 
 
 The frank address and politesse 
 Are all finesse in Kob Mossgiel. 
 
 DEATH AND DE, HOEITBOOK. 
 
 A TEUE STORY. 
 
 "Death and Dr Hornbook," says Gilbert Burns, "thoup:h not published in the 
 Kilmarnock edition, was produced early in the year 1785. The schoolmaster 
 of Torbolton parish, to eke out the scanty subsistence allowed to that useful 
 class of men, 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 medioine, 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. Kobert was at a mason-meeting in Torbolton, when the 
 dominie made too ostentatious a display of his medical skill. As he parted in 
 the evening from this mixture of pedantry and physic, at the place where he 
 describes his meeting with Death, one of those floating ideas of apparitions 
 mentioned in his letter to Dr Moore crossed his mind ; this set him to work 
 for the rest of his way home. These circumstances he related when he re- 
 peated the verses to me the next afternoon, as I was holding the plough, and 
 he was letting the water off the field beside me." 
 
 Cromek says of the hero of this poem : — '• At Glasgow T heard that the hero of 
 this exquisite satire was living; Hamilton managed to introduce me to him — 
 we talked of almost all subjects save the poems of Burns. Dr Hornbook is 
 above the middle size, stout made, and inclining to corpulency. His com- 
 plexion is swarthy, his eye black and expressive : he wears a brown wig, and 
 dresses in black. There is little or nothing of the pedant about him : I think 
 a man who had never read the poem would scarcely discover any. Burns, 1 am 
 told, had no personal enmity to Wilson." 
 
 The mirth and amusement occasioned by the publication of the poem drove the 
 schoolmaster out of the district, and he became session-clerk of the Gorbals 
 parish, Glasgow, and died there in 1839. 
 
 Some books are lies fra end to end, 
 And some great lies were never penn'd : 
 E'en ministers, they hae been kenn'd, 
 
 In holy rapture, 
 A rousing whid^ at times to vend, 
 
 And nail't wi' Scripture. 
 
 But this that I am gaun^ to tell, 
 Which lately on a night befell, 
 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 wasna f ou, but just had x)lenty ; 
 
 1 Lie. 2 Going. 8 ViHago ale. 
 
r4 POEMS, [1785- 
 
 I stacher'd^ whyles/^^ but yet took tent aye 
 
 To free the ditches ; 
 And hillocks, stanes, and bushes kenn'd ayo 
 
 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 couldna tell. 
 
 I was come round about the hill. 
 And toddhn'^ down on Willie's mill,* 
 Setting my staff wi' a' my skill, 
 
 To keep me sicker : ^ 
 Though leeward whiles, against my will, 
 
 I took a bicker. 6 
 
 I there wi' something did forgather, 
 
 That put me in an eerie swither; " 
 
 An awfu' scythe, out-owre ae shouther, 
 
 Clear-dangling, hang; 
 A three-taed leister ^ on the ither 
 
 Lay large and lang. 
 
 Its stature seem'd lang Scotch ells twa. 
 The queerest shape that e'er I saw, 
 For fient a wame^ it had ava; 
 
 And then its shanks, 
 They were as thin, as sharp and sma'. 
 
 As cheeks o' branks. t 
 
 " Guid-e'en," quo' I; "friend, hae ye been mawin', 
 When ither folk are busy sawin'?"J 
 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^2 ye weel, tak care o' skaith,^** 
 
 See, there 's a gully ! " 1* 
 
 1 Staggered. 2 Sometimes. 3 stare. 
 
 4 Tottering. « Steady. ' « Short race. 
 
 1 An uncertain fear. s a fish-spear. 
 
 9 Belly. 10 Hollow. n Frightened. 
 
 12 Warn. " Harm. u Clasp-knife. 
 
 * Torbolton Mill, then occupied by "William Muir, an intimate friend of the 
 Burns family — hence called Willie^s mill. f A kind of bridle. 
 
 X This rencounter happened in seed-time of 1785, — B. 
 
^T. 27.] POEMS. IS 
 
 ** Guidman," quo' he, "put up your whittle, 
 I 'm no design'd to try its mettle; 
 But if I did, I wad be kittle ^ 
 
 To be niislear'd,^ 
 I wad na mind it, no that spittle 
 
 Out-owre my beard." 
 
 *' "Weel, weel ! '* says I, " a bargain be 't ; 
 Come, gies your hand, and sae we're gree't; 
 VVe'il ease our shanks ^ and tak a seat — 
 
 Come, gies your news; 
 Tills while * ye hae been mony a gate,"* 
 
 At mony a house." 
 
 "Ay, ay!" quo' he, and shook his head, 
 "It's e'en a lang, lang time indeed 
 Sin' I began to nick tlie thread 
 
 And choke the breath : 
 Folk maun do something for their bread, 
 
 And sae maun Death. 
 
 " Sax thousand years are near hand fled 
 Sin' I was to the butchering bred. 
 And mony a scheme in vain's been laid, 
 
 To stap or scar me ; , 
 
 Till ane Hornbook's ta'en up the trade. 
 
 And faith he'll waur me. 
 
 ** Ye ken Jock Hornbook i' the clachan, 
 
 Deil mak his king's-hood in a * in a spleuchan !^ 
 
 He's grown sae weel acquaint wi' Buchanf 
 
 And ither chaps. 
 The v/eans^ hand out their fingers laughin', 
 
 And pouk my hips.^ 
 
 "See, here's a scythe, and there's a dart, 
 They hae pierced mony 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'll kill. 
 
 " 'Twas but yestreen, nae further gaen, 
 
 I threw a noble throw at ane ; 
 
 Wi* less, I'm sure, I've hundreds slain; 
 
 But deil ma cai*e, 
 It just play'd dirl on the bane. 
 
 But did nae mair. 
 
 1 Might be tempted. 2 Mischievous. .S Limbs. 
 
 4 Road. 5 The great gut. 6 Tobacco-pouch, 
 
 7 Children. 8 Plack at his hams— show their contempt for him. 
 
 * An epidemic fever was then raging in that country.— 5. 
 + liuchan's Domestic Medicine.— J5. 
 
t6 POEMS, L17S5. 
 
 ** Hornbook was by, wi' ready art, 
 And had sae fortified tlie part, 
 Tiiat when I looked to my dart. 
 
 It was sae blunt, 
 Fient haet o't wad hae pierced the heart 
 
 O' a kail-runt. 1 
 
 *' I drew my scythe in sic a fury, 
 I near-hand cowpit'^ wi' my hurry, 
 But yet the bauld apothecary 
 
 Withstood the shock ; 
 I might as weel hae tried a quany 
 
 O' hard whin rock. 
 
 " Even them he canna get attended, 
 Although their face he ne'er had kenn'd it, 
 Just sh — e in a kail-blade and send it. 
 
 As soon's he smells 't, 
 Baith their disease and what will mend it 
 
 At ance he tells 't. 
 
 "And then a' doctor's saws and whittles. 
 Of a' dimensions, shapes, and metals, 
 A' kinds* o' boxes, mugs, and bottles 
 
 He 's sure to hae : 
 Their Latin names as fast he rattles 
 
 As A B C. 
 
 " Calces o' fossils, earths, and trees ; 
 True salmarinum o' the seas; 
 The farina of beans and peas. 
 
 He has 't in plenty ; 
 Aquafontis, what you please. 
 
 He can content ye. 
 
 "Forbye some new, uncommon weapons, 
 
 Urinus spiritus of capons ; 
 
 Or mite-horn shavings, filings, scrapings, 
 
 Distill'd 'per se ; 
 Salalkali o' midge-tail clippings. 
 
 And mony mae.'* 
 
 "Waes me for Johnnie Ged's * hole noo',*' 
 
 Quo' I, "if that thae news be true ! 
 
 His braw calf - ward f whare gowans ^ grew, 
 
 Sae white and bonny, 
 Nae doubt they '11 rive it wi' the plew ; 
 
 They '11 ruin Johnnie ! " 
 
 The creature grain'd an eldritcli ^ laugh. 
 And says, " Ye needna yoke the plough, 
 
 1 Cabbage (Colewort) stalk. 2 Tumbled over. » Dalfiiai, « Unearthly. 
 
 * The grave-digger. 
 
 t The church-yard had been sometimes used as an enclosure for calves. 
 
^T. 27.] POEMS. 17 
 
 Kirk-yards will soon be till'd enengh, 
 
 Tak ye nae fear : 
 They '11 a* be trencli'd wi' mony 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 and pill. 
 
 " An honest wabster to his trade, 
 
 AYhase wife's twa nieves were scarce weel-bred, 
 
 Gat tipi3ence-worth to mend her head 
 
 When it was sair ; 
 The wife slade cannie to her bed. 
 
 But ne'er spak mair. 
 
 " A country laird had ta'en the batts, 
 Or some curmurring in his guts, 
 His only son for Hornbook sets, 
 
 And pays him well ; 
 The lad, for twa guid gimmer-pets,^ 
 
 Was laird himsel. 
 
 " A bonny 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 Jier 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, and slay. 
 
 An 's weel paid for 't ; 
 Yet stops me o' my lawfu' prey, 
 
 Wi' his damn'd dirt : 
 
 *' But, hark ! I '11 tell you of a plot, 
 Though dinna ye be speaking o 't ; 
 I '11 nail the self -conceited sot, 
 
 As dead 's a herrin' ; 
 Neist time we meet, I '11 wad a groat, 
 
 He 's got his f airin' ! "^ 
 
 But just as he began to tell, 
 
 The auld kirk-hammer strak fche bell 
 
 Some wee short hour ayont the twal, 
 
 Which raised us baith : 
 I took the way that pleased mysel, 
 
 And sae did Death. 
 
 ' Furrow. 2 Young ewes. s Destrta. 
 
1 8 POEMS, [1785- 
 
 THE TWA HERDS ; OH, THE HOLY TULZIE. 
 
 From an MS. In the British Museum we quote the poet's own account of the 
 origin of this poem ;— ** The following was the first of my Poetical productions 
 that saw the light. I gave a copy of it to a. particular friend of mine who was 
 very fond of these things, and told him ' I did not know who was the Author, 
 but that I had got a copy of it by accident.' The occasion was a bitter and 
 shameless quarrel between the two Rev. gentlemen, Mr Moodie of Eiccarton 
 and Mr Russel of Kilmarnock. It was at the time when the hue and cry 
 against Patronage was at the worst." The reverend gentlemen mentioned 
 by the poet had quarrelled, it appears, over some petty question of parish 
 boundaries ; and in the presbytery, where the matter had been brought 
 up for settlement, they fell foul of each otlier after the manner of the wicked 
 and ungodly. It is only justice to the memory of the poet to mention, that he 
 did not include this poem in any of the editions of his works which were 
 published during his lifetime. 
 
 " Blockheads with reason wicked wits abhor ; 
 But fool with fool is barbarous civil war." — Popk. ^ 
 
 Oh, a* ye pious godly flocks, 
 Weel fed on pastures orthodox, 
 Wha now wiU keep you frae the fox, 
 
 Or worrying tykes, ^ 
 Or wha will tent the waifs and crocks,^ 
 
 About the dikes? 
 
 The twa best herds in a' the wast, 
 That e'er gae gospel horn a blast. 
 These five and twenty simmers past, 
 
 Oh ! dool to tell, 
 Hae had a bitter black outcast 3 
 
 Atween themsel. 
 
 O Moodie, man, and wordy Russell, 
 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 min'. 
 
 O sirs ! whae'er wad hae expeckit, 
 
 Your duty ye wad sae negleckit. 
 
 Ye wha were ne'er by lairds respeckit, 
 
 To wear the plaid, 
 But by the brutes themselves eleckit, 
 
 To be their guide. 
 
 What flock wi' Hoodie's flock could rank, 
 Sae hale and hearty every shank? 
 Nae poison'd sour Arminian stank 
 
 He let them taste. 
 Frae Calvin's well, aye clear, they drank, — 
 
 Oh, sic a feast ! 
 
 1 Dogs « Stray sheep and old ewes. 8 Quan*el. 
 
-El. 27.] FOE MS. 19 
 
 The thiimmart,! wil'-cat, "brockj^ and tod,^ 
 "Weel kenn'd his voice through a' the wood, 
 He smelt their ilka hole and road, 
 
 Baith out and in, 
 And weel he liked to shed their bluid. 
 
 And sell their skin. 
 
 What herd like Eussell tell'd his tale, 
 
 His voice was heard through 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 swing the gospel-club, 
 
 And New-Light herds could nicely drub, 
 
 Or pay their skin ; 
 Could shake them owre the burning dub. 
 
 Or heave them in. 
 
 Sic twa — oh! do I live to see't. 
 
 Sic famous twa should disagreet, 
 
 And names like "villain," "hyj)ocrite," 
 
 Ilk ither gi'en. 
 While New-Light herds, wi' laughin' spite, 
 
 Say neither 's liein' ! * 
 
 A* ye wha tent the gospel fauld, 
 
 There's Duncan,* deep, and Peebles,f shaul,^ 
 
 But chiefly thou, apostle Auld, J 
 
 We trust in thee. 
 That thou wilt work them, het 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. 
 
 Dalrymi)le § has been lang our fae, 
 M'Gill II has wrought us meikle wae, 
 
 I Pole-cat. 2 Badj^er. s 
 
 * Lying. 5 Shallow. 
 
 * Br Robert Duncan, minister of Dundonald. 
 + Rev. William Peebles, of Newton-upon-Ayr. 
 X Rev. William Auld, minister of Mauchline. 
 g Rev. Dr Dalrymple, one of the ministers of Ayr. 
 II Rev. William M'Gill, one of the ministers of Ayr. 
 
20 POEMS. [1785- 
 
 And that cursed rascal ca'd M'Quliae,* 
 And baith the Shaws,t 
 
 That aft hae made us black and blae, 
 Wi' vengefu' paws. 
 
 Anld "VYodrow :|: lang has hatch'd mischief, 
 Yv'^e thought aye death wad bring relief, 
 But he has gotten, to our grief, 
 
 Ane to succeed him, 
 A chiel wha '11 soundly buff our beef ; 
 
 I meikle dread him. 
 
 And mony a ane that I could tell, 
 Wha fain would ojDenly rebel, 
 Forbye turn-coats amang oursel ; 
 
 There 's Smith for ane, 
 I doubt he 's but a gray-nick quill, 
 
 Aid that ye '11 fin'. 
 
 Oh ! a' ye flocks o'er a' the hills. 
 
 By mosses, meadows, moors, and fells, 
 
 Come, join your counsel and your skills. 
 
 To cowe the lairds. 
 And get the brutes the powers themsels 
 
 To choose their herds. 
 
 Then Orthodoxy yet may prance. 
 And Learning in a woody ^ dance. 
 And that fell cur ca'd Common Sense, 
 
 That bites sae sair, 
 Be banish'd o'er the sea to France : 
 
 Let him bark there. 
 
 Then Shaw's and D'rymple's eloquence, 
 M'Gill's close nervous excellence, 
 M'Quhae's pathetic manly sense, 
 
 And guid M'Math, 
 "W \ Smith, wha through the heart can glance. 
 
 May a' pack aff. 
 
 HOLY WILLIE'S PKAYEP.. 
 
 The origin of this terrible satire maybe briefly told as follows :— Garin Hamilton, 
 the special friend of the poet, had been denied the benefit of the ordinances 
 of the church, because he was alleged to have made a journey on the Sabbath, 
 and to have made one of his servants take in some potatoes from the garden 
 
 1 Halter. 
 
 * Minister of St Quivox". 
 
 f Dr Andrew Shaw of draigie, and Dr David Shaw of Coylton. 
 
 \ Dr Peter Wodrow, Torbo.ton. 
 
^T 27.] POEMS. 21 
 
 on another Sunday — hence the allusion to his "kail and potatoes" in the poem, 
 William Fisher, one of Mr Auld's elders, made himself somewhat conspicuous 
 in the case. He was a great pretender to sanctity, and a punctilious stickler 
 for outward observances. Poor man, he unfortunately merited the satire of 
 the poet, as he was a drunkard, and latterly made too free with the church- 
 money in his hands. Returning drunk from Mauchline one night, he fell into 
 a ditch and died from exposure. 
 The fearfully literal exposition of the doctrine of election in the first verse makes 
 the flesh creep. 
 
 Thou, wha in the heavens dost dwell 
 Wha, as it pleases best thj^el, 
 
 Sends ane to heaven, and ten to hell, 
 
 A' for thy glory, 
 And no for ODy guid or ill 
 
 They 've done afore thes! 
 
 1 bless and praise thy matchless might, 
 Whan thousands thou hast left in night. 
 That I am here, afore thy sight, 
 
 For gifts and grace, 
 A burnin' and a shiniii' light 
 
 To a' this place. 
 
 What was I, or my generation, 
 That I should get sic exaltation ? 
 I, wha deserve sic 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, 
 Whare damnSd devils roar and yell, 
 
 Chaiu'd to a stake. 
 
 Yet I am here a chosen sample, 
 
 To show thy grace is great and ample ; 
 
 I'm here a pillar in thy temple. 
 
 Strong as a rock, 
 A guide, a buckler, an example, 
 
 To a' thy flock. 
 
 O Lord, thou kens what zeal I bear, 
 When drinkers drink, and swearers svvear, 
 And singing there, and dancing here, 
 
 Wi' great and sma' ; 
 For I am keei^it by thy fear. 
 
 Free frae them a'. 
 
 But yet, O Lord ! confess I must. 
 At times I'm f ash'd^ wi' fleshly lust ; 
 
POEMS. [1785 
 
 And sometimes, too, wi' warldly trust, 
 
 Vile self gets in ; 
 But then remembers we are dust. 
 
 Defiled in sin. 
 
 O Lord ! yestreen; thou kens, wi' Meg— 
 
 Thy pardon I sincerely beg. 
 
 Oh, may it ne'er be a livin' plague. 
 
 To my dislionour, 
 And I'll ne'er lift a lawless leg 
 
 Again upon her. 
 
 Besides, I farther maun avow, 
 
 Wi' Lizzie's lass, three times I trow — 
 
 But, Lord, that Friday I was f ou' 
 
 When I came near her, 
 Or else, thou kens, thy servant true 
 
 Wad ne'er hae steer'd hen 
 
 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 ban' maun e'en be borne 
 
 Untn thou lift it. 
 
 Lord, bless thy chosen in this place, 
 For here thou hast a chosen race : 
 But God confound their stubborn face. 
 
 And blast their name, 
 "NVha bring thy elders to disgrace 
 
 And public shame. 
 
 Lord, mind Gawn Hamilton's deserts, 
 
 He drinks, and swears, and plays at cartes, 
 
 Yet has sae mony takin' arts, 
 
 Wi' grit and sma', 
 Frae God's ain priests the people's hearts 
 
 He steals awa'. 
 
 And whan we chasten'd him therefore. 
 Thou kens how he bred sic a sxilore,^ 
 As set the world in a roar 
 
 O' laughin' at us ;— 
 Curse thou his basket and his stoi-e, 
 
 Kad and potatoes. 
 
 Lord, hear my earnest ciy and prayer 
 
 Against the presbyt'ry of Ayr ; 
 
 Thy strong right hand. Lord, mak it bare 
 
 UiDO* their heads. 
 Lord, weigh it down, and dinna spare. 
 
 For their misdeeds. 
 
 1 Disturbance. 
 
^T. 27.] POEMS. 23 
 
 O Lord, my God, that glib-tongued Aiken,* 
 
 My very heart and saul are quakin', 
 
 To think h^w we stood groanin', shakin'. 
 
 And sWat wi' dread, 
 "While he, wi' hingin' lip and snakin',* 
 
 Held up his head. 
 
 Lord, in the day of vengeance try him, 
 Lord, visit them wlia 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 temp'ral and divine. 
 That I for gear and grace may shine, 
 
 Excell'd by naue. 
 And a' the glory shall be thine, 
 
 Amen, Amen] 
 
 EPITAPH ON HOLY WILLIE. 
 
 Here Holy Willie's sair worn clay 
 
 Taks up its last abode ; 
 His saul has ta'en 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 gnip, — 
 
 Observe wha 's standing wi' him ! 
 
 Your brunstane devilsliip, I see. 
 Has got him there before ye ; 
 
 But haud your nine-tail cat a wee,' 
 Till ance ye 've heard my story. 
 
 Your pity X will not implore, 
 
 For pity ye hae 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. 
 
 » Sneering 2 Little. « Feca. 
 
 * ■William Aiken, a lawyer, a tViend of the poet's. 
 
24 POEMS. [1785 
 
 TO A MOUSE, 
 
 ON TURNING UP HER NEST WITH THE PLOUGH, NOVEMBER 1785. 
 
 " The verses to the 'Mouse* and 'Mountain Daisy,*" Gilbert Burns says, "were 
 composed on the occasions mentioned, and while the author was holding the 
 plough : I could point out the particular spot where each was composed. 
 Holding the plough was a favourite situation with Robert for poetic composi- 
 tions, and some of his best verses were produced while he was at that exer- 
 cise." 
 
 "John Bland," says Mr Chambers, "who was farm-servant at Mossgiel at the 
 time of its composition, still (1838) lives at Kilmarnock. He staled to me 
 that he recollected the incident perfectly. Burns was holding the plough, 
 with Blane for his driver, when the little creature was observed running ofl 
 across the field. Blane, having the 'pettle, or plough-cleaning utensil, in his 
 hand at the moment, was thoughtlessly running after it, to kill it, when Burns 
 checked him, but not angrily, asking what ill the poor mouse had ever done 
 him. The poet then seemed to his driver to grow very thoughtful, and, during 
 the remainder of the afternoon, he spoke not. In the night time he awoke 
 Blane, who slept with him, and, reading the poem which had in the meantime 
 been composed, asked what he thought of the mouze, now." 
 
 Wee, sleekit, cowinn', tim'rous beastie, 
 Oh, what a panic 's in thy breastie I 
 Thou needna start awa' sae hasty, 
 
 Wi' bickering brattle ! ^ 
 I wad be laith to rin and chase thee, 
 
 Wi' murd'ring pattle ! ^ 
 
 I *m truly sorry man's dommion 
 Has broken nature's social union. 
 And justifies that ill opinion 
 
 Which maks theo startle 
 At me, thy poor earth-born companion. 
 
 And fellow-mortal ! 
 
 I doubt na, whyles,^ but thou may thieve ; 
 What then ? poor beastie, thou maun live I 
 A daimen icker in a thrave * 
 
 'S a sma' request ; 
 I '11 get a blessin' wi' the lave,* 
 
 And never miss 't I 
 
 Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin ! 
 Its silly wa's the win's are strewin' ! 
 And naething now to big^ a new ane 
 
 O' f oggage green ! 
 And bleak December's winds ensuin', 
 
 Baith snell ^ and keen ! 
 
 Thou saw the fields laid bare and waste. 
 And weary winter comin' fast, 
 
 1 Hurrying i-un. 2 Pattle or pettle, the plough spade. s Sometimes. 
 
 4 Remainder. 6 Build. « Sharp. 
 
 * An ear of corn in a thrave— that is, twenty-four sheaves. 
 
JET. 27.] POEMS. 25 
 
 And cozie "• here, beneath the blast, 
 
 Thou thought to dwell, 
 
 Till, crash ! the cruel coulter past 
 
 Out through thy cell. 
 
 That wee bit heap o' leaves and stibble 
 Has cost thee mony a weary nibble ! 
 Now thou's turn'd out for a' thy trouble, 
 
 But 2 house or hauld,-* 
 To thole * the winter's sleety dribble, 
 
 And cranreuch ^ cauld ! 
 
 But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane, 
 In proving foresight may be vain : 
 The best-laid schemes o' mice and men 
 
 Gang aft a-gley, 
 And lea'e us nought 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 ee 
 
 On prospects drear ! 
 And forward, though I canna see, 
 
 I guess and fear. 
 
 HALLOWEEN. 
 
 The following poem will, by many readers, be well enough understood ; but for 
 the sake of those who are unacquainted with the manners and traditions of the 
 country where the scene is cast, notes are added, to give some account of the 
 principal charms and spells of that night, so big with prophecy to the peasantry 
 in the west of Scotland. The passion of prying into futurity makes a striking 
 part of the history of human nature in its rude state, in all ages and nations ; 
 and it may be some entertainment to a philosophic mind, if any such should 
 honour the author with a perusal, to see the remains of it among the more 
 unenlightened in our own. — B. 
 
 Fortunately Burns has left us little to say in explanation of his "Halloween :" 
 his own notes supply the key to unlock all its forgotten mysteries. While each 
 district had its peculiar rites and superstitions, the poem may be taken as an 
 accurate picture of a Scottish Halloween during the last century. The present 
 writer has witnessed many of the observances here chronicled, and one un- 
 chronicled, not less terrible than any here given. On Halloween he that went 
 three times round the town (farm buildings) astride a broom would be favoured 
 with a sight of the devil. So strong was the dread, and as there was no per- 
 sonal inducement in the venture, the writer never heard of any one making the 
 attempt. A couplet is still current in the country districts with servants who 
 are wearied of their service : — 
 
 " This is Halloween, 
 The morn 's hallowday ; 
 
 1 Comfortable. 2 Without. s Holding. 
 
 * Endure. * Hoar-frost. 
 
POEMS. [1785. • 
 
 Nine nichts to Martinmas* 
 Will soon wear away." 
 
 <♦ Yes ! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, 
 The simple pleasures of the lowly trail ; 
 To me more dear, congenial to my heart, 
 One native charm, than all the gloss of art." 
 
 —Goldsmith. 
 
 Upon that night, when fairies light 
 
 On Cassilis Downans t dance, 
 Or owre the lays,^ in splendid blaze, 
 
 On sprightly coursers prance ; 
 Or for Colean the route is ta'en, 
 
 Beneath the moon's pale beams ; 
 There, up the cove,:}: to stray and rove. 
 
 Among the rocks and streams 
 
 To sport that night. 
 
 Among the bonny ■winding banks 
 
 Where Doon rins, wimplin', clear, 
 "Where Bruce § ance ruled the martial ranks, 
 
 And shook his Carrick spear. 
 Some merry, friendly, country-folks 
 
 Together did convene. 
 To burn their nits, and pou ^ their stocks. 
 
 And baud their Halloween 
 
 Fu' blithe that night. 
 
 The lasses feat,^ and cleanly neat, 
 
 Mair braw than when they 're fine ; 
 Their faces blithe, fu' sweetly kythe,* 
 
 Hearts leal,^ and warm, and 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' 
 
 Whiles fast at night. 
 
 Tlien, first and foremost, through the kail. 
 Their stocks || maun a' be sought ance ; 
 
 I Fields. 3 puu^ 8 Trim. 4 Show. 
 
 ^ True. 6 Spruce. f Double loops. 8 Bashful. 
 
 9 Talk. 
 
 * Martinmas is one of the removing terms. 
 
 t Certain little, romantic, rocky, green hills, in the neighbourhood of the an- 
 cient seat of the Earls of Cassilis.— 5. 
 
 t A noted cavern near Colean-house, called the Cove of Colean ; which, as well 
 as Cassilis Downans, is famed in country story for being a favourite haunt of 
 fairies. —B. 
 
 § The famous family of that name, the ancestors of Robert Bruce, the great 
 deliverer of his country, were Earls of Carrick. — B, 
 
 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 meet 
 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. 
 
/ET 27.] POEMS, 
 
 They steek^ their een, and graip^ and w.ale,^ 
 For muckle ancs and straught anes. 
 
 Poor hav'rel4 Will fell aff the drift, 
 And wander'd through the bow-kail, 
 
 And pou't, for want o' better shift, 
 A runt was like a sow-tail, 
 
 Sae bow't ^ that nigbt. 
 
 Then, straugbt or crooked, yird or nane, 
 
 They roar and cry a' throu'ther ; 
 The very wee things, toddlin',^ rin, 
 
 "VYi' stocks ont-owre their shouther ; 
 And gif the custoc 's sweet or sour, 
 
 Wf joctelegs 7 they taste them ; 
 Syne cozily,^ aboon the door, 
 
 Wi' cannie^ care, they've placed them 
 To lie that night. 
 
 The lasses staw ^^ frae 'mang them a' 
 
 To pcu their stalks o' corn : * 
 But Rab slips out, and jinks about, 
 
 Behint the muckle thorn : 
 He grippet Nelly hard and fast ; 
 
 Loud skirl'd ^^ a' the lasses ; 
 But her tap-pickle maist was lost, 
 
 When kitlin' 12 in the fause-house \ 
 Wi' him that niglit. 
 
 The auld guidwife's weel-hoordit nits % 
 Are round and round divided. 
 
 And mony lads' and lasses' fates 
 Are there that night decided : 
 
 27 
 
 1 Close. 
 
 5 Crooked. 
 
 6 Gentle. 
 
 2 Grope. 
 
 s Choose. 
 
 4 Half-witted. 
 
 e Tottering. 
 
 '^ Clasp-knives. 
 
 8 Comfortably. 
 
 10 Stole. 
 
 11 Screamed. 
 
 12 Cuddling. 
 
 or earth, stick to the root, that is tocher, oi* fortune, and the taste of the custoc, 
 that is, the heart of the stem, is indicative of the natural temper and disposition. 
 Lastly, the Stems, or, to give them their ordinary appellation, the runts, are 
 placed somewhere above the head of the door ; and the Christian names of the 
 people whom chance brings into the house, are, according to the priority of 
 placing the runts, the names in question. — B. 
 
 * 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 jiarty in question will come to the marriage-bed anything but a maid. 
 —B. 
 
 t When the corn is in a doubtful state, by being too green or wet, the stack- 
 builder, by means of old timber, &c., makes a large apai-tmeut in his stack, with 
 an opening in the side which is fairest exposed to the wind : this he calls a 
 fause-house. — B 
 
 X Burning the nuts is a famous charm. They name the lad and lass to 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 the courtship 
 will be.— i?. 
 
28 POEMS. [178S 
 
 Some kindle cootliie,^ side by side, 
 
 And burn thegither trimly ; 
 Some start awa' wi' saucy pride, 
 
 And jump out-owre the cliimlie 
 
 Fu' high that night. 
 
 Jean slips in twa wP tentie ee ; 
 
 Wha 'twas she wadna tell ; 
 But this is Jock, and this is me, 
 
 She says in to hersel : 
 He bleezed owre her, and she owre him. 
 
 As they wad never mair part ; 
 Till, fuff ! he started up the lum,2 
 
 And Jean had e'en a sair heart 
 
 To see 't that night. 
 
 Poor Willie, wi' his bow-kail runt, 
 
 Was brunt wi' primsie Mallie ; 
 And Mallie, nae doubt, took the druiit,s 
 
 To be compared to Willie ; 
 Mall's nit laj) out wi' pridefu' fling. 
 
 And her ain fit it brunt it ; 
 While Willie lap, and swore, by jing, 
 
 'Twas just the way he wanted 
 
 To be that night. 
 
 Nell had the fause-house in her min', 
 
 She pits hersel and Rob in ; 
 In loving bleeze they sweetly join, 
 
 Till white in ase they 're sobbin' ; 
 Nell's heart was dancin' at the view, 
 
 She whisper'd Rob to leuk for 't : 
 Rob, stowlins, prie'd * her bonny mou', 
 
 Fu' cozie 3 in the neuk for 't, 
 
 Unseen that night. 
 
 But Merran sat behint their backs. 
 
 Her thoughts on Andrew Bell ; 
 She lea'es them gashin' ^ at their cracks, 
 
 And slips out by hersel : 
 She through the yard the nearest taks. 
 
 And to the kiln she goes then, 
 And darklins graipit for the bauks,^ 
 
 And in the blue-clue * throws then, 
 
 Right fear't that night. 
 
 1 Agreeably. 2 Ckimnoy. 8 Pet. ^stealthily kissed. 
 
 8 Snugly. 6 Talking. 7 Cross-beams. 
 
 * Whoever would, with success, try this spell, must strictly obsei*ve these direc- 
 tions : — Steal out, all alone, to the kiln, and darkling, throw into the pot a clue 
 of blue yarn ; wind it in a new clue ofiF the old one ; and, towards the latter end, 
 something will hold the thread, demand "Wha bauds?" — i.e., who holds. An 
 answer will be returned from the kiln-pot, by naming the Christian and sur- 
 name of your future spouse. — B. 
 
AT. 27.] POEMS, 29 
 
 And aye she win't/ and aye she swat, 
 
 I wat she made nae jaukin*,^ 
 Till something held within the pat, 
 
 Guid Lord ! but she was quakin' I 
 But whether 'twas the deil himsel, 
 
 Or whether 'twas a bauk-en', 
 Or whether it was Andrew Bell, 
 
 She didna wait on talkin' 
 
 To spier ^ that night. 
 
 Wee Jenny to her grannie says, 
 
 " Will ye go wi' me, grannie ? 
 I '11 eat the apple * at the glass 
 
 I gat f rae Uncle Johnnie : " 
 She fuff't her pipe wi' sic a lunt,-* 
 
 In wrath she was sae vap'rin', 
 She notice't na, an aizle ^ brunt 
 
 Her braw new worset apron 
 
 Out through that night. 
 
 " Ye lijtle skelpie-limmer's face I 
 
 I daur you try sic sportin'. 
 As seek the foul thief ony place, 
 
 For him to spae ^ your fortune ; 
 Nae doubt but ye may get a sight ! 
 
 Great cause ye hae to fear it ; 
 For mony a ane has gotten a fright, 
 
 And lived and died deleeret 
 On sic a night. 
 
 " Ae hairst afore the Sherramoor, — ■ 
 
 I mind't as weel's yestreen, 
 I was a gilpey 7 then, I 'm sure 
 
 I wasna past fifteen ; 
 The simmer had been cauld and wat, 
 
 And stuff was unco green; 
 And aye a rantin' kirn* we gat. 
 
 And just on Halloween 
 
 It fell that night, 
 
 " Our stibble-rig was Rab M'Graen, 
 
 A clever, sturdy fallow : 
 His son gat Eppie Sim wi wean, 
 
 That lived in Achmacalla : 
 
 1 "Winded. 2 Dallying. 8 Inquire. 4 Smoke. 
 
 « Cinder. « Joretell. ^ Young girl. » Harvest home. 
 
 * 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 be will be seen in the glass, as if peeping over your 
 shoulder.— B. 
 
30 POEMS. 117^5- 
 
 He gat hemp-seed,* I mind it weel. 
 
 And he made unco light o't ; 
 But mony a day was by himsel, 
 
 He was sae sairly frighted 
 
 That very night." 
 
 Then up gat fechtin' Jamie Fleck, 
 
 And he swore by his conscience, 
 That he could saw hemp-seed a pecic ; 
 
 For it was a' but nonsense. 
 The auld guidman raught ^ down the pock. 
 
 And out a handf u' gied him ; 
 Syne bade him slip frae *mang the folk, 
 
 Some time when nae ane see'd him, 
 And try 't that night. 
 
 He marches through amang the stacks. 
 
 Though he was something sturtin ; ^ 
 The graip ^ he for a harrow taks. 
 
 And haurls * it at his curpin ; ^ 
 And every now and then he says, 
 
 " Hemp-seed, I saw thee. 
 And 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 ; 
 Although his hair began to arch. 
 
 He was say fley'd ^ and eerie : 
 Till presently he hears a squeak. 
 
 And then a grane and gruntle ; 
 He by his shouther gae a keek, 
 
 And tumbled wi' a wintle ^ 
 
 Out-ovrre that night. 
 
 He roar'd a horrid murder-shout, 
 
 In dreadfu* desperation ! 
 And young and auld cam rinnin' out 
 
 To hear the sad narration : 
 He swore 'twas hilchin^ Jean M'Craw, 
 
 Or crouchie ^ Merran Humphie, 
 
 J Reached. 2 Timorous. » Dung-fork, * Drags. 
 
 ^ Rear. « Frightened. 7 Stagger. 8 Halting. 
 
 » Crookbacked. 
 
 * Steal out unperceived, and sow a handful of hempseed, harrowing it with 
 anything you can conveniently draw after you. Repeat now and then, "Hemp- 
 seed, I saw thee ; hemp-seed, I saw thee ; and him (or her) that is to be my true 
 love, come after me and pou thee." Look over your left shoulder, and you will 
 see the appearance of the person invoked, in the attitude of pulling hemp. Some 
 traditions say, "Come after me and shaw thee," that is, show thyself; in which 
 case it simply appears. Others omit the harrowing, and say, "Come after me, 
 and harrow thee." — B. 
 
iCT. 27.] POEMS, 31 
 
 Till, stop! she trotted through them a*-— • 
 And wha was it but grumphie^ 
 
 Asteer that night ! 
 
 Meg fain wad to the barn hae gaen, 
 
 To win three wechts^ o' naething ;* 
 But for to meet the deil her lane, 
 
 She pat but little faith in : 
 She gies the herd a pickle ^ nits. 
 
 And twa red-cheekit apples, 
 To watch, while for the barn she sets, 
 
 In hopes to see Tarn Kipples 
 
 That very nicht. 
 
 She cums the key wi' cannie^ thraw. 
 
 And owre the threshold ventures; 
 But first on Sawnie gies a ca*, 
 
 Syne bauldly in she enters : 
 A ratton rattled up the wa', 
 
 And she cried. Lord, preserve her! 
 And ran through midden-hole and a'. 
 
 And pray'd wi' zeal and fervour, 
 Fu' fast that night. 
 
 They hoy't^ out Will, wi* sair advice ; 
 
 They hecht^ him some fine braw ane; 
 It chanced the stack he faddom't thrice, f 
 
 Was timmer-propt for thrawin'; 
 He taks a swirlie,^ auld moss-oak, 
 
 For some black, grousome^ carlin; 
 And loot a winze,^ and drew a stroke. 
 
 Till skin in blypes^<> cam haurlin' 
 
 Aff 's nievea ^^ that night. 
 
 A wanton widow Leezie was, 
 
 As canty as a kittlin ; 
 But, och! that niglit, amang the shaws,^^ 
 
 She got a fearfu' settlin'! 
 
 1 The pig. 2 Corn-baskets. s Few. * Gentle. 
 
 6 Urged. 6 Promised. 't Knotty. 8 Hideous. 
 
 »Oath. 10 Shreds. u Hands. 12 Woods. 
 
 * This charm must likewise be performed unperceived and alone. You go to 
 the barn, and open both 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 the corn, which in our 
 countiy dialect we call a wecht ; and go through all the attitudes of letting down 
 corn against the wind. Repeat 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 employ- 
 ment or station in life. — B. 
 
 \ Take an opportunity of going unnoticed to a bean-stack, and fathom it three 
 times round. The last fathom of the last time, you will catch in your arms the 
 appearance of your futm-e conjugal yoke-fellow. — B. 
 
32 POEMS, [1785. 
 
 She througli tlie whins,^ and by tlie cairn, I 
 
 And owre the hill gaed scrievin, I 
 
 "Whare three lairds' lands met at a burn,* | 
 
 To dip her left sark-sleeve in, j 
 
 "Was bent that night. ! 
 
 "Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays, | 
 
 As through the glen it wimpl't ; "^ \ 
 
 "Whyles round a rocky scaur ^ it strays; 
 
 Whyles in a wiel^ 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 brackens, on the brae, 
 
 Between her and the moon, 
 The deil, or else an outler quey,"'' 
 
 Gat up and gae a croon : ^ 
 Poor Leezie's heart maist lap the hool 1^ 
 
 Near lav'rock-height she jumpit ; 
 But mist a fit, and in the pool 
 
 Out-o^vre the lugs she plumpit, 
 
 Wi' a plunge that night. 
 
 In order, on the clean hearth-stane, 
 
 The luggies three f 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 gat the toom^ dish thrice, 
 
 He heaved them on the fire 
 
 In wrath that night. 
 
 Wi' merry sangs, and friendly cracks, 
 
 I wat they didna weary; 
 And unco tales, and funny jokes, 
 
 Their sports were cheap and cheery ; 
 
 1 Gorse. 2 Wheeled. s ClifiF. * Eddy. 
 
 » Unhoused heifer. 6 Moan. "> Burst its case. 8 Empty. 
 
 * You go out, one or more, for this is a social spell, to a south-running spring 
 or rivulet, where "three lairds' lands meet," and dip your left shirt-sleeve. Go 
 to bed in sight of a fire, and hang your wet sleeve before it to dry. 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 \t.—B. 
 
 t 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 arrangement of the dishes is 
 altered. —B. 
 
In order, on the clean hearthstane,' 
 
 The luggies three are ranged. 
 And every time trreat care is ta'en 
 
 To see tiiem duly changed. 
 
 —Halloween, page 32. 
 
iET. 27.] POEMS. 33 
 
 Till butter'd so'ns,* wi' fragrant lunt,^ 
 
 Set a' their gabs^ a-steerin*; 
 Syne, wi' a social glass o' strunt,* 
 
 They parted aff careerin' 
 
 Fu' blythe that night. 
 
 MAN WAS MADE TO MOUEK 
 
 A DIKGB. 
 
 *' Several of the poems," says Gilbert Burns, " were produced for the purpose of 
 bringing forward some favourite sentiment of the authoi-'s. He used to remark 
 to me that he could not well conceive a more mortifying picture of human life 
 tlian a man seeking work. In casting about in his mind how this sentiment 
 might be brought forward, the elegy, ' Man was Made to Mourn/ was com- 
 posed." 
 
 .\a old Scottish ballad had suggested the form and spirit of this poem. " I had 
 an old grand-uncle," says the poet to Mi-s Dunlop, "with whom my mother 
 lived a while in her girlish years. The good old man was long blind ere he 
 died, during which time his highest enjoyment was to sit down and 017, while 
 my mother would sing the simple old song of ' The Life and Age of Man.* " 
 From the poet's mother, Mr Cromek procured a copy of this composition ; it 
 c.'>mmences thus ;— 
 
 *' Upon the sixteen hundred year 
 
 Of God and fifty-three 
 Frae Christ was born, who bought us dear, 
 
 As writings testifie ; 
 On January the sixteenth day. 
 
 As I did lie alone. 
 With many a sigh and sob did say 
 
 Ah 1 man was made to moan 1 " 
 
 When chill November's surly blast 
 
 Made fields and forests bare, 
 One evening, as I wander'd forth 
 
 Along the banks of Ayr, 
 I s])ied a man whose aged step 
 
 Seem'd weary, worn with care ; 
 His face was fnrrow'd o'er with years, 
 
 And hoary was his hair. 
 
 *' Young stranger, whither wanderest thou?" 
 
 Began the reverend sage ; 
 " Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain. 
 
 Or youthful pleasures rage? 
 Or haply, x^rest with cares and woes, 
 
 Too isoon thou hast began 
 To wander forth with me to mourn 
 
 The miseries of man. 
 
 1 Smoke. 2 Mouths. 3 Spirits. 
 
 * Sowens.— The shell of the corn (called, in the rural districts, shellings) is 
 steeped in water until all the fine meal particles are extracted ; the liqtuid is thaa 
 strained ofif, and boiled with milk or butter until it thickens. 
 
34 POEMS. [1785, 
 
 *' The Bun that overhangs yon moors, 
 
 Outspreading far and wide, 
 Where hundreds labour 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 ; 
 Which tenfold force gives nature's law, 
 
 That man was made to mourn. 
 
 " Look not alone on youthful prime, 
 
 Or manhood's active might ; 
 Man then is useful to his kind, 
 
 Supported is his right : 
 But see him on the edge of life. 
 
 With cares and sorrows worn ; 
 Then age and want — oh! ill-match'd pair! — 
 
 Show man was made to mourn. 
 
 " A few seem favourites 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 ! 
 Through 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— 
 
 Regret, remorse, and shame ! 
 And man, whose heaven-erected face 
 
 Tlie smiles of love adorn, 
 Man's inhumanity to man 
 
 Makes countless thousands mourn ! 
 
 " See yonder poor, o'erlabour'd wight. 
 
 So abject, mean, and vile, 
 Who begs a brother of the earth 
 
 To give him leave to toil ; 
 And see his lordly fellow-worm 
 
 The poor petition spurn, 
 Unmindful, though a weeping wife 
 
 And helpless offspring mourn. 
 
Look not alone on youthfiol prime. 
 
 Or manhood's active might, 
 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 movim ! 
 
 —Man was Made to Mourn, vage 34. 
 
^T. 27.] POEMS, 35 
 
 " If I*m design'd yon lordling's slave- 
 By nature's law design'd — 
 
 Whv was an independent wish 
 E er planted in my mind? 
 
 If not, wliy 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 humankind 
 
 Is surely not the last ! 
 The poor, oppress'd, honest man, ... 
 I Had never, sure, been born, *^ 
 Had there not been some recompense^ 
 
 To comfort those that mourn. ^ 
 
 " O Death! the poor man's dearest friend— 
 
 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 ! '* 
 
 THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT, 
 
 INSCRIBED TO KOBEET AIKEN, ESQ. 
 
 Gilbert Burns gives the following distinct account of the origin of this poem . — 
 " Robert had frequently remarked to me that he thought there was something 
 peculiarly venerable in the phrase, ' Let us worship God ! ' used by a decent, 
 sober head of a family^ introducing family worship. To this sentiment of the 
 author, the world is indebted for *The Cotter's Saturday Night.' When Robert 
 had not some pleasure in view in which I was not thought fit to particii)ate, 
 we used frequently to walk together, when the weather was favourable, on the 
 Sunday afternoons — those precious breathing times to the labouring part of the 
 community — and enjoyed such Sundays as would make one regret to see their 
 number abridged. It was in one of these walks that I first had the pleasure 
 of hearing the author repeat « The Cotter's Saturday Night.' I do not recollect 
 to have read or heard anything by which I was more highly electrified. The 
 fifth and sixth stanzas, and the eighteenth, thrilled with peculiar ecstasy through 
 my soul. The cotter, in the 'Saturday Night,' is an exact copy of my father 
 in his manners, his family devotion, and exhortations ; yet the other parts of 
 the description do not apply to our family. None of us were ' at service out 
 among the farmers roun' .' Instead of our depositing our 'sair-won penny-fee ' 
 with our parents, my father laboured hard, and lived with the most rigid eco- 
 nomy, that he might be able to keep his children at home, thereby having an 
 opportunity of watching the progi-ess of our young minds, and forming in them 
 early hsJbits of piety and virtue ; and from this motive alone did he engage in 
 farming, the source of all his difficulties and distresses." 
 
 "Let not ambition mock their useful toil, 
 Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; 
 Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile, 
 The short but simple annals of the poor." — Gray. 
 
36 POEMS. [1785 
 
 My lovea, my honour'd, much-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 ! though his worth unknown, far happier there, I ween ! 
 
 November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh ; ^ 
 
 The short'ning winter-day is near a close ; 
 The miry beasts retreating frae the plough ; 
 
 The black'ning trains o' craws to their repose ; 
 The toil-worn cotter frae his labour goes, 
 
 This night his weekly moil is at an end, 
 Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes, 
 
 Hoping the 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, toddlin', stacher through 
 
 To meet their dad, wi' flichterin' noise and glee. 
 His wee bit ingle, blinking bonnily, 
 
 His clean hearthstane, his thrifty wifie's smile, 
 The lisping infant prattling on his knee. 
 
 Does a' his weary carking cares beguile. 
 And makes him quite forget his labour and his toil. 
 
 Bely ve,2 the elder bairns come drapping in, 
 
 At service out, among the farmers roun' : 
 Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, some tentie lin 
 
 A canny errand to a neibor town : 
 Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown, 
 
 In youthfu' bloom, love si)arkling in her ee, 
 Comes hame, perhaps to show, a braw new gown, 
 
 Or deposit her sair-won penny-fee. 
 To hell? her parents dear, if they in hardship be. 
 
 Wi' joy unfeigTi'd, brothers and sisters meet. 
 
 And each for other's weelfare kindly specrs :^ 
 The social hours, swift-wing'd, unnoticed, fleet ; 
 
 Each tells the uncos * that he sees or hears; 
 The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years ; 
 
 Anticipation forward points the view. 
 The mother wi' her needle and her shears. 
 
 Gars auld claes look amaist as weel 's the new — 
 The father mixes a' wi' admonition due. 
 
 Their master's and their mistress's command, 
 
 The younkers a' are warned to obey; 
 And mind their labours wi' an eydent-^ hand. 
 
 And ne'er, though out o' sight, to jauk^ or play : 
 
 ^ isroan. 2 By and by. " Inquires. 
 
 * News. « Diligent « Dally. 
 
The toil-worn cotter frae his labour goes. 
 
 This night his weekly moil is at an end, 
 C<gects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes. 
 
 Hoping the mom in ease and rest to spend. 
 And weary o'er the moor his course does homeward bend. 
 
 —The Couer's Saturday Htght.page 86. 
 
MT. 27.] FORMS, 37 
 
 " And oh ! be sure to fear the Lord alway ! 
 
 And mind your duty, duly, morn and 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 ! " 
 
 But, hark ! a rap comes gently to the door, 
 
 Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same, 
 Tells how a neibor lad cam o'er the moor, 
 
 To do some errands, and convoy her hame. 
 The wily mother sees the conscious flame 
 
 Sparkle in Jenny's ee, and flush her cheek, 
 Wi' heart-struck anxious care, inquii-es his name, 
 
 While Jenny haflains is afraid to speak; 
 Weel pleased the mother hears it 's nae wild, worthless rake. 
 
 Wi' kindly welcome, Jenny brings him ben; 
 
 A strappin' youth ; he taks the mother's eye ; 
 Blithe 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 lathefu',^ scarce can weel behave; 
 The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy 
 
 What makes the youth sae bashf u' and sae grave ; 
 Weel pleased to think her bairn 's respected like tlie lave.^ 
 
 happy love ! — where love like this is found ! — 
 O heart-felt rajitures ! — 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 si:)are, 
 
 One cordial in this melancholy vale, 
 'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair, 
 In other's arms, breathe out the tender tale. 
 Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale." 
 
 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 Jennjr's unsuspecting youth? 
 Curse on his perjured arts ! dissembling smooth I 
 
 Are honour, 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 ! 
 
 But now the supper crowns their simple board, 
 The halesome parritch,^ chief of Scotia's food: 
 
 The soupe^ their only hawkie^ does afford. 
 That 'yont the hallan'' snugly chows her cood : 
 
 1 Bjishful. 2 Hesitating. « Other people, * Porridge 
 
 6 Milk. oCow. » Porch. 
 
38 POEMS, [1785 
 
 The dame "brings forth, in complimental moocl, 
 
 To grace the lad, her weel-haiu'd kebbuck,! fell," 
 And af fc he 's prest, and aft he ca's it guid : 
 The frugal wij5e, garrulous, will tell. 
 How 'twas a towmond^ auld, sin' linfc was i' the bell. * 
 
 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 haffets^ wearing 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 of the name; 
 Or noble " Elgin" beets the heaven-ward flame, 
 
 The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays : 
 Compared with these, Italian trills are tame ; 
 
 The tickled ear no heartfelt raptures raise; 
 Nao unison hae they with our Creator's praise. 
 
 The priest-like father reads the sacred page. 
 
 How Abram was the friend of GoD on high; 
 Or, Moses bade eternal warfare wage 
 
 With 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 fire ; 
 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 He, 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 he, who lone in Patmos banished. 
 
 Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand ; 
 And heard great Bab'lon's doom pronounced by Heaven's command. 
 
 Then kneeling down, to Heaven's eternal King, 
 Tlie saint, the father, and the husband prays : 
 
 Hope "springs exulting on triumphant wing," * 
 That thus they all shall meet in future days : 
 
 i Diieese. 2 Biting. 3 Twelvemonth. 
 
 4 In Blossom. 6 Grey temples 6 Selects. 
 
 * Pope's " Windsor Forest." 
 
JET. 27.] FOE MS, 39 
 
 There ever bask in uncreated rays, 
 
 •No more to sigh or shed the bitter tear, 
 Together hymning their Creator's praise, 
 In such society, yet still more dear ; 
 While circling time moves round in an eternal sphere. 
 
 Compared with this, how poor religion's pride, 
 
 In all the pomp of method, and of art. 
 When men display to congregations wide 
 
 Devotion's every grace, except the heart ! 
 The Power, incensed, the pageant will desert, 
 
 The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole: 
 But, haply, in some cottage far apart, 
 ^ May hear, well pleased, the language of the soul ; 
 And in His book 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 llowery pride. 
 Would, in the way His wisdom sees the best. 
 
 For them and for their little ones provide; 
 But, chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine preside. 
 
 From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs, 
 
 That makes her 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! 
 And, oh! may Heaven their simple lives prevent 
 
 From luxury's contagion, weak and vile ! 
 Then, howe'er crown and coronets be rent, 
 
 A virtuous 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 through 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 !) 
 Oh, never, never, Scotia's realm desert ; 
 
 But still the patriot, and the patriot-bard, 
 in bright succession raise, her ornament and guard ! 
 
40 POEMS. [1785. 
 
 ADDRESS TO THE DEIL. 
 
 Gilbert Burns says :— " It was, I think, in the winter of 1784^, as we were going 
 with carts for coals to the family lire, (and I could yet point out the particular 
 spot,) that Robert first I'epeated to me the 'Address to the Deil.' The curious 
 idea of such an address was suggested to him by running over in his mind 
 the many ludicrous accounts and representations we have from various quarters 
 of this august personage." 
 
 "Burns," says Carlyle, "even pities the very devil, without knowing, I am 
 sure, that my uncle Toby had been beforehand there with him ! 'He is the 
 father of curses and lies,' said Dr Slop, 'and is cursed and damned already.' 
 
 ♦ I am sorry for it,' said my uncle Toby. A poet without love were a physical 
 and metaphysical impossibility." 
 
 This tenderness towards the devil is not uncommon among the poet's country- 
 men, and is even to be met with in the pulpit. We have heard of a Fifeshire 
 minister, of the last century, who used occasionally to pray for the devil in 
 this wise : — " And, Lord, gin it be Thy will, hae mercy on the puir deil;" 
 and of another minister, who both spoke and preached in the vernacular, who, 
 when the devil was mentioned, would remonstrate thus: — "Nae doot, devil 
 is correct eneuch ; but ca him the deil, it soonds mair freendly like." 
 
 " prince J chief of many throned powers, 
 That led th' embattled seraphim to war ! " — Milton. 
 
 THOU I whatever title suit thee, 
 Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie,* 
 Wlia in jon cavern grim and sootie, 
 
 Closed under hatches, 
 Spairgesf" about the brnnstane cootie, % 
 
 To scaud poor wretches ! 
 
 Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee, 
 And let poor damned bodies be ; 
 
 1 'm Bure sma* pleasure it can gie 
 
 E'en to a deil. 
 To skelp and scaud poor dogs like me. 
 And hear us squeel ! 
 
 Great is thy pdwer, and great thy fame ; 
 
 Far kenn'd and noted is thy name : 
 
 And though yon lowin' heugh 's ^ thy hame, 
 
 Tliou travels far : * 
 And, faith \ thou's neither lag nor lame, 
 
 Nor blate nor scaur. ^ 
 
 1 Burning pit. 2 Apt to be frightened. 
 
 * A well-known term applied to Satan in Scotland in allusion to his hoofs or 
 cloots. 
 
 t Spairffes is the best Scots word in its place I ever met with. The deil is not 
 standing flinging the liquid brimstone on his friends with a ladle, but we see 
 him standing at a large boiling vat, with something like a golf-bat, striking the 
 liquid this way and that way aslant, with all his might, making it fly throligh 
 the whole apartment, while the inmates are winking and holding up their arms 
 to defend their faces. This is precisely the idea conveyed by spairping ; fling- 
 ing it in any other way would be laving or splashing. — The Ettrick Shepherd. 
 
 X The legitimate meaning of this word is a small wooden tub ; here it implies 
 not only the utensil, but liquid brimstone ; just as a toper talks of his can or his 
 cogie, meaning both the liquor and the utensil in which it is held. 
 
^T. 27.] POEMS. 41 
 
 AYliyles ranging like a roaring lion, 
 For prey a' holes and corners tryin' : 
 Whyles on the strong-wing'd tempest flyin', 
 
 Tirlin' ^ the kirks ; 
 Whyles in the human bosom pryin', 
 
 Unseen thou lurks. 
 
 I '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 ! 
 Aft yont the dike she's heard you bummiu', 
 
 Wi' eerie drone ; 
 Or, rustlin, through the boortries^ comin', 
 
 Wi' heavy groan. 
 
 Ae dreary, windy, winter night, 
 
 The stars shot down wi' sklentin' ^ light, 
 
 Wi' you, mysel, I gat a fright 
 
 Ayont the lough ; 
 Ye, like a rash-bush, stood in sight, 
 
 Wi' waving sough. 
 
 The cudgel in my nieve ^ did shake, 
 Each bristled hair stood like a stake. 
 When wi' an eldritch, stoor quaick, quaick, 
 
 Arcang the springs, 
 Awa' ye squatter'd, like a drake. 
 
 On whistling wings. 
 
 Let warlocks grim, and wither'd hags, 
 Tell how wi' you, on ragweed nags, 
 They skim the muirs and dizzy crags, 
 
 Wi' wicked speed ; 
 And in kirk-yards renew their leagues 
 
 Owre howkit ^ dead. 
 
 Thence countra wives, wi' toil and pain. 
 May plunge and plunge the kirn in vain : 
 For, oh ! the yellow treasure 's taen 
 
 By witching skill ; 
 And dawtit^ twal-pint hawkie's gaen 
 
 As yell's 8 the bill. 
 
 Thence mystic knots mak great abuse 
 
 On young guidmen, fond, keen, and crouse ; 
 
 1 Uni!Overing. 3 Unearthly moan, « Elder-trees. * aiaccing. 
 
 « rist. « Disinterred. ^ Petted. 8 Milkless 
 
42 POEMS. [1785 
 
 "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 the snawy hoord, 
 And float the jinglin' icy-boord, 
 Then water-kelpies haunt the foord, 
 
 By your direction ; 
 And 'nighted travellers are allured 
 
 To their destruction. 
 
 And aft your moss-traversing spunkies* 
 Decoy the wight that late and drunk is : 
 The bleezin', curst, mischievous monkeys 
 
 Delude his eyes, 
 Till in some miry slough he sunk is, 
 
 Ne'er mair to rise. 
 
 When mason's mystic word and giip 
 In storms and tempests raise you up, 
 Some cock or cat your rage maun stop 
 
 Or, strange to tell ! 
 The youngest brother ye wad whip 
 
 Aff straught to hell ! 
 
 Lang syne, in Eden's bonny yard. 
 When youthfu' lovers first were pair'd, 
 And all the soul of love they shared. 
 
 The raptured hour, 
 Sweet on the fragrant flowery sward. 
 
 In shady bower.f 
 
 Then you, ye auld sneck-drawing dog ! J 
 
 Ye came to Paradise incog.. 
 
 And play'd on man a cursed brogue, 
 
 (Black be your fa' !) 
 And gied the infant warld a shog,i 
 
 'Maist ruin'd a'. 
 
 D'ye mind that day, when in a bizz,2 
 Wi' reekit duds,^ and reestit gizz,* 
 
 1 Shake. 2 Hurry. » Smoked clothes. * Singed hair. 
 
 * The will 0* the wisp. f This verse ran originally thus :— • 
 
 Lang syne in Eden's happy scene, 
 When strappin' Adam's days were green, 
 And Eve was like my bonny Jean, 
 
 My dearest part, 
 A dancin', sweet, young, handsome quean, 
 Wi' guileless heart. 
 t Literally, withdrawing a latch burglariously ; — here it means taking an ad- 
 vantage—getting into Paradise (m false pretences. 
 
27-] POEMS, 43 
 
 Ye did present your smoutie^ phiz 
 
 'Mang better folk, 
 And sklented^ on the man of Uzz 
 
 Your spitef u' joke ? 
 
 And how ye gat him i' your thrall, 
 And brak him out o' house and hall, 
 "While scabs and blotches did him gall, 
 
 Wi* bitter claw. 
 And lowsed his ill-tongued, wicked scawl,^ 
 
 Was warst ava ? 
 
 But a' your doings to rehearse, 
 Your wily snares and fechtin' fierce, 
 Sin' that day Michael did you pierce, 
 
 Down to this time, 
 Wad ding a Lallan"^ tongue or Erse,^ 
 
 In prose or rhyme. 
 
 And now, auld Cloots, I ken ye're thinkhi*, 
 A certain Bardie's rantin', drinkin'. 
 Some luckless hour will send him linkin* 
 
 To your black pit ; 
 But, faith, he'll turn a corner jinkin',^ 
 
 And cheat you yet. 
 
 But, fare you weel, auld Nickie-ben ! 
 Oh, wad ye tak a thought and men' ! 
 Ye aiblius^ might — I dinna ken — 
 
 Still hae a stake^- 
 I 'm wae to think upo' yon den. 
 
 Even for your sake I 
 
 THE JOLLY BEGGAES. 
 
 A CANTATA. 
 
 ■* The Jolly Beggars," without question the most dramatic and most humorous 
 of all the poet's productions, was written in the year 1785, but was not pub- 
 lished during his lifetime. Previous editors have asserted that it first appeared 
 in a volume published in Glasgow in 1801, entitled, "Poems Ascribed to the 
 Ayrshire Bard." From a recent notice of Mr Alexander Smith's edition of the 
 poet's works in the Edinburgh Daily Review,hj its able editor, Mr J. B. Manson, 
 it would appear that the poem was issued in 1798 as a chap-book, and circu- 
 lated along with "Wise Willie and Wittie Eppie," "G-eorge Buchanan, the 
 King's Fool," "Leper the Tailor," &c. &c., Mr Manson having a copy of it in that 
 form. We remember, upwards of a quarter of a century ago, that every female 
 pedlar's basket, in addition to needles, thread, tape, boot-laces, &c, &c., con- 
 tained a collection of chap-books; a.nd we have bought "Tam o' Shanter," 
 ** The Jolly Beggars," and the "Cotter's Saturday Night," in this form for a 
 penny a piece. The cheap weekly serials and the penny newspapers have now, 
 
 1 Dirty, 2 Glanced. 8 Scolding wife. * Lowland. 
 
 » Celtic. « Boding. ' ' Perhaps. 
 
44 POEMS. [1785. 
 
 however, driven tliis kind of literature out of the market ; but the every-day 
 speech of the elders of our rural population is still interlarded with the rough 
 jocosities and humours of these somewhat loose tales. It is said that, as the 
 poet had given away the only copy he had of " The Jolly Beggars," he had 
 quite forgotten its existence ; and when some one spoke of it, he was onlytible 
 to remember that it had one good song in it, the only two lines of which ho 
 could repeat were — 
 
 " Courts for cowards were erected, 
 
 Churches built to please the priest." 
 
 «' Poosie Nansie's," the scene of " The Jolly Beggars," was a public-house in 
 Mauchline resorted to by vagi'ants of the lowest class, and kept by a Mrs 
 Gibson, known as " Poosie Nansie," the mother of " Racer Jess," mentioned 
 in " The Holy Fair," the latter a strange, half-daft creature, who had run races 
 for wagers ; hence her patronymic ; and who, on account of her speed of foot, 
 was frequently employed to run urgent and distant messages. 
 
 This famous poem, or rather drama, is founded- on a scene actually witnessed 
 by the poet. In company with his friends, John Richmond and James Smith, 
 he was passing Poosie Nansie's, when their attention being attracted by sounds 
 of mirth and jollity proceeding from the interior, they entered, and were rap- 
 turously welcomed by the motley band of beggars and tinkers cai'ousing there. 
 Burns professed to have befen greatly delighted with the scene, more especially 
 with the jolly behaviour of a maimed old soldier. In a few days he recited 
 portions of the poem to John Richmond, who used to speak of songs by a sweep 
 and a sailor which did not appear in the completed manuscript. 
 
 We do not consider it to be our mission to venture to criticise the works of our 
 poet, but we cannot help alluding to the exquisite felicity with which the poem 
 opens. How happily the season of the year is indicated by the falling and 
 fluttering leaves, the northern blast, the iufant frosts, and the driving hail- 
 stones. How rapid the transition from this beautiful picture of the chill 
 November night to the merry core "o' randie, gangrel bodies," in the full 
 swing of their rough debauch. Notice how the coarseness of the incidents 
 are, without undue grossness, graphically pictured in the rough and free ver- 
 nacular. It is his doxy, and not his dearie, the soldier hugs, and she is the 
 tousle drab whose mouth, like an aumos dish, is upturned to be saluted. And 
 the smacking kiss finds its fitting illustration in the cracking of a cadger's 
 whip. It is so throughout — matter and spirit are always faithful to the scene 
 and the circumstance. 
 
 Sir Walter Scott says : — *» ♦ The Jolly Beggars,' for humorous description and nice 
 discrimination of character, is inferior to no poem of the same length in the 
 whole range of English poetry. The scene, indeed, is laid in the very lowest 
 department of low life, the actors being a set of strolling vagrants, met to 
 carouse and barter their rags and plunder for liquor in a hedge alehouse. Yet, 
 even in describing the movements of such a group, the native taste of the poet 
 has never suffered his pen to slide into any thing coarse or disgusting. The 
 extravagant glee and outrageous frolic of the beggars are ridiculously contrasted 
 with their maimed limbs, rags, and crutches ; the sordid and squalid circum- 
 stances of their appearance are judiciously thrown into the shade. The 
 group, it must be observed, is of Scottish character ; yet the distinctions are 
 too well marked to escape even the southron. The most prominent persons 
 are a maimed soldier and his female companion, a hackneyed follower of the 
 camp ; a stroller, late the consort of a Highland ketterer or sturdy beggar, — 
 • l)ut weary fa' the waefu' woodie !' Being now at liberty, she becomes an 
 object of rivalry between a 'pigmy scraper with his fiddle' and a strolling 
 tinker. The latter, a desperate bandit, like most of his profession, terrifies the 
 musician out of the field, and is preferred by the damsel of course. A wan- 
 dering ballad-singer, with a brace of doxies, is last introduced upon the stage. 
 Each of these mendicants sing a song in character ; and such a collection ot 
 humorous lyrics, connected with vivid poetical description, is not, perhaps, to 
 be paralleled in the English language. The concluding ditty, chanted by the 
 ballad-singer at the request of the company, whose 'mirth and fun have now 
 grown fast and furious,' and set them above all sublunary terrors of jails and 
 whipping-posts is certainly far S'ipe)ior to anything in the ' Beggar's Opera, 
 
JET. 27.] POEMS, 45 
 
 where alone we could expect to find its parallel I In one or two passages of 
 « The Jolly Beggars,' the muse has slightly trespassed on decorum, where, in 
 the language of Scottish song, 
 
 * High kilted was she, 
 As she gaed owre the lea.' 
 
 Something, however, is to be allowed to the nature of the subject, and some- 
 thing to the education of the poet ; and if, from veneration to the names of 
 Swift and Dryden, we tolerate the grossness of the one, and the indelicacy of 
 the other, the respect due tc that of Burns may surely claim indulgence for a 
 few light strokes of broad humour." 
 
 EECITATIVO. 
 
 When lyart^ leaves bestrew the yird,^ 
 Or, wavering like the baukie-bird,^ 
 
 Bedim cauld Boreas' blast ; 
 When hailstanes 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 Poosie Nansie's held the splore,'' 
 To drink their orra daddies : ^ 
 Wi' quaflSng and laughing. 
 
 They ranted and they sang ; 
 Wi' jumping and thumping, 
 The vera girdle * rang. 
 
 First, neist the fire, in auld red rags, 
 Ane sat, weel braced wi' mealy bags, 
 
 And knapsack a' in order ; 
 His doxy lay within his arm, 
 Wi' usquebae and blankets warm — 
 
 She blinket on her sodger : 
 And aye he gied the tousie drab 
 
 The tither skelpin' kiss, 
 ^^Tiile she held up her greedy gab. 
 Just like an aumos dish.f 
 
 Ilk smack still, did crack still, 
 Just like a cadger's % whup, 
 Then staggering and swaggering 
 He roar'd this ditty uj) — 
 
 1 Gray. 2 Earth. s The bat. •* Dash. 
 
 6 Thin white frost. 6 Vagrant. ' Merry meeting. « Odd garments. 
 
 * A circular iron plate, on which, when hung over the fire, oaten cakes are 
 baked. 
 
 t The aumos, or beggar's dish, was a wooden platter or bowl, which every men- 
 dicant carried in the olden time as part of his professional accoutrements. It 
 was used to receive the aumos or alms in the shape of oat meal, broth, milk, 01 
 porridge. 
 
 X A cadger is a vendor of various kinds of merchandise, who employs a horse 
 or ass in carrying about his wares from place to place. 
 
46 POEMS, [1785. 
 
 AIR. 
 
 Tune—" Soldiers' Joy.*' 
 
 I am a son of INIars, who have been in many wars. 
 And show my cuts and scars wherever 1 come : 
 This here was for a wench, and that other m 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 my trade when the gallant game was play'd, 
 And the Moro *f low was laid at the soimd of the drum. 
 Lai de dandle, &c. 
 
 I lastly was with Curtis, among the floating batteries,:!: 
 And there I left for witness an arm and a limb ; 
 Yet let my country need me, with Elliot § to head me, 
 I 'd clatter on my stumps at the sound of the drum. 
 Lai de daudle, &c. 
 
 And now though I must beg with a wooden arm and leg. 
 And many a tatter'd rag hanging over my bum, 
 I 'm as happy with my wallet, my bottle, and my callet, 
 As when I used in scarlet to follow a drum. 
 Lai de daudle, &c. 
 
 What though with hoary locks I must stand the winter shocks, 
 Beneath the woods and rocks oftentimes for a home, 
 When the t'other bag I sell, and the t'other bottle tell, 
 I could meet a troop of hell at the sound of a drum. 
 Lai de daudle, &c. 
 
 BECITATIVO. 
 
 He ended ; and the kebars^ sheuk 
 
 Aboon the chorus roar ; 
 While frighted rattons^ backward leuk. 
 
 And seek the benmost^ bore ; 
 
 A fairy fiddler frae the neuk. 
 
 He skirled out '* Encore ! " 
 But up arose the martial chuck, 
 
 And laid the loud uproar. 
 
 1 Kafters. 2 Rats. » Innermost. 
 
 * The battle-field in front of Quebec, where Crenei*al Wolfe fell in the arms of 
 victory in 1759. 
 
 t EI Moro, a strong castle defending Ilavannah, which was gallantly stormed 
 when the city was taken by the British in 1762. 
 
 X The destruction of the Spanish floating batteries, during the famous siege of 
 Gibraltar in 1782, on which occasion the gallant Captain Curtis rendered the 
 most signal service. 
 
 § George Augustus Elliot, created Lord Heathfield, for his memorable defence 
 of Gibraltar, during the siege of three years. He died in 1790. 
 
JET.2'J.] POEMS, 4J 
 
 AIR. 
 
 Tune-" Soldier Laddie." 
 I once was a maid, though I cannot tell when, 
 And still my delight is in proper young men ; 
 Some one of a troop of dragoons was my daddie, 
 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 his 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 ; 
 He ventured the soul, and I risk'd the body, 
 'Twas then I proved false to my sodger laddie. 
 Sing, Lal de lal, &c. 
 
 Full soon I grew sick of my sanctified sot. 
 The regiment at large for a husband I got ; 
 From the gilded spontoon to the fife I was ready, 
 I asked no more but a sodger laddie. 
 Sing, Lal de lal, &c. 
 
 But the peace it reduced me to beg in despair, 
 Till I met my old boy at a Cunningham fair ; 
 His rags regimental they fluttered so gaudy, 
 My heart it rejoiced at a sodger laddie. 
 Sing, Lal de lal, &c. 
 
 And now I have lived — I know not how long, 
 And still I can join in a cup or 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. 
 
 EECITATIVO. 
 
 Poor Merry Andrew in the neuk, 
 
 Sat guzzling wi' a tinkler hi^zie ; 
 They mind't na wha the chorus teuk. 
 
 Between themselves they were sae busy ; 
 At length wi' drink and courting dizzy, 
 
 He stoiter'd up and made a face ; 
 Then tum'd, and laid a smack on Grizzle, 
 
 Syne tuned his pipes wi' grave grimace : — 
 
 AIR. 
 
 Tune—*' Auld 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. 
 
43 POEMS. [1785. 
 
 My grannie she bought me a beuk, 
 
 KvA I held awa' to the school ; 
 I fear I my talent misteuk, 
 
 But what will ye hae of a fool ? 
 
 For drink I would venture my neck, 
 
 A hizzie's the half o' my craft, 
 But what could ye other expect, 
 
 Of ane that 's avowedly daft ? 
 
 I aiioe was tied up like a stirk,^ 
 
 For civilly swearing and quaffing! 
 I ance was abused in the kirk, 
 
 For touzling^ a lass i' my daffin.^ 
 
 Poor Andrew that tumbles for sjjort, 
 
 Let naebody name wi' a jeer : 
 There 's even, I'm tauld, i' the court 
 
 A tumbler ca'd the Premier. 
 
 Observed ye yon reverend lad 
 
 Mak faces to tickle the mob ? 
 He rails at our mountebank squad — 
 
 It 's rivalship just i' the job. 
 
 And now my conclusion I '11 tell. 
 
 For faith I 'm confoundedly dry ; 
 The chiel that's a fool for himsel, 
 
 Gude Lord ! he 's far daf ter than I. 
 
 RECITATIVO. 
 
 Then neist outspak a raucle carlin,'* 
 Wha ken't fu' weel to cleek the sterling, 
 For mony a pursie she had hookit, 
 And had in mony a well been doukit. 
 Her dove had been a Highland laddie. 
 But weary fa' the waefu' woodie !^ 
 Wi' sighs and sobs she thus began 
 To wail her braw John Highlandman :— 
 
 Tune — *' Oh, an ye were Dead, Guidman !" 
 A Highland lad my love was born, 
 The Lawland laws he held in scorn ; 
 But he still was faithfu' to his clan, 
 My gallant braw John Highlandman. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Sing, hey my braw John Highlandman! 
 Sing, ho my braw John Highlandman! 
 There's not a lad in a' the Ian' 
 Was match for my John Highlandman. 
 
 1 Bullock. - Rumpling. » Merriment. 
 
 * Stout Beldam. « The gallows. 
 
>ET. 27.] POEMS, 49 
 
 Witli his philabeg and tartan plaid, 
 And 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 Lawland face he feared none, 
 My gallant braw John 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 I 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 
 The pleasures that will ne'er return ; 
 Nae comfort but a hearty can, 
 When I think on John Highlandman. 
 Sing, hey, &c. 
 
 EECITATIVO. 
 
 A pigmy scraper, wi' his fiddle, 
 
 AVha used at trysts and fairs to driddle,^ 
 
 Her strappin' limb and gaucy middle 
 
 (He reach'd nae higher) 
 Had holed his heartie like a riddle. 
 
 And blawn't on fire. 
 
 Wi' hand on haunch, and 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. 
 
 AIK. 
 
 « Tune— ' ' Whistle owre the lave o't. " 
 
 Let me ryke^ up to dight^ that tear. 
 
 And go wi' me and be my dear. 
 And then your every care and fear 
 
 May whistle owre the lave o't. 
 
 1 Play. 2 Reach. ' Wipo. 
 
so POEMS. [1785. 
 
 I am a fiddler to my trade, 
 And a' the tunes that e'er I play'd, 
 The sweetest still to wife or maid, 
 "Was whistle owre the lave o't. 
 
 At kirns and weddings we'se be there, 
 And oh! sae nicely *» we will fare ; 
 We 11 bouse about till Daddy Care 
 Singa whistle owre the lave o't. 
 
 I am, &c. 
 
 Sae merrily the banes we '11 pyke, 
 And sun oursels about the dike, 
 And at our leisure, when ye like, 
 We'll whistle owre the lave o't. 
 I 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. 
 
 KECITATIVO. 
 
 Her charms had struck a sturdy caird,^ 
 As weel as poor gut-scraper; 
 
 He taks the fiddler by the beard, 
 And draws a roosty rapier — 
 
 He swore by a' was swearing worth, 
 
 To speet him like a pliver,* 
 Unless he wad from that time forth 
 
 Relinquish her for ever. 
 
 Wi* ghastly ee, poor Tweedle-dee 
 
 Upon his hunkers 2 bended, 
 And pray'd for grace wi' ruefu' face, 
 
 And sae the quarrel ended. 
 
 But though his little heart did grieve 
 When round the tinkler press'd her, 
 
 He feign'd to snirtle^ in his sleeve, 
 "When thus the caird address'd her : — 
 
 AIE. 
 
 Tune— *' Clout t^ Caudron." 
 
 My bonny lass, I work in brass, 
 A tinkler is my station : 
 
 1 Tinker. * Hams. « Laugh. 
 
 ♦ To spit him like a plover. 
 
Air. 27.] POEMS, 51 
 
 I've travell'd round all Christian groand 
 
 In this my occupation. 
 I've ta'en 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 caudron. 
 
 I 've ta'en the gold, &c. 
 
 Despise that shiimp, that wither'd imp, 
 
 Wi' a' his noise aud ca'prin', 
 And tak a share wi' those that bear 
 
 The budget and the apron. 
 And by that stoup, my faith and houp, 
 
 And by that dear Kilbagie, 
 If e'er ye want, or meet wi' scant, 
 
 May I ne'er weet my craigie.^ 
 
 And by that stoup, &c. 
 
 RECITATIVO, 
 
 The caird prevail'd— the unblushing fair 
 
 In his embraces sunk. 
 Partly wi' love, o'ercome sae sair, 
 
 And partly she was drunk. 
 Sir Violino, with an air 
 
 That show'd a man of spunk, 
 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, 
 
 Ahint the chicken cavie. 
 Her lord, a wight o' Homer's craft,* 
 
 Though limping wi' the spavie. 
 He hirpled up, and lap like daft, 
 
 And shored ^ them Dainty Davie 
 O' boot that night. 
 
 He was a care -defying blade 
 
 As ever Bacchus listed. 
 Though Fortune sair upon him laid, 
 
 His heart she ever miss'd it. 
 He had nae wish but — to be glad, 
 
 Nor want but — when he thirsted ; 
 He hated nought but— to be sad. 
 
 And thus the Muse suggested 
 
 His sang that night :— 
 
 1 Patch. 2 Throat. « A trick. 
 
 < A ballatl-singer. * Offered. 
 
52 POEMS, [1785 
 
 AIR, 
 
 Tune — *' For a' that, and a' that." 
 
 I am a bard of no regard, 
 
 Wi' gentle folks, and a' that : 
 But Homer-like, the glowrin' byke,^ 
 
 Frae town to town I draw that. 
 
 For a' that, and a' that. 
 And twice as muckle 's a' that ; 
 
 I Ve lost but ane, I Ve twa behin', 
 I Ve wife eneugh for a' that. 
 
 I never drank the Muses' stank,^ 
 
 Castalia's burn, and a* that ; 
 But there it streams, and richly reams, 
 
 My Helicon I ca' that. 
 
 For a' that, &c. 
 
 Great love I bear to a' the fair. 
 Their humble slave, and a' that ; 
 
 But lordly will, I hold it still 
 A mortal sin to thraw that. 
 
 For a* that, &c. 
 
 In raptures sweet, this hour we meet, 
 Wi mutual love, and a' that : 
 
 But for how lang the flee may stang. 
 Let inclination law that. 
 
 For a' that, &c. 
 
 Their tricks and craft hae put me daft, 
 They've ta'en me in, and a' that; 
 
 But clear your decks, and here 's the sex ! 
 I like the jads for a' that. 
 
 For a' that, and a' that, 
 And twice as muckle 's a' that ; 
 
 My dearest bluid, to do them guid, 
 They 're welcome till 't for a' that. 
 
 EECITATIVO. 
 
 So sang the bard — and Nansie's wa's 
 Shook wi' a thunder of applause, 
 
 Re-echoed from each mouth ; 
 They toom'd their pokes and pawn'd their duds, 
 They scarcely left to co'er their fuds, 
 
 To quench their lowin' drouth. ^ 
 
 1 The staring crowd. 2 Pool. 3 Burning thirst. 
 
«T. 27.] POEMS. 53 
 
 Then owre again, the jovial thrang, 
 
 The poet did request, 
 To loose 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. 
 
 AIE. 
 
 Tune — '* Jolly Mortals, fill your Glasses." 
 
 See ! the smoking bowl before us, 
 
 Mark our jovial ragged ring ! 
 Round and round take up the choiiis, 
 
 And in raptures let us sing. 
 
 A fig for those by law protected ! 
 
 Liberty 's a glorious feast ! 
 Courts for cowards were erected, 
 
 Churches built to please the priest. 
 
 What is title ? what is treasure ? / 
 "What is reputation's care ? ' 
 
 If we lead a life of pleasure, 
 'Tis no matter how or where ' 
 A fig, &c. 
 
 AYith 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 lighter 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. 
 
 Here 's to budgets, bags, and wallets ! 
 
 Here 's to all the wandering train ! 
 Here 's our ragged brats and callets ! 
 
 One and all cry out— Amen ! 
 
 1 Choose. 
 
54 POEMS. 1785. 
 
 A fig for those by law protected ! 
 
 Liberty 's a glorious feast ! 
 Courts for cowards were erected, 
 
 Churches built to please the i>riest. 
 
 THE VISION. 
 
 This beautiful poem depicts, in the highest strain of poetical eloquence, a 
 struggle which was constantly going on in the poet's mind between the mean- 
 ness and poverty of his position and his higher aspirations and hopes of inde- 
 pendence, which he found it impossible ever to realise. It must have been 
 evident to his mind that poetry alone was not to elevate him above the reach 
 of worldly cares ; yet in this poem, as in many others, he accepts the poetical 
 calling as its own sweet and sufficient reward. In the appearance of the Muss 
 of Coila, the matter is settled after a fashion as beautiful as poetical. In the 
 Kilmarnock edition of his poems, the allusion to his Jean in Lis description of 
 the Muse's appearance — 
 
 ♦* Down flow'd her robe, a tartan sheen, 
 Till half a leg was scrimply seen, 
 And such a leg t my bonny Jean 
 
 Could only peer it ; 
 Sae straught, sae taper, tight, and clean, 
 
 Nane else cam near it — " 
 
 was replaced by the name of another charmer, in consequence, it is presumed, 
 of his quarrel with her father. When the Edinburgh edition appeared, his 
 old afiections had again asserted their sway, and her name was restored. In 
 a letter to Mrs Dunlop, dated February 1788, the poet, in allusion to Miss 
 Kachel Dunlop, one of her daughters, being engaged on a painting representing 
 "The Vision," says:— "I am highly flattered by the news you tell me of 
 Coila. I may say to the fair painter who does me so much honour, as Dr 
 Beattie says to Ross, the poet, of his Muse Scota, from which, by the by, I took 
 the idea of Coila ; ('tis a poem of Beattie's in the Scottish dialect, which per- 
 haps you have never seen) : — 
 
 ' Ye shake your head, but 0' my fegs, 
 Ye've set auld Scota on her legs ; 
 Lang had she lien wi' buffs and flegs, 
 
 Bumbazed and dizzie ; 
 Her fiddle wanted strings and pegs — 
 Wae's me, poor hisszie ! ' " 
 
 DUAN FIRST.* 
 
 The sun had closed the winter day, 
 
 The curlers quat their roaring play,+ 
 And hunger'd maukin ta'en her way 
 To kail-yards green, 
 
 * Duan, a term of Ossian's for the different divisions of a digressive poem. 
 See his "Cathloda," vol. ii. of Macpherson's translation.— J5. 
 
 t Curling is a wintry game peculiar to the southern counties of Scotland. 
 When the ice is sufficiently strong on the lochs, a number of individuals, each 
 provided with a large stone of the shape of an oblate spheroid, smoothed at the 
 bottom, range themselves on two sides, and being furnished with handles, play 
 against each other. The game resembles bowls, but is much more animated, and 
 keenly enjoyed. It is well characterised by the poet as a roaring play. 
 
^T.27.1 POEMS, 55 
 
 "WTiile faitliless snaws ilk step betray 
 Whare she has been. 
 
 The thrasher's weary flingin'-tree ^ 
 The lee-lang day had tired me ; 
 And when the day had closed his ee, 
 
 Far i' the west, 
 Ben r the spence, * right pensivelie, 
 
 I gaed to rest. 
 
 There, lanely, by the ingle-cheek,^ 
 I sat and eyed the spewing reek,^ 
 That fiU'd, wi' hoast-provoking sraeek,* 
 
 The auld clay biggin* ; 
 And heard the restless rattens ^ squeak 
 
 About the riggin . 
 
 All in this mottie,^ misty clime, 
 I backward mused on wasted time, 
 How I had spent my youthf u* prime, 
 
 And done naething, 
 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 clerkit 
 
 My cash-account : 
 "While here, half -mad, half -fed, half-sarkit, 
 
 Is a' th* amount. 
 
 I started, muttering. Blockhead ! coof ! 8 
 And heaved on high my waukit loof,* 
 To swear by a' yon starry roof, 
 
 Or some rash aith. 
 That I henceforth would be rhyme-proof 
 
 Till my last breath — 
 
 When, click ! the string the sneck^*' did draw 
 And, jee ! the door gaed to the wa' ; 
 And by my ingle-lowe I saw, 
 
 Now bleezin' bright, 
 A tight, outlandish hizzie, braw. 
 
 Come full in sight. 
 
 Ye needna doubt, I held my whisht ; 
 The infant aith, half -f orm'd, was crusht ; 
 
 1 The flail. 2 Fireside. s Smoke. * Smoke. 
 
 « Rats. 6 Hazy 7 Nonsense. 8 fool. 
 
 » Hardened palm. w Latch. 
 
 * The parlour of the farm-house of Mossgiel— the only apartment besides the 
 kitchen. 
 
$6 POEMS, [1785 
 
 I glower'd as eerie *s I'd been dnsht^ 
 
 In some wild glen ; 
 When Bweet, like modest Worth, she blusht, 
 
 And stepped ben.^ 
 
 Green, slender, leaf-clad holly-boughs 
 Were twisted gracefu' round her brows — 
 I took her for some Scottish Muse, 
 
 By that same token : 
 And come to stop those reckless vows, 
 
 Would soon be broken. 
 
 A " hare-brain'd, sentimental trace" 
 Was strongly marked in her face ; 
 A wildly -witty, rustic grace 
 
 Shone full upon her ; 
 Her eye e'en turnM on empty space, 
 
 Beam'd keen with honour. 
 
 Down flow'd her robe, a tartan sheen. 
 Till half a leg was scrimply seen ; 
 And such a leg ! my bonny Jean 
 
 Could only peer it ; 
 Sae straught, sac taper, tight, ^ and clean, 
 
 Nane else cam near it. 
 
 Her mantle large, of greenish hue, 
 
 My gazing wonder chiefl}' drew ; 
 
 Deep lights and shades, bold-mingling threw 
 
 A lustre grand ; 
 And seem'd, to my astoDish'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-f etch'd floods ; 
 There, well-fed Irwine stately thuds : * 
 Auld hermit Ayr staw ^ through his woods. 
 
 On to the shore ; 
 And many a lesser toiTent scuds. 
 
 With seeming roar. 
 
 Low, in a sandy valley spread. 
 
 An ancient borough * rear'd her head : 
 
 Still, as in Scottish story read. 
 
 She boasts a race 
 
 5 Frightened. 2 into the room. a Handsome, well-formed. 
 
 * Sounds. » Stole. 
 
 * The town of Ayr. 
 
^T. 27.] POEMS. 57 
 
 To every nobler virtue bred, 
 
 And polish'd grace. 
 
 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 features stei-n. 
 
 My 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 country's saviour, + mark him well! 
 Bold Richardton's % heroic swell ; 
 The chief on Saik § who glorious fell, 
 
 In high command ; 
 And he whom ruthless fates expel 
 
 His native land. 
 
 There, where a sceptred Pictish shade || 
 Stalk'd round his ashes lowly laid, 
 I mark'd a martial race, portray 'd 
 
 In colours strong ; 
 Bold, soldier-featured, undismay'd 
 
 They strode along. 
 
 Through 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. 
 
 AVith deep -struck reverential awe 
 The learned sire and son I saw,** 
 
 * The Wallaces.— 5. t Sh- William Wallace.—^. 
 
 X Adam Wallace of Richardton, cousin to the immortal preserver of Scottish 
 independence. — B. 
 
 § Wallace, Laird of Craigie, who was second in command, under Douglas, Eavl 
 of Ormond, at the famous battle on the banks of Sark, fought in 1448. That 
 glorious victory was principally owing to the judicious conduct and intrepid valour 
 of the gallant Laird of Craigie, who died of his wounds after the action.— jB 
 
 8 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 Montgomeries of 
 Coilsfield, where his bui'ial-place is still shown. — B. 
 
 \ Barskimming, the seat of the late Lord Justice-Clerk. — B. (Sir Thomas 
 Miller of Glenlee, afterwards President of the Court of Session.) 
 
 ** The Rev. Dr Matthew Stewart, the celebi-ated mathematician, and his son 
 Mr Dugald Stewart, the elegant expositor of the Scottish school of metaphysics, 
 «ire here meant, their villa of Catrine being situated on the Ayr. 
 
58 POEMS, [1785- 
 
 To nature's God and nature's law 
 
 They gave their lore, 
 
 This, all its source and end to draw ; 
 That, to adore. 
 
 Brydone's brave ward * I well could spy, 
 Beneath old Scotia's smiling eye : 
 Who call'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 inspked 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 labours 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 tunefu' art. 
 
 ** 'Mong swelling floods of reeking gore, 
 They ardent, kindling spirits, pour; 
 Or, 'mid the venal senate's roar. 
 
 They, sightless, stand, 
 To mend the honest patriot-lore. 
 
 And grace the hand. 
 
 "And when the bard, or hoary sage. 
 Charm or instruct the future age, 
 
 * Colonel Fullarton.— J?. 
 
JET. 27.] POEMS, 59 
 
 They bind tlie wild, poetic rage, 
 
 In energy, 
 Or point the inconclusive page 
 
 Full on the eye. 
 
 " Hence FuUarton, the brave and young; 
 Hence Dempster's zeal-inspired tongue ; 
 Hence sweet harmonious Beattie sung 
 
 His Minstrel lay ; 
 Or tore, with noble ardour stung. 
 
 The sceptic's bays. 
 
 "To lower orders are assign'd 
 The humbler ranks of humankind, 
 The rustic bard, the labouring 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 ^nt the lover's harmless wile ; 
 Some grace the maiden's artless smile ; 
 Some soothe the labourer'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. 
 To mark the embryotic trace 
 
 Of rustic bard ; 
 And careful note each opening grace, 
 
 A guide and guard. 
 
 "Of these am I — Coila 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-caroll'd, chiming phrase, 
 
 In uncouth rhymes, 
 Fired at the simple, artless lays, 
 
 Of other times. 
 
 » The Loudoun branch of the Campbells is here meant. Mossgiel, and much 
 of the neighbouring ground, was then the property of the Earl of Loudon. 
 
6o POEMS. [1785- 
 
 " I saw thee seek the sounding shore, 
 Delighted with the dashing roar; 
 Or when the north his fleecy store 
 
 Drove through 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. 
 
 "Whf^n ripen'd fields, and azure skies, 
 Oall'd forth the reaper's 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. 
 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, 
 AVild, 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, the ways of simple swains. 
 Till now, o'er all my wide domains 
 
 Thy fame extends ; 
 And some, the pride of Coila's plains. 
 
 Become thy friends. 
 
 "Thou canst not learn, nor can I show. 
 To paint with Thomson's landscape glow. 
 Or wake the bosom-melting throe, 
 
 AVith 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 ; 
 
 Though large the forest's monarch throws 
 
 His army shade. 
 Yet green the juicy hawthorn grows 
 
 Adown the glade. 
 
^T. 27.] FOEMS. 61 
 
 " 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 overmatching thine— 
 
 A rustic bard. 
 
 *'To give my counsels all in one. 
 Thy tuneful flame still careful fan ; 
 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 tlie 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 WINTER NIGHT. 
 
 This poem was first printed in the second, or first Edinburgh, edition of the 
 poet's works. Carlyle says of it — "How touching is it, amid the gloom of per- 
 sonal misery that broods over and around him, that, amid the storm, he still 
 thinks of the cattle, the silly sheep, and the wee harmless birdies ! — yes, the 
 tenant of the mean lowly hut has the heart to pity all these. This is worth a 
 whole volume of homilies on mercy, for it is the voice of mercy itself. Burns 
 lives in sympathy : his soul rushes forth into all the realms of being : nothing 
 that has existence can be indifferent to him." 
 
 " Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are, 
 That bide the pelting of the pitiless storm ! 
 How shall your houseless heads, and unfed sides, 
 Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you, 
 Prom seasons such as these ? " — Shakespeare. 
 
 When biting Boreas, felP and doure,^ 
 Sharp shivers through the leafless bower ; 
 When Phoebus gies a short-lived glower ^ 
 
 Far south the lift,* 
 Dim-darkening through the flaky shower. 
 
 Or whirling drift : 
 
 Ae night the storm the steeples rocked. 
 Poor labour sweet in sleep was locked. 
 While bums, wi' snawy wreaths up-choked, 
 
 Wild-eddying swirl. 
 Or through the mining outlet hocked,^ 
 
 Down headlong hurl. 
 
 1 Keen. 2 Stern. s stare. 4 gky. 6 Belched. 
 
62 POEMS. [178s 
 
 Listening the doors and winnocks^ ra,ttle, 
 I thought me on the ourie^ cattle, 
 Or silly sheep, wha bide this brattle^ 
 
 O' winter war, 
 And through the drift, deep-lairing sprattle,* 
 
 Beneath a scaur. ^ 
 
 Ilk happing 6 bird, wee, helpless thing, 
 That, in the merry months o' spring, 
 Delighted me to hear thee sing. 
 
 What comes o' thee? 
 Whare wilt thou cower thy chittering wing, 
 
 And close thy ee ! 
 
 Even you, on murdering errands toil'd. 
 
 Lone from your savage homes exiled. 
 
 The blood-stain'd roost, and sheep-cot spoil'J, 
 
 My heart forgets, 
 Wliile pitiless the tempest wild 
 
 Sore on you beats. 
 
 Now Phoebe, in her midnight reign, 
 Dark muflfled, view'd the dreary plain ; 
 Still crowding thoughts, a pensive train, 
 
 Kose in my soul, 
 When on my ear this plaintive strain. 
 
 Slow, solemn, stole : — 
 
 " Blow, blow, ye winds, with heavier gust! 
 And freeze, thou bitter-biting frost! 
 Descend, ye chilly, smothering snows ! 
 Not all your rage, as now united, shows 
 More hard unkindness, unrelenting. 
 Vengeful malice unrepenting, 
 Tlian heaven-illumined man on brother man bestows ! 
 
 . ** See stern Oppression's iron grip. 
 
 Or mad Ambition's gory hand, 
 Sending, like blood-hounds from the slip. 
 Woe, Want, and Murder o'er a land ! 
 Even 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. 
 
 J "Windovrs. 2 Shivering. » Dashing storm. 
 
 4 Struggle. » Cliff. « Happing. 
 
^T. 27.] POEMS, dl 
 
 " Where, where is Love's fond, tender throe, 
 With lordly Honour's lofty brow, 
 
 The powers you proudly own? 
 Is there, beneath Love's noble name, 
 Can harbour dark the selfish aim. 
 
 To bless himself alone ! 
 Mark maiden innocence a prey 
 
 To love-pretending snares. 
 This boasted Honour turns away, 
 Shunning soft Pity's rising sway, 
 Kegardless of the 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! 
 
 *' O 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 i-agged 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 viewl 
 
 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 na 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. 
 
 SCOTCH DPvINK. 
 
 This poem, written after the manner of Fergusson's "Caller Water," is not to be 
 taken as evidence of the poet's feelings and practices. It was suggested, 
 along with the following poem, by the withdrawal of an Act of Parliament em- 
 powering Duncan Forbes of Culloden to distil whisky on his bai'ony of Ferin- 
 tosh. free of duty, in return for services rendered to the Government. This 
 privilege was a source of great revenue to the family ; and as Ferintosh whisky 
 was cheaper than that produced elsewhere, it became very popular, and the 
 i»am« Ferintoah thus became something like a syuonyme for whisky over the 
 
64 POEMS. [1785. 
 
 country. Compensation for the loss of privilege, to the tune of £21,580, was 
 awarded to the Forbes family by a jury. Attention was further drawn to " the 
 national beverage" at this time by the vexatious and oppressive way in which 
 the Excise laws were enforced at the Scotch distilleries. Many distillers 
 abandoned the business ; and as barley was beginning to fall in price in con- 
 sequence, the county gentlemen supported the distillers, and an Act was passed 
 relieving the trade from the obnoxious supervision. These circumstances gave 
 the poet his cue ; and the subject was one calculated to evoke his wildest humour. 
 Writing to Robert Muir, Kilmarnock, he says, " I here enclose you my * Scotch 
 
 Drink,' and may the follow with a blessing for your edification. I hope 
 
 some time before we hear the gowk, [cuckoo,] to have the pleasure of seeing 
 you at Kilmarnock, when I intend we shall have a gill between us in a mutch- 
 kin stoup, which will be a great comfort and consolation to your humble ser- 
 vant, R. B." 
 
 " Gie him strong drink, until he wink, 
 That's sinking in despair ; 
 And liquor guid to fire his bluid, 
 
 That 's prest wi' grief and care ; 
 There let him bouse, and deep caruuse, 
 
 Wi' bumpers flowing o'er, 
 Till he forgets his loves or debts, 
 And minds his griefs no more." 
 
 — Solomon's Proverbs xxxi. 6, 7. 
 
 Let other poets raise a fracas ^ 
 
 'Bout vines, and wines, and drucken Bacchus, 
 
 And crabbit names and stories wrack 2 us, 
 
 And grate our lug,^ 
 I sing the juice Scotch beare can mak us, 
 
 In glass or jug. 
 
 O thou, my Muse ! guid auld Scotch drink, 
 Whether through 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, 
 And aits set up their awnie horn,<* 
 And peas and beans, at e'en or morn. 
 
 Perfume the plain, 
 Leeze me on thee, John Barleycorn, 
 
 Thou king o' grain ! 
 
 On thee aft Scotland chows her cood, 
 In souple scones,^ the wale o' food ! 
 Or tumblin' in the boilin' flood 
 
 Wi' kail and beef ; 
 Bat when thou pours thy strong heart's blood. 
 
 There thou shines chief. 
 
 Food fills the wame, and keeps us livia' ; 
 Though life's a gift no worth receivin' 
 
 1 A row. 2 Bother. « Ear. * Crooked. 
 
 » Steal. « Beard. ^ Cakes. 
 
^T. 27.] POEMS, 65 
 
 Wlien heavy dragg'd wi' pine^ and grievin*} 
 
 But, oil d by thee, 
 The wheels o* life gae down-hill, scrievin',^ 
 
 Wi' rattlin' glee. 
 
 Thou clears the head o* doited Lear ; 
 Thou cheers the heart o' drooping Care ; 
 Thou strings the nerves o' Labour sair, 
 
 At 's weary toil ; 
 Thou ©ven 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,f 
 
 Are doubly fired. 
 
 That merry night we get the com in. 
 Oh, sweetly then thou reams the horn in J 
 Or reekin' on a new-year morning 
 
 In cog or bicker,' 
 And just a wee drap sp'ritual bum in, 
 
 And gusty sucker ! ^ 
 
 When Yulcan gies his bellows breath. 
 And ploughmen gather wi' their graith,'' 
 Oh, rare ! to see tbee fizz and freath 
 
 I' the lugget cg-up ! 8 
 Then Bumewin ® comes on like death 
 
 At every chap. 
 
 Nae mercy, then, for airn or steel ; 
 The brawnie, bainie, ploughman chiel, 
 Brings hard owrehip, wi' sturdy wheel, 
 
 The strong forehammer, 
 Till block and studdie *° ring, and reel, 
 
 Wi' dinsome clamour. 
 
 i Pain. ' Gliding gleesomely. 'Silver jugs. * Relishcst. 
 
 Wooden vessels. « Toothsome sugar. ' Impi«ments. 
 
 5 WooQ^n cup with e^rs. » The blacksmith. 10 Anvil. 
 
 * Ale is meant, which is frequently mixed with porridge instead of milk, 
 t The tents for refreshment at out-of-door communions. (Bee " Holy Fai r."") 
 
66 POEMS, [1785, 
 
 "WTien skirlin' weatiies ^ see the light, 
 Thou maks the gossips clatter bright, 
 How fumblin' cuifs ^ their dearies slight ; 
 
 Wae worth the name ! ' 
 Nae howdy 3 gets a social night, 
 
 Or plack^ frae therru 
 
 \yhen neibors anger at a plea, 
 And just as wud as wud ^ can be, 
 How easy can the barley-bree 
 
 Cement the quarrel ! 
 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 mony daily weet their weason^ 
 
 AVi' liquors nice, 
 And hardly, in a wintei-'s season. 
 
 E'er spier ^ her price. 
 
 "Wae worth that brandy, burning trash ! 
 Pell source o* mony a pain and brash ! ^ 
 'Twins mony a poor, doylt, drucken hash^o 
 
 O' half his days ; 
 And sends, beside, auld Scotland's cash 
 
 To her worst faes. 
 
 Ye Scots, wha wish auld Scotland well ! 
 Ye chief, to you my tale I tell. 
 Poor plackless devUs like mysel. 
 
 It sets you ill, 
 Wi' bitter, dearthfu wines to mell,^^ 
 
 Or foreign gill. 
 
 May gravels round his blether wrench, 
 And gouts torment him inch by inch, 
 Wha twists his gruntle wi' a glunch ^^ 
 
 O' sour disdain, 
 
 Gut-owre a glass o' whisky punch 
 
 V Wi' honest men. 
 
 O whisky ! soul o' plays and pranks ! 
 Accept a Bardie's gratefu' thanks ! 
 When wanting thee, what tuneless cranks 
 
 Are my poor verses ! 
 
 Thou comes — they rattle i' their ranks 
 
 At ither's a — es. 
 
 Thee, Ferintosh ! oh, sadly lost ! 
 Scotland lament frae coast to coast ! 
 
 1 Screaming children. 3 Awkward fools. 3 Midwife. •* Coin. 
 
 » Mad. « Charge. ? Throat. 8 Ask. » Sicknesi 
 
 10 Rough fellow. 11 Meddle. 12 Face with a grin. 
 
/ET. 27.1 POEMS. 67 
 
 ^^ow colic grips, and barkin' hoast,^ 
 
 May kill us a' ; 
 For loyal Forbes's charter'd boast, 
 
 Is ta'en awa* ! 
 
 Thae curst horse-leeches o' th' Excise, 
 "NVha mak the whisky-stells their prize ! 
 Uaud up thy han', deil ! ance, twice, thrice ! 
 
 There, seize the blinkers ! 2 
 And bake them up in brunstane pies 
 
 For poor damn'd drinkers. 
 
 Fortune ! if thou'll but gie me still 
 Hale breeks, a scone, and whisky gill, 
 And rowth^ o' rhyme to rave at will, 
 
 Tak a' the rest, 
 And deal 't about as thy blind skill 
 
 Directs the best. 
 
 EEMORSE. 
 
 A FEAQMENT. 
 
 The following lines occur in an early Commonplace-book of the poei's, and 
 probably relate to the consequences of his first serious error :— 
 
 Op all the numerous ills that hurt our peace. 
 
 That press the soul, or wring the mind with anguish, 
 
 Beyond comparison, the worst are those 
 
 That to our folly or our guilt we owe. 
 
 In every other circumstance, the mind 
 
 Has this to say — " It was no deed of mine ; " 
 
 But when, to all the evil of misfortune. 
 
 This 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 lo'ed us. 
 
 Nay, more — that very love their cause of ruin ! 
 
 O burning hell ! in all thy store of torments. 
 
 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 agonising throbs ; 
 
 And, after proper purpose of amendment. 
 
 Can firmly force his jarring thoughts to peace? 
 
 Oh, happy, happy, enviable man ! 
 
 Oh, glorious magnanimity of soul ! 
 
 1 Cough. s A contemptuous term, 8 Abundance. 
 
68 POEMS, [1785 
 
 ANSWER TO A POETICAL EPISTLE, 
 
 SENT TO THE AUTHOR BY A TAILOR. 
 
 A tailor in the neighbourhoorl of Mauchline having taken it upon him lo send the 
 poet a rhymed homily on his loose conversation and irregular behaviour, re- 
 ceived the following lines in reply to his lecture : — 
 
 \Yhat ails ye now, ye lousie bitch, 
 To thrash my back at sic a pitch ? 
 Losh, man ! hae mercy wi' your natch,^ 
 
 Your bodkin's bauld, 
 I didna suffer half sae much 
 
 Frae Daddie Auld. 
 
 What though at times, when I grow crouse,- 
 I gie the dames a random pouse, 
 Is that enough for you to souse ^ 
 
 Your servant sae ? 
 Gae mind your seam, ye prick-the-louse 
 
 And jag-the-flae. 
 
 King David, o' poetic brief, 
 Wrought 'mang the lasses sic mischief 
 As fill'd his after life wi' grief 
 
 And bluidy rants. 
 And yet he 's rank'd among the chief 
 
 O' lang-syne saunts. 
 
 And maybe, Tarn, for a' my cants,"* 
 My wicked rhymes, and drucken rants, 
 I'll gie auld cloven Clootie's haunts 
 
 An unco slip yet, 
 And snugly sit among the saunts 
 
 At Davie's hip yet. 
 
 But fegs,5 the session says I maun 
 
 Gae fa' upon anither plan, 
 
 Than garrin' lasses cowp the cran 
 
 Clean heels owre gowdy, 
 And sairly thole ® their mither's ban 
 
 Afore the howdy. 7 
 
 This leads me on, to tell for sport, 
 How I did wi' the session sort : 
 Auld Clinkum at the inner poit 
 
 Cried three times— "Robin! 
 Come hither, lad, and answer for 't. 
 
 Ye 're blamed for jobbin'.'* 
 
 1 <>i"ip. 2 Happj. » Scold. 4 Tricks. 
 
 » Faith. « Bear. 7 Midwife. 
 
'F.T. 27.] POEMS. 69 
 
 Wi' pinch I put a Sunday's face on, 
 And snooved^ awa' before the session; 
 I made an open, fair confession — 
 
 I scorn'd to lie ; 
 And syne Mess John, beyond expression, 
 
 Fell foul o' me. 
 
 A furnicator-loon he call'd me, 
 
 And 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'll ne'er be better." 
 
 *' Geld you ! " quo' he, *' and what for no? 
 If that your right hand, leg, or toe, 
 Should ever prove your spiritual foe. 
 
 You should remember 
 To cut it aff — and what for 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, 
 As sair owre hip as ye can draw 't, 
 
 Though I should rue it. 
 
 *' Or gin ye like to end the bother, 
 To please us a', I 've just ae ither — 
 When next wi' yon lass I forgather, 
 
 Whate'er betide it, 
 I '11 frankly gie her 't a' thegither, 
 
 And let her guide it." 
 
 But, sir, this pleased them warst ava, 
 And therefore, Tam, when that I saw, 
 I said, "Guid night," and cam awa'. 
 
 And left the session ; 
 I saw they were resolved a' 
 
 On my oppression. 
 
 THE AUTHOR'S EARNEST CRY AND PRAYER 
 
 TO THE SCOTCH EEPKESENTATIVES IN THE HOUSE OP COMMONS. 
 
 For an account of the ch'cum stances which gave rise to the following lines, sec 
 the introduction to the poem entitled "Scotch Drink," p. 63. 
 
 " Dearest of distillations ! last and best I 
 How art tliou lost I " — Parody on Milton. 
 
 1 Sneaked. 
 
70 POEMS. [1786. 
 
 Ye Irish lords, ye knights and squires, 
 Wha represent our brughs and shires, 
 And doucely ^ manage our affairs 
 
 In parliament, 
 To you a simple Bardie's prayers 
 
 Are humbly sent. 
 
 Alas ! my roopit * Muse is hearse ! ^ 
 Your honours' heart wi' grief 'twad pierce. 
 To see her sittin' on her a— e 
 
 Low i' the dust, 
 And scraichin' 3 f out prosaic verse, 
 
 And like to bui'st ! 
 
 Tell them wha hae the chief direction, 
 Scotland and me 's in great affliction, 
 E'er sin' they laid that curst restriction 
 
 On aqua vitse ; 
 And rouse them up to strong conviction, 
 
 And move their pity. 
 
 Stand forth and tell yon Premier youth, J 
 
 The honest, open, naked truth : 
 
 Tell him o' mine and Scotland's drouth,^ 
 
 His servants humble : 
 The muckle devil blaw ye south, 
 
 If ye dissemble ! 
 
 Does ony gi'eat man glunch^ and gloom? 
 Speak out, and never fash your thoom ! ^ 
 Let posts and pensions sink or soom ^ 
 
 Wi' them wha grant 'em : 
 If honestly they canna come. 
 
 Par better want 'em. 
 
 In gath'rin' votes you werena slack ; 
 Now stand as tightly by your tack ; 
 Ne'er claw your lug,^ and fidge^ your back, 
 
 And hum and haw ; 
 But raise your arm, and tell your crack ^"^ 
 
 Before them a'. 
 
 Paint Scotland greetin' ^^ owre her thrissle. 
 Her mutchkin stoup as toom 's ^2 a whissle ; 
 
 ^ Soberly. 2 Hoarse. 
 
 3 Screaming hoarsely— the cry of fowls when displeased. •* Thirst. 
 
 5 Frown. « Trouble your thumb. "* Swim. 8 Ear. 
 
 9 Shrug. 10 Tale. 11 Weeping. 12 Empty. 
 
 * A person with a sore throat and a dry, tickling cough, is said to be roopy. 
 
 t Some editors give this 'screechin', (screaming;) but, taken in connexion 
 witti the hoarseness, every one who has heard the word used will endorse our 
 reading. 
 
 X William Pitt. 
 
^T. 28.] POEMS. 71 
 
 And damn'd excisemen in a bussle, 
 
 Seezin' a stell, 
 Triumphant crushin' 't like a mussle 
 
 Or lampit shell. 
 
 Then on the tither hand present her, 
 
 A blackguard smuggler, right behint her. 
 
 And cheek-f or-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, 
 And plunder'd o' her hindmost groat 
 
 By gallows knaves ? 
 
 Alas ! I *m but a nameless wight, 
 Trod f the mire and out o* sight ! 
 But could I like Montgomeries fight,* 
 
 Or gab like Bos well, f 
 There *s some sark-necks I wad draw tight, 
 
 And tie some hose well. 
 
 God bless your honours, can ye see 't, 
 The kind, auld, cantie carlin greet,^ 
 And no get warmly to your feet. 
 
 And gar them hear it, 
 And tell them wi' a patriot heat. 
 
 Ye winna bear it ? 
 
 Some o' you nicely ken the laws, 
 
 To round the period and pause, 
 
 ■ And wi' rhetoric clause on clause 
 
 To make harangues ; 
 Then echo through St Stephen^s wa's 
 
 Auld Scotland's wrangs. 
 
 Dempster, j a true-blue Scot I'se warran'; 
 Thee, aith-detesting, chaste Kilkerran; S 
 And that glib-gabbet^ Higliland baron, ' 
 The Laird o' Graham; 1| 
 
 1 Fat-faced. 2 The cheerful old wife cry» « Ready-tongued, 
 
 (Scotland is personified.) 
 
 * Colonel Hugh Montgomery, who had served in the American war, and was 
 Chen representing Ayrshire. 
 t James Boswell of Auchinleck, the biographer of Dr Samuel Johnson. 
 X G-eorge Dempster of Dunnichen, Forfarshire. 
 § Sir Adam Fergusson of Kilkerran, then member for Edinburgh. 
 ( The Marquis of Graham. 
 
72 POEMS. [1786. 
 
 And ane, a chap that 's damn'd auldfarran,! 
 Dundas his name.* 
 
 Erskine,t' a spunkie^ Norland billie; 
 True Campbells, Frederick and Hay ; % 
 And Livingstone, the bauld Sir Willie ; 
 
 And mony ithers, 
 Whom auld Demosthenes or Tully 
 
 Might own for brithers. 
 
 Tliee, Sodger Hugh, my watchman stented,§ 
 
 If bardies e'er are represented ; 
 
 I ken if that your sword were wanted, 
 
 Ye 'd lend your hand : 
 But when there 's ought to say anent it, 
 
 Ye 're at a stand. 1| 
 
 Arouse, my boys ; exert your mettle, 
 To get auld Scotland back her kettle ; 
 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 good, 
 
 Play'd her that pliskie ! ^ 
 And now she's like to rin red-wud^ 
 
 About her whisky. 
 
 And, Lord, if ance they pit her till 't. 
 Her tartan petticoat she 11 kilt, 
 And durk and pistol at her belt. 
 
 She '11 tak the streets. 
 And rin her whittle to the hilt 
 
 I' th' first she meets ! 
 
 For God's sake, sirs, then speak her fan. 
 And straik^ her cannie wi' the hair, 
 And to the muckle House repair 
 
 Wi' instant speed, 
 And strive, wi' a' your wit and lear. 
 
 To get remead. 
 
 ^ Sagacious. 2 Plucky. s Plough-staff. * Knife. 
 
 6 Ill-tempered, restless. « Trick. 7 Mad. 8 Sti-oke 
 
 * Henry Dundas, afterwards Viscount Melville. 
 
 t Thomas Erskine, afterwards Lord Erskine. 
 
 X Lord Frederick Campbell, brother to the Duke of Argyle, and Ilay Campbell, 
 then Lord Advocate. 
 
 5 Being member for Ayrshire, the poet speaks of him as his stented or van- 
 guard watchman. 
 
 1 Thia stanza alludes to Hugh Montgomery's imperfect elocution 
 
.ET. 28.] POEMS. 73 
 
 Yon ill-ton gued tinkler, Charlie 1^'ox, 
 May taunt you wi' his jeers and mocks ; 
 But gie him 't het, my hearty cocks ! 
 
 E'en cowe the caddie ! ^ 
 And send him to his dicing-box 
 
 And sportin' lady. 
 
 Tell yon guid bluid o' auld Boconnock's* 
 I '11 be his debt twa mashlum bannocks, f* 
 And drink his health in auld Nanse Tinnock's % 
 
 Nine times a week, 
 If he some scheme, like tea and winnocks,§ 
 
 Wad kindly seek. 
 
 Could he some commutation broach, 
 I '11 pledge my aith in guid braid Scotch, 
 He needna fear their foul reproach 
 
 Nor erudition. 
 Yon mixtie-maxtie, queer hotch-potch, 
 
 The coalition.il 
 
 Auld Scotland has a raucle^ tongue; 
 She 's just a devil wi' a rung ;3 
 
 1 Fellow. 2 Rough. 3 Cudgel 
 
 * William Pitt was the grandson of Robert Pitt of Boconnock, in Cornwall. 
 
 f Cakes made of oats, beans, and peas, with a mixture of wheat or barley flour, 
 
 X A worthy old hostess of the author's in Mauchline, where he sometimes 
 studied politics over a glass of guid auld Scotch drink. — B "Nanse Tinnock 
 is long deceased, and no one has caught up her mantle. She is described as 
 having been a true ale-wife, in the proverbial sense of the word— close, discreet, 
 civil, and no tale-teller. When any neighbouring wife came, asking if Iter John 
 was here, 'Oh no,' Nanse would reply, shaking money in her pocket as she spoke, 
 * he 's no here,' implying to the querist that the husband was not in the house, 
 while she meant to herself that he was not among her half-pence — thus keeping 
 the word of promise to the ear, but breaking it to the hope. Her house was one 
 of two stories, and had a front towards the street, by which Bui*ns must have 
 entered Mauchline from Mossgiel. The date over the door is 1744, It is re- 
 membered, however, that Nanse never could understand how the poet should 
 have talked of enjoying himself in, her house 'nine times a-week.' 'The lad,' 
 she said, ' hardly ever drank three half-mutchkins under her roof in his life, 
 Nanse, probably, had never heard of the poetical licence. In truth, Nanse's 
 hostehy was not the only one in Mauchline which Burns resorted to : a rather 
 better-looking house, at the opening of the Cowgate, kept by a person named John 
 Dove, and then and still bearing the arms of Sir John Whiteford of Ballochmyle, 
 was also a haunt of the poet's having this high recommendation, that its back 
 windows surveyed those of the house in which his 'Jean' resided. The reader 
 will find in its proper place a droll epitaph on John Dove, in which the honest 
 landlord's religioa is made out to be a mere comparative appreciation of his 
 various liquors," — Chambers. 
 
 § Pitt, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, had gained some credit by a measure 
 introduced in 1784 for preventing smuggling of tea by reducing the duty, the 
 revenue being compensated by a tax on windows. 
 
 I Mixtie maxtie is Scotch for a mixture of incongruous elements. Hotch-potch 
 is a dish composed of all sorts of vegetables. This coalition, like many others 
 since, was in the poet's eyes an unnatural banding together of men of different 
 opinions. 
 
5^4- POEMS. [1786, 
 
 And if she promise auld or young 
 
 To tak tlieir part, 
 Though by the neck she should be strung, 
 
 She '11 no desert. 
 
 And now, ye chosen Five-and-Forty,* 
 May still your mother's heart support yo ; 
 Then though a minister grow dorty,^ 
 
 And kick your place, 
 Ye '11 snap your fingers, poor and heaiiiy. 
 
 Before his face. 
 
 God bless your honours a' your days 
 Wi' sowps^ o' kail and brats o' claise,^ 
 In spite o' a' the thievish kaes * 
 
 That haunt St Jamie's ! 
 Your humble poet sings and prays 
 
 While Eab his name is. 
 
 POSTSCRIPT. 
 
 Let half-starved slaves in warmer skies 
 See future wines, rich clust'ring, rise ; 
 Their lot auld Scotland ne'er envies. 
 
 But blithe and frisky, 
 She eyes her free-born, martial boys, 
 
 Tak aff their whisky. 
 
 "What though their Phoebus kinder warms, 
 Wliile fragrance blooms and beauty charms! 
 When wretches range, in famish'd swarms, 
 
 The scented groves 
 Or, hounded forth, dishonour arms 
 
 In hungry di'oves. 
 
 Their gun's a burthen 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' throu'ther,^ 
 
 To save their skin. 
 
 But bring a Scotsman fra his hill, 
 Clap in his cheek a Highland gill, 
 Say, such is royal George's will. 
 
 And there's the foo; 
 He has nae thought but how to kill 
 
 Twa at a blow. 
 
 1 Sulky. 2 Spoonfuls. 8 Rags o' clothes. * Jackdaws. 
 
 6 They dare not stand. * Uncertainty. » Pell melL 
 
 * The number of Scotch representatives. 
 
>ET. 2S.] POEMS. 75 
 
 Nae cauld, faint-hearted doubtings tease him; 
 Death comes — wi' fearless eye he sees him; 
 Wi' bluidy han' a welcome gies him ; • 
 
 And when he fa's, 
 His latest draught o' breathin' lea'es him ; 
 
 In faint huzzas ! 
 
 Sages their solemn een may steek,^ 
 And raise a philosophic reek,2 
 And physically causes seek, 
 
 In clime and season; 
 But teU me whisky's name in Greek, 
 
 I'll tell the reason. 
 
 Scotland, my auld, respected mither ! 
 Though whiles ye moistify your leather, 
 Till whare ye sit, on craps o' heather. 
 
 Ye tine 3 your dam ; 
 Freedom and whisky gang thegither! — 
 
 Tak aff your dram ! 
 
 THE AULD FAEMER'S NEW-YEAR MORNING SALUTATION 
 TO HIS AULD MARE MAGGIE, 
 
 ON GIVING HER THE ACCUSTOMED RIP OF CORN TO HANSEL IN 
 THE NEW YEAR. 
 
 Most editors have alluded to the tenderness of Burns towards the lower animals ; 
 this is a true poetic instinct, and with him was unusually strong. The Ettri(5k 
 Shepherd says, in a note to this poem: — "Burns must have been an exceed- 
 ingly good and kind-hearted being ; for whenever he has occasion to address 
 or mention any subordinate being, however mean, even a mouse or a flower, 
 then there is a gentle pathos in his language that awakens the finest feelings 
 of the heart.'' 
 
 A GUID New- Year I wish thee, Maggie ! 
 Hae, there 's a rip * to thy auld baggie : 
 Though thou 's howe-backit now and knaggie,^ 
 
 I 've seen the day 
 Thou could hae gaen like ony staggie 
 
 Out-owre the lay.^ 
 
 Though now thou's dowie,'' stiff, and crazy. 
 And thy auld hide 's as white 's a daisy, 
 I 've seen thee dai^pl't, sleek, and glazie,^ 
 
 A bonny gray : 
 He should been tight that daur't to raize ^ thee, 
 
 Ance in a day. 
 
 I Eyes may shut. 2 Smoke. 3 Lose. 
 
 •*- A handful of corn in the stalk. s Bent-l)acked and ridged, c Grass-field, 
 
 7 Low-spirited. 8 Shining. 9 Excite. 
 
76 
 
 POEMS, [1786. 
 
 Tliou auce was i' the foremost rank, 
 A filly buirdly, steeve, and swank, ^ 
 And set weel down a shapely shank, 
 
 As e'er tread yird ; 2 
 And could hae flown out-owre a stank, ^ 
 
 Like ony bird. 
 
 It 's now some nine-and-twenty year. 
 Sin' thou was my guid father's meer : 
 He gied me thee, o' tocher ^ clear. 
 
 And fifty mark ; 
 Though it was sma', 'twas weel-won gear, 
 
 And thou Avas stark. ^ 
 
 When first I gaed to woo my Jenny, 
 Ye then was trottin' wi' your minnie : ^ 
 Though ye was trickie, slee, and funnie, 
 
 Ye ne'er was donsi*? ; 7 
 But hamely, towie, quiet, and cannie,^ 
 
 And unco sonsie.^ 
 
 That day ye pranced wi' muckle pride 
 When ye bure hame my bonny bride : 
 And sweet and gracefu' she did ride, 
 
 Wi' maiden air ! 
 Kyle-Stewart* I could hae bragged ^^ wide, 
 
 For sic a jjair. 
 
 Though now ye dow but hoyte and hoble,^^ 
 And wintle like a saumont-coble,^^ 
 That day ye was a j inker ^^ noble. 
 
 For heels and win' ! 
 And ran them till they a' did wauble,i* 
 
 Far, far, behin' ! 
 
 When thou and I were young and skeigh,'' 
 
 And stable-meals at fairs were dreigh,^^ 
 
 How thou would prance, and snore and skreigh, 
 
 And tak the road ! 
 Town's bodies ran, and stood abeigh,^^ 
 
 And ca't thee mad. 
 
 When thou was corn't, and I was mellow, 
 We took the road aye like a swallow : 
 At Brooses^s thou had ne'er a fellow, 
 
 For pith and speed ; 
 But every tail thou pay't them hollow, 
 
 Wliare'er thou gaed. 
 
 » Stately, strong, active. 2 Earth. 3 Ditch. « Dowry. 
 
 6 Strong. 6 Mother. ' Mischievous. 8 Good-natured. 
 
 9 Engaging. 10 Challenged, n Can but limp and totter. 
 
 12 Twist like the ungainly boat used by salmon fishers. i3 Runner. 
 
 1* Stagger— being doae-up. " Mettlesome. le Lengthy. 
 
 17 Aside, 18 Wedding races. 
 
 * The district between the Ayr and the Dooa. 
 
^T. 28.] POEMS, 77 
 
 The sma* droop-rumpl't,^ hunter cattle, 
 Might aiblins waur't thee for a brattle ; 2 
 But sax Scotch miles thou try*t their mettlo, 
 
 And gar't them whaizle^ 
 Nae whup nor spur, but just a wattle ^ 
 
 O' saugh or hazle. 
 
 Thou was a noble fittie-lan',^ 
 As e'er in tug or tow was drawn ! 
 Aft thee and I, in aught hours' gaun, 
 
 In guid March weather, 
 Hae tum'd sax rood beside our han', 
 
 For days thegitlier. 
 
 Thou never braindg't, and fech't, and fliskit,^ 
 But thy auld tail thou wad hae whiskit,^ 
 And spread abreed thy well-fill'd brisket, 8 
 
 Wi' pith and power, 
 'Till spritty knowes wad rair't and risket,^ 
 
 And slypet owre. 
 
 When frosts lay lang, and snaws were deep, 
 And threaten'd labour back to keep, 
 I gied thy cog ^^ a wee bit heap 
 
 Aboon the timmer ; 
 I kenn'd my Maggie wadna sleep 
 
 For that, or simmer. 
 
 In cart or car thou never reestit ; ^^ 
 
 The steyest^2 i^^ae thou wad hae faced it ; 
 
 Thou never lap, and sten't, and breastit,^^ 
 
 Then stood to blaw ; 
 But just thy step a wee thing hastitj^-* 
 
 Thou snoov't awa. 
 
 My pleugh is now thy bairn -time a' ; ^^ 
 Four gallant brutes as e'er did draw ; 
 Forbye sax mae, I Ve sell 't awa', 
 
 That thou hast nurst : 
 They drew me thretteen pund and twa, 
 
 The vera warst. 
 
 Mony a sair darg^^ we twa hae wrought, 
 And wi' the weary warl' fought ! 
 
 1 Sloping-backed. 2 Might perhaps have beaten thee for a short race. 
 
 « Wheeze. •* A switch. 
 
 6 The near horse of the hindmost pair in the plough. 
 
 6 Never pulled by fits or starts, or fretted. 7 Shaken. « Breast. 
 
 » Till hard, dry hillocks would open with a cracking sound, the earth falling 
 gently over. 10 Wooden measure. 
 
 11 Stopped. " 12 steepest. 
 
 13 Never leaped, reared, or started forward. 1* Quickened. 
 
 15 My plough team are all thy children. I8 Day's labour. 
 
'78 
 
 POEMS. [1786. 
 
 And mony an anxious day I thought 
 We v/ad be beat ! 
 
 Yet here to crazy age we 're brought, 
 Wi' something yet. 
 
 And think na, my auld trasty servan', 
 That now perhaj)s thou 's less deservin', 
 And thy auld days may end in starvin', 
 
 For my last fou, 
 A heapit stimpart,i 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,' 
 Whare ye may nobly rax* your leather. 
 
 Wi' sma' fatigue. 
 
 THE TWA DOGS. 
 
 A TALE. 
 
 Gilbert Burns says,— "The tale of 'The Twa Dogs' was composed after the resolu- 
 tion of publishing was nearly taken. Robert had a dog, which he called Luath, 
 that was a great favourite. The dog had been killed by the wanton cruelty of 
 some person, the night before my father's death. Robert said to me that he 
 s^hould like to confer such immortality as he could bestow on his old friend 
 Luath, and that he had a great mind to introduce something into the book 
 under the title of ' Stanzas to the Memory of a Quadruped Friend :' but this 
 plan was given up for the poem as it now stands. Caesar was merely the crea- 
 ture of the poet's imagination, created for the purpose of holding chat with his 
 favourite Luath." The factor who stood for his portrait here was the same ot 
 whom he writes to Dr Moore in 1787: — "My indignation yet boils at the 
 scoundrel factor's insolent threatening letters, which used to set us all in 
 tears." All who have been bred in country districts will have no diflBculty in 
 finding parallels to the factor of the poem. Often illiterate and unfeeling, they 
 think to gain the favour of the laird by an over-zealous pressure on poor but 
 honest tenants, who, if gently treated, would struggle through their difficulties 
 
 ■'TWAS in that place o' Scotland's isle, 
 That bears the name o' auld King Coil,^ 
 Upon a bonny day in June, 
 When wearing through the afternoon, 
 Twa dogs that werena thrang ^ at hame, 
 Forgather'd ance upon a time. 
 
 The first I '11 name, they ca'd him Caesar, 
 Was keepit for his honour's pleasure; 
 His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs,^ 
 Show'd he was nane o' Scotland's dogs ; 
 
 1 A measure of corn, the eighth part of a bushel. » Totter. 
 
 * Suved ridge of gi'ass. ■* Stretch. * The vilddle disti'ict of Ayrshire. 
 
 ■> Busy. 1 Bars. 
 
^T. 28.] POEMS, 79 
 
 But wlialpit some place far abroad, 
 "V^liere sailors gang to fish for cod. 
 
 His locked, letter'd, braw brass collar 
 Show'd him the gentleman and scholar ; 
 BTT^^n/V^ bp. was o' high degree, 
 He stamp a^u . .,^ |,ride had he; 
 
 But wicf E^^"o^A"-^.,*i\^pur caressin', 
 
 Even wi' a tinkler-gypsy's messan : ^ 
 
 At kirk or market, mill or smiddie, 
 
 Nae tawted ^ tyke, though 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, roving billie, 
 
 Wha for his friend and comrade had him, 
 
 And in his freaks had Luath ca'd him, 
 
 After some dog in Highland sang,* 
 
 Was made lang syne — Lord knows how lang. 
 
 He was a gash^ and faithfu' tyke. 
 As ever lap a sheugh'' or dike. 
 His honest, sonsie, baws'nt face,^ 
 Aye gat him friends in ilka place. 
 His breast was white, his touzie ^ back 
 'V^eel clad wi' coat o' glossy black ; 
 His gaucie^^ tail, wi' upward curl. 
 Hung o'er his hurdies^^ wi' a swirl. 
 
 Nae doubt but they were fain o' ither,i3 
 
 And unco pack and thick ^^ thegither j 
 
 Wi' social nose whyles snuff'd and snowkit,^* 
 
 Whyles mice and moudie worts they howkitj^^* 
 
 Whyles scoui-'d awa' in lang excursion, 
 
 And worried ither in diversion ; 
 
 Until wi' daffin'^6 weary grown, 
 
 Upon a knowe^^ they sat them down, 
 
 And there began a lang digression 
 
 About the lords o' the creation. 
 
 I 've often wonder'd, honest Luath, 
 What sort o' life poor dogs like you have ; 
 And when the gentry's life I saw. 
 What way poor bodies lived ava. 
 
 1 A petty oath = " the devil a bit o'.» 2 Cur. 3 Matted and dirty. 
 
 * Ragged. « Pissed. « Knowing. 7 Ditch. 
 
 8 His honest, comely, white-striped face. " Sliaggy. 
 
 10 Busliy. lA Hips. 12 Fond of each other. 
 
 18 Very interested and friendly. 1* Scented. 
 
 16 Sometimes for mice and moles they dug. i« Sporting. 17 HillocJc 
 
 * CuchuUin's dog in Ossian's " Mngal."— 5 
 
[lySe 
 
 80 POEMS. 
 
 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 bonny silken "^^ V^hotili"^'-*' 
 As lang 's my tail, . ^^u 's L^^ ^etit ^ V* .^cK 
 The yellow-letter'c'\V/i*av j?ro i».«3cn.o; -' 
 
 Frae mom to e'en it's nought but toiling, 
 At baking, roasting, frying, boiling ; 
 And though the gentry first are stechin,* 
 Yet e'en the ha' folk fill their pechan^ 
 Wi' sauce, ragouts, and siclike trashtrie, 
 That's little short o' downright wastrie. 
 Our whipper-in, wee, blastit wonner,^ 
 Poor worthless elf, it eats a dinner 
 Better than ony tenant man 
 His honour has in a' the Ian' ; 
 And what poor cot-folk pit their pair.ch in, 
 I own it 's past my comprehension. 
 
 Trowth, Ccesar, whyles they're fasht^ eneugh; 
 A cotter howkin' in a sheugh,* 
 Wi' dirty stanes biggin' a dike, 
 Baring a quarry, and siclike ; 
 Himsel, a wife, he thus sustains, 
 A smytrie o' wee duddie weans,^^ 
 And nought but his han' darg ^^ to keep 
 Them right and tight in thack and rape.^^ 
 
 And when they meet wi' sair disasters, 
 Like loss o' health or want o' masters. 
 Ye maist wad think, a wee touch langer, 
 And 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. 
 
 C2ESAR. 
 
 But then to see how ye 're negleckit. 
 How huff'd, and cufi'd, and disrespeckit ! 
 Lord, man, our gentry care as little 
 For delvers, ditchers, and sic cattle ; 
 
 1 His corn rents and assessments. 2 Stitches. s Glances. 
 
 4 StuGBng, 5 stomach. « Wonder, a contemptuous appellation 
 
 » Paunch. « Troubled. » Digging in a ditch. 
 
 10 A number of ragged children. n Day's work. 
 
 12 Under a roof-tree — literally, thatch and rope. 
 
 -^ Stalwart men and clerer women. 
 
/5T, 28 ] POEMS, 8t 
 
 Tliey gang as saucy by poor folk 
 As I wad by a stinkin' brock. ^ 
 I 've noticed, on our laird's court-day, 
 And mony a time my heart's been wae, 
 Poor tenant bodies, scant o' cash, 
 How they maun thole a factor's snash '^ 
 He'll stamp and threaten, curse and swear^ 
 He'll apprehend them," poind their gear; 
 "While they maun staEr', 'wi' aspect humble, 
 And hear it a', and fear and tremble! 
 
 I see how folk live that hae riches ; 
 But surely poor folk maun be wretches! 
 
 They're no sae wretched 's ane wad think; 
 Though constantly on poortith's^ brink : 
 They're sae accustom'd wi' the sight, 
 TLe ^ iew o't gies them little fright. 
 
 Then chance and fortune are sae guided. 
 They 're aye in less or mair provided ; 
 And though fatigued wi* close employment, 
 A blink o' rest's a sweet enjoyment. " 
 
 The dearest comfort o' their lives, 
 Their grushie"* weans and faithfu' wives; 
 The prattling things are just their pride, 
 That sweetens a' their fire-side; 
 And whyles twalpennie worth o' nappy ^ 
 Can mak the bodies unco happy ; 
 • They lay aside their private cares, 
 To mind the Kirk and State affairs : 
 They '11 talk o' patronage and priests, 
 \VT kindling fury in their breasts ; 
 Or tell what new taxation's comin', 
 And f erlie ^ at the folk in Lon'on. 
 
 As bleak-faced Hallowmas returns. 
 They get the jovial ranting kirns, ^ 
 When rural life o' every station 
 Unite in common recreation ; 
 Love blinks, Wit slaps, and social Miith 
 Forgets there 's Care upo' the earth. 
 
 That merry day the year begins 
 They bar the door on frosty win's ; 
 The nappy reeks wi' mantling ream. 
 And sheds a heart-inspiring steam ; 
 
 Badgey. 2 Bear a factor's abuse. s Poverty. *■ Tlirivmg 
 
 s Ale or whisky. « Wouder. ? Harvest-homes 
 
FOEMS. [17S6. 
 
 The luntin pipe and sneeshin mill ^ 
 Are handed round wi' right guid will ; 
 The cantie '^ auld folks crackin' crouse,^ 
 The young anes rantin' through the house, - 
 My heart has been sae fain to see them, 
 Tliat 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 mony a creditable stock 
 O' decent, honest, f awsont * folk. 
 Are riven out baith root and branch, 
 Some rascal's pridef u' greed to quench, 
 Wha thinks to knit himsel the faster 
 In favour wi' some gentle master, 
 Wha aiblins** thrang a parliamentin' 
 For Britain's guid his saul iudentin' — 
 
 Haith, lad, ye little ken about it ; 
 
 For Britain's guid! guid faith, I doubt it. 
 
 Say rather, gaun as Premiers lead him ; 
 
 And saying Ay or No's they bid him ; 
 
 At operas and plays parading, 
 
 Mortgaging, gambling, masquerading; 
 
 Or maybe, in a frolic daft. 
 
 To Hague or Calais taks a waft,^ 
 
 To mak a tour, and tak a whirl, 
 
 To learn hon ton, and see the worl*. 
 
 There, at Vienna or Versailles, 
 He rives his father's auld entails;'^ 
 Or by Madrid he takes the route, 
 To thrum guitars, and fecht wi' nowte;* 
 Or down Italian vista startles, 
 "Whore-hunting among groves 0' myrtles, 
 Then bouses drumly German water. 
 To mak himsel look fair and fatter. 
 And clear the consequential sorrows, 
 Love-gifts of Carnival signoras. 
 For Britain's guid! — for her destruction ! 
 "Wi* dissipation, feud, and faction! 
 
 Hechman! dear sirs! is that the gate 
 They waste sae mony a braw estate ! 
 Are we sae foughten and harass'd 
 For gear to gang that gate at last ! 
 
 I The smoking pipe and snuff-box. 2 Cheerful. s Talking briskly. 
 
 * Seemly. 6 Perhaps « A trip. 
 
 r Break* th« entail on his estate. « See bull-fights. 
 
The cantie auld folks crackin' crouse, 
 The youug anes rantin' through the house— 
 My heart has been sae fain to see them, 
 Thatlforjoyhaeharkitwi' them. _ „ „ ^ 
 
 —The Twa Dogt, pane sa 
 

i£T 28 J POEMS. 83 
 
 Oil, would they stay aback fra courts, 
 And please themsels wi' country sports. 
 It wad for every ane be better, 
 'J'he Laird, the Tenant, and the Cotter! 
 !For thae frank, rantin', rambim' billies, 
 Fient haet o' them's ill-hearted fellows; 
 Except for breakin' o' their timmer, 
 Or speakin' lightly o' their limmer, 
 Or shootin' o' a hare or moorcock, 
 The ne'er a bit they're ill to poor folk. 
 
 But will ye tell me, Master Caesar, 
 Sure great folk's life 's a life o' pleasure ? 
 Nae cauld nor hunger e'er can steer tht m, 
 The very thought o't needna fear them. 
 
 CiESAR. 
 
 Loid, man, were ye but whyles whare I am, 
 The gentles ye wad ne'er envy 'em. 
 It 's true they needna starve nor sweat, 
 Through winter's cauld, or simmer's heat ; 
 They've nae sair wark to craze their banes, 
 And fill auld age wi' grips and granes : ^ 
 But human bodies are sic fools. 
 For a' their colleges and schools. 
 That when nae real ills j^erplex them. 
 They mak enow themsels to vex them ; 
 And aye the less they hae to sturt^ them, 
 In like proportion less will hurt them. 
 
 A country fellow at the pleugh. 
 His acres till'd, he 's right eneugh ; 
 A country girl at her wheel. 
 Her dizzens done, she 's unco weel : 
 But Gentlemen, and Ladies warst, 
 AVi' evendown want o' wark are curst. 
 Tiiey loiter, lounging, lank, and lazy; 
 Tiiough deil haet^ ails them, yet uneasy; 
 Their days insipid, dull, and tasteless; 
 Their nights unquiet, lang, and restless ; 
 And e'en their sports, their balls and races, 
 Their galloping through public places, 
 There 's sic parade, sic pomp and art, 
 The joy can scarcely reach the heart. 
 
 The men cast out in party matches. 
 
 Then sowther^ a' in deep debauches; 
 
 Ae night they 're mad wi' drink and whoring, 
 
 Neist day their life is past enduring. 
 
 »• Pains and groans. 2 Trouble. » Devil a thing. * Solder, 
 
84 POEMS, [1786 
 
 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 and jads* thegitlier. 
 Whyles, owre the wee bit cup and piatie, 
 Tiiey sip the scandal potion pretty : 
 Or lee-lang nights, wi' crabbit leuks, 
 Pore owre the devil's pictured beuks; 
 Stake on a chance a farmer's stackyard, 
 And cheat like ony unhang'd blackguard, 
 "'here's some exception, man and woman ; 
 iJut this is Gentry's life in common. 
 
 By this, the sun was out o' sight, 
 And darker gloaming brought the night : 
 The bum-clock 2 humm'd wi* lazy drone; 
 The kye stood rowtin i' the loan . 
 When up they gat, and shook their lugs, 
 Rejoiced they werena men, but dogs; 
 And each took aff his several way, 
 Resplved to meet some ither day. 
 
 TO A LOUSE, 
 
 ON SEEING ONE ON A LADY'S BONNET AT CHURCH. 
 
 Bums's fastidious patrons and patronesses sometimes ventured to lecture him 
 on the homeliness and vulgarity of some of his themes. " The Address to a 
 Louse" was a notable instance. The poet defended it on account of the moral 
 conveyed, and he was right we think. He was ever impatient of criticism 
 and suggestions ; and. judging from the kind of criticisms and suggestions 
 frequeiUly offered to him, we may be glad tJiat^ he so freiiUeut.y followed his 
 own judiiment. 
 
 Ha ! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin' ferlie ! ' 
 Your impudence protects you sairly : 
 I camia say but ye strunt '♦■ rarely, 
 
 Owre gauze and lace ; 
 Though, faith, I fear ye dine but sparely 
 
 On sic a place. 
 
 Ye ugly, creepin', blastit wonner, 
 Detested, shunn'd, by saunt and sinner, 
 How dare ye set your fit upon her, 
 
 Sae fine a lady ? 
 Gae somewhere else, and seek your dinner 
 
 On some jDOor body. 
 
 Swith, in some beggar's haffet squattle ; * 
 There ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle ® 
 
 I A i4i(l(iy girl. 2 Beetle. 3 Wonder. 4 Strut, 
 
 ii >Swift crawl in some beggar's hair. 6 ycranible. 
 
/£T. 28.] POEMS. 85 
 
 "Wi' ither kindred, jumping cattle, 
 
 In shoals and nations ; 
 
 Whare horn nor bane ne'er daur unsettle ^ 
 Your thick plantations. 
 
 Now hand you there, ye 're out o* sight, 
 Eelow the fatt'rils,^ snug and tight ; 
 Na, faith ye yet ! ye 11 no be right 
 
 Till yeVe got on it, 
 The very tapmost, towering height 
 
 O' Miss's bonnet. 
 
 My sooth ! right bj^uld ye set your nose out, 
 As plump and gray as ony grozet : ^ 
 Oh for some rank, mercurial rozet,* 
 
 Or fell, red smeddum,® 
 I'd gie you sic a hearty doze o't, 
 
 Wad dress your droddum !^ 
 
 I wadna been surprised to spy 
 You on an auld wife's flannen toy ; "^ 
 Or aiblins some bit duddie boy, 
 
 On's wyliecoat ; 8 
 But Miss's fine Lunavdi ! * lie ! 
 
 How daur ye do 't ? 
 
 O Jenny, dinna toss your head, 
 And set your beauties a' abread ! 
 Ye little ken what cursdd speed 
 
 The blastie's mnkin' I 
 Thae winks and fuiger-ends, I dread, 
 
 Are notice takin' ! 
 
 Oh wad some power the giftie gie us 
 To see oursels as others see us ! 
 It wad frae mony a blunder free us. 
 
 And foolish notion : 
 "What airs in dress and gait wad lea'e us, \ 
 
 And even devotion! j 
 
 THE ORDIN-ATIOK. 
 
 'The Ordination" was written on the occasion of the admifision of the Rev. 
 James Mackinlay as one of the ministers of the Laigh or parochial kirk of 
 Kilmarnock, Mackinlay was a member of the "Auld-Licht" or orthodox 
 school, to which the poet was opposed. The following by Mr Chambers will 
 show how small a hold tLe moderate or liberal party had on the sympathies of 
 
 1 Where the hair is never* combed. 2 The ribbon-ends. 2 Gooseberry. 
 
 4 Uosin. 5 PowJer. 6 Breech. 7 Flannel cap. 
 
 8 Flannel waistcoat. 
 
 * A kind of bonnet, at one time fashionable, called after an Italian aeronaut. 
 
8^ POEMS, [17S6 
 
 the bulk of the people: — "There was a popular notion that Mr Lindsay had 
 been indebted for his presentation from the patron, Lord Glenoairn, to his 
 wife, Margaret Lauder, who was believed, but, I am assured erroneously, to 
 have been his lordship's housekeeper. Mr Lindsay's induction, in 1764, wai 
 so much in opposition to the sentiments of the people, that it produced a riot, 
 attended by many outrages. Three young men who had distinguished them- 
 selves by their violence, were whipped through Ayr, and imprisoned a month. 
 These circumstances evoked from a shoemaker named Hunter, a scoflBng 
 ballad, to which Burns alludes in the note marked thus t, below, and which 
 may be found in the ' History of Kilmarnock,' by Archibald M'Kay : 1848." A 
 tliird edition of Mr M'Kay's very interesting work was published recently ; 
 and the account of Mr Lindsay's induction and "The Scoffing Ballad," will 
 be found at pp. 119-128. 
 
 " For sense they little owe to frugal Heaven — 
 To please the mob, they hide the little given." 
 
 Kilmarnock •wabster.s,^ fidge and claw, 
 
 And pour your creeshie nations ; ^ 
 And ye wha leather rax^ and draw, 
 
 Of a' denominations,* 
 Swith to the Laigh Kirk, ane and a', 
 
 And there tak up your stations ; 
 Then aff to Begbie s t in a raw. 
 
 And pour divine libations 
 
 For joy this day. 
 
 Curst Common Sense, that imp o' hell, 
 
 Cam in wi' Maggie Lauder ; % 
 But Oliphant aft made her yell, 
 
 And Kussell sair raisca'd her ; § 
 This day Mackinlay taks the flail, 
 
 And he 's the boy will blaud ^ her ! 
 He '11 clap a shangan ^ on her tail, 
 
 And set the bairns to daud ** her 
 Wi' dirt this day. 
 
 Mak haste and turn king David owre, 
 
 And lilt wi' holy clangor ; 
 O' double verse come gie us four, 
 
 And skirl up the Bangor : 
 This day the Kirk kicks up a stoure/ 
 
 Nae mair the knaves shall wrang her, 
 For Heresy is in her power. 
 
 And gloriously she 11 whang ^ her 
 Wi' pith this day. 
 
 1 Weavers. 2 Greasy crowds. s Stretch. 4 giap. 
 
 6 A cleft stick. 6 Bespatter. ' A dust. « Lash. 
 
 * Kilmarnock was then a town of between three and four thousand inhabitnnts, 
 most of whom were engaged in the manufacture of carpets and other coarse 
 woollen goods, or in the preparation of leather. 
 
 t A tavern near the church kept by a pei-son of this name. 
 
 X Alluding to a scoffing ballad which was made on the admission of the late 
 reverend and worthy Mr Lindsay to the Laigh Kirk. — B. 
 
 § Oliphant and Russell were ministers of the Auld-Licht p.arty. 
 
«T. 28.] POEMS, 8j 
 
 Come, let a proper text be read, 
 
 And touch it aff wi' vigour, 
 How graceless Ham * leugh at his dad, 
 
 Which made Canaan a nigger ; 
 Or Phinehasf drove the murdering blade, 
 
 Wi' whore-abhorring rigour ; 
 Or Zipporah,:}; the scauldin' jade, 
 
 Was like a bluidy tiger 
 
 I' the inn that day. 
 
 There, try his mettle on the creed, 
 
 And bind him down wi' caution, 
 That stipend is a carnal weed 
 
 He taks but for the fashion ; 
 And gie him owre the flock to feed, 
 
 And punish each transgression ; 
 Especial, rams that cross the breed, 
 
 Gie them sufficient threshin', 
 
 Spare them nae day. 
 
 Njjw, auld Kihnarnock, cock thy tail, 
 
 And toss thy horns f u' canty ; ^ 
 Nae mair thou 'It rowte ^ out-owre the dale, 
 
 Because thy pasture's scanty ; 
 For lapfu's large o' gospel kail 
 
 ShaU till thy crib in plenty. 
 And runts 3 o' gi-ace 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' ; 
 Come, screw the pegs, wi' tunefu' cheep, 
 
 And o'er the thaii-ms'' be tryin' ; 
 Oh, rare ! to see our elbucks wheep,* 
 
 And a' like lamb-tails flyin' 
 
 Fu' fast this day 1 
 
 Lang, Patronage, wi' rod o* aim. 
 
 Has shored^ the Kirk's undoin*, 
 As lately Fenwick,§ sair forfaim,^ 
 
 Has proven to its ruin : 
 Our patron, honest man ! Glencairn, 
 
 He saw mischief was brewin' ; 
 And, like a godly elect bairn, 
 
 He 's waled ^ us out a true ane. 
 
 And sound this day. 
 
 1 Merry. 2 Low. 8 Cabbage stems. * Strings. 
 
 * Elbo\v.s jerk. « Threatened. ' Menaced. 8 Chosen. 
 
 * Grenesis ix. 22. f Numbers xxv. 8. % Exodus iv. 25. 
 
 § Rev. William Boyd, minister of Fsnwick, whose settlement had been aisputed 
 
S3 POEMS, [1786 
 
 Now, Robinson,* harangue nae mair, 
 
 But steek your gab^ for ever : 
 Or try the wicked town of Ayr, 
 
 For there they '11 think you clever ! 
 Or, nae reflection on your leai, 
 
 Ye may commence a shaver ; 
 Or to the Nethertonf repair, 
 
 And turn a carpet-weaver 
 
 Aff-hand this day. 
 
 Mutrie % and you were just a match, 
 
 "We never had sic twa drones : 
 Auld Hornie did the Laigh Kirk watch, 
 
 Just like a winkin' baudrons : "^ 
 And aye he catch'd the tither wretch, 
 
 To fry them in his caudrons : 
 But now his honour maun detach, 
 
 Wi' a' his brimstone squadrons. 
 
 Fast, fast this day. 
 
 See, see auld Orthodoxy's faes 
 
 She 's swingein' ^ through the city ; 
 Hark, how the nine-tail'd cat she j^lays! 
 
 I vow its unco pretty : 
 There, Learning, with his Greekish face 
 
 Grunts out some Latin ditty ; 
 And Common Sense is gaun, she sa3\s. 
 
 To mak to Jamie Beattie § 
 
 Her plaint this day. 
 
 But there *s Morality himsel, 
 
 Embracing ail opinions ; 
 Hear how he gies the tither yell, 
 
 Between his twa companions ; 
 See how she peels the skin and fell,"* 
 
 As ane were i)eelin' onions ! 
 Now 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 : 
 Mackinlay, Russell, are the boys, 
 
 That Heresy can torture, 
 
 - Shut your mouth. « A cat. 8 Whipping. * The flesh under the skiik 
 
 * The colleague of the newly-ordained clergyman — a moderate. 
 \ A part of the town of Kilmarnock. 
 
 + The deceased clergyman, whom Mr Mackin'ay succeeded 
 I The well-known author of the «'E,ssay on Truth." 
 
iCT. 28.] POEMS, 89 
 
 Tjiey '11 gie her on a rape a hoyse,^ 
 And cowe^ her measure shorter 
 
 By the head some day. 
 
 Come, bring the tither mutchkin in, 
 
 And here 's, for a conclusion, 
 To every New-Light * 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. 
 
 ADDE,ESS TO THE UNCO GTJID, OK THE 
 RIGIDLY RIGHTEOUS. 
 
 This fine poem is a protest against a too ready judging of one's neighbour, and 
 was no doubt suggested by the worrying attacks of petty minds who were in- 
 capable of going below the surface, or of understanding his many-sided char- 
 acter. The Ettrick Shepherd, in speaking of it, says, " Burns has written more 
 irom his own heart and his own feelings than any other poet, of which this 
 poem is an instance. With the secret fountains of passion in the human 8o;il 
 he was well acquainted, and deeply versed in their mysteries. The last two 
 verses are above all praise." 
 
 " My son, these maxims make a rule, 
 
 And lump them aye thegither ; 
 The rigid righteous is a fool, 
 
 The rigid wise anither ; 
 The cleanest corn that e'er was dight 
 
 May hae some pyles o' caff in ; 
 So ne'er a fellow-creature slight 
 
 For random fits o' daffin." — Solomok.— Eccles. vii. 16. 
 
 O YE wha are sae guid yoursel, 
 
 Sae pious and sae holy, 
 Ye 've nought to do but mark and tell 
 
 Your neibour's f auts and folly ! 
 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, 
 
 1 A swing in a rope. 2 Cut. s Deafen. * A matoh 
 
 * "Now Light" is a cant phrase, in the west of Scotland, for those religious 
 opinions which Dr Taylor of Norwich has defended so strenuously.— jB 
 
90 POEMS. [1786. 
 
 That frequent pass douce^ Wisdom's doer 
 
 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 niffer,* 
 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 aft mair than a' the Lave) 
 
 Your better art o' hiding. 
 
 Think, when your castigated pulse 
 
 Gies now and then a wallop. 
 What ragings must his veins convulse, 
 
 That still eternal gallop : 
 Wi' wind and tide fair i' your tail, 
 
 Right on ye scud your sea-way ; 
 Eut 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 
 
 The 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 change o' cases ; 
 A dear-loved lad, convenience snug, 
 
 A treacherous inclination — 
 But, let me whisper i' your lug,® 
 
 Ye 're aiblins ^ nae temptation. 
 
 Tlien gently scan your brother man, 
 
 Still gentler sister woman ; 
 Though they may gang a kennin'8 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. 
 
 1 Thoughtful. 2 Senseless. » Unlucky. » Comparison. 
 
 5 Transformed. « Ear, f Perhaps. • A little bit. 
 
^T<28.] POEMS. 91 
 
 Who made the heart, 'tis He alone 
 
 Decidedly can try us ; 
 lie knows each chord — its various tone. 
 
 Each spring— its various bias : 
 Tiien at the balance let 's be mute, 
 
 We never can adjust it ; 
 What 's done we partly may compute, 
 
 But know not what 's resisted. 
 
 THE INVENTORY. 
 
 IN ANSWER TO A MANDATE BY THE SURVEYOR OF TAIXES. 
 
 Mr Chambers says : — " The ' Inventory' was written in answer to a mandate sent 
 by Mr Aiken of Ayr, the surveyor of windows, carnages, &c., for the district, 
 to each farmer, ordering him to send a signed list of his horses, servants 
 wheel-carriages, &c., and to state whether he was a married man or a bachelor 
 and also the number of his children. The poem is chiefly remarkable for the 
 information it gives concerning the farm, the household, and the habits ol 
 Burns." 
 
 Sir, as your mandate did request, 
 1 send you here a faithfu' lisb 
 O' guids and gear, and a' my graith, 
 To which I 'm clear to gie my aith. 
 
 Imprimis, then, for carriage cattle, 
 I hae four brutes o' gallant mettle. 
 As ever drew afore a pettle.^ 
 My han'-af ore's ^ a guid auld has-been, 
 And wight and wilfu' a' his days been. 
 My han'-ahin's"^ a weel-gaun filly. 
 That aft has borne me hame frae Killie,* 
 And your auld burro' mony a time, 
 In days when 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, 
 (Lord, pardon a' my sins, and that too!) 
 I play'd my filly sic a shavie,^ 
 She 's a' bedevil'd ^vi' the spavie. 
 My fur-ahin's^ a worthy 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' cowte's the wale,^ 
 As ever ran afore a tail : 
 
 1 A plonch spade. 2 The foremost horse on the left-hand in the plough. 
 
 3 The hindmost horse on the left-hand in the plough. * Must needs. 
 
 5 A trick. 6 The hindmost horse on the right-hand in the plough 
 
 ^ A colt, * Choice 
 
 * Kilmaniock 
 
9* POEMS, [17S6. 
 
 If he be spared to be a beast, 
 
 He '11 diaw me fifteen pun' at least. 
 
 Wheel-carriages I hae but few, 
 Three carts, and twa are feckly^ nev ; 
 An auld wheelbarrow, 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 triale. 
 
 For men, I Ve three mischievous boys, 
 Ivun-deils for rantin' and for noise ; 
 A gaudsman ane, a thrasher t'other ; 
 Vfee Davoc bauds the nowte in f other. *^ 
 1 rule them, as I ought, discreetly, 
 And aften labour them completely; 
 And aye on Sundays duly, nightly, 
 I on the question targe** them tightly, 
 Till, faith, wee Davoc's turn'd sae gle.;,* 
 Though scarcely langer than my leg, 
 He '11 screed you aff Effectual Calling '"* 
 As fast as ony in the dwalling. 
 
 I've nane in female servan' station, 
 (Lord, keep me aye frae a' temptation I) 
 I hae nae wife, and that my bliss is, 
 And ye hae laid nae tax on misses ; 
 And then, if kirk folks dinna clutch me, 
 I ken the devils darena touch me. 
 "VVi' weans I'm mair than weel contented, 
 ITeaven sent me ane mair than I wanted. 
 ]\[y sonsie,* smirking, dear-bought Bess,t 
 She stares the daddy in her face. 
 Enough of ought you like but grace ; 
 But her, my bonny sweet wee lady, 
 I 've paid enough for her already. 
 And gin ye tax her or her mither, 
 B' the Lord ! ye'se get them a' thegitlier. 
 
 And now, remember, Mr Aiken, 
 Nae kind of licence out I 'm takin' ; 
 Frae this time forth I do declare, 
 I 'sc ne'er ride horse nor hizzie mair; 
 Through dirt and dub f'^r life I'll 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. 
 
 1 Nearly. 2 Keeps the cattle in fodder. s Task. 4 So shai-p. 
 
 » Comely. 6 Tramp. 1 Wiilk. 
 
 * A leading question in the Shorter Catechism of the Westminster Assembly 
 of divines. 
 
 f A child born to the poet bv a female servant of his mother's. 
 
«T. 28.] POEMS, 93 
 
 The kirk and you may tak you that, 
 It puts but little in your pat ; 
 Sae dinna put me in your buke, 
 Nor for my ten vhite shillings luko. 
 
 This list wi' my ain hand I Ve wrote it, 
 The day and date as under noted; 
 Then know all ye whom it concerns, 
 Suhscripsi mic, EoBERT Burns, 
 
 MossGiEL, February 22, 1786. 
 
 TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY, 
 
 ON TURNING ONE DOWN -WITH THE PLOUGH IN AFRIL 1786. 
 
 Wr Chambers says: — "The 'Mountain Daisy' was ccmposed, as the poet has 
 related, at the plough. The field where he crushed the 'Wee, modest, crimson- 
 tipped flower' lies next to that in which he turned up the nest of the mouse, 
 and both are on the farm of Mossgiel, and still shown to anxious inquirers by 
 the neighbouring peasantry." 
 
 Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower, 
 Thou 's met me in an evil hour; 
 For I maun crush amang the stoure ^ 
 
 Thy slender stem : 
 To spare thee now is past ray power, 
 
 Thou bonny gem. 
 
 Alas ! it 's no thy neibor sweet, 
 The bonny lark, companion meet. 
 Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet, 
 
 Wi' speckled breast. 
 When upward si^ringing, blithe, to greet, 
 
 The purpling east. 
 
 Cauld blew the bitter-biting north 
 Upon thy early, humble, birth ; 
 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 ^ 
 
 O' clod or stane, 
 Adorns the histie'* stibble-field, 
 
 Unseen, alane. 
 
 1 Dust. 2 Peeped. 8 Shelter. * Barren. 
 
94 POEMS, [17.S6. 
 
 There, in thy scanty mantle clad, 
 Thy snawie bosom sun-ward spread, 
 Thou lifts thy unassuming head 
 
 In humble guise ; 
 But now the share uptears thy bed. 
 
 And low thou lie.i ! 
 
 Such is the fate of artless maid, 
 Sweet floweret of the rural shade ! 
 By love's simplicity betray 'd. 
 
 And guileless trust, 
 Till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid 
 
 Low i' the dust. 
 
 Such is the fate of simple bard, 
 
 On life's rough ocean luckless starr'd I 
 
 Unskilful he to note the card 
 
 Of prudent lore, 
 Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, 
 
 And whelm him o'er ! 
 
 V Such fate to suffering worth is given, 
 
 Who long with wants and woes has striven, 
 By human pride or cunning driven. 
 
 To misery's brink. 
 Till, wrench'd of every stay but Heaven, 
 
 He, ruin'd, sink ! 
 
 Even thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate, 
 That fate is thine — no distant date ; 
 Stern Ruin's ploughshare drives, elate, 
 
 Full on thy bloom, 
 TUl, crush'd beneath the furrow's weight, 
 
 Shall be thy doom ! 
 
 LAMENT, 
 
 OCCASIONED BY THE UNFORTUNATE ISSUE OF A FRIEND's AMOUR. 
 
 After mentioning the appearance of "Holy "Willie's Prayer," which alai-med the 
 kirk-session so much that they held several meetings to look over their spir- 
 itual artillery, if haply any of it might be pointed against profane rhymers. 
 Burns states: — " Unluckily for me, my wanderings led me on another side, 
 witliin point-blank shot of their heaviest metal. This is the unfortunate story 
 that gave rise to my printed poem ' The Lament.' This was a most melancholy 
 affair, which I cannot yet bear to reflect on. and had veiy neai'ly given me one 
 or two of the principal qualificat'ons for a place among those who have lost the 
 charter, and mistaken the reckoning of rationality, t had been for some days 
 skulking from covert to covert, under all the terrors of a jail ; as some ill- 
 advised i>eople had uncoupled the merciless pack of the law at my heeltJ. I 
 had taken the last farewell of my few friends ; my chest was on the road to 
 Greenock ; I had composed the last song I should ever measure in Caledonia, 
 • The Gloomy Night is Gathering Fast,' when a letter from Dr Blacklock to a 
 
-r-T. 28.] POEMS. 95 
 
 friend of mine overthrew all my schemes, by opening new pi'Otpects to my 
 poetic ambition." 
 "It is scarcely necessary," Gilbert Burns says, "to mention that 'The l^ament' 
 was composed on that unfortunate passage in his matrimonial historj which I 
 have mentioned in my letter to Mrs Dunlop, [alluding to his connexion with 
 Jean Armour.] After the- first distraction of his feelings had subsided, that 
 connexion could no longer be concealed. Robert durst not engage with a family 
 in his poor unsettled state, but was anxious to shield his partner by every 
 means in his power, from the consequences of their imprudence. It was 
 agreed, therefore, between them, that they should make a legal acknowledg- 
 ment of an irregular and private marriage : that he f<hould go to Jamaica to 
 push his fortune ; and that she should remain with her father till it might 
 please Pi'ovidence to put the means of supporting a family in his power." 
 
 r' Alas! how oft does goodness wound itself, /,^^ 
 
 \ And sweet affection prove the spring of woeP) — Home. 
 
 THOU pale orb, that silent shines, 
 While care-untroubled mortals sleep i 
 
 Thou seest a wretch that inly pines. 
 And wanders here to wail and weep ! 
 
 With woe I nightly vigils keep 
 
 Beneath thy wan, un warming 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 agonising thrill 
 
 For ever bar returning peace ! 
 
 No idly -feign 'd poetic pains 
 
 My sad, love-lorn lamentings claim ; 
 !N"o shepherd's pipe — ^Arcadian strains ; 
 
 No 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, 
 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 honour, lost to truth, 
 As from the fondest lover part, 
 
 The plighted husband of her youth ! 
 
96 POEMS, [I7<%. 
 
 Alas 1 life's path may be unsmooth !^ 
 
 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 us pass'd, 
 
 Enraptured more, the more enjoy'd. 
 Your dear remembrance in my breast. 
 
 My fondly-treasured tlioughts employ 'd. 
 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 mom that warns th' approaching clay, 
 
 Awakes me up to toil and woe : 
 I see the hours in long array. 
 
 That I must suffer, lingering, slow. 
 Full many a pang, and many a throe, 
 
 Keen recollection's direful train. 
 Must wring my soul, ere Phoebus, low, 
 
 Shall kiss the distant, western main. 
 
 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, 
 
 Keigns haggard- wild, in soar affright : 
 Even day, all-bitter, brings relief. 
 
 From such a horror-breathing night. 
 
 O thou bright queen, who o'er th' expanse, 
 
 Now highest reign'st, with boundless sway \ 
 Oft has thy silent- marking glance 
 
 Observed us, fondly wandering, stray ! 
 The time, unheeded, sjDed away, 
 
 While love's luxurious pulse beat high, 
 Beneath thy silver-gleaming ray, 
 
 To mark the mutual kindling eye. 
 
 Oh ! scenes in strong remembrance set \ ^ 
 
 Scenes never, never, to return ! 
 Scenes, if in stupor I forget. 
 
 Again I feel, again I burn ! 
 From every joy and pleasure torn. 
 
 Life's weary vale I'll Wf .der throu-^h| 
 And hopeless, comfortless, I '11 mourn 
 
 A faithless woman's broken vow. 
 
iKT. 28.] POEMS. 97 
 
 DESPONDENCY : 
 
 AN ODE. 
 
 h sorrow or a ci*oss is half conquered when, by telling it, some dear friend be- 
 comes, as it were, a sharer in it. Burns poured out his troubles in verse with 
 a like result. He says, "I think it is one of the greatest pleasures attending 
 a poetic genius, that we can give our woes, cares, joys, and loves, an embodied 
 form in verse, which to me is ever immediate ease." 
 
 Oppressed with grief, oppress'd with care, 
 A burden more than I can bear, 
 
 I set me down and sigh: 
 O life ! thoii 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 through. 
 Too justly I may fear ! 
 Still caring, despairing, 
 
 Must be my bitter doom : 
 
 My woes here shall close ne'er, 
 
 But with the closing tomb ! 
 
 Happy, ye sons of busy life, 
 Who, equal to the bustling strife. 
 
 No other view regard ! 
 Even when the wish'd 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 raismg 
 
 His thoughts to Heaven on hi^'Ji, 
 As, wand'ring, meand'ring, 
 He views the solemn sky. 
 
9S POEMS. [1786 
 
 Than 1, 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 ! those pleasures, loves, and joys 
 
 Which I too keenly taste, 
 The solitary can despise, 
 Can want, and yet be blest ! 
 He needs not, he heeds not, 
 
 Or human love or hate. 
 Whilst I here must cry here 
 At perfidy ingrate ! 
 
 Oh ! enviable, early days. 
 
 When dancing thoughtless pleasure'^ maze, 
 
 To care, to guilt unknown ! 
 How ill exchanged for riper times, 
 To feel the follies, or the crimes, 
 
 Of others, or my own ! 
 Ye tiny elves that guiltless sport, 
 
 Like linnets in the bush, 
 Ye little know the ills ye coui*t, 
 AVhen manhood is your wish ! 
 The losses, the crosses. 
 
 That active man engage ! 
 The fears all, the tears all, 
 Of dim declining age ! 
 
 ODE TO RUIN. 
 
 Currie says: — "It appears from internal evidence that the al)0ve lines were 
 composed in 1786, when ' Hungry Ruin had him in the wind.' The 'dart' that 
 
 ' Cut my dearest tie, 
 And quivei's in my heart,' 
 
 is evidently an allusion to his separation from his 'bonny Jean.' Burns seems 
 to have glanced into futurity with a prophetic eye : images of miseiy and woe 
 darkened the distant vista : and when he looked back on his career he saw 
 
 little to console him 'I have been, this morning,' he observes, 'taking a peep 
 
 through, as Young finely says, "The dark postern of time long elapsed." 
 'Twas a rueful prospect! Wlkat a tissue of thoughtlessness, weakness, and 
 folly ! My life reminded me of a ruined temple. What strength, what pro- 
 portion, in some pai'ts ! What unsightly gaps, what prostrate ruins in others? 
 I kneeled down before the Father of mercies and said, "Father, I have sinned 
 against heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy 
 ion," I rose, eased and atrengthened.' " 
 
 All hail ! inexorable lord ! 
 At whose destruction-breathing word 
 The mip^htiest emi)ires fall I 
 
JEV, 23.] FORMS 99 
 
 Thy cruel, woe-delighted train, 
 The ministers of grief and i3ain, 
 
 A sullen welcome, all ! 
 With stern-resolved, despairing eye, 
 
 I see each aim^d dart ; 
 For one has cut my dearest tie, 
 And quivers in my heart. 
 Then lowering and pouring, 
 
 The storm no more I dread ; 
 Though thick'ning and black'ning, . 
 Bound my devoted head. 
 
 And thou grim power, by life abhorr'd. 
 While life a pleasure can afford. 
 
 Oh ! hear a wretch's prayer ! 
 No more I shrink appall'd, afraid ; 
 I court,- 1 beg thy friendly aid 
 To close this scene of care ! 
 When shall my soul, in silent peace, 
 
 Resign life's joyless day ; 
 Illy weary heart its throbbings cease, 
 Cold mouldering in the clay ? 
 No fear more, no tear more, 
 To stain my lifeless face ; 
 Enclasped, and grasped 
 Within thy cold embrace ! 
 
 ADDEESS OF BEELZEBUB 
 
 TO THE PRESIDENT OF THE HIGHLAND SOCIETY. 
 
 riie history of this poem is as follows: — "On Tuesday, May 23, there was a 
 meeting of the Highland Society at London for the encouragement of the ti^li- 
 evies in the Highlands, &c. Three thousand pounds were immediately sub- 
 scribed by eleven gentlemen present for this particular purpose. The Earl of 
 Breadalbane informed the meeting that five hundred persons had agreed to 
 emigrate from the estates of Mr Macdorald of Glengarry ; that they had sub- 
 scribed money, purchased ships, &c., to cany their design into effect. The 
 noblemen and gentlemen agreed to co-operate with Government to frustrate 
 their design ; and to recommend to the principal noblemen and gentlemen in 
 the Highlands to endeavour to prevent emigration, by improving the fisheries, 
 agriculture, and manufactures, and particularly to enter into a subscription 
 for that purpose." This appeared in W\q EdinhuTQli Advertiser oi 30th May 
 1786. Remembering the outcry made a few years a^io against Highland evic- 
 tions, we cannot help being somewhat surprised at the poet's indignation, 
 ^lackenzie of Applecross, who figures in the poem, was a liberal landowner. 
 Mr Knox, in his tour of the Highlands, written about the same time as the 
 Address, states that he had relinquished all feudal claims upon the labour of 
 his tenants, paying them for their labour. The Address first appeared in the 
 Scot's Magazine with the following heading : — " To the Right Honourable the 
 Earl of Breadalbane, President of the Right Honourable and Honourable the 
 Highland Society, which met on the 23d of May last, at the Shakespeare, Covent 
 Garden, to concert ways and means to frustrate the designs of five hundred 
 
roo POEMS. [1786. 
 
 Highlanders, who, as the Society were informed by Mr M of A s, were 
 
 so audacious as to attempt an escape from their lawful lords and masters, 
 whose property they were, by emigrating from the lands of Mr Macdonald ol 
 Glengarry, to the wilds of Canada, in search of that fantastic thing LiBKitTr." 
 
 Long life, my lord, and health be yours, 
 Unscaith'd by hunger'd Highland boors ; ^ 
 Lord, grant nae duddie ^ desperate beggar, 
 Wi' dirk, claymore, or rusty trigger, 
 Ma}' twin auld Scotland o' a life 
 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 
 
 Til en let them ance out owre the water ; 
 
 Then up amang thae lakfes and seas 
 
 They '11 mak what rules and laws they please , 
 
 Some daring Hancock, or a, Franklin, 
 
 May set their Highland bluid a-ranklin' ; 
 
 Sctme Washington again may head them, 
 
 Or some Montgomery, fearless lead them, 
 
 Till God knows what may be effected 
 
 AYhen by such heads and hearts directed-^ 
 
 Poor dunghill sons of dirt and mire 
 
 ]\Tay to Patrician rights aspire ! 
 
 Nae sage North, now, nor sager Sackville, 
 
 To watch and premier o'er the pack vile. 
 
 And whare will ye get Howes and Clintons 
 
 To bring them to a right repentance, 
 
 To cowe the rebel generation. 
 
 And save the honour o' the nation? 
 
 They and be damn'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, 
 And tirl the hallions to the birses ; ^ 
 Yet while they 're only poind't and herriet,^ 
 They '11 keep their stubborn Highland spirib ; 
 But smash them ! crash them a' to spails ! ^ 
 And rot the dy vors ^ 1' the jails ! 
 The young dogs, swinge^ them to the labour; 
 Let wark and hunger mak them sober ! 
 The hizzies, if they're aughtlins fawsont,* 
 Let them in Drury Lane be lesson'd ! 
 
 1 Clodhoppers. 2 Ragged. « Pretty well, 
 
 * And strip the clowns to the skin. * Sold out and despoiled. 
 
 * Clrips. 7 Bankrupts. 8 Whip. 
 » The girls if they be at all handsome. 
 
«T. 28.] POEMS. lot 
 
 And if the wives and dir1>y brats 
 E'en thigger 1 at your doorsi aijd yeb^f*,- 
 Flaffan wi' duds and gray wi' beas',-^ 
 Frightin' avva' your deucks and geese, 
 Get out a horsewhiiD or a jowler,^ 
 The langest thong, the fiercest growler, 
 And gar ^ the tatter'd gypsies pack 
 Wi' a' their bastards on their back ! 
 Go on, my lord ! I lang to meet you, 
 And in my house at hame to greet you ; 
 AYi' common lords ye shanna mingle, 
 The benmost neuk ^ beside the ingle," 
 At my right han' assign'd your seat, 
 'Tween Herod's hip and Polycrate, — 
 Or if you on your station tarrow,^ 
 Between Almagro and Pizarro, 
 A seat, I 'm sure ye 're weel deserviu^t ; 
 And till ye come — Your humble servant, 
 
 Beelzescb. 
 Jw/ielii, ^nnoil/wncZi, 3790 [a.d. 1786.] 
 
 A DREAM. 
 
 The publication of "The Dream" in the Edinburgh edition of the poems, a^ 
 cording to many, did much to injure the poet with the dispensers of (Jovern- 
 ment patronage. Mrs Dunlop and others endeavoured in vain to prevent it^- 
 publication. The free-spoken and humorous verses of Burns contrast oddly 
 with the servile ode of Warton, which Burns represents himself as having 
 fallen asleep in reading. 
 
 "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 of 
 June 4, 1786, the author was no sooner dropt asleep than he imagined himself 
 transported to the birthday levee; and in his dreaming fancy made the follow- 
 ing Address.— Burns. 
 
 Guid-mornin' to your Majesty ! 
 
 May Heaven augment your blisces, 
 On every new birthday ye see, 
 
 A humble poet wishes ! 
 
 1 Beg. 2 Gates. 3 Fluttering in rags and gray with vermin, 
 
 ■t A dog. « Make. « The innermost co):ner. 
 
 7 Fire-place. " 8 Complain. 
 
 * Thomas Wai-ton then filled this office. His ode for June 4, 1786, begins as 
 follows :— 
 
 "When Freedom nm'sed her native fire 
 lu ancient Greece, and ruled the lyre. 
 Her bards disdainful, from the tyrant's orow, 
 
 The tinsel gifts of flattery tore, 
 But paid to guiltless power their willing vow, 
 And to the throne of virtuous kings," &c. 
 On the?'e verses, the rhymes of the Ayrshire bard must be allowed to form an odd 
 euough comnieutary. — Chambrrs. 
 
fO«' ' ''^ ..'<*.,' POEMS. [1786. 
 
 '• \ /; ', i " 1 . Jrly b^r^liip here, at your levee, 
 ' ''^ « .^ ' '« ' ' 'On siu a day' as this is. 
 
 Is sure an uncouth sight to see, 
 Among thae birthday dresses 
 Sae fine this day. 
 
 I see ye 're complimented thrang, 
 
 By many a lord and lady ; 
 *'God save the king" 's a cuckoo sang 
 
 That 's unco easy said aye ; 
 The poets, too, a venal gang, 
 
 Wi' rhymes weel-turn'd and ready, 
 "Wad gar ye trow ^ ye ne'er do wrung, 
 
 But aye unerring steady. 
 On sic a day. 
 
 For me, before a monarch's face, 
 
 Even there I winna flatter ; 
 For neither pension, post, nor place, 
 
 Am I your humble debtor : 
 So, nae reflection on your grace, 
 
 Your kingship to bespatter ; 
 There 's mony waur ^ been o' the race. 
 
 And aiblins ^ ane been V)etter 
 
 Than you this day. 
 
 'Tis very true, my sovereign king, 
 
 My skill may weel be doubted : 
 But facts are chiels that winna ding,* 
 
 And downa^ be disputed : 
 Your royal nest, beneath your wing, 
 
 Is e'en right reft and clouted,^' 
 And now the third part of the string. 
 
 And less, will gang about it 
 Than did ae day.* 
 
 Far be 't f rae 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 fill'd their station 
 
 Than courts yon day. 
 
 And now ye 've gien auld Britain j)eace, 
 Her broken shias to plaister : 
 
 i "^ bwld make you believe. 2 Many worse. » Perhaps. ■* Bpat. 
 
 6 Will not. c Broken and patched. 7 Fellows. 
 
 * In this verse the poet alludes to the immense curtailment of the Brifsh 
 dominion at the close of the American war, and the cession of the teiTitory of 
 Louisiana to Spain. 
 
CT. 18.] POEMS, 103 
 
 Your sair taxation does her fleece, 
 
 Till she has scarce a tester : 
 For me, thank God, my life 's a lease, 
 
 Nae bargain wearing faster, 
 Or, faith ! I fear that wi' the geese, 
 
 I shortly boost ^ to pasture 
 
 r the craft some day. 
 
 I 'm no mistrusting "W.'Uie Pitt, 
 
 When taxes he enlarges, 
 (And Will's a true guid fallow's get, ** 
 
 A name not envy spairges, ) ^ 
 That he intends to pay your debt, 
 
 And lessen a' your charges ; 
 !Uiit, God-sake ! let nae saving fit 
 
 Abridge your bonny barges f " 
 
 And boats this day. 
 
 Adieu, my liege ! may Freedom geek * 
 
 Beneath your high protection ; 
 And may you rax * Corruption's neck, 
 
 And gie her for dissection ! 
 But since I 'm here, I '11 no neglect, 
 
 In loyal, true affection, 
 To pay your queen, with due respect, 
 
 My fealty and subjection 
 
 This great birthday. 
 
 ITail, 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^ yo 
 Tn bliss, till fate some day is sent. 
 
 For ever 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 ye 're diiving rarely ; 
 But some day ye may gnaw your nails, 
 
 And curse your folly sairly, 
 
 1 Behoved. 2 Bespatters. ^ L'ft her head. 
 
 4 Stretch. 6 Children. « ilaise. 
 
 * Gait, jrett, or pyte, a homely substitute for the word child in Scotland The 
 above stanza is not the only testimony of admiration which Bm-ns pays to the 
 great Earl of Chatham. 
 
 t On the supplies for the navy being voted, spring 1788, Captain Macbride 
 counselled some clianges in that force, particularly the giving upof 64-gun ships, 
 which occasioned a good deal of discussion. 
 
104 POEMS, [J 786. 
 
 That e'er ye brak Diana's pales, 
 Or rattled dice wi' Charlie,* 
 By night or day. 
 
 Yet aft a ragged cowte's^ been known 
 
 To mak a noble aiver ;2 
 So, ye may doucely ^ fill a throne, 
 
 For a' their clish-ma-claver ; ^ 
 There, him at Agincourt f wha shone, 
 
 Few better were or braver : 
 And yet, wi funny, queer Sir John, J 
 
 He was an unco shaver ^ 
 
 For mony a day. 
 
 For you, right reverend Osnaburg,§ 
 
 Nane sets the lawn-sleeve sweeter, 
 Although a ribbon at your lug 
 
 AVad been a dress completer : 
 As ye disown yon paughty^ dog 
 
 That bears the keys o' Peter, 
 Then, swith ! and get a wife to hug. 
 
 Or, trouth I ye '11 stain the mitre 
 Some luckless day. 
 
 Young, royal Tarry Breeks, II I learn. 
 
 Ye 've lately come athwart her ; 
 A glorious galley,^ stem and stern, 
 
 Weel rigg'd for Venus' barter \ 
 But first hang out, that she'll discern, 
 
 Your hymeneal charter, 
 Then heave aboard your grapple-aim, 
 
 And, large upon her quarter. 
 
 Come full that day. 
 
 Ye, lastly, bonny blossoms a'. 
 
 Ye royal lasses dainty. 
 Heaven mak you guid as weel as braw. 
 
 And gie you lads a-plenty : 
 lUit sneer na British boys awa', 
 
 For kings are unco scant aye ; '^ 
 And German gentles are but sma'. 
 
 They 're better just than want aye 
 On ony day. 
 
 God bless you a' ! consider no^> ' 
 Ye 're unco muckle dautit ; ^ 
 
 ^ Colt. 2 Horse. » Wisely. < Idle scandal. 
 
 9 A humorous >Yag. <» Haughty. 7 Always scavce. ^ Too much flattered 
 
 ♦ The Right Hon. Charles James Fox. f King Henry V.— J5 
 
 t Sir John F<'ilstaff— ride Shake.speare.— .B. § The Duke of York. 
 
 ii Willitim IV., then Duke of Clarence. 
 •[if Alluding to the uew-spuper account of a certain royal Siiilor's amour. 
 
virr. 28.] POEMS. 105 
 
 But ere the course o' life be through, 
 
 It may be bitter sautit : ^ 
 And I hae seen their coggie fu','^ 
 
 That yet hae tarrow't ^ at it ; 
 But or the day was done, I trow. 
 
 The laggen they hae clautit * 
 
 Fu" clean that day. 
 
 THE HOLY FAIK* 
 
 This is by far the ablest of the satires Bums levelled at the Church ; and his 
 worst enemies could not avoid confessing that it was as well deserved as it was 
 clever. Scenes such as the poet describes had become a scandal and a dis- 
 grace to the Church. The poem was met by a storm of abuse from his old 
 enemies ; but, amid all their railings, they did not fail to lay it to heart, and 
 from that time forward there was a manifest improvement in the bearing of 
 ministers and people on such occasions. This is not the least of its merits in 
 the eyes of his countrymen of the present day. Notwithstanding the daring 
 levity of some of its allusions and incidents, the poet has strictly confined him- 
 self to the sayings and doings of the assembled multitude— the sacred rite itself 
 is never once mentioned. 
 Open-air sacramental services, conducted in the presence of huge mobs, are not 
 uncommon, we believe, at the present day in the Highlands and Islands of 
 Scotland. The writer of this has witnessed several such. Twenty years ago, 
 he remembers being present at a huge gathering of the kind, the population of 
 half a county being collected together, many having come a distance of more 
 than twei^ty miles — some on foot, others on horseback, in gigs, and carts. 
 During the early part of the day, decorum was pretty well maintained, but 
 towards the afternoon the crowd kept moving backwards and forwards, as if at 
 a country fair. Bands of lads and lasses, and douce, sober seniors, were more 
 intent on go.:sip and enjoying the refreshments, which the great majority had 
 brought with them in abundance, than in listening to the exhausted ministers. 
 Bound the outskirts of the great crowd, knots of people were squatted on the 
 grass, gossiping freely about family and country matters, while " the luntia 
 pipe" went from mouth to mouth, men and women smoking vigorously, and 
 " the sneeshin' mill" passed from hand to hand. By the rural population, even 
 when the services are conducted decorously in the church, the Sacramental 
 Sabbath is looked forward to as a day when friends and acquaintances will 
 meet who have seldom more than two or three such opportunities in a year. 
 The audience is not confined to the parish in which the celebration takes place, 
 many people attending the communion from a dozen neighbouring parishes. 
 The preaching season, as it is sometimes termed, is a period of excitement to 
 the preachers as well as the people, many of them relishing the opportunity 
 the season gives of exercising their eloquence in a new scene. There was no 
 drinking observable during the services ; but in the evening the change-housea 
 of the various villages throughout the district presented no very edifyin^j 
 spectacle. 
 
 •' A robe of seeming truth and trust 
 
 Hid crafty observation ; 
 And secret hung, with poison'd crust, 
 
 The dirk of Defamation : 
 
 1 Salted. 2 Platter full. 8 Grumbled. •* They have scraped out the dish. 
 
 * Holy Fair is a common phrase in the west of Scotland for a sacramental oc 
 casiou. — B, 
 
To6 POEMS. [1 784 
 
 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."— ir?/poo\'s2/ h la-Mode. 
 
 Upon a simmer Sunday morn, 
 
 AVhen Nature's face is fair, 
 I walked forth to view the com, 
 
 And snuff the caller ^ air. 
 The rising sun owre Galston* muirs, 
 
 Wi' glorious light was glintin' ;2 
 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, 
 
 Cam skelpin' up the way; 
 Twa had manteeles o' dolefu' black. 
 
 But ane wi' lyart^ lining ; 
 The third, that gaed a-wee a-back, 
 
 Was in tlie fashion shining 
 
 Fu' gay that day. 
 
 The twa appear'd like sisters twin, 
 
 In feature, form, and claes ; 
 Their visage, wither'd, lang, and thin, 
 
 And sour as ouy slaes : 
 The third cam up, hap-step-and-lowp. 
 
 As light as ony lambie. 
 And wi' a curchie low did stoop. 
 
 As soon as e'er she saw me, 
 
 Fu' kind that day. 
 
 Wi' bonnet aff, quoth I, "Sweet lass, 
 
 I think ye seem to ken me ; 
 I 'm sure I Ve seen that bonny face. 
 
 But yet 1 canna name ye. '* 
 Quo' she, and laughin' as she spak, 
 
 And 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 crony dear, 
 
 The nearest friend ye hae ; 
 And this is Superstition here. 
 
 And that 's Hypocrisy. * 
 
 1 Fresh. 2 Glancing. » Limping. * Fim-ows. 
 
 * Looked. 6 Wenches. ^ Gray. ^ Most. 
 
 * The adjoining parish to TSLauchlino. 
 
MT, 28.] POEMS, 107 
 
 I 'm gaun to Maucliline holy fair, 
 
 To spend an hour in daffi n' ; ^ 
 Gin ye '11 go there, yon runkled pair, 
 
 "We will get famous laughin', 
 
 At them this day." 
 
 Quoth I, "With a' my heart, I'll do't, 
 
 I '11 get my Sunday's sark^ on, 
 And meet you on the holy spot ; 
 
 Faith, we 'se hae fine remarkin' ! '* 
 Then I gaed hame at crowdie-time,-* 
 
 And soon I made me ready ; 
 For roads were clad, frae side to side, 
 
 Wi' mony a weary body. 
 
 In droves that day. 
 
 Here farmers gash,^ in ridin' graith,-'' 
 
 Gaed hoddin'^ by their cotters ; 
 There, swankiesT" young, in braw braid claith, 
 
 Are springin' owre the gutters ; 
 The lasses, skelpin' barefit, thrang, 
 
 In silks and scarlets glitter ; 
 Wi' sweet-milk cheese, in mony a whang,^ 
 
 And farls,^ baked wi' butter, 
 
 Fii' crump that day. 
 
 AVhen by the plate we set our nose, 
 
 AVeel heaped up wi' ha'pence, 
 A greedy glower Black-bonnet * throws, 
 
 And \W3 maun draw our tippence. 
 Then in we go to see the show. 
 
 On every side they're gath'rin*. 
 Some carrying dails,^^ some chairs and stools, 
 
 And some are busy bleth'rin' ^^ 
 
 Kight loud that day. 
 
 Kere stands a shed to fend the showers, 
 
 And screen our country gentry, 
 There Racer Jess,t and twa4hree whores, 
 
 Are blinkin' at the entry. 
 
 1 Sport. 2 Shirt, » Breakfast-time. •* Sensible. 
 
 6 Att"r.\ c Jogging. 7 Striplings. « Cut. 
 
 9 Cakes. 10 Planks, or boards, to sit on. ii Chatting. 
 
 * A colloquial appellation bestowed on the church elders or deacons, who in 
 landward parishes in the olden time generally wore black bonnets on Sundays, 
 when tiiey officiated at " the plate" in making the usual collection for the poor. — 
 
 MOTHERAVELL. 
 
 t The following notice of Racer Jess appeared in the newspapers of February 
 1818 :— "Died at Mauchline a few weeks since, Janet Gibson, consigned to im- 
 mortality by Burns in his * Holy Fair,' under tlie turf appellation of 'Racer Jess.' 
 She was the daughter of 'Poosie Nansie,' who figures in 'The Jolly Beggars.' 
 She was remarkable for her pedestrian powers, and sometimes ran long distances 
 for a wager." 
 
J"o8 POEMS. [1786. 
 
 Here sits a raw of tittlin' ^ jades, 
 
 Wi' heaving breast and bare neck, 
 And there a batch o' wabster lads, 
 
 Blackguarding frae Kilmarnock, 
 
 Eor fun this day. 
 
 Here, some are thinkin' on their sins. 
 
 And some upo' their claes ; 
 Ane curses feet that fyled ^ his shins, 
 
 Anither sighs and 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 ! 
 
 AVhase ain dear lass, that he likes best, 
 
 Comes clinkin' down beside him ! 
 Wi* arm reposed on the chair-back, 
 
 He sweetly does compose him ; 
 ^Vhich, by degrees, slips round her neck, 
 An's loof ■* upon her bosom, 
 
 Unkenn'd that day. 
 
 Now a* the congregation o'er 
 
 Is silent expectation : 
 For Moodie * speels ^ the holy door, 
 
 Wi' tidings o' damnation. 
 Should Hornie, as in ancient days, 
 
 'Mang sons o' God present him. 
 The vary sight o' Moodie's face 
 
 To 's ain het hame had sent him 
 
 Wi' fright that day. 
 
 Hear how he clears the points o' faith 
 
 Wi' rattlin' and wi' thumpin' ! 
 Now meekly calm, now wild in wrath, 
 
 Ho 's stampin' and he 's jumpin' ! 
 His lengthen'd chin, his turn'd-up snout. 
 
 His eldritch^ squeal, and gestures, 
 Oh, how they fire the heart devout. 
 
 Like cantharidian plasters. 
 
 On sic a day ! 
 
 1 Whispering. 2 Soiled. 3 Snmple. 
 
 * Hand. 6 Climbs. ^ L'neai-tbJy. 
 
 * Moodie was the minister of Kiccarton, and one of the heroes of " The Twa 
 Herds." He was a never-failing assistant ft the Mauchline sacraments. His 
 personal appearance and style of oratory were exactly such as described by the 
 poet. He dwelt chiefly on the terrors of the law. On one occasion, he told the 
 audience that they would find the text in John viii. 44, but it was so applicable 
 to their case that there was no need of his reading it to them. The verse begins, 
 " Yc are of your father the devil." 
 
JET 20.] POEMS, 109 
 
 But, hark ! the tent has changed its voice ! 
 
 There 's peace and rest nae langer : 
 For a' the real judges rise, ~ 
 
 They canna sit for anger. 
 Smith* opens out his cauld harangues 
 
 On practice and on morals ; 
 And aff the godly pour in thrangs, 
 
 To gie the jars and barrels 
 
 A lift that day. 
 
 What signifies his barren shine 
 
 Of moral powers and reason ? 
 His English style, and gesture fine, 
 
 Are a' clean out o' season. 
 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 ; 
 For Peebles, frae the Water-fit, f 
 
 Ascends the holy rostrum : 
 See, up he 's got the AVord o' God, 
 
 And meek and niimi has view'd it, 
 While Common Sense % has ta'en the road, 
 
 And's aff and up the Cowgate,§ 
 
 Fast, fast, that day. 
 
 Wee Miller il neist the guard relieves. 
 
 And orthodoxy raibles,^ 
 Though in his heart he weel believes 
 
 And thinks it auld wives' fables: 
 
 I Primly. 2 Rattles. 
 
 * Mr (aftenvaWs Dr) George Smith, minister of Galston— the same whom the 
 poet introduces, in a different feeling, under the appellation of Irvine-side, in 
 "The Kirk's Alarm." Burns meant on this occasion to compliment him on his 
 rational mode of preaching, but the reverend divine regarded the stanza as 
 satirical. 
 
 t The Rev. Mr (afterwards Dr) William Peebles, minister of Newton-upon- 
 Ayr, sometimes named, from its situation, tlie Water-fit, and the moving hand 
 in the prosecution of Dr M'Gill, on which account he is introduced into "The 
 Kirk's Alarm." He was in great favour at Ayr among the orthodox party, though 
 much inferior in ability to the heterodox ministers of that ancient burgh. 
 
 X Dr Mackenzie, then of Mauchline, afterwards of Irvine, had recently con- 
 ducted some village controversy under the title of " Common Sense." Some 
 local commentators are of opinion that he, and not the personijQed abstraction, 
 is meant. 
 
 § A street so called which faces the tent in Mauchline. — B. The game street 
 in which Jean Armour lived. 
 
 II The Rev. Mr Miller, afterwards minister of Kilmaurs. He was of remark 
 -ably low stature, but enormous girth. Burns believed him at the time to lean at 
 heart to the moderate party. This stanza, virtually the mo-t depreciatory in the 
 whole poem, is said to have retarded Miller's advancement. 
 
no POEMS. [1786. 
 
 But, faith ! the birkie wants a manse, 
 
 So, cannily he hums them ; 
 Although his carnal wit and sense 
 
 Like hafflins-ways^ o'ercomes him 
 At times that day. 
 
 Now but and ben the change-house fills 
 
 Wi' yill-cauj) commentators : 
 Here's crying out for bakes ^ and gills, 
 
 And there the pint-stoup clatters ; 
 While thick and thrang, and loud and lang, 
 
 Wi' logic and wi' Scripture, 
 Tliey raise a din, that, in the end, 
 
 Is like to breed a mpture 
 
 O' wrath that day. 
 
 Lceze me on drink ! it gies U3 mair - 
 
 Than either school or college : 
 It kindles wifc, it waukens lair. 
 
 It pangs 3 us fou o' knowledge. 
 Ee 't whisky gill, or penny wheep, 
 
 Or ony stronger potion, 
 It never fails, on drinking deep, 
 
 To kittle ^ ui> our notion 
 
 By night or dr.,y. 
 
 The lads and lasses, blithely bent. 
 
 To mind baith saul and body. 
 Sit round the table weel content, 
 
 And steer about the toddy. 
 On this ane's dress, and that ane's leuk, 
 
 They're making observations ; 
 AVhile some are cozie i' the neuk,-^ 
 
 And forming assignations 
 
 To meet some day. 
 
 . But now the Lord's ain trumpet touts, 
 Till a' the hills are rarin'. 
 And echoes back return the shouts, 
 
 Black Russell* is na sparin' ; 
 His piercing words, like Highland swords, 
 
 Divide the joints and marrow; 
 His talk o' hell, whare devils dwell; 
 Our vera sauls does harrow t 
 
 AVi' fright that day. 
 
 1 Like hafflins-ways = almost. 2 Biscuits. 3 Crams. 
 
 < Rouse. <* Snug in the comer. 
 
 * The Rev. John Russell, at this time minister of the chapel of ease, Kilmar- 
 nock, afterwards minister of Stirling— one of the heroes of "The Twa Herds " 
 <• He was." says a correspondent of Cunningham's, " the most tremendous man 
 I ever saw : Black Hugh Macpherson was a beauty in comparison. His voice 
 Avas like thunder, and his sentiments were such as must have shocked any class 
 of hearers in the least more refined than those whom he usually addressed " 
 
 t Sliakespeare's "Hamlet."— 5. 
 
.«T. 28.] FOEMS, m 
 
 A vast, unbottom'd, boundless ])it, 
 
 Fill'd f u' o' lowin' brunstane, 
 Whase ragin' flame, and scorchin' heat. 
 
 Wad melt the hardest whunstane ! 
 The half -asleep start up wi' fear, 
 
 And think they hear it roarin', 
 Wlien presently it does appear 
 
 'Twas but some neibor snorin' 
 
 Asleep that day. 
 
 'Twad be owre lang a tale to tell 
 
 How mony stories past. 
 And how they crowded to the yill 
 
 AVhen they were a' dismist: 
 How drink gaed round, in cogs and caups, 
 
 Among the forms and benches : 
 And cheese and bread, frae women's laps, 
 
 "Was dealt about in lunches. 
 
 And dauds^ that day 
 
 In comes a gaucie,^ gash^ guidwife, 
 
 And sits down by the fire, 
 Syne draws her kebbuck* and 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. 
 
 And gies them't like a tether, 
 
 Fu' lang that day. 
 
 Waesucks 1^ 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 yersel 
 
 How iaonny lads ye wanted, 
 And dinna, for a kebbuck-heel,^ 
 
 Let lasses be affronted 
 
 On sic a day! 
 
 Now Clinkumbell, wi' rattlin' tow. 
 
 Begins to jow and croon; 8 
 Some swagger han^e, the best they dow,® 
 
 Some wait the afternoon. 
 At slaps 1^ the billies ^^ halt a blink. 
 
 Till lasses strip their shoon: 
 Wi' faith and hope, and love and drink, 
 
 They 're a' in famous tune 
 
 For crack that day. 
 
 t Lumps. 2 Fat. » Sagacious. •* Cheese. 
 
 » Alns. «Soil. 7 Cheese-crust. 8 Sin? and groan, 
 
 » Can. "^ Breaches in fences. ii Lads. 
 
POEMS, [1786, 
 
 How mony hearts this day converts 
 
 O' sinners and o' lasses ! 
 Their hearts o' stane, gin night, are gane, 
 
 As saft as ony flesh is. 
 There 's some are f ou o' love divine ; 
 
 There's some are fou o' brandy; 
 And mony jobs that day begin 
 
 May end in houghmagandy 
 
 Some ither day. 
 
 VERSES O^ A SCOTCH BARD, 
 
 GONE TO THE WEST INDIES. 
 
 The following playfully personal lines were written by the poet when he thought 
 he was about to leave the country in 1186 for Jamaica :— 
 
 A' YE wha live by sowps o' drink, 
 A' ye wha live by crambo-clink, » 
 A' 3 6 wha live and never think, 
 
 Come, mourn wi' me! 
 Our billie 's gien us a' a jink,'^ 
 
 And owre the sea. 
 
 Lament him a' ye rantin' core, 
 AV ha dearly like a random splore,^ 
 Nae mair he'll join the merry roar 
 
 In social key; 
 For now he's taken anither shore, 
 
 And owre the seal 
 
 The bonny lasses weel may wiss him. 
 And in their dear petitions place him : 
 The widows, wives, and a' may bless him, 
 
 Wi' tearf u' ee ; 
 For weel I wat* they '11 sairly miss him 
 
 That 's owre the sea ! 
 
 O Fortune, they hae room to grumble ! 
 Hadst thou ta'en aff some drowsy biimmlo • 
 Wha can do nought but fyke and fumble, « 
 
 'Twad been nae plea; 
 But he was gleg'' as ony wumble,^ 
 
 That 's owre the sea ! 
 
 Auld cantie Kyle may weepers wear. 
 
 And stain them wi' the saut, saut tear ; | 
 
 .^ 
 
 Vci-.sifyinsi. 2 " Our friend has eluded us." 3 Frolic. 4 U > U I know' 
 Bungler. 6 "Make a fuss." 7 Sharp. 8 Wimble. 
 
/ET. 28.] POEMS. \ 13 
 
 *Twill make lier poor auld heart, I fear. 
 
 Id flinders ^ flee ; 
 He was her laureate mony a year, 
 
 That 's owre the sea I 
 
 He saw misfortune's cauld nor*-west 
 Lang mustering up a bitter blast; 
 A jillet^ brak his heart at last, 
 
 111 may she be ! 
 So, took a berth afore the mast, 
 
 And owre the sea. 
 
 To tremble under Fortune's cummock,^ 
 On scarce a bellyfu' o' drummock,^ 
 Wi' his proud, independent stomach. 
 
 Could ill agree ; 
 So, row't his hurdies^ in a hammock. 
 
 And owre the sea. 
 
 He ne'er was gien to great misguiding, 
 Yet coin his pouches ^ wadna 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, 
 And hap him in a cozie biel ; ^ 
 Ye '11 find him aye a dainty chiel,^ 
 
 And fu' o' glee ; 
 He wadna wrang the very deil. 
 
 That 's owre the sea, 
 
 Fareweel, my rhyme-composing billie I 
 Your native soil was right ill-wLUie ; 
 But may ye flourish like a lily. 
 
 Now bonnilie ! 
 I '11 toast ye in my hindmost gillie ® 
 
 Though owre the sea ! 
 
 A BARD'S EPITAPH. 
 
 Of this beautiful epitaph, which Burns wrote for himsslf, Wordsworth says,— 
 "Here is a sincere and solemn avowal — a public declaration from his own 
 will— a confession at once devout, poetical, and human — a history in the shape: 
 0* a prophecy 1 " 
 
 Is there a whim-inspirfed fool, 
 
 Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule, 
 
 1 Shreds. 2 j-it, 3 Rod. •* :Meal and water. 
 
 5 Wrapt his hams. 6 Pockets. 7 Warm shelter. « Kindly fellow. 
 
 » My last gill. 
 
IT4 POEMS, [178^^ 
 
 Owre blate ^ to seek, owre proud to snool ? ' 
 
 Let him draw near ; 
 And owre 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 f rater-feeling strong, 
 
 Here heave a sigh. 
 
 Is there a man, whose judgment clear 
 Can others teach the course to steer, 
 Yot runs himself life's mad career 
 
 Wild as the wave ? 
 iieie pause — and, through the starting tear, 
 
 Survey this grave. 
 
 Tiie poor inhabitant below 
 
 A\'as quick to learn, and wise to know. 
 
 And keenly felt the friendly glow. 
 
 And softer flame ; 
 But thoughtless foUies laid him low, 
 
 And stain'd his name ! 
 
 Reader, attend — whether thy soul 
 Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole, 
 Or darkling grubs this earthly hole. 
 In low pursuit ; 
 Know, prud ent, ca utioua .self-control 
 '"^ ^ Is wisdom s root. 
 
 A DEDICATION TO GAVIN HAMILTON, ESQ. 
 
 fn the following dedication of his poems to his friend, Gavin Hamilton, the poet 
 does not merely confine himself to characterising that generous-natured man, 
 but takes the opportunity of throwing out some parting sarcasms at orthodoxy 
 and its partisans : — 
 
 Expect na, sir, in this narration, 
 
 A fleechin',* fleth'rin' ^ dedication. 
 
 To roose^ you up, and ca you guid. 
 
 And sprung o' great and noble bluid, 
 
 Because ye 're surnamed like his Grace ; 
 
 Perhaps related to the race ; 
 
 Then when I'm tired, and sae are ye, 
 
 "Wi' mony a fulsome, sinfu' lie, 
 
 Set up a face, how I stop short. 
 
 For fear your modesty be hurt, 
 
 , 1 Bashful. i Be obseqaii>i.j. 8 Lamentation. 
 
 * Flattering 6 Fawning « Praise. 
 
.ET. 28.] POEMS, IIU' 
 
 This may do—maun do, sir, wi' them wba 
 ]\Iaun please the great folks for a wamefu';^ 
 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, and that's nae flatterin', 
 Its just sic poet, and sic patron. 
 
 The poet, some guid angel help him, 
 Or else, 1 fear, some ill ane skelp ^ him. 
 He may do weel for a' he's done yet, 
 But only — he's no just began yet. 
 
 The patron, (sir, ye maun forgie me, 
 I winna lie, come what will o' me, ) 
 On every hand it will allow'd be. 
 He's just — nae better than he should bo. 
 
 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 ; 
 Ought he can lend he '11 no refus 't, 
 Till aft his guidness is abused ; 
 And rascals whyles that do him wrang, 
 Even that he doesna mind it lang : 
 As master, landlord, husband, father, 
 He doesna fail his i)art in either. 
 
 But then nae thanks to him for a' that j 
 l^^ae godly symptom ye can ca' that ; 
 It 's nae thing 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 on Ponotaxi, 
 Wha never heard of orthodoxy. 
 That he's the poor man's friend in need, 
 The gentleman in word and deed. 
 It's no through 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, ti-uth, and justice ! 
 
 No — stretch a point to catch a plack;^ 
 Abuse a brother to his back ; 
 
 1 Bellyful * Low. 3 Cannot. 
 
 4 Beat. 6^ coin=thk-(l part of a pcnn/. 
 
rr6 POEMS. [17S6 
 
 Steal through a wirnock^ frae a whore 
 But point the rake that taks the door ; 
 Be to the poor like ony whuustane, 
 And haud their noses to the gruustane, 
 Ply ev^y art o' legal thieving ; 
 No matter, stick to sound believing. 
 
 Learn three-mile prayers, and half-mile graces 
 Wi' weel- spread looves,^ and lang, wry faces ; 
 Grunt up a solemn, lengthen'd groan, 
 And damn a' parties but your own; 
 I'll warrant then, ye 're nae deceiver — 
 A steady, sturdy, stanch believer. 
 
 ye wha leave the springs o' Calvin, 
 For gumlie •* dubs of your ain delvin' ! 
 Ye sons of heresy and error. 
 
 Ye '11 some day squeel in quaking terror ! 
 Wlien Vengeance di-aws 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, 
 
 1 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 vapour, 
 
 But I maturel}'- thought it proper, 
 
 "When a' my works I did review, 
 
 To dedicate them, sir, to you : 
 
 Because (ye needna tak it ill) 
 
 I thought them something like your<cL 
 
 Then patronise them wi' your favour, 
 
 And your petitioner shall ever 
 
 I had amaist said, ever 'pray ; 
 
 ]jut that 's a word I needna say : 
 
 For prayin' I hae little skill o't ; 
 
 I 'm baith dead-sweer,* and wretched ill o 't ; 
 
 But I'se repeat each poor man'd prayer 
 
 That kens or hears about you, sir — 
 
 ** May ne'er IVIisfortune's growling bark 
 Howl through the dwelling o' the Clerk ! * 
 
 T- Win(lo\7. 2ralins of the hands. » Jluddy. * Unwilling. 
 
 ♦ A term applied to Mr Ilainilton from his having acted in that capacity to 
 Bom'i of the coiuity courts 
 
«T. 2^3 .eoEMS. til 
 
 l\Iay ne'er his generous, honest hegri 
 For that same generous spirit smart i. 
 May Kennedy's far-honour "d name 
 Lang beat his hymeneal flame, 
 Till Hamiltons, at least a dizen, 
 Are frae their nuptial labours rise::i - 
 Five bonny lasses round their table, 
 And seven braw fellows stout and al;].- 
 To serve theu' king and country wee. 
 By word, or pen, or pointed steel! 
 May health and peace, with mutual ..ms. 
 Shine on the evening o' his days ; 
 Till his wee curlie John's * ier-oe,^ 
 WTien ebbing life nae mair shall flou , 
 The last, sad, mournful rites bestow ' " 
 
 I will not wind a lang conclasior. 
 
 Wi' complimentary effusion : 
 
 But whilst your wishes and enaeavouis 
 
 Are blest wi' Fortune's smiles and favor rs. 
 
 I am, dear sir, with zeal most :<^ervent, 
 
 yo".r TOUcb. indebted, humble servart. 
 
 'duu if (which Powers above pre'^ert !) 
 
 That iron-hearted carl, Want, 
 
 'Attended in his grim advances, 
 
 By sad mistakes and black mischances, 
 
 vVhile hopes, and joys, and pleasures fly him, 
 
 Make 3^ou as poor a dog as I am, 
 
 Your humble servant then no more ; 
 
 For Mho would humbly serve the poor? 
 
 But by a poor man's hopes in Heaver. ' 
 
 While recollection's power is given, 
 
 If, in the vale of humble life, 
 
 The victim sad of Fortune's strife, 
 
 I, tnrough the tender gushing tear, 
 
 Should recognise my master dear, 
 
 *f friendless, low, we meet togethei,. 
 
 TLen, sir, your hand — my friend and brother! 
 
 INVITATION TO A MEDICAL GENTLEMAN 
 
 TO ATTEND A MASONIC ANNIVERSARY MEETING. 
 
 St James's Masonic Lodge was wont to meet in the small back-room of a cottage- 
 like place of entertainment at Mauchline, kept by a person of the name ol 
 Manson. On the approach of St John's day, the 24th of Jane, Burns sent the 
 following rhymed note on the subject to liis medical friend. Mr Mackenzie, with 
 tvhom, it seems, he had just had some controversy on the subject of morals :— 
 
 1 Great-gi-andchild. 
 * John Hamilton, Esq.. a worthy scion of a noble stock. 
 
Il8 POEMS, 1x786. 
 
 Friday first *s the day appointed, 
 By our Right AYorshipful anointed, 
 
 To hold our grand procession ; 
 To get a blade o' Johnny's morals, 
 And taste a swatch^ o' Manson's barrels, 
 
 I' the way of our profession. 
 Our Master and the Brotherhood 
 
 Wad a' be glad to see you ; 
 For me I would be mair than proud 
 To share the mercies wi' you. 
 If death, then, wi' skaith, then, 
 
 Some mortal heart is hechtin',^ 
 Inform him, and storm him, 
 That Saturday ye '11 fecht^ him. 
 
 Robert Burns. 
 
 THE FAREWELL. 
 
 " Tlie following' touching stanzas," says Cannin^hain, "were composed in the 
 autumn of 1786, when the prospects of the poet darkened, and he looked to- 
 wards the West Indies as a place of refuge, and perhaps of hope. All who 
 shared his affections are mentioned — his mother — his brother Gilbert— his il- 
 legitimate child, Elizabeth, — whom he consigned to his brother's care, and for 
 whose support he had appx'opriated the copyright of his poems, — and \\\^ 
 friends Smith, Hamilton, and Aiken ; but in nothing he ever wrote was hia 
 affection for Jean Armour more tenderly or more naturally displayed." 
 
 The valiant in himself, what can he suffer? 
 
 Or what does he regard his single woes ? 
 
 But when, alas ! he multiplies himself. 
 
 To dearer selves, to the loved tender fair, 
 
 To those whose bliss, whose being hang upon him, 
 
 To helpless children I then, oh, then ! he feels 
 
 The point of misery festering in his heart, 
 
 And weakly weeps'his fortune like a coward. 
 
 Such, such am I ! — undone ! " 
 
 — Thomson's Edward and Eleanora. 
 
 Farewell, old Scotia's bleak domains, 
 Far dearer than the torrid plains 
 
 Where rich ananas blow ! 
 Farewell, a mother's blessing dear ! 
 A brother's sigh ! a sister's tear ! 
 INIy Jean's heart-rending throe ! 
 Farewell, my Bess ! though thou 'rt bereft 
 
 Of my parental care ; 
 A faithful brotlier I have left, 
 ]\ly part in him thou 'It share ! 
 Adieu too, to you too, 
 
 INIy Smith, my bosom frien' ; 
 When kindly you mind me. 
 Oh, then befriend my Jean ! 
 
 1 Sample. 2 Threatening. 3 Fight. 
 
MT, 2S.i POEMS. 119 
 
 Wliat bursting anguish tears my heart I 
 From thee, my Jeanie, 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 ! 
 li rustles and whistles — 
 I '11 never see thee more! 
 
 LINES WRITTEN ON A BANK-NOTE. 
 
 The bank-note, on the back of which these characteristic lines were written, fa 
 of the Bank of Scotland, and dated so far back as March 1, 1780. It came 
 into the hands of the late Mr F. Gracie, banker in Dumfries, who knew the 
 handwriting, and preserved it as a curiosity : — 
 
 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, 
 
 And, for thy jDotence vainly wish'd 
 
 To crush the villain in the dust. 
 
 For lack o' thee, I leave this much-loved shore. 
 
 Never, perhajDS, to greet auld Scotland more, 
 
 R. B.— Kyle. 
 
 VERSES TO AN OLD SWEETHEART AFTER HER 
 MARRIAGE. 
 
 WRITTEN ON THE BLANK LEAF OF A COPY OF HIS POEMS 
 PRESENTED TO THE LADY. 
 
 The name of the lady to whom these verses were given has not been mentioned 
 Barns, it is evident, had at the time they were written no better prospect bo 
 fore him than emigration to the West Indies. 
 
 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. 
 
POEMS. [1786. 
 
 And when you read the simple, artless ihymes, 
 One friendly sigh for him — he asks no more, — 
 
 Who distant burns in flaming torrid climes, 
 Or haply lies beneath th' Atlantic's roar. 
 
 VERSES WRITTEN UNDER VIOLENT GRIEF. 
 
 TliQ follovring lines, which first appeared in the Bun newspaper, April 1823, 
 apjiear to have been originally written on a leaf of a copy of his poem^s pre 
 seated to a fri'^nd : — 
 
 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, for ever ! 
 
 You think I *m glad ; oh, I pay wcel 
 
 For a' the joy I borrow, 
 In solitude — then, then I feel 
 I canna to myself conceal 
 
 My deeply-ranklin' sorrow. 
 
 Farewell ! within thy bosom free 
 
 A sigh may whiles awaken ; 
 A tear may wet thy laughin' ee, 
 Foi^ Scotia's son — ance gay like thee — 
 
 Now hopeless, comfortless, forsaken I 
 
 THE CALF. 
 
 TO THB tlEV. MR JAMES STEVEN. 
 
 The Rev. James Steven was afterwards one of the Scottish clergy in London, 
 and ultimately minister of Kilwinning in Ayrshire It appears that the poet, 
 while proceeding to church at Mauchline, one day, called on his friend ^\t 
 Gavin Hamilton, who, being unwell, could not accomjjany him, but desired 
 him, as parents were wont to do with children, to bring home a note of the 
 text. Burns called on his return, and sitting down for a minute at Mr Ham'V 
 ton's business table, wi'ote the following lines as an answer to his request. It 
 is also said that the poet had a wager with his friend Hamilton, that he would 
 produce a poem within a certain time, and tliat he gained it by producini 
 'The Calf." 
 
 On his text, Malachi iv. 2. — " And they shall go forth, and grow up, 
 like CALVES of the stall " 
 
^'i\28.] POEMS. lai 
 
 Right, sir! your text I'll prove it true. 
 
 Though heretics may laugh ; 
 For instance ; there 's yoursel just now, 
 
 God knows, an unco calf ! 
 
 And should some patron iDe so kind 
 
 As bless you wi' a kirk, 
 I doubt na, sir, but then we '11 find 
 
 Ye 're still as great a stirk.^ 
 
 But if the lover's raptured hour 
 
 Shall ever be your lot, 
 Forbid it, every heavenly power, 
 
 You e'er should be a stot ! ^ 
 
 Though, when some kind connubial dear 
 
 Your but-and-ben ^ adorns. 
 The like has been that you may wear 
 
 A noble head of horns. 
 
 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 no wte. ^ 
 
 And when ye 're number'd wi' the dead, 
 
 Below a grassy hillock, 
 TVi' justice they may mark your head — 
 
 " Here lies a famous bullock ! " 
 
 WILLIE CHALMERS. 
 
 M" W. Chalmeis, a gentleman in Ayrshire, a particular friend of mine, asked 
 me to write a joetic epistle to a young lady, his dulcinea. I had seen her, 
 but was scarcely acquainted with her, and wrote as follows : — R. B. 
 
 Madam, 
 Wi' braw new branks,^ in miclde pride, 
 
 And eke 7 a braw new brechan,*^ 
 My Pegasus I 'm got astride. 
 
 And up Parnassus pechin ; ^ 
 Whiles owi-e 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 name 
 
 May cost a pair o' blushes ; 
 I am n,ne stranger to your fame, 
 
 Nor his warm-urged wishes. 
 
 1 A one-year-old bullock. 2 Ox. » Kitchen and parlour 
 
 4 ]{i-llow. 5 Cattle. « Bridle. 7 Also 
 
 8 Collar. » Panting. lo Stupid animal 
 
122 POEMS. [1786, 
 
 Your bonny face, sae mild and sweet, 
 
 His honest heart enamours, 
 And faith ye '11 no be lost a whit, 
 
 Though waired ^ on Willie Chalmers. 
 
 Auld Truth hersel might swear ye 're fair, 
 
 And Honour safely back her, 
 And Modesty assume your air. 
 
 And ne'er a ane mistak' her : 
 And sic twa love-inspiring een 
 
 Might fire even holy palmers ; 
 Nae wonder then they 've fatal been 
 
 To honest Willie Chalmers. 
 
 I doubt na Fortune may you shore ^ 
 
 Some mim-mou'd^ pouther'd^ priostie, 
 Fu' lifted up wi' Hebrew lore, 
 
 And band upon his breastie : 
 But oh ! what signifies to you 
 
 His lexicons and grammars : 
 The feeling heart 's tlie royal blue, 
 
 And that 's wi' Willie Chalmers. 
 
 Some gapin', glowrin^ country laiid 
 
 May warsle ^ for your favour ; 
 May claw his lug,'' and straik^ his beard. 
 
 And hoast ^ up some pjilaver. 
 My bonny maid, before ye wed 
 
 Sic clumsy- witted hammers, '^^ 
 Seek Heaven for help, and barefit skelp ^^ 
 
 Awa' wi' Willie Chalmers. 
 
 Forgive the bard ! my fond regai'd 
 
 For ane that shares my bosom 
 Inspires my muse to gie 'm his dues. 
 
 For deil a hair I roose^^ jjjm^ 
 May powers aboon unite you soon. 
 
 And fructify your amours, — 
 And every year come in mair dear 
 
 To you and Willie Chalmers. 
 
 TAM SAMSON'S ELEGY.* 
 
 »* No poet," says Cunningham, " ever emblazoned fact with fictlcn more happily 
 than Burns : the hero of this poem was a respectable old nursery -seedsman in 
 Kilmarnock greatly addicted to sporting, and one of the poet's earliest friend;?, 
 
 1 Spent 2 Promise. » Prim. 4 Powdered. 
 
 6 Staring. « Strive, ? Ear » Stroke. 
 
 9 Cough. 10 Blockheads. " Run 12 Flatter. 
 
 * When this worthy old sportsman went out last muirfowl season, he supposed 
 it was to be, in Ossian's phrase, "the last of his fields ;" and expressed an ardent 
 wish to die and be buried in the mulrs. On this hint the author composed his 
 ei-gy and epitaph. — B. 
 
-^.T. 2S.] POEMS, 123 
 
 who lovc-d curling on the ice in winter, and shooting on the moors in the seasoa 
 When no longer able to march over hill and hug in quest of 
 
 * Paitricks, teals, moor-pouts, and plivers,' 
 
 he loved to lie on the lang settle, and listen to the deeds of others on field and 
 flood ; and when a good tale was told, he would cry, ' Hech, man ! three at a 
 shot; that was famous !' Some one having informed Tam, in his old age, that 
 Burns had written a poem — 'a gay queer ane'— concerning him, he sent for 
 the bard, and, in something like wrath, requested to hear it: he smiled grimly 
 at the relation of his exploits, and then cried out, 'I'm no dead yet, Robiii 
 —I 'm worth ten dead fowk : wherefoie should ye say that I am dead ? ' 
 Burns took the hint, retired to the window for a minute or so, and, coming 
 back, recited the ' Per Contra,' 
 
 ' Go, Fame, and canter like a filly, 
 
 with which Tam was so delighted that he rose unconsciously, rubbed his hands, 
 and exclaimed, 'That'll do— ha! ha!— that'll do!' He survived the poet, and 
 the epitaph is inscribed on his grave-stone in the churchyard of Kilmarnock." 
 
 "An honest man's the noblest work of God."— Pope. 
 
 Has auld Kilmarnock seen tlie deil ? 
 Or great Mackiulay * tlirawn ^ his heel 1 
 Or Kobinsont again grown weel, 
 
 To preach and read ? 
 **Na, wanr than a' !" cries ilka chiel, 
 
 " Tam Samson 's dead ! ** 
 
 Kilmarnock lang may grunt and grane, 
 And sigh, and sob, and greet ^ her lane, 
 And deed ^ her bairns, man, wife, and wean, 
 
 In mourning weed ; 
 To Death, she 's dearly paid the kane"^ — 
 
 Tam Samson 's dead ! 
 
 The brethren o' the mystic level 
 May hing their head in waef u' bevel, 
 While by their nose the tears will revel, 
 
 Like ony bead ; 
 Death's gien the lodge an unco devel ^ — 
 
 Tam Samson 's dead I 
 
 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 ? — 
 
 Tam Samson 's dead ! 
 
 1 Twisted. 2 Cry. 8 Clothe. 
 
 * Eent paid in kind. * Blow. 
 
 * A certain preacher, a great favourite with the million. Tide " The Ordina- 
 tion," stanza If. — B. 
 
 t Another preacher, an equal favourite with the few, who was at that time 
 ailing. For him, see also " The Ordination," stanza IX. — B. 
 
124 POEMS, [1786. 
 
 PTe was the king o' a* the core, 
 To guard, or draw, or wick a bore ; 
 Ur U]) the rink like Jehu roar 
 
 In time o' need ; 
 But now he lags on Death's hog-score, — 
 
 Tarn Samson 's dead I 
 
 Now safe the stately saumon sail 
 And trouts be-dropp'd wi' crimson hail. 
 And eels weel kennd for soiiple tail. 
 
 And geds^ for greed, 
 Sii^ dark in Death's fish-creel we wail 
 
 Tam Samson dead ! 
 
 Rejoice, ye birring paitricks' a' ; 
 
 Ye cootie^ moorcocks, crousely* craw; 
 
 Ye maukins,^ cock your fud fu' braw, 
 
 Withouten dread ; 
 Your mortal fae is now awa', — 
 
 Tam Samson 's dead ! 
 
 That waefu' mom be ever mourn'd 
 Saw him in shootin' graith^ adom'd. 
 While pointers round impatient bura*d, 
 
 Frae couples freed ; 
 But, och ! he gaed and ne'er return'd ! 
 
 Tam Samson 's dead ! 
 
 In vain auld age his body batters ; 
 
 In vain the gout his ankles fetters ; 
 
 In vain the burns cam' down like waters, 
 
 An acre braid ! 
 Now every auld wife, greetin', clatters, 
 
 Tam Samson 's dead ! 
 
 Owre mony a weary hag^ he limpit, 
 And aye the tither shot he thumpit,^ 
 Till coward Death behind him jumpit, 
 
 Wi' deadly feide; 9 
 Now he proclaims, wi' tout^^ o' trum^t, 
 
 Tam Samson 's dead ! 
 
 "When at his heart ho felt the dagger, 
 He reel'd his wonted bottle-swagger, 
 But yet he drew the mortal trigger 
 
 Wi' weel-aim'd heed ; 
 " Lord, five ! " he cried, and owre did stagger — 
 
 Tam Samson 's dead ! 
 
 1 Pikes. 2 Whirring partriilges. » Feather-legged. •* Gleefally 
 
 5 Tlures. 6 Dress. 7 Moss. 8 Fired. 
 
 Feud. 10 Scuud. 
 
ffT. 28.] POEMS, 125 
 
 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, 
 Wliare Burns has wrote, in rhyming blether, 
 
 Tam Samson 's dead ! 
 
 There low he lies, in lasting rest ; 
 Perhaps upon his mouldering breast 
 Some sjntefu' moorfowl bigs her nest, 
 
 To hatch and breed ; 
 Alas ! nae miur he '11 them molest ! 
 
 Tam Samson 's dead ! 
 
 "When august winds the heather wave. 
 And sportsmen wander by yon grave, 
 Three volleys let his memory crave 
 
 O' pouther and lead, 
 Till Echo answer frae her cave — 
 
 Tam Samson's dead! 
 
 X 
 
 Heaven rest his saul, whare'er he be ! 
 Is the wish o' mony mae than me ; 
 He had twa fauts, or maybe three, 
 
 Yet what reraead ? 
 Ae social honest man want we — 
 
 Tam Samson 'a dead ? 
 
 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 CONTKA. 
 
 Go, Fame, and canter like a filly, 
 Through a' the streets and neuks o' Killie,* 
 Tell every social, honest billie 
 
 To cease his grievin', 
 For yet, unskaithed^ by Death's gleg gullie,'-^ 
 
 Tam Samson 's leevin' ! 
 
 1 Unharmed. « Sharp knife. 
 
 * Killie is a phrase the country-folks sometimes use for the name of a certain 
 tosvn in tlie west [KUmiiniock.]— 2?. 
 
^26 POEMS. [1786 
 
 A PRAYER, 
 
 LEFT BY THE AUTHOR AT A EEVEREND FRIEND'S HOUSE, IN THE ROOM 
 WHERE HE SLEPT. 
 
 " n.e first time," says Gilbert Burns, "Robert heard the spinnet played upon 
 was while on a visit at the house of Dr Lawrie, then minister of the parish oi 
 Loudon, a few miles from Mossgiel, and with whom he was on term'fe of inti- 
 macy. Dr Lawrie had several daughters — one of them played ; the father and 
 the mother led down the dance ; the rest of the sisters, the brother, the poet, 
 and the other guests mixed in it. It was a delightful family-scene for our 
 poet, then lately introduced to the world. His mind was roused to a poetic 
 enthusiasm, and the stanzas were left in the room where he 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 filial little 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 — 
 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 ! 
 
 THE BRIGS OF AYR 
 
 INSCRIBED TO JOHN BALLANTYNE, ESQ., AYR. 
 
 In the autumn of 1786, a new bridge was begun to be erected over tlie river at 
 Ayr, in order to supersede an old structure which had long been found unsuit- 
 able, and was then becoming dangerous ; and while the work was being pro- 
 ceeded with, under the chief magistracy of Mr Balhintyne, the poet's generous 
 patron, he seized the opportunity to display his gratitude by inscribing the 
 
ET. 28.] POEMS. t27 
 
 poem to him. The idea of the poem appears to have been taken from Fer-i 
 gusson's "Dialogue between the Plainstanes and the Causeway ;" tlie treat, 
 mcnt of the subject is, however, immeasurably superior to the older piece, and 
 peculiarly Burns's own. 
 
 The simple bard, rough at the rustic plough, 
 
 Learning his tuneful trade from every bough ; 
 
 The chanting linnet, or the mellow thrush, 
 
 Hailing the setting sun, sweet, in the green-thorn bush ; 
 
 The soaring lark, the perching redbreast shrill. 
 
 Or deep-toned plovers, gi'ay, wild- whistling o'er the hill: 
 
 Shall he, nurst in the peasant's lowly shed, 
 
 To hardy independence bravely bred. 
 
 By early poverty to hardship steel'd, 
 
 And train'd to arms in stern JVIisfortune's field — 
 
 Shall he be guilty of their hireling crimes, 
 
 The servile, mercenary Swiss of rhymes ? 
 
 Or labour hard the panegyric close. 
 
 With all the venal soul of dedicating prose ? 
 
 No ! though his artless strains he rudely sings. 
 
 And throws his hand uncouthly o'er the strings, 
 
 He glows with all the spirit of the bard, 
 
 Fame, honest fame, his great, his dear reward 1 
 
 fStill, if some patron's generous care he trace, 
 
 Skill'd in the secret, to bestow with grace ; 
 
 "NVTien Ballantyne befriends his humble name. 
 
 And hands the rustic stranger up to fame. 
 
 With heart-felt throes his greatful bosom swells. 
 
 The godlike bliss, to give, alone excels. 
 
 'Twas when the stacks get on their winter-hap,* 
 And thack ^ and rape secure the toil-won crap ; 
 Potato-bings 3 are snugged up frae skaith* 
 O' coming Winter's biting, frosty breath ; 
 The bees, rejoicing o'er their summer toils, 
 Unnumber'd buds' and flowers' delicious spoils 
 Seal'd up with frugal care in massive waxen ijiles. 
 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 every side 
 TJie 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 execrate? man's savage, ruthless deeds !) 
 Nae mair the flower in field or meadow springs, 
 Nae 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 i^recede the sunny days. 
 Mild, calm, serene, wide spreads the noontide bla^e. 
 While thick the gossamer waves wanton in the rays, 
 
 1 Coverinp^. 2 Thatch. * Heaps. 
 
 •♦ Harm. * Smothered. 
 
128 POEMS. [j78a 
 
 *Twas in that season, when a simple hard, 
 Unknown and poor, simplicity's reward, 
 Ae night, within the ancient brugh of Ayr, 
 By whim inspired, or haply prest wi' care, 
 He left his bed, and took his wayward route, 
 And down by Simpson's* wheel'd the left about: 
 (Whether impell'd by all-directing Fate, 
 To witness what I after shall narrate ; 
 Or penitential pangs for former sius. 
 Led him to rove by quondam Merran Dins ; 
 Or whether, rapt in meditation high. 
 He wander'd out, he knew not where nor why^ 
 The drowsy Dungeon clock f had number'd two, 
 And Wallace ToweriJ: had sworn the fact was true : 
 The tide-swoln Firth, wi' sullen sounding roar. 
 Through the still night dash'd hoarse along the shore. 
 All else was hush'd as Nature's closed ee : 
 The silent moon shone high o'er tower and tree : 
 The chilly frost, beneath the silver beam, 
 Crept, gently-crusting, o'er the gUttering stream 
 
 When, lo ! on either hand the listeniDg bard, 
 
 The clanging sugh of whistling wings is heard ; 
 
 Two dusky forms dart through the midnight air, 
 
 Swift as the gos § drives on the wheeling hare ; 
 
 Ane on the Auid Brig his airy shape uprears, 
 
 The itber flutters o'er the rising piers : 
 
 Our warlock rhymer instantly descried 
 
 The sprites that owre the Brigs of Ayr preside. 
 
 (That bards are second-sighted is nae joke. 
 
 And ken the lingo of the spiritual folk ; 
 
 Fays, spunkies, kelpies, a', they can explain them. 
 
 And even the very deils they brawly ken^ them.) 
 
 Auld Brig appear'd o' ancient Pictish race, 
 
 The very wrinkles Gothic in his face : 
 
 He seem'd as he wi' Time had warstled lang. 
 
 Yet, teughly doure,^ he bade an unco bang.-* 
 
 New Brig was busk it in a Draw 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 neibor took his ee. 
 
 And e'en a vex'd and angry heart had he ! 
 
 Wi' thieveless^ sneer to see his modish mien. 
 
 He, down the water, gies him this guid e'en : — 
 
 1 Well know. ' Toughly obdurate. * He endured a mighty blow. 
 
 4 Cold, forbiilding. 
 * A noted tavern at the Auld Brig end.— J5. 
 t A clock in a steeple connected with the old jail of Ayr. 
 \ The clock in the Wallace Tower— an anomalous piece of antique masoni"} 
 fiunnounted by a spire, wliich formerly stood in the High Street of Ayr. 
 § The j^csiiawk. or fafco^.— -y. 
 
i^r. 28.] POEMS. 129 
 
 AULD BRIG. 
 
 I doubt na, frien*, ye '11 think ye 're nae sheepsliaiik,^ 
 Ance ye were streekit^ owre frae bank to bank ! 
 But gin ye be a brig as auld as me — 
 Though, faith, that date I doubt ye '11 never see — 
 There'll be, if that date come, I'll wad a boddlo,-^ 
 Some fewer whigmaleeries in your noddle. 
 
 Auld Vandal, ye but show your little mense,^ 
 Just much about it, wi' your scanty sense ; 
 Will j^our poor narrow footpath of a street — 
 Where twa wheelbarrows tremble when they meet— 
 Your ruin'd, formless bulk o' stane and lime, 
 Compare wi' bonny brigs o' modern time ? 
 There's men o' taste would tak the Ducat Stream,* 
 Though they should cast the very sark and swim, 
 Ere they would grate their feelings wi' the viev/ 
 O' sic an ugly Gothic hulk as you. 
 
 Conceited gowk ! ^ puff 'd up wi' windj^ pride ! 
 
 This mony a year I 've stood the flood and tide ; 
 
 And though 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, 
 
 A\Tien heavy, dark, continued, a'-day rains, 
 
 Wi' deepening deluges o'erflow the plains ; 
 
 When from the hills where springs the brav/ling Coil, 
 
 Or stately Lugar's mossy fountains boil, 
 
 Or where the Greenock winds his moorland course, 
 
 Or haunted Garpalf draws his feeble source. 
 
 Aroused by blustering winds and spotting thowes, 
 
 In mony a torrent down his snaw-broo rowes ; 
 
 While crashing ice, borne on the roaring spate, ^ 
 
 Sweeps dams, and mills, and brigs, a' to the gate ; ^ 
 
 And from Glenbuck,:}: down to the Hatton-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 the pouring skies. 
 
 A lesson sadly teaching, to your cost. 
 
 That Architecture's noble art is lost ! 
 
 1 No worthless thing. 2 Stretched. 3 Bet a doit. * Civility 
 
 5 Fool. « Age. 7 Enfeebled. 8 Jb'iood. 
 
 » Way. 10 Muddy spray. 
 
 * A noted ford, just above the Auld Brig.— S. 
 
 t The banks of Garpal Water — one of the few places in the West of HcotFaiid 
 wliere those fancy-scaring beings known by the name of ghaists still con^.inu© 
 pertinaciously to inhabit. — B. 
 
 t The source of the river Ayr. — B 
 
 § A small laudin<j-place above the large kev. —B. 
 
130 POEM^, [1786: 
 
 Fine ArcMtecture, trowth, I needs must say o't, 
 The Lord be thankit that we 've tint^ the gate o't! 
 Gaunt, ghastly, ghaist-alluring edifices, 
 Hanging with threatening jut, like precipices; 
 O'erarching, 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 worshipped 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 later times wha held the notion 
 That sullen gloom was sterling true devotion ; 
 Fancies that our guid brugh denies protectioni 
 And soon may they expire, unblest with resurrection I 
 
 O ye, my dear-remember'd ancient yealings,* 
 Were ye but here to share my wounded feelings! 
 Ye worthy proveses, and mony a bailie, 
 Wha in the paths o' righteousness did toil aye ; 
 Ye dainty deacons, and ye douce conveeners. 
 To whom our moderns are but causey-cleaners I 
 Ye godly councils wha hae blest this town; 
 Ye godly brethren o* the sacred gown, 
 Wha meekly gae your hurdles to the smiters ; 
 And (what would now be strange) ye godly writer* ; 
 A* ye douce folk I 've borne aboon the broo," 
 Were ye but here, what would ye say or do ! 
 How would your spirits groan in deep vexation 
 To see each melancholy alteration ; 
 And, agonising, curse the time and place 
 When ye begat the base, degenerate race ! 
 Nae langer reverend men, their country's glory, 
 In plain braid Scots hold forth a plain braid story ! 
 Nae langer thrifty citizens and 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 damn'd new brigs and 
 harbours ! 
 
 1 tost. « Stupid. « FoolSi. 
 
 *Co3val8. 6 Water. > e nalf-witted. 
 
rET. 2S.] POEMS, 131 
 
 NEW BEia. 
 
 Now hand you there ! for faith ye 've said enough, 
 And muckle mair than ye can mak to through ; ^ 
 That's aye a string auld doited gray -beards harp on, 
 A topic for their peevishness to carp on. 
 As for your jDriesthood, I shall say but little, 
 Corbies and clergy are a shot right kittle : 
 But, under favour o' your langer beard, 
 Abuse o' magistrates might weel be spared : 
 To liken them to your auld-warld squad, 
 I must needs say compai'isons 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 ; 
 No difference but bulkiest or tallest, 
 With comfortable dulness in for ballast ; 
 " Nor shoals nor currents need a pilot's caution, 
 For regularly slow, they only witness motion ; 
 Men wha grew wise priggin' owre hops and raisins, 
 Or gather'd liberal views in bonds and seisins, 
 If haply Knowledge, on a random tramp. 
 Had shored^ them wi' a glimmer of his lamp. 
 And would to Common Sense for once betray'd them, 
 Plain, dull Stupidity stept kindly in to aid them. 
 
 What further clishmaclaver^ might been said. 
 What bloody wars, if sprites had blood to shed, 
 No man can tell ; but all before their sight, 
 A fairy train appear'd in order bright : 
 A down the glittering stream they featly danced ; 
 Bright to the moon their various dresses glanced : 
 They footed o'er the watery 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. 
 Oh, had M'Lachlan,* thairm^-inspiring sage, 
 Been there to hear this heavenly baud 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 even his matchless hand with finer touch inspired ! 
 No guess could tell what instrument appear'd. 
 But all the soul of Music's self was heard ; 
 Harmonious concert rung in every j^art, 
 While simple melody pour'd moving on the heart. 
 
 » Make good. 2 Exposed. s Palaver, 
 
 i Cat-gut. 6 Ear. 
 
 • A wtl^known performer of Scottish music on tho violin.— P. 
 
POEMS. [1786. 
 
 The Genius of tlie 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 injhand with Spring; 
 Then, crown'd with flowery hay, came Rural Joy, 
 And Summer, with his fervid-beaming eye : 
 AU-checring Plenty, with her flowing horn, 
 Led yellow Autumn, wreathed with nodding corn ; 
 Then Winter's time-bleach'd locks did hoaiy show. 
 By Hospitality with cloudless brow. 
 Next foUow'd Courage, with his martial stride, 
 From where the Feal* wild- woody coverts hide; 
 Benevolence, with mild, benignant air, 
 A female form came from the towers of Stair : \ 
 ] ^earning and Worth in equal measures trode 
 iVom simple Catrine, their long-loved abode : % 
 Last, white-robed Peace, crowned with a hazel wieath, 
 To rustic Agriculture did bequeath 
 The broken iron instruments of death ; 
 At sight of whom our sprites forgat their kindling wrath. 
 
 LINES 
 
 ON MEETING WITH LORD DAER. 
 
 In 1780, Professor Dugald Stewart, the well-known expounder of the Scottish 
 system of metaphysics, reskled in a villa at Catrine, on the Ayr, a few miles 
 from the poet s farm ; and having heai'd of his astonishing poetical produc- 
 tions, through Mr Mackenzie, a talented and generous surgeon in Mauchline, 
 lie invited Burns to dine with him. accompanied by his medical friend. Tlie 
 poet seems to have been somewhat alarmed at the idea of meeting so distin- 
 guished a member of the literary world ; and, to increase his embarrassment, 
 it happened tliat Lord Daer, (son of the Earl of Selkirk,) an amiable young 
 nobleman, was on a visit to the professor at the time. The result, however, 
 ai)pears to have been rather agreeable than otherwise to the poet, who has re- 
 corded his feelings on the subject in the following lir^es :— 
 
 This wot ye all whom it concerns, 
 I, Khymer E-obin, alias Burns, 
 
 October twenty-third, 
 A ne'er-to-be-forgotten day ! 
 Sae far I sprachled ^ up the brae, 
 
 1 dinner'd wi' a lord. 
 
 1 Clambered. 
 
 * Tne poet here alludes to Captafn Montgomery of CoilsQeld— soger FTugh— 
 afterwards twelfth Earl of Eglintou, whose seat of Coilsfield is situated on' the 
 Fe il, or Faile, a tributary stream of the Ayr. 
 
 t A compliment to his early patroness, ]\Irs Stewart of Stair. 
 
 % A well-merited tribute to Professor Dugald Stewart 
 
/ET 28.] POEMS. 133 
 
 I Ve been at drucken writers' feasts, 
 Nay, been bitch f ou 'mang godly priests ; 
 
 (Wf rev'reuce be it spoken !) 
 I Ve even joiu'd the honour'd jorum 
 "When mighty squireships o' the quorum 
 
 Their hydra drouth did sloken. 
 
 But wi' a lord ! — stand out, my sLiu : 
 A lord — a peer — an earl's son ! — 
 
 Up higher yet, my bonnet ! 
 And sio a lord ! — lang Scotch ells twa, 
 Our peerage he o'erlooks them a*. 
 
 As I look o'er my sonnet. 
 
 But, oh I for Hogarth's magic power ! 
 To show Sir Bardie's willy art glower,^ 
 
 And how he stared and stanimer'd ! 
 When goavan,2 as if led wi' branks,^ 
 And stumpin' on his ploughman shauks, 
 
 He in the parlour hammer'd. 
 
 To meet good Stewart 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 faultering I gaed ben ! ^ 
 
 I sidling shelter'd in a nook, 
 And at his lordship steal't a look, 
 
 Like some portentous omen ; ;. 
 
 Except good sense and social glee, f 
 
 And (what surprised me) modesty, 
 
 I marked nought uncommon. 
 
 I watch'd the symptoms o' the great, 
 The gentle joride, 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^ 
 
 Then from his lordship I shall learn 
 Henceforth to meet with unconcern 
 
 One rank as weel 's another ; 
 Nae honest, worthy man need care, 
 To meet wi' noble, youthful Daer, 
 
 For he but meets a brother. 
 
 1 Bewildered stave. 2 Moving stupidly. » Bridle. 
 
 * Became stupified. » Kuocked. 6 into the rooiTK 
 
T34 POEMS. [1787. 
 
 ADDRESS TO EDINBUEGH. 
 
 Writing to hia friend, William Chalmera, the poet nays: — "I enclose you two 
 poems, which I have carded and spun since I passed Glenbuck. 'Fail 
 Burnet' is the heavenly Miss Burnet, daughter of Lord Monboddo, at whose 
 house I have had the honour to be more than once. There has not been 
 anything nearly like her in all the combinations of beauty, grace, and good- 
 ness the great Creator has formed, since Milton's Eve on the first day of he? 
 existence 1 " 
 
 Edina ! Scotia's darling seat • 
 
 All hail thy palaces and towers, 
 Where once t3eneath a monarch's feet 
 
 Sat Legislation's sovereign powers I 
 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 honour'd shade. 
 
 Here wealth still swells the golden tide, 
 
 As busy Trade his labour plies ; 
 There Architecture's noble pride 
 
 Bids elegance and splendour 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 ; 
 And never may their sources fail ! 
 
 And never envy blot their name ! 
 
 Thy daughters bright thy walks adorn, 
 
 Gay as the gUded summer sky, 
 Sweet as the dewy milk-white thom, 
 
 Dear as the raptured thrill of joy I 
 Fair 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. 
 
ST. 29.] POEMS, 135 
 
 With awe-struck thought, and pitying tears, 
 
 I view that noble, stately dome, 
 "VYhere Scotia's kings of other years, 
 
 Pamed heroes ! had their royal home i 
 Alas, how changed the times to come ! 
 
 Their royal name low in the dust ! 
 Their hapless race wild -wandering roam I 
 
 Though rigid law cries out, 'Twas just. 
 
 Wild beats my heart to trace your steps, 
 
 Whose ancestors, in days of yore. 
 Through 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 ! 
 
 Edina ! Scotia's darling seat ! 
 
 All hail thy palaces and towers, 
 "Where once beneath a monarch's feet 
 
 Sat Legislation's sovereign powers I 
 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 honour'd shade. 
 
 THE POET'S WELCOME TO HIS ILLEGITIMATE CHILD.* 
 
 There can be no doubt that the feeling which prompted the composition of this 
 aud similar poems was not that of the reckless libertine who was lost to all 
 shame, and was without regard for the good opinion of his fellows. Lockhart 
 hits the truth when he says: — *' 'To wave (*in his own language') the quantum 
 of the sin,' he who, two years afterwards, wrote the ' Cotter's Saturday Night' 
 had not, we may be sure, hardened his heart to the thought of bringing addi- 
 tional sorrow and unexpected shame to the fireside of a widowed mother. But 
 his false pride recoiled from letting his jovial associates guess how little ha 
 was able to drown the whispers of the ' still small voice ;' and the fermenting 
 bitterness of a mind ill at ease within itself escaped, (as maybe too often traced 
 in the history of satirists,) in the shape of angry sarcasms against others, who. 
 whatever their private errors might be, had at least done him no wrong. It 
 is impossible not to smile at one item of consolation which Burns proposes to 
 himself on this occasion : — 
 
 * The subject of these verses was the poet's illegitimate daughter whom, in 
 ''The Inventory," he styles his 
 
 "Sonsie, smirking, dear-bought Bess." 
 
 ghe grew up to womanhood, was married, and had a family. Her death Is thiis 
 innounced in the Scots Magazine, Decembers, 1817: — "Died Ehzabeth Burns, 
 «rife of Mr John Bishop, overseer at Polkemmet, near Whitburn. She was the 
 laughter of the celebrated Robert Burns, aud the subject of some of hia most 
 beautiful lines. 
 
136 POEMS. [1787 
 
 The mail" they talk, I 'm kenn'd the better ; 
 E'en let them clash! 
 
 This is indeed a singular manifestation of «the last infirmity of noble minds,* ^ 
 
 Thou's welcome, wean ! mishanter^ fa' me, 
 If oiTght of thee, or of thy mammy, 
 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 bonny Betty, 
 I fatherly will kiss and daut^ thee. 
 As dear and near my heart I set thee 
 
 Wi' as guid will, 
 - As a' the priests had seen me get thee 
 
 That 's out o' hell. 
 
 What though they ca' me fornicator, 
 And tease my name in kintra clatter : ^ 
 The mair they talk I 'm kenn'd the better. 
 
 E'en let them clash ! ^ 
 An auld wife's tongue's a feckless ^ matter 
 
 To gie ane fash.^ 
 
 Sweet fruit o' mony a merry dint, 
 
 My funny toil is now a' tint, 
 
 Sin' thou came to the warld asklent,^ 
 
 Which fools may scoff at ; 
 lu my last plack thy part's be in't — 
 
 The better half o't. 
 
 And if thou be what I wad hae thee, 
 And tak the counsel I shall gie thee, 
 A lovin' father I '11 be to thee. 
 
 If thou be spared : 
 Through a' thy childish years I '11 ee tliee. 
 
 And think 't weel wared. 
 
 Guid grant that thou may aye inherit 
 Thy mither's person, grace, and merit. 
 And thy poor worthless daddy's spirit. 
 
 Without his failin's, 
 'Twill please me mair to hear and see 't, 
 
 Than stockit mailins.^ 
 
 TO MRS C , 
 
 ON RECEIVING A WORK OP HANNAH MORE'S. 
 
 Thou flattering mark of friendship kind. 
 Still may thy iDages call to mind 
 
 1 INIisfortune. 2 Fondle. 8 Country talk. * Gossip. 
 
 s Very bmiill. « Trouljle. f Irregularly, » Stocked farms. 
 
^T. 29. J POEMS, 137 
 
 The dear, the beauteous donor ! 
 Though sweetly female every part, 
 Yet such a head, and more the heart, 
 
 Does both the sexes honour. 
 She show'd her taste refined and just 
 
 When she selected thee, 
 Yet deviating, own I must, 
 For so approving me. 
 
 But kind still, I mind still 
 
 The giver in the gift, 
 I '11 bless her, and wiss her 
 A Friend above the lif i.^ 
 
 TO MISS LOGAN, 
 
 WITH BEATTIE's poems AS A NEW-TEAR'S GIFT, JAN. 1, 1787. 
 
 Miss Susan Logan was the sister of the Major Logan to whom Burns wrote a 
 rhymed episUe. He was indebted to both for many pleasant hours when he 
 >viio suffering from despondency. 
 
 Again the silent wheels of time 
 
 Their annual round have driven, 
 And you, though scarce in maiden prime, 
 
 Are so much nearer heaven. 
 
 No 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 ; 
 Eut may, dear maid, each lover prove 
 
 An Edwin still to you ! 
 
 VERSES 
 
 INTENDED TO BE WRITTEN BELOW A NOBLE EARL*S PICTURE. 
 
 "The enclosed stanzas," said the poet, in a letter to his patron, the Earl of Glen 
 cairn, "I intended to write below a picture or profile of your lordship, could 
 I have been so happy as to procure one with anything of a likeness." 
 
 Whose is that noble, dauntless brow ? 
 
 And whose that eye of fire ? 
 And whose that generous princely mien 
 
 Even rooted foes admire ? 
 
 iSky. 
 
138 
 
 POEMS. [1787. 
 
 Stranger, to justly ehow that brow. 
 
 And mark that eye of fire, 
 Would take His hand, whose vernal tints 
 
 His other works admire. 
 
 Bri.iiht as a cloudless summer sun, 
 
 With stately port he moves ; 
 His guardian seraph eyes with awe 
 
 The noble ward he loves. 
 
 Among the illustrious Scottish sons 
 
 That chief thou mayst discern ; 
 Mark Scotia's fond returning e}^e — 
 
 It dwells upon Glencaim. 
 
 TO A HAGGIS. 
 
 The haggis Ib a dainty peculiar to Scotland, though it Is supposed to be an adap- 
 tation of a French dish. It is composed of minced offal of mutton, mixed 
 with meal and suet, to which are added various condiments by way of season- 
 lug, and the whole is tied up tightly in a sheep's stomach, and boiled therein. 
 Although the ingredients of this dish are not over inviting, the poet does not 
 far exceed poetical licence in singing its praises. We would recommend the 
 reader to turn to page 173 of vol. i. of Wilson's "Noctes Ambrosianie," where 
 he will find a grapnic and humorous description of a monster haggis, and 
 what resulted fi'om cutting it up. The Edinburoh Literary Journal, 1829, 
 made the following statement: — "About sixteen years ago there resided at 
 Mauchline Mr Kobert Morrison, cabinetmaker. He was a great crony of 
 Burns's, and it was in Mr Morrison's house that the poet usually spent the 
 'mida o' the day' on Sunday. It was in this house that he wrote his celebrated 
 ♦Address to a Haggis,' after partaking liberally of that dish as prepared by 
 Mrs Morrison." 
 
 Fair fa* your honest, sonsie^ face. 
 Great chieftain o' the puddin' race ! 
 Aboon them a' ye tak your place, 
 
 Painch, tripe, or thairm :^ 
 Weel are ye worthy of a grace 
 
 As iang 's my arm. 
 
 The groaning trencher there ye fill, 
 Your hurdies like a distant hall. 
 Your pin* wad help to mend a mill 
 
 In time o' need, 
 While through your pores the dews distil 
 
 Like amber bead. 
 
 His knife see rustic labour dight,' 
 And cut you up wi' ready slight. 
 
 1 Jolly. 2 Small intestines. « Wipe. 
 
 * A wooden skewev with which it is lifted out and in to the vessel in which It 
 IS cooked, and which also serves the purpose of securing the mouth of the bag. 
 
His knife see rustic labour dight 
 And cut you up wi' ready slight, 
 Trencliiug your gushins; eutrails bnght. 
 
 Like ony ditch. 
 And then, oii, what a elorious sight 1 
 
 Warin-reekin*, rich ! 
 
 —To a Haggis, page l 
 
/ET. 29.] POEMS. 139 
 
 Trencliing your gushiug entrails bright 
 
 Like ony ditch ; 
 And then, oh, what a glorious sight, 
 
 Warm-reekinV rich ! 
 
 Then horn for horn they stretch and strive, 
 Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive, 
 Till all their weel-swaU'd kytes bely ve * 
 
 Are bent like drums ; 
 Then auld guidman, maist like to rive,^ 
 
 Bethankit hums. 
 
 Is there that owre his French ragoiit, 
 Or olio that wad staw a sow, 8 
 Or fricassee wad mak her spew* 
 
 Wi' perfect scunner,* 
 Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view 
 
 On sic a dinner? 
 
 Poor devil ! see him owre his trash, 
 As feckless ^ as a wither'd rash, 
 His spindle-shank a guid whip-lash. 
 
 His nieve^ a nit: 
 Through bloody flood or field to dash, 
 
 Oh, how unfit 1 
 
 But mark the rustic, haggis-fed, 
 
 The trembling earth resounds his tread, 
 
 Clap in his walie nieve a blade, 
 
 He 11 mak it whissle ; 
 And legs, and arms, and heads will sned,^ 
 
 Like taps o' thrisslo. 
 
 Ye powers wha mak mankind your care, 
 And dish them out their bill o' fare, 
 Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware * 
 
 That jaups ^^ in higgles ;ii 
 But if ye wish her gratefu' prayer, 
 
 Gie her a haggis I 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 SPOKEN BY MR WOODS f ON HIS BENEFIT NIGHT, MONDAY, APRIL 18, 1787 
 
 "When by a generous public's kind acclaim. 
 That dearest meed is granted — honest fame : 
 
 1 Smoking. a Burst. » Pig. 4 Vomit. 
 
 • Loathing. « Pithless. 7 Fist. « Cut off. 
 » Thia stuff. 10 Splashes. ^^ Wooden bowls with upright 
 
 haudles. 
 
 ♦ Till all their well-swollen bellies by and by. 
 
 t INIr Woods had been the friend of Fergusson. He was long * favourit* actoi 
 in Edinburgh, and was himself a man of some poetical talent. 
 
T40 POEMS, ^ [1787, 
 
 ■Wlien here your favour 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 thro3 ? 
 
 Poor is the task to please a barbarous throng, 
 It needs no Siddons' powers in Southern's song ; 
 But here an ancient nation famed afar, 
 For genius, learning high, as great in war — 
 Hail, Caledonia ! name for ever dear ! 
 Before whose sons I 'm honour'd to appear ! 
 Where every science— every nobler art — 
 That can inform the mind, or mend the heart;, 
 Is known ; as grateful nations oft have found, 
 Far as the rude barbarian marks the bound. 
 Philosophy, no idle pedant dream. 
 Here holds her search by heaven-taught Eeason's beam ; 
 Here History paints with elegance and force, 
 The tide of Empire's fluctuating course ; 
 Here Douglas forms wild Shakespeare into plan, 
 And Harley* rouses all the god in man, 
 When well-form'd taste and sparkling wit unite 
 With manly lore, or female beauty bright, 
 (Beautv, 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. 
 
 O Thou dread Power ! whose empire-giving hand 
 Has oft been stretch'd to shield the honour'd land ! 
 Strong may she glow with all her ancient fire ! 
 May every son be worthy of his sire ! 
 Firm may she rise with generous disdain 
 At Tyranny's, or direr Pleasure's, chain I 
 Still self-dependent in her native shore, 
 Bold may she brave grim Danger's loudest roar. 
 Till Fat© the curtain drops on worlds to be no mor^ 
 
 NATURE'S LAW. 
 
 HUMBLY INSCRIBED TO GAVIN HAMILTON, ESQ. 
 
 These verses were first published in Mr Pickering's edition of the poet's works, 
 printed from the original MS. in the poet's handwriting. They appear to have 
 been written shortly after " Bonny Jean" had presented him with twins. 
 
 * Henry Mackenzie, author of "The Man of Feeling." 
 
AT. 29.] POEMS. 141 
 
 "Great Nature spoke— observant man obey'd." — Popb. 
 
 Let other heroes boasfc their scars, 
 
 The marks of sturt and strife ; 
 And other poets sing of wars, 
 
 The plagues of hnman life : 
 Shame fa' the fun, wi' sword and gun, 
 
 To slap mankind like lumber ! 
 I sing his name and nobler fame, 
 
 Wha multiplies our number. 
 
 Great !N"ature spoke, with air benign, 
 
 " Go on, ye human race ! 
 This lower world I you resign ; 
 
 Be fruitful and increase. 
 The liquid fire of strong desire 
 
 I've pour'd it in each bosom ; 
 Eere, in this hand, does mankind stand. 
 
 And there is beauty's blossom ! " 
 
 The hero of these artless strains, 
 
 A lowly bard was he, 
 Who sung his rhymes in Coila's plains, 
 
 With mickle mirth and glee ; 
 Kind Nature's care had given hia sliara 
 
 Large of the flaming current ; 
 And.all devout, he never sought 
 
 To stem the sacred torrent. 
 
 He felt the powerful, high behest. 
 
 Thrill, vital, through and through ; 
 And sought a corresi)ondent breast 
 
 To give obedience due : 
 Propitious Powers screen'd the young flowers 
 
 From mildews of abortion ; 
 And lo ! the bard, a great reward, 
 
 Has got a double portion ! 
 
 Auld cantie Coil may count the ii?cjy 
 
 As annual it returns, 
 The third of Libra's equal sway, 
 
 That gave another Burns, 
 With future rhymes, and other times, 
 
 To emulate his sire ; 
 To sing auld Coil in nobler style, 
 
 \Yith more poetic fire. 
 
 Ye powers of peace, and peaceful song, 
 
 Look down with gracious eyes ; 
 And bless auld Coila, large and long, 
 
 With multii^lying joys ; 
 Lang may she stand to prop the laud, 
 
 The flower of ancient nations ; 
 And Burns's spring, her fame to sing. 
 
 To endless generations.' 
 
142 POEMS, 11787. 
 
 THE HERMIT. 
 
 WRITTEN ON A MARBLE SIDEBOARD IN THE HERMITAGE BELONGING TO 
 THE DUKE OP ATHOLE, IN THE WOOD OP ABERFELDY. 
 
 This poem was brought to light by Mr Peter Buchan, himself a poet, and editoi ^ 
 of the "Scottish Legendary Ballads," and first appeared in Hogg and Mo- 
 therwell's edition of the poet's works. It is believed to be authentic. 
 
 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. 
 
 No thought of guilt my bosom sours ; 
 Eree-will'd I fled from courtly bowers ; 
 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 Honour's sword was rusted , 
 That few for aught but folly lasted ; 
 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 oflBce 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 ; 
 Eut 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, O Lord ! from life retire, 
 Unknown each guilty worldly fire, 
 
^•. 29.] POEMS. 143 
 
 Remorse'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 xiot, 
 And yet no grief has marr'd thy quiet, 
 Thou haply throw'st a scornful eye at 
 
 The hermit's prayer , 
 Eut if thou hast good cause to sigh at 
 
 Thy fault or care ; 
 
 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 ! 
 
 SKETCH OF A CHARACTER. 
 
 "This fragment," Bays Burns to Dugald Stewart, "I have not shown to man 
 living tnl I now send it to you. It forms the postulata, the axioms, the de- 
 finition of a character, which, if it appear at all, shall be placed in a variety 
 of lights. This particular part I send you merely as a sample of my hani 
 at portrait-sketching." 
 
 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, 
 Leam'd Vive la bagatelle, et Vive V amour ! 
 So travell'd monkies their grimace improve, 
 Polish their grin, nay, sigh for ladies' love. 
 Much specious lore, but httle 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. 
 
 VERSES 
 
 ON READING IN A NEWSPAPEE THE DEATH OF JOHN M'lEOD, ESQ., 
 BKOTHER TO A YOUNQ LADY, A PARTICULAR FRIEND OF THE AUTHOR'S. 
 
 Sad thy tale, thou idle page. 
 
 And rueful thy alarms : 
 Death tears the brother of her lovo 
 
 From Isabella's arms. 
 
144 POEMS. [1787. 
 
 Sweetly deckt 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 clou da 
 
 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. 
 
 "Were it in the poet's power, 
 
 Strong as he shares the grief 
 That pierces Isabella's heart, 
 
 To give that heart relief ! 
 
 ' 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 hajDpy be at last. 
 
 ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF SIR JAMES HUNTER BLAIR. 
 
 Sir James Hunter Blair, who died in 1787, was a partner in the eminent banking 
 house of Sir William Forbes and Co., of Edinburgh. 
 
 The lamp of day, with ill-presaging glare, 
 Dim, cloudy, sunk beneath the western wave ; 
 
 The inconstant blast howl'd through the darkening air, 
 And hdUow 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,f 
 Or mouldering ruins mark the sacred fane. J 
 
 The increasing blast roar'd round the beetling rocks, 
 The clouds, swift-wing'd, flew o'er the starry sky. 
 
 The groaning trees untimely shed their locks, 
 And shooting meteors caught tlie startled eye, 
 
 ♦ Tlie King's Park, at Holyrood House, 
 
 t St Anthony's Wdl. t St Anthony's Chapel. 
 
«T. 29.] POEMS, 145 
 
 Tlie paly moon rose in the livid east, 
 And 'rnong the cliffs disclosed a stately form, 
 
 In weeds of woe, that frantic beat her breast, 
 And mix'd her wailings with the raving storm. 
 
 Wild to my heart the filial pulses glow, 
 'Twas Caledonia's trophied shield I view'd : 
 
 Her form majestic droop'd in pensive woe. 
 The lightning of her eye in tears imbued. 
 
 Reversed that spear, redoubtable in war, 
 Reclined that banner, erst in fields unfurl'd, 
 
 That like a deathful meteor gleam'd afar, 
 
 And braved the mighty monarohs of the world. 
 
 " My patriot son fills an untimely grave I " 
 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 riclily blow : 
 But ah ! how hope is born but to expire ! 
 
 Relentless Fate has laid their guardian low, 
 
 "My patriot falls, but shall he lie unsung, 
 WMle empty greatness saves a worthless name? 
 
 No ; every Muse shall join her tuneful tongue. 
 And future ages hear his growing fame. 
 
 "And I will join a mother's tender cares. 
 Through future times to make his virtues last ; 
 
 That distant years may boast of other Blairs ! " — 
 She said, and vanish' d with the sleeping blast. 
 
 TO MISS FERRIES, 
 
 ENCLOSING THE ELEGY ON SIB J. H. BLAIB. 
 
 During the poet's sojourn in Edinburgh his Muse of fire appears never to have 
 ascended its highest heaven of invention. A few days after the death of hli 
 patron, Sir James Hunter Blair, he was wandering in a musing mood along 
 George Street, which was at that time so remote from the great centre of 
 business as to be considered ahnost in the country, when he accidentally 
 met Miss Ferrier, eldest daughter of Mr J. Ferrier, W.S., one of his warmest 
 patrons, and father of Miss Ferrier, the well-known novelist. In the gparklinf 
 eyes of this young lady, who afterwards became Mrs General Graham^ the poet 
 seems to have found the inspiration he was in search of. 
 
146 POEMS, L1787. 
 
 Kae heathen name shall I prefix 
 
 Frae Pindus or Parnassus ; 
 Anld Reekie din^s ^ them a' to sticks. 
 
 For rhyme-inspiiing lasses. 
 
 Jove's tunefu' dochters tliree times three 
 
 Made Homer deep their debtor ; 
 But, gien the body half an ee, 
 
 Nine Ferriers wad done better ! 
 
 Last day my mind was in a bog, 
 
 Down George's Street I stoited ; * 
 A creeping, cauld, prosaic fog 
 
 My very senses doited. ^ 
 
 Do what I dought** to set her free, 
 
 My saul lay in the mire ; 
 Ye tum'd a neuk^ — I saw your ee— 
 
 She took the wing like fire ! 
 
 The mournfu* sang I here enclose, 
 
 In gratitude I send you ; 
 And [wish and] pray in rhyme sincere, 
 
 A' guid things may attend you. 
 
 LINES 
 
 ^VEITTEN WITH A PENCIL OVER THE CHIMNETPIECE IN THE PARLOTJB 
 OF THE INN AT KENMOEE, TAYMOUTH. 
 
 This and the following poem, with their fine and appreciative description of mag- 
 nificent scenery, must have escaped the notice of the writer of the article ia 
 the North British Review for March 1865. This article, which is said to be 
 from the pen of John Hill Burton, is meant to prove that the Scottish Muse 
 Ignored allusions to romantic scenery until recently. Professor Walker says, 
 *' Burns passed two or three days with the Duke of Athole, and was highly 
 delighted by the attention he received, and the company to whom he was in- 
 troduced. By the Duke's advice he visited the Falls of Bruar, and in a few 
 days I received a letter from Inverness, with the following verses enclosed ;"— 
 
 Admiring Nature in her wildest grace. 
 
 These northern scenes with weary f e*t 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 , 
 
 Tlie outstretching lake, embosom'd 'mong the hills. 
 
 The eye with wonder and amazement fills : 
 
 1 Beats. 3 Tottered. « f-tupifled. 
 
 * Would. « Corner. 
 
^T. 29.] FORMS. 147 
 
 The Tay, meanclering sweet in infant pride, 
 The palace, rising on its verdant side ; 
 The lawns, wood-fiiuged in ZsTature'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 noontide beam — 
 
 Poetic ardours in my bosom swell. 
 
 Lone wandering by the hermit's mossy cell : 
 
 The sweeping theatre of hanging woods ! 
 
 The incessant roar of headlong tumbling floods. 
 
 Here Poesy might wake her Heaven-taught lyre, 
 And look through Nature with creative fire ; 
 Here, to the wrongs of Fate half -reconciled, 
 Misfortune's lighten'd steps might wander wild ; 
 And Disappointment, in these lonely bounds. 
 Find balm to soothe her bitter, rankling wounds ; 
 Here heart-struck Grief might heavenward stretch her 
 
 scan. 
 And injured Worth forget and pardon man. 
 
 THE HUMBLE PETITION OF BRUAR WATER* 
 
 TO THE NOBLE DUKE OF AT HOLE. 
 
 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-jumpin', glowrin' trouts. 
 
 That through my waters play, 
 If, in their random, wanton spouts, 
 
 They near the margin stray ; 
 If, hairless chance ! they linger lang, 
 
 I 'm scorching up so shallow, 
 They're left, the whitening stanes amang, 
 
 In gas]3ing 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' haK my channel dry : 
 
 * Bruar Tails, la Atliole, ra'e exceedingly picturesque and beautiful ; but theii 
 dffeot is much impaired by the want of tx'ees and shrubs. — B. 
 
148 POEMS, [1787 
 
 A panegyric rhynie, I ween, 
 
 Even as I was he shored ^ 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, 
 
 AYild-roaring o'er a linn : 
 Enjoying large each spring and well, 
 
 As nature gave them me, 
 I am, although I say 't mysel, 
 
 Worth gaun 2 a mile to see. 
 
 "Would, then, my noblest master pleas© 
 
 To grant my highest wishes. 
 He '11 shade my banks wi' toweling trees, 
 
 And bonny spreading bushes. 
 Delighted doubly, then, my lord, 
 
 You '11 wander on my banks. 
 And listen mony a gratefiil bird 
 
 Return you tuneful thanks. 
 
 The sober laverock, 3 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 storms ; 
 And coward maukins^ sleep secure 
 
 Low in their grassy forms : 
 The shepherd here shall make his seat, 
 
 To weave his crown of flowers ; 
 Or find a sheltering safe retreat. 
 
 From prone descending showers. 
 
 And here, by sweet endearing stealth, 
 
 Shall meet the loving pair. 
 Despising worlds, with zH 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, 
 
 1 Promised. 3 Going. » Lark. 
 
 4 Thiiiah. * Hares. 
 
«T. 29.] POEMS. 149 
 
 And eye the smoking dewy lawn, 
 
 And misty mountain gray ; 
 Or, by the reaper's nightly beam,^ 
 
 Mild-chequering through the trees. 
 Kave to my darkly -dashifig 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' watery bed ! 
 Let fragrant birks in woodbines drest 
 
 My craggy cliffs adorn ; 
 And, for the little songster's nest, 
 
 The close -embowering thorn. 
 
 So may old Scotia's darling hope. 
 
 Your little angel band, 
 Spring, like their fathers, up to prop 
 
 Their honour'd native land ! 
 So may through Albion's furthest ken, 
 
 To social-flowing glasses. 
 The grace be—" Athole's honest men, 
 
 And Athole's bonny lasses I " 
 
 LINES 
 
 WKITTEN WITH A PENCIL, STANDING BY THE FALL OP PYEPS, 
 NEAR LOCH NESS. 
 
 Among the heathy hills and ragged woods 
 
 The roaring Fyers pours his mossy floods ; 
 
 Till full he dashes on the rocky mounds. 
 
 Where, through 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 through rising mists and ceaseless showers, 
 
 The hoary cavern, wide-surrounding, lowers. 
 
 Still, through the gap the struggling river toils. 
 
 And still, below, the horrid caldron boils. 
 
 CASTLE-GOEDOJSr. 
 
 These lines were written after Burns's brief visit to Gordon Castle. The poet 
 enclosed them to James Hoy, librarian to the Duke of Gordon. The duchess 
 guessed them to be by Dr Beattie, and on learning they were by Burns, re- 
 gretted they were not in the Scottish language. 
 
 1 The harvest moon. 
 
150 POEMS. [1787, 
 
 Streams that glide in orient iDlains, 
 Never bound by Winter's cliains ! 
 
 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 hives 
 
 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, blood, and spoil : 
 Woods that ever verdant wave, 
 I leave the tyrant and the slave. 
 Give me the groves that lofty bravo 
 
 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, i^ours 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 bonny Castle-Gordon. 
 
 ON SCARING SOME WATER-FOWL IN LOCH TITRIT, 
 
 A "WILD SCENE AMONG THE HILLS OP OCHTi RTYRE. 
 
 Why, ye tenants of the lake, 
 For me your waterv haunts forsake ? 
 Tell me, fellow-creatures, wny 
 At my presence thus you fly ? 
 Why disturb your social joys, 
 Parent, filial, kindred ties ? — 
 Common friend Jo you and me, 
 Nature's gifts to all are free : 
 Peaceful keep your dimpling wave, 
 Busy feed, or wanton lave ; 
 Or, beneath the sheltering 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 : 
 
^T. 29.] POEMS. 
 
 Plumes himself in freedom's pride, 
 Tyrant stern to all beside. 
 The eagle, from the cliflpy 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 humace — 
 And creatures for his pleasure slain. 
 In these savage, liquid plains. 
 Only known to wandering swains, 
 "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 Avith 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. 
 
 TO MISS CEUIKSHANK, 
 
 A. VERT YOUNG LADY. WRITTEN ON THE BLANK LEAF OF A BOOK PRE- 
 SENTED TO HER BY THE AUTHOR. 
 
 This young lady was the subject of one of the poet's songs, " A Rosebud by my 
 Early Walk." She was the daughter of Mr Cruikshanlr, No. 30 St James's Square, 
 Edinburgh, with whom the poet resided for some time during one of his visits tc 
 Edinburgh. She afterwards became the wife of Mr Henderson, a solicitor ic 
 Jedburgh. 
 
 Beauteous rosebud, young and gay. 
 
 Blooming in thy early May, 
 
 Never mayst thou, lovely iSower, 
 
 Chilly shrink in sleety shower ! 
 
 Never Boreas' hoary path. 
 
 Never Eurus' poisonous breath. 
 
 Never baleful stellar lights. 
 
 Taint thee with untimely blights ! 
 
 Never, never reptile thief 
 
 Riot on thy virgin leaf ! 
 
 Nor even Sol too fiercely view 
 
 Thy bosom blushing still with dew ! 
 
 Mayst thou long, sweet crimson gem, 
 BichljT deck thy native stem : 
 'Till some evening, sober calm, 
 Dropping dews, and breathing balm, 
 
152 POEMS. [1787. 
 
 While all arotind the woodland rings, 
 And every bird thy requiem singa ; 
 Thou, amid the dirgeful sound, 
 Shed thy dying honours round, 
 And resign to parent earth 
 The loveliest form alie e'er gave birth. 
 
 POETICAL ADDRESS TO MR WILLIAM TYTLEPu 
 
 WITH A PRESENT OP THE BARD'S PICTURE. 
 
 William Tytler, Esq., of Woodhouselee, to whom these lines were addressed, 
 wrote a work in defence of Mary Queen of Scots, and earned the pratitude 
 of Burns, who had all a poet's sympathies for the unfortunate and beautiful 
 queen. Mr Tytler was grand-father to Patrick Fruser Tytler, the author ol 
 " The History of Scotland." 
 
 Revered defender of beauteous Stuart, 
 
 Of Stuart, a name once respected, — 
 A name -which to love was the mark of a true heart, 
 
 But now 'tis despised and neglected. 
 
 Though something like moisture conglobes in my eye, 
 
 Let no one misdeem me disloyal ; 
 A poor friendless wanderer may well claim a sigh, 
 
 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 scoffingly 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 avowd by my country. 
 
 But why of this epocha make such a fuss 
 
 That gave us the Hanover stem ; 
 If bringing them over was lucky for us, 
 
 I 'm sure 'twas as lucky for them. 
 
 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 regard. 
 
 Sincere as a saint's dying i^rayer. 
 
 Kow 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. 
 
^T. 29.] POEMS. 153 
 
 ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF EOBERT DUNDAS, ESQ., 
 OF AKNISTON,* 
 
 LATE LOED PRESIDENT OF THE COURT OP SESSION. 
 
 In a letter to Dr Geddes, Burns tells the fate of this poem, and makes his owr 
 comment: — " The following elegy has some tolerable lines in it, but the in 
 curable wound of my pride will not suffer me to correct, or even peruse, it. ] 
 sent a copy of it, with my best prose letter, to the son of the great man, tin 
 theme of the piece, by the hands of one of the noblest men in God's world- 
 Alexander Wood, surgeon. When, behold 1 his solicitorship took no more 
 notice of my poem or me than if I had been a strolling fiddler who had madt 
 free with his lady's name over a silly new reel ! Did the gentleman imagine 
 that I looked for any dirty gratuity ? " 
 
 LoNE on the bleaky hills the straying flocks 
 Shun the fierce storms among the sheltering rocks ; 
 Down foam the rivulets, red with dashing rains ; 
 The gathering flx)ods burst o'er the distant i^lains ; 
 Beneath the blast the leafless forests groan ; 
 The hollow caves return a sullen moan. 
 
 Ye hills, ye plains, ye forests, and ye caves, 
 Ye howling winds, and wintry-swelliug w ves ! 
 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 balaaice eyed, and sway'd her rod ; 
 She heard the tidings of the fatal blow. 
 And sunk, abandon'd to the wildest woe. 
 
 "Wrongs, injuries, from many a darksome den, 
 Now gay in hope explore the paths of men : 
 See, from his cavern, grim Oppression rise, 
 And throw on Poverty his cruel eyes ; 
 Keen on the helpless victim see him fly, 
 And stifle, dark, the feebly-bursting cry. 
 
 Mark ruflSan Violence, distain'd with crimes. 
 
 Rousing elate in these degenerate times ; 
 
 "View unsuspecting Innocence a prey, 
 
 As guileful Fraud points out the erring way : 
 
 "While subtle Litigation's pliant tongue 
 
 The life-blood equal sucks of Right and Wrong : 
 
 Hark! injured Want recounts th' unlisten'd tale, 
 
 And much-wrong'd Misery pours the unpitied wail! 
 
 * Elder brother to Viscount Melville, born 1713, appointed President in 
 1760, and died December 13, 1787, after a short illness. 
 
154 POEMS. [1788. 
 
 Ye dark waste hills, and hrown 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. 
 
 TO CLARINDA. 
 
 ON THE poet's LEAVING EDINBURGH. 
 
 The maiden name of Clarinda was Ajnies Craig. At the time Burns made her ac- 
 quaintance she was the wife of a Mr M'Lehose, from whom she had heen sepa- 
 rated on account of incompatibility of temper, &c. She seems to have 
 entertained a sincere affection for the poet. Burns, who was always engaged 
 in some affair of the heart, seems to have been much less sincere. His letters 
 to her are somewhat forced and stilted, and contrast very unfavourably with 
 those of hers which have been preserved. He soon forgot her, however, to her 
 great regret and mortification. She was beautiful and accomplished, and a 
 poetess. The poet in one of his letters to her, thus alludes to one of 
 her productions: — "Your last verses to me have so delighted me that I 
 have got an excellent old Scots air that suits the measure, and you shall see 
 them in print in the Scots Musical Museum, a work publishing by a friend 
 of mine in this town. The air is ' The Banks of Spey,' ;.nd is most beautiful. 
 I want four stanzas— you gave me but three, and one of them alluded to an 
 expression in my former letter: so I have taken your first two verses, with 
 a slight alteration in the second, and have added a third ; but you must help 
 me to a fourth. Here they are ; the latter half of the first stanza would 
 have b«en worthy of Sappho; I am in raptures with it: — 
 
 " 'Talk not of Love, it gives me pain, 
 For Love has been my foe ; 
 He bound me with an iron chain, 
 And plunged me deep in woe. 
 
 ** ' But friendship's pure and lasting joys 
 My heart was form'd to prove ; 
 There, welcome, win, and wear the prize, 
 But never talk of Love. 
 
 *' * Your friendship much can make me blest, 
 Oh ! why that bliss destroy? 
 Why urge the odious [only] one request 
 You know I must [willj deny?' 
 
 "P.^y.— "What would you think of this for a fourth stanza ? 
 
 " * Your thought, if Love must harbour there, 
 Conceal it in that thought ; 
 Nor cause me from my bosom tear 
 The very friend I sought.' " 
 
 These verses are inserted in the second volume of the Musical Museum. 
 
 Clarinda, mistress of my soul, 
 
 The measured time is run ! 
 Tlie wretch beneath the dreary pole, 
 
 So marks his latest sun. 
 
fiLT, 30.] FOEMS. 155 
 
 To what dark cave of frozen nigLt 
 
 Shall poor Sylvander liie ? 
 Deprived of thee, his life aud 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 stei)s 
 
 Till thy bright beams arise. 
 
 She, the fair sun of all her sex, 
 
 Has blest mj gloiious day ; 
 And shall a glimmering planet fix 
 
 My worship to its ray ? 
 
 TO CLARINDA. 
 
 WITH A PRESENT OF A PAIR OF DRINKING-GLASSES. 
 
 Fair empress of the poet's soul, 
 
 And queen of poetesses ; 
 Clarinda, take this little boon, 
 
 This humble pair of glasses. 
 
 And fill them high with generous juice, 
 
 As generous as your mind ; 
 And pledge me in the generous toast — 
 
 " The whole of humankind !" 
 
 " 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 ! " 
 
 Long may we live ! long may we love ! 
 
 And long may we be hapi^y ! 
 And may we never want a glass 
 
 Well charged with generous nappy ! 
 
 TO CLARINDA. 
 
 Before I saw Clarincla's face, 
 My heart was blithe and gay. 
 
 Free as the wind, or feather'd rnc« 
 That hop from spray to spray. 
 
 But now dejected I appear, 
 Clarinda proves unkind ; 
 
 I, sighing, drop the silent tear, 
 But no relief can find. 
 
156 POEMS. [1788L 
 
 In plaintive notes niy tale rehearses 
 
 When I the fair have found ; 
 On every tree appear my verses 
 
 That to her praise resound. 
 
 But she, ungrateful, shuns my sight, 
 
 My faithful love disdains, 
 My vows and tears her scorn excite — 
 
 Another happy reigns. 
 
 Ah, though my looks betray, 
 
 1 envy your success ; 
 Yet love to friendship shall give way, 
 
 I cannot) wish it less. 
 
 TO CLARINDA. 
 
 ** I BURN, I burn, as when through ripen*d corn. 
 By driving winds, the crackling flames are borne ! '* 
 Now maddening, wild, I curse that fatal night ; 
 Now bless the hour which charm'd my guilty sight. 
 In vain the laws their feeble force oppose ; 
 Chain'd at his feet they groan. Love s vanquish'd foes : 
 In vain Keligion meets my shrinking eye ; 
 I dare not combat — but I turn and fly : 
 Conscience in vain upbraids the unhallow'd fire ; 
 Love grasps its scorpions— stifled they expire ; 
 Reason drops headlong from liis sacred throne, 
 Your dear idea reigns, and reigns alone : 
 Each thought intoxicated homage yields, 
 And riots wanton in forbidden fields ! 
 
 By all on high adoring mortals know ! 
 
 By all the conscious villain fears below ! 
 
 By your dear self ! — the last great oath I swear — 
 
 Nor life nor soul was ever half so dear ! 
 
 LINES 
 
 WRITTEN IN friars' CARSE HERMITAGE, ON THE BANKS OF THE NTTH. 
 
 {^irst Version.) 
 
 Burns thought so well of this poem, that he preserved both copies. The first 
 was written hi June 1783. The MS. of the amended copy is headed, "Altered 
 from the foregoing, in December 1788." The hermitage in which these lines 
 were written was on the property of Captain Riddel of Friars' Carse, a beautiful 
 house with fine grounds, a mile above Ellisland. One of the many kindly 
 favours extended to the poet by Captain Riddel and his accomplished lady was 
 the permission to wander at will in the beautiful grounds of Friars' Carse. 
 The first six lines were graven with a diamond on a pane of glass in a 
 window of the hermitage. 
 
j&r.zo.] POEMS. 157 
 
 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 aiin ; 
 
 Ambition is a meteor gleam ; 
 
 Fame an idle, restless dream : 
 
 Pleasures, insects on the wing 
 
 Bound Peace, the tenderest flower of Spring! 
 
 Those that sip the dew alone, 
 
 Make the butterflies thy own ; 
 
 Those that would the bloom devoiur 
 
 Crush the locusts — save the flower. 
 
 For the future be prepared, 
 
 Guard whatever thou canst guard : 
 
 But, thy utmost duly done, 
 
 Welcome what thou canst not shun. 
 
 Follies past give thou to air, 
 
 Make their consequence thy care : 
 
 Keep the name of man in mind, 
 
 And dishonour not thy kind. 
 
 Beverence 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 ! 
 Quoth the Beadsman on Nithside. 
 
 LINES 
 
 WEITTEN IN FRIAES' CARSE HERMITAGE, ON NITHSIDB. 
 
 (Second Version.) 
 
 Thou whom chance may hither lead, 
 Be thou clad in russet weed, 
 Be ihoxL deckt in silken stole. 
 Grave these counsels oa thy soul ;-^ 
 
 Life is but a day at most. 
 Sprung from night, in darkness lost ; 
 Hope not sunshine every hour, 
 Fear not clouds wHl always lower. 
 
158 POEMS. [1788. 
 
 As Youth and Love, with sprightly dance. 
 Beneath thy morning-star advance, 
 Pleasure, with her siren 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 cliffy 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 ? 
 
 Wast tliou cottager or king ? 
 
 Peer or peasant ? — no such thing ! 
 
 Did many talents gild thy span ? 
 
 Or frugal Nature grudge thee one ? 
 
 Tell them, and press it on their mind, 
 
 As thou thyself must shortly find. 
 
 The smile or frown of awful Heaven 
 
 To Virtue or to Vice is given. 
 
 Say, "To be just, and kind, and wise, 
 
 There solid ^elf-enjoyment lies ; 
 
 That foolish, selfish, faithless ways 
 
 Lead to the wretched, vile, and base." 
 
 Thus resign'd 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 the good restore, 
 
 To light and joy unknown before ! 
 
 Stranger, go ! Heaven be thy guide ! 
 Quoth the beadsman of Nithside. 
 
.ET. 30.] POEMS, 159 
 
 A MOTHER'S LAMENT FOE, THE DEATH OF HEK SOK 
 
 Tho poet says: — "'The Mother's Lament' was composed partly with a view 
 to Mrs Fergusson of Craigdarroch and jjartly to the worthy patroness of my 
 oarly unknown muse, Mrs Stewart of x\.fton." It was also inserted in the 
 Musical Museum, to the tune of "Finlayston House." 
 
 Fate gave the word, the arrow sped, 
 
 And pierced my darling's heart ; 
 And with him all the joys are fled 
 
 Life can to me impart. 
 By cruel hands the sapling drops, 
 
 In dust dishonour' d laid ; 
 So fell the pride of all my hopes. 
 
 My age's future shade. 
 
 The mother-hnnet in the brake 
 
 Bewails her ravish'd young ; 
 So I, for niY lost darling's sake, 
 
 Lament the live-day long. 
 Death, oft I *ve fear'd thy fatal Mow, 
 
 Now, fond, I bare my breast. 
 Oh, do thou kindly lay me low 
 
 With him I love, at rest ! 
 
 ELEGY ON THE YEAR 1788. 
 
 A SKETCH. 
 
 Cunningham says : — "Truly has the ploughman bard described the natures of 
 those illustrious rivals, Fox and Pitt, under the similitude of the 'birdie 
 cocks.' Nor will tlie allusion to the 'hand-cuffed, muzzled, half-shackled 
 regent ' be lost on those who remember the alarm into which the nation was 
 thrown by the king's illness." 
 
 Foe lords or kings I dinna mourn. 
 
 E'en let them die — for that they 're born ! 
 
 But oh ! i)rodigious to reflec' ! 
 
 A towmont,^ sirs, is gane to wreck ! 
 
 O Eighty-eight, in thy snia' 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 tuizie's"* sair 'tween Pitt and Fox, 
 And our guidwife's wee birdie cocks ; 
 The tane is game, a bluidy devil. 
 But to the hen-birds unco civil ; 
 The tither 's something dour o' treadin*, 
 But better stuff ne'er claw'd a midden. 
 
 I Twelvemonth. 2 Lost. a His dog. * Fight. 
 
l6o POEMS. [1789. 
 
 Ye ministers, come mount the pu'pit, 
 And cry till ye be hoarse and roopit, 
 For Eighty-eight he wish'd you weel, 
 And gied you a' baith gear^ and meal ; 
 E'en mony a plack, and mony a peck, 
 Ye ken yoursels, for little feck ! ^ 
 
 Ye bonny lasses, dight ^ your een, 
 For some o' you hae tint a frien' ; 
 In Eighty-eight, ye ken,* was ta'en 
 What ye '11 ne'er hae to gie again. 
 
 Observe the very nowte^ and sheep, 
 How dowf and dowie^ now they creep ; 
 Nay, even the yirth itsel does cry. 
 For Embrugh wells are grutten^ dry. 
 
 O Eighty-nine, thou's but a bairn. 
 And no owre auld, I hope, to learn ! 
 Thou beardless boy, I pray tak care. 
 Thou now hast got thy daddy's chair, 
 Nae hand-cufif'd, muzzled, half -shackled regent. 
 But, like himsel, a full, free agent. 
 Be sure ye follow out the plan 
 Nae waur® than he did, honest man! 
 As muckle better as you can. 
 Jan. 1, 1789. 
 
 TO OAPTAIN RIDDEL OF GLEI^IDDEL. 
 
 EXTEMPORE LINES ON RETUBNING A NEWSPAPER. 
 
 The newspaper sent contained some sharp strictures on the poet's works. 
 
 Elilsland, Monday Evening. 
 Your news and review, sir, I Ve read through and through, sir, 
 
 "With little admiring or blaming ; 
 The papers are barren of home news or foreign, 
 
 No 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 2k fabric complete^ 
 
 I boldly pronounce they are none, sir. 
 
 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 ! 
 
 1 Goods. 2 Work. » Wipe. * Know. » Oattle. 
 
 « Pithless and lo\v-spirited. f Wept. 8 Worse. 
 
^T, 33.] POEMS, l6l 
 
 ODE: 
 
 SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF MRS OSWALD. 
 
 The origin of this bitter and not very creditable effusion is thus related by the 
 poet in a letter to Dr Moore : — "The enclosed 'Ode' is a compliment to the 
 memory of the late Mrs Oswald of Auchincruive. You probably knew her 
 personally, an honour which I cannot boast, but I spent my early years in 
 her neighbourhood, and among her servants and tenants. I know that she 
 was detested with the most heartfelt cordiality. However, in the particular 
 part of her conduct which roused my poetic wrath she was much less blamable. 
 In January last, on my road to Ayrshire, I had to put up at Bailie Whigham's 
 in Sanquhar, the only tolerable inn in the place. The frost was keen, and the 
 grim evening and howling wind were ushering in a night of snow and drift. 
 My horse and I were both much fatigued with the labours of the day ; and just 
 as my friend the bailie and I were bidding defiance to the storm, over a 
 smoking bowl, in wheels the funeral pageantry of the late Mrs Oswald ; and 
 poor I am forced to brave all the terrors of the tempestuous night, and jade 
 my horse — my young favourite horse, whom I had just christened Pegasus — 
 further on, through the wildest hills and moors of Ayrshire, to New Cum- 
 nock, the next inn. The powers of poesy and prose sink under me when I 
 would describe what I felt. Suffice it to say that, when a good fire at New 
 Cumnock had so far recovered my frozen sinews, I sat down and wrote the en- 
 closed ' Ode.' " The poet lived to think more favourably of the name : one of 
 his finest lyrics, " Oh, wat ye wha's in yon town," was written in honour of the 
 beauty of the succeeding Mrs Oswald. 
 
 Dweller in yon dungeon dark, 
 Hangman of creation, mark ! 
 Who in widow-weeds appears, 
 Laden with unhonour'd years, 
 Noosing with care a bursting purse, 
 Baited with many a deadly curse ! 
 
 View the wither'd beldam's face — 
 
 Can thy keen inspection trace 
 
 Aught of humanity's sweet melting grace? 
 
 Note that eye, 'tis rheum o'erflows, 
 
 Pity's flood there never rose. 
 
 See these 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 I 
 
 ANTISTROPHE. 
 
 Plunderer of armies, lift thine eyes, 
 
 (A while forbear, ye torturing fiends ;) 
 
 Seest thou whose step, unwilling, hither bends T 
 
 No fallen angel, hurl'd from upper skies 4 
 
 'Tis thy trusty quondam mate, 
 
 Doom'd to share thy fieiy fate, 
 
 She, tardy, hell ward plies. 
 
l62 ' POEMS. [1789. 
 
 EPODE. 
 
 And are they of no more avail. 
 
 Ten thousand glittering pounds a year ? 
 
 In other worlds can Mammon fail, 
 
 Omnipotent as he is here ? 
 
 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. 
 
 TO JOHN TAYLOE. 
 
 'The poet," says a correspondent of Cunningham's, "it seems, during one of 
 his journeys over his ten parishes as an exciseman, had arrived at Wanlock- 
 head on a winter day, when the roads were slippery with ice, and Jenny Geddes, 
 liis mare, kept her feet with difficulty. The blacksmith of the phice was 
 busied with other pressing matters in the forge, and could not spare time for 
 'frosting* the shoes of the poet's mare, and it is likely he would have pro- 
 ceeded on his dangerous journey, had he not bethought himself of propitiating 
 the son of Vulcan with verse. He called for pen and ink, wrote these verses to 
 John Taylor, a person of influence in Wanlockhead ; and when he had done, 
 a gentleman of the name of Sloan, who accompanied him. added these 
 words : — ' J. Sloan's best compliments to Mr Taylor^ and it wculdbe doing hira 
 and the Ayrshire bard a particular favour, if he would oblige them iustanter 
 with his agreeable company. The road has been so slippery that the riders 
 and the brutes were equally in danger of getting some of their bones broken. 
 For the poet, his life and limbs are of some consequence to the world ; but 
 for poor Sloan, it matters vei*y little what may become of him. The whole of 
 this business is to ask the favour of getting the horses' shoes sharpened.* On 
 the receipt of this, Taylor spoke to the smith ; the smith flew to his tools, 
 sharpened the horses' shoes, and, it is recorded, lived thirty years to say he 
 had never been ' weel paid but ance, and that was by the jioet, who paid him 
 in money, paid him in drink, and paid liim in verse.' " 
 
 "With Pegasus upon a day, 
 
 Apollo weary flying, 
 Through frosty hills the journey lay, 
 
 On foot the way was jilying. 
 
 Poor slipshod giddy Pegasus 
 
 Was but a sorry walker ; 
 To Vulcan then Apollo goes, 
 
 To get a frosty caulker. * 
 
 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. 
 Ramage's, fhree o'dock. EOBERT BUENS. 
 
 ' A nail put into a shoe to prevent the foot from slipping in frosty weather. 
 
MT, 31.] POEMS. 163 
 
 SKETCH : 
 
 INSCRIBED TO THE EIGHT HON. 0. J. FCX. 
 
 In a letter to Mrs Dunlop the poet says, "I have a poetic whim in my head, 
 which I at present dedicate, or rather inscribe, to the Right Hon. Charles 
 James Fox ; but how long that fancy may hold, I cannot say. A few of the 
 first lines I have just rough-sketched as follows : " — 
 
 y 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, 
 
 -s 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 honour 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, 
 No man with the half of 'em e'er went far wrong ; 
 "With passions so potent, and fancies so bright, 
 No 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 Lord, what is man? 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 labours, 
 
 That, like the old Hebrew walking-switch, eats up its neighbours , 
 
 Mankind are his show-box — a friend, would you know him ? 
 
 Pull the string, ruling passion the picture will show him. 
 
 AVhat pity, in rearing so beauteous a system, 
 
 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. 
 
 No two virtues, whatever relation they claim. 
 
 Nor even two different shades of the same, 
 
 Though like as was ever twin brother to brother. 
 
 Possessing the one shall imply you 've the other. 
 
 But truce with abstraction, and truce with a Muse, 
 Whose rhymes you'll perhaps, sir, ne'er deign to peruse ; 
 
i64 POEMS. [1789, 
 
 "Will you leave your justings, your jars, and your quarrels, 
 
 Contending with Billy for proud-nodding laurels ? 
 
 My much-honour'd patron, believe your poor poet, 
 
 Your courage much more than your prudence you show it ; 
 
 In vain with Squire Billy for laurels you struggle, 
 
 He '11 have them hy fair trade, if not, he will smuggle ; 
 
 Not cabinets even of kings would conceal 'em, 
 
 He 'd up the back-stairs, and by God he would steal 'em. 
 
 Then feats like Squire Billy's you ne'er can achieve 'em, 
 
 It is not, outdo him, the task is out-thieve him. 
 
 YEKSES 
 
 ON SEEING A WOUNDED HARE LIMP BY ME WHICH A FELLOW HAD JUST 
 SHOT. 
 
 This poem was founded on a real incident. James Thomson, a neighbour ot 
 the poet's, states that having shot at, and wounded a hare, it ran past the poet, 
 who happened to be near, "he cui-sed me, and said he would not mind tlirow- 
 ing me into the water; and I'll warrant he could hae done't, though 1 was 
 both young and strong." 
 
 Inhuman man ! curse on thy barb'rous art, 
 
 And blasted be thy murder-aiming eye ; 
 
 May never pity soothe thee with a sigh. 
 Nor ever jjleasure glad thy cruel heart ! 
 
 Go live, poor wanderer of the wood and field ! 
 The bitter little that of life remains : 
 No more the thickening brakes and verdant plaing 
 
 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 prest. 
 
 Oft as by winding Nith, I, musing, wait 
 
 The sober eve, or hail the cheerful dawn ; 
 
 I '11 miss thee sporting o'er the dewy lawn, 
 And curse the rufl&an's aim, and mourn thy hapless fate. 
 
 DELIA. 
 
 AN ODE. 
 
 This ode was sent to the Star newspaper with the following chai*actenstic letter: 
 — *' Mr Printer, — If the productions cf a simple ploughman can merit a place 
 in the same paper with the other favourites of the Muses who illuminate the 
 Star with the lustre of genius, your insertion of the enclosed trifle will be 
 Bucceeded by future communications from, yours, &c,, 
 
 *• Robert Burns. 
 ♦« Ellislasi>, neae Dumfries. Uay 18, 1789 " 
 
^'^'^MAiL 
 
 Adown my beard the slavers trickle ! 
 I kick the wee stools o'er the inickle, 
 Ab round the fire the giglets keckle 
 To see lue loup : 
 
 —Address to the Toothache, page 166. 
 
^T. 31.] POEMS, 165 
 
 Fair the face of orient day, 
 Fair the tints of opening rose ; 
 But fairer still my Delia dawns, 
 More lovely far her beauty blows. 
 
 Sweet the lark's wild-warbled lay, 
 Sweet the tinkling rill to hear ; 
 But, Delia, more delightful still, 
 Steal thine accents on mine ear. 
 
 The flower-enamour'd busy bee, 
 The rosy banquet loves to sip ; 
 Sweet the streamlet's limpid lapse 
 To the sun-brown'd Arab's lip. 
 
 But, Delia, on thy balmy lips 
 Let me, no vagraDt insect, rove ! 
 Oh, let me steal one liquid kiss ! 
 For. oh ! my soul is parch'd with love ! 
 
 ADDRESS TO THE TOOTHACHK 
 
 WRITTEN WHEN THE AUTHOR WAS GRIEVOUSLY TORMENTED BY THAT 
 DISORDER. 
 
 My curse upon thy venom'd stang, 
 That shoots my tortured gums alang ; 
 And through my lugs gies mony a twang, 
 
 Wi' gijawing vengeance ; 
 Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang. 
 
 Like racking engines ! 
 
 When fevers burn, or ague freezes, 
 Rheumatics gnaw, or cholic squeezes ; 
 Our neighbour's sympathy may ease us, 
 
 Wi' pitying moan ; 
 But thee — thou hell o' a' diseases, 
 
 Aye mocks our groan \ 
 
 Adown my beard the slavers trickle ! 
 I kick the wee stools o'er the mickle. 
 As round the fire the giglets keckle,^ 
 
 To see me loup ; * 
 While, raving mad, I wish a heckle * 
 
 Were in their doup. 
 
 1 The mirthful children laugh. * Jump. 
 
 ♦ A frame in which is stuck, sharp ends uppermost, from fifty to a hundred 
 steel spikes, through which the hemp is drawn to straighten it for mauufacturiDg 
 purposes. 
 
l66 POEMS, ri78(> 
 
 Of a' the numeroTis human dools,^ 
 111 hairsts, daft bargains, cutty-stools, 
 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 place 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 
 
 Amang tliem a' ! 
 
 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 ! 
 
 THE KIRK'S ALARM. 
 
 A SATIRE. 
 
 tV^e quote Lockhart's account of the origin of the " Kirk's Alarm :" — " M'Gili 
 and Dalrymple, the two ministers of the town of Ayr, had long been suspected 
 of entertaining heterodox opinions on several points, particularly the doctrine 
 of original sin and the Trinity; and the former at length published * An Essay 
 on the Death of Jesus Christ,' which was considered as demanding the notice 
 of the Church courts. More than a year was spent in the discussions which 
 ai'ose out of this: and at last, Dr M'Gill was fain to acknowledge his errors, 
 and promise that he would take an early opportunity of apologising for them 
 to his congregation from the pulpit, which promise, however, he never per- 
 formed. The gentry of the country took, for the most part, the side of M 'Grill, 
 who was a man of cold, unpopular manners, but of unreproached moral char- 
 acter, and possessed of some accomplishments. The bulk of the lower orders 
 espoused, with far more fervid zeal, the cause of those who conducted the 
 prosecution against this erring doctor, Gavin Hamilton, and all persons of 
 his stamp, were, of course, on the side of M'Gill — Auld and the Mauchline 
 elders with his enemies. Robert Aiken, a writer in Ayr, a man of remarkable 
 talents, particularly in public speaking, had the principal management of 
 M 'Gill's cause before the presbytery and the synod. He was an intimate 
 friend of Hamilton's, and through him had about this time formed an acquaint- 
 ance which soon ripened into a warm friendship with Burns. Burns was, 
 therefore, from the beginning, a zealous, as in the end he was, perhaps, the 
 most efiective, partisan of the side on which Aiken had staked bo much of his 
 reputation." 
 
 Orthodox, orthodox, 
 
 Wha believe in John Knox, 
 Let me sound an alarm to your conscience— 
 
 There 's a heretic blast 
 
 Has been blawn i' the wast, 
 That what is not sense must be nonsense, 
 
 A Troubles. « Gmve— earth. « Tvrelvemonih'i. 
 
iET. 31.] POEMS. 167 
 
 Doctor Mac,* Doctor Mac, 
 
 You should stretch on a rack, 
 To strike evil-doers wi' terror ; 
 
 To join faith and sense, 
 
 Upon ony pretence, 
 Is heretic, damnable error. 
 
 Town of Ayr, town of Ayr, 
 
 It was mad, I declare. 
 To meddle wi' mischief a-brewing ; 
 
 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 winua 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, "[I 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 pupines like you there 's but few. 
 
 Singet Sawney,** Singet^ Sawney, 
 
 Are ye herding the penny, 
 Unconscious what evil await ? 
 
 Wi' a jump, yell, and howl, 
 
 Alarm every soul. 
 For the foul thief is just at your gate. 
 
 1 Putrid water. 2 Kilmarnock. 8 Singed. 
 
 Dr M'Gill. 
 t John Ballantyne, Esq., provost of Ayr, to whom the "Twa BWgs" is dedicated. 
 X Mr Kobert Aiken, writer in Ayr, to whom the "Cotter's Saturday Night" is 
 
 inscribed. He was aj?ent for Dr M'Gill in the presbytery and synod. 
 § The Rev. Dr William Dalrymple, senior minister of the collegiate church of 
 
 Ayr. 
 
 II The Rev. John Russell, celebrated in the " Holy Fair." 
 
 ^ The Rev. James Mackinlay, the hero of the "Ordination." 
 
 ** The Rev. Alexander Moodie, of Riccarton, one of the heroes of the "Twa 
 
 Herds.'* 
 
1 68 POEMS, [1789. 
 
 Daddy Auld,* Daddy Auld, 
 
 There 's a tod^ in the fauld, 
 A tod meikle waur than the clerk ; + 
 
 Though ye downa do skaith,^ 
 
 Ye '11 be in at the death, 
 And if ye canna bite, ye can bark. 
 
 Davie Bluster, ij: Davie Bluster, 
 
 For a saunt if ye muster, 
 The corps is no nice of reciniits ; 
 
 Yet to worth let 's be just, 
 
 Royal blood ye might boast. 
 If the ass were 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 haly ark 
 He has cooper'd and ca'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 a stride, 
 Ye but smelt, man, the place where he 
 
 Andro Gouk,^ Andro Gouk, 
 
 Ye may slander the book. 
 And the book nane the waur, let me tell ye ; 
 
 Though ye 're rich, and look big, 
 
 Yet 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 bettor. 
 
 1 Fox. 2 Harm. s Empty fame. 
 
 * Driven. * Good manners. 
 
 * The Rev. Mr Auld, of Mauchline. 
 
 t The clerk was Mr Gavin Hamilton, who had been a thorn in the side of Mr 
 Auld. 
 
 X Mr Grant, Ochiltree. § Mr Younjr, Cumnock. 
 
 II The Rev. Dr Peebles, of Newtou-upon- Ayr, the author of an indifferent poem 
 on the centenary of the Revolution, in which occurred the line to which the poet 
 alludes. 
 
 ^ Dr Andrew Mitchell, Monkton, a wealthy member of presbytery. 
 
 ** Eev. Steplien Young, Barr 
 
ffiT. 31.] POEMS, 169 
 
 Irvine side,* Irvine side, 
 
 Wi' your turkey-cock pride, 
 Of manhood but sma' is your share; 
 
 y'e Ve the figure, 'tis true, 
 
 Even your faes will allow. 
 And your friends they daur grant you nae mair. 
 
 Muirland Jock,f Muirland Jock, 
 
 Wiien 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 ance. 
 
 Holy Will,t Holy Will, 
 
 There was wit i' your skull 
 When ye pilf er'd the alms o' the poor ; 
 
 The timmer is scant. 
 
 When ye 're ta'en 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 powther enough. 
 And your skulls are storehouses o' lead. 
 
 Poet Bums, Poet Burns, 
 
 Wi' your priest-skelping turns, 
 Why desert ye your auld native shire ? 
 
 Your Muse is a gipsy — 
 
 E'en though she were tipsy. 
 She could ca' us nae waur than we are. 
 
 THE WHISTLE. 
 
 Burns says, "As the authentic prose history of the 'Whistle' i3 curious, I 
 shall here give it : — In the train of Anne of Denmark, when she came to 
 Scotland with our James the Sixth, there came over also a Danish gentleman 
 of gif,'antic stature and great prowess, and a matchless champion ot Bacchus. 
 He had a little ebony whistle, which at the commencement of the orgies he 
 laid on the table, and whoever was the last able to blow it, everybody else 
 being disabled by the potency of the bottle, was to carry off the whistle as a 
 trophy of victory. The Dane produced credentials of his victories, without 
 a single defeat, at the courts of Copenhagen, Stockholm, Moscow, Warsaw, and 
 several of the petty courts in Germany; and challenged the Scots Bacchan- 
 alians to the alternative of trying his prowess, or else of acknowledging tlieir 
 Inferiority. After many overthrows on the part of the Scots, the Dane was 
 encountered by Sir Robert Law rie of Maxwelton, ancestor of the preseni worthy 
 
 • Rev. Mr George Smith, Galston. 
 
 f Mr John Sheplierd, Muirkirk. 
 
 X William Eishei*, elder in Mauchline, whom Burns so often scourged. 
 
11 o POEMS. [1789. 
 
 baronet of that name, who, after three days' and three nights hard contest, 
 left the Scandinavian under the table, 
 
 And blew on the whistle his requiem shrill. 
 
 Sir "Walter, son of Sir Robert before mentioned, afterwards lost the whistle to 
 Wal.er Riddel of Glenriddel, who had married a sister of Sir Walter's. — On 
 Friday, the 16th of October 1789, at Friars' Carse, the whistle was once more 
 contended for, as related in the ballad, by the present Sir Robert Lawrie of 
 Maxwelton ; Robert Riddel, Esq., of Glenriddel, lineal descendant and repr<^- 
 sentative of Walter Riddel, who won the whistle, and in whose family it had 
 continued ; and Alexander Ferguson, Esq., of Craigdarroch, likewise descender! 
 from the great Si^ Robert, which last gentleman carried off the hard-won 
 honours of the field." 
 k good deal of doubt was at one time felt as to whether Burns was present 
 at the contest for the whistle — Professor Wilson having contended that he 
 was not present, citing as evidence a letter to Captain Riddel, which will be 
 found in the General Correspondence. These doubts are now set at r-st. 
 Captain Riddejl, in replying to the letter mentioned, invited the poet to be 
 present. He answered in the following verse : — 
 
 " The king's poor blackguard slave am I, 
 And scarce dow spare a minute ; 
 But I '11 be with you by and by, 
 Or else the devil's in ii\"—B. 
 
 xVIr Chambers places the matter still further beyond doubt by quotinj* the 
 testimony of William Hunter, then a servant at Friars' Carse. who was living 
 in 1851, and who distinctly remembered that Burns was there, and, what was 
 better still, that Bui'as was remarkably temperate during the wliole evening, 
 and took no part in the debauch. 
 
 I SING of a whistle, a whistle of worth, 
 
 I sing of a whistle, the pride of the North, 
 
 Was brought to the court of our good Scottish king, 
 
 And long with this whistle all Scotland shall ring. 
 
 Old Loda,* still rueing the arm of Fingal, 
 The god of the bottle sends down from his hall — 
 "This whistle 's your challenge— to Scotland get o'er, 
 And drink them to hell, sir, or ne'er see me more ! " 
 
 Old poets have sung, and old chronicles tell, 
 What champions ventured, what champions fell ; 
 The son of great Loda was conqueror still, 
 And blew on the whistle his requiem shrill. 
 
 Till Robert, the lord of the Cairn and the Skarr, 
 Unmatch'd at the bottle, unconquer'd in war, 
 He drank his poor godship as deep as the sea, 
 No tide of the Baltic e'er drunker than he. 
 
 Thus Robert, victorious, the trophy has gain'd ; 
 Which now in his house has for ages remain'd ; 
 Till three noble cliieftains, 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; 
 
 * See Ossian's Caric-thura. — B~ 
 
iEr. 3J.] POEMS. 171 
 
 And trusty Glenriddel, so skilled in old coins ; 
 And gallant Sir Robert, deep-read in old wines. 
 
 Craigdarroch began, with a tongne 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 ! " Glenriddel replies, 
 "Before I surrender so glorious a prize, ' 
 I'll conjure the ghost of the great Rorie More,* 
 And bumper his horn with hirn twenty times o'er." 
 
 Sir Robert, a soldier, no speech would pretend. 
 But he ne'er turn'd his back on his foe — or his friend. 
 Said, Toss down the whistle, the prize of the field, 
 And, knee-deep in claret, he 'd die ere 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 mom. 
 
 Six bottles apiece 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 ? 
 Though Fate said — A hero shall perish in light ; 
 So up rose bright Phoebus— and down fell the knight. 
 
 * See Johnson's Tour to the Hebrides. — B. 
 
172 POEMS, [1789. 
 
 Next up rose our bard, like a prophet in drink : 
 " Craigdarroch, thou It soar when creation shall sink ! 
 But if thou wouldst flourish immortal in rhyme, 
 Come— one bottle more — and have at the sublime ! 
 
 " Thy line, that have 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 ! " 
 
 VERSES 
 
 ON CAPTAIN GROSE'S PEREGRINATIONS THROUGH SCOTLAND COLLECTING 
 THE ANTIQUITIES OF THAT KINGDOM. 
 
 Captain Grose, the hero of this poem, author of a work on the Antiquities ol 
 Scotland, was an enthusiastic antiquary, fond of good wine and good com- 
 pany. Burns met him at the hospitable table of Captain Riddel of Friars' 
 Carse. He died in Dublin, of an apoplectic fit, in 1791, in the 62d year of hip 
 age. 
 
 Hear, Land o' Cakes, and brither Scots, 
 Erae Maidenkirk * to Johnny Groat's ; 
 If there 's a hole in a' your coats, 
 
 I rede you tent^ it; 
 A chiel 's amang you takin' notes. 
 
 And, faith, he '11 prent it ! 
 
 If in your bounds ye chance to light 
 Upon a fine, fat, f odgel ^ wight, 
 O' stature short, but genius bright, 
 
 That 's he, mark weel — 
 And wow ! he has an unco slight 
 
 O' cauk and keehi* 
 
 By some auld, houlet-haunted biggin', % 
 
 Or kirk deserted by its riggin', 
 
 It 's ten to ane ye '11 find him snug in 
 
 Some eldritch ^ part, 
 Wi' dells, they say. Lord save 's ! colleaguin 
 
 At some black art. 
 
 Ilk ghaist that haunts auld ha' or chaumer, 
 
 Ye gipsy gang that deal in glamour,* 
 
 And you, deep read in hell's black grammar, 
 
 Warlocks and witches ; 
 Ye 'n quake at his conjuring hammer, 
 
 Ye midnight bitches ! 
 
 1 Heed. 2 Plump. » Fnholy. * Black art 
 
 • An inversion of the name of Kirkmalden, in Wigtonshire, the most southerl 
 parish in Scotland 
 
 t Alluding to his powers as a draughtsman, 
 t See his "Antiquities of Scotland." — B. 
 
^T. 31.] POEMS, 173 
 
 It *s tauld he was a sodger bred, 
 And ane wad rather fa'n than fled ; 
 But now he 's quat the spurtle-blada 
 
 And dog-skin wallet, 
 And ta'en — the antiquarian trade, 
 
 I think they call it. 
 
 He has a fouth^ o* auld nick-nackets, 
 llusty airn caps and jinglin' jackets,* 
 Wad baud the Lothians three in tackets 
 
 A towmond. guid ; 
 And parritch-pats, and anld sant-backets, 
 
 Afore the flood. 
 
 Of Eve's first fire he has a cinder ; 
 Auld Tubal Cain's fire-shool and fender ; 
 That which distinguished the gender 
 
 O' Balaam's ass ; 
 A broomstick o' the witch o' Endor, 
 
 Weel shod wi' brass. 
 
 Forbye, he '11 shape you aff, fu' gleg,^ 
 
 The cut of Adam's philabeg : 
 
 The knife that iiicket Abel's craig ^ 
 
 He '11 prove you fully, 
 It was a fauldiug jocteleg, 
 
 Or lang-kail gully. 
 
 But wad ye see him in his glee, 
 For meikle glee aud fun has he. 
 Then set him down, and twa or three 
 
 Guid fellows wi' him ; 
 And port, O port ! shine thou a wee. 
 
 And then ye '11 see him I 
 
 !N"ow, by the powers o' verse and prose ! 
 Thou art a dainty chiel, O Grose ! — 
 Whae'er o' thee shall ill suppose. 
 
 They sair misca' thee ; 
 I 'd take the rascal by the nose, 
 
 Wad say. Shame fa' thee ! 
 
 LINES WEITTEN IN A WKAPPER, 
 
 ENCLOSING A LETTER TO CAPTAIN GEOSE. 
 
 Burns having undertaken to gather some antiquarian and legendary material as 
 to the iniins in Kyle, in sending them to Captain Grose under cover to Mr 
 Cardonnel, a brother antiquary, the following vei-ses, in imitation of the ancient 
 
 1 Abundance. 2 jFuU tji^ulckly. 8 Throat. 
 
 * See his "Treatise on Ancient Armour and Weapons." — J5. 
 
174 POEMS. [1789. 
 
 ballad of <' Sir John Malcolm," were enclosed. Cardonnel real them every 
 where, much to the captain's annoyance, and to the amusement of his friends. 
 
 ICen ye ought o' Captain Grose ? 
 
 Igo and ago, 
 If he 's amang his friends or foes ? 
 
 Iram, coram, dago. 
 
 Is he south, or is he north ? 
 
 Igo and ago, 
 Or drownM in the river Forth? 
 
 Iram, coram, dago. 
 
 Is he slain by Highlan' bodies ? 
 
 Igo and ago, 
 And eaten like a wether-haggis ? 
 
 Iram, coram, dago. 
 
 Is he to Abra'm's bosom gane ? 
 
 Igo and ago. 
 Or haudin* Sarah by the wame ? 
 
 Iram, coram, dago. 
 
 Where'er he be, the Lord be neiu' him ! 
 '' Igo and ago, 
 
 As for the deil, he daurna steer him ! 
 Iram, coram, dago. 
 
 But please transmit the enclosed letter, 
 
 Igo and ago, 
 "Which will oblige your humble debtor, 
 
 Iram, coram, dago. 
 
 So may ye hae auld stanes in store, 
 
 Igo and ago. 
 The very stanes that Adam bore, 
 
 Iram, coram, dago. 
 
 So may ye get in glad i^ossession, 
 
 Igo and ago. 
 The coins o' Satan's coronation ! 
 
 Iram, coram, dago. 
 
 SKETCH— NEW-YEAR'S DAY, [1790.] 
 
 TO MRS DUNLOP. 
 
 On the original MS, of these lines, the poet writes as follows : — " On second 
 thoughts I send you this extempore blotted sketch. It is just the first random 
 scrawl ; but if you think the piece worth while, I shall retouch lit, and finish 
 it. Though I have no copy of it, my memory serves me." 
 
 This day, Time winds the exhausted chain, 
 To run the twelvemonth's length again ; 
 
/KT. 31.] POEMS, ' 175 
 
 I see the old, bald-pated fellow, 
 With ardent eyes, complexion sallow- 
 Adjust the unimpaired machine, 
 To wheel the equal, dull routine. 
 
 The absent lover, minor heir, 
 In vain assail him with their prayer ; 
 Deaf, as my friend, he sees them press, 
 Nor makes the hour one moment less. 
 Will you (the Major 's * with the hounds, 
 The happy tenants share his rounds 
 Coila's fair Rachel's + care to-day. 
 And blooming Keith 's X engaged with Gray) 
 From housewife cares a minute borrow- 
 That grandchild's cap will do to-morrow — 
 And join with me a-moralising, 
 This day 's propitious to be wise in. 
 
 Pirst, what did yesternight deliver ? 
 *'Another year is gone for ever !" 
 And what is this day's strong suggestion ? 
 " The passing moment's all we rest on ! " 
 Rest 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 miaute more ? 
 A few days may — a few years must— 
 Repose us in the silent dust, 
 Then is it wise to damp our bliss ? 
 Yes — all such reasonings are amiss ! 
 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 honour'd, first of friends, 
 On this poor being all depends. 
 Let us the important now employ. 
 And live aa those who never die. 
 
 Though you, with days and honours crownM, 
 Witness that 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. 
 
 ♦ Major, afterwards General, Andrew Dunlop, Mrs Dunlop's second son. 
 t Miss Rachel Dunlop, who afterwards married Robert (Jlasgow, Esq. 
 X Miss Keith Dunlop, the youngest daughter. 
 
176 . POEMS. I1790. 
 
 PEOLOGUE, 
 
 SPOKEN AT THE THEATRE, DUMFRIES, ON NEW-TEAR'S DAT EVENING, 
 
 [1790.] 
 
 Burns, writing to his brother Gilbert, says :— " We have gotten a set of very 
 decent players here just now : I have seen them an evening ^r two. David 
 Campbell, in Ayr, wrote to me by the manager of the company, a Mr Suther- 
 land, who is a man of apparent worth On New-year's Day I gave him the fol- 
 lowing prologue, which he spouted to his audience with applause :" — 
 
 No song nor dance I bring from yon great city 
 
 That queens it o'er our taste — the more's the pity : 
 
 Though, by the 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, 
 
 Not 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 tlie 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'd witli hope and spirit. 
 
 Who think to storm the world by dint of merit, 
 
 To you the dotard has a deal to say. 
 
 In his sly, dry, sententious, proverb way ! 
 
 He bids you mind, amid your thoughtless rattle, 
 
 That the first blow is ever half the battle ; 
 
 That though some by the skirt may try to snatch him, 
 
 Yet by the forelock is the hold to catch him ; 
 
 That whether doing, suffering, or forbearing, 
 
 You may do miracles by persevering. 
 
 Last, thought not least in love, ye faithful fair, 
 Angelic forms, high Heaven's peculiar care ! 
 To you old Bald-pate smooths his wrinkled brow. 
 And humbly begs you '11 mind the important Now ! 
 To crown your happiness he asks your leave, 
 And offers bliss to give and to receive. 
 
 For our sincere, thougli haply weak, endeavours, 
 With grateful pride we own your many favours; 
 And howsoe'er our tongues may ill reveal it, 
 Believe our glowing bosoms truly feel it. 
 
iET. 32.] POEMS, 177 
 
 TO THE OWL. 
 
 This poem was originally printed, from a MS. In the poet's handwriting, by 
 Cromek, who threw some doubts on its being written by Burna. But as the 
 MS. copy showed occasional interlineations in the same hand, there can be 
 little doubt, we presume, as to its authenticity. 
 
 Sad bird of nigiit, what sorrows call tliee forth, 
 To vent thy plaints thus in the midnight hour ? 
 
 Is it some blast that gathers in the north, 
 Threatening to nii3 the verdure of thy bower ? 
 
 Is it, sad owl, that Autumn strips the shade. 
 And leaves thee here, unshelter'd and forlorn? 
 
 Or fear that Winter will thy nest invade ? 
 Or friendless melancholy bids thee mourn ? 
 
 Shut out, lone bird, from all the feather'd train, 
 To tell thy sorrows to the unheeding gloom ; 
 
 No friend to pity when thou dost complain, 
 Grief all thy thought, and solitude thy home. 
 
 Sing on, sad mourner ! I will bless thy strain, 
 And pleased in sorrow listen to thy song ; 
 
 Sing on, sad mourner ; to the night complain. 
 While the lone echo wafts thy notes along. 
 
 / Is beauty less, when down the glowing cheek 
 Sad, piteous tears, in native sorrows fall ? 
 Less kind the heart when anguish bids it break ? 
 Less happy he who lists to pity's call ? 
 
 Ah no, sad owl ! nor is thy voice less sweet, 
 That sadness tunes it, and that grief is there ; 
 
 That spring's gay notes, unskill'd, thou canst repeat ; 
 That sorrow bids thee to the gloom repair. 
 
 Nor that the treble songsters of the day 
 Are quite estranged, sad bird of night ! from thee \ 
 
 Nor that the thrush deserts the evening spray. 
 When darkness calls thee from thy reverie. 
 
 From some old tower, thy melancholy dome. 
 While the gray walls, and desert solitudes, 
 
 Return each note, responsive to the gloom 
 Of ivied coverts and surrounding woods, 
 
 Tliere hooting, I will list more pleased to theo 
 
 Than ever lover to the nighting-ale ; 
 Or drooping wretch, oppress'd with misery, 
 
 Lending his ear to some condoling tale. 
 
173 POEMS. [1790, 
 
 VEESES 
 
 ON AN EVENING VIEW OP THE RUINS OF LINCLUDEIf ABBEY.* 
 
 Ye holy walls, that, still sublime, 
 Kesist the crumbling touch of time ; 
 How strongly still your form displays 
 The piety of ancient days ! 
 As through your ruins, hoar and gray — 
 Ruins yet beauteous in decay — 
 The silvery moonbeams trembling fly : 
 The forms of ages long gone by 
 Crowd thick on Fancy's wondering eye. 
 And wake the soul to musings high. 
 Even now, as lost in thought profound, 
 I view the solemn scene around, 
 And, pensive, gaze with wistful eyes, 
 The past returns, the present flies ; 
 Again the dome, in pristine pride, 
 Lifts high its roof and arches wide, 
 That, knit with curious tracery, 
 Each Gothic ornament display. 
 • The high-arch'd windows, painted fair. 
 Show many a saint and martyr there. 
 As on their slender forms I gaze, 
 Methinks they brighten to a blaze ! 
 With noiseless step and taper bright, 
 What are yon forms that meet my sight? 
 Slowly they move, while every eye 
 Is heavenward raised in ecstasy. 
 'Tis the fair, spotless, vestal train. 
 That seek in prayer the midnight fane. 
 And, hark ! what more than mortal sound 
 Of music breathes the pile around ? 
 'Tis the soft-chanted choral song, 
 Whose tones the echoing aisles prolong ; 
 Till, thence return'd, they softly stray 
 O'er Cludeu's wave, with fond delay ; 
 Now on the rising gale swell high, 
 And now in fainting murmurs die ; 
 The boatmen on Nith's gentle stream, 
 That glistens in the pale moonbeam, 
 Suspend their dashing oars to hear 
 The holy anthem, loud and clear ; 
 Each worldly thought a while forbear, 
 And mutter forth a half-form'd prayer. 
 But, as I gaze, the vision fails. 
 Like frost-work touch'd by southern gales ; 
 The altar sinks, the tapers fade, 
 And all the si^lendid scene 's decayed ; 
 
 * On the banks of the river Cluden, and at a short distance from Dumfries, 
 are the beautiful ruins oi the A"bbey of Lincluden, which was founded in the tAn» 
 of Malcolm, the fourth King of Scotland. 
 
^T 32.] POEMS, T79 
 
 Tn window fair the painted pane 
 Ko longer glows with holy stain, 
 But through the broken glass the galo 
 Blows chilly from the misty vale ; 
 The bird of eve flits sullen by, 
 Her home these aisles and arches high J 
 The choral hymn, that erst so clear 
 Broke softly sweet on Fancy's ear, 
 Is drown'd amid the mournful scream 
 That breaks the magic o^ my dream ! 
 Boused by the sound, I start and see 
 The ruin'd sad reality ! 
 
 PROLOGUE, 
 
 FOR MR SUTHERLAND'S BENEFIT NIGHT, DUMFRIES. 
 
 This prologiie was accompanied with the following letter to Mr Sutherland, the 
 
 manager of the Dumfries Tlieatx*e : — 
 
 ' » Mondo.y Morning. 
 " I was much disappointed in wanting your most agreeable company yesterday. 
 
 However, I heartily pray for good weather next Sunday ; and whatever aerial 
 
 being has the guidance of the elements, he may take any other half dozen ol 
 
 Sundays he pleases, and clothe them with 
 
 Vapours, and clouds, and storms. 
 
 Until he terrify himself 
 
 At combustion of his own raising. 
 
 I shall see you on Wednesday forenoon. In the greatest hurry. .—R. B." 
 
 What needs this din about the town o' Lon'on, 
 How this new play and that new sang is comin'? 
 Why is outlandish stuff sae meikle ^ 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 ? 
 For comedy abroad he needna toil, 
 A fool and knave are plants of every soil ; 
 Nor need he hunt as far as Home and Greece 
 To gather matter for a serious piece ; 
 There 's themes enow in Caledonian story, 
 Would 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 unsheafch'd the sword, 
 
 *Giainst mighty England and her guilty lord ; 
 
l8o POEMS. [i790t 
 
 And after mony a bloody, deathless doin^, 
 
 Wrencli'd his dear countiy from the jaws of ruin? 
 
 Oh for a Shakespeare or an Otway scene 
 
 To draw the lovely, hapless Scottish queen ! 
 
 Vain all the omnipotence of female charms 
 
 'Gainst headlong, ruthless, mad Rebellion's arms. 
 
 She fell, but fell with spirit truly Roman, 
 
 To glut the vengeance of a rival woman : 
 
 A woman — though the phrase may seem uncivil — 
 
 As able and as cruel as the devil ! 
 
 One Donglis lives in Home's immortal page, 
 
 But Douglases were heroes every age : 
 
 And th(n»gh your fathers, prodigal of life, 
 
 A Douglas followed to the martial strife. 
 
 Perhaps if bowls row right, and Right succeeds. 
 
 Ye yet may lollow where a Douglas leads ! 
 
 As ye hae generous done, if a' the land 
 
 Would take the Muses' servants by the hand ; 
 
 Not only hear, but patronise, befriend them, 
 
 And where ye justly can commend, commend them ; 
 
 And aiblins when they winna stand the test. 
 
 Wink hard and say the folks hae done their 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. 
 
 And warsle^ Time, and lay him on his bacit \ 
 
 For us and for our stage should ony spier, 
 
 *' Wha's aught thae chiels maks a' this bustle here?" 
 
 My best leg foremost, I '11 set up my brow, 
 
 We have the honour to belong to yon ! 
 
 We 're your ain bairns, e'en guide us as ye like, 
 
 But like good mithers, shore"* before ye strike. 
 
 And gratefu* still I hope ye '11 ever find us. 
 
 For a' the patronage and raeikle kindpess 
 
 We Ve got frae a' professions, sets, arid ranks ; 
 
 God help us ! we 're but poor — ye 'ife get but thanks. 
 
 STANZAS ON THE DUKE OF QUEENSBERRY. 
 
 On being questioned as to the propriety of satirising people unwortliy of his 
 notice, and the Duke of QueensbeiTy being cited as an instance, Burns drew 
 Cut his pencil and penned the following bitter lines as his reply : — 
 
 How shall I sing Drumlanrig's Grace- 
 Discarded remnant of a race 
 
 Once gi-eat in mai-tial story? 
 His forbears' virtues all contrasted- - 
 The very name of Douglas blasted — 
 
 His that inverted glory. 
 
 1 WrcPtle. fi Ask. » Threaten 
 
/ET. 32. J POEMS. 181 
 
 Hate, envy, oft the Douglas bore ; 
 But he has sui^eradded more, 
 
 And sunk them m contempt ; 
 Follies and crimes have stain'd the name ; 
 But, Queensberry, thine the virgin claim. 
 
 From aught that 's good exem]3t. 
 
 VERSES TO MY BED. 
 
 Thou bed, in which I first began 
 To be that various creature— ma?! / 
 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 labour, 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 givest 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 OAvn : — 
 That thin partitions do divide 
 The bounds where good and ill reside ; 
 That nought is perfect here below ; 
 But hliss still bordering upon woe. 
 
 ELEGY ON PEG NICHOLSON. 
 
 Peg Nicholson, the "good bay mare," belonged to Mr William Nicol, a fast 
 friend of the poet's, and was so named from a frantic virago who attempted 
 the life of Greorge III. The poet enclosed the following verses in a letter to 
 his friend, in February 1790, with a long account of the deceased mare, whicb 
 letter will be fomid in the correspondence of that year. 
 
 Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare 
 
 As ever trode on airn ; ^ 
 But now she 's floating down the Nith, 
 
 And past the mouth o' Cairn. 
 
1 82 POEMS, [1790. 
 
 Veg Nicholson was a good bay maro, 
 
 And rode through thick and thin ; 
 But now she 's floating down the Nith, 
 
 And wanting even the skin. 
 
 Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare, 
 
 And ance she bore a priest ; 
 But now she 's floating down the Nith, 
 
 For Solway fish a feast. 
 Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare. 
 
 And the priest he rode her sair ; 
 And much oppress'd and bruised she was, 
 
 As priest-rid cattle are. 
 
 LINES 
 
 WRITTEN TO A GENTLEMAN WHO HAD SENT HIM A NEWSPAPER, 
 AND OFFERED TO CONTINUE IT FREE OP EXPENSE. 
 
 Kind sir, I 've read your paper through. 
 
 And, faith, to me 'twas really new I 
 
 How guess'd ye, sir, what maist I wanted ? 
 
 This mony a day I've gran'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 ; 
 
 Or if the Swede, before he halt. 
 
 Would play anither Charles the Twalt : 
 
 If Denmark, anybody spak o 't ; 
 
 Or Poland, wha had now the tack* o't : 
 
 How cut-throat Prussian blades were hmgin';'' 
 
 How libbet^ Italy was singin* ; 
 
 If Spaniards, Portuguese, or Swiss 
 
 Were eayin' or takin' aught amisa : 
 
 Or how our merry lads at hame. 
 
 In Britain's court, kept 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 glaikit^ Charlie got his nieve^ in ; 
 
 How Daddie Burke the plea was cookin*. 
 
 If AVarren Hastings' neck was yeukin' ;^® 
 
 How cesses, stents, and fees were rax'd,^- 
 
 Or if bare a— s yet were tax'd ; 
 
 1 Groaned. a Yawned. s Quarrel. * Leas? 
 
 » Hanging. « Castrated. ' Sly. * Tnougnuess 
 
 » Fist. 10 Itching. n Stretched. 
 
MT. 32.] FOEMS, 183 
 
 Tlie 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 douser,^ 
 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 ! 
 Ellisland, Monday Morning, 1790. 
 
 ELEGY OK CAPTAIN MATTHEW HENDERSON, 
 
 A GENTLEMAN WHO HELD THE PATENT FOR HIS HONOURS IMMEDIATELY 
 PROM ALMIGHTY GOD. 
 
 The following note was appended to the original MS. of the Elegy : — "Now that 
 you are over with the sirens of flattery, the harpies of corruption, and the furies 
 of ambition — those infernal deities that, on all sides and in all parties, preside 
 over the villainous business of politics — permit a rustic muse of your acquaint- 
 ance to do her best to soothe you with a song. You knew Henderson. I have 
 not flattered his memory." 
 
 In a letter to Dr Moore, dated February 1791, the poet says : — '* The Elegy on 
 Captain Henderson is a tribute to the memory of a man I loved much. Poets 
 have in this the same advantage as Roman Catholics ; they can be of service 
 to their friends after they have passed that bourne where all other kindness 
 ceases to be of any avail. Whether, after all, either the one or the other be ot 
 any real service to the dead is, I fear, very problenutical ; but I am sure they 
 are highly gratifying to the living. Captain Henderson was a retired soldier, 
 of agreeable manners and upright character, who had a lodging in Carrubber's 
 Close, Edinburgh, and mingled with the best society of the city : he dined 
 regularly at Fortune's Tavern, and was a member of the Capillaire Club, which 
 was composed of all who inclined to the witty and the joyous." 
 
 " Should the poor be flatter'd ? "—Shakespeare. 
 
 But now his radiant course is run, 
 
 For Matthew's course was bright ; 
 His soul was like the glorious sun, 
 
 A matchless heavenly light I 
 
 O Death ! thou tyrant fell and bloody ! 
 
 The meikle devil wi' a woodie ^ 
 
 HaurP thee hame to his black smiddie,* 
 
 O'er hurcheon* hides. 
 And like stock-fish * come o'er his studdie • 
 
 Wi' thy auld sides ! 
 
 1 At all more sober. 2 Rope of wythes. 3 Drag. 
 
 4 Hedgehog. 6 Dried fish. 6 Anvil. 
 
 * Smiddie, a blacksmith's shop— hence the appropriateness of its use in the 
 present instance. 
 
1 84 POEMS. [1790 
 
 He 's gane ! he 's gane ! he 's f rae us torn ! 
 
 The ae best fellow e'er was born ! 
 
 Thee, Matthew, Nature's sel shall mourr.. 
 
 By wood and wild, 
 Where, haply, Pity strays forlorn, 
 
 Erae man exiled ! 
 
 Ye hills ! near neibors 0' the starns,i 
 That proudly cock your cresting cairns ! 
 Ye cliffs, the haunts of sailing yearns,^ 
 
 Where Echo slumbers ! 
 Come join, ye Nature's sturdiest bairns, 
 
 Mv wailing numbers ! 
 
 Mourn, ilka grove the cushat kens ! 3 
 Ye hazelly shaws and briery dens ! 
 Ye burnies, wimplin' down your glens, 
 
 Wi' toddlin' din,* 
 Or foaming Strang, wi' hasty stens,^ 
 
 Frae lin to lin ! 
 
 Mourn, little harebells o'er the lea ; 
 Ye stately foxgloves fair to see ; 
 Ye woodbines, hanging bonnilie 
 
 In scented bo wers ; 
 Ye roses on your thorny tree, 
 
 The first 0' flowers. 
 
 At dawn, when every grassy blade 
 Droops with a diamond at its head, 
 At even, when beans their fragrance shed, 
 
 I' the rustling gale, 
 Ye maukins whiddin' ^ through the glade, 
 
 Come, join my wail. 
 
 Mourn, ye wee songsters 0' the wood ; 
 Ye grouse that crap ^ the heather bud ; 
 Ye curlews calling tlirough a clud ; ^ 
 
 Ye whistling plover ; 
 And mourn, ye whirring paitrick^ brood !— 
 
 He 's gane for ever. 
 
 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, 
 
 Bair for his sake. 
 
 * Stars, 2 Eagles. » "Wood-pigeon knows. ^ Bounds. 
 » Hares running. « Crop, eat. i" oioua. 
 8 Partridge. 
 
 * With the noise of one who goes hesitatingly or insecurely. 
 
ET. 32.] POEMS. J 85 
 
 Mourn, clam'ring craiks ^ at close o* day, 
 'Mang fields o' flowering clover gay ; 
 And when ye wing your annual way 
 
 Frae our cauld shore, 
 Tell thae far warlds wha lies in clay, 
 
 Wham we deplore. 
 
 Ye houlets,2 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 dreary midnight hour 
 
 Till waukrif e ^ morn ! 
 
 O rivers, forests, hills, and plains ! 
 Oft have ye heard my canty ^ strains : 
 But now, what else for me remains 
 
 But tales of woe ? 
 And frae my een the drapping rains 
 
 Maun ever flow. 
 
 Mourn, Spring, thou darling of the year ! 
 Ilk cowslip cup shall kep^ a tear : 
 Thou, Simmer, while each corny spear 
 
 Shoots up its head, 
 Thy gay, green, flowery tresses shear 
 
 For him that 's dead 1 
 
 Thou, Autumn, wi' thy yellow hair, 
 In grief thy sallow mantle tear ! 
 Thou, Winter, hurling through the air 
 
 The roaring blast, 
 Wide o'er the naked world declai-e 
 
 The worth we 've lost ! 
 
 Mourn him, thou Sun, great source of light ! 
 Mourn, emi^ress of the silent night ! 
 And you, ye twinkling stamies bright, 
 
 My JNIatthew mourn ! 
 For through your orbs he 's ta'en his flight. 
 
 Ne'er to return. 
 
 O Henderson ! the man — the brother ! 
 And art thou gone, and gone for ever? 
 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 ! 
 
 1 Landrails. 2 Owls. * Haunted. 4 Stare. 
 
 6 Wakening. « Happy. ^ Catch. 
 
1 86 POEMS. [1790. 
 
 But by thy honest turf 1^11 wait, 
 
 Thou man of worth ! 
 
 And weep the ae best fellow's fate 
 E'er lay in earth. 
 
 THE EPITAPH. 
 
 Stop, passenger ! — my storj-^ 's brief, 
 
 Ind 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 heai-t — 
 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. 
 
 K thou at friendship's sacred oa' 
 
 Wad life itself resign, man. 
 The sympathetic tear maun fa' — 
 
 For Matthew was a kind man I 
 
 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 fun, and fire, 
 And ne'er guid wine did fear, man, 
 
 This was thy billie, dam, and sire — 
 For Matthew was a queer man. 
 
 If ony whiggish whingin' sot. 
 To blame poor Matthew dare, man. 
 
 May dool and sorrow be his lot ! — 
 For Matthew was a rare man. 
 
 TAM O' SHANTER: 
 
 A TALE. 
 
 Captain Grose, In the Introduction to his <* Antiquities of Scotland," says, "To 
 ray inffenious friend, Mr Robert Burns, I have been seriously obligated ; he 
 was not only at the pains of making out what was mosc worthy of notice in 
 
/ET. 32.] POEMS. 187 
 
 Ayrshire, the country honoured by his birth, but he also wrote, expressly foi 
 this work, the pretty tae annexed to Alloway Church." This pretty tale was 
 ♦'Ta n o' Shanter," certainly the most popular of all our poet's works. In a 
 lette to Captain Grose, No. CCXXVII. of the General Correspondence, Burns 
 gives the legend which formed the groundwork of the poem : — "On a market 
 day in the town of Ayr, a farmer from Carrick, and consequently whose way 
 lay by the very gate of Alloway kirkyard, in order to cross the river Doon at 
 the old bridge, which is about two or three hundred yards farther on than the 
 said gate, had been detained by his business, till by the time he reached Al- 
 loway it was the wizard hour, between ni<?ht and morning. Though he was 
 terrified with a blaze streaming from the kirk, yet it is a well-known fact that 
 to turn back on these occasions is running by far the greatest risk of mischief, 
 — he prudently advanced on his road. When he had reached the gate of the 
 kirkyard, he was surprised and entertained, through the ribs and arches of an 
 old Gothic window, which still faces the highway, to see a dance of witches 
 merrily footing it round their old sooty blackguard master, who was keeping 
 them all alive with the power of his bagpipe. The farmer, stopping his norse 
 to observe them a little, could plainly descry the faces of many old women of 
 his acquaintance and neighbourhood. How the gentleman was dressed tra- 
 dition does not say, but that the ladies were all in their smocks : and one of 
 them happening unluckily to have a smock which was considerably too short 
 to answer all the purpose of that piece of dress, our farmer was so tickled that 
 he involuntarily burst out, with a loud laugh, ' Weel luppen, Maggie wi' the 
 short sark ! ' and, recollecting himself, instantly spurred his horse to the top 
 of his speed. I need not mention the universally-known fact that no diabolical 
 power can pursue you beyond the middle of a running stream. Lucky it was 
 for the poor farmer that the river Doon was so near, for notwithstanding the 
 speed of his horse, which was a good one, against he reached the middle of the 
 arch of the bridge, and consequently the middle of the stream, the pui'suing, 
 vengeful hags, were so close at his heels that one of them actually sprung to 
 seize him ; but it was too late, nothing was on her side of the stream but the 
 horse's tail, which immediately gave way at her infernal grip, as if blasted by 
 a stroke of lightning ; but the farmer was beyond her reach. However, the 
 unsightly, tailless condition of the vigorous steed was, to the last hour of the 
 noble creature's life, au awful warning to the Carrick farmers not to stay too 
 late in Ayr markets." 
 
 Douglas Grahame of Shanter, a farmer on the Carrick shore, who was in reality 
 the drunken, careless being the poet depicts him, became the hero of the legend, 
 and several ludicrous stories current about him were woven into it with admir- 
 able skill. It is reported of him that one market day being in Ayr he had 
 tied his mare by the bridle to a ring at the door of a public house, and while 
 he was making himself happy with some cronies inside, the idle boys of the 
 neighbourhood pulled all the hair out of the mare's tail. This was not noticed 
 until the following morning, when, becoming bewildered as to the cause of the 
 accident, he could only refer it to the agency of witchcraft. It is further related 
 of Grahame that when a debauch had been prolonged until the dread of the 
 "sulky sullen dame" at home rose up before him, he would frequently con- 
 tinue drinking rather than face her, even although delay would add to the 
 terrors of the inevitable home-going. 
 
 The poem was composed in one day in the winter of 1790. Mrs Burns informed 
 Cromek that the poet had lingered longer by the river side than his wont, and 
 that, taking the children with her, she went out to join him, but perceiving 
 that her presence was an interruption to him, she lingered behind him : her 
 attention was attracted by his wild gesticulations and ungovernable mirth, 
 while he was reciting the passages of the poem as they arose in his mind. 
 
 *' Of brownyis and of bogilis full is this buke." — Gawin Douglas. 
 
 When chapman billies ^ leave the street, 
 And drouthy' neibors neibors meet, 
 
 Fellows. 2 Thirsty. 
 
i88 POEMS. [1790. 
 
 As market days are wearin' late. 
 And folk begin to tak the gate ; ^ 
 While we sit bousing at the nappy,* 
 And gettin' fou and unco happy, 
 We think na on the lang Scots miles, 
 The mosses, waters, slaps, and stiles,** 
 That lie between us and our hame, 
 Whare sits our sulky sullen dame, 
 Gathering her brows like gathering storm, 
 Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. 
 
 This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter, 
 As he frae Ayr ae night did canter, 
 (Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses 
 For honest men and bonny lasses. ) 
 
 O Tam ! hadst thou but been sae wise 
 
 As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice ! 
 
 She tauld thee weel thou wast a skellum,^ 
 
 A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum ;^ 
 
 That frae November till October, 
 
 Ae market day thou wasna sober ; 
 
 That ilka melder,* wi' the miller 
 
 Thou sat as lang as thou hadst siller j^ 
 
 That every naig^ was ca'd a shoe on. 
 
 The smith and thee gat roaring fou on ; 
 
 That at the Lord's house, even on Sunday, 
 
 Thou drank wi' Kirktonf Jean till Monday. 
 
 She prophesied that, late or soon, 
 
 Thou wouldst be found deep drownVl in Doon! 
 
 Or catch'd wi' warlocks i' the mirk,^ 
 
 By AUoway's auld haunted kirk. 
 
 Ah, gentle dames ! it gars^ me greet 
 To think how mony counsels sweet, 
 How mony lengthen'd, sage advices. 
 The husband frae the wife despises ! 
 
 But to our tale : — Ae market night, 
 
 Tam 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; 
 
 1 Road. 2 Ale. 8 Breaches in hedges or walls. 
 
 * A worthless fellow. 5 a talker of nonsense, a boaster, and a drunken fool, 
 ^ Money. 7 Horse. 8 Dark » Makes. 
 
 io Unusually. n Fire. 12 Foaming ale. i* Thirsty. 
 
 * Any quantity of corn sent to the mill is called a melder. 
 
 t The village where a parish church is situated is usually called the Kirkton 
 (Kirk-town) in Scotland. A certain Jean Kennedy, who kept a reputable public 
 tiouse in the village of Kirkoswald, is here alluded to. 
 
^T 32.] POEMS, 189 
 
 Tam lo*ed him like a vera brither — 
 They had been fou for weeks thegither! 
 The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter. 
 And aye the ale was growing better : 
 The landlady and Tam grew gracious, 
 "Wi' favours 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 didna mind the storm a whistle. 
 
 Care, mad to see a man sae happy, 
 E'en drown'd himsel amang the nappy ! 
 As bees flee hame wi' lades ^ o* treasure. 
 The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure : 
 Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious, 
 O'er a' the ills o' life victorious ! 
 
 But pleasures are like poppies spread, 
 
 You seize the flower, its bloom is shed ! 
 
 Or like the snowfall in the river, 
 
 A moment white — then melts for ever ; 
 
 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 keysfcane. 
 
 That dreary hour he mounts his beast in ; 
 
 And sic^ a night he taks the road in 
 
 As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. 
 
 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, 
 Tam skelpit^ on through dub and mire, 
 Despising wind, and rain, and fire ; 
 Whiles holding fast his guid blue bonnet, 
 Whiles crooning 6 o'er some auld Scots sonnet ; 
 Whiles glowering'' round v/i' prudent cares, 
 Lest bogles s catch him unawares : 
 Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh, 
 Whare ghaists and houlets^ nightly cry. 
 
 1 Roar. 2 Loads. « Tie up. 4 Such. 
 
 ^ Rode with careless speed. « Humming » Staring. 
 
 8 Spirits » Ghosts and owls. 
 
^9^ POEMS. [1790 
 
 By this time lie was 'cross the foonl, 
 Whare in the snaw the chapman smoor'd ;^ 
 And past the birks and meikle stane 
 Whare drunken Charlie brak 's neck-bane : 
 And through 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 a' his floods ; 
 The doubling storm roars through the woods 
 The lightnings flash frae pole to pole ; 
 Near and more near the thunders roll ; 
 "When, glimmering through the groaniug trees, 
 Kirk-AUoway seem'd in a bleeze ; 
 Through ilka bore^ the beams were glancing, 
 And loud resounded mirth and dancing. 
 
 Inspiring bold John Bai'leycom ! 
 
 What dangers thou canst mak us scorn I 
 
 Wi' tippenny,* we fear nae evil ; 
 
 Wi' usquebae,* we '11 face the devil ! — 
 
 The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle,* 
 
 Fair play, he cared na deils a boddle/ 
 
 But Maggie stood right sair astonish'd, 
 
 Till, by the heel and hand admonish'd, 
 
 She ventured forward on the light ; 
 
 And, wow ! Tam saw an unco sight ! 
 
 Warlocks and witches in a dance ; 
 
 Nae cotillon breni-new^ frae France, 
 
 But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels, 
 
 Put life and mettle i* their heels : 
 
 At winnock-bunker,^ i' the east, 
 
 There sat auld Nick, in shape o' beast ; 
 
 A towzie tyke,^^ black, grim, and laige, 
 
 To gie them music was his charge ; 
 
 He screw'd the pipes, and gart^^ them skirl,^^ 
 
 Till roof and rafters a' did dirl.^^ 
 
 CoflS.ns 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 frae a rape, 
 
 Wi' his last gasp his gab^'^ did gape ; 
 
 Five tomahawks, wi' bluid red-rusted ; 
 
 Five scimitars, wi' murder crusted ; 
 
 1 Pedlar was smothered. 2 Stone heap, s Crevice. 
 
 * Twopenny ale. ^ Whisky. * The ale so wrought in Tammie's head. 
 
 7 A small coin. 8 Brand-new. » Window seat. 
 
 10 A rough dog. n Made. J2 Scream i» Vibrate, 
 
 1* Spell. in Irons, i« Small. 17 Mouth. 
 
.CT. 32.] POEMS, 191 
 
 A garter, whicli 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 : ^ 
 
 * 
 
 Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu', 
 Which even to name wad be unlawfu'. 
 
 As Tamraie glower'd,' amazed and curious. 
 
 The mirth and fun grew fast and furious : 
 
 The piper loud and louder blew, 
 
 The dancers quick and quicker flew ; 
 
 They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they cleekit, 
 
 Till ilka carlin swat and reek it,** 
 
 And coost^ her duddies^ to the wark. 
 
 And linket^ at it in her sark.^ 
 
 Now Tam ! O Tarn ! had thae been queans,^ 
 A' plump and strappin' in their teens, 
 Their sarks.. instead o' creeshie flannen,^ 
 Been sua w- white seventeen-hunder linen ! f 
 Thir breeks^^ o' mine, my only pair, 
 That ance were plush, o' guid blue hair, 
 I wad hae gien them aff my hurdies,^^ 
 For ae blink ^^ o' the bonny burdies !^^ 
 
 But wither'd beldams, auld and droll, 
 Rigwoodie^^ hags, wad spean^^ ^ foal, 
 • Lowpin' and flingin' on a cummock,^^ 
 I wonder didna turn thy stomach. 
 
 But Tam kenn'd^^ what was what fu* brawlie,!^ 
 "There was ae winsome wench and walie,"^^ J 
 That night enlisted in the core, 
 (Lang after kenn'd on Carrick shore ; 
 For mony a beast to dead she shot. 
 And perish'd mony a boimy boat, 
 
 1 Handle. * Stared. » Till each old beldam smoked with sweat. 
 
 * Stript. » Clothes. « Tripped. t Shirt. 
 
 8 Young girls. » Greasy flannel. 10 These breeches. 
 
 n Hams. la Look. is Lasses. 1* Gallows-worthy. 
 
 w WeaH. i« Jumping and capering on a staff. 17 Knew. 
 
 18 Full well. 19 A hearty girl and jolly. 
 
 « The following four lines were, in the original MS., In this place :— 
 
 Three lawyers' tongues turn'd inside out, 
 Wi' lies seam'd like a beggar's clout : 1 
 And priests' hearts, rotten, black as muck. 
 Lay stinking, vile, in every neuk.* 
 
 The poet omitted them at the suggestion of Mr Tytler of Woodhouselee. 
 
 t The manufacturers' term for a fine linen woven in a reed of 1700 divisiong.-- 
 Groaibk. 
 
 X Allan Ramsay. 
 
T92 POEMS, [1790 
 
 And shook baith meikle corn and bear, 
 And kept the conn try-side in fear.) 
 Her cutty sark/ o' Paisley ham, 
 That, while a lassie,^ she had worn, 
 In longitude though sorely scanty. 
 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 cour,* 
 
 Sic flights are far beyond her power ; 
 
 To sing how Nannie lap and flang,^ 
 
 (X souple jade 7 she was, and Strang,^) 
 
 And how Tarn stood, like ane bewitch'd, 
 
 And thought his very een enrich'd ; 
 
 Even Satan glower'd, and fidged fu' fain. 
 
 And hotch'd^ and blew wi' might and main ; 
 
 Till first ae caper, syne^^ anither^ 
 
 Tam tint^i his reason a' thegither, 
 
 And roars out, "Weel done, Cutty-sark !" 
 
 And in an instant a' was dark : 
 
 And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, 
 
 When out the hellish legion sallied. 
 
 As bees bizz 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' mony an eldritch'* screech and hollow. 
 
 Ah, Tam! ah, Tam! thou 'It get thy fairin'! ^s 
 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 keystane* of the brig; 
 There at them thou thy tail may toss, 
 A running stream they darena cross ; 
 
 1 Short shirt. 2 Girl. » Proud of it, < Bought. 
 
 5 Lower. « Jumped and kicked. ^ Girl, 
 
 8 Strong. » Hitched. 10 Then. " Lost. 
 
 12 Fuss. 13 Hive. "Unearthly. 15 Deserts. 
 
 * It is a well-known fact that witche-s, or any evil spirits, have no j'ower 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 boples, whatever danger may be in his going forward, theye is much 
 piore hazard in turning back — ^. 
 
Tam roars out, " Weel done, cutty-sark ! *' 
 
 And iu an instant a' was dark ; 
 
 And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, 
 
 When out the hellish legion sallied. 
 
 So Maggie runs, the witches follow, 
 
 Wi' mouy an eldritch screech and hollow. 
 
 —Tam o' Shunter, pagt 182. 
 
1 .• •• : 
 
-«T32.J POEMS. 193 
 
 But ere the keystane 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 Tarn wi' furious ettle ;2 
 But little wist^ she Maggie's mettle — 
 Ae spring brought off her master hale. 
 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 sou, take heed : 
 Whane'er to drink you are inclined. 
 Or cutty-sarks run in your mind, 
 Think ! ye may buy the joys owre dear- 
 Remember Tam o' Shanter's mare. 
 
 ON THE BIRTH OP A POSTHUMOUS CHILD, 
 
 BORN IN PECULTAE CIRCUMSTANCES OF FAiriLT DISTRESS. 
 
 The mother of the child was Miss Susan Dunlop, daughter of Burns's friend, 
 Mrs Dunlop. She had married a French gentleman of birth and fortune', 
 named Henri, who died prematurely. Some time afterwards, Mrs Henri went 
 to the south of France, where she died, leaving her child exposed to all the 
 dangers of the revolutionary excesses. He was carefully tended by an old 
 domestic of the family's, and restored to his friends when the tranquillity of 
 the country was secured. 
 
 Sweet floweret, pledge o' meikle love, 
 
 And ward o' mony a prayer, 
 "What heart o* stane would thou na move, 
 
 Sae helpless, sweet, and fair ! 
 
 November hirples* o'er the lea, 
 
 ChiU on thy lovely form ; 
 And gane, alas ! the sheltering tree 
 
 Should shield thee from the stoim. 
 
 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, 
 
 Whc heals life's various stounds,^ 
 Protect and guard the mother-plant, 
 
 And heal her cruel wounds ! 
 
 I Ne'er. 2 Design. « Knew, 
 
 * Each. * Moves slowly. 6 Paugs. 
 
POEMS. [1/91 
 
 But late she flourish'd, rooted fast, 
 Fair on the summer-morn : 
 
 Now 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 ! 
 
 ELEGY ON MISS BURNET OF MONBODDO. 
 
 Miss Burnet was the daughter of the accomplished and eccentric Lord Mon- 
 boddo. ghe is alluded to in the "Address to Edinburgh," (p. 134.) 
 Fair 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. 
 
 She was one of the most beautiful women of her time, and died of consumption 
 in the twenty-third year of her age. 
 
 Life ne'er exulted in so rich a prize 
 
 As Burnet, lovely from her native skies ; 
 
 Nor envious Death so triumph'd in a blow. 
 
 As that which laid th' aooomplish'd Burnet low. 
 
 Thy form and mind, sweet maid, can I forget? 
 
 In richest ore the brightest jewel set I 
 
 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 i 
 
 Ye heathy wastes, immix'd with reedy fens ; 
 
 Ye mossy streams, with sedge and rushes stored* 
 Ye rugged cliffs, 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 light, that beams beyond the spheres; 
 
 But, like the sun eclipsed at morning tide. 
 Thou left'st us darkling in a world of tesLrs. 
 
 The parent's heart that nestled fond in thee, 
 That heart how sunk, a prey to grief and care ; 
 
 So deckt the woodbine sweet yon aged tree ; 
 So from it ravish'd, leaves it bleak and bare. 
 
ET. 33.] POEMS. 195 
 
 LAMENT OF MAHY QUEEN OF SCOTS, ON THE APPROACH 
 OF SPRING. 
 
 This poem is said to have been written at the instigation of Lady "Winifred 
 Maxwell Constable, daughter of William Maxwell, Earl of Nithsdale, who 
 rewarded him with a present of a valuable snuff-box, having a portrait of 
 Queen Mary on the lid. In a letter to Graham of Fintray, enclosing a copy of 
 "The Lament," the poet says : — "Whether it is that the story of our Mary 
 Queen of Scots has a peculiar effect on the feelings of a poet, or whether I have, 
 in the enclosed ballad, succeeded beyond my usual poetic success, I know 
 not, but it has pleased me beyond any effort of my Muse for a good while past." 
 
 Now Nature hangs her mantle green 
 
 On every blooming tree, 
 And spreads her sheets o' daisies white 
 
 Out o'er the grassy lea : 
 Now Phoebus cheers the crystal streams, 
 
 And glads the azure skies ; 
 But nought can 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 \vild, wi' mony a note, 
 
 Sings drowsy day to rest : 
 In love and freedom they rejoice, 
 
 Wi' care nor thrall opprest. 
 
 Now blooms the lily by the bank, 
 
 The primrose down the brae ; 
 The hawthorn 's buuding in the glen, 
 
 And milk-white is the slae ; 
 The meanest hind in fair Scotland 
 
 May rove their sweets amang ; 
 But 1, the queen of a' Scotland, 
 
 Maun lie in prison Strang ! 
 
 I was the queen o' bonny France, 
 
 Where happy I hae been ; 
 Fu' lightly rase I in the morn, 
 
 As blithe lay down at e'en : 
 And I 'm the sovereign of Scotland, 
 
 And mony a traitor there ; 
 Yet here I lie in foreign bands, 
 
 And never-ending care. 
 
 But as for thee, thou false woman ! — 
 
 ]\Iy 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 the balm that draps on wounds of woe 
 
 Frae woman's j^itying ee. 
 
19^ POEMS. [1 791 
 
 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 thee frae thy mother's faes, 
 
 Or turn their hearts to thee : 
 And where thou meet'st thy mother's friend, 
 
 Remember him for me ! 
 
 Oh ! soon to me may summer suns 
 
 Nae mair light up the morn ! 
 Nae mair to me the autumn winds 
 
 Wave o'er the yellow com ! 
 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 ! 
 
 LAMENT FOR JAMES, EARL OF GLENCAIRK 
 
 The early death of the Earl of Glencairn robbed the poet of an intelligent friend 
 and patron. Bums enclosed the "Lament" in a letter to Lady Elizabeth 
 Cunningham, the sister of the earl, from which we quote the following : — 
 " My heart glows, and shall ever glow, with the most grateful sense and remem- 
 brance of his lordship's goodness. The sables I did myself the honour to wear 
 to his lordship's memory were not the 'mockery of woe.' Nor shall my grati- 
 tude perish with me I If, among my children, I shall have a son that has a 
 heart, he shall hand it down to his child as a family honour, and a family debt, 
 that my dearest existence I owe to the noble house of Grleucairu." 
 
 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 : 
 Beneath a craigy steep, a bard, 
 
 Laden with years and meikle pain. 
 In loud lament bewail'd his lord, 
 
 Whom death had all untimely ta'en. 
 
 He lean'd him to an ancient aik, 
 
 Whose trunk was mouldering down with years 5 
 His locks were bleached white with time. 
 
 His hoary cheek was wet wi' tears ; 
 And as he touch'd his trembling harp. 
 
 And as he tuned his doleful sang. 
 The winds, lamenting through their caves, 
 
 To Echo bore the notes aiang : — 
 
 ** Ye scatter'd birds that faintly sing 
 
 The reliques of the vernal quire ! 
 Ye woods that shed on a' the winds 
 
 The honours of the aged year ! 
 
ifiiT. 33.] POEMS. 197 
 
 A few short months, and glad and gay, 
 
 Again ye 11 charm the ear and ee ; 
 But nocht in all rerolving time 
 
 Can gladness bring again to me. 
 
 *' I am a bending ag^d tree, 
 
 That long has stood the wind and rain ; 
 But now has come a cruel blast, 
 
 And my last hold 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 mony changefu' years, 
 
 On earth I am a stranger grown ; 
 I wander in the ways of men, 
 
 Alike unknowing and unknown : 
 Unheard, unpitied, unrelieved, 
 
 I bear 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 ; 
 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 agdd ken, 
 
 On forward wing for ever flied. 
 
 " Awake thy last sad voice, my harp ! 
 
 The voice of woe and wild despair ; 
 Awake ! 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 ; 
 Though 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 primeJ 
 
198 
 
 POEMS. [1791. 
 
 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 1 11 remember thee, Gleucairn, 
 
 And a' that thou hast done for me ! " 
 
 LINES 
 
 SENT TO SIR JOHN WHITEFOORD, BART., OF WHITBFOORD, 
 WITH THE FOREGOING POEM. 
 
 Thou, who thy honour as thy God reverest, 
 
 Wlio, save thy mind's reproach, nought earthly fear'st. 
 
 To thee this votive-offering I impart, 
 
 The tearful tribute of a broken heart. 
 
 The friend thou valued^st, I the patron loved ; 
 
 His worth, his honour, 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. 
 
 ADDRESS TO THE SHADE OF THOMSON, 
 
 ON CROWNING HIS OUST AT EDNAM, ROXBURGHSHIRE, WITH BAYS. 
 
 The Earl of Buchan invited the poet to be present at the coronation of Thorn* 
 son's bust on Ednam Hill. He could not attend, but sent the follovrlng «« Ad- 
 dress" instead: — 
 
 While virgin Spring, by Eden*s flood, 
 
 Unfolds her tender mantle green. 
 Or pranks the sod in frolic mood. 
 
 Or tunes .^olian strains between : 
 
 While Summer, with a matron grace, 
 Retreats to Dryburgh's cooling shade, 
 
 Yet oft, delighted, stops to trace 
 The progress of the spiky bla'de : 
 
 While Autumn, benefactor kind. 
 
 By Tweed erects his agSd head, 
 And sees, with self-approving mind. 
 
 Each creature on his bounty fed : 
 
^T.33-] POEMS. 199 
 
 While maniac "Winter rages o'er 
 
 The hills whence classic Yarrow flows, 
 
 Rousing 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 ! 
 
 VERSES 
 
 TO JOHN MAXWELL OF TERRAUGHTT, ON HIS BIRTHDAY. 
 
 John Maxwell, the subject of the following lines, was an eccentric but able man. 
 He had a great admiration for the poet — not that he cared much for his poetry, 
 but on account of his knowledge of human nature, and his striking converssk 
 tional powers. He outlived the poet twenty years. 
 
 Health to the Maxwells' veteran chief ! 
 Health, aye unsour'd by care or giief ; 
 *d Fate's sybil leaf 
 
 This natal mom ; 
 I see thy life is stuff o' prief,^ 
 
 Scarce quite half worn. 
 
 This day thou metes threescore eleven, 
 And I can tell that bounteous Heaven 
 (The second sight, ye ken, is given 
 
 To ilka 3 poet) 
 On thee a tack o' seven times seven 
 
 Will yet bestow it. 
 
 If envious buckles ^ view wi' sorrow 
 
 Thy lengthen'd days on this blest morrow, 
 
 May Desolation's lang-teeth'd harrow, 
 
 Nine miles an hour, 
 Rake them, like Sodom and Gomorrah, 
 
 In brunstane stoure ! * 
 
 But for thy friends, and they are mony, 
 Baith honest men and lasses bonny, 
 May couthie^ Fortune, kind and canny, 
 
 In social glee, 
 Wi' mornings blithe and e'enings funny. 
 
 Bless them and thee I 
 
 Fareweel, auld birkie ! ^ Lord be near ye, 
 And then the deil he daurna steer ye : 
 
 1 Proof. » Every. » Bucks. 
 
 * Dust. « Loving. « A lively fellow 
 
POEMS. [I7QI, 
 
 Your friends aye love, your faes aye fear ye j 
 
 For me, shame fa' me, 
 If neist my heart I dinna wear ye, 
 
 While Burns they ca' me ! 
 
 THE VOWELS : 
 
 TwAS where the birch and sounding thong are plied. 
 
 The noisy domicile of pedant pride ; 
 
 Where Ignorance her darkening vapour 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 
 Reluctant, E stalk'd in ; with piteous race 
 The jostling tears ran down his honest face ! 
 That name, that well-worn name, and all his own. 
 Pale he surrendei-s 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 wi-etch assign'd. 
 
 The cobweb'd Gothic dome resounded Y ! 
 In sullen vengeance, I disdain'd reply : 
 The pedant swung his felon cudgel round, 
 And knock'd the groaning vowel to the ground I 
 
 In rueful apprehension enter'd O, 
 
 The wailing minstrel of despairing woe ; 
 
 The inquisitor of Spain the most expert. 
 
 Might there have learnt new mysteries of his art : 
 
 So grim, deform'd, with horrors entering, U 
 
 His dearest friend and brother scarcely knew I 
 
 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 ew, and kick'd him from his sight. 
 
^T. 33.] POEMS. 201 
 
 ADAM A ^S PEAYEE. 
 
 The circumstances under which the following lines were written were as follows : 
 — The servant of a Mauchline innkeeper having been too indulgent to one of 
 her master's customers, a number of reckless young fellows, among whom was 
 
 Adam A , an ill-made little fellow, made her "ride the stang," — that is, 
 
 placed her astride a wooden pole, and carried her through the streets. An 
 
 action being raised against the offenders, Adam A absconded. While 
 
 skulking about, Burns met him, and suggested that he needed some one to 
 pray for him : " Just do 't yoursel. Burns ; I know no one so fit," Adam replied. 
 Adam A 's Prayer was the result. 
 
 GuDE pity me, because I 'm little, 
 For though I am an elf o' mettle, 
 And can, like ony wabster's^ shuttle, 
 
 Jink^ there or here ; 
 Yet, scarce as lang 'a a guid kail whittle,^ 
 
 I 'm unco queer. 
 
 And now thou kens our woefu' case. 
 For Geordie's jurr* we're in disgrace, 
 Because we 've stang'd her through the place. 
 
 And hurt her spleuchan, 
 For which we daurna show our face 
 
 Within the clachan.^ 
 
 And now we 're dern'd° in glens and hollows, 
 And hunted, as was William Wallace, 
 Wi' constables, those blackguard fallows. 
 
 And sodgers baith ; 
 But gude preserve us frae the gallows, 
 
 That shamefu' death ! 
 
 Auld, grim, black-bearded Geordie's sel, 
 Oh, shake him o'er the mouth o' hell, 
 There let him hing, and roar, and yeU, 
 
 Wi' hideous din, 
 And if he offers to rebel. 
 
 Just heave ^ him in. 
 
 When Death comes in, wi' glimmering blink, 
 And tips auld drunken Nanse t the wink, 
 May Hornie gie her doup a clink 
 
 Ahint his yett,^ 
 And fill her up wi' brimstone drink, 
 
 Eed, reeking, het. 
 
 There 's Jockie and the haveril Jenny, J 
 Some devils seize them in a hurry, 
 
 1 Weaver's. 2 Dodge. 8 Knife. * Village. 
 
 6 Hidden. « Pitch. ^ Gate. 
 
 * "Jurr" is in the west of Scotland a colloquial term tor ''journeyman," 
 and is often applied to designate a servant of either sex. 
 t Geordie's wife. % Geordie's son and daughter. 
 
POEMS. [I7Q2, 
 
 And waff them in the infernal wherry 
 
 Straught through the lake, 
 
 •And gie their hides a noble ourry, 
 Wi' oil of aik. 
 
 As for the jurr, poor worthless body, 
 She 's got mischief enough already ; 
 Wi' stangSd hips, and buttocks bluidy. 
 
 She 's suff er'd sair ; 
 But may she wintle in a woodie,^ 
 
 If she whore mair. 
 
 VERSES TO JOHN RANKINE.* 
 
 Ae day, as Death, that grusome carl, 
 "Was driving to the tither warl' 
 A mixtie-maxtie, motley squad, 
 And mony a guilt-bespotted lad ; 
 Black gowns of each denomination, 
 And thieves of every rank and station. 
 From him that wears the star and garter. 
 To him that win ties ^ in a halter. 
 Ashamed himsel to see the wretches, 
 He mutters, glowerin'^ at the bitches, 
 *'By God, I 'U not bo seen behint them, 
 Nor 'mang the sp'ritual core present them, 
 "Without, at least, ae honest man, 
 To grace this damn'd infernal clan.** 
 By Adamhill a glance he threw, 
 *'Lord God ! ** quoth he, "I have it now ; 
 There 's just the man I want, i'faith I " 
 And quickly stoppit Rankine's breath. 
 
 ON SENSIBILITY. 
 TO MT DEAB AND MUCH-HONOURED FRIEND, MRS DUNLOP OP DUNLOP. 
 
 Sensibilitt, 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 : 
 
 1 Stmggle in a halter. « Struggles. • Staring. 
 
 * John Rankine of Adamhill, the "rough, rude, ready-witted Kankiue" of th« 
 
 Epistle. 
 
^T. 34.] POEMS. 203 
 
 Let the blast sweep o'er the valley, 
 See it prostrate on the clay. 
 
 Hear the woodlark charm the forest. 
 
 Telling o'er his little joys ; 
 Hapless bird ! a prey the surest, 
 
 To each pirate of the skies. 
 
 Deurly bought the hidden treasure 
 
 Finer feeling can bestow ; 
 Chords that vibrate sweetest pleasure 
 
 Thrill the deepest notes of woe. 
 
 LINES ON FERGUSSON. 
 
 The following lines were inscribed by Burns on a blank leaf of a copy of the 
 periodical publication entitled the World, from which they have been copied : — 
 
 Ill-fated genius ! Heaven-taught Fergusson ! 
 
 What heart that feels and will not yield a tear, 
 To think life's sun did set ere well begun 
 
 To shed its influence on thy bright career. 
 Oh, why should truest worth and genius pine 
 
 Beneath the iron grasp of "Want and Woe, 
 While titled knaves and idiot greatness shine 
 
 In all the splendour Fortune can bestow I 
 
 THE RIGHTS OF WOMAN, 
 
 AN OCCASIONAL ADDRESS SPOKEN BY MISS FONTENELLB ON HER BENEPII 
 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' intermix'd connexion, 
 One sacred right of woman is, protection. 
 The tender flower that lifts its head, elate, 
 Helpless, must fall before the blasts of fate. 
 Sunk on the earth, defaced its lovely form. 
 Unless your shelter ward th' impending storm. 
 
 Our second right — but needless here is caution. 
 To keep that right inviolate 's the fashion ; 
 Each man of sense has it so full before him. 
 He 'd die before he 'd wrong it— 'tis decorum. 
 
204 POEMS, [1792. 
 
 There was, indeed, in far less polish'd days, 
 
 A time, when rough, rude man, had naughty ways ; 
 
 Would swagger, swear, get drunk, kick up a riot, 
 
 Nay, even thus invade a lady's quiet ! 
 
 Now, thank our stars ! these Gothic times are fled ; 
 
 Now, well-bred men — and ye 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 we live and move ; 
 There taste that life of life — immortal love. 
 Smiles, glances, sighs, tears, fits, flirtations, airs, 
 'Gainst such a 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 ! the majesty of woman ! 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF A FAYOUItlTE CHILD. 
 
 The following lines were composed on the death of a daughter, which took 
 place suddenly while the poet was absent from home ; — 
 
 Oh, sweet be thy 'sleep in the land of the grave, 
 
 My dear little angel, for ever ; 
 For ever — 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 daystar to-morrow. 
 
 The flower-stem shall bloom like thy sweet seraph form. 
 
 Ere the spoiler had nipt thee in blossom ; 
 When thoa shrunk from the scowl of the loud winter storm, 
 
 And nestled thee close to that bosom. 
 
 Oh, still I behold thee, all lovely in death, 
 
 Keclined on the lap of thy mother. 
 When the tear trickled bright, when the short stifled breath, 
 
 Told how dear ye were aye to each other. 
 
iET. 34.] POEMS. 205 
 
 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 hjrmns of ihe 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 mourn, 
 
 And sigh for his life's latest morrow. 
 
 TO A KISS. 
 
 Humid seal of soft affections, 
 Tenderest pledge of future bliss. 
 
 Dearest tie of young connexions. 
 Love's first snowdrop, 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 thiilling and sincere as thine ! 
 
 SONNET 
 
 ON HEARING A THRUSH SD^G IN A MORNING WALK; WRITTEN JAN. 25, 
 1793, THE BIRTHDAY OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 Sing on, sweet thrush, upon the leafless bough, 
 Sing on, sweet bird, I listen to thy strain : 
 See, aged Winter, 'mid his surly reign. 
 
 At thy blithe carol clears his fun-ow'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 ! 
 
 Eiches denied, Tliy boon was purer joys. 
 What wealth could never give nor take away ! 
 
 Yet come, thou child of Poverty and Care ; 
 The mite high Heaven bestow'd, that mite with thee I '11 
 share. 
 
2o6 POEMS. [179+ 
 
 IMPROMPTU ON MRS RIDDEL'S BIRTHDAY. 
 
 NOVEMBER 4, 1798. 
 
 Old "Winter witli his frosty beard 
 Thus once to Jove his prayer preferr'd — 
 *' What have I done, of all the year, 
 To bear this hated doom severe ? 
 My cheerless suns no pleasure know ; 
 Night's horrid car drags dreary, slow ; 
 My dismal months no joys are crowning. 
 But spleeny English, hanging, drowning. 
 
 " Now, Jove, for once be mighty civU, 
 
 To counterbalance all this evil ; 
 
 Give me, and I 've no more to say, 
 
 Give me Maria's natal-day ! 
 
 That brilliant gift shall so enrich me, 
 
 Sprii;ig, Summer, Autumn, cannot match me. '• 
 
 ** 'Tis done 1 " says Jove ; so ends my stoiy, 
 
 Ajid Winter once rejoiced in glory. 
 
 EPISTLE FROM ESOPUS TO MARIA. 
 
 The Esopus of this epistle was Williamson the actor ; and the Maria to whom it 
 is addressed was Mrs Riddel — "A lady," sayB Allan Cunningham, "whose 
 memory will be held in grateful remembrance, not only for her having for- 
 given the poet for his lampoons, but for her having written a sensible, clear, 
 h^art-warm account of him when laid in the gra-ve. Mrs Riddel was a sincere 
 friend and admirer of Burns, who quarrelled with her on account of some fan- 
 cied slight. Williamson was a member of the dramatic company which fre- 
 quently visited Dumfries. He had been a frequent visitor at Mrs Riddel's. 
 While the dramatic company were at Whitehaven, the Earl of Lonsdale com- 
 mitted them to prison as vagrants. Burns had no favour for the Earl of 
 Lonsdale, and managed in the epistle to gratify his aversion to him, as well as 
 his temporary anger with Mrs Riddel. His behaviour towards the latter was 
 as discreditable to him as Mrs Riddel's generosity in forgiving it was worthy 
 of her goodness and her high opinion of his better nature." 
 
 From those drear solitudes and frowsy cells. 
 Where infamy with sad repentance dwells ; 
 Where turnkeys make the jealous mortal fast. 
 And deal from iron hands the spare repast ; 
 Where truant 'prentices, yet young in sin. 
 Blush at the curious stranger peeping in ; 
 Where strumpets, relics of the drunken roar, 
 Resolve to drink, nay, half to 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 date. 
 To tell Maria her Esopus' fate. 
 
/EX. 36.] POEMS. ao7 
 
 *' Alas ! I feel I am no actor here ! " 
 
 'Tis real hangmen real scourges bear ! 
 
 Prepare, Maria, for a horrid tale 
 
 WiU turn thy very rouge to deadly pale ; 
 
 Will make thy hair, though 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 ; 
 
 Whilst sans-culottes stoop up the mountain high, 
 
 And steal from me Maria s prying eye. 
 
 Blest Highland bonnet! once my proudest dress, 
 
 Now prouder still, Maria's temples press. 
 
 I see her wave thy towering plumes afar, 
 
 And call each coxcomb to the wordy war ; 
 
 I see her face the first of Ireland's sons, 
 
 And even out-Irish his Hibernian bronze ; 
 
 The crafty colonel 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 vent, vidi^ vici, 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. 
 
 (What scandal call'd Maria's janty 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 workhouse ! ha, that sound awakes my woes. 
 And pillows on the thorn my rack'd repose I 
 In durance vile here must I wake and weep, 
 And all my frowsy couch in sorrow steep ! 
 That straw where many a rogue has lain of yore, 
 And vermin'd gipsies litter'd heretofore. 
 
 Why, Lonsdale, thus thy wrath on vagrants pour. 
 Must earth no rascal save thyself endure ? 
 Must thou alone in guilt immortal swell, 
 And make a vast monopoly of hell? 
 
2o8 POEMS. [1794, 
 
 Thou knoVst the virtues cannot hate thee worse ; 
 The vices also, must they club their curse ? 
 Or must no tiny sin to others fall, 
 Because thy giult *b supreme enough for all ? 
 
 Maria, send me too thy griefs and cares ; 
 
 In all of these sure thy Esopus shares. 
 
 As thou at all mankind the flag unfurls, 
 
 Who on my fair one satire's veogeance hurls? 
 
 Who calls thee pei-fc, 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. 
 
 MONODY ON A LADY FAIVIED FOK 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 Virtues, I call not on you ; 
 
 So shy, grave, ard distant, ye shed not a tear : 
 But come, all ye offspring of Folly so true. 
 
 And flowers let us cull for Eliza's cold bier. 
 
 We 11 search through the garden for each silly flower, 
 We '11 roam through 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. 
 
 Which spurning Contempt shall redeem from his ire. 
 
 ♦ This was another of the poet's splenetic attacks on Mrs Riddel. 
 
arr. 36.J POEMS. 209 
 
 POEM ON PASTORAL POETRY. 
 
 this poem was found by Dr Cuvrie among the papers of the poet, and in Ws own 
 handwriting ; but Gilbert Burns says, " There is some doubt of its being his." 
 It is not perhaps one of his happiest efforts ; but there can be no doubt of ita 
 authenticity. 
 
 Hail, Poesie ! thou nymph reserved ! 
 
 In chase o' thee, what crowds hae swerved 
 
 Frae common sense, or sunk ennerved 
 
 'Mang heaps o' clavers ;^ 
 And och ! owre aft thy joes^ hae starved 
 'Mid a' thy f a\ ours 
 
 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 Shakespeare drives 
 Wee Pope, the knurlin,^ till 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 
 
 O' 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 f orrit, honest Allan ! * 
 Thou need na jouk^ behint the hallan, 
 
 A chiel sae clever ; 
 The teeth o' time may gnaw Tantallan, 
 
 But thou 's for ever ! 
 
 Thou paints auld nature to the nines, 
 
 In thy sweet Caledonian lines ; ^ 
 
 1 NonseniSo. * Lovers. * Dwarfiah, 
 
 * Drawa. * Thin or gauzy. • Hid« 
 
 * Allan Ramsay. 
 
2IO POEMS. [1794, 
 
 Nae gowden stream through myrtles twines, 
 
 Where Philomel, 
 While nightly breezes sweep the vines, 
 
 Her griefs will tell 1 
 
 In gowany glens thy burnie strays, 
 Where bonny 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 ; 
 " Kae bombast spates o' nonsense swell 5 
 Nae snap conceits — but that sweet spell 
 
 O' witchin' love ; 
 That charm that can the strongest quell, 
 
 The sternest move. 
 
 SONNET 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF ROBERT RIDDEL, ESQ., OP GLEN RIDDEL.* 
 
 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 o'er his bier : 
 The Man of Worth, who has not left his peer, 
 
 Is in his narrow house, for ever darkly low. 
 
 Thee, Spring, again with joy shall others greet. 
 Me, memory of my loss will only meet. 
 
 LIBERTY: 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 Writing to Mrs Dunlop from Castle-Douglas, the poet says :— "1 am just going 
 to ti'ouble your critical patience with the first sketoh of a stanza I have been 
 framing as I passed along the road. The subject is Liberty: you know, my 
 
 • Robert Riddel, Esq^ of Friars' Carse, a very worthy gentleman, and one Jrom 
 whom Burnt had received many obligations 
 
«T. 36.] POEMS. 211 
 
 honoured friend, how dear the theme is to me. I design it as an irregular 
 ode for General Washington's birthday. After having mentioned the degene- 
 racy of other kingdoms, I come to Scotland thus : " — 
 
 Thee, Caledoiiia, 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 ? 
 Im mingled with the mighty dead. 
 
 Beneath the 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. 
 Nor give the coward secret breath. 
 
 Is this the power in freedom's war 
 
 That wont to bid the battle rage ? 
 Behold that eye which shot immortal hate, 
 
 Braved usurpation's boldest daring ! 
 That arm which, nerved with thundering fate, 
 
 Crush'd the despot's proudest bearing : 
 One quench'd in darkness, like the sinking star. 
 And one the palsied arm of tottering, powerless age. 
 
 His royal visage seam'd with many a scar, 
 
 That Caledonian rear'd his martial form, 
 
 Who led the tyrant-quelling war, 
 
 Where Bannockburn's ensanguined flood 
 
 Swell'd with mingling hostile blood. 
 
 Soon Edward's myriads struck with deep dismay. 
 
 And Scotia's troop of brothers win their way. 
 
 (Oh, glorious deed to bay a tyrant's band ! 
 
 Oh, heavenly joy to free our native land !) 
 
 While high their mighty chief pour'd on the doubling storm. 
 
 VERSES 
 
 TO MISS GRAHAM OP FIN TRY, WITH A PRESENT OF SONGS. 
 
 These verses were written by the poet on the blank side of the title-page of a copy 
 of Thomson's " Select Scottish Songs," and the volume sent as a present to 
 the daughter of his much-honoured and much-valued friend, Mr Graham ol 
 Fintry. 
 
 Here, where the Scottish Muse immortal lives, 
 In sacred strains and tuneful numbers join'd. 
 
 Accept the gift, though humble he who gives ; 
 Rich is the tribute of the grateful mind. 
 
 So may no ruflSan 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 ! 
 
ai2 POEMS. [1794. 
 
 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. 
 
 THE TREE OF LIBERTY. 
 
 Ihis poem iras taken from a MS. in the poet's handwriting in the possession ol 
 Mr James buncan, Mosesfiekl, near Glasgow, and first printed in Mr Robert 
 Chambers's edition of the poet's works, 1838. 
 
 Heard 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. 
 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 
 
 Of 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 guid 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 ^ a branch, spite o' the deil, 
 
 Frae yont ^ the westei'n waves, man. 
 Fail* 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 foUk aye hate to see 
 The works o* Virtue thrive, man ; 
 
 1 Know not « Man. 3 stole. * From beyond. 
 
«T.36.] FORMS, 213 
 
 The courtly vermin 's "bann'd the tree. 
 
 And grat ^ to see it thrive, man ; 
 King Louis 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 ; 
 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-bom 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 neighbours 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 labour soon, we labour 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 ; 
 The 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. 
 
 > Wept. 2 Very. « Then. * Know. 
 
 » Went. • Gave, 7 Beat. 
 
af4 POEMS, [1795. 
 
 "Wae wortli the loon ^ wha wa^lna eat 
 
 Sic halesome dainty cheer, man ; 
 I 'd gie my shoon frae aff my feet, 
 
 To taste sic fruit, I swear, man. 
 Syne let ns pray, auld England may 
 
 Sure plant this far-famed tree, man ; 
 And blithe we 'U sing, and hail the day 
 
 That gives us liberty, man. 
 
 TO CHLORIS. 
 
 Th? Chloris of the following lines, and of several songs of the poet's, was a Mrs 
 Whelpdale, the beautiful daughter of Mr William Lorimer, farmer of Kemmis 
 Hall, near Ellisland. Her marriage was unfortunate, for a few months after it 
 took place she was separated from her husband, whom she did not» again meet 
 for twenty-three years. 
 
 'Tis Friendship's pledge, my young, fair friend, 
 
 Nor thou the gift refuse. 
 Nor with unwilling ear attend 
 
 The moralising 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 mom 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 comforts of the mind ! 
 
 Thine is the self -approving glow, 
 
 On conscious honour's part : 
 And, dearest gift of Heaven below, 
 
 Thine friendship's tniest heart. 
 
 The Joys refined of sense and taste. 
 
 With every Muse to rove : 
 And doubly were the poet blest, 
 
 These joys could he improve. 
 
 » Fellow. 
 
XT. 37.] POEMS. 3IS 
 
 VERSES 
 
 ON THE DESTRUCTION OF THE WOODS NEAR DRUMLANRia. 
 
 rhe Duke of Queensbeiry, who was no favourite of the poet's, and who wai 
 deservedly held in little esteem wherever his character was known, had ^we 
 quote from Mr Chambers) "stripped his domains of Drumlanrig in Dumfries- 
 shire, and Neidpath in Peeblesshire, of all the wood fit for being cut, in order 
 to enrich the 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." 
 
 As on the banks o* waijdering Nith 
 
 Ae smiling summer mom I stray'd, 
 And traced its bonny howes and haughs, 
 
 Where Unties sang and lambkins play'd, 
 I sat me down upon a craig, 
 
 And drank my fill o' fancy's dream, 
 "When, from the eddying deep below, 
 
 Uprose the genius of the stream. 
 
 Dark, like the frowning rock, his brow, 
 
 And troubled like his wintry wave, 
 And deep, as sughs^ the boding wind 
 
 Amang his eaves, the sigh he gave — 
 " And came ye here, my son," he cried, 
 
 " To wander in my birken shade? 
 To muse some favourite Scottish theme, 
 
 Or sing some favourite Scottish maid I 
 
 "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 appear*d 
 
 The wee white cot aboon the mill, 
 And peacefu' rose its ingle reek,^ 
 
 That slowly curl'd up the hill. 
 But now the cot is bare and cauld. 
 
 Its branchy shelter 's lost and gane, 
 And scarce a stinted birk is left 
 
 To shiver in the blast its lane." 
 
 " Alas !" said I, "what ruefu' chance 
 
 Has twin'd* ye o' your stately trees? 
 Has laid your rocky bosom bare ? 
 
 Has stripp'd the deeding ^ o' your braes? 
 
 1 Sighs. s Since. > The smoke of its fire. 
 
 *Reft. eClothin^r. 
 
2i6 POEMS, [1796. 
 
 Was it the bitter eastern blast, 
 
 That scatters blight in early spring? 
 Or was 't the vril'-fire scorch'd their boughs, 
 
 Or canker-worm wi' secret sting?" 
 
 "Nae 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 liim down — 
 "The worm that gnaw'd my bonny trees, 
 
 That reptile wears a ducal crown !" 
 
 ADDRESS 
 
 SPOKEN BY MISS FONTENELLE ON HER BENEFIT NIGHT. 
 
 *We have had a brilliant theatre here this season," tlie poet writes to Mrs 
 Dunlop ; " only, as all other business does, it experiences a stagnation ol 
 ti-ade from the epidemical complaint of the country — wantofcash. 1 mention 
 our theatre merely to lug in an occasional address which I wrote for tlie benefil 
 Dight of one of the actresses." 
 
 Still anxious to secure your partial favour, 
 
 And not less anxious, sure, this night than ever, 
 
 A Prologue, Epilogue, or some such matter, 
 
 'Twould vamp my bill, said I, if nothing better ; 
 
 So sought a poet, roosted near the skies. 
 
 Told him I came to feast my curious eyes ; 
 
 Said nothing like his works was ever printed ; 
 
 And last, my Prologue-business slily hinted. 
 
 " Ma'am, let me tell you," quoth my man of rliymes, 
 
 " 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, 
 
 Calling 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 iti 
 
 And 80, your servant ! gloomy Master Poet ! 
 
 Firm as my creed, sirs, 'tis my fix'd 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 ; 
 
*r. 38.] POEMS, 217 
 
 Doom'd to that sorest task of man alive — 
 To make three guineas do the work of five : 
 Laugh in Misfortune's face— the bedlam witch I 
 Say you '11 be merry, though you can't be rich. 
 Thou other man of care, the wretch in love, 
 Who long with jiltish arts and airs hast strove ; 
 Who, as the boughs all temptingly project, 
 Measured 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 still be wise ! 
 
 TO COLLECTOR MITCHELL. 
 
 The poet died withm a few months of writing this. But Collector Miichell, win 
 was a sincere friend to him, was not aware of his distress at this time. 
 
 Friend of the poet, tried and leal, 
 Wha, wanting thee, might beg or steal ; 
 Alake ! alake ! the meikle deil 
 
 Wi' a' his witches 
 Are at it, skelpin' ^ jig and reel, 
 
 In my poor pouches ! 
 
 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 loaning ^ 
 
 To thee and thine ; 
 Domestic peace and comforts crowning 
 
 The hale design. 
 
 POSTSCRIPT. 
 
 Ye 've heard this while how I 've been licket,* 
 And by fell Death was nearly nicket ; ^ 
 
 1 Dnncing. 2 Girl. s Throbbed. « Go. 
 
 * The road leading to the farm. « Beaten. 7 Cut oZ 
 
2x8 POEMS, [i7g'5 
 
 Grim loun ! he gat me by tlie feoket,* 
 
 And sair me sheuk ; 
 But by guid luck I lap a wicket, 
 
 And tum'd a neuk. 
 
 But by tliat health, I Ve got a share o 't, 
 And by that life I 'm promised mair o 't, 
 My hale and weel I '11 tak a care o 't, 
 
 A tentier '^ way : ^ 
 Then fareweel folly, hide and hair o '4, 
 
 For ance and aye I 
 
 TO COLONEL DE PEYSTER* 
 
 My honoured colonel, deep I feel 
 Your interest in the poet's weal : 
 Ah I now sma' heart hae I to speel^ 
 
 The steep Parnassus, 
 Surrounded thus by bolus pill 
 
 And potion glasses. 
 
 Oh, what a canty* warld were it. 
 
 Would pain, and care, and sickness spare it ; 
 
 And fortune favour worth and merit 
 
 As they deserve ! 
 And aye a rowth,*' roast beef and claret ; 
 
 Syne^ wha wad starve? 
 
 Dame Life, though fiction out may trick her, 
 And in paste gems and frippery deck her j 
 Oh! flickering, feeble, and unsicker^ 
 
 I 've found her still. 
 Aye wavering, like the willow- wicker, ^ 
 
 'Tween good and ill. 
 
 Then that curst carmagnole, auld Satan, 
 Watches, like baudrons^ by a ratton, 
 Our sinfu' saul to get a claut^® on 
 
 Wi' felon ire ; 
 Syne whip ! his tail ye '11 ne'er cast saut^^ on — 
 
 He 's aff like fire. 
 
 Ah, Nick ! ah, Nick I it is na fair, 
 First showing us the tempting ware, 
 
 » Waistcoat. 2 More careful. » Climb. ■* Happy. 
 
 » Abundance. « Then. 7 Insecure. « Twig. 
 
 9 Cat, 10 Claw. ii Salt. 
 
 ♦ Aventz de Peyster, colonel of the Gentlemen Volunteers of Dumfries, ol 
 w^hich Burns was a member. He had made some kind inquiries as to the poet's 
 uealth. 
 
^. 38.] POEMS. 219 
 
 Bright \diies and bonny lasses rare, 
 
 To put ns daft; ^ 
 Syne weave, unseen, the spider snare 
 
 O' hell's damn'd waft. 
 
 Poor man, the flee aft bizzes by. 
 And aft as chance he comes thee nigh, 
 Thy a\ild damn'd elbow yeuks^ wi' joy, 
 
 And hellish pleasure; 
 Already in thy fancy's eye, 
 
 Thy sicker treasure. 
 
 Soon, heels-o'er-gowdie ! ^ in he gangs, 
 And, like a sheep-head on a tangs, 
 Thy giming^ laugh 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^ drivel, 
 
 Abjuring a' intentions evil, 
 
 I quat my pen : 
 The Lord preserve us frae the devil ! 
 
 Amen I Amen! 
 
 TO MISS JESSY LEWAES, DUMFRIES, 
 
 WITH A PRESENT OF BOOKS. 
 
 "Cunningham says: — "Miss Jessy Lewars watched over the poet and his little 
 household during his declining days with all the affectionate reverence of a 
 daughter. Tor this she has received the silent thanks of all who admire the 
 genius of Burns, or look with sorrow on his setting sun ; she has received more 
 — the undying thanks of the poet himself: his songs to her honour, and his 
 simple gifts of books and verse, will keep her name and fame long in the 
 world." 
 
 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. 
 
 1 Mad. 2 Itches. » Topsy-turvy. 
 
 * Grinning. » Drawling. 
 
EPISTLES. 
 
 EPISTLE TO JOHN RANKINE, 
 
 ENCLOSING SOME POEMS. 
 
 John Rankine, Adamhill, near Torbolton, would seem to have merited th« 
 epithets of "rough and ready-witted," which Burns bestowed upon him. Th« 
 dream which is alluded to in the epistle may be related as an instance of his 
 
 caustic humour. Lord K , it is said, was in the practice of calling all 
 
 his familiar acquaintances "brutes," and sometimes "damned brutes." — 
 "Well, ye brute, how are ye to-day, ye damned brute?" was his usual modo 
 of salutation. Once, in company, his lordship having indulged in this rude- 
 ness more than his wont, turned to Rankine, and exclaimed, •' Ye damned 
 brute, are ye dumb? Have ye no queer, sly story to tell us ?'' "I have nae 
 stoi7," said Rankine, "but last night I had an odd dream." "Out with it, 
 by all means," said the other. " Aweel, ye see," said Rankine, " I dreamed 
 I was dead, and that for keeping other than good company upon earth I was 
 damned. When I knocked at hell-door, wha should open it but the deil ; he 
 was in a rough humour, and said, 'Wha may ye be, and what's your name?' 
 «My name,' quoth I, 'is John Rankine, and my dwelling-place was Adamhill.' 
 
 *Gae wa' wi' ye,' quoth Satan, *ye canna be here ; ye 're ane of Lord K 's 
 
 damned brutes — hell's fu' o' them already!'" This sharp rebuke, it is said, 
 polished for the future his lordship's speech. 
 
 With reference to the circumstances alluded to in the epistle, Lockhart says: — 
 "He was compelled, according to the then almost universal custom of rural 
 parishes in Scotland, to do penance in church, before the congregation, in con- 
 sequence of the birth of an illegitimate child ; and, whatever may be thought 
 of the propriety of such exhibitions, there can be no difference of opinion as 
 to the culpable levity with which he describes the nature of his offence, and 
 the still more reprehensible bitterness with which, in his epistle to Rankine, 
 he inveighs against the clergyman, who, in rebuking him, only performed 
 what was then a regular part of the clerical duty, and a part of it that could 
 never have been at all agreeable to the worthy man whom he satirises under 
 the appellation of Daddie Auld." 
 
 O KOUGH, rude, ready-witted Rankine, 
 The wale ^ o' cocks for fun and drinkin' I 
 There 's mony godly folks are thinkin' 
 
 Your dreams * and tricks 
 
 1 Choice. 
 
 * A certain humorous dream of his was then making a noise in the countiT' 
 side.— -B. 
 
iET. 27.] EPISTLES. 221 
 
 Will Send you, Korah-like, a-sinkin*, 
 
 Straught to auld Nick's. 
 
 Ye hae sae mony cracks and cants,^ 
 And in your wicked, drucken rants,^ 
 Ye mak a devil o' the saunts. 
 
 And fill them fou ; ^ * 
 And then their failings, flaws, and wants, 
 
 Are a' seen through. 
 
 HjT)ocrisy, 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 and claithingf 
 O' saunts ; tak that, ye lea'e them naethiiig 
 
 To ken them by, 
 Frae ony unregenerate heathen 
 
 Like you or I, 
 
 I 've sent you here some rhyming ware, 
 A' that I bargain'd for, and mair ; 
 Sac, when ye hae an hour to spare, 
 
 I will expect 
 Yon eang, J ye 11 sen't wi' cannie care, 
 
 And no neglect. 
 
 Though, faith, sma' heart hae I to sing ! 
 My muse dow ^ scarcely spread her wing 
 I 've play'd mysel a bonny spring, 
 
 And danced my fill ! 
 I 'd better gaen and sair't '^ the king. 
 
 At Bunker's Hill. 
 
 'Twas ae night lately, in my fun, 
 
 I gaed a roving wi' the gun. 
 
 And brought a paitrick ^ to the grun', 
 
 A bonny hen. 
 And, as the twilight was begun. 
 
 Thought nane wad ken.* 
 
 1 Stories and tricks. 2 Bouts. s Tipsy. 
 
 * Pulls it. 5 Injuring. 6 Dare. 
 
 7 Served. 8 Partridge. 9 Know. 
 
 * A minister or elder, some say Holy "Willie, had called on Rankine, and had 
 partaken so freely of whisky-toddy as to have ended by tumbling dead-drunk on 
 the floor. 
 
 t '• The allusion here is to a privileged class of mendicants well known in 
 Scotland by the name of 'Blue Gowns.' The order was instituted by James V. 
 01 Scotland, the i-oyal 'Claberlunzie-Man.' " 
 
 X A song he had c)romised the author. — B. 
 
EPISTLES. [1785. 
 
 The poor wee thing was little hurt ; 
 
 I straikit ^ it a wee for sport, 
 
 Ne'er thinking they wad fash^ me for't 
 
 But, diel-ma-care I 
 Somebody tells the poacher-court 
 
 The hale affair. 
 
 Some auld-used hands had ta'en a note, 
 That sic a hen had got a shot, 
 I was suspected for the plot ; 
 
 I scorn'd to lie ; 
 So gat the whistle o' my groat. 
 
 And pay 't the fee. 
 
 But, by nny gun, o' guns the wale, 
 And by my pouther and my hail, 
 And by my hen, and by her tail, 
 
 I vow and swear ! 
 The game shall pay o'er moor and dale. 
 
 For this, neist year. 
 
 As soon 's the clocking-time is by, 
 And the wee pouts begun to cry. 
 Lord, I'se hae sportin' by and by, 
 
 For my gowd guinea : 
 Though I should herd the buckskin kye 
 
 For 't in Virginia. 
 
 Trouth, they had muckle for to blame ! 
 'Twas neither broken wing nor limb. 
 But twa-three draps about the wame 
 
 Scarce through the feathers ; 
 And baith a yellow George to claim 
 
 And thole their blethers ! ^ 
 
 It pits me aye as mad 's a hair ; 
 
 So I can rhyme nor write nae mair ; 
 
 But pennyworths again is fair, 
 
 When time 's expedient : 
 Meanwhile 1 am, respected sir. 
 
 Your most obedient. 
 
 EPISTLE TO DAVIE, 
 
 A BROTHER POET. 
 
 David Sillar, to whom this epistle was addressed, was a native of Torbolton, 9 
 poet and scholar. He was for many years a schoolmaster at Ii-vine, and was 
 latterly a magistrate of that town. He published a volume of poems in the 
 Scottish dialect. Gilbert Burns says, with reference to this epistle : — " Among 
 the earliest of his poems was the epistle to Davie. Robert often composed 
 •without any regular plan. When anything made a strong impression on hie 
 
 1 Stroked. s Trouble. s Nonsense. 
 
iCr. 27 1 EPISTLES. J?? 3 
 
 mind, so as to rouse It to any poetic exertion, he would give way to the 
 impulse, and embody the thought in rhyme. If he hit on two or three stanzas 
 to please him, he would then think of proper introductory, connecting, and 
 concluding stanzas ; hence the middle of a poem was often first produced. It 
 was, I think, in the summer of 1784, when, in the interval of harder labour, 
 Eobert and I were weeding in the garden, that he repeated to me the principal 
 part of this epistle. I believe the first idea of Eobert's becomi g an authoi 
 was started on this occasion. I was much pleased with the epi tie, and said 
 to him I was of opinion it would bear being printed, and that it would b* 
 well received by people of taste ; that I thought it at least equal, if not supe 
 rior, to many of Allan Ramsay's epistles, and that the merit of these, and much 
 other Scottish poetry, seemed to consist principally in the knack of the 
 expression; but here there was a strain of interesting sentiment, and the 
 Scotticism of the language scarcely seemed affected, but appeared to be the 
 natural langiiage of the poet ; that, besides, there was certainly ome novelty 
 in a poet pointing out the consolationfi that were in store for im when he 
 should go a-begging. — Robert seemed well pleased with my criticism." 
 
 January 1785w 
 While winds f rae aff Ben Lomond blaw, 
 And bar the doors wi' driving snaw, 
 
 And hing^ us owre the ingle, ^ 
 I set me down to pass tlie time, 
 And spin a verse or twa o' rhyme, 
 
 In hamely westlin jingle.* 
 While frosty winds blaw in the drift, 
 
 Ben to the ohimla lug,* 
 I grudge a wee the great folk's gift. 
 That live sae bien^ and snug: 
 I tent 6 less, and want less 
 
 Their roomy fire-side ; 
 But hanker and canker 
 To see their cursed pridou 
 
 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 coofsS on countless thousands rant,^ 
 
 And ken na how to wair 't ;^o 
 But, Davie, lad, ne'er fash ^^ your head, 
 
 Though we hae little gear,i3 
 We 're fit to win our daily bread, 
 As lang 's we 're hale and fier : i3 
 " Mair spier na, nor fear na," ^^ 
 Auld age ne'er mind a feg,^^ 
 The last o 't, the warst o 't, 
 Is only but to beg.'. 
 
 To lie in kilns and bams at e'en, 
 
 When banes are crazed, and bluid is thin, 
 
 1 Hang. « Fire. » Homely west country dialect 
 
 * Chimney corner. « Comfortable. « Heed. 7 Men. 
 
 » Fools. 6 Live extravagantly. lo Spend it. 
 
 11 Trouble. i» Goods or wealth. i' Whole and sound. 
 
 1* More ask not, nor fear not. I8 Fig. 
 
t24 EPISTLES, [1785. 
 
 Is dou"btles8 great distress ! 
 Yet then content could make us blest ; 
 E'en then, sometimes, we 'd snatch a taste 
 
 Of truest happiness. 
 The honest heart that 's free f rae a' 
 
 Intended fraud or guile. 
 However Foi*tune kick the ba', 
 Has aye some cause to smile : 
 And mind still, you '11 find still, 
 
 A comfort this nae sma' ; 
 Kae mair then, we '11 care then, 
 Nae farther can we fa'. 
 
 "What though, like commoners of air, 
 We waiider out we know not where. 
 
 But either house or hall ? 
 Yet nature's charms — the hills and woods, 
 The sweeping vales, and foaming Hoods — 
 
 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 and sowth^ a tune : 
 Syne rhyme tiU 't, we '11 time till 't, 
 And sing 't when we hae dune. 
 
 It *8 no in titles nor in rank : 
 
 It 's no in wealth like Lon'on bank, 
 
 To purchase peace and rest : 
 It 's no in making 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 : 
 
 Nae treasures, nor pleasures, 
 Could make us happy lang : 
 The heart aye's the part aye 
 That makes us right or wrang. 
 
 Think ye that sic^ as you and I, 
 
 Wha drudge and drive through wet and dry, 
 
 Wi' never-ceasing toil ; 
 Think ye, are we less blest than they 
 Wha scarcely tent^ us in their way. 
 
 As hardly worth their while? 
 Alas ! how aft in haughty mood, 
 
 God's creatures they oppress ! 
 
 1 Whistle. 2 Much more. * Learning. 
 
 * Such. 6 Heed. 
 
JET. 27.] EPISTLES. 225 
 
 Or else, neglecting a' that 's guid, 
 They riot in excess ! 
 Baith careless and fearless 
 Of either heaven or hell I 
 Esteeming and deeming 
 It 's a' an idle tale ! 
 
 Then let ns cheerfu' acquiesce ; 
 Nor 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 thankf u' for them yet. 
 They gie the wit of age to youth ; 
 
 They let us ken oursel ; 
 They make us see the naked truth, 
 The real guid and ill. 
 
 Though losses and crosses 
 Be lessons right severe. 
 There 's wit there, ye 'U 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 and 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 fl^me ! 
 
 Oh, all ye powers who rule above ! 
 O Thou, whose very self art love ! 
 
 Thou know'st my words sincere ! 
 The life-blood streaming through 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 ! 
 
 * Sillar's flame was a lass of the name of Margaret Orr, who had charge of 
 the children of Mrs Stewart of Stair. It was not the fortune of "Meg" to be- 
 come ;Mrs Sillar. 
 
226 EPISTLES. [1785. 
 
 All hail I ye tender feelings dear ! 
 The smile of love, the friecdly tear, 
 
 The sympathetic glow ! 
 Long since, this world's thorny "svays 
 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 skelpinV rank and file, 
 
 Amaist^ before I ken ! ^ 
 The ready measure rins as fine 
 As Phoebus and the famous Nine 
 
 Were glowerin' owre my pen. 
 My spaviet* Pegasus will limp, 
 
 Till ance he 's fairly het ; 
 And then he '11 hilch,^ and stilt,^ and jimp/ 
 And rin an unco fit : 
 
 But lest then, the beast then, 
 
 Should rue^ this hasty ride, 
 
 I'll light now, and dight** now 
 
 His sweaty, wizen'd^^ hide. 
 
 EPISTLE TO JOHN LAPEAIK, 
 
 AN OLD SCOTTISH BARD 
 
 John Lapraik was a rustic follower of the Muses. Burns describes him as thdt 
 "very worthy and facetious old fellow, John Lapraik, late of Dalfram, near 
 Muirkirk, which little property he was obliged to sell in consequence of some 
 connexion as security for some persons concerned in that villainous bub bis, 
 the Ayr Bank." 
 
 Ai^il 1, IT80. 
 
 While briers and woodbines budding green, 
 And paitricks^^ scraichin'^^ loud at e'en, 
 And morning poussie^^ wliiddin seen, 
 
 Inspire my Muse, 
 This freedom in an unknown frien' 
 
 I pray excuse. 
 
 1 Dancing ^ Almost. » Know. * Spavined. 
 
 6 Hobble. c Halt. ' Jump. 8 Repent. 
 
 » Wipe. 10 Withered. " Partridges. 12 Screaminpf, 
 IS The hare. 
 
^T. 27.] EPISTLES. 227 
 
 On Fasten-e'en we had arockin',* 
 
 To ca' the crack ^ and weave our stockin* j 
 
 And there was muckle^ fun and jokin', 
 
 Ye needna doubt ; 
 At length we had a hearty yokin' 3 
 
 At sang about, 
 
 Th<ere was ae sang, amang the rest, 
 Aboon them a' it pleased me best, 
 That some kind husband had addrest 
 
 To some sweet wife : 
 It thirl'd the heart-strings through the breast, 
 
 A' to the life, t 
 
 I Ve scarce heard ought described sae weel, 
 What generous manly bosoms feel ; 
 Thought I, ' ' Can this be Pope, or Steele, 
 
 OrBeattie's wark?" 
 They tauld me 'twas an odd kind chiel* 
 
 About Muirkirk. 
 
 It pat me fidgin-fain^ to hear't, 
 And sae about him there I spiert ; ^ 
 Then a' that kent^ him round declared 
 
 He had ingine ; ^ 
 That nane excell'd it, few cam near 't, 
 
 It was sae fine. 
 
 That, set him to a pint of ale, 
 
 And either douce ^ or merry tale, 
 
 Or rhymes and sangs he 'd made himsel, 
 
 Or witty catches : 
 Tween Inverness and Teviotdale 
 
 He had few matches. 
 
 Then up I gat, and swore an aith,^^ 
 
 Though I should pawn my pleugh and graith,^^ 
 
 Or die a cadger pownie's death, 
 
 At some dike back, 
 A pint and gill I 'd gie them baith 
 
 To hear your crack. 
 
 But, first and foremost, I should tell, 
 Amaist as soon as I could spell, 
 I to the crambo-jingle^2 f^li^ 
 
 Though rude and rough : 
 
 1 To drive the talk. 2 Much. 
 
 5 Made me fidget with desire. 
 8 Genius or geniality. ^ Sober. 
 
 13 Doggerel vei'ses. 
 
 * In former times young -women were wont to meet together, each having 
 her distaff or rock for the purpose of spinning while the song and the gossip 
 went round. 
 
 \ This song is entitled, "When I upon thy bosom lean." 
 
 8 Bout. 
 
 * Man. 
 
 « Inquired. 
 
 7 Knew. 
 
 10 Oath. 
 
 11 Tackle. 
 
2 28 EPISTLES. [1785. 
 
 Yet crooning' to a body's sel 
 
 Does weel eneugh. 
 
 I am nae poet, in a sense, 
 
 But just a rhymer, like by chance, 
 
 And 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 maybe 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 ta'en up spades and shools, 
 
 Or knappin'-hammers. 
 
 A set o' dull, conceited hashes,' 
 Confuse their brains in college classes ! 
 They gang in stirks,** and come out asses. 
 
 Plain truth to speak ; 
 And syne* they think to climb Parnassus 
 
 By dint o' Greek! 
 
 Gie me ae spark o' Nature's fire ! 
 
 That 's a' the learning I desire ; 
 
 Then, though I drudge through dub and mire 
 
 At pleugh or cart, 
 My Muse, though 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. 
 Though real friends I b'lieve are few, 
 Yet, if your catalogue be fu', 
 
 I 'se no insist, 
 But gif ye want ae friend that 's true, 
 
 I 'm on your list. 
 
 1 Humming. 2 Blockheads. » Year-old cattle. * Then. 
 
 » Allan Ramsay. « Sly. ^ Learning. 
 
JB.T, 27.] EPISTLES. 229 
 
 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; 
 Though I maun'* own, as mony still 
 
 As far abuse me. 
 
 There 's ae wee faut* they whiles lay to me, 
 
 I like the lasses — Gude forgie me ! 
 
 For mony a plack they wheedle frae me, 
 
 At dance or fair ; 
 Maybe some ither thing they gie me, 
 
 They weel can spare. 
 
 But Mauchline race, or Mauchline fair, 
 I should be proud to meet you there ; 
 "We 'se gie ae night's discharge to Care, 
 
 If we forgather. 
 And hae a swap*^ o' rhymin' ware 
 
 Wi' ane anither. 
 
 The four-gill chap,<^ we 'se gar^ him clatter, 
 And kirsen^ him wi' reekin' water ; 
 Syne we '11 sit down and tak our whitter,^* 
 
 To cheer our heart ; 
 And faith, we 'se be acquainted better 
 
 Before we part. 
 
 There *s naething like the honest nappy ! '^^ 
 "Wliar'lP^ ye e'er see men sae happy. 
 Or women sonsie, saft, and sappy ^^ 
 
 'Tween morn and morn, 
 As them wha like to taste the drappy^^ 
 
 In glass or horn ! 
 
 I 've seen me dais't 1* upon a time, 
 I scarce could wink, or see a styme ; ^ 
 Just ae half-mutchkin does me prime, 
 
 Aught less is little, 
 Then back I rattle on the rhyme. 
 
 As gleg 's a whittle! ^^ 
 
 Awa' ye selfish war'ly race, 
 
 Wha think that havins,^^ sense, and grace. 
 
 E'en love and friendship, should give place 
 
 To catch-the -plack ! is 
 I dinna^^ like to see your face, 
 
 Nor hear your crack. ^^ 
 
 1 Will not. 
 
 2 Praise. 
 
 8 Must. 
 
 • An exchange. 
 
 « Stoup. 
 
 r Make. 
 
 » Hearty draught. 
 
 10 Ale. 
 
 11 Where will. 
 
 18 Small drop. 
 
 14 Stupid. 
 
 15 See in the least. 
 
 i« As keen as a knife. 
 
 
 17 Decorum. 
 
 " To seek after money. 
 
 
 19 Do not. 
 
 * Small fault. 
 8 Christen. 
 12 Comely. 
 
230 EPISTLES. [1785, 
 
 But ye whom social pleasure charms, 
 "Whose hearts the tide of kindness warms, 
 Who hold your being on the terms, 
 
 "Each aid the others," 
 Come to my bowl, come to my arms, 
 
 My friends, my brothers. 
 
 But, to conclude my long epistle. 
 
 As my auld pen 's worn to the grissle ; 
 
 Twa lines frae you would gar me fissle,^ 
 
 Who am, most fervent, 
 While I can cither sing or whissle. 
 
 Your friend and servant. 
 
 SECOND EPISTLE TO LA.PRAIK. 
 
 April 21, 1785 
 While new-ca'd kye rowte^ at the stake, 
 And pownies reek^ in pleugh or braik,* 
 This hour on e'enin's edge I take. 
 
 To own I 'm debtor 
 To honest-hearted, auld juapraik. 
 
 For his kind letter. 
 
 Forjesket sair,^ wi* weary legs, 
 Eattlin' the corn out-owre tlie rigs, 
 Or dealing through amang the naigs 
 
 Their ten-hours' bite, 
 My awkward Muse sair i)leads and begs 
 
 I wouldna write. 
 
 The tapetless ramfeezled hizzie,^ 
 
 She 's saft at best, and something lazy, 
 
 Quo' she, *' Ye keu, we've been siie busy, 
 
 This month and mair, 
 That, trouth, my head is grown right dizzy 
 
 And something sair." 
 
 Her dowff ^ excuses pat me mad : 
 
 " Conscience," says I, " ye thowless jad! 8 
 
 I '11 write, and that a hearty blaud,^ 
 
 This vera night ; 
 So dinna ye affront your trade. 
 
 But rhyme it right. 
 
 "Shall bauld Lapraik, the king o* hearts. 
 Though mankind were a pack o' cai-tes, 
 
 1 Fidget. 2 Driven cows low. 3 Smoke. * Harrow. 
 
 • Worn sore with fatigue. o The heedless and exhausted jado- 
 
 ^ Silly. 8 Lazy jade. » Quantity. 
 
^T27.] EPISTLES, 231 
 
 Roose you sae weel for youi' deserts, 
 
 In terms sae friendly, 
 
 Yet ye '11 neglect to shaw your parts, 
 
 And thank him kindly':" 
 
 Sae I gat -paper in a blink, ^ 
 
 And down gaed stumpie in the ink : 
 
 Quoth I, " Before I sleep a wink, 
 
 I vow I '11 close it ; 
 And if ye winna mak it clink, 2 
 
 By Jove I '11 prose it I '* 
 
 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.f 
 
 My worthy friend, ne'er grudge and carp, 
 Though Fortune use you hard and sharp ; 
 Come, kittle* up your moorland-harp 
 
 Wi' gleesome touch ! 
 Ne'er mind how Fortune waft and wai^p ; 
 
 She's but a bitch. 
 
 She's gien^ me mony a jirt and fleg,^ 
 
 Sin' I could striddle owro a rig ; 
 
 But, by the Lord, though I should beg 
 
 Wi' lyart pow,^ 
 I '11 laugh, and sing, and shake my leg, 
 
 As lang 's I dow ! ^ 
 
 Now comes the sax and twentieth simmer 
 I've seen the bud upo' the timmer,^ 
 Still persecuted by the limmer^^ 
 
 Frae year to year ; 
 But yet, despite the kittle kimmer,^^ 
 
 I, Bob, am here. 
 
 Do ye envy the city gent," 
 
 Behint a kist to lie and sklent, % 
 
 Or purse-proud, big wi' cent, per cent. 
 
 And muckle wame,-^^ 
 Li some bit brugh to represent 
 
 A bailie's name ? 
 
 » Twinkling. 2 Rhyme. 8 Nonsense. 4 Tickle. 
 
 5 Given. 6 Jerk and kick. ' Gray head. 8 Can. 
 
 «Tree. 10 Jade. n Girl. "Big belly. 
 
 * Hotch potch is the Scotch name for a soup made of all sorts off vegetables, 
 r^f) other explanation could give a propel' idea of the meaning of the phraaehera 
 t Scotticism for extemporaneous. 
 X Behind a counter to lie and leer. 
 
232 EPISTLES. [1785. 
 
 Or is 't the paiighty,^ feudal thano, 
 "Wi' ruffled sark and glancing cane, 
 Wha thinks himsel nae sheep -shank bane, 
 
 But lordly stalks, 
 While caps and bonnets aff are ta'en,^ 
 
 As by he walks. 
 
 O Thou wha gies us each guid gift ! 
 
 Gie me o' wit and sense a litt, 
 
 Then turn me, if Thou please, adrift. 
 
 Through Scotland wide ; 
 "Wi* cits nor lairds I wadna shift. 
 
 In a' their pride ! 
 
 "Were this the charter of our states 
 " On pain o' hell be rich and great," 
 Damnation then would be our fate 
 
 Beyond remead ; 
 But, thanks io 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. 
 
 And none but he ! ** 
 
 O mandate, glorious and divine ! 
 The ragged followers o' the Nine, 
 Poor, thoughtless devils ! yet may shine 
 
 In glorious light, 
 "While sordid sons o' Mammon's line 
 
 Are dark as night. 
 
 Though here they scrape, and squeeze, and growl, 
 Their worthless nievef u' ^ of a soul 
 May in some future carcase howl. 
 
 The forest's fright ; 
 Or in some day-detesting owl 
 
 May shun the light. 
 
 Then may Lapraik and Bums arise. 
 To reach their native kindred skies, 
 And sing their pleasures, hopes, and jo3''s, 
 
 In some mild sphere, 
 Still closer knit in friendship's ties 
 
 Each passing year ! 
 
 1 Haughty a Taken. a IlandfuL 
 
MT. 27.] EPISTLES. 233 
 
 EPISTLE TO JOHIT GOUDIE, KILMAENOCK, 
 
 ON THE PUBLICATION OP HIS ESSAYS. 
 
 John Goudie was a Kilmarnock tradesman. His essay, fully discussing the 
 authority of the Holy Scriptures, first appeared in 1780, and a new edition in 
 1785. The publication of the new edition called forth the following epistle 
 from the poet ; — 
 
 O GOUDIE ! terror of the Whigs, 
 Dread of black coats and reverend wigs, 
 Sour Bigotry, on her last legs, 
 
 GiminV looks back, 
 Wishin' the ten Egyptian plagues 
 
 Wad seize you quick. 
 
 Poor gapin', glowerin* ' Superstition, 
 Waes me ! she 's in a sad condition ; 
 Fie ! bring Black Jook,* her state physician, 
 
 To see her water : 
 Alas ! there 's ground o' great suspicion 
 
 She '11 ne'er get better. 
 
 Auld Orthodoxy long did grapple, 
 But now she 's got an unco ripple -^ 
 Haste, gie her name up i' the chapel, 
 
 Nigh \into death ; 
 See how she fetches at the thrapple,^ 
 
 And gasps for breath ! 
 
 Enthusiasm 's past redemption, 
 
 Gaen ^ in a galloping consumption, 
 
 Not a' the quacks, wi' a' their gumption,^ 
 
 Will ever mend her. 
 Her feeble pulse gies strong presumption 
 
 Death soon will end her. 
 
 'Tis you and Taylor f are the chief, 
 Wha are to blame for this mischief ; 
 But gin the Lord's ain folk gat leave, 
 
 A toom "^ tar-barrel 
 And twa red peats ^ wad send relief, 
 
 And end the quarrel. 
 
 1 Grinning. 2 Staring. s Pains in the back and loins. 
 
 * Throat. 6 Gone. ^ Knowledge. » Empty. 
 8 Two burning peats to set fire to the tar barrel. 
 
 * The Rev. John Russell, Kilmarnock, one of the heroes of the *' Twa Herds.' 
 t Dr Taylor of Norwich.—^. 
 
234 EPISTLES. [1785. 
 
 EPISTLE TO WILLIAM SIMPSON, 
 
 OOHILTBEE. 
 
 May 1785. 
 
 William Simpson was schoolmaster of Ochiltree, a parish a few miles south 
 of Mauchline. According to Mr Chambers, he had sent a rhymed epistle to 
 Burns, on reading his satire of the " Twa Herds," which called forth the 
 following beautiful epistle in reply :— 
 
 I GAT your letter, winsome ^ Willie ; 
 Wi' gratefu' heart I thank you brawlie,'^ 
 Though I maun say 't, I wad be silly 
 
 And unco vain, 
 Should I believe, my coaxin' billie,' 
 
 Your flatterin' strain. 
 
 But I 'se believe ye kindly meant it, 
 I 8ud * be laith to think ye hinted 
 Ironic satire, sidelins sklented ^ 
 
 On my poor Musie ; 
 Though in sic phrasin'^ terms yo 've penn'd it, 
 
 I scarce excuse ye. 
 
 My senses wad be in a creel, *^ 
 Should I but dai-e a hope to speel, 
 Wi' Allan or wi' Gilbertfield,t 
 
 The braes o' fame ; 
 Or Fergusson,:}: the writer chiel, 
 
 A deathless name. 
 
 (O Fergusson, thy glorious parts 
 111 suited law's dry musty arts ! 
 My curse upon your whunstane hearts, 
 
 Ye E'nbrugh 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 whiles they 're like to be my dead, 
 
 (O sad disease !) 
 I kittle ^0 up my rustic reed ; 
 
 It gies me ease. 
 
 1 Hearty. 2 Heartily. » Fellow. * Should. 
 
 » Obliquely directed. ^ Flattering. " Cards. 
 
 8 Stored. » Rent. w Tickle. 
 
 * A basket. When a person's wits are supposed to be a wool-gathering, he 
 's said to be in a creel. 
 
 t AUarfi Ramsay, and William Hamilton of Gilbertfield, a forgotten poet and 
 contemporary of Ramsay's. 
 
 \ Robert Fergusson, the poet. 
 
CT. 27.] EPISTLES. 23s 
 
 A uld Coila * now may fidge fu' fain,^ 
 
 She 's gotten poets o' her ain, 
 
 Chiels 2 wha their chanters winna hain,^ 
 
 But tune their lays, 
 Till echoes a' resound again 
 
 Her weel-sung praise. 
 
 Nae 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 where wild-meeting oceans boil 
 
 Besouth Magellan. 
 
 Ramsay and famous Fergusson 
 Gied Forth and Tay a lift aboon ;^ 
 Yarrow and Tweed, to mony a tune, 
 
 Owre Scotland rings, 
 While Irwin, Lugar, Ayr, and Doon, 
 
 Naebody sings, 
 
 Th' Illiasus, Tiber, Thames, and Seine, 
 Glide sweet in mony a tunfu' line ! 
 But, Willie, set your fit to mine, 
 
 And cock ^ your crest. 
 We '11 gar ^ our streams and bumies shin© 
 
 Up wi' the best. 
 
 We '11 sing auld Coila's plains and fells. 
 Her moors red- brown wi' heather-bells, 
 Her banks and braes, her dens and dells. 
 
 Where glorious Wallace 
 Aft bare 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, Bweet are Coila's haughs ^ and woods, 
 AVhen lintwhites chant amang the buds. 
 And jinkin' ^^ hares, in amorous whidsjf 
 
 Their loves enjoy, 
 While through the braes the cushat croods^^ 
 
 With wailfu' cry ! 
 
 1 Fidget with joy, s Fellows. » Will not spare, * Above. 
 
 s Elevate. 6 Make. ^ Often bore the bell. 
 
 8 Their shoes red in blood. 9 Meadows. 10 Dodging 
 
 11 Coos. 
 
 * An application frequently applied by Burns to the district of Kyle, 
 t A word expressive of the quick, nimble movements of tue hure. 
 
23<5 EPISTLES. [1785. 
 
 Even winter bleak has charms to me, 
 "When winds rave through the naked tree ; 
 Or frosts on hills of Ochiltree 
 
 Are hoary gray : 
 Or blinding drifts wild-furious flee, 
 
 Darkening the day ! 
 
 O Nature ! a' thy shows and forms, 
 To feeling, pensive hearts hae charms ! 
 Whether the summer kindly warms 
 
 Wi' life and 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 war'ly race may drudge and drive, 
 Hog-shouther, jundie,'^ stretch, and 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 ! 
 
 While Highlandmen hate tolls and taxes ; 
 While moorlan' herds like guid fat braxies,* 
 While terra jirma on her axis 
 
 Diurnal turns. 
 Count on a friend, in faith and practice. 
 
 In Robert Burns. 
 
 POSTSCRIPT. 
 
 My memory 's no worth a preen : ^ 
 I had amaist forgotten clean 
 
 1 Found. 2 Jostle, push. ' Describe. ^ Hum over. 
 
 « Too long unknown to each other. « Struggle. 7 Rope. 
 
 «Pin. 
 
 * Sheep which have died of disease ; and which are understood to belong to 
 the shepherds as their perquisites. 
 
«T. 27.] EPISTLES. 
 
 Ye bade me write you what they mean 
 By this New Light,* 
 
 'Bout which our herds 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 of shoon,^ 
 "Wore by degrees, till her last roon ^ 
 
 Gaed past their viewing, 
 And shortly after she was done. 
 
 They gat a new one. 
 
 This pass'd for certain — undisputed : 
 It ne er cam i' their heads to doubt it, 
 Till chiels^ gat up and wad confute it, 
 
 And ca'd it wrang ; 
 And muckle din there was about it, 
 
 Baith loud and lang. 
 
 Some herds, weel leam'd upo' the beuk,^ 
 Wad threap^ auld folk the thing misteuk ;^^ 
 For 'twas the auld moon turn'd a neuk,^i 
 
 And out o' sight. 
 And backlins^^-comin', to the leuk ^3 
 
 She grew mair bright. 
 
 This was denied — it was aiBrm'd ; 
 
 The herds and hirsels^* were alarm'd ; 
 
 The reverend gray-beards raved and 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 and aiths to clours and nicks ;-^' 
 
 And mony a fallow gat his licks,i8 
 
 Wi' hearty crunt :^^ 
 And some, to learn them for their tricks, 
 
 Were hang'd and brunt. 
 
 237 
 
 1 Juveniles. 
 
 2 Give. 
 
 » Shoes. 
 
 « Shred. 
 
 » Argue. 
 
 10 Mifitook. 
 
 w Look. 
 
 14 Flocks. 
 
 17 Blows and cuts. 
 
 
 ' Lowland speech. 
 
 * Shirt. 
 
 7 Fellows. 
 
 8 Book. 
 
 11 Corner. 
 
 13 Backward* 
 
 15 Lads. 
 
 i« Fathers. 
 
 18 Got a beating. 
 
 w Dint. 
 
 * An allusion to the " Twa Herds," 
 
238 EPISTLES. [1785. 
 
 This game was play'd in mony lands, 
 And Auld-Llght caddies^ bure sic liands 
 That, faith, the youngsters took the sands 
 
 Wi' nimble shanks,^ 
 Till lairds forbade, by strict commands, 
 
 Sic bluidy pranks. 
 
 But New-Light herds gat sic a cowe,^ 
 Folk thought them ruin'd stick and stowe,* 
 Till now amaist on every knowe ^ 
 
 Ye '11 find ane placed ; 
 And some their New-Light fair avow. 
 
 Just quite barefaced. 
 
 Nae doubt the Auld-Light flocks are bleaiin' , 
 Their zealous herds are vex'd and sweatin' j 
 Mysel, I Ve even seen them greetin'^ 
 
 Wi' gimin'7 spite, 
 To hear the moon sae sadly lied on, 
 
 By word and write. 
 
 But shortly they "vyill cowe the loons ! 8 
 Some Auld-Light herds in neihor towns 
 Are mind't, in things thev ca' ballooni=!. 
 
 To tak a flight, 
 And stay ae month amang the moons, 
 
 And see them right. 
 
 Guid observation they will gie theni ; 
 
 And when the auld moon's gaun to lea'e them. 
 
 The hindmost shaird,^ they'll fetch it wi' them, 
 
 Just i' their pouch,^^ 
 And when the New-Light billies ^^ see them, 
 
 I think they'll crouch 1 
 
 Sae, ye observe that a' this clatter ^^ 
 
 Is naething but a "moonshine matter • " 
 
 But though dull prose-folk Latin splatter 
 
 In logic tulzie,^^ 
 I hope we bardies ken some better 
 
 Than mind sic brulzie.^4 
 
 THIRD EPISTLE TO JOHN LAPRAIK. 
 
 ITiis epistle did not appear in either of the editions of his works which the poe4 
 saw through the press. It was written while in the midst of his second har< 
 vest at Mossgiel — an unfortunate one as it proved ; for being both a late and % 
 wet season, an evil conjunction on the cold wet soil, half the crops were lost. 
 
 1 Fellows. a Legs. 8 Such a fright. * Stump and rump 
 
 " Hillock. fi Crying. 7 Grinning. e Rascals. 
 
 9 Shred. »o Pocket. Ji FeUo^r5. "Gossip. 
 
 18 Contention. 1* Broils. 
 
/EX. 27.J EPISTLES, 239 
 
 Septemde)' 13, 1785. 
 GuiD speed and furder* to you, Jolinny, • 
 Guid health, hale han's, and weather bonny; 
 Now when ye 're nickan^ down fu' canny 
 
 The staff o' bread, 
 May ye ne'er want a stoup o' bran'y 
 
 To clear your head. 
 
 May Boreas never thrash your rig8,+ 
 Nor kick your rickles ^ aff their legs, 
 Sendin' the stuff o'er muirs and haggs^ 
 
 Like drivin' wrack ; 
 But may the tapmast grain that wags 
 
 Come to the sack. 
 
 I 'm bizzie too, and skelpin'* at it, 
 But bitter, daudin''^ showers hae wat it, 
 Sae my auld stumpie pen I gat it 
 
 Wi' muckle wark. 
 And took my jocteleg^ and whatt^ it, 
 
 Like ony dark. 
 
 It 's now twa montli 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. 
 
 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 whisky stills, 
 
 They are the muses. 
 
 Your friendship, sir, I winna quat it, 
 
 And if ye mak objections at it, 
 
 Then han* in nievei^ some day we '11 knot^^ {^^ 
 
 And witness take, 
 And when wi' usquebae we 've wat it, 
 
 It winna break. 
 
 But if the beast and branks^^ \)q spared 
 Till kye be gaun^^ without the herd. 
 And a' the vitteP^ in the yard. 
 
 And theekit^s right, 
 
 ^ Cutting. 2 Stocks or shocks of com. 3 Morasses. 
 
 * Driving at it. « Wind-driven. « Clasp-knife. t Cut or sharpened it« 
 
 8 Muses. 9 Rouse. 10 Ale-house wives, 
 
 n Hand in fist. " Bind. 13 Bridle. H Going. 
 
 16 Victual. i«Thatche4 
 
 * Gk»od speed and success in furtherance to you. 
 t May Boreas never shak^ the corn in your ridgea. 
 
240 EPISTLES, [1785. 
 
 I mean your ingle-side to guard 
 
 Ae winter night. 
 
 Then muse-inspirin* aqua-vitae 
 
 Shall make us baith sae blithe and witty, 
 
 Till ye forget ye 're auld and gatty,^ 
 
 And be as canty ^ 
 As ye were nine year less than thretty,^ 
 
 Sweet ane and twenty ! 
 
 But stooks are cowpit* wi' the blast, 
 And now the sinn keeks ^ in the west, 
 Then I maun rin amang the rest, 
 
 And quat my chanter ; 
 Sae I subscribe myself in haste, 
 
 Yours, Rab the Ranter. 
 
 EPISTT^ TO THE REY. JOHN M'MATH. 
 
 The Pev. John M'Math was at this time assistant to the Rev. Peter Wodrt/w 
 of forbolton. As a copy of '* Holy Willie's Player" accompanied the epistle, 
 we need hardly say he was a member of the New-Light party. The bleak 
 ungenial harvest weather is very graphically pictured in the first verse. 
 
 Sejpteml^ 17 1786. 
 While at the stook the shearers* cower 
 To shun the bitter blaudiu' ^ shower. 
 Or in gulravage rinnin' scower^ 
 
 To pass the time, 
 To you I dedicate the hour 
 
 In idle rhyme. 
 
 My Musie, tii*ed wi' mony a sonnet 
 
 On gown, and ban', and douce ^ black bonnet, 
 
 Is grown right eerie ^^ now she 's done it. 
 
 Lest they should blame her. 
 And rouse their holy thunder on it 
 
 And anathem her. 
 
 I own 'twas rash, and rather hardy, 
 That I, a simple, country bardie, 
 Should meddle wi' a pack sae sturdy, 
 
 Wha, if they ken me, 
 Can easy, wi' a single wordie, 
 
 Lowse hell upon me. 
 
 But I gae mad at their grimaces, 
 Their sighin', cantin', grace-proud faces, 
 
 * Frail. 2 Happy. » Thirty. * Overturned. 
 
 « Sun blinks. 6 Harvest people ' Pelting 
 
 8 Run riotously fbr amusement. 'Sedate. 10 Timorous. 
 
^T.27.] EPISTLES, 241 
 
 Their three-mile prayers, and half-mile gi-aces, 
 Their raxin'-'- conscience, 
 
 Whase greed, revenge, and pride disgraces 
 "Waur nor 2 their nonsense. 
 
 There's Gawn,* misca't^ waur than a beast, 
 AVha has mair honour in his breast 
 Than mony scores as guid 's the priest 
 
 Wha sae abuse 't him. 
 And may a bard no crack his jest 
 
 What way they 've use't him ? 
 
 See him, the poor man's friend in need, 
 The gentleman in word and deed, 
 And shall his fame and honour bleed 
 
 By worthless skellums,* 
 And not a muse erect her head 
 
 To cowe the blellums?*^ 
 
 O Pope, had I thy satire's darts, 
 To gie the rascals their deserts, 
 I'd rip their rotten, hollow hearts, 
 
 And 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 colours hid be 
 
 Just for a screen. 
 
 An honest man may like a glass, 
 
 An honest man may like a lass. 
 
 But mean revenge, and malice fause,^ 
 
 He '11 still disdain, 
 And then cry zeal for gospel laws. 
 
 Like some we ken. 
 
 They take religiou in their mouth ; 
 They talk o' mercy, grace, and truth, 
 For what ? — to gie their malice skouth ^ 
 
 On some puir wight,8 
 And hunt him down, o'er right and ruth,^ 
 
 To ruin straight. 
 
 All hail, Religion ! maid divine ! 
 Pardon a Muse sae mean as mine, 
 
 I Stretching, 2 Worse than. 3 Misramed. 
 
 •* Wretches. s Fellows. c i'alae. 
 
 1 scope. 8 Fellow. » Mercy. 
 
 * Gavin Hamilton, Esq. 
 
24? EPISTLES. I1785. 
 
 Who, in her ronpjh imperfect line, 
 
 Thus daurs to name thee ; 
 
 To stigmatise false friends of thine 
 
 Can ne'er defame thee. 
 
 Though blotcht and foul wi' mony a stain, 
 
 And far unworthy of thy train, 
 
 With trembling voice I tune my strain 
 
 To join with those 
 Who boldly daur thy cause maintain 
 
 In spite o' foes : 
 
 In spite o* crowds, in spite o' mobs, 
 In spite o' undermining jobs. 
 In spite o' dark banditti stabs 
 
 At worth and merit. 
 By scoundrels, even wi' holy robes, 
 
 But hellish spirit. 
 
 O Ayr ! my dear, my native ground, 
 W^ithin thy presbyterial bound, 
 A candid liberal band is found 
 
 Of public teachers, 
 As men, as Christians too, renown'd. 
 
 And manly preachers. 
 
 Sir, in that circle you are named ; 
 Sir, in that circle you are famed ; 
 And some, by whom your doctrine 's blamed, 
 
 (Which gies you honour). 
 Even, sir, by them your heart 's esteem'd. 
 
 And winning manner. 
 
 Pardon this freedom I have ta*en, 
 And 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 
 
 Ought that belang'd ye. 
 
 SECOND EPISTLE TO DAVIE, 
 
 A BROTHEB POET. 
 
 AuLD Neibor, 
 
 I'm three times doubly o'er your debtor. 
 For your auld-farrant* frien'ly letter; 
 Though I maun say't, I doubt ye flatter, 
 
 Ye speak sae fair, 
 For my puir, silly, rhymin' clatter 
 
 Some less maun sair.' 
 
 1 Sagacious s Must serve 
 
iET. 27.] EPISTLES, 
 
 Hale "be your heart, hale be your fiddle ; 
 Lang may your elbuck jink and diddle/ 
 To cheer you through the weary widdle* 
 
 O' war'ly cares, 
 Till bairns' bairns kindly cuddle ^ 
 
 Your auld gray hairs. 
 
 But Davie, lad, L'm rede ye 're glaikit ; * 
 I 'm tauld the Muse ye hae negleckit ; 
 And gif it 's sae, ye sud be licket ^ 
 
 Until ye fyke ; ^ 
 Sic hauns as you sud ne'er be faiket,'' 
 
 Be haint ^ wha like. 
 
 For me, I 'm on Parnassus' brink 
 Eivin' 9 the words to gar ^^ them clink ; 
 Whiles dais't ^^ wi' love, whiles dais't wi' dri jk, 
 
 Wi' jads or masons ; 
 And whiles, but aye owre late, I think 
 
 Braw sober lessons. 
 
 Of a' the thoughtless sons o' man, 
 Commen' me to the bardie clan ; 
 Except it be some idle plan 
 
 O' rhymin' clink, 
 The devil-haet,^2 that I sud ban. 
 
 They ever thmk. 
 
 Nae thought, nae view, nae scheme o' livin', 
 
 Nae cares to gie us joy or grievin' ; 
 
 But just the pouchie ^^ put the nieve ^^ in. 
 
 And while onght's there, 
 Then hiltie skiltie,i^ we gae scrievinV^ 
 
 And fash ^^ nae mair 
 
 Leeze me ^^ on rhyme ! its aye a treasure. 
 My chief, amaist my only pleasure. 
 At hame, a-fiel', at wark, or leisure, 
 
 The Muse, poor hizzie ! ^^ 
 Though rough and raploch ^^ be her measure, 
 
 She 's seldom lazy. 
 
 Haud to the Muse, my dainty Davie : 
 The warl' may play you mony a shavie ; ^^ 
 But for the Muse she '11 never leave ye, 
 
 Though e'er so puir, 
 Na, even though limpin' wi' the spavie 22 
 
 Frae door to door. 
 
 243 
 
 1 Elbow dodge and jerk. 
 
 * I fear you are foolish. 
 
 7 Spared 8 Saved. 
 
 11 Stupid 12 The devil a bit. 
 
 15 Helter skelter. is Go smoothly. 
 
 18 A term of endearment, an expresaion of happiness or pleasure. 
 i» Lass. **> Coarse. «i Trick. 
 
 2 struggle. 
 
 « Fondle, 
 
 6 Should be beaten 
 
 6 Shrug. 
 
 » Twisting. 
 
 10 Wake. 
 
 18 Pocket. 
 
 " F 6t. 
 
 17 Trouble. 
 
 
 as Spavin. 
 
2 44 EPISTLES, [1785. 
 
 EPISTLE TO JAMES SMITH. 
 
 James Smith, one of Burns's earliest friends, was a merchant in Mauchline. 
 He was present at the scene in *' Poosie Nansie's," which sugg.-sted "Th* 
 Jolly Beggars." 
 
 " Friendship ! mysterious cement of the soul \ 
 Sweet'ner of life, and solder of society 1 
 I owe thee much." — Blair. 
 
 Dear Smith, the sleest,^ paukie^ thief. 
 That e'er attempted stealth or rief,^ 
 Ye surely hae some warlock breef ^ 
 
 Owre human hearts ; 
 For ne'er a bosom yet was prief ^ 
 
 Against your arts. 
 
 For me, I swear by sun and moon, 
 And every star that blinks aboon, 
 Ye've cost me twenty pair of shoon^ 
 
 Just gaun to see you ; 
 And every ither pair that 's done, 
 
 Alair ta'en I 'm wi' you. 
 
 That auld capricious carlin,'^ Nature, 
 To mak amends for scrimpit^ stature, 
 Sho '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 ta'en the fit o' rhyme, 
 My barraie^ noddle's working prime, 
 My fancy yerkit^® up sublime 
 
 "Wi' hasty summon : 
 Hae ye a leisure moment's time 
 
 To hear what 'a com in' ? 
 
 Some rhyme a neibor's name to lash ; 
 
 Some rhyme (vain thought !) for needfu' cash; 
 
 Some rhyme to court the country clash, ^^ 
 
 And raise a din ; **^ 
 For me, an aim I never fash ;^^ 
 
 I rhyme for fun. 
 
 The star that rules my luckless lot 
 
 Has fated me the russet coat, 
 
 And damn'd my fortune to the groat ; 
 
 But in requit, 
 Has blest me wi' a random shot 
 
 O' country wit. 
 
 1 Slyest. 2 Knowing. ^ Robbery. < Spell. 
 
 » Proof. 6 Shoes ^ Woman. 8 Stinted 
 
 9 Yeasty. lo Fermented. " Gossip. i^ Noise. 
 13 Trouble. 
 
ACT. 27.] EPISTLES. 24s 
 
 This while my notion 's ta'en a sklent,^ 
 To try my fate in guid black i)rent ; 
 But still, the mair I 'm that way bent, 
 
 Something cries, "Hooliel' 
 I rede^ you, honest man, tak tent,^ 
 
 Ye '11 shaw your folly. 
 
 "There's ither poets much your betters, 
 F;ir seen in Greek, deep men o' letters, 
 Hae thought they had insured their debtors 
 
 A' future ages ; 
 Now moths deform in shapeless tatters 
 
 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 and howes** 
 
 My rustic sang. 
 
 1*11 wander on, with tentless^ heed 
 How never-halting moments speed, 
 Till Fate shall snap the brittle thread ; 
 
 Then, all unknown, 
 I '11 lay me with the inglorious dead, 
 
 Forgot and gone I 
 
 But why o' death begin a tale ? 
 
 Just now we 're living sound and hale, 
 
 Then top and maintop crowd the sail. 
 
 Heave Care owre side ! 
 And large, before Enjoyment's gale, 
 
 I<et 's tak the tide. 
 
 This life, sae far 's I understand, 
 
 Is a' enchanted fairy-land, 
 
 "Where Pleasure is the magic Avand, 
 
 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-and forty 's speel'd,'^ 
 See, crazy, weary, joyless Eild,^ 
 
 Wi wrinkled face. 
 Comes hostin',9 hirplin',^^ owre the field, 
 
 Wi' creepin' pace. 
 
 1 Twist. a Beware. » Warn. 4 Care. 
 
 6 Hollows. « Aimless. » Climbed. 8 Age. 
 
 e Coughing. 10 Limping. 
 
2a6 epistles. [1785. 
 
 When ance life's day draws near the gloamin*. 
 Then fareweel vacant careless roamin' ; 
 And fareweel cheerfu' tankards foamin*, 
 
 And social noise ; 
 And fareweel, dear deluding woman ! 
 
 The joy of joys ! 
 
 O Life ! how pleasant is thy morning, 
 Young Fancy's rays the hills adorning ! 
 Cold-pausing Caution's lesson scorning, 
 
 We frisk away. 
 Like schoolboys, at the 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, 
 
 i\m(>ng the leaves ; 
 And though the puny wound appear. 
 
 Short while it grieves. 
 
 Some, lucky, find a flowery spot, 
 For which they never toil'd or 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 ; 
 
 Through fail*, through 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 observin' ; 
 To right or left, eternal swervin', 
 
 They zig-zag on ; 
 Till curst with age, obscure and starvin', 
 
 They aften groan. 
 
 Alas ! what bitter toil and straining — 
 But truce with peevish, poor complaining ! 
 Is Fortune's fickle Luna wanmg ? 
 
 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, 
 
 1 Sweated. 2 Quietly. » Snug. * Fellowa. 
 
MT. 27.] EPISTLES. 247 
 
 Grant me but tliis, I ask no more, 
 
 Aye rowth.! o' rhymes. 
 
 " Gie dreeping roasts to country lairds, 
 Till icicles hing frae their beards ; 
 Gie fine braw claes to fine life-guards, 
 
 And maids of honour 
 And yill and whisky gie to cairds,^ 
 
 Until they sconnor.* 
 
 ** A title, Dempster* merits it ; 
 
 A garter gie to Willie Pitt ; 
 
 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 ee 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. 
 
 O ye douce 7 folk, that live by rule, 
 Grave, tideless-blooded, calm and cool, 
 Compared wi' you — O fool ! fool ! fool I 
 
 How much unlike ! 
 Your hearts are just a standing pool. 
 
 Your lives a dike ! ^ 
 
 Nae harebrain'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 ; 
 Nae ferly^ though ye do despise 
 The hairum-scairum, ram-stam^^^ boys, 
 The rattling squad : 
 
 1 Abundance. 2 Tinkers. s Are nauseated. 
 
 * Broth made without meat. « Ear. « Stoop. 
 
 7 Serious. » Blank as a wall. 9 Wonder. 10 Reckless. 
 
 * George Dempster of Duunichen, a parliamentary orator of the time. 
 
248 POEMS, [1786. 
 
 1 see you upward cast your eyes— 
 Ye ken the road. 
 
 Whilst I — ^bufc I shall haud me there— 
 Wi' you I '11 scarce gang ony where — 
 Then, Jamie, I shall say nae mair, 
 
 But quat my sang, 
 Content wi' you to mak a pair, 
 
 "VVhare'er I gang. 
 
 EPISTLE TO GAVIN HAMILTON, Esq.. 
 
 KECO]^IMENDING A BOY. 
 
 Gavin Hamilton, solicitor in Mauchline, was a warm and jrenerous friend of the 
 poet's, a New-Light partisan who had suffered from Auld-Light persecutions^ 
 a fact which did not tend to lessen Burns's respect for him. With referenca 
 to the Master Tootie of this epistle, Cromek tells us, •' He lived in Mauchline, 
 and dealt in cows. It was his common practice to cut the nicks or markings 
 from the horns of cattle, to disguise their age, and so bring a higher price." 
 
 MosGAViLLB, May 3, 1786. 
 
 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, 
 
 And wad hae done't aff han' '?- 
 But lest he learn the callan^ tricks. 
 
 As, faith, I muckle doubt him, 
 Like scrapin' out auld Crummie's nicks,* 
 And tellin' lies about them : 
 As lieve ^ then, I 'd have then. 
 
 Your clerkship he should sair, 
 If sae be, ye may be 
 Not fitted other where. 
 
 Although I say 't, he 's gleg ^ enough. 
 And 'bout a house that 's rude and rough, 
 
 The boy might learn to swear ; 
 But then wi' you lie '11 be sae taught. 
 And get sic fair example straught, 
 
 I haena ony fear. 
 Ye '11 catechise him every quirk. 
 
 And shore ^ him weel wi' hell ; 
 And gar^ him follow to the kirk — 
 
 Aye when ye gang yoursel. 
 
 I Off hand. 2 Boy. » More willingly. 
 
 * Sharp. 6 Threaten. « Make. 
 
 * See introduction to this epistle. 
 
/ET. 28.] EPISTLES, 249 
 
 If ye then, maun be then 
 
 Erae hame this comm' Friday ; 
 Then please, sir, to lea'e, sir, 
 
 The orders wi' your lady. 
 
 My word of honour 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. 
 And name the airles ^ and the fee, 
 
 In legal mode and form : 
 I ken he weel a sneck can draw,^ 
 
 When simple bodies let him ; 
 And if a devil be at a', 
 In faith he 's sure to get him. 
 To phrase you, and praise you, 
 Ye ken your laureate scorns : 
 The prayer still, you share still, 
 Of grateful ]VIinstrel Burns. 
 
 POETICAL INVITATION TO MR JOHN KENNEDY. 
 
 This rhymed epistle was accomj^anied by a prose letter, and a copy of the "Cot 
 ter's Saturday Night," Kennedy had interested himself greatly in the success 
 of the Kilmarnock edition of the poems. He was afterwards factor to the 
 Mariiuis of Breadalbane. 
 
 Now Kenned}', if foot or horse 
 
 E'er bring you in by Mauchline corse,* 
 
 Lord, man, there 's lasses there wad force 
 
 A hermit's fancy ; 
 And down the gate, in faith they 're worse. 
 
 And mair unchancy. 
 
 But, as I *m sayin', please step to Dow's, 
 And taste sic gear as Johnnie brews, 
 Till some bit callant ^ bring me news 
 \ That you are there ; 
 And if we dinna hand a bouze 
 
 I *se ne'er drink mair. 
 
 It 's no I like to sit and swallow, 
 Then like a swine to puke and wallow ; 
 But gie me just a true good fallow, 
 
 Wi' right ingine,^ 
 And spunkie,'' ance to make us mellow. 
 
 And then we '11 shine. 
 
 1 Avaricious creature. 2 Earnest money. » Can take advantage. 
 
 4 Mauchline market oross. 6 Boy. « Genius or temperament, 
 
 1 Whisky is meant. 
 
250 EPISTLES, [1786. 
 
 Now, if ye 're ane 0' warld'a folk, 
 Wha rate the wearer by the cloak, 
 And sklent^ on poverty their joke, 
 
 Wi' bitter sneer, 
 Wi' you no friendship will I troke,^ 
 
 Nor cheap nor dear. 
 
 But if, as I 'm informed weel, 
 Ye hate, as ill 's the very deil, 
 The flinty heart that canna feel — 
 
 Come, sir, here 's tae you ! 
 Hae, there 's my haun', I wiss you weel, 
 
 And guid be wi* you. 
 
 EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND. 
 
 This epistle was addressed to Andrew Aiken, the son of his old friend Robert 
 Aiken, writer in Ayr. Andrew Aiken afterwards earned dlstinctioo in the 
 service of his country. 
 
 May 1786. 
 I LANG hae thought, my youthfu* friend, 
 
 A something to have sent you. 
 Though 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 f u' soon, my lad. 
 
 And, Andrew dear, believe me. 
 You'll find mankind an unco squad,^ 
 
 And muckle they may grieve ye : 
 For care and trouble set your thought. 
 
 Even when your end 's attain'd ; 
 And a' youi views may come to nought, 
 
 Where every nerve is strain'd. 
 
 I '11 no say men are villains a' ; 
 
 The real, harden'd, wicked, 
 Wha hae nae check but human law, 
 
 Are to a few restricked ; 
 But, och ! mankind are unco ^ weak. 
 
 And 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 shouldna censure. 
 For still the important end of life 
 
 They equally may answer ; 
 
 1 Throw. 2 Exchange. » Queer lot. * Very 
 
«T. 28.] EPISTLES, 2^1 
 
 A man may hae an honest heart, 
 
 Though poortith ^ hourly stare him ; 
 
 h man may tak a neibor's part, 
 Yet hae na cash to spare him. 
 
 Aye free, aff han' ^ your story tell, 
 
 When wi' a bosom crony ; ^ 
 But still keep something to yoursel 
 
 Ye scarcely tell to ony. 
 Conceal yoursel, as weel 's ye can 
 
 Frae critical dissection ; 
 But keek ^ through every other man, 
 
 Wi' sharpened, sly inspection. 
 
 The sacred lowe o' weel-placed love, 
 
 Luxuriantly indulge it ; 
 But never tempt the illicit rove. 
 
 Though naething should divulge it : 
 I waive the q aantum o' the sin, 
 
 The hazard of concealiag ; 
 But, och ! it hardens a' within, 
 
 And petrij&es the feeling ! 
 
 To catch dame "Fortune's golden smile^ 
 
 Assiduous wait upon her ; 
 And gather gear ^ by every wile 
 
 That 's justified by honour ; 
 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 baud the wretch in order ; 
 
 But where ye feel your honour grip, 
 Let that aye be your border : 
 
 Its 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 rang3. 
 
 Be complaisance extended ; 
 An atheist laugh 's a poor exchange 
 
 For Deity offended ! 
 
 1 Poverty 2 OfT hand. ' Boon compauioa 
 
 * To look pryingly. 6 Wealth. 
 
252 EPISTLES. [J786. 
 
 WHien 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 corresiDondence 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 th' adviser ! 
 
 EPISTLE TO MR M'ADAM OF CRAIGENGILLAN. 
 
 The following was written on receiving a letter, congratulating him on his poeti* 
 efforts, from Mr M 'Adam : — 
 
 Sir, o'er a gill I gat your card, 
 
 I trow ^ it made me proud ; 
 *' See wha taks notice o' the bard ! " 
 
 I lap 2 and cried f u' loud, 
 
 Now deil-ma-care about their jaw, 
 
 The senseless, gawky ^ million ; 
 I '11 cock my nose aboon them a' — 
 
 I 'm roos'd ** by Craigengillan ! 
 
 *Twas noble, sir ; 'twas like yoursel. 
 
 To grant your high protection : 
 A great man's smile, ye ken fu' well. 
 
 Is aye a blest infection. 
 
 Though by his * banes wha in a tub 
 
 Match'd Macedonian Sandy ! f 
 On my ain legs, through dirt and dub, 
 
 I independent stand aye. 
 
 And when those legs to guid warm kail,^ 
 
 Wi' welcome canna bear me 
 A lee dike-side, 6 a sybow 'f tail, 
 
 And barley scone '^ shall cheer me. 
 
 * Vow. 2 Leaped. « Silly. « Praised. 
 
 6 Broth. A shady wall-side. ' The young onion. 8 Cake. 
 
 * Diogtnee. f Alexander the Great. 
 
«T. 28.] EPISTLES. 253 
 
 Heaven spare you lang to kiss the breath 
 
 O' mony flowery simmers ! 
 And bless your bonny lasses baith — 
 
 I 'm tauld they 're lo'esome kiramers ! ^ 
 
 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. 
 
 EPISTLE TO MAJOR LOGAN. 
 
 Major Logan, a retired military oflScer, lived at Park House, near Ayr, witli his 
 mother and sister — the latter the Miss Logan to whom Burns addressed soma 
 verses, with a present of Bea'ttie's poems. The major was a man after Burns's 
 own heart, a capital companion, abounding in humorous sallies, and a first- 
 rate violinist, well-known to, and much in favour with, the celebrated Neil 
 Gow. 
 
 Hail, thairm^-inspirin', rattlin' Willie ! 
 Though Fortune's road be rough and hilly 
 To every fiddling, rhyming billie, 
 
 We never heed, 
 But tak it like the unback'd filly, 
 Proud 0' her speed. 
 
 When idly goavan ^ whiles we saunter, 
 
 Yirr, Fancy barks, awa' we canter. 
 
 Up hill, down brae, till some mischanter,^ 
 
 Some black bog-hole, 
 An'ests us, then the scaith and banter 
 
 We're forced to thole.^ 
 
 Hale be your heari. ! 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 cummock driddle ^ 
 
 A gray-hair'd carl. 
 
 Come wealth, come poortith,^ late or soon, 
 Heaven send your heart-strings aye in tune, 
 And screw your temper-pins aboon, 
 
 A fifth or mair, 
 The melancholious, lazy croon ^^ 
 
 O' cankrie care ! ^^f 
 
 May still your life from day to day 
 Nae lenU largo in the play, 
 
 1 Heart-enticing creatures. 2 Fiddle-string. s Walking aimlessly. 
 
 4 Mishap. s Bear. « Elbow dodge and jerk. 7 Struggle. 
 
 8 Until you hobble on a stafiF. £> Poverty. 10 Drone 
 
 ♦ These two lines also occur in the Second Epistle to Davie, 
 
254 htlSTLhS, [1786. 
 
 But allegretto forte gay 
 
 Harmonious flow : 
 A sweeping, kindling, banld strathspey — 
 
 Encore ! Bravo ! 
 
 A blessing on the cheery gang 
 Wha dearly like a jig or sang, 
 And never think o' right and wrang 
 
 By square and rule, 
 But as the clegs ^ o' feeling stang 
 
 Are wise or fool ! 
 
 My hand- waled ^ curse keep hard in chase 
 The harpy, hoodock,^ purse-proud race. 
 Wha count on poortith as disgrace — 
 
 Their tuneless hearts ! 
 May fireside discords jar a base 
 
 To a* their parts ! 
 
 But come, your hand, my careless brither— 
 I* th' ither warl', if there 's anither — 
 And 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 bonny squad, priests wyte ^ them sheerly,'^ 
 
 For our grand fa' ; 
 But still — but still— I like them dearly — 
 
 God bless them a' ! 
 
 Ochon ! for poor Castalian drinkers, 
 When they fa' foul o' earthly jinkers,^ 
 The witching, cursed, delicious blinkers * 
 
 Hae put me hyte,io 
 And gart me weet my waukrife winkers,^^ 
 
 Wi girnin' ^2 spite. 
 
 But by yon moon ! — and that 's high swearin* — 
 And every star within my hearin' ! 
 And by her een wha was a dear ane ! * 
 
 I '11 ne'er forget ; 
 I hope to gie the jads^^ g, clearin' 
 
 In fair play yet. 
 
 1 Gadflies. ^ Chosen, s Money-loving. ■* Doubt. 
 
 * Jole. 6 Blame. ^ Sorely. 8 Sprightly girla 
 
 » Pretty girls. 10 Mad. " Sleepy eyelids. 12 (Jrinuing. 
 1* Lasses. 
 
 * An allusion to the unfortunate termination of his courtship with Jean Armour 
 
MT, 2S.J EPISTLES, 255 
 
 My loss I mourn, but no6 repent it, 
 I '11 seek my pursie whare I tint ^ it, 
 Ance to the Indies I were ■wonted, 
 
 Some cantrip ^ hour. 
 By some sweet elf 1 11 yet be dinted, 
 
 Then, Vive Vamouri 
 
 Faites mes haisemains respectueuses. 
 
 To sentimental sister Susie, 
 
 And honest Lucky ; no to roose ^ ye, 
 
 Ye may be proud, 
 That sic a couple Fate allows ye 
 
 To grace your blood. 
 
 Nae mair at present can I measure, 
 
 And trouth 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 himsel the pleasure 
 
 To call at Park. 
 
 Robert Burns, 
 
 MossQiBL, Oct. 30, 1788. 
 
 TO THE GUIDWIFE OF WAUCHOPE HOUSE. 
 
 Mrs Scott of Wauchope, to whom this epistle was addressed, was a lady of con- 
 siderable taste and talent, a writer of verse, and something of an artist. Sha 
 was niece to Mrs Cockburn, authoress of a beautiful version oi "The Flowera 
 of the Forest." 
 
 GuiDWIFE, 
 
 I mind it weel, in early date, 
 
 When I was beardless, young, and blate,* 
 
 And first could thrash the barn. 
 Or baud a yokin' at the pleugh ; 
 And 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 mom 
 Could rank my rig and lass. 
 Still shearing, and clearing. 
 
 The tither stooked raw, 
 Wi' claivers and haivers 7 
 Wearing the day awa'. 
 
 Even then, a wish, (I mind its power,) 
 A wish that to my latest hour 
 Shall strongly heave my breast — 
 
 1 Lost. 2 Witching. » Praise. * Bashful. 
 
 6 Fatigued. « Rest. 7 Idle 8torie« and gossip. 
 
2S(i EPISTLES. [1787. 
 
 That I, for poor auld Scotland's sake, 
 Some usefu' plan or beuk could make, 
 
 Or sing a sang at least. 
 The rough burr- thistle, spreading wide . 
 
 Amang the bearded bear, 
 I tum'd the weeder-clips aside, 
 And spared the symbol dear : 
 No nation, no station. 
 
 My envy e'er could raise, 
 A Scot still, but blot still, 
 I knew nae higher praise. 
 
 But still the elements o' sang, 
 
 In formless jumble, right and wrang. 
 
 Wild floated in my brain ; 
 Till on that haiist^ I said before, 
 My partner in the merry core. 
 
 She roused the forming strain : 
 I see her yet, the sonsie quean, ^ 
 
 That lighted up my jingle, 
 Her witching smile, her pauky cen, 
 That gart^ my heart-strings tingle! 
 I fired, inspired, 
 
 At every kindling keek,* 
 But bashing, and dashing, 
 I feared aye to speak. 
 
 Health to the sex ! ilk guid chieP says, 
 Wi' merry dance in winter-days. 
 And we to share in common : 
 The gust o' joy, the balm of woe. 
 The saul o' life, the heaven beloAV, 
 
 Is rapture -giving woman. 
 Ye surly sumphs,^ who hate the name, 
 
 Be mindfu' o' your mither : 
 She, honest woman, may think shame 
 That ve 're connected with her. 
 Ye re wae^ men, ye 're nae men. 
 
 That slight the lovely deai's ; 
 To shame ye, disclaim ye. 
 Ilk honest birkie ^ swears. 
 
 For you, no bred to barn and byre, 
 "Wha sweetly tune the Scottish lyre. 
 
 Thanks to you for your line : 
 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,^^ 
 
 Douce hingin'i2 owre my curple,^' 
 
 1 Harvest 2 Comely lass. 3 Made. •* Glance. 
 
 5 Fellow. 6 Blockheads. » Woeful. 8 jj'ellow. 
 
 9 Worn. 10 Proud. *» Covering. 
 
 12 Ihavely hanging. la Rump. 
 
jKT. 29.] EPISTLES, 25.7 
 
 Than ony ermine ever lap, 
 Or proud imperial purple. 
 Fareweel then, lang heal then, 
 
 And plenty be your fa' ; 
 May losses and crosses 
 Ne'er at your hallan^ ca'! 
 
 EPISTLE TO WILLIAM CREECH. 
 
 William Creech was the publisher of the first Edinburgh edition of the poet's 
 works. He was the most celebrated publisher of his time in Edinburgh ; and 
 it was his good fortune to be the medium through which the works of the 
 majority of tha: band of eminent men who made Edinburgh the head-quarters 
 of literature during the latter half of the eighteenth century, passed to the 
 world. This epistle was written during the poet's Border tour, and while 
 Creech wa.'' in London. 
 
 AuLD chuckie^ Reekie's^ sair distrest, 
 Down droops her ance weel-burnisht crest, 
 Nae joy her bonny buskit* nest 
 
 Can yield ava,* 
 Her darling bird that she lo'es best, 
 
 Willie 's awa' ! 
 
 O Willie was a witty wight,* 
 And had o' things an^nco slight -^ 
 Auld Reekie aye he keepit tight. 
 
 And trig and braw ; 
 But now they 'U busk her like a fright— 
 
 Willie 's awa' ! 
 
 The stiffest o* them a' he bow'd ; 
 The bauldest o' them a' he cow'd ; 
 They durst nae mair than he allow'd. 
 
 That was a law ; 
 "We 've lost a birkie^ weel worth gowd— 
 
 Willie 's awa' ! 
 
 Now gawkies, tawpies, gowks, ^ and fools, 
 Frae colleges and boarding-schools. 
 May sprout like simmer puddock^^-stoolij 
 
 In glen or shaw ; 
 He wha could brush them down to mools ^^ — 
 
 Willie 's awa' ! 
 
 The brethren o' the Commerce-Chaumer* 
 May mourn their loss wi' doolfu' clamour ; 
 
 I Porch. 2 Literally a hen. » Edinburgh. 4 Deoordted. 
 
 5 At all. « Fellow. 7 A great knowledge. 8 Fellow. 
 
 » Sii;:ipletons, sluts — gowk means literally cuckoo, also a fool. 
 10 Toad. li The dust. 
 
 *• The Chamber of Commerce, of which Creech was secrctazy. 
 
 R ~" 
 
258 EPISTLES. 
 
 He was a dictionar and grammar 
 Amang them a' ; 
 
 I fear tliey '11 now mak mony a stammer ^— 
 Willie 's awa' ! 
 
 Nae mair we see his levee door 
 
 Philosophers and poets pour, 
 
 And toothy critics by the score, 
 In bloody raw ! 
 
 The adjutant o' a* the core- 
 Willie 's awa' ! 
 
 Now worthy Gregory's * Latin face, 
 Tytler'sf and Greenfield's % modest grace; 
 Mackenzie, § Stewart, |1 sic a brace 
 
 As Rome ne'er saw ; 
 They a' maun* meet some ither place — 
 
 Willie 's awa' ! 
 
 Poor Bums — e'en Scotch drink canna quicken, 
 He cheeps^ like some bewilder'd chicken, 
 Scared frae its minnie* and the cleckin* 
 
 By hoodie-craw ; 
 Grief 's gien his heart an unco kickin' — 
 
 Willie 's awa' ! 
 
 Now every sour-mou'd girnin' blellum,*^ 
 And Calvin's folk, are fit to fell him ; 
 And self-conceited critic skellum'' 
 
 His quill may draw ; 
 He wha could brawlie^ ward theii' helium 9 — 
 
 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^o o^t to bleach 
 
 In winter snaw, 
 When I forget thee, Willie Creech, 
 
 Though far awa' ! 
 
 [1787 
 
 1 Stumble. 
 6 Brood. 
 » Attacks. 
 
 « Must. 
 
 « Talking fellow, 
 w Stretched. 
 
 » Chirps. 
 
 ^ A term of contempt. 
 
 4 Mother. 
 « Easily. 
 
 * Dr James Gregory. 
 
 X Professor of Rhetoric in the University. 
 
 § Henry Mackenzie 
 
 t Tjtler of Woodhouselet, 
 I Dugald Stewari 
 
^T. 29.] EPISTLES. 
 
 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' ! 
 
 259 
 
 EPISTLE TO HUGH PARKER. 
 
 Mr Hugh Parker was a Kilmarnock merchant, and an earif friend and ad- 
 mirer of the poet's. 
 
 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 stachert^ through it ; 
 
 Here, ambush'd by the chimla cheek,7 
 
 Hid in an atmosphere of reek,^ 
 
 I hear a wheel thrum i' the neuk,® 
 
 I hear it — for in vain I leuk. 
 
 The red peat gleams, a fiery kernel, . 
 
 Erxhusked 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, 
 
 1 'm dwindled down to mere existence ; 
 
 Wi' nae converse but Gallowa' bodies, 
 
 AVi' nae kenn'd face but Jenny Geddes.i* 
 
 Jenny, my Pegasean pride ! 
 
 Dowie ^^ she saunters down Nithside, 
 
 And aye 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 1 
 
 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. 
 
 To canter with the Sagitarre, 
 
 Or k)up the ecliptic like a bar ; 
 
 iTeaze. 
 
 2 Bother. 
 
 8 Head. 
 
 < CheerftiL 
 
 6 Limped- 
 
 « Staggered. 
 
 T Chimney coraer. 
 
 8 Smoke. 
 
 9 Corner. 
 
 10 Sadly. 
 
 " Hop. 
 
 " Gentle. 
 
 13 Hollows. 
 
 " Raise. 
 
 
 
 • A series of sh;;rp-pointed spikes through which flax is drawn in dressing U 
 for manufacture. Its application here is obvious. 
 ■t The poet's mare. 
 
26o EPISTLES, [178a 
 
 Or turn the pole like any arrow ; 
 
 Or, when auld Phoebus bids good-morrow, 
 
 Down the zodiac urge the race, 
 
 And cast dirt on his godship's face ; 
 
 For I could lay my bread and kail 
 
 He 'd ne'er cast saut upo' thy taiL 
 
 Wi' a' this care and a' this grief, 
 
 And sma', sma' prospect of relief, 
 
 And nought but peet-reek i' my head, 
 
 How can I write what ye can read ? 
 
 Torbolton, twenty-fourth o' June, 
 
 Ye '11 find me in a better tune ; 
 
 But till we meet and weot ^ our whistle, 
 
 Tak this excuse for nae epistle. 
 
 Robert Burns, 
 
 FIRST EPISTLE TO R. GRAHAM, ESQ. OF FINTRY. 
 
 Robert Graham of Fintry was a Commissioner of Excise, In August 1788, Bums, 
 in writing to Mrs Dunlop, enclosed fourteen lines of this epistle, and says, 
 "Since I am in the way of transcribing, the following lines were the produc- 
 tion of yesterday, as I jogged through the wild hills of New Cumnock. I 
 intend inserting them, or something like them, in an epistle which I am going 
 to write to the gentleman on whose friendship my Excise hopes depend, Mr 
 Graham of Fintry, one of the worthiest and most accomplished gentlemen, 
 not only of this country, but, I will dare to say, of this age." 
 
 When Nature her great masterpiece 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 knights and squires ; 
 
 The martial phosphorus is taught to flow, 
 
 She kneads the lumpish philosophic dough. 
 
 Then marks th' unyielding mass with grave desigiis, 
 
 Law, physic, politics, and deep divines : 
 
 Last, she sublimes th' 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 ; 
 
30-] EPISTLES. 261 
 
 But ere she gave creating labour o'er, 
 Half -jest, she tried one curious labour more. 
 Some spumy, fiery, ignis-fatuus matter, 
 Such as the slightest breath of air might scatter; 
 . "With arch alacrity and conscious glee 
 (Nature may have her whim as well as we, 
 Her Hogarth-ai-t perhaps she meant to show it) 
 She forms the thing, and christens it— a Poet, 
 Creature, though oft the prey of care and sorrow. 
 When blest to-day, unmindful of to-morrow. 
 A being form'd t' 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 frequent all unheeded in his own. 
 
 But honest Kature 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 stuff. 
 
 That never gives— though humbly takes enough; 
 
 The little fate allows, they share as soon, 
 
 Unhke sage, proverb'd, wisdom's hard-wrung boon. 
 
 T tie 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 sou, 
 
 Who life and wisdom at one race begun. 
 
 Who feel by reason and who give by rule, 
 
 (Instinct's a brute, and sentiment a fool!) 
 
 Who make poor will do wait upon / should — 
 
 We own they're prudent, but who feds they're good? 
 
 Ye wise ones, hence ! ye hurt the social eye ! 
 
 God's image rudely etch'd on base alloy 1 
 
 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 givest with all a courtier's grace; 
 Friend of my life, true patron of my rhymes ! 
 Prop of my dearest hopes for future times. 
 Why shrinks my soul half -blushing, half -afraid, 
 Backward, abash'd to ask thy friendly aid? 
 
262 EPISTLES, [1789L 
 
 I know my need, T 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 I 
 - 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 gate the lark's shrill song ascends, 
 But grovelling on the earth the carol ends. 
 
 In all the clam'rous cry of starving want, 
 
 They dun benevolence with shameless front ; 
 
 Oblige them, patronise their tinsel lays, 
 
 They persecute you all your future days ! 
 
 Ere my poor soul such deep damnation stain, 
 
 My homy fist assume the plough again ; 
 
 The piebald jacket let me patch once more ; 
 
 On eighteenpence a week I 've lived before. 
 
 Though, thanks to Heaven, I dare even that last shift I 
 
 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. 
 
 EPISTLE TO JAMES TAIT OF GLENCONNER. 
 
 It was Tait of Glenconner who accompanied Burns in his Nithsdale tour, and 
 advised him respecting EUisIand. In writing to a correspondent, he says, "1 
 am just returned from Miller's farm. My old friend, whom I took with me, 
 was highly pleased with the bargain, and advised me to accept of it. He is 
 the most intelligent, sensible farmer in the county, and his advice has snig- 
 gered me a good deiil." The persons alluded to in the poem were either Mi 
 Tait's neighbours or friends. 
 
 AuLD comrade dear, and brither sinner, 
 How 's a' the folk about Glenconner ? 
 How do ye this blae eastlin win*, 
 That 's like to blaw a body blin' ? 
 For me, my faculties are frozen. 
 My dearest member nearly dozen'. ^ 
 I 've sent you here, by Johnnie Simson, 
 Twa sage philosophers to glimpse on ! 
 Smith, wi' his sympathetic feeling, 
 And Reid, to common sense appealing. 
 Philosophers have fought and wrangled, 
 And meikle Greek and Latin mangled, 
 Till wi' their logic- jargon tired. 
 And in the depth of science mired, 
 
 1 Numbed. 
 
iET. 31.] EPISTLES, 263 
 
 To common sense they now appeal, 
 "What wives and vvabsfcers^ see and feel. 
 But, hark ye, frien' ! I charge you strictly. 
 Peruse them, and return them quickly, 
 For now I'm grown sae cursed douce ^ 
 I pray and ponder butt the house ; 
 My shins, my lane,^ I there sit roastin', 
 Perusing Bunyan, Brown, and Boston ; 
 Till by and by, if I haud on, 
 I '11 grvint 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 and gasping in her gore : 
 Sae shortly you shall see me bright, 
 A burning and a shining light. 
 
 My heart-warm love to guid auld Glen, 
 The ace and wale^ of honest men : 
 When bending down wi' auld gray hairs, 
 Beneath the load of years and cai-es. 
 May He who made him still support him. 
 And views beyond the grave conifort him. 
 His worthy familv, far and near, 
 God bless them a wi' grace and gear! 
 
 My auld schoolfellow, preacher Willie, 
 
 The manly tar, my Mason Billie, 
 
 And Auchenbay, I wish him joy ; 
 
 If he 's a parent, lass or boy, 
 
 May he be dad, and Meg the mither, 
 
 Just five-and-f orty years thegither ! 
 
 And no forgetting Wabster Charlie, 
 
 I 'm tauld he offers very fairly. 
 
 And, Lord, remember Singing Sannock, 
 
 Wi' hale-breeks,^ saxpence, and a bannock.'^ 
 
 And next my auld acquaintance, Nancy, 
 
 Since she is fitted to her fancy ; 
 
 And her kind stars hae airted^ till her 
 
 A good chiel 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'll aiblins^i fin' them fashious;^* 
 
 To grant a heart is fairly civil. 
 
 But to grant a maidenhead 's the devil. 
 
 And lastly, Jamie, for yoursel. 
 
 May guardian angels tak a spell, 
 
 And steer you seven miles south o* hell ; 
 
 >■ Weavers. * Serious. ' By myself. * Magpie. 
 
 • Choice. 6 Whole breeches. 7 Oat cake. 
 
 8 Directed. » Some money. 1® Fellows. 11 Perhaoa. 
 M Troublesom« 
 
264 EPISTLLS. [1789. 
 
 But first, before you see heaven's glory, 
 May ye get mony a merry story, 
 Mony a laugh, and mony a drink, 
 And aye eneugh o' needfu* clink. ^ 
 
 Now fare ye weel, and 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 quat my chanter. 
 Yours, saint or sinner, 
 
 Rob the Ranter. 
 
 EPISTLE TO DR BLACKLOCK, 
 
 IN ANSWER TO A LETTER. 
 
 Dr Blacklock, the blind poet, had been educated for the Church, but In conse 
 queuce of his blindness was disappointed of a charge. He kept a boarding- 
 school for young men attending college. He was much respected by the 
 literati of the town ; but, what is more important, it was his letter to Mi 
 George Lawrie of Kilmarnock, the friend of Burns, which fired the poet's 
 ambition, and induced his visit to Edinburgh, and the abandonment of his 
 projected departure for the "West Indies. This was no solitary instance of Dr 
 Blacklock's judgment in discerning talent and encouraging it. Professor 
 Walker says, *' If the young men were enumerated whom he drew from ob- 
 scurity, and enabled, by education, to advance themselves in life, the catalogue 
 would naturally excite surprise." 
 
 Ellisland, October 21, 1789. 
 
 Wow, but your letter made me vauntie ! 2 
 And are ye hale, and weel, and cantic?^ 
 I kenn'd it still your wee bit j auntie 
 
 "Wad bring you to : 
 Lord send you aye 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 tauld mysel, by word o' mouth, 
 
 He 'd tak my letter ; 
 I lippen*d' to the chiel in trouth,^ 
 
 And bade 7 nae better. 
 
 But aiblins honest Master Heron 
 Had at the time some dainty fair one 
 To ware 8 his theologic care on, 
 
 And holy study ; 
 
 - Money, 
 k Trusted- 
 
 2 Proud. 
 
 < A petty oath. 
 
 » Cheerful. 
 7 Deserved. 
 
 * Thirst 
 « Spend. 
 
 • "Heron, author of a History of Scotland published In 1800; and, among 
 various other works, of a respectable life of our poet himself."— Cdebib. 
 
MT. 31.] EPISTLES, 265 
 
 And tired o' sauls to waste his lear^ ou, 
 E'en tried the body. 
 
 But what d' ye think, my trusty fier,^ 
 I 'm turn'd a ganger '^ — Peace be here ! 
 Parnassian queans,'^ I fear, I fear. 
 
 Ye '11 now disdain mel 
 And then my fifty pounds a year 
 
 Will little gain me. 
 
 Ye glaikit,^ gleesome, dainty damies, 
 Wha, by Casfcalia's wimplin' streamies, 
 Lowp,6 sing^ a,ji(l lave your pretty limbies. 
 
 Ye ken, ye ken, 
 That Strang Necessity supreme is 
 
 J sons o' men. 
 
 I hae a wife and twa wee laddies, 
 
 Tliey maun hae brose and brats o' duddies ;^ 
 
 Ye ken youi'sels my heart right proud is 
 
 I needna vaunt,^ 
 But I'll sned besoms ^ — thraw saugh woodies,** 
 
 Before they want. 
 
 Lord, help me through this world o' care 1 
 I 'm weary sick o 't late and air ; ^^ 
 Not but I hae a richer share 
 
 Than mony 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 whiles ^^ do mair. 
 
 But to conclude my silly rhyme, 
 
 (I 'm scant o' verse, and scant o' time,) 
 
 To make a happy fire -side clime 
 
 To weans ^3 and wife ; 
 That 's the true pathos and sublime 
 
 Of human life. 
 
 1 Learning. 2 Friend. ' Exciseman. * Lassea. 
 
 6 Foolish. « Jump. ' Rags o' clothing. 8 Boast. 
 
 » Cut broorajj. 10 Twist willow withes. n Early. 
 
 12 Sometimes. i» Children. 
 
 * The male hemp— that which bears the seed. "Ye have a stalk 0' carl-hemp 
 In you," is a Scotch remark, and means that a man has more stamina in bim 
 than ordinary. 
 
266 EPISTLES. 1179a 
 
 My compliments to sister Beckie ; 
 And eke the same to honest Lucky, 
 I wat she is a dainty chuckie,* 
 
 As e'er tread clay ! 
 And gratefully, my guid auld cockie, + 
 
 I 'm yours for aye. 
 
 Robert Burns. 
 
 SECOND EPISTLE TO ROBERT GRAHAM, ESQ. OF FINTRY, 
 
 ON THE CLOSE OP THE DISPUTED ELECTION BETWEEN SIR JAMES JOHNSTON 
 AND CAPTAIN MILLER, FOR THE DUMFRIES DISTRICT OP BOROUGHS. 
 
 FiNTRY, my stay in worldly strife, 
 Frieud o' my Muse, friend o' my life, 
 
 Are ye as idle *s I am ? 
 Come then, wi' uncouth, kintra fleg,* 
 O'er Pegasus I 'U fling my leg. 
 
 And ye shall see me try him. 
 
 I '11 sing the zeal Drumlanrig J bears, 
 Wha left the all-i«.nportant cares 
 
 Of princes and their darlin's ; 
 And, bent on winning borough touns, 
 Came shaking hands wi' wabster louns. 
 
 And kissing barefit carlins.^ 
 
 Combustion through our boroughs rode, 
 Whistling his roaring pack abroad. 
 
 Of mad, unmuzzled lions ; 
 As Queensberry " buff and blue " unfurl'd. 
 And Westerha' § and Hopetoun 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 Caesarean fight. 
 
 Or Ciceronian pleading. 
 
 Oh, for a throat like huge Mons-Meg, 
 To muster o'er each ardent Whig 
 
 Beneath Drumlanrig's banners ; 
 
 1 Country kick. 2 Barefooted women. 
 
 • Chuckie— literally, hen. Often used as a familiar term of endearment la 
 Ipeaking of a female. 
 t Cockie — literally, cock. Used in the same way as chuckie. 
 X The fourth Duke of Queensberry, of infamous memory. 
 \ Sir James Johnston, the Tory candidate. 
 
fiT. 32.] EPISTLES, 267 
 
 Heroes and heroines commix. 
 All in the field of politics, 
 
 To win immortal honours. 
 
 M'Murdo * and his lovely spouse 
 
 (Th' enamour'd laurels kiss her brows !) 
 
 Led on the Loves and Graces : 
 She won each gaping burgess' heart, 
 While he, all-conquering, play'd his part 
 
 Amang their wives and lasses. 
 
 Craigdarroch + led a light-arm'd corps ; 
 Tropes, metaphors, and jQgures pour. 
 
 Like Hecla streaming thunder : 
 Glenriddel,:!: skiil'd in rusty coins, 
 Blew up each Tory's dark designs. 
 
 And bared the treason under. 
 
 In either wing two champions fought, 
 Redoubted Staig,§ who set at nought 
 
 The wildest savage Tory : 
 And Welsh, |} who ne'er yet flinch'd his ground, 
 High-waved his magnum-bonum round 
 
 With Cyclopean fury. 
 
 Miller brought up the artillery ranks, 
 The many -pounders of the Banks, 
 
 Resistless desolation ! 
 While Maxwelton, that baron bold. 
 Mid Lawson's •U port entrench'd his hold, 
 
 And threaten'd worse damnation. 
 
 To these, what Tory hosts opposed ; 
 With these, what Tory warriors closed, 
 
 Surpasses my discriving : 
 Squadrons extended long and large. 
 With furious speed rush'd 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 grinn'd — pale Terror roar'd. 
 As Murther at his thrapple shored,^ 
 
 And Hell mix'd in the brulzie ! ^ 
 
 As Highland crags by thunder cleft. 
 When lightnings fire the stormy lift,* 
 
 1 Conflict. 2 Threatened. » BroiL * Firmament. 
 
 * The Chamberlain of the Duke of Queensberry at Drumlanrig, and a friend d 
 the poet's. t Ferguson of Craigdarroch. 
 
 X Captain Riddel of Glenriddel, another friend of the poet's. 
 I Provost Staig of Dumfries, \ Sheriff Welsh. 
 
 *R A wine merchant in Dumfries. 
 
268 EPISTLES. [1790. 
 
 Hurl down wi* crashing rattlo : 
 As flames amang a hundred woods ; 
 As headlong foam a hundred floods ; 
 
 Such is the rage of battle I 
 
 The stubborn Tories dare to die ; 
 As soon the rooted oaks would fly 
 
 Before th' approaching fellei^ : 
 The Whigs come on like Ocean's roar, 
 "When all his wintry billows jjour 
 
 Against the Buchan Bullers.* 
 
 Lo, from the shades of Death's deep niglit, 
 Departed Whigs enjoy the fight, 
 
 And think on fornler daring : 
 The muffled mui-therer of Charles t 
 The Magna-Charta flag unfurls, 
 
 All deadly gules its bearing. 
 
 Nor wanting ghosts of Tory fame, 
 
 Bold Scrirageour X follows gallant Grahame, § 
 
 Auld Covenanters shiver. 
 (Forgive, forgive, much-wrong'd Montrose I 
 While death and hell ingulf thy foes, 
 
 Thou liv'st on high for ever ! ) 
 
 Still o'er the field the combat bums, 
 The Tories, AVTiigs, 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 cub's undoing ! 
 That I might greet, that I might cry, 
 While Tories fall, while Tories fly, 
 
 And furious Whigs pursuing ! 
 
 AVhat "Whig but wails the good Sir Jamea ! 
 Dear to his country by the names 
 
 Friend, patron, benefactor ! 
 Not Pulteney's wealth can Pulteney save ! 
 And Hopetoun falls, the generous brave ! 
 
 And Stewaii;,!! bold as Hector. 
 
 Thou, Pitt, shalt rue this overthrow; 
 And Thurlow growl a curse of woe : 
 
 * The "Bullers of Buchan" is an appellation given to a tremendous rocky 
 
 recess on the Aberdeenshire coast, near Peterhead— having an opening to th« 
 
 eea, while the top is open. The sea, constantly raging in it, gives it the aj^pear- 
 
 ance of a pot or boiler, and hence the name. 
 
 t The executioner of Charles I. was masked. X John Earl of Dundee, 
 
 i The great Marquis of Montrose. U Stewart of Hillside. 
 
^T. 32.] EPISTLES. 269 
 
 And Melville melt in wailing ! 
 Now Fox and Sheridan rejoice ! 
 And Burke shall sing, " O Prince, arise ! 
 
 Thy power is all-prevailing." 
 
 For your poor friend, the bard, afar 
 He hears, and only hears, the war, 
 
 A cool spectator purely ; 
 So when the storm the forest rends, 
 The robin in the hedge descends, 
 
 And sober chirps securely. 
 
 Additional verse in Closebum MS. — 
 
 Now for my friends' and brethren's sakes, 
 And for my dear-loved Land o' Cakes, 
 
 I pray with holy fire : 
 Lord, send a rough-shod troop o' hell, 
 O'er a' wad Scotland buy or sell. 
 
 To grind them in the mire ! 
 
 THIRD EPISTLE TO ROBERT GRAHAM, ESQ. OF FINTRY, 
 
 Late 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 his poet's wail? 
 (It soothes poor Misery, heark'ning 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 forests, and one spurns the ground : 
 
 Thou giv'st the ass his hide, the snail his shell, 
 
 Th'envenom'd wasp, victorious, guards his cell; 
 
 Thy minions, kings, defend, control, devour, 
 
 In all th' 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 speai and darts. 
 
 But, oh ! thou bitter stepmother and hard, 
 
 To thy poor, fenceless, naked child — the bard ! 
 
 * Burns wrote to Mrs Dunlop, on the 7th of February 1791, " that, by a fall, not 
 from ray horse, but with my horse, I have been a cripple for some time, and 
 this is the first day my arm and hand have been able to serve me in writing." 
 
270 EPISTLES, [1791 
 
 A thing unteacbable in worldly 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 Hymeu worn, 
 And those, alas ! not Amalthea's horn : 
 No nerves olfactory, Mammon's trusty cur, 
 Clad in rich Duluess' comfortable fur ; — 
 In naked feeling, and in aching pride, 
 He bears the unbroken blast from every side : 
 Vampire 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. 
 
 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 spj-ig must wear : 
 
 Foil'd, bleeding, toi-tured, 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. 
 
 So, by some hedge, the generous steed deceased, 
 
 For half-starved snarling curs a dainty feast, 
 
 By toil and famine worn to skin and bone. 
 
 Lies senseless of each tugging bitch's son. 
 
 O 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 giave sage hern thus easy i^icks 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 the sign-post stands the stujjid ox. 
 
 * The allusion here is to Alexander Munvo, the distinguished Professor oi 
 Anatomy in the University of Edinburgh in Burns's day. 
 
JGTT. 33-j( EPISTLES. 2/1 
 
 Not so the idle Muses' mad-cap train, 
 
 Not such the workings of their moon-struck brain ! 
 
 In equanimity they never dwell, 
 
 By turns in soaring heaven or vaulted helL 
 
 I dread thee, Fate, relentless and severe, 
 With all a poet's, husband's, father's fear ! 
 Already one stronghold of hope is lost — 
 Glen cairn, the truly noble, lies in dust ; 
 (Fled, like the sun eclipsed as noon appears. 
 And left us darkling in a world of tears :) 
 Oh ! hear my ardent, grateful, selfish prayer! — 
 Fintry, my other stay, long bless and spare ! 
 Through 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 ! 
 
 FOURTH EPISTLE TO ROBERT GRAHAM, ESQ. OF FINTRY. 
 
 The following verses were written in acknowledgment of the favour the previous 
 epistle piayed for. Cunningham justly says, " Robert Graham of Fintry had 
 the merit of doing all that was done for Burns in the way of raising him out ol 
 the toiling humility of his condition, and enabling him to serve the Muse 
 without dread of want." 
 
 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 efface ; 
 If I that giver's bounty e'er disgrace ; 
 Then roll to me along your wandering spheres, 
 Only to number out a villain's years ! 
 
EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, &c. 
 
 THOUGH FICKLE FORTUNE HAS DECEIVED ME. 
 
 •The following," says Burns, "was written extempore, under the pressure of a 
 heavy train of misfortunes, which, indeed, threatened to undo me altogclher. 
 It was just at the close of that dreadful period mentioned already, (in Com- 
 monplace-book, March 1784 ;) and though the weather has brightened up a 
 little with me since, yet there has always been a tempest brewing round me 
 in the grim sky of futurity, which I pretty plainly see will, some time or other, 
 perhaps ere long, overwhelm me, and drive me into some doleful dell, to pine 
 in solitary, squalid wretchedness." 
 
 Though fickle Fortune has deceived me, 
 Slie promised fair and perform'd but ill ; 
 
 Of mistress, friends, and wealth bereaved me, 
 Yet I bear a heart shall support me stilL 
 
 I '11 act with prudence as far 's I 'm able, 
 
 But if success I must never find, 
 Tlien come, Misfortune, I bid thee welcome, 
 
 I '11 meet thee with an undaunted mind. 
 
 ON JOHN DOVE, INNKEEPER, MAUCHLINE. 
 
 The subject of the following lines was the landlord of the Whitefoord Arms in 
 Mauchline. 
 
 Here lies Johnny Pigeon ; 
 "What was his religion ? 
 
 Whae'er desires to ken,^ 
 To some other warl' 
 Maun follow the carl,^ 
 
 For here Johnny Pigeon had nane ! 
 
 1 Know. a Old man. 
 
i^r.-^S.] EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. 273 
 
 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. 
 
 TO A PAINTER. 
 
 While in Edinburgh, the poet paid a visit to the studio of a well-known painter, 
 whom he found at work on a pictm*e of Jacob's dream ; and having looked 
 at the sketch for a little, he wrote the following verses on the back of it : — 
 
 Dear , I '11 gie ye some advice, 
 
 You '11 tak it no uncivil : 
 You shouldna paint at angels mair, 
 
 But try and paint the devil. 
 
 To paint an angel 's kittle wark, 
 Wi' auld Nick there 's less danger j 
 
 You '11 easy draw a weel-kent face, 
 But no sae weel a stranger. 
 
 R. B. 
 
 EPITAPH ON THE AUTHOR'S FATHER. 
 
 The following lines were inscribed on a small head-stone erected over the grav« 
 of the poet's fauier in AUoway Kirkyard : — 
 
 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 f ear'd no human pride ; 
 The friend of man, to vice alone a foe ; 
 
 " For even his failings lean'd to virtue's side." * 
 
 A FAREWELL. 
 
 These lines form the conclusion of a letter from Burns to Mi* John Kennedy, 
 dated Kilmarnock, August 1786. 
 
 Farewell, dear friend! may guid luck hit you, 
 And, 'mang her favourites admit you ! 
 If e'er Detraction shone to smite you, 
 
 May nane believe him ! 
 And ony deil that thinks to get you, 
 
 Good Lord deceive him. 
 
 » Goldsmith. 
 
274 EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. [1786. 
 
 ON A WAG IN MAUCHLINE. 
 
 The wag here meant was James Smith, the James Smith of the epistle 
 commencing, "Dear Smith, tlxe sleest, pawkie thief." 
 
 Lament him, Maucbline husbands a', 
 
 He aften did assist ye ; 
 For had ye staid whole years awa', 
 
 Your wives they ne'er had miss'd ye. 
 Ye Mauchline bairns, as on ye pass 
 
 To school in bands thegither, 
 Oh, tread ye lightly on his grass — 
 
 Perhaps he was your father. 
 
 POETICAL REPLY TO AN INVITATION. 
 
 MOSSGIEL, 1786. 
 
 Sir, 
 
 Yours this moment I unseal, 
 And faith, I am gay and hearty ! 
 
 To tell the truth and shame the deil, 
 I am as fou as Bartie : * 
 
 But foorsday, sir, my promise leal, 
 
 Expect me o' your party, 
 If on a beastie I can speel, 
 
 Or hurl in a cartie.— E. B. 
 
 TO A YOUNG LADY IN A CHURCH. 
 
 During the poet's Border tour, he went to church one Sunday, accompanied by 
 Miss Ainslie, the sister of his travelling companion. The text for the day 
 happened to contain a severe denunciation of obstinate sinners. And Burns, 
 observing the young lady intently turning over the leaves of her Bible in 
 search of the passage, took out a small piece of paper, and wrote the following 
 lines upon it, whicli he immediately passed to her : — 
 
 Fair maid, you need not take the hint, 
 
 Nor idle texts pursue ; 
 'Twas guilty sinners that he meant, 
 
 Not angels such as you ! 
 
 * A proverbial saying, which may be interpreted by a line of an old song— 
 <'I'm no just fou, Hut I'm gayley yet." 
 
.ET. 28.] EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, ETC, 275 
 
 VERSES 
 
 WRITTEN UNDER THE PORTRAIT OF FERGUSSON, THE POET, IN A COPY OF 
 THAT author's WORKS PRESENTED TO A YOUNG LADY IN EDINBURGH, 
 MARCH 17, 1787. 
 
 Curse 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 ? 
 
 ON THE ILLNESS OF A FAVOURITE CHILD. 
 
 Now health forsakes that angel face, 
 
 Nae mair my dearie smiles ; 
 Pale sickness withers ilka grace, 
 
 And a' my hopes beguiles. 
 
 The cruel Powers reject the prayer 
 
 I hourly mak for thee ! 
 Ye heavens, how great is my despair, 
 
 How can I see him die 1 
 
 EXTEMPORE ON TWO LAWYERS. 
 
 During Burns's first sojourn in Edinburgh in 1787, he paid a visit to the Parlia- 
 ment House, and the result was two well-drawn sketches of the leading counsel 
 of the day— the Lord Advocate, Mr Hay Campbell, (afterwards Lord President,) 
 and the Dean of Faculty, Harry Erskine. 
 
 LORD ADVOCATE. 
 
 He clench'd his pamphlets in his fist, 
 
 He quoted and he hinted. 
 Till in a declamation mist 
 
 His argument he tint ^ it ; 
 He gaped for 't, he graped 2 for 't. 
 
 He found it was awa', man ; 
 But what his common sense cam short, 
 
 He ek^d out wi' law, man. 
 
 I Lost. a Groped 
 
276 EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. [1787. 
 
 DEAN OP FACULTY. 
 
 Collected Harry stood a wee, 
 
 Then open'd out his arm, man ; 
 His lordship sat, wi' ruefu' ee. 
 
 And eyed the gathering storm, man 2 
 Like wind-driven hail, it did assail, 
 
 Or torrents owre a linn, man ; 
 The Bench sae wise, lift up their eyes, 
 
 Half-waken'd wi' the din, man. 
 
 THE HIGHLAND WELCOME. 
 
 Cunningham says : — " Burns, on repassing the Highland border, in 1787, turned 
 round and bade farewell to the hospitalities of the north in these happy lines 
 Another account states that he was called on for a toas*t at table, and gave 
 * The Highland Welcome,' much to the pleasure of all who heard him." 
 
 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. 
 
 EXTEMPORE ON WILLIAM SMELLIE, 
 
 AUTHOR OP THE " PHILOSOPHY OP NATURAL HISTORY," AND MEMBER OP 
 THE ANTIQUARIAN AND ROYAL SOCIETIES OP EDINBURGH. 
 
 Bmellie belonged to a club called the Crochallan Fencibles, of which Burns was a 
 member. 
 
 Shrewd Willie Smellie to CrochaUan 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 to shaving night ; 
 His uncomb'd grizzly locks wild staring, thatch'd 
 A head for thought profound and clear unmatched : 
 Yet though his caustic wit was biting, rude. 
 His heart was warm, benevolent, and good. 
 
 VERSES WRITTEN ON A WINDOW OF THE INN AT CARRON. 
 
 The following lines were written on being refused admittance to the Carron 
 iron-works : — 
 
 We cam na here to view your warks 
 
 In hopes to be mair wise. 
 But only lest we gang to heU, 
 
 It may be nae surprise : 
 
«T. 29.] EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. 277 
 
 But when we tirled at your door, 
 
 Your porter douglit na hear us ; 
 Sae may, should we to hell's yetts come, 
 
 Your billy Satan sair us ! 
 
 LINES ON VIEWING STIKLING PALACE. 
 
 The following lines were scratched with a diamond on a pane of glass in a window 
 of the inn at which Burns put up, on the occasion of his first visit to Stirling. 
 They were quoted to his prejudice at the time, and no doubt did him no good 
 with those who could best serve his interests. On his next visit to Stirling, he 
 smashed the pane with the butt-end of his riding whip : — 
 
 Here Stuai-ts once in glory reign'd, 
 
 And laws for Scotland's weal ordain'd ; 
 
 But now unroof d their palace stands, 
 
 Their sceptre 's swa^d by other hands ; 
 
 The injured Stuart line is gone, 
 
 A race outlandish fills their throne — 
 
 An idiot race, to honour lost : 
 
 Who know them best despise them most. 
 
 THE KEPROOF. 
 
 Pash mortal, and slanderous poet, thy 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 ? 
 
 LINES 
 
 WRITTEN UNDER THE PICTURE OF THE CELEBRATED MISS BURNS. 
 
 Miss Burns was a "gay" lady, well known to the "fast" young fellows of the 
 Scottish metropolis in the poet's day. 
 
 Cease, ye prudes, your envious railing, 
 
 Lovely Burns has charms — confess. 
 True it is, she had one failing — 
 
 Had a woman ever less ? 
 
 ON INCIVILITY SHOWN TO HIM AT INVERAPY. 
 
 The poet having halted at Inverary during his first Highland tour, put up at 
 the inn ; but on finding himself neglected by the landlord, whose house was 
 filled with visitors to the Duke of Argyle, he resented the incivility in the fol- 
 lowing lines : — 
 
278 
 
 EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, ETC, [1788 
 
 Whoe'er he be that sojourns here, 
 
 I pity much his case, 
 Unless he conle to wait upon 
 
 The lord their god, his Grace. 
 
 There 's naething here but Highland pride, 
 
 And Highland cauld and hunger ; 
 If Providence has sent me here, 
 
 'Twas surely in His anger. 
 
 ON A SCHOOLMASTER. 
 
 William Michie was schoolmaster of the parish of Cleish, in Fifeshire, and became 
 aciiuainted with Burns during his first visit to Edinburgh, in 1787. 
 
 Here lie "Willie Michie's banes ; 
 
 O Satan, when ye tak him, 
 Gie him the schoolin' o your weans, 
 
 For clever deils he 11 mak 'em ! 
 
 VERSES 
 
 ADDRESSED TO THE LANDLADY OF THE INN AT ROSSLTN. 
 
 ]\Iy blessings on you, sonsie wife ; 
 
 I ne'er was here before ; 
 You 've gien us walth for horn and knife, 
 
 Nae heart could wish for more. 
 
 Heaven keep you free frae care and strife, 
 
 Till far ayont fourscore ; 
 And, while I toddle on through life, 
 
 I'll ne'er gang by your door. 
 
 ON ELPHINSTONE'S TRANSLATION OF MARTIAL'S 
 "EPIGRAMS." 
 
 " Stopping at a merchant's shop in Edinburgh," says Burns, "a friend of mine 
 one day put Elphinstone's translation of Martial into my hand, and desired 
 my opinion of it. I asked permission to write my opinion on a blank leaf oi 
 the book ; which being granted, I wrote this epigram." 
 
 O THOU, whom Poesy abhors ! 
 Whom Prose has turned out of doors ! 
 Heard'st thou that groan? — proceed no further — 
 'Twas laurell'd Martial roaring, *' Murther !" 
 
MT, 30.] EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, ETC, 279 
 
 INNOCENCE. 
 
 Innocence 
 Looks gaily-smiling on ; while rosy Pleasure 
 Hides young Desire amid her flowery wreath, 
 And pours her cup luxuriant : mantling high 
 The sparkling heavenly vintage — Love and Bliss ! 
 
 LINES 
 
 WRITTEN ON A PANE OF GLASS IN THE INN AT MOFFAT. 
 
 While Burns was in the inn at Moffat one day, the "charming, lovely Davies" 
 of one of his songs happened to pass, accompanied by a tall and portly lady , 
 and on a friend asking him why God had made Miss Davies so small and the 
 other lady so large, he replied— 
 
 / 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 
 SPOKEN EXTEMPORE ON BEING APPOINTED TO THE EXCISE. 
 
 Searching auld wives* barrels, 
 
 Och, hon ! the day ! 
 That clarty barm should stain my laurels ; 
 
 But— what 11 ye say ? 
 These movin' things ca'd wives and weans 
 Wad move the very hearts o' stanes ! 
 
 EPITAPH ON W . 
 
 Stop, thief ! Dame Nature cried to Death, 
 As Willie drew his latest breath ; 
 You have my choicest model ta'en, 
 How shall I make a fool again? 
 
 ON A PERSON NICKNAMED THE MARQUIS. 
 
 The person who bore this name was the landlord of a tavern in Dumfries fre- 
 quented by Burns. In a moment of weakness he asked the poet to write his 
 
28o EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, E7'C. [1789 
 
 epitaph, which he immediately did. In a style not at all to the taste of the 
 Marquis. 
 
 Here lies a mock Marquis, wliose titles "were Bhamm'd ; 
 If ever lie rise— it will be to be damn'd. 
 
 TO JOHN M'MUKDO, ESQ. 
 
 John M'Murdo was steward to the Duke of Queensberry, and the faithful friend 
 of Burns during the whole period of his residence in Nithsdale. 
 
 Oh could I give thee India's -weallli 
 
 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 bonest bai-d's esteem. 
 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 Blest be M'Murdo to his latest day ! 
 No envious cloud o'ercast his evening ray ; 
 No wriixkle furrow'd by the hand of Care, 
 Nor ever sorrow add one silver bail- ! 
 Oh, may no son the father's honour stain, 
 Nor ever daughter give tbe mother pain ! 
 
 ON CAPTAIN FEANCIS GEOSE. 
 
 One night at table, when the wine had circulated pretty freely, and 
 " The mirth and fun grew fast and furious," 
 Captain Grose, it is said, amused with the sallies of the poet, requested a 
 couplet on himself. Having eyed the corpulent antiquary for a little, Burns 
 repeated the following :— 
 
 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 bedpost with its burden a-groaning, 
 
 Astonish'd, confounded, cried Satan, "By God! 
 
 I '11 want 'iDi, ere I take such a damnable load 1 " 
 
/ET. 31.] EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. 
 
 ON" GRIZZEL GEIM. 
 
 Here lies with Death auld Grizzel Grim, 
 
 Lincluden's ugly witch ; 
 O Death, how horrid is thy taste 
 
 To lie with such a bitch ! 
 
 ON MR BURTON. 
 
 Barns having on one occasion met a young Englishman of the name of Burton, 
 he became very importunate that the poet should compose an epitaph for 
 him. "In vain," says Cunningham, "the bard objected that he was not suffi- 
 ciently acquainted with his character and habits to qualify him for the task; 
 the request was constantly repeated with a "Dem my eyes, Burns, do write an 
 ep itaph for me : oh, dem my blood, do. Burns, write an epitaph for me." 
 Ov ercome by his importunity, Burns at last took out his pencil and produced 
 the following : — 
 
 Here cursing, swearing Burton lies, 
 A buck, a beau, or Dem my eyes ! 
 Who in his life did little good ; 
 And his last words were — Dem my blood 1 
 
 POETICAL REPLY TO AN INVITATION. 
 
 The king's most humble servant, I 
 Can scarcely spare a minute ; 
 
 But I'll be wi' you by and by, 
 Or else the devil 's in it. 
 
 TO THE EDITOR OF THE STAR. 
 
 'Burns at one period," says Cunningham, "was in the habit of receiving the 
 Star newspaper gratuitously ; but as it came somewhat irregularly to hand, he 
 sent the following lines to head-quarters, to insure more punctuality :"— 
 
 Dear Peter, dear Peter, 
 
 We poor sons of metre, 
 Are often negleckit, ye ken ; 
 
 For instance, your sheet, man, 
 
 (Though glad I'm to see't, man,) 
 I get it no ae day in ten. 
 
 ON BURNS'S HORSE BEING IMPOUNDED. 
 
 Being in Carlisle, the poet's nag was turned oiit to grass, and had trespassed 
 on oome grounds belonging to the corporation. The horse was impounded, but 
 
282 EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, ETC, [1791 
 
 the mayor, hearing to whom it belonged, gave orders for its liberation— " Let 
 him have it, by all means, or the circumstance will be heard of for ages to 
 come." As Burns had written the following lines previously, the worthy 
 mayor's prophecy has come true : — 
 
 Was e'er puir poet sae befitted, 
 
 The maister drunk— the horse committed? 
 
 Puir harmless beast ! tak thee nae care, 
 
 Thou 'It be a horse when he's nae mair {mayor,') 
 
 LINES 
 
 SENT TO A GENTLEMAN WHOM HE HAD OFFENDED. 
 
 The friend was Mr Riddel of Woodley Park, at whose table, while under the in- 
 fluence of wine, he had indulged in a freedom of speech which gave offence 
 to the company. The reparation made in the following lines was warmly a« 
 cepted : — 
 
 The friend whom wild from wisdom's way 
 
 The fumes of wine infuriate send ; 
 (Not 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. 
 
 VERSES TO JOHN RANKINE, 
 
 ON HIS WRITING TO THE POET THAT A GIRL IN THAT PART OF THE 
 COUNTRY WAS WITH CHILD BY HIM. 
 
 I AM a keeper of the law 
 
 In some sma' points, although not a' ; 
 
 Some people tell me gin I fa', 
 
 Ae way or ither, 
 The breaking of ae point, though 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 rumour 's like to rise, 
 
 A whaup 's i' the nest. 
 
^T.33.] EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. 283 
 
 (J^ SEEING MISS FONTENELLE IN A FAVOURITE 
 CHARACTER. 
 
 Sweet naivete of feature, 
 
 Simple, wild, enchanting elf, 
 Not to thee, but thanks to Nature, 
 
 Thou art acting but thyself. 
 
 "VVert thou awkward, stiff, affected, 
 
 Spuming nature, torturing art ; 
 Loves and graces all rejected. 
 
 Then indeed thou 'dst act a part. 
 
 ON GABRIEL RICHARDSON, BREWER, DUMFRIES. 
 
 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. 
 
 THE BLACK-HEADED EAGLE : 
 
 A FRAGMENT ON THE DEFEAT OE THE AUSTRIANS BY DUMODRIER, 
 AT GEMAPPE, NOVEMBER 1792. 
 
 The black-headed eagle, 
 
 As keen as a beagle. 
 He hunted owre height and owre howe ; 
 
 But fell in a trap 
 
 On the braes o' Gemappe, 
 E'en let him come out as he dowe. 
 
 ON A SHEEB'S-HEAD. 
 
 Having been dining at the Globe Tavern, Dumfries, on one occasion when a 
 sheep's-head happened to be the fare pi-ovided, he Avas asked to give some- 
 thing new as a grace, and instantly replied : — 
 
 O Lord, when hunger pinches sore, 
 
 Do Thou stand us in stead. 
 And send us from Thy bounteous store 
 
 A tup or wether head ! — Amen. 
 
 After having dined, and greatly enjoyed this dainty, he was again asked to re- 
 turn thanks, when, without a moment's premeditation, he at once said : — 
 
284 EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, ETC, [1793. 
 
 O Lord, since we have feasted thus, 
 
 Which we so little merit, 
 Let Meg now take away the flesh, 
 
 And Jock bring in the spirit !— Amen. 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF A LAP-DOG NAMED ECHO. 
 
 While Burns was on a visit to Kenmore Castle, the ancient seat of the Gordons, 
 it happened that the lady's lap-dog died, and she requested him to write an 
 epitaph for it, which he did as follows : — 
 
 In wood and wild, ye warbling throng, 
 
 Your heavy loss deplore ; 
 Now half-extinct your powers of song, 
 
 Sweet Echo is no more. 
 
 Ye jarring, screeching things around, 
 
 Scream your discordant joys ; 
 Now half your din of tuneless sound 
 
 With Echo silent lies. 
 
 ON SEEING THE BEAUTIFUL SEAT OF LORD GALLOWAY. 
 
 This and the three following verses were written as political squibs during th« 
 heat of a contested election :— 
 
 What dost thou in that mansion fair ? — 
 
 Flit, Galloway, and find 
 Some narrow, dirty, dungeon cave, 
 
 The picture of thy mind ! 
 
 ON THE SAME. 
 
 No Stewart art thou, Galloway, 
 The Stewarts all were brave ; 
 
 Besides, the Stewarts were but fools, 
 Not one of them a knave. 
 
 ON THE SAME. 
 
 Bright ran thy line, O Galloway, 
 Through many a far-famed sire I 
 
 So ran the far-famed Roman way, 
 So ended— in a mire \ 
 
ALT. 35.] EFIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, ETC, 285 
 
 TO THE SAME, 
 
 ON THE author's BEING THEEATENED WITH HIS RESENTMENT. 
 
 Spare me thy vengeance, Galloway, 
 
 In quiet let me live : 
 I ask no kindness at thy hand. 
 
 For thou hast none to give. 
 
 HOWLET FACE. 
 
 One of the Lords of Justiciary, says a correspondent of Mr Chambers's, while on 
 cix'cuit at Dumfries, had dined one day at Mr Miller of Dalswinton's ; and 
 having, according to the custom of the time, taken wine to such an extent as 
 to affect his sight, said to his host, on entering the drawing-room, and at the 
 same time pointing to one of his daughters, who was thought an uncommonly 
 handsome woman, "Wha'syon howlet-faced thing in the corner?" The cir- 
 cumstance having been related to Burns, who happened to dine there next 
 day, he took out his pencil, and wrote the following lines, which he handed to 
 Miss Miller :— 
 
 How daur ye ca' me howlet-faced. 
 
 Ye ugly glowering spectre ? 
 My face was but the keekin'-glass, 
 And there ye saw your picture ! 
 
 THE BOOK-WORMS. 
 
 Having been shown into a magnificent library, while on a visit to a nobleman, 
 and observing a splendidly-bound, but uncut and worm-eaten, copy of Shake- 
 speare on the table, the poet left the following lines in the volume ; — 
 
 Through and through the inspired leaves, 
 
 Ye maggots, make your windings ; 
 But, oh, respect his lordship's taste, 
 
 And spare the golden bindings ! 
 
 EPIGRAM ON BACON. 
 
 Brownhill was a posting station some fifteen miles from Dumfries. Dining there 
 on one occasion, the poet met a Mr Ladyman, a commercial traveller, who 
 solicited a sample of his "rhyming ware." At dinner, beans and bacon were 
 served, and the landlord, whose name was Bacon, had, as was his wont, thrust 
 himself somewhat offensively into the company of his guests : — 
 
 At Brownhill we always get dainty good cheer, 
 And plenty of bacon each day in the year ; 
 "We 've all things that 's neat, and mostly in season 
 But whv always Bacon ? — come, give me a reason. 
 
286 EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. [1794, 
 
 THE EPITAPH. 
 
 In this stinging epitaph Buns satirises Mrs Riddel of Woodley Park. He hsd 
 taken offence because she seemed to pay more attention to some oflBcers in 
 the company than to the poet, who had a supreme contempt for "epauletted 
 puppies," as he delighted to call them. This quai-rel, and the means he took 
 of showing his anger, were not creditable to the poet, for he had no warmer 
 friend and admirer than Mrs RiddeL 
 
 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. 
 
 ON MRS KEMBLE. 
 
 The poet having witnessed the performance of Mrs Kemble in the part of Yarico, 
 one night at the Dumfries theatre, seized a piece of paper, wrote these lines 
 with a pencil, and handed them to the lady at the conclusion of the perform- 
 ance. 
 
 Kemble, thou cur'st my unbelief 
 
 Of Moses and his rod ; 
 At Yarico's sweet notes of grief 
 The rock with tears had flow'd. 
 
 THE CREED OF POVERTY. 
 
 '•When the Board of Excise," says Cunningham, "informed Burns that his 
 business was to act, and not think, he read the order to a friend, turned the 
 paper, and wrote as follows ; " — 
 
 In politics if thou wouldst mix, 
 
 And mean thy fortunes be ; 
 Bear this in mind — "Be deaf and blind ; 
 
 Let sTeat folks hear and see." 
 
 WRITTEN IN A LADY'S POCKET-BOOK. 
 
 The following lines indicate how strongly Burns sympathised with the lovers oJ 
 liberty during the first outbreak of the French Revolution : — 
 
 Grant me, indulgent Heaven, that I may live 
 To see the miscreants feel the pain they give ; 
 Deal Freedom's sacred treasures free as air, 
 TiU slave and despot be but things which were. 
 
MT. 36.] EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. 287 
 
 THE PARSON'S LOOKS. 
 
 gome one having remarked that he saw falsehood in the very look of a certain 
 reverend gentleman, the poet replied — 
 
 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. 
 
 EXTEMPORE, 
 
 PINNED TO A lady's COACH. 
 
 If you rattle along like your mistress's tongue, 
 
 Your speed will outrival the dart ; 
 But a fly for your load, you '11 break down on the road, 
 
 If your stuff be as rotten 's her heart. 
 
 ON ROBERT RIDDEL. 
 
 The poet traced these lines with a diamond on the window of the hermitage ol 
 Friars' Carse, the first time he visited it after the death of his friend the Laird 
 of Carse. 
 
 To Riddel, much-lamented man, 
 
 This ivied cot was dear ; 
 Reader, dost value matchless worth ? 
 This ivied cot revere. 
 
 ON EXCISEMEN. 
 
 WRITTEN ON A WINDOW EN DUMFRIES. 
 
 « One day," says Cunningham, "while in the King's Arms Tavern, Dumfries, 
 Burns overheard a country gentleman talking disparagingly concerning ex- 
 cisemen. The poet went to a window, and on one of the panes wrote this re 
 buke with his diamond :" — 
 
 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 gangers : 
 Nay, what are priests, those seeming godly wise men? 
 What are they, pray, but si)iritual excisemen ? 
 
288 EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. [1795 
 
 VERSES 
 
 WRITTEN ON A WINDOW OF THE GLOBE TAVERN, DUMFRIES. 
 
 The graybeard, old Wisdom, may boast of bis treasures, 
 
 Give me with gay Folly to live ; 
 I grant him calm-blooded, time -settled pleasures, 
 
 But Folly has raptures to give. 
 
 THE SELKIRK GRACE. 
 
 The poet having been on a visit to the Earl of Selkirk at St Mary's Isle, was 
 asked to say grace at dinner. He repeated the following words, which have 
 since been known in the district as " The Selkirk Grace : " — 
 
 Some bae meat, and canna eat, 
 
 And some wad eat that want it ; 
 But we bae meat, and we can eat. 
 
 And sae the Lord be thankit. 
 
 EPITAPH ON A SUICIDE. 
 
 Earth'd up here lies an imp o' bell. 
 Planted by Satan's dibble — 
 
 Poor silly wretch he 's damn'd himscl 
 To save the Lord the trouble. 
 
 TO DR MAXWELL, 
 
 ON MISS JESSIE STAIG'S RECOVERY. 
 
 " How do you like the following epigram," says the poet, in a letter to Thomson, 
 " which I wrote the other day on a lovely young girl's recovery from a fever ? 
 Doctor Maxwell was the physician who seemingly saved her from the grave 
 and to him I address the following : " — 
 
 Maxwell, if merit here you crave. 
 
 That merit I deny ; 
 Yon save fair Jessie from the grave ? — 
 
 An angel could not die. 
 
 THE PARYENU. 
 
 Bums being present in a company where an ill-educated •parvenu was boring 
 every one by boasting of the many great people he had lately been visiting, 
 g:ave vent to his feelings in the following lines : — 
 
^T37] EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. 289 
 
 No more of your titled acquaintances boast, 
 And in what lordly circles you 've been ; 
 
 An insect is still but an insect at most, 
 Though it crawl on the head of a queen ! 
 
 POETICAL INSCRIPTION 
 
 FOR AN ALTAR TO INDEPENDENCE. 
 
 The following lines were inscribed on an altar erected at the seat of Heron of 
 Kerroughtree. They were written in 1795, when the hopes and triumphs of 
 the French Revolution had made it a fashion to raise altars to Freedom, and 
 plant trees to Liberty. 
 
 Thou of an independent mind. 
 
 With soul resolved, with soul resign'd ; 
 
 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. 
 
 EXTEMPOEE TO MR SYME, 
 
 on refusing to dine with him. 
 
 John Syme of Ryedale was a gentleman of education and talent, and a constant 
 companion of the poet's. These lines were written in reply to an invitation 
 to dine, in which he promised the "first of company and the first of cookery." 
 
 Dec. 17, 1795. 
 No more of your guests, be they titled or not, 
 
 And cookeiy the first in the nation ; 
 Who is proof to thy personal converse and wit 
 
 Is proof to all other temptation. 
 
 TO MR SYME, 
 
 with a present of a dozen of porter. 
 
 Jerusalem Tavern, DcMFRiaa, 
 Oh, had the malt thy strength of mind, 
 
 Or hops the flavour of thy wit, 
 'Twere drink for first of humankind, 
 
 A gift that e'en for Syme were fit. 
 
290 EPIGRAMS, EPITAFHS, ETC. [1795. 
 
 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 TOAST. 
 
 Burns having been called on for a song at a dinner given by the Dumfries 
 Volunteers in honour of the anniversary of Rodney's great victory of the 12th 
 of April 1782, gave the following lines in reply to the call :— 
 
 Instead of a song, boy», I '11 give you a toast — 
 Here 's the memory of those on the twelfth that we lost ! — 
 That we lost, did I sav ? nay, by Heaven, that we found ; 
 For their fame it shall last wliile 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 Constituiion, 
 As built on the base of the great Revolution ; 
 And longer with politics not to be cramm'd. 
 Be Anarchy cursed, and be Tyranny damn'd ; 
 And who would to Liberty e'er prove disloyal 
 May his son be a hangman, and he his first trial ! 
 
 ON THE POET'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 The following lines were ^yritten on the loss of an "only daughter and darling 
 child" of the poet's, who died in the autumn of 1795 ; — 
 
 Heee lies a rose, a budding rose, 
 
 Blasted before its bloom : 
 Whose innocence did sweets discloss 
 
 Beyond that flower's perfume. 
 
 To those who for her loss are grieved, 
 
 This consolation 's given — 
 She 's from a world of woe relieved, 
 
 And blooms a rose in heaven. 
 
 ON A COUNTRY LAIRD. 
 
 Tho subject of these verses is said to have been Sir David Maxwell of Cardoness, 
 who had given some offence to the poet during the heat of a contested elec- 
 tion. 
 
.ET. 37.] EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, ETC, 29) 
 
 Bless the Redeemer, Cardoness, 
 
 "With grateful lifted eyes, 
 Who said that not the soul alone, 
 
 But body, too, must rise ; 
 
 For had He said, "The soul alcne 
 
 From death I will deliver ; " 
 Alas ! alas ! O Cardoness, 
 
 Then thou hadst slept for ever ! 
 
 THE TRUE LOYAL NATIVES. 
 
 The origin of these lines is thus related by Cromek :— r^When politics ran high 
 the poet happened to be in a tavern, and the following lines — the production 
 of one of ' The True Loyal Natives ,— were handed over the table to Burns : — 
 
 ' Ye sons of sedition, give ear to my song, 
 Let Syme, Burns, and IMaxwell, pervade every throng ; 
 "With Craken the attorney, and Mundell the quack, 
 Send Willie the monger to hell with a smack.' 
 
 The poet took out a pencil and instantly wrote this reply :" — 
 
 Ye true " Loyal Natives " attend to my song, 
 
 In uproar and riot rejoice the night long ; 
 
 From envy and hatred your corps is exempt. 
 
 But where is your shield from the darts of contempt ? 
 
 EPITAPH ON ROBERT AIKEN, ESQ. 
 
 Robert Aiken, writer, Ayr, was one of the poet's most intimate friends. 
 
 Know thou, O stranger to the fame 
 Of this much-loved, much-honour'd name, 
 (For none that knew him need be told) 
 A warmer heart Death ne'er made cold ! 
 
 ON A FRIEND^ 
 
 The name of the friend is unknown. 
 
 An honest man here lies at rest. 
 As e'er God with His image blest ! 
 The friend of man, the friend of truth , 
 The friend of age, and guide of youth ; 
 Few hearts like liis, 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 made the best of this. 
 
292 EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. [1796. 
 
 EPITAPH ON TAM THE CHAPMAN. 
 
 Tarn the chapman was a Mr Kennedy, a travelling agent for a commercial house. 
 The following lines were composed on his recovery from a severe illness: — 
 
 As Tain the Cliapman on a day 
 
 Wi' Death forgather'd by the way, 
 
 Weel pleased, he greets a wight ^ sae famous, 
 
 And Death was nae less pleased wi' Thomas, 
 
 "Wha cheerfully lays down the pack. 
 
 And there blaws up a hearty crack ; ^ 
 
 His social, friendly, honest heart 
 
 Sae tickled Death, they couldna part : 
 
 Sae, after viewing knives and garters. 
 
 Death takes him hame to gie him quarters. 
 
 ON GAVIN HAMILTON. 
 
 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 damn'd ! 
 
 ON A CELEBKATED RULING ELDER. 
 
 Here souter Hood in death does sleep ; — 
 
 To hell, if he 's gane thither, 
 Satan, gie him thy gear ^ to keep. 
 
 He '11 haud^ it weel thegither. 
 
 ON A NOISY POLEMIC. 
 
 James Humi)hrey, a working mason, was the "noisy polemic" of this epitaph. 
 Burns and he ft-equently disputed on Auld-Light and New-Light topics, and 
 Humphrey, although an illiterate man, not unfrequently had the best of it. 
 Ec died in great poverty, having solicited charity for some time before hia 
 death. We have heard it said that in soliciting charity from the strangers 
 who aiTived and departed by the Mauchline coach, he grounded his claims to 
 tbeir kindness on the epitaph— ^'Please, sirs, I'm Burns's bletherin' bitch 1" 
 
 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 ! "* 
 
 1 Fellow. -'Gossip. 3 Wealth. * Hold. 
 
iET.38.] EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, ETC, 293 
 
 ON WEE JOHNNY. 
 
 HIC JACET WEE JOHNNY. 
 John Wilson, the printer of the Kilmarnock edition of the poet's works. 
 
 Whoe'er thou art, O reader, know- 
 That Death has murder'd Johnny ! 
 
 And here his body lies f u' low — 
 For saul he ne'er had ony. 
 
 ON A NOTED COXCOMB. 
 
 Light lay the earth on Billy's breast, 
 His chicken heart so tender ; 
 
 But build a castle on his head, 
 His skull will prop it under. 
 
 ON MISS JEAN SCOTT OF ECCLEFECHAN. 
 
 The young lady, the subject of these lines, dwelt in Ayr, and cheered the poet, 
 not only by her sweet looks, taut also with her sweet voice. 
 
 Oh ! had each Scot of ancient times 
 
 Been, Jeannie Scott, as thou art, 
 The bravest heart on English ground, 
 
 Had yielded like a coward ! 
 
 ON A HENPECKED COUNTRY SQUmE. 
 
 • 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 THE SAME. 
 
 O Death, hadst thou but spared his life 
 
 Whom we this day lament ! 
 We freely wad exchanged the wife, 
 
 And a' been weel content ! 
 
294 EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. [1796. 
 
 E'en as he is, cauld in his graff, 
 
 The swapi we yet will do't; 
 Tak thou the carlin's* carcase aff, 
 
 Thou'se get the saul to boot. 
 
 ON THE SAME. 
 
 One Queen Artemisia, as old stories tell, 
 When deprived of her husband she lov^d so well, 
 In respect for the love and affection he'd show'd her. 
 She reduced him to dust and she drank up the powder. 
 
 But Queen Netherplace, 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 ! 
 
 JOHNNY PEEP. 
 
 Burns having been on a visit to a town in Cumberland one day, entered a tavern 
 and opened the door of a room, but on seeing three men sitting, he was about 
 to withdraw, when one of them shouted, "Come in, Johnny Peep." The poet 
 accordingly entered, and soon became the ruling spirit of the party. In the 
 midst of their mirth, it was proposed that each should write a verse of poetry, 
 and place it, along with a half-crown on the table — the best poet to have his 
 half-crown returned, and the other three to be spent in treating the party. It 
 is almost needless to say that the palm of victory was awarded to the following 
 lines by Burns • — 
 
 Here am I, Johnny Peep ; 
 
 I saw three sheep. 
 And these three sheep saw me ; 
 
 Half-a-crown apiece 
 
 Will pay for their fleece. 
 And so Johnny Peep gets free. 
 
 THE HENPECKED HUSBAND. 
 
 It is said that the wife of a gentleman, at whose table the poet was one day 
 dining, expressed herself with more freedom than propriety regarding her 
 husband's extravagant convivial habits, a rudeness which Burns rebuked in 
 these sharp lines : — 
 
 Cursed 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 ; 
 
 1 Exchange, 
 
 * Carlin— a woman with an evil tongue. In olden times used with referenoe 
 to a woman suspected of having dealings with the devil. 
 
JET. 38.] EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. 295 
 
 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 bitch. 
 
 ON ANDEEW TURNER. 
 
 In se'enteen hunder and forty-nine, 
 Satan took stuff to mak a swine, 
 
 And cuist it in a comer ; 
 But wilily he changed his plan, 
 And shaped it something like a man, 
 
 And ca'd it Andrew Turner. 
 
 A GRACE BEFORE DINNER, 
 
 O Thou, who kindly 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. 
 
 ON MR W. CRUIKSHANK. 
 
 Dne of the masters of the High School, Edinburgh, and a well-known friend ol 
 the poet's. 
 
 Honest Will 's to heaven gane, 
 
 And mony shall lament him ; 
 His faults they a' in Latin lay, 
 
 In English nane e'er kent them. 
 
 ON AY AT. 
 Tlie name of the hero of these terrible lines has not been recorded. 
 
 Sic a reptile was Wat, 
 
 Sic a miscreant slave. 
 That the very worms damn'd him 
 
 When laid in his grave. 
 
296 EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, ETC, [1796. 
 
 *' In his flesh there *s a famine," 
 
 A starved reptile cries ; 
 "And his heart is rank poison," 
 
 Another replies. 
 
 ON THE KIRK OF LAMINGTON, IN CLYDESDALE. 
 
 Ilaving been stayed by a storm one Sunday at Laminj^ton in Clydesdale, the poet 
 went to church ; but the day was so cold, the place so uncomfortable, and the 
 sermon so poor, that he left the following poetic protest in the pew : — 
 
 As cauld 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. 
 
 A MOTHER»S ADDRESS TO HER INFANT. 
 
 My blessin's upon thy sweet wee lippie : 
 My blessin's upon thy bonny ee-brie ! 
 
 Thy smiles are sae like my blithe sodger laddie, 
 Thou's aye the dearer and dearer to me ! 
 
 VERSES 
 
 WRITTEN ON A PANE OF GLASS, ON THE OCCASION OP A NATIONAL 
 THANKSGIVING FOR A NAVAL VICTORY. 
 
 Ye hypocrites ! are these your pranks ? 
 To murder men, and gie God thanks ! 
 For shame ! gie o'er — proceed no further — 
 God won't accept your thanks for murther ! 
 
 I MURDER hate by field or flood. 
 
 Though glory's name may screen us ; 
 
 In wars at hame I '11 spend my blood. 
 Life-giving wars of Venus. 
 
 The deities that I adore. 
 Are social peace and plenty ; 
 
 I 'm better pleased to make one more, 
 Than be the death of twenty. 
 
^T. 38.] EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. 297 
 
 My bottle is my holy pool, 
 
 That heals the wounds o' care and dool ; 
 
 And pleasure is a wanton trout, 
 
 An' ye drink it dry, ye '11 find him out. 
 
 ON JOHN BUSHBY. 
 
 Bushby, it seems, was a sharp-witted clever lawyer, who happened to cross the 
 poet's path in politics, and was therefore considered a fair subject for a lam- 
 poon. 
 
 Here lies John Bushby, honest man ! — 
 
 Cheat him, devil, gin you can. 
 
 LINES TO JOHN RANKINE. 
 
 fhese lines were written by Burns while on his deathbed, and forwarded to 
 Rankine immediately after the poet's death. 
 
 He who of Eankine sang lies stiff and dead, 
 And a green grassy hillock haps his head ; 
 Alas ! alas ! a devilish change indeed ! 
 
 TO MISS JESSY LEWARS. 
 
 "During the last illness of the poet," says Cunningham, '-Mr Brown, the sur- 
 geon who attended him, came in, and stated that he had been looking at a 
 collection of wild beasts just arrived, and pulling out the list of the animals, 
 held it out to Jessy Lewars. The poet snatched it from him, took up a pen, 
 and with red ink wrote the following on the back of the paper, saying, ' Nosv 
 it is fit to be presented to a lady : ' " — 
 
 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. 
 
298 EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. [1796. 
 
 THE TOAST. 
 
 On another occasion, while Miss Lewars was waiting upon him during his ill- 
 ness, he took up a crystal goblet, and writing the following lines on it, pre- 
 sented it to her : — 
 
 Fill me with the rosy wme, 
 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. 
 
 ON THE SICKNESS OF MISS JESSY LEWARS. 
 
 On Miss Lewars complaining of illness in the hearing of the poet, he said he 
 would provide for the worst, and seizing another crystal goblet, he wrote 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. 
 
 ON THE RECOVERY OF JESSY LEWARS. 
 
 On her recovering health, the poet said, '' There is a poetic reason for it,' 
 composed the following : — 
 
 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. 
 
 A BOTTLE AND AN HONEST FRIEND. 
 
 Some doubt has been expressed by the brother of the poet as to the authenticity 
 of this small piece. 
 
 " There's nane that's blest of humankind 
 But the cheerful and the gay, man. 
 Fal, lal," kQ. 
 
JF.T. 38.] EriGRAMS, EPITAPHS, ETC, 299 
 
 Here 's a bottle and an honest friend ! 
 What wad you 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 aye when sought, man. * 
 
 GRACE AFTER DINNER. 
 
 O Thou, in whom we live and move. 
 Who madest the sea and shore ; 
 
 Thy goodness constantly we prove, 
 And, grateful, would adore. 
 
 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. 
 
 ANOTHER. 
 
 Lord, we thank Thee and adore. 
 For temp'ral gifts we little merit ; 
 
 At present we will ask no more — 
 Let William Hyslop give the spirit ! 
 
 THE SOLEMN LEAGUE AND COVENANT. 
 
 Mr Robert Carrathers, of Inverness, gives the following account of these 
 lines : — "In 'The Statistical Account of Scotland,' the minister of Balmaghie, 
 in G-alloway, quoted the epitaph on a martyr's tombstone,— a stone 'with 
 uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture decked ; ' and he added this 
 depreciatory remark — ' The author of which (the epitaph) no doubt supposed 
 himself to have been writing poetry I ' " Burns was nettled at this unfeeling 
 comment, and wrote with his pencil on the page : — 
 
 The Solemn League and Covenant, 
 
 Now brings a smile, now brings a tear ; 
 
 But sacred freedom too was theirs ; 
 If thou'rt a slave, indulge thy sneer. 
 
SONGS. 
 
 MY HANDSOME NELL. 
 
 Tune — " I am a man unmarried." 
 
 Nelly Kilpatrick, the heroine of this song, was the daughter of the village 
 blacksmith, and the poet's first partner in the labours of the harvest-field. 
 She was the " sonsie quean" he sings of, whose "witching smile" first made 
 his heart-strings tingle. "This song," he says, "was the first of my perform- 
 ances, and done at an early period of my life, when my heart glowed with 
 honest, warm simplicity, — unacquainted and uncorrupted with the ways of a 
 wicked world. It has many faults ; but I remember I composed it in a wild 
 enthusiasm of passion ; and to thia hour I never recollect it but my heart melts 
 — my blood sallies, at the remembrance." 
 
 Oh, once I loved a bonny lass, 
 
 Ay, and I love her stiU ; 
 And whilst that virtue warms my breast 
 
 I '11 love my handsome Nell. 
 
 Fal, lal de ral, kc. 
 
 As bonny lasses I hae seen, 
 
 And mony full as braw ; ^ 
 But for a modest, gracefu' mien, 
 
 The like I never saw. 
 
 A bonny 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 blithe and sweet ; 
 
 And, what is best of a' — 
 Her reputation is complete, 
 
 And fail- without a flaw. 
 
 She dresses aye sae clean and neat, 
 
 Baith decent and genteel ; 
 And then there 's something in her gait 
 
 Gars ^ ony dress look weel. 
 
 1 Well dressed. ^ Makes. 
 
^T. 23.] SONGS. 301 
 
 A gaudy dress and gentle air 
 
 May slightly touch the heart ; 
 But it 's innocence and modesty 
 
 That polishes the dart. 
 
 'Tis this in Nelly pleases me, 
 
 'Tis this enchants my soul ! 
 For absolutely in my breast 
 
 She reigns without control. 
 
 I DREAM'D I LAY WHERE ELOWERS WERE SPRINGING. 
 
 ** These two stanzas," says the poet, "which are among the oldest of my printed 
 pieces, I composed when I was seventeen." 
 
 I dream'd I lay where flowers were springing 
 
 Gaily in the sunny beam, 
 Listening to the wild birds singing 
 
 By a falling crystal stream ; 
 Straight the sky grew black and daring ; 
 
 Through 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 tempests storming, 
 
 A' my flowery bliss destroy'd. 
 Though 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 suppoi-t me LjtilL 
 
 MY NANNIE, O. 
 
 Tune—" My Nannie, 0." 
 
 A-gnes Fleming, the heroine of what has been termed the finest love-song Kn any 
 language, was at one time a servant in the house of Mr Gavin Hamilton, tha 
 poet's friend, and died unmarried well advanced in life. It may gratify soma 
 to know that the lather of the poet lived to read this song, and that he ex- 
 pressed his hearty admiration of it. 
 
 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. 
 
 1 Ere. 
 
302 SONGS. [1781. 
 
 Tlie westlin wind blaws loud and shrill ; 
 
 The night 's baith mirk and rainy, O ; 
 But I '11 get my plaid, and out I '11 steal, 
 
 And owre the hills to Nannie, O. 
 
 My "Nannie 's charming, sweet, and young, 
 
 Nae artfu' wiles to win ye, C : 
 May ill befa' the flattering tongue 
 
 That wad beguile my Nannie, O. 
 
 Her face is fair, her heart is true, 
 
 ■ As spotless as she 's bonny, O : 
 
 The opening go wan, ^ wat wi' dew, 
 
 Nae purer is than Nannie, O. 
 
 A country lad is my degree, 
 
 And few there be that ken me, O ; 
 But what care I how few they be, 
 
 I 'm welcome aye to Nannie, O. 
 
 My riches a' s my penny-fee, ^ 
 
 And I maun guide it cannie, O ; 
 But warl's gear=* ne'er troubles me. 
 
 My thoughts are a' my Nannie, O. 
 
 Our auld guidman delights to view 
 His sheep and kye thrive bonny, O ; 
 
 But I'm as blithe that bauds his pleugh, 
 And has na care but Nannie, O. 
 
 Come weel, come woe, I care na by, 
 I '11 tak what Heaven will sen' me, O ; 
 
 Nae ither care in life have I 
 But live and love my Nannie, O ! 
 
 O TIBBIE, I HAE SEEN THE DAY. 
 
 Tune— " Invercauld's Reel." 
 
 Isabella Steven, the subject of these verses, was the daughter of a man in the 
 neighbourhood of Lochlea, who possessed three acres of peat inoss — an inherit- 
 ance which she appears to have thought entitled hej* to treat the poet with 
 disdain. 
 
 O Tibbie, I hae seen the day 
 
 Ye wadna been sae shy ; 
 
 For lack o' gear ye lightly * mo. 
 
 But, trowth, I care na by. 
 
 Yestreen I met you on the moor, 
 
 Ye spak na, but gaed by like stoure :^ 
 
 1 Daisy. 2 Wages. s TTorld's wealth. 
 
 ♦ Slight. « Dust driven by the wind. 
 
O Tibbie I hae seen the day 
 
 Ye wadiia beeu sae shy ; 
 For laik o' gear ye lightly me 
 
 But, trowth. I care nae by. 
 Yestreen I met y^u on the moor. 
 
 Ye spak na, but gaed by like stoure 
 Ye v'eck at me because 1 'm poor, 
 
 £ut feiut a hair care I. 
 
 —i'uve 302. 
 
Mi\ 2^.] SOA'GS. SO^ 
 
 Ye geek ^ at me because I 'm poor, 
 But feint a hair care I. 
 
 I doubt na, lass, but ye may think, 
 Because ye hae the name o' clink,^ 
 That ye can please me at a wink 
 Whene'er ye like to try. 
 
 But sorrow tak him that 's sae mean, 
 Although his pouch o' coin were clean, 
 Wha follows ony saucy quean, ^ 
 That looks sae proud and high. 
 
 Although a lad were e'er sae smart. 
 If that he want the yellow dirt 
 Ye '11 cast yer head anither airt,^ 
 And answer him fu' dry. 
 
 But if he hae the name o' gear.^ 
 Ye '11 fasten to him like a brier, 
 Though hardly he, for sense or lear,* 
 Be better than the kye.^ 
 
 But Tibbie, lass, tak my advice. 
 Your daddie's gear maks you sae nice ; 
 The deii a ane wad spier your price 
 Were ye as poor as I. 
 
 There lives a lass in yonder park, 
 I wadna gie her in her sark s 
 For thee, wi' a' thy thousan' mark ! 
 Ye need na look sae high. 
 
 ON CESSNOCK BANKS. 
 
 Tune — "If he be a butcher neat and trim." 
 
 Ellison Begbie, the inspirer of this song of similes, was the daughter of a small 
 farmer in the parish of Galston ; and was, when the poet fii'st knew and ad- 
 mired her, employed as a servant with a family on the banks of the Cessnock, 
 about two miles from his home. The charms of this humble girl, which ap- 
 pear to have lain chiefly in the life and grace of her mind, were such, that 
 the poet, after he had seen the finest Edinburgh ladies, acknowledged that she 
 was, of all the women he had ever addressed, the only one who was likely to 
 have made a pleasant companion for life. The song first appeared in 
 Cromek's "Reliques," the editor having obtained it from "the oral communi- 
 cation of a lady residing at Glasgow, whom the bard in early life affectionately 
 admired " — probably the heroine herself. 
 
 1 Mock. ? Money. * Wench, < DirectioQ. 
 
 ^Wealth. •Learning. » Cows. ? Shift. 
 
304 SONGS. [1 781. 
 
 On Cessnock banks there lives a lass, 
 Could I describe her shape and mien, 
 
 The graces of her weelfaurd^ face, 
 And the glancing of her sparkling een. 
 
 She 's fresher than the morning dawn, 
 
 When rising Phoebus first is seen. 
 When dew-drops twinkle o'er the lawn ; 
 
 And she 's twa glancing, sparkling een. 
 
 She 's stately, like yon youthful ash 
 That grows the cowslip braes between, 
 
 And shoots it's head above each bush ; 
 And she 's twa glancing, sparkling een. 
 
 She 's spotless as the flowering thorn. 
 With flowers so white and leaves so green, 
 
 When purest in the dewy mom ; 
 And she 's twa glancing, sparkling een. 
 
 Her looks are like the sportive lamb, 
 When flowery May adorns the scene, 
 
 That wantons round its bleating dam ; 
 And she 's twa glancing, sparkling een. 
 
 Her hair is like the curling mist 
 
 That shades the mountain-side at e'en 
 
 When flower-reviving rains are past ; 
 And she 's twa glancing, sparkling een. 
 
 Her forehead 's like the showery bow. 
 
 When shining sunbeams intervene. 
 And gild the distant mountain's brow ; 
 
 And she 's twa glancing, sparkling een. 
 
 Her voice is like the evening thrush 
 That sings on Cessnock banks unseen. 
 
 While his mate sits nestling in the bush ; 
 And she 's twa glancing, sj)arkling een. 
 
 Her lips are like the cherries ripe 
 
 That sunny walls from Boreas screen — 
 
 They tempt the taste and charm the sight ; 
 And she 's twa glancing, sparkling een. 
 
 Her teeth are like a flock of sheep 
 
 With fleeces newly washen clean, 
 That slowly mount the rising steep : 
 
 And she 's twa glancing, sparkling een. 
 
 Her breath is like the fragrant breeze 
 That gently stirs the blossom'd bean 
 
 When Phoebus sinks behind the seas ; 
 And she 's twa glancing, sparkling een. 
 
 1 Well-favoured. 
 
MT. 23.] SONGS. 305 
 
 But it 's not lier air, her form, her face, 
 Though matching beauty's fabled queen, 
 
 But the mind that shines in every grace. 
 And chiefly in her sparkling een. 
 
 IMPBOVED VERSION. 
 
 On Cesisnock banks a lassie dwells. 
 Could I describe her shape and mien ; 
 
 Our lassies a* she far excels ; 
 And she 's twa sparkling, roguish een. 
 
 She 's sweeter than the morning dawn, 
 When rising Phoebus first is seen, 
 
 And dew-drops twinkle o'er the lawn ; 
 And she 's twa sparkling, roguish een. 
 
 She 's stately, like yon youthful ash 
 That grows the cowslip braes between, 
 
 And drinks the stream loith vigour fresh ; 
 And she 's twa sparkling, roguish een. 
 
 She 's spotless, like the flowering thorn. 
 With flowers so white, and leaves so greej*. 
 
 When purest in the dewy morn ; 
 And she 's twa sparkling, roguish een. 
 
 Her looks are like the vernal May, 
 When evening Phoebus shines serene, 
 
 While birds rejoice on every spray; 
 And she *s twa sparkling, roguish een, 
 
 Her hair is like the curling mist 
 That climbs the mountain-sides at e'en 
 
 When flower-reviving rains are past ; 
 And she 's twa sparkling, roguish e'en. 
 
 Her forehead 's like the showery bow, 
 When gleaming sunbeams intervene, 
 
 And gild the distant mountain's brow ; 
 And she 's twa sparkling, roguish een, 
 
 Jlei' cheeks are like yon crimson gem. 
 The pride of all the flowery scene. 
 
 Just opening on its thorny stem ; 
 
 And she*s twa sparkling, roguish een, 
 
 ffer teeth are like the nightly snoiv. 
 When pale the morning rises keen. 
 
 While hid the murm''ring streamlets flow; 
 And she 's tiva sparkling, roguish een. 
 
3o6 
 
 SOJ\rGS. [t783- 
 
 Her liiis are like yon cherries ripe 
 
 That sunny walls from Boreas screen— 
 
 They tempt the taste and charm the sights 
 And she 's twa sparkling, roguish een. 
 
 Her breath is like the fragrant breeze, 
 
 That gently stirs the blossom 'd bean 
 When Phoebus sinks behind the seas ; 
 
 And she 's twa sparkling, roguish een. 
 
 Her voice is like the evening thrush, 
 
 That sings on Cessnock banks unseen, 
 While his mate sits nestling in the bush ; 
 
 And she 's twa sparkling, roguish een. 
 
 But it 's not her air, her form, her face, 
 Though matching beauty's fabled queen, 
 
 'Tis the mind that shines in every grace ; 
 And chiefly in her roguish een. 
 
 MY FATHER WAS A FARMER. 
 
 Tune—" The Weaver and his Shuttle, O." 
 
 'The following song," says the poet, "is a wild rhapsody, miseranly deficient 
 In versification ; but the sentiments were the genuine feeling* of my heart at 
 the time it was written." 
 
 My father was a farmer 
 
 Upon the Carrick border, O, 
 And carefully he bred me 
 
 In decency and order, O ; 
 He bade me act a manly part, 
 
 Though I had ne'er a farthing, O, 
 For without an honest manly heart, 
 
 No man was worth regarding, O. 
 
 Then out into the world 
 
 My course I did determine, O ; 
 Though 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, O ; 
 Resolved was I, at least to try, 
 
 To mend my situation, O. 
 
 In many a way, and vain essay, 
 
 I courted Foi'tune's favour, O ; 
 Some cause unseen still stept between, 
 
 To frustrate each endeavour, O : 
 Sometimes by foes I was o'erpovver'd ; 
 
 Sometimes by friends forsaken, O , 
 And when my hope was at the top, 
 
 I still was worst mistaken, O. 
 
,ET. 24.] SONGS. 307 
 
 Then sore harass'd, and tired at last, 
 
 With Fortune's vain delusion, O, 
 I dropt my schemes, like idle dreams, 
 
 And came to this conclusion, O : 
 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 hell), nor hope, nor view had I, 
 
 Nor person to befriend me, O ; 
 So I must toil, and sweat, and broil, 
 
 And labour to sustain me, O : 
 To plough and sow, to reap and mow, 
 
 My father bred me early, O ; 
 ¥or one, he said, to labour bred, 
 
 Was a match for Fortune f aiily, O. ^ 
 
 Thus all obscure, unknown, and i)oor. 
 
 Through life I 'm doom'd to wander, O, 
 Till down my weary bones I lay 
 
 In everlasting slumber, O. 
 No view nor care, but shun whate'er 
 
 Might breed me pain or sorrow, O ; 
 I live to-day as well's I may, 
 
 Regardless of to-morrow, O. 
 
 But cheerful still, I am as well 
 
 As a monarch in a palace, O, 
 Though Fortune's frown still hunts me down. 
 
 With all her wonted malice, O : 
 I make indeed my daily bread, 
 
 But ne'er can make it farther, O ; 
 But as daily bread is all I need, 
 
 I do not much regard her, O. 
 
 When sometimes by my labour 
 
 I earn a little money, O. 
 Some unforeseen misfortune 
 
 Comes generally upon me, O : 
 IVIischance, mistake, or by neglect, 
 
 Or my good-natured folly, O ; 
 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 ardour, O, 
 The more in this you look for bliss. 
 
 You leave your view the farther, O, 
 Had you the wealth Potosi boasts. 
 
 Or nations to adore you, O, 
 A cheerful, honest-hearted clowu 
 
 I will prefer before you, O ! 
 
3o8 SONGS, [1782. 
 
 JOHN BARLEYCORN. 
 
 A BALLAD. 
 
 The following is an Improvement of an early song of English orlglo, a copy o\ 
 which was obtained by Mr Robert Jameson from a black-letter sheet in the 
 Pcpys Library, Cambridge, and first published in his ♦' Ballads :" — 
 
 There were three kings into the easfc, 
 
 Three kings both great and high ; 
 And they hae sworn a solemn oath 
 
 J ohn 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 an^ 
 
 And showers began to fall : 
 John Barleycorn got up again, 
 
 And sore surprised them all. 
 
 The sultry suns of summer came, 
 
 And he grew thick and strong ; 
 His head weel aim'd wi' pointed speans, 
 
 That no one should him wrong. 
 
 The sober autumn entered mild, 
 
 When he grew wan and pale ; 
 His bending joints and drooping head 
 
 Show'd he began to faiL 
 
 His colour sicken'd more and more, 
 
 He faded into age ; 
 And then his enemies began 
 
 To show theii' deadly rage. 
 
 They Ve ta'en a weapon, long and sharp, 
 
 And cut him by the knee ; 
 Then tied him fast upon a cart, 
 
 Like a rogue for f orgerie. 
 
 They laid him down upon his back, 
 
 And cudgell'd him full sore ; 
 They hung him up before the storniy 
 
 Aiid turned him o'er and o'er. 
 
 They filled up a darksome pit 
 
 With water to the brim : 
 They heaved in John Barleyoora^ 
 
 There let him sink or swim. 
 
^T. 24.] SONGS. 309 
 
 They laid him out upon the floor. 
 
 To work him further woe : 
 And still, as signs of life appear'dj 
 
 They toss'd him to and fro. 
 
 They wasted o'er a scorching flame 
 
 The marrow of his bones ; 
 But a miller used him worst of all— 
 
 He crush'd him 'tween two stones* 
 
 And they hae ta'en 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. 
 
 Twill make a man forget his woe ; 
 
 'Twill heighten all his joy : 
 Twill make the widow's heart to sing# 
 
 Though the tear were in her eye. 
 
 Tlien let us toast John Barleycorn^ 
 
 Each man a glass in hand ; 
 And may his great posterity 
 
 Ne'er fail in old Scotland I 
 
 MONTGOMERY'S PEGGY. 
 
 Tune — '' Crala Water." 
 
 * MoutgOTnery*s Pegrgy," says the poet, "who had been bred in a style of life 
 rather elegant, was my deity for six or eight months." She was a superior 
 servant in the house of Mr Montgomery of Coilsfield ; and the poefs aojuaint- 
 ance with her arose from his sitting in the same seat with her at church. It 
 cost him some heart-aches, he tells us, to get rid of this affair. 
 
 Although my bed were in yon muir, 
 
 Amang the heather, in my plaidie, 
 Yet happy, happy would I be, 
 
 Had I my dear Montgomery's Peggy, 
 
 When o'er the hill beat surly storms, 
 And winter nights were dark and rainy; 
 
 I'd seek some dell, and in my arms 
 I 'd shelter dear Montgomery's Peggy. 
 
 Were I a baron proud and high, 
 And horse and servants waiting ready, 
 
 ^J.''hen a' 'twad gie o' joy to me, 
 The sharin 't wi' Montgomery's Peggy. 
 
510 SOjVGS. [1782 
 
 MARY MORISON. 
 
 Tune— "Bide ye yet." 
 
 'Of all the productions of Burns," says Ilazlitt, "his pathetic and serious love- 
 songs, in the manner of the old ballads, are perhaps those which take the 
 deepest and most lasting hold of the mind. Such are the lines to Mary 
 Morison." 
 
 Mary, at thy window be, 
 
 It is the wish'd, the trysted hour ! 
 Those smiles and glances let me see 
 
 That make the miser's treasure poor : 
 How blithely wad I bide the stoure, 
 
 A weary slave frae sun to sun ; 
 Could I the rich reward secure, 
 
 The lovely Mary Morison. 
 
 Yestreen, when to the trembling string, 
 The dance gaed through 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 Morison." 
 
 O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace 
 
 Wha for thy sake wad gladly die ? 
 Or canst thou break that heart o^ his 
 
 Whase only f aut 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' INIary Morison. 
 
 THE RIGS O' BARLEY. 
 
 TuNB— " Corn Rigs are Bonny." 
 
 Ihe heroine of this song is supposed to have been a young girl of the name of 
 Annie Ronald, afterwards Mrs Paterson of Aikenbrae, and the daughter of a 
 neighbour of the poet's, at whose house he was wont to be a frequent visitor. 
 
 It was upon a Lammas night, 
 
 When corn rigs are bonny. 
 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 through the barley. 
 
^T. 24.] SO.VGS. 311 
 
 The sky was blue, the wind was still. 
 
 The moon was shining clearly, 
 I set her down, wi' right good will, 
 
 Amang 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 I 
 
 Her heart was beating rarely : 
 My blessings on that happy place, 
 
 Amang the rigs o' barley ! 
 But by the moon and stars so bright, 
 
 That shone that hour so clearly ! 
 She aye shall bless that happy night, 
 
 Amang the rigs o' barley. 
 
 I hae been blithe wi' comrades dear ; 
 
 I hae been merry drinkin' ! 
 I hae (been joyfu' gath'rin' gear ; 
 
 I hae been happy thinkin' : 
 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, and barley rigs, 
 
 And corn rigs are bonny : 
 I '11 ne'er forget that happy night, 
 Amang the rigs wi' Annie. 
 
 PEGGY. 
 
 Tune—*' I had a horse, I had nae mair." 
 
 rhe heroine of this song, about whom there appears to be some dabiety, is 
 thought to have been the "Montgomery's Peggy" mentioned in page 309. 
 
 Now westlin winds and slaught'ring 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 the moon shines bright, when I rove at night, 
 
 To muse upon my charmer. 
 
 The partridge loves the fruitful fells ; 
 
 The plover loves the mountains ; 
 The woodcock haunts the lonely dells ; 
 
 The soaring hern the fountains : 
 
)I2 SONGS. [1784. 
 
 Tlirougli lofty groves the cushat ' re ;.'.s, 
 
 The path of man to shun it ; 
 The hazel bush o'erhangs the thr:; ,' 
 
 The spreading thorn the linnc 
 
 Thus every kind their pleasure riutl, 
 
 The savage and the tender ; 
 Some social join, and leagues corabij) ■ 
 
 Some solitary wander : 
 A vaunt, away ! the cruel sway, 
 
 Tyrannic man's dominion ; I 
 
 The sportsman's joy, the murde , 
 
 The fluttering, gory pinion ! 
 
 But Peggy, dear, the evening ' 
 
 Thick flies the skimming sw: I 
 The sky is blue, the fields in \'v 
 
 All fading green and yellow : 
 Come, let us stray our gladson 
 
 And view the charms of nat 
 The rustling corn, the fruited 1 : 
 
 And every happy creature. 
 
 "VVe *11 gently walk, and sweetly 
 
 Till the silent moon shine c' , 
 I'll grasp thy waist, and, fond'; 
 
 Swear how I love thee deai ]\ 
 Not vernal showers to buddiii-; 
 
 Not autumn to the farmer, 
 So dear can be, as thou to me, 
 
 My fair, my lovely charmer I 
 
 GREEN GROW THE RASTl^'^ 
 
 Tune—" Green grow the rash 
 
 This song, ■which the poet said was the genuine Ian 
 provement upon an ancient homely ditty, of con. . 
 10 the same air. 
 
 Green grow the rashes, O ! 
 
 Green grow the rashes, O ! 
 
 The sweetest houi's that e'er i 
 
 Are spent amang the lasses, ( ' 
 
 There 's nought but care on ever^ L:.i 
 In every hour that passes, O : 
 
 "What signifies the life o' man. 
 An 'twere na for the lasses, O " 
 
Gie me a cannie hour at e'en, 
 
 My arms about my dearie, 0, 
 And warl'ly cares and warl'ly men 
 
 May a' gae tapsalteerie, O'. 
 
 —Ureen Grow the Rashet, 0, page 313. 
 
,ET. 26.] SONGS. 313 
 
 T]ie warily ^ race may riches chase. 
 
 And riches still may fly them, O ; 
 And though at last they catch them fast, 
 
 Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O. 
 
 But gie me a canny 2 hour at een, 
 
 My arms about my dearie, O, 
 And warl'ly cares, and warily men, 
 
 May a' gae tapsalteerie,^ O. 
 
 For you sae douce,^ ye sneer at this, 
 Ye 're nought but senseless asses, O ; 
 
 The wisest man the warl' e'er saw 
 He dearly loved the lasses, O. 
 
 Auld Nature swears the lovely dears 
 
 Her noblest work she classes, O ; 
 Her 'prentice hand she tried on man, 
 
 And then she made the lasses, O. 
 
 THE CUKE FOE ALL CAEE. 
 
 TuNfi — " Prepare, my dear brethren, to the tavern let's fly." 
 
 The poet composed this song shortly after joining the Torbolton Mason Lodge, 
 which was long noted in the west for its festivities. 
 
 No churchman am I for to rail and to write, 
 No statesman nor soldier to plot or to fight. 
 No sly man of business contriving a 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 ; 
 There 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. 
 
 I once was persuaded a venture to make ; 
 A letter inform'd me that all was to wreck ; — 
 3ut the pursy old landlord just waddled up stau'S 
 With a glorious bottle that ended my cares. 
 
 1 Worldly. 2 Happy, lucky—quiet. 3 Topsy-turvy. < Grave. 
 
314 SONGS. [1784. 
 
 "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 a care. 
 
 ADDED IN A MASON LODGE. 
 
 Then fill up a bumper, and make it o'erflow, 
 And honours masonic prepare for to throw ; 
 May every true brother of the compass and square 
 Have a big-bellied bottle when harass'd with care I 
 
 MY JEAN! 
 
 TcNK— " The Northern Lass." 
 
 • The heroine of this sweet snatch," says Cunningham, "was bonny Jean. It 
 was composed when the poet contemplated the West India voyage, and an 
 eternal separation from the land and mU that was dear to him." 
 
 Though cruel fate should bid us part, 
 
 Far as the pole and line, 
 Her dear idea round my heart 
 
 Should tenderly entwine. 
 Though mountains rise, and deserts howl. 
 
 And oceans roar between ; 
 Yet, dearer than my deathless soul, 
 
 I still would love my Jean. 
 
 A FKAGMENT. 
 
 Tune—" John Anderson my jo." 
 
 One night as I did wander, 
 
 When com 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 croodled ^ o'er me, 
 
 That echo'd through the braes. 
 
 WHEN CLOUDS IN SKIES DO COME TOGETHER. 
 
 "The following," says the poet in his first Commonplace Book, "was an extem- 
 pore etfusion, composed under a train of misfortunes which threatened to 
 undo me altogether." 
 
 1 Raced leapingly. ? Wood-pigeon cooed. 
 
^T. 26.] SONGS. 315 
 
 When clouds in skies do come together 
 To hide the brightness of the weather. 
 
 There will surely be some pleasant weather 
 When a' their storms are past and gone. 
 
 Though fickle Fortune has deceived me, 
 She promised fair, and perform'd but ill ; 
 
 Of mistress, friends, and wealth bereaved me, 
 Yet I bear a heart shall support me still. 
 
 1 '11 act with prudence, as far 's I 'm able ; 
 
 But if success I must never find. 
 Then come, Misfortune, I bid thee welcome, 
 
 1 11 meet thee with an undaunted mind. 
 
 ROBIN. 
 
 Tune — " Dainty Davie." 
 
 It is related that when the poet's mother felt her time approach, his father took 
 horse ia the darkness of a stormy January night, and set out for Ayr to pro- 
 cure the necessary female attendant. On arriving at the ford of a rivulet 
 which crossed the road, he found it so deep in flood, that a female wayfarer 
 sat on the opposite side unable to cross , and, notwithstanding his own haste, 
 he conveyed the woman through the stream on his horse. On returning from 
 Ayr with the midwife, he found the gipsy, for such she proved to be, seated 
 at his cottage fireside ; and on the child's being placed in the lap of the woman, 
 shortly after his birth, she is said to have inspected his palm, after the manner 
 of her tribe, and made the predictions which the poet has embodied in the 
 song. 
 
 There was a lad was born in Kyle, 
 But whatna day o' whatna style, 
 I doubt it 's hardly worth the while 
 To be sae nice wi' Robin. 
 Robin was a rovin' boy, 
 
 Rantin' rovin', rantin' rovin' ; 
 Robin was a rovin' boy, 
 Rantin' rovin' Robin ! 
 
 Our monarch's hindmost year but ane 
 Was five and twenty days begun, 
 'Twas then a blast o' Januar win' 
 Blew hansel in on Robin. 
 
 The gossip keekit ^ in his loof,^ 
 Quo' she, 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 aye a heart aboon them a' ; 
 He '11 be a credit till us a', 
 We '11 a' be proud o' Robin. 
 
 1 Peeped. 2 Palm. 3 Goodly. 4 Fool. 
 
3i6 
 
 SOA^GS. L17S5 
 
 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, Eobin. 
 
 Guid faith, quo' she, I doubt ye gar 
 The bonny lasses lie aspar. 
 But twenty fauts ye may hae waur, 
 So blessin's on thee, Kobin ! 
 
 LUCKLESS FOKTUNE. 
 
 O KAGING Fortune's withering blast 
 Has laid my leaf full low, O ! 
 
 O raging Fortune's withering blast 
 Has laid my leaf full low, O ! 
 
 My stem was fair, my bud was green, 
 My blossom sweet did blow, O ; 
 
 The dew fell 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, O. 
 
 THE MAUCHLINE LADY. 
 TuKB— "I had a horse, 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 aye ; 
 
 But when I came roun' by Mauchline town, 
 
 Not dread in' ony body. 
 My heart was caught, before I thought. 
 
 And by a Mauchline lady. * 
 
 THE BRAES O' BALLOCHMYLE. 
 
 Tune—" Braes 0' Ballochmyle." 
 
 Ihis song was composed on the amiable family of Whitefoord's being compelled 
 to part with their hereditary estate, and leave "the braes 01 Ballochmyle." 
 
 * A term of endearment. 
 
 * Jean Annour. 
 
^.27.] SONGS, 317 
 
 ♦' Maria" was the eldest daughter of Sir John Whitefoord, and afterwards >> 
 cume Mrs Cranston. 
 
 The Catriiie woods were yellow seen, 
 
 The flowers decay'd on Catrine lea, 
 Nae laverock ^ sang on hillock green. 
 
 But nature sicken'd on the ee. 
 Through faded groves Maria sang, 
 
 Hersel in beauty's bloom the while, 
 And aye the wild-wood echoes rang, 
 
 Fareweel the Braes o' Ballochmyle I 
 
 Low in your wintry beds, ve 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 bonny banks of Ayr, 
 
 Fareweel, fareweel ! sweet Ballochmyle ! 
 
 YOUNG PEGGY. 
 
 Tune— " The last time I cam o'er the muir." 
 
 The daughter of a landed proprietor in Carrick, whom Burns happened to meet 
 at the house of a friend in Mauchline, was the heroine of these lines. The 
 young lady's wit, youth, and beauty, so fascinated the poet, that he wrote the 
 song, and sent it to her with a highly complimentary lettei*. 
 
 Young Peggy blooms our bonniest lass, 
 
 Her blush is like the morning, 
 The rosy dawn the springing grass 
 
 With pearly gems adornmg : 
 Her eyes outshine the radiant beanis 
 
 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 th' admiring gazer's sight, . 
 
 And sweetly tempt to taste them ; 
 Her smile is, like the evening, mild, 
 
 When feather'd tribes 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 broiy 
 
 Of surly, savage Winter. 
 
 1 Lark. 
 
3i8 
 
 SONGS. [1786. 
 
 Detraction's eye no aim can gain, 
 
 Her winDing powers to lessen ; 
 And spiteful Envy grins in vain, 
 
 The poison'd tooth to fasten. 
 
 Ye Powers of Honour, Love, and Ti-uth, 
 
 From every ill defend her ; 
 Inspire the highly-favour'd youth 
 
 The destinies intend her; 
 Still fan the sweet connubial flame, 
 
 E-esponsive in each bosom ; 
 And bless the dear pai-ental name 
 
 With many a filial blossom. 
 
 THE KANTIN' DOG THE DADDIE O'T. 
 
 Tune— "East neuk 0' Tife." 
 
 The subject of this lively ditty was a girl of the name of Elizabeth Paton, a 
 domestic servant in the poet's house, and the mother of his illegitimate child 
 — "sonsie, smirking, dear-bought Bess." "I composed it," says the poet, 
 "pretty early in life, and sent it to a young girl, a very particular acquaint- 
 ance of mine, who was at the time under a cloud." 
 
 Oh wha my babie-clouts ^ will buy? 
 Oh wha will tent ^ me when I cry 'i 
 Wha will kiss me where I lie ? — 
 The rantin' dog the daddie o't. 
 
 Oh wha will own he did the faut ? 
 Oh wha will buy the groanin' maut? ^ 
 Oh 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 '11 seek nae mair, 
 The rantin' dog the daddie o't. 
 
 Wha will crack to me my lane ? 
 Wha vrill mak me fidgin-fain ? * 
 Wha will kiss me o'er again ?— 
 The rantin' dog the daddie o't, 
 
 I Baby-clothea. 2 Heed. 
 
 9 Malt to brew ale to welcome th« birth of the child. < Pidget with delight. 
 
 ' * The stool of repentance, on which culprits formerly sat when making public 
 satisfaction in tha ehurch. 
 
^T. 28.] SONGS, 319 
 
 MENIE.* 
 
 Tune — "Johnny's Gray Breeks.'* 
 
 The chorus of this beautiful lyric was borrowed by Burns from a song composed 
 by an Edinburgh gentleman ; but it has been generally objected to by critics 
 as iiiterfei'ing with the sombre sentiments of the lines. 
 
 Again rejoicing nature sees 
 
 Her robe assume its vernal hues, 
 Her leafy locks wave in the breeze, 
 
 All freshly steep'd in morning dews. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 And maun I still on Menie dote, 
 
 And bear the scorn that 's in her ee ? 
 
 For it's jet, jet black, and it's like a hawk, 
 And it winna let a body be ! 
 
 In vain to me the cowslips blaw, 
 
 In vain to me the violets spring ; 
 In vain to me, in glen or shaw,i 
 
 The mavis and the lintwhite^ sing. 
 
 The merry ploughboy cheers his team, 
 "VYi* joy the tentie^ seedsman stalks; 
 
 But life to me 's a weary dream, 
 A dream of ane that never wauks.* 
 
 The wanton coot the water skims, 
 
 Amang the reeds the ducklings cry, 
 The stately swan majestic swims, 
 
 And everything 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. 
 
 Blithe waukens by the daisy's side, 
 And mounts and sings on flittering wings, 
 
 A woe-worn ghaist I hameward glide. 
 
 Come, "Winter, with thine angry howl. 
 
 And raging bend the naked tree ; 
 Thy gloom will soothe my cheerless soul, 
 
 When nature all is sad like me ! 
 
 1 Wood. 2 Linnet. » Heedful. 
 
 * Wakes. « Shuts. 6 Gate. 
 
 * The common abbreviation of Mariamne. 
 
320 SONGS. [1786. 
 
 THERE WAS A LASS, 
 TuHK — " Duncan Davison.** 
 
 There was a lass, they ca'd her Meg, 
 
 And she held o*er the moor to spin ; 
 There was a lad that foUow'd her, 
 
 They ca'd him Duncan Davison. 
 The moor was driegh,^ and Meg was skiegh,* 
 
 Her favour Duncan couldna win; 
 For wi' the rock she wad him knock, 
 
 And aye she shook the temper-pin. 
 
 As o'er the moor they lightly foor,^ 
 
 A bum was clear, a glen was green, 
 Upon the banks they eased their shanks, 
 
 And aye 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 flang them a' out o'er the bum. 
 
 LAMENT, 
 
 WRITTEN AT A TIME WHEN THK POET WAS ABOUT TO LEAVE SCOTLAND. 
 
 In the first edition the Editor inserted this piece without comment, although 
 aware that there were doubts as to its authenticity. Through his friend Mr 
 Gunnyon, of Kilmarnock, he is enabled to state that it was written by a Mr 
 John Burt, a teacher in Kilmarnock, who sent it to the Ayr Advertiser of June 
 23, 1814, as an unpublished song of Burns'a, with the view of securing its inser- 
 tion. Burt having afterwards emigrated to America, where he attained to an 
 honourable position in his profession, published at Bridgewater, U.S., a volume 
 of poems in 1819, in which " The Lament" was included. The Editor thinks 
 the verses and their history of sufficient interest to warrant their still being 
 retained. 
 
 O'ER 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 I 
 
 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 Coila's green v^«^ 
 
 The pride of my bosom, my Mary 's no more 1 
 
 No more by the banks of the streamlet we '11 wander, 
 And smile at the moon's rimpled face in the wave ; 
 
 No more shall my arms cling with fondness around her, 
 For the dewdrops of morning fall cold on her grave. 
 
 No more shall the soft thrill of love warm my breast, 
 
 I haste with the storm to a far-distant shore ; 
 Where, unknown, unlamented, my ashes shall rest, 
 
 And joy shall revisit my bosom no more. 
 
 I T<,4ioy^. a High-taiaaed. 8 Went, i Qeai. 
 
Fjow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes. 
 Flow gently, I '11 sing thee a song in thy praise. 
 My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream — 
 Flow gently, sweet Aftou, disturb nut her dream. 
 
 —Afton tVater, page 32l 
 
iET 28.] SONGS. 321 
 
 We '11 big a house — a wee, wee house, 
 
 And we will live like king and queen, 
 Sae blithe and merry we will be 
 
 When ye set by the wheel at e'en. 
 A man may drink and no be drunk ; 
 
 A man may fight and no be slain ; 
 A man may kiss a bonny lass, 
 
 And aye be welcome back again. 
 
 AFTON WATER. V' 
 
 T[jNE— "The Yellow-hair'd Laddie." 
 
 There appears to be some dubiety regarding the heroine ^ this fine song, Curric 
 and Cuuningham having asserted that it was written in honour of Mrs Stewart 
 of Afton Lodge, an early patroness of the poet's. A daughter of Mrs Dunlop's, 
 however, and the poet's eldest brother Gilbert, affirmed that they remembered 
 hearing Burns say that it was written upon the Coilsfield daiiy-maid, the 
 dearly-loved and long-remembered Highland Mary. 
 
 Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, 
 Flow gently, I '11 sing thee a song in thy praise ; 
 My Mary *s asleep by thy murmuring gtream— 
 Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. 
 
 Thou stock-dove, whose echo resounds through the glen. 
 Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den, 
 Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear — ■ 
 I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair. 
 
 How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills, 
 Far mark'd with the courses of clear winding rills ; 
 There daily I wander as noon rises high, 
 My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye. 
 
 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 flowerets she stems thy clear wave. 
 
 Flow 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 ! 
 
322 SOJVGS. [1786U 
 
 THE HIGHLAND LASSIE. 
 
 TuN« — ♦* The deuks dang o'er my daddy."* 
 
 " This," says the poet, " was a composition of mine before 1 was at all known 
 in the world. My Highland lassie [Mary] was a warm-hearted, charming 
 young creature as ever blessed a man with generous love." For an account of 
 this simple, interesting girl, whom the poet's passion has placed in " Fame'iS 
 proud temple," and clothed with immortality as with a garment, the reader is 
 referred to the introduction to the verses entitled, "To Mary in Heaven," p. 
 06I. Burns having sent this song to Mary when she was residing with her 
 l>arents in the Highlands, her mother saw it, and greatly admired it ; and 
 years after the death of this gentle girl, whom every one seems to have loved, 
 it is said the poor old woman was wont to soothe her sorrow by singing to her 
 grandchildren the sweet strains in which the poet has celebrated the beauty 
 and charms of her favourite daughter. Having outlived her husband and many 
 of lier children, she died in great poverty at Greenock in 1822, 
 
 Nae 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 bushy, O, 
 Aboon the plains sae rushy, O, 
 I set me down wi' right good will. 
 To sing my Highland Lassie, O. 
 
 Oh, were yon hills and valleys mine, 
 Yon palace and yon gardens fine ! 
 The world then the love should knew 
 I bear my Highland Lassie, O. 
 
 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, 
 
 Although through foreign climes I i-ange, 
 I know her heart will never change. 
 For her bosom burns with honour's glow. 
 My faithful Highland Lassie, O. 
 
 For her I '11 dare the billows' roar. 
 For her I '11 trace the distant shore, 
 That Indian wealth may lustre throw 
 Ai'ound my Highland Lassie, O. 
 
 The has my heart, she has my hand. 
 By sacred truth and honour's band ! 
 'Till the mortal stroke shall lay me low, 
 I 'm thine, my Highland Lassie, O. 
 
 sense 
 
 Gentle is used here in opposition to simple, in the Scottish and old English 
 se of the word. — Nae gentle dames— no high-blooded neones. — Cureis. 
 
^T. 26.\ SONGS. Z^Z 
 
 Fareweel the glen sae busliy, O ! 
 Fareweel the plain sae rushy, O I 
 To other lands I now must go. 
 To sing my Highland Lassie, O ! 
 
 IVIARY! 
 
 Tune — "Blue Bonnets." 
 
 This beautiful song was found amongst the poet's manuscripts after his death, 
 inscribed, "A Prayer for Mary." Wlio Mary was the world knows. 
 
 PoWEKS celestial ! whose x)rotectiou 
 
 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 ! 
 
 WILL YE GO TO THE INDIES, MY MARY? 
 
 "In my very early years," says the poet, in a letter to Mr Thomson in 1792, 
 " when I was thinking of going to the West Indies, I took the following iiiX-*.- 
 well of a dear girl [Highland Mary] :" — 
 
 Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, 
 
 And leave auld Scotia's shore ? 
 Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, 
 
 Across the Atlantic's roar ? 
 
 Oh, sweet grow the lime and the orange, 
 
 And the apple on the pine ; 
 Bat a' the charms o' the Indies 
 
 Can never equal thine. 
 
 I hae sworn by the Heavens to my I^Iary, 
 I hae sworn by the Heavens to be true ; 
 
 And sae may the Heavens forget me 
 When I forget my vow 1 
 
324 SONGS. [1786. 
 
 Oh, plight me your faith, my Mary, 
 And plight me your lily-white hand ; 
 
 Oh, plight me your faith, my INIary, 
 Before I leave Scotia's strand. 
 
 "We hae plighted our troth, my Mary, 
 
 In mutual affection to join ; 
 And curst be the cause that shall part us I 
 
 The hour and the moment o' time ! 
 
 ELIZA. 
 
 TuNK — " Gilderoy." 
 
 The heroine of this song was the "Miss Betty is braw," one of the Mauchline 
 belles whom the poet has celebrated in epigrammatic verse. She was borr 
 and brought up in Ayrshire, was of an amiable disposition, and appears tc 
 have sympathised with the poet in all his sufferings, and thus raised, says 
 Chambers, a kind of love, chiefly composed of gi'atitude, in his bosom. She 
 ultimately married a Mr James Stewart, and long survived the poet, having 
 died at Alva in 1827, in the 74th year of her age. 
 
 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 mine ear, 
 
 We part to meet no more ! 
 The latest throb that leaves my heart, 
 
 "While death stands victor by, 
 That throb, Eliza, is thy part. 
 
 And thine that latest sigh ! 
 
 A. FAREWELL TO THE BRETHREN OF ST JAMES'S LODGE, 
 TORBOLTON. 
 
 Tune—" Good night, and joy be wi' you a I'* 
 
 The poet is said to have chanted this "Farewell" at a meeting of St James's 
 Mason Lodge at Torbolton, while his chest was on the wav to G-reenock, and 
 he had just written the last song he thought he should ever compose in Scot- 
 land. The person alluded to in the last stanza was Major-General Jame» 
 Montgomery, who was Worshipful Master, while Burns was Depute-Master. 
 
/ET. 28.] SOjVGS. 325 
 
 ADIEU ! a heart- warm, fond adieu ! 
 
 Dear brothers of the mystic tie ! 
 Ye favour'd, ye enlighten'd few, 
 
 Companions of my social joy ! 
 Though I to foreign lands must hie, 
 
 Pursuing Fortune's slidd'ry baV 
 With melting heart, and brimful eye, 
 
 I '11 mind you still, though far awa'. 
 
 Oft have I met your social band, 
 
 And spent the cheerful, festive night ; 
 Oft, honour'd with supreme command, 
 
 Presided o'er the sons of light : 
 And, by that hieroglyphic bright, 
 
 Which none but craftsmen ever saw ! 
 Strong Memory on my heart shall write 
 
 Those hai)py 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 honour'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 SONS OF OLD KILLIE. 
 Tune — " Shawnboy." 
 
 Having visited the Kilmarnock Mason Lodge, presided over by his friend William 
 Parker, Burns produced the following song. "William Parker was a Kilmar- 
 nock bankar, and had subscribed for thirty copies of the first edition of the 
 poema. 
 
 Ye sons of old Killie, assembled by Willie, 
 
 To follow the noble vocation ; 
 Your tlirifty old mother has scarce such another 
 
 To sit in that honoured station. 
 
 1 Slippery ball 
 
326 
 
 SONGS. [1786 
 
 I Ve little to say, but only to pray, ^ 
 
 As praying 's the ton of your fashion ; 
 A prayer from the Muse you well may excuse, 
 
 'Tis seldom her favourite passion. 
 
 Ye powers who preside o'er the wind and the tide, 
 
 Who marked each element's border ; 
 "VVho formed this frame with beneficent aim, 
 
 Wliose 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 ! 
 
 SONG, 
 
 IN THE CHAEACTER OF A ECINED FAEMEE. 
 
 Tune— "Go from my window, love, do." 
 
 '*By the liberality of Mr Dick, bookseller, Ayr," says Mr Robert Chambers, in 
 his recent edition of the poet's works, "the present proprietor of a manu- 
 script of ten leaves, in Burns's hand-writing, and wliich was formerly in the 
 possession of Mrs General Stewart of Stair, we are enabled to give the following 
 song, which has not hitherto seen the light :" — 
 
 The sun he is sunk in the we.^t. 
 All creatures retired to rest. 
 While here I sit all sore beset 
 
 With sorrow, grief, and wo ; 
 And it 's O, fickle Fortune, O I 
 
 The prosperous man is asleep, 
 
 Kor hears how the whirlwinds sweep ; 
 
 But Misery and I must watch 
 
 The surly tempest blow ; 
 And it 's O, fickle Fortune, O ! 
 
 There lies the dear partner of my breast, 
 Her cares for a moment at rest : 
 Must I see thee, my youthful pride, 
 
 Thus brought so very low ! 
 And it 's O, fickle Fortune, O ! 
 
 Tiiere lie my sweet babies in her arms, 
 No enxious fear their little heart fdarms ; 
 But for their sake my heart doth ache, 
 With many a bitter throe : 
 And it 's O, fickle Fortune, 1 
 
 I once was by Fortune carest, 
 I once could relieve the distrest : 
 
fET. 2S.] SOJVGS, 327 
 
 IsTow, life's poor support hardly earn'd, 
 My fate will scarce bestow : 
 And it 's O, fickle Fortune, O ! 
 
 No comfort, no comfort I have ! 
 How welcome to me were the grave ! 
 But then my wife and children dear, 
 
 wliither would they go ? 
 And it 's O, fickle Fortune, O ! 
 
 O whither, O whither shall I turn ! 
 All friendless, forsaken, forlorn ! 
 For in this world Rest or Peace 
 
 1 never more shall know ! 
 And it 's O, fickle Fortune, O ! 
 
 THE LASS OF BALLOCHMYLE. 
 
 Tune — " Miss Forbes's Farewell to Banff.'* 
 
 rhe beautiful estate of Ballochmyle, which is situated on the Ayr, in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Mauchline, was -at this period of the poet's life transferred from 
 the family of the Whitefoords (whose departure he has lamented in the lines 
 on "The Braes of Ballochmyle") to Mr Claud Alexander, a gentleman who 
 had made a large fortune as paymaster-general of the East India Company's 
 troops at Bengal ; and having just taken up his residence at the mansion- 
 house, his sister. Miss Wilhelmina Alexander, was one day walking out through 
 the grounds, which appear to have been a favourite haunt of Bin-ns's, when she 
 accidentally encountered him in a musing attitude, with his shoulder leaning 
 against a tree. As the grounds were thought to be strictly private, the lady 
 appears to have been somewhat startled ; but, having recovered herself, passed 
 on, and thought no more of the matter. A short time afterwards, however, 
 she was reminded of the circumstance by receiving a letter from the poet, 
 enclosing the song. "I had roved out," he says, "as chance directed in the 
 favourite haunts of my Muse, on the banks of the Ayr, to view nature in all the 
 gaiety of the vernal year. The evening sun was flaming over the distant 
 western hills : not a breath stirred the crimson opening blossom, or the verdant 
 spreading leaf. It was a golden moment for a poetic heart. Such was the 
 scene, and such was 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 land- 
 scape or met a poet's eye. Tlie enclosed song was the work of my return 
 home ; and perhaps it but poorly answers what might have been expected from 
 such a scene." Much to the mortification of Burns, however, the lady took no 
 notice of either the letter or the song, although she ultimately displayed a higli 
 sense of the honour which the genius of the poet had conferred on her. She 
 died unmarried in 1843, at the age of eighty-eight. 
 
 'TwAS even — the dewy fields were greeii. 
 
 On every blade the pearls hang, 
 The zephyrs wanton'd round the bean, 
 
 And bore its fragrant sweets alang : 
 In every glen the mavis sang, 
 
 All nature listening seem'd the while. 
 Except where greenwood echoes rang, 
 
 Amang the bra'^s o' Ballochin.vle. 
 
3^8 
 
 SONGS. [1 785. 
 
 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 through the garden gay. 
 
 Or wandering in the lonely wild : 
 But woman, Nature's darling child ! 
 
 There all her charms she does compile ; 
 Even there her other works are foil'd 
 
 By the bonny lass o' Ballochmyle. 
 
 Oh ! had she been a country maid, 
 
 And I the happy country swain. 
 Though shelter'd in the lowest shed 
 
 That ever rose on Scotland's plain : 
 Through weary winter's wind and rain, 
 
 AVith 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 honours 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 bonny lass o' Ballochmyle, 
 
 THE BONNY BANKS OF AYE. 
 
 Tune — "Roslin Castle." 
 
 The poet, says Professor Walker, having been on a visit to a family where he 
 had enjoyed much elegant and social pleasure, and which he thought was never 
 to be renewed, as he was about to depart for the West Indies, "on his way 
 home had to cross a wide stretch of solitary moor ; and, depressed by the con- 
 trasted gloom of his prospects, the aspect of nature harmonised with his feel- 
 mgs : it was a lowering and heavy evening in autumn. The wind was up, and 
 whistled thi-ough the rushes and long speargrass which bent before it. The 
 clouds were driving across the sky; and cold pelting showers at intervals 
 added discomfort of body to cheerlessness of mind. Under these circumstances, 
 and in this frame, Burns composed the following song : " — 
 
 The gloomy night is gathering fast, 
 Loud roars the wild inconstant blast ; 
 Yon murky cloud is foul with rain, 
 I see it diiving o'er the i^lain ; 
 
«T. 28.] SONGS, 329 
 
 The hunter now has left the moor, 
 The scattered coveys meet secure ; 
 While here I wander, prest with care 
 Along the lonely banks of Ayr. 
 
 The Autumn mourns her ripening corn, 
 By early Winter's ravage torn ; 
 Across her placid, azure sky, 
 She sees the scowling tempest fly : 
 Chill runs my blood to hear it rave — 
 I think upon the stormy wave, 
 Where many a danger I must dare, 
 Far from the bonny banks of Ayr. 
 
 'Tis not the surging billow's roar, 
 "Tis not that fatal, deadly shore ; 
 Though 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 bonny 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 bonny banks of Ayr I 
 
 THE BANKS OF DOON. 
 
 FIRST VEESION. 
 
 The following song relates to an incident in real life— an unhappy love-tale. The 
 unfortunate heroine was a beautiful and accomplished woman, the daughter 
 and heiress of a gentleman of fortune in Carrick. Having been deserted by 
 her lover, the son of a wealthy Wigtonshire proprietor, to whom she had bora 
 a child without the sanction of the Church, she is said to have died of a broken 
 heart. The poet composed a second version of this song in 1792, for the Scott 
 Musical Museum, ; but it lacks the pathos and simplicity of the present one. 
 (See p. 404.) 
 
 Ye flowery banks o' bonny Doon, 
 
 How can ye bloom sae fair ; 
 How can ye chant, ye little birds. 
 And I sae fu' o' care ! 
 
 Thou It break my heart, thou bonny bird 
 
 That sings upon the bough ; 
 Thou minds me o' the happy days 
 
 When my fause luve was true. 
 
33^ SONGS. [1787. 
 
 Thou 'It "break my heart, thou bonny bird 
 
 That sings beside thy mate ; 
 For sae I sat, and sae I sang, 
 
 And wist na o' my fate. 
 
 Aft hae I roved by bonny Doon, 
 
 To see the woodbine twine ; 
 And ilka bird sang o' its love, 
 
 And sae did I o' mine. 
 
 \Yi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, 
 
 Frae off its thorny tree ; 
 And my fause luver staw ^ the rose, 
 
 But left the thorn wi' me. 
 
 THE AMERICAN WAR. 
 
 A FKAGMENT. 
 
 Tune — " Killiecrankie." 
 
 riie following ballad was composed at a period when the poet's political opinions 
 had scarcely developed themselves, and when, as Dr Blair remarked, they still 
 "smelt of the smithy." It is curious, however, as an illustration of the mode 
 in which the rustic mind is apt to view the most important militaiy and poli- 
 tical matters. 
 
 "When Guildford good our pilot stood, 
 
 And did our helm thraw,^ man, 
 Ae night, at tea, began a plea, 
 
 Within America, man : 
 Then up they gat the maskin'-pat,3 
 
 And in the sea did jaw,^ * man ; 
 And did nae less, in full Congress, 
 
 Than quite refuse our law, man. 
 
 Then through the lakes, Montgomery t takes, 
 
 I wat he wasna slaw, man ! 
 Down Lowrie's burn J he took a turn, 
 
 And Carleton did ca', man : 
 But yet, what-reck, he, at Quebec, 
 
 Montgomery-like § did fa', man : 
 Wi' sword in hand, before his band, 
 
 Amang his en'mies a', man. 
 
 1 Stole. 2 Turn. s Tea-pot. 4 Throw. 
 
 * The English Parliament having imposed an excise duty upon tea imported 
 into North America, the East India Company sent several ships laden with that 
 article to Boston ; but, on their an-ival, the natives went on board by force of 
 arms, and emptied all the tea into the sea. 
 
 t General Montgomery invaded Canada in 1775, and took Montreal, the British 
 general. Sir Guy Carleton, retiring before him. 
 
 X A pseudonym for the St Lawrence. 
 
 g A compliment to the poet's patrons, the Montgomeries of Coilsfield 
 
/ET. 29.] SOJVCrS. 331 
 
 Poor Tammy Gage, within a cage, 
 
 AVas kept at Boston ha', man ; * 
 Till Willie Howe took o'er the knowe 
 
 For Philadeli)hia, man ; 
 "VVi' sword and gun he thought a sin 
 
 Guid Christian bluid to draw, man ; 
 But at New York, wi' knife and fork, 
 
 Sir-loin he hackM sma', man.f 
 
 Burgoyne gaed up, like spur and whip, 
 
 Till Fraser brave did fa', man ; 
 Then lost his way, ae misty day, 
 
 In Saratoga shaw,^ man. J 
 Cornwallis fought as long 's he dought,^ 
 
 And did the buckskins claw, man ; 
 But Clinton's glaive frae rust to save, 
 
 He hung it to the wa', man. 
 
 Then Montague, and Guildford 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, 
 
 Nae mercy had at a', man ; 
 And Charlie Fox threw by the box. 
 
 And loosed his tinkler jaWj§ 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 and Fox united stocks. 
 
 And bore him to the wa', man. 
 
 Then clubs and hearts were Charlie's cartes. 
 
 He swept the stakes awa', man. 
 Till the diamond's ace, of Indian race. 
 
 Led him a sair/awx pas^ man ; ^ 
 
 1 Wood. 2 Could. 3 Stubborn. 
 
 4 Dust. 5 Thwart. 
 
 * An allusion to General Gage's being besieged in Boston by General Washing- 
 ton. 
 
 f Alluding to an inroad made by Howe, when a large number of cattle was 
 destroyed. 
 
 X An allusion to the surrender of General Burgoyne's army at Saratoga. 
 
 § Free-spoken tongue. Tinkers are provei'bial for their power of speech. 
 
 !| By the union of Lord North and INIr Fox, in 1783, the heads of the celebrated 
 coalition, Lord Shelburne was compelled to resign. 
 
 ^ An allusion to Mr Fox's India Bill, which threw him out of office in Decern 
 oer 1783. 
 
332 SONGS. [1787 
 
 The Saxon lads, wi' loud placads,'^ 
 
 On Chatham's boy did ca', man ; 
 And Scotland drew her pipe, and blew, 
 
 *' Up, Wniie, waur 2 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 : 
 And Chatham's wraith,^ in heavenly graith, 
 
 (Inspired Bardies saw, man ;) 
 Wi' kindling eyes cried, " Willie, rise !'* 
 
 " Would I hae fear'd them a', man? " 
 
 But, word and blow, North, Fox, and Co. , 
 
 Gowfif'd * AVillie like a ba', man, 
 Till Suthrons raise, and coost ^ their claes 
 
 Behind him in a raw, man ; 
 And Caledon threw by the drone, 
 
 And did her whittle ^ draw, man ; 
 And swoor fu' rude, through dirt and bluid, 
 
 To make it guid in law, man. 
 
 THE BIRKS OF ABERFELDY. 
 
 Tune— "The Birks of Aberfeldy." 
 
 The poet tells us he composed this song on a visit which he paid to the beautiful 
 falls of Moness, at Aberfeldy, in Perthshire, while on his way to Inverness. 
 The air is old and sprightly. 
 
 Bonny lassie, will ye go. 
 Will ye go, will ye go ; 
 Bonny lassie, wiU. ye go 
 To the bii'ks^ of Aberfeldy? 
 
 Now simmer blinks 8 on flowery braes, 
 And o'er the crystal streamlet plays ; 
 Come, let us spend the lightsome days 
 In the birks of Aberfeldy. 
 
 Wbile o'er their heads the hazels hing. 
 The little birdies blithely sing, 
 Or lightly flit on wanton wing 
 In the birks of Aberfeldy. 
 
 1 Cheers. 2 Beat. 3 Ghost. 
 
 * Knocked him about. The phrase properly refers to the game of golf. 
 
 • Doffed. 6 Knife. "> Birches— Birch- wood. 8 Glancea 
 
iCT. 29.] SONGS. 333 
 
 The braes ascend, like lofty wa's, 
 The foaming stream deep-roaring fa's, 
 O'erhung wi' fragrant spreading shaws,^ 
 The birks of Aberfeldy. 
 
 The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi' flowers, 
 White o'er the linns the bnrnie pours, 
 And rising, weets wi' misty showers 
 The birks of Aberfeldy. 
 
 Let Fortune's gifts at random flee. 
 They ne'er shall draw a wish frae mo, 
 Supremely blest wi' love and thee, 
 In the birks of Aberfeldy. 
 
 THE BONNY LASS OF ALBANY. 
 
 Tune — " Mary's Dream." 
 
 ** The following song," says Chambers, " is printed from a manuscript book in 
 Burns's hand-writing, in the possession of Mr B. Nightingale of London." 
 The heroine was the natural daughter of Prince Charles Edward, by Clemen- 
 tina Walkinshaw, with whom, it is well-known, he lived for many years. The 
 Prince afterwards caused her to be legitimated by a deed of the parliament of 
 Paris in 1787, and styled her the Duchess of Albany. 
 
 My heart is wae, and unco wae, ^ 
 To think upon the raging sea 
 That roars between her gardens green 
 And the bonny Lass of Albany. 
 
 This lovely maid 's of royal blood 
 That ruled Albion's kingdoms three. 
 But oh, alas ! for her bonny face, 
 They 've wrang'd the Lass of Albany. 
 
 In the rolling tide of spreading Clyde 
 There sits an isle of high degree. 
 And a town of fame whose princely name 
 Should grace the Lass of Albany. 
 
 But there 's a youth, a witless youth. 
 That fills the i^lace where she should be ; 
 We '11 send him o'er to his native shore, 
 And bring our ain sweet Albany. 
 
 Alas the day, and wo the day, 
 
 A false usurper wan the gree '^ 
 
 Who now commands the towers and lands — 
 
 The royal right of Albany. 
 
 1 Woods. 2 Sad. « Superiority. 
 
334 SOA^GS. Li 787. 
 
 We '11 dail]r pray, we '11 niglitly pray, 
 On bended knees most fervently. 
 The time may come, with pipe and drum, 
 We '11 welcome hame fair Albany. 
 
 LADV ONLIE. 
 
 Tune— ** Ruffian's Rant." 
 ■PTiis IS an old song improved by Burns for the Musmrru. 
 
 A' THE lads o' Thorniebank, 
 
 When they gae to the shore o' Bucky,^ 
 They '11 step in and tak a pint 
 
 Wi' Lady Onlie, honest Lucky ! ^ 
 
 Lady Onlie, honest Lucky, 
 Brews guid ale at shore o' Bucky ; 
 
 I wish her sale for her guid ale. 
 The best on a' the shore o' Bucky. 
 
 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, honest Lucky, 
 
 Brews guid ale at shore o' Bucky ; 
 
 I wish her sale for her guid ale. 
 The best on a' the shore o' Bucky. 
 
 BLITHE WAS SHE. 
 
 Tune—" Andrew and his Cutty Gun." 
 
 The heroine of this song was Miss Euphemia Murray of Lintrose, a lovely young 
 creature of eighteen, and already distinguished by the appellation of "The 
 Flower of Strathmore." The poet met her while on a visit to the house of her 
 uncle, Sir William Murray of Ochtertyre, and seems to have been charmed by 
 her beauty and affability. She subsequently became the wife of Mr Smythe of 
 Methven, one of the judges of the Court of Session. 
 
 Blithe, blithe, and merry was she, 
 Blithe was she butt and ben : ^ 
 Blithe by the banks of Earn, 
 And blithe in Glenturit glen. 
 
 1 Ruckhaven. SGoodwife 3 Well-filled. 
 
 < Kerchief— a covering for the head. ^ Dear. 6 Blazing fire 
 
 7 In kitchen and parlour. 
 
^T. 29.] SOATGS. 335 
 
 By Auchtertyre grows the aik,i 
 
 On Yarrow banks the birken shaw ; ' 
 
 But Phemie was a bonnier lass 
 Than braes o' Yarrow ever saw. 
 
 Her looks were like a flower in May, 
 Her smile was like a simmer morn ; 
 
 She tripped by the banks of Earn, 
 As light 's a bird upon a thorn. 
 
 Her bonny face it was as meek 
 
 As ony lamb upon a lea ; 
 The evening sun was ne'er sae sweet, 
 
 As was the blink o' Phemie's ee. 
 
 The Highland hills I 've wander'd wide, 
 
 And o'er the Lowlands I hae been ; 
 But Phemie was the blithest lass 
 
 That ever trod the dewy green. 
 
 BONNY DUNDEE. 
 
 Tune — " Bonny Dundee." 
 
 This song appeared in the first volume of the Museum. The second verse aloae 
 is Burns's, the first having been taken from a very old homely ditty. 
 
 Oh, whare 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 bonny Dundee. 
 Oh gin I saw the laddie that gae me 't ! 
 
 Aft has he doudled'* me upon his knee ; 
 May Heaven protect my bonny Scots laddie, 
 
 And send him safe hame to his baby and me ! 
 
 My blessin 's upon thy sweet wee lippie. 
 
 My blessin 's upon thy bonny eebree ! 
 Thy smiles are sae like my blithe sodger laddie, 
 
 Thou 's aye be dearer and dearer to me ! 
 But I '11 big a bower on yon bonny 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. 
 
 1 Oak 2 Birch-woocls. 8 Oat. * Dandled 
 
S36 SONGS, [1787. 
 
 THE JOYFUL WIDOWER. 
 ToKE— " Maggy Lauder." 
 
 I MAKEIED witli a scolding wife, 
 
 The fourteenth of Noveniber ; 
 She made me weary of my 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 steered, 
 
 And 's gone I know not whither : 
 Would I 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 could ne'er abide her. 
 I rather think she is aloft. 
 
 And imitating thunder; 
 For why, methinks I hear her voice 
 
 Tearing the clouds asunder. 
 
 A ROSEBUD BY MY EARLY WALK 
 
 Tune—" The Rosebud." 
 
 This song was composed in honour of the young lady to whom the poet ad- 
 dressed the lines beginning, " Beauteous rosebud, young and gay." She was 
 Miss Jenny Cruikshank, daughter of Mr William Cruikshank, one of the 
 masters of the High School of Edinburgh, a friend of Burns's, and at whose 
 house he resided during one of his visits to the metropolis. Being a proficient 
 in music, the young lady appears to have charmed the poet by her skill in that 
 art. She subsequently became the wife of a Mr Henderson, a legal practitioner 
 in Jedburgh. 
 
 A ROSEBUD by my early walk, 
 
 Adown a corn-enclosed 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 drooping rich the dewy head, 
 It scents the early morning. 
 
 1 An open space in a cornfield. 
 
/K1V2').] SONGS, 337 
 
 Within the bush, her covert nest 
 A little linnet fondly prest, 
 The dew sat chilly on her breast 
 
 Sae early in the morning. 
 She soon shall see her tender brood, 
 The pride, the pleasure o' the wood, 
 Amang the fresh green leaves bedewed, 
 
 Awake the early morning. 
 
 So thou, dear bird, young Jenny fair! 
 On trembling string, or vocal air, 
 Shall sweetly pay the tender care 
 
 That tends thy early morning. 
 So thoa, sweet rosebud, young and gay, 
 Shalt beauteous blaze upon the day. 
 And bless the parent's evening ray 
 
 That watch'd thy early morning. 
 
 BRAYING ANGRY WINTER'S STORMS. 
 
 Tune — "Neil CrOw's Lamentation for Abercairny." 
 
 The two following songs were written in praise of Miss Margaret Chalmers, a 
 relative of the poet's friend, Mr Gavin Hamilton. Burns first became ac- 
 quainted with the young lady at the house of Br Blacklock ; and being of a 
 quiet, amiable disposition, and possessed of that "excellent thing in woman," 
 a delightful voice, she appears to have left an abiding impression on the heart 
 oT xhe susceptible poet, who called her "one of the most accomplished oi 
 -tvomen/' and frequently spoke of her with more than common warmth. 
 
 Wheke, braving angry Winter's storms, 
 
 The lofty Ochils rise, 
 Far in their shade my Peggy's charms 
 
 First blest my wondering eyes ; 
 As one who by some savage stream, 
 
 A lonely gem surveys, 
 Astonish'd, doubly marks its beam, 
 
 With art's most polished 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 Pescgy from my soul 
 
 Must be a stronger death. 
 
33^ SONGS. 1:178V. 
 
 VlY PEGGY'S FACE. 
 
 TuNB— " My Peggy's Face." 
 
 Mt Peggy's face, my Peggy's form, 
 The frost of hermit age might warm ; 
 My Peggy's worth, my Peggy's mind, 
 Might charm the first of humankind. 
 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. 
 
 THE BANKS OF THE DEVON. 
 
 Tune— " Bhanarach dhonn a chruidh.'' 
 
 •'These verses," says Burns, in his notes in the Musical Museum,, "were com- 
 posed on a charming girl. Miss Charlotte Hamilton, who is now married to 
 James M. Adair, physician. She is sister to my worthy friend, Gavin Hamil- 
 ton of Mauchline, and was born on the banks of the Ayr; but was, at the time 
 I wrote these lines, residing at Harvieston, in Clackmannanshire, on tne ro- 
 mantic banks of the little river Devon." The poet, it has been said, wished to 
 b«'*»omething more than a mere admirer of this young lady ; but 
 
 " Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig ; " 
 
 for the music of his lyre appears to have fallen on ears that would not charm. 
 
 How pleasant the banks of the clear-winding Devon, 
 With green-spreading bushes, and flowers blooming fair? 
 
 But tlie 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 flov^^il, 
 In the gay rosy mom, as it bathes in the AQVf ! 
 
 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 ! 
 
iCT. 29.] SOA^CrS, 339 
 
 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. 
 
 MACPHERSON'S FAREWELL. 
 
 Tune— " M'Pherson's Rant." 
 
 This fine song, which Lockhart terms "a gi-and lyric," and Carlyle " a wild, 
 stormful song, that dwells ia ear and mind with strange tenacity," was designed 
 by the poet as an improvement of a well-known old ditty entitled, " Macpher- 
 son's Lament," and which is said to have been written by a Highland freebooter 
 a night or two before his execution. As this hero's history contains some 
 elements of interest, we borrow the following account of him from Mr Robert 
 Chambers's recent edition of the poet's works : — "James Macpherson was a 
 noted Highland freebooter of uncommon personal strength, and an excellent 
 performer on the violin. After holding the counties of Aberdeen, Banff, and 
 Moray in fear for some years, he was seized by Duff of Braco, ancestor of the 
 Earl of Fife, and tried before the sheriff' of Banffshire, (November 7, 1700,) 
 along with certain gipsies who had been taken in his company. In the prison, 
 while he lay under sentence of death, he composed a song and an appropriate 
 air, the former commencing thus : — 
 
 ' I've spent my time in rioting, 
 
 Debauch'd my health and strength ; 
 I squander' d fast as pillage came, 
 And fell to shame at length. 
 
 But dantonly, and wantonly. 
 
 And rantingly I '11 gae ; 
 I '11 play a tune, and dance it rouij' 
 Beneath the gallows-U'ee.' 
 
 When brought to the place of execution, on the Gallows-hill of Banff, (Nov. 
 16,) he played the tiine on his violin, and then asked if any friend was present 
 who would accept the instrument as a gift at his hands. No one coming for- 
 ward, he indignantly broke the violin on his knee, and threw away the frag- 
 ments ; after which he submitted to his fate. The traditionary accounts of 
 Macpherson's immense prowess ai-e justified by his sword, which is still pre- 
 served in Duff House, at Banff, and is an implement of great length and weight 
 — as well as by his bones, which were found a few years ago, and were allowed 
 by all who saw them to be much stronger than the bones of ordinary men." 
 
 Farewell, ye dungeons dark and strong, 
 
 The wretch's destinie ! 
 Macpnerson's time will not be long 
 
 On yonder gaUows-tree. 
 
 Sae rantingly, sae wantonly, 
 
 Sae dauntingly gaed he ; 
 Hg ylay'd a spring, and danced it round, 
 
 Below the gallows-tree. 
 
 C^ I what is death but parting breath?— 
 
 On mony a blooay plain 
 I 've dared his face, and in this place 
 
 I scorD him yet again ! 
 
340 SOJVGS. [i783» 
 
 Untie these bands from off my hands, 
 
 And bring to me my sword ! 
 And there 's no a man in all ScotlaLd 
 
 But I '11 brave him at a word. 
 
 I Ve lived a life of sturt and strife; 
 
 I die by treacherie : 
 It bums my heart I must depart 
 
 And not avenged be. 
 
 Now farewell light — thou sunshine bright, 
 
 And all beneath the sky ! 
 May coward shame distain his name. 
 
 The wretch that dares not die ! 
 
 ^ 
 
 WHISTLE, AND I 'LL COIVIE TO YOU, MY LAD, 
 
 fliis version of an old fragment the poet composed for the second volume of th« 
 Museum; but he afterwards altered and extended it for Thomson's colleotion. 
 
 Oh, whistle, and I '11 come to you, my lad ; 
 Oh, whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad : 
 Though father and mother should baith gae mad, 
 Oh, whistle, and I '11 come to you, my lad. 
 
 Come down the back 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 naebo-iy see 
 And come as ye werena coming to me. 
 
 STAY, MY CHAKMER. 
 Tune — " An dille dubh ciar dhubh." 
 
 Stay, my charmer, can you leave me ? 
 
 Cruel, cruel to deceive me ! 
 
 Well you know how much you ^eve 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 ! 
 
JET, 30.] SOATGS. 341 
 
 STRATHALLAN'S LAMENT. 
 
 William, fourth Viscount of Strathallan, whom the poet celebrates in these lines, 
 fell on the rebel side at CuUoden in 1746. The poet, perhaps ignorant of thia 
 fact, speaks of him as having survived the battle, and fled for safety to some 
 mountain fastness. 
 
 Thickest night, o'erhang my dwelling! 
 
 Howling tempests, o'er me rave ! 
 Turbid torrents, wintry swelling, 
 
 Still surroimd my lonely cave ! 
 
 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, 
 Honour's war we strongly waged, 
 
 But the heavens denied success. 
 
 Farewell, fleeting, fickle treasure, 
 'Tween Misfortune and Folly shared 1 
 
 Farewell Peace, and farewell Pleasure I 
 Farewell flattering man's regard ! 
 
 Ruin's wheel has driven o'er us, 
 
 Not a hope that dare attend, 
 The wide world is all before us— 
 
 But a world without a friend ! 
 
 THE YOUNG HIGHLAND ROYER. 
 
 Tune — "Morag." 
 
 Loud blaw the frosty breezes, 
 
 The snaw the mountains cover ; 
 Xjike 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 ; 
 'xieturn him safe to fair Strathspey, 
 
 And bonny Castle-Gordon 1 
 
 The trees now naked groaning, 
 Tshall soon wi' leaves be hinging, 
 
 The birdies dowie^ moaning, 
 ShaU a' be blithely singing, 
 And every flower be springing. 
 
 1 Sadly. 
 
34'^ SONGS, [:7£e. 
 
 Sae I'll rejoice the lee-lang day, 
 
 AVTien by his mighty warden 
 My youth 's return'd to fair Strathspey, 
 
 And bonny Castle-Gordon. 
 
 RAYING WIKDS AEOUND HER BLOAYING. 
 
 Tune—" Macgregor of Ruara's Lament." 
 
 "I composed these verses," says Burns, "on Miss Isabella M'Leod of Raasay, 
 alluding to her feelings on the death of her sister, and th? still more melan- 
 choly death of her sistei*'s husband, the late Earl of Loudon, who shot himself 
 out of sheer heartbreak at some mortification he suffered from the deranged 
 state of his finances." 
 
 Raving winds around her blowing, 
 Yellow leaves the woodlands strowir.g, 
 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 wanderinj. 
 On the hopeless future pondering ; 
 Chiljy Grief my life-blood freezes, 
 Fell Despair my fancy seizes. 
 Life, thou soul of every blessing, 
 Load to Misery most distressing. 
 Oh, how gladly I 'd resign thee. 
 And to dark oblivion join thee I" 
 
 MUSING ON THE ROARING OGE_VN 
 
 Tune— "Druimion Dubh." 
 
 **I composed these verses," says the poet, " out cf cD:aipliment to a Mrs 
 Maclaclilan, whose liusband w^as an officer in tl^e JFast Indies." 
 
 Musing on the roaring ocean, 
 
 Which divides my love and me ; 
 "Wearying Heaven in warm devoti-?!!, 
 
 For his weal where'er he Hjc. 
 
 Hope and Fear's alternate biuO'V 
 
 Yielding late to Nature's laW ;^ 
 Whispering spirits round my pillow 
 
 Talk of him fchair 's far awa'. 
 
.lex. 3oJ SONGS, 343 
 
 Ye whom sorrow never wounded, 
 
 Ye who never shed a tear, 
 Care-untroubled, j oy-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' ! 
 
 BONNY PEGGY ALISON. 
 
 Tune— "Braes o' Balquhidder." 
 
 The heroine of this song is thought to have been the "Montgomery's Peggy" of 
 the soug of that name, the subject of other songs, and tue object Of many 
 months' fruitless wooing. 
 
 I 'll kiss thee yet, yet, 
 
 And I '11 kiss thee o'er again ; 
 And I '11 kiss thee yet, yet, 
 
 My bonny Peggy Alison ! 
 
 Ilk care and fear, when thou art near, 
 
 I ever mair defy them, O ; 
 Young kings upon their hansel ^ throne 
 
 Are nae sac blest as I am, O ! 
 
 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, O ! 
 
 And by thy een, sae bonny blue, 
 
 I swear I 'm thine for ever, O !-^ 
 And on thy lips I seal my vow. 
 
 And break it shall I never, O ! 
 
 THE cheyalh]:r's lament. 
 
 Tune— " Captain O'Kean," 
 
 ^ Yesterday," wrote Burns to his friend Cleghorn, "as I was riding througji a 
 tract of melancholy, joyless moors, between Galloway and Ayrshire, it b€ing 
 Sunday, I turned my thought?s to psalms, and hymns, and spiritual songs ; and 
 j'OUB favourite air, 'Captain O'Kean,' coming at length into my head. I tried 
 these words to it. I am tolerably pleased with the verses ; but as I have only 
 a sketch of the tune, I leave it with you to try if they suit the measure of the 
 
 X New-Ton, 
 
344 SONGS. [.V88. 
 
 music." Cleghorn answered that the words delighted him, and fitted the tune 
 exactly. "I wish," added he, "that you would send me a verse or two more » 
 and, if you have no objection, I would have it in the Jacobite style. Suppose 
 it sliould be sung after the fatal field of CuUoden, by the unfortunate Charles." 
 The poet took his friend's advice, and infused a Jacobite spirit into the first 
 verse as well as the second. 
 
 The small birds rejoice in the green leaves returning, 
 The murmuring streamlet winds through the vale ; 
 
 The hawthorn trees blow, in the dew of the morning, 
 And wild scattered cowslips bedeck the green dale : 
 
 But what can give pleasure, or what can seem fair. 
 
 While the lingering moments are number'd by care ? 
 No flowers gaily springing, nor birds sweetly singing, 
 
 Can soothe the sad bosom of joyless despair. 
 
 The deed that I dared, could it merit their malice, 
 A king, and a father, to place on his throne ? 
 
 His right are these hills, and his right are these valleys. 
 Where the wild beasts find shelter, but I can find none 
 
 But 'tis not my sufferings thus wretched, — forlorn, 
 
 My brave gallant friends ! 'tis your ruin I mourn ; 
 Youi* deeds proved so loyal in hot bloody trial — 
 
 Alas ! can I make you no sweeter return ? 
 
 OF A' THE AIETS THE WIND CAN BLAW. 
 
 Tune— "Miss Admiral Gordon's Strathspey." 
 
 "I composed this song," says the poet, "out of compliment to Mrs Burns, 
 during our honeymoon." 
 
 Of a' the airts the wind can blaw, 
 
 I dearly like the west. 
 For there the bonny lassie lives, 
 
 The lassie I lo'e best : 
 There wild woods grow, and rivers row,^ 
 
 And mony a hill between ; 
 But day and night, my fancy's flight 
 
 Is ever wi' my Jean, 
 
 I see har in the dewy flowers, 
 
 I see her sweet and fair : 
 I hear her in the tunefu' birds, 
 
 I hear her charm the air : 
 There 's not a bonny flower that springs 
 
 By fountain, shaw,*^ or green. 
 There 's not a bonny bird that sings, 
 
 But minds me o' my Jean. * 
 
 1 Koll. 2 Wood. 
 
 * The two following stanzas were written some years afterwards, by Mr John 
 Hamilton, music-seller, Edinburgh, and from their simplicity and beauty are 
 really worthy of forming the corollary to this fine song : — 
 
>ET. 30.] SOJVGS. 345 
 
 OH, WERE I ON PAEKASSUS' HILL. 
 
 Tune — "My love is lost to me." 
 
 This song vras also produced in honour of Mrs 3urns, shortly before she took up 
 her residence at Ellisland as the poet's wife. It is thought to have been com- 
 posed while he was one day gazing towards the hill of Corsincon, at the head 
 of Nithsdale, and beyond which, though at some distance^ was the quiet vale 
 where lived his "bonny Jean." 
 
 Oh, 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 Mth maun be my Muse's well, 
 My Muse maun be thy bonny sel ; 
 
 " Oh, blaw, ye westlin* winds, blaw saft 
 
 J^mang the leafy trees, 
 Wi' balmy gale, frae hill and dale, 
 
 Bring hame the laden bees ; 
 And bring the lassie back to me 
 
 That's aye sae neat and clean ; 
 Ae smile o' her wad banish care, 
 
 Sae charming is my Jean. 
 
 " What sighs and vows amang the knowee 
 
 Hae pass'd atween us twa ! 
 ilow fond to meet, how wae to part, 
 
 That night she gaed awa' ! 
 The powers aboon can only ken, 
 
 To whom the heart is seen, 
 That nane can be sae dear to me 
 
 As my sweet lovely Jean ! " 
 
 The two following were also wiitten as an addition to this song by Mr WilUam 
 Reid, of the firm of Brash and Reid, booksellers, Grlasgow, and have sometimes 
 been printed as the poet's : — 
 
 " Upon the banks o' flowing Clyde 
 . The lassies busk 1 them braw ; 
 But when their best they hae put on, 
 
 My Jeanie dings 2 them a' : 
 In hamely weeds she far exceeds 
 The fairest o' the town ; 
 .^ Baith sage and gay confess it sae, 
 Though drest in russet gown. 
 
 " The gamesome lamb, that sucks its dam, 
 
 Mair harmless canna be ; 
 She has nae faut, (if sic ye ca't,) 
 
 Except her love for me ; 
 The sparkling dew, 0' clearest hue, 
 
 Is like her shining een : 
 In shape and air nane can compare 
 
 Wi' my sweet lovely Jean." 
 
34<5 SONGS, (^1788. 
 
 On Corsincon I'll 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. 
 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 aye I muse and sing thy name — 
 
 I only live to love thee. 
 Though 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 'd love thee. 
 
 THE FETE CHAMP:eTRE. 
 
 Tune—*' Killiecrankie." 
 
 The poet's brother, Gilbei-t Burns, gives the following account of the origin of 
 this ballad : — "When Mr Cunninghame of Enterkin came to his estate, two 
 mansion-houses on it, Enterkin and Annbank, were both in a ruinous state. 
 Wishing to introduce himself with some edat to the county, he got temporary 
 erections made on the banks of the Ayr, tastefully decorated with shrul^s and 
 flowers, for a supper and ball, to which most of the respectable families in the 
 county were invited. It was a novelty in the county, and attracted much 
 notice. A dissolution of parliament was soon expected, and this festivity was 
 thought to be an introduction to a canvass for representing the county. Several 
 other candidates were spoken of, particularly gir John Whitefoord, then re- 
 siding at Cloncaird, commonly pronounced Crlencaird, and Mr Boswell, the 
 well-known biogi;apher of Dr Johnson. The political views of this festive as- 
 semblage, which are alluded to in the ballad, if they ever existed, were, how- 
 ever, laid aside, as Mr Cunninghame did not canvass the county." 
 
 Oh, wha will to Saint Stephen's house, 
 
 To do our errands there, man ? 
 Oh, wha will to Saint Stephen's house. 
 
 O' th' merry lada 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^ Ursa-Major? 
 
 Come, will ye court a noble lord, 
 
 Or buy a score o' lairds, man ? 
 For worth and honour pawn their word, 
 
 Their vote shall be Glencaii'd's, man? 
 
 'I Stare. a Small. s Well-shaped. * Great. 
 
^T 30.] SONGS. 34? 
 
 Ane gies them coin, ane gies them wine, 
 
 Anither gies them clatter ; ^ 
 Annbank, wha guess'd the ladies' taste, 
 
 He gies a Fete Charapetre. 
 
 When Love and Beauty heard the news, 
 
 The gay greenwoods amang, man ; 
 Where gathering flowers and busking ^ bowera. 
 
 They heard the blackbird's sang, man ; 
 A vow, they seal'd it with a kiss, 
 
 Sir Politics to fetter. 
 As theirs alone, the patent-bliss, 
 
 To hold a F6te Champ6tre. 
 
 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. 
 
 CuN-ld Boreas, wi' his boisterous crew, 
 
 Were bound to stakes like kye,* man ; 
 And Cynthia's car, o' silver fu', 
 
 Clamb up the starry sky, man : 
 Reflected beams dwell in the streams. 
 
 Or down the current shatter ; 
 The western breeze steals through the trees 
 
 To view this Fete Champetre. 
 
 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 : * 
 He blush'd for shame, he quat his name. 
 
 Forswore it, every letter, 
 Wi' humble prayer to join and share 
 
 This festive Fete Champetre. 
 
 iTalk. 2 Dressing. » Wood. * Cattle. « Gate. 
 
 * "Alluding tea superstition," says Chamberg, "which represents adders as 
 forming annually from their slough certain little annular stones of streaked 
 colouring, which are occasionally found, and the real origin of which is supposed 
 by antiquaries to be Druidical." 
 
348 SONGS. i.i7S8. 
 
 THE DAY RETURNS. 
 
 Tune—" Seventh of November." 
 
 In a letter to Miss Chalmers, an intimate female friend of the poet's, he says 
 regarding this song : — "One of the most tolerable things I have done for some 
 time is these two stanzas I made to an air a musical gentleman of my acquaint- 
 ance [Captain Riddel of G-lenriddel] composed for the anniversary of his 
 wedding day." 
 
 The day returns, my bosom burns, 
 
 The blissful day we twa did meet, 
 Though winter wild in tempest toil'd, 
 
 Ne'er summer sun was half sae sweet. 
 Than a' the pride that loads the tide, 
 
 And crosses o'er the sultry line ; 
 Than kingly robes, than crowns and globes, 
 
 Heaven gave me more — ^it made thee mine 1 
 
 "While day and night can bring delight, 
 
 Or nature aught of pleasure give, 
 "While joys above my mind can move, 
 
 For thee, and thee alone, I live ! 
 When that 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. 
 
 THE DISCREET HINT. 
 
 ** Lass, when your mither is frae hame, 
 
 May I but be sae bauld 
 As come to your bower window, 
 
 And creep in frae the cauld ? 
 As come to your bower window, 
 
 And when its cauld and wat, 
 "Warm me in thy fair bosom — 
 
 Sweet lass, may I do that ? " 
 
 " Young man, gin ye should be sae kind, 
 
 AVTien our gudewife's frae hame, 
 As come to my bower window, 
 
 Whare I am laid my lane, 
 To warm thee in my bosom, — 
 
 Tak tent,i I '11 tell thee what, 
 The way to me lies through the kirk — 
 
 Young man, do ye hear that ? " 
 
^T. 30.] SONGS. 349 
 
 THE LAZY MIST. 
 
 Tune — " Here's a health to my true love." 
 
 The lazy mist hangs from the brow of the hill, 
 Concealing 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 much 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 foolish, or worse, till our summit is gain'd ! 
 
 And downward, how weaken'd, 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. 
 
 I HAE A WIFE O' MY AIN. 
 
 Tune— " Naebody." 
 
 The following sprightly lines were written shortly after the poet had welcomed 
 home his wife to his new house on the farm of Ellisland— the first winter ha 
 spent in which he has described as the happiest of his life. 
 
 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 hae a penny to spend, 
 
 There — thanks to naebody ; 
 I hae naething to lend — 
 
 I 'U 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 'U care for naebody. 
 
350 ^ONGS. [I7S& 
 
 AULD LANG SYNE. 
 
 Burns has described this as an old song and tune which had often thrilled 
 through his soul ; and in communicating it to his friend George Thomson, he 
 professed to have recovered it from an old man's singing; and exclaimed re- 
 garding it — " Light be the turf on the breast of the Heaven-inspired poet who 
 composed this glorious fragment ! " The probability is, however, that the poei 
 was indulging in a little mystification on the subject, and that the entire song 
 was his own composition. The second and thii'd verses — describing the happy 
 days of youth — are his beyond a doubt. 
 
 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 '11 tak a cup o' kindness yet 
 
 For auld lang syne ! 
 
 "We twa hae run about the braes, 
 
 And pu'd the gowans fine ; 
 But we Ve wander'd mony a weary foot 
 
 Sin' auld lang syne. 
 
 We twa hae paidl't i' the bum, 
 
 Frae morning sun till dine : 
 But seas between us braid hae roar'd 
 
 Sin' auld lang syne. 
 
 And here 's a hand, my trusty fiere,^ 
 
 And gies a hand o' thine ; 
 And we '11 tak a right guid willie-waught,^ 
 
 For auld lang syne ! 
 
 And surely ye '11 be your pint-stoup, 
 
 And surely I '11 be mine ; 
 And we '11 tak a cup o' kindness yet, i 
 
 For auld lang syne. 
 
 MY BONNY MARY. 
 
 Tune— "Go fetch to me a pint o' wine.» 
 
 Tlie first four lines of this song are from an old ballad composed in 1636, by 
 Alexander Lesly of Edin, on Doveran side, grandfather to the celebrated 
 Archbishop Sharpe— the rest are Burns'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 bonny lassie ; 
 
 1 yrieud. 8 Draught. ' Cup. 
 
iET. 30.] SOiVGS. 351 
 
 The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith ; 
 
 Fu' loud the wind blaws f rae the ferry > 
 The ship rides by the Berwick -law, 
 
 And I maun leave my bonny 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 theo, my bonny Maiy. 
 
 MY HEART WAS ANCE AS BLITHE AND FREE. 
 
 Tune — " To the weavers gin ye go." 
 
 The chorus of tliis song is taken from a very old ditty, the rest is the production 
 of the poet. 
 
 My heart was ance as blithe and free 
 
 As simmer days were lang, 
 But a bonny westlin' weaver lad 
 
 Has gart me change my sang. 
 
 To the weavers gin ye go, fair maids, 
 
 To the weavers gin ye go ; 
 I rede^ you right, gang ne'er at night, 
 
 To the weavers gin ye go. 
 
 My mither sent me to the town, 
 
 To warp 2 a plaiden wab ; 
 But the weary, weary warpin' o 't 
 
 Has gart^ me sigh and sab. 
 
 A bonny 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 aye I cad it roun' ; 
 But every shot and every knock, 
 
 My heart it gae a stoun.^ 
 
 The moon was sinking in the west 
 
 Wi' visage i^ale and wan, 
 As my bonny westlin' weaver lad 
 
 Convoy'd me through the glen. 
 
 1 Warn. 2 Prepare for the loom. a Made. 
 
 4 Thread. 6 Start. 
 
352 SONGS. [1788. 
 
 But what was said, or what was done. 
 
 Shame fa' me gin I tell ; 
 But, oh ! I fear the kintra^ soon 
 
 Will ken as weel 's mysel. 
 
 BRAW LADS OF GALA WATER. 
 
 Tune— "Gala Water." 
 
 The air and chorus of this song are both very old. This version Bums wrote 
 for the Scoti Musical Museum ; but he was so enamoured with the air, that he 
 afterwards wrote another set of words to it for his friend Thomson, which will 
 be found at p. 423. ^ 
 
 Br AW, braw lads of Gala Water; 
 
 Oh, braw lads of Gala Water : 
 I '11 kilt 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 aye my dearie. 
 
 O'er yon bank and o'er yon brae, 
 
 O'er yon moss amang the heather ; 
 I '11 kilt 3 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 her silken snood,* 
 That cost her mony a blirt and bleary.* 
 
 HER DADDIE FORBAD. 
 
 Tpne— " Jumpin' John." 
 
 Her daddie forbad, her minnie forbad ; 
 
 Forbidden she wadna be : 
 She wadna trow't the browst she brew'd ^ 
 
 Wad taste sae bitterlie. 
 
 1 Country. 2 High and smooth. » Tuck up and fix. 4 gigh and tear. 
 
 5 She wouldn't believe the drink she brew'd. 
 
 * The snood or ribband with which a Scottish lass braided her hair had an 
 emblematical signification, and applied to her maiden character. It was ex- 
 changed for the curch, toy, or coif, when she passed by marriage into the matron 
 state. But if the damsel was so unfortunate as to lose pretensions to the name 
 of maiden without gaining a right to that of matron, she was neither permitted 
 to use the snood nor advance to the gi-aver dignity of the curch.— Scott 
 
^T. 30.] SONGS, 353 
 
 The lang lad they ca' Jumpin' John 
 
 Beguiled the bonny lassie ; 
 The lang lad they ca' Jumpin' John 
 
 Beguiled the bonny lassie. 
 
 A cow and a calf, a ewe and a hauf, 
 
 And thretty guid shillin's and three ; 
 A very guid tocher/ a cotter-man's dochter. 
 
 The lass with the bonny black ee. 
 
 HEY, THE DUSTY MILLEE. 
 
 TuNK — " The Dusty Miller." 
 
 Hey, the dusty miller. 
 
 And his dusty coat ; 
 
 He will win a shilling 
 
 Or he spend a groat. 
 
 Dusty was the coat, 
 
 Dusty was the colour,. 
 Dusty was the kiss 
 I got frae the miller. 
 
 Hey, the dusty miller. 
 And his dusty sack ; 
 Leeze me on the calling 
 Fills the dusty peck. 
 
 JFills the dusty peck. 
 
 Brings the dusty siller ; 
 I wad gie my coatie 
 For the dusty miller. 
 
 THENIEL MENZIE'S BONNY MAKY. 
 
 Tune— "The Ruffian's Rant.' 
 
 In coming by the brig o' Dye, 
 At Darlet we a blink did tarry ; 
 
 As day was dawin in the sky. 
 
 We drank a health to bonny Mary. 
 
 Theniel Menzie's bonny Mary, 
 Theniel Menide's bonny Mary ; 
 
 Charlie Gregor tint ^ his plaidie, 
 K-issin' Theni el's bonny Mary. 
 
 1 Dower. * jLost 
 
354 SONGS. [1788. 
 
 Her een sae bright, her brow sae white, 
 Her haffet^ locks as brown's a berry; 
 
 And aye they dimpl't wi' a smile. 
 The rosy cheeks o' bonny Mary. 
 
 We lap and danced the lee-lang day, 
 Till piper lads were wae and weary ; 
 
 But Charlie gat the spring to pay, 
 For kissin' Theniel's bonny Mary. 
 
 WEARY FA* YOU, DUNCAN GRAY. 
 
 TuNB— '* Duncan Gray." 
 
 rh1« -first version of an old song was written for the Museum. The poet after, 
 wai-ds composed another and better version for the collection of his friend 
 Thomson, which will be found at p. 409. 
 
 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 iavo ^ 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. 
 
 Bonny was the Lammas moon— 
 
 Ha, ha, the girdin' o 't ! 
 Glowerin' a* the hills aboon — 
 
 Ha, ha, the girdin' o 't ! 
 The girdin' brak, the beast cam down, 
 1 tint ^ my curch ^ and baith my shoon— 
 Ah ! Duncan, ye Ve 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 ! 
 Duncan, gin ye '11 keep your aith — 
 The beast again can bear us baith. 
 And auld Mess John will mend the skaith,*^ 
 
 And clout 7 the bad girdin' o 't. 
 
 1 Temple. * Binding. » Others. * Lost. 
 
 6 Cap. « Harm. 1 Patch up 
 
^T. 30.] SONGS. 355 
 
 THE PLOUGHMAN. 
 
 Tune—" Up wi' the ploughman." 
 
 The fourth and fifth verses only of this piece are by Burns, the remainder bj 
 some older writer. 
 
 The ploughman he 's a bonny 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 ken, 
 Commend me to the ploughman. 
 
 My ploughman he comes hame at e'en, 
 
 He 's af ten wat and weary ; 
 Cast aff 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 
 
 "Was the ploughman laddie danciu'. 
 
 Snaw- white stockin's on his legs. 
 
 And siller buckles glancin' ; 
 A guid blue bonnet on his head — 
 
 And oh, but he was handsome ! 
 
 Commend me to the barn-yard. 
 
 And the corn-mou,* man; 
 I never gat my coggie fou. 
 
 Till I met wi' the ploughman. 
 
 LANDLADY, COUNT THE LAWIN. 
 
 TraE— " Hey Tutti, Taiti." 
 
 The first two verses of this song were supplied by Burns ; the others belong to a 
 political ditty of earlier date. 
 
 1 Cravat. 
 
 * The recess left in the stack of corn in the Barn as the sheaves are removed 
 to the thranhing-floor. 
 
35» 
 
 SONGS. [1788. 
 
 Landlady, count the lawin,i 
 
 The day is near the dawin ; 
 
 Ye 're a' blind drunk, boys, 
 
 And I 'm but jolly fou.^ 
 
 Hey tutti, taiti, 
 
 How tutti, taiti— 
 
 Wha 's f ou now ? 
 
 Cog and ye were aye fou, 
 Cog and ye were aye fou, 
 I wad sit and sing to you, 
 If ye were aye fou. 
 
 Weel may ye a' be ! 
 Ill may we never see ! 
 God bless the king, boys. 
 And the companie ! 
 
 Hey tutti, taiti. 
 
 How tutti, taiti — 
 
 "Wha 's fou now ? 
 
 TO DAUNTON IVIE. 
 
 Tune—" 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 so young, 
 Wi' his fause heart and flatt'ring tongue. 
 That is the thing you ne'er shall see ; 
 For an auld man shall never daunton me. 
 
 For a' his meal and a' his maut, 
 For a' his fresh beef and his saut, 
 For a* his gold and white monie. 
 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,8 
 And the rain di'eeps down frae his red bleer'd ee. 
 That auld man shall never daunton me. 
 
 1 Reckoning. 2 Pull. • Rule— intimidate. « Wealth. 
 
 * Limps. « Can. ^ Moutlu 8 Uead. 
 
^T. 30.1 SONGS. 357 
 
 COME BOAT ME O'ER TO CHARLIE. 
 
 Tune — " O'er the Water to Charlie.'* 
 
 Come boat me o'er, come row me o'er. 
 
 Come boat me o'er to Charlie ; 
 I'll gie John Ross another bawbee, 
 
 To boat me o'er to Charlie. 
 
 We '11 o'er the water and o'er the s?-a, 
 
 We '11 o'er the water to Charlie ; 
 Come weel, come woe, we '11 gather and go, 
 
 And live or die wi' Charlie. 
 
 I lo'e weel my Charlie's name, 
 
 Though some there be abhor him : 
 But oh, to see auld Nick gaun hame. 
 
 And Charlie's faes before him ! 
 
 I swear and vow by moon and stars, 
 
 And sun that shines so early, 
 If I had twenty thousand lives, 
 
 I 'd die as aft for Charlie. 
 
 RATTLIN', ROARIN* WILLIE. 
 
 TcNE— " Rattlin', roarin' Willie." 
 
 " The hero of this chant," says Bums, " was one of the worthiest fellows in the 
 world — William Dunbar, Esq., wi'iter to the signet, Edinbui'gh, and colonel of 
 the Crochallan corps— a club of wits, who took that title at the time of raising 
 the fencible regiments." The last stanza only was the work of the poet. 
 
 O KATTLIN', roarin' Willie, 
 
 Oh, he held to the fair. 
 And for to sell his fiddle. 
 
 And buy some other ware ; 
 But parting wi' his fiddle, 
 
 The saut tear blin't his ee ; 
 And rattlin', roarm' Willie, 
 
 Ye 're welcome hame to me ! 
 
 O Willie, come sell your fiddle, 
 
 Oh, sell your fiddle sae fine ; 
 O Willie, come sell your fiddle. 
 
 And buy a pint o' wine ! 
 If I should sell my fiddle. 
 
 The warl' would think I was mad ; 
 For mony a rantin' day 
 
 My fiddle and I hae had. 
 
3S8 SONGS. [178a 
 
 As I cam by Crochallan, 
 
 I cannily keekit ben — 
 B-attlin', roariii' AVillie 
 
 Was sitting at yon board en*; 
 Sitting at yon board en', 
 
 And aniang guid companie; 
 Kattlin', roarin' Willie, 
 
 Ye 're welcome hame to me ! 
 
 MY HOGGIE.* 
 
 TtJinc— " What will I do gin my hoggie die ?" 
 
 What will I do gin my hoggie die? 
 
 My joy, my pride, my hoggie ! 
 My only beast, I had nae niae, 
 
 And vow but I was vogie ! ^ 
 
 The lee-lang night we watch'd the fauld, 
 
 Me and my faithf u' doggie ; 
 Wo heard nought but the roaring linn, 
 
 Amang the braes sae scroggie ;^ 
 
 But tlie houlet cried frae the castle wa' 
 The blutfcer^ 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 dike, 
 
 And maist has kill'd my hoggie 
 
 UP IN THE MORNING EAKLY. 
 
 The chorus of this song is old ; but the two stanzas are Burns's. 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Up in the morning's no for me, 
 
 Up in the morning early ; 
 When a' the hills are cover'd wi' snaw, 
 
 I 'm sure it 's winter fairly. 
 
 Cauld blaws the wind frae east to west. 
 The drift is driving sairly ; 
 
 1 Tain. 2 Full of stunted bushes. 3 Mire-snipe. 
 
 * Fox. 5 A strong dog. 
 
 * Hoggie— s. young sheep after it is smeared, and before it is first shorn. 
 
«T. 30.] SONGS. 3^59 
 
 Sae loud and shrill I hear the blast, 
 I 'm sure it 's winter fairly. 
 
 The birds sit chittering^ in the thorn, 
 
 A' day they fare but sparely ; 
 And lang 's the night f rae e'en to mom, 
 
 I 'm sure it 's winter fairly. 
 
 I'M O'ER YOUNG TO MARRY YET. 
 
 Tone — "I'm o'er young to marry yet." 
 
 I AM my mammy's ae bairn, 
 
 Wi' unco 2 folk I weary, su' ; 
 And lying in a man's bed, 
 
 I 'm fley'd ^ wad mak me eerie,* sir. 
 
 I 'm o'er young to marry yet ; 
 
 I 'm o'er young to marry yet ; 
 I 'm o'er young — 'twad be a sin 
 
 To tak me frae my mammy yet. 
 
 My mammy cof t ^ me a new gown, 
 The kirk maun hae the gracing o 't ; 
 
 Were I to lie wi' you, kind sir, 
 I 'm f ear'd ye 'd spoil the lacing o 't. 
 
 Hallowmas is come and gane. 
 The nights are lang in winter, sir ; 
 
 And you and I in ae bed, 
 
 In trouth I dare nae venture, sir. 
 
 Fu' loud and shrill the frosty wind 
 
 Blaws through the leafless timmer,^ sir ; 
 
 But if ye come this gate ^ again, 
 I '11 aulder be gin simmer, sir. 
 
 THE WINTER IS PAST. 
 
 The winter it is past, and the summer 's come at last. 
 
 And the little birds sing on every tree ; 
 Now everything is glad, while I am very sad. 
 
 Since my true love is parted from me. 
 
 The rose upon the brier, by the waters running clear. 
 May have charms for the linnet or the bee ; 
 
 Their little loves are blest, and their little hearts at rest, 
 But my true love is parted from me. 
 
 1 Shivering. 2 Strange. 3 Afraid. < Timorous. 
 
 6 Bought. 6 Trees. 7 Way. 
 
$t>o SONGS. [1789. 
 
 My love is like the sun, in tlie firmament does run, 
 
 For ever is constant and true ; 
 But his is like the moon, that wanders up and down, 
 
 And is every month changing anew. 
 
 All you that are in love, and cannot it remove, 
 
 I pity the pains you endure : 
 For experience makes me know that your hearts are full 
 o' woe, 
 
 A woe that no mortal can cure. 
 
 OH, WILLIE BREWD A PECK O' MAUT. 
 
 Tune—" Willie brew'd a peck 0' maut.'' 
 
 The poet's account of the origin of this song is as follows : — "The air is Allan 
 Masterton's, the song mine. The occasion of it was this— Mr William Nicol 
 of the High School, Edinburgh, being at Moffat during the autumn vacation, 
 honest Allan— who was at that time on a visit to Dalswinton — and I went to 
 pay Nicol a visit. We had such a joyous meeting that Masterton and I 
 agre«d, each in our own way, that we should celebrate the business." 
 
 Oh, Willie brew'd a peck o' maut 
 
 And Rob and Allan cam to pree ; ^ 
 Three blither hearts, that lee-lang night, 
 
 Ye wadna find in Christendie. 
 
 We are na fou, we 're nae that fou. 
 
 But just a drappie in our ee ; 
 The cock may craw, the day may daw. 
 
 And aye we '11 taste the barley bree. 
 
 Here are we met, three merry boys, 
 
 Three merry boys, I trow, are we ; 
 And mony a night we 've merry been, 
 
 And mony mae we hope to be ! 
 
 It is the moon — I ken her horn, 
 
 That 's blinkin' in the lift sae hie ; 
 She shines sae briglit to wile us hame. 
 
 But, by my sooth, she '11 wait a wee ! 
 
 AVha first shall rise to gang awa', 
 
 A cuckold, coward loon is he ! 
 Wha last beside his chair shall fa', 
 
 He is the king amaiig us three ! 
 
 1 Taste. 
 
^T. 31.] SONGS, 361 
 
 TO MARY DT HEAVEN. 
 
 TuNK — "Death of Captain Cook." 
 
 The story of Mary Campbell has been briefly alluded to in the memoir of the 
 poet, and in the notes to the Correspondence. She belonged to the neighbour- 
 hood of Dunoon, a beautiful watering-place on the Clyde, and was in the 
 service of Colonel Montgomery of Coilsfield when the poet made her acquaint- 
 ance, and afterwards in that of Gavin Hamilton. They would appear to have 
 been seriously attached to each other. When Jane Armour's ftither had ordered 
 her to relinquish all claims on the poet, his thoughts naturally turned to Mary 
 Campbell. It was arranged that Mary should give up her place with the view 
 of making preparations for their union ; but before she went home they met 
 in a sequestered spot on the banks of the Ayr. Standing on either side of a 
 purling brook, and holding a Bible between them, they exchanged vows of 
 eternal fideUty. Mary presented him with her Bible, the poet giving his o^\ n 
 in exchange. This Bible has been preserved, and on a olank leaf, in the poet's 
 hand-writing, is inscribed, "And ye shall not swear by my name falsely : I am 
 the Lord," (Lev. xix. 12.) On the second volume, " Thou shalt not forswear 
 thyself, but shalt perform unto the Lord thine oath," (Matt. v. 33.) And on 
 another blank leaf his name and mark as a Royal Arch mason. The lovers 
 never met again, Mary Campbell having died suddenly at Grreenock. Over her 
 grave a monument has been erected by the admirers of the poet. On the third 
 anniversary of her death, Jean Armour, then his wife, noticed that, towards 
 the evening, "he grew sad about something, went into the barn-yard, where 
 he strode restlessly up and down for some time, although repeatedly asked to 
 come in. Immediately on entering the house he sat down and wrote ' To Mary 
 in Heaven,'" which Lockhart characterises "as the noblest of all his ballads." 
 
 Thou ling'ring star, with less'ning ray, 
 
 That lovest to greet the early morn, 
 Again thou usher'st in the day 
 
 My Mary from my soul was torn. 
 O Mary ! dear departed shade ! 
 
 "Where is thy place of blissful rest ? 
 See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ? 
 
 Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? 
 
 That sacred hour can I forget, 
 
 Can I forget the hallow'd grove, 
 Where by the winding Ayr we met. 
 
 To live one day of parting love I 
 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, thick'ning 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 sx^eed of winged day. 
 
 Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes, 
 And fondly broods with miser care ! 
 
362 
 
 SONGS. [1789. 
 
 Time but the impression stronger makes. 
 
 As streams their channels deeper wear. 
 My Mary ! dear departed shade ! 
 
 Where is thy place of blissful rest ? 
 See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ? 
 
 Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? 
 
 THE LADDIES BY THE BANKS O' NITH. 
 
 TuxH — " Up and waur them a'." 
 
 The following ballad originated in a contest for the representation of the Dum- 
 fries burghs, which took place in September 1789, between the former member, 
 Sir James Johnston of Westerhall, who was supported by the coui-t and the 
 Tories, and Captain Miller of Dalswinton, the eldest son of the poet's landlord, 
 who had the interest of the Duke of Queensberry and the Whigs. As Burns 
 had the warmest veneration for individuals of both parties, he wished to avoid 
 taking any active part on either side, and contented himself therefore with 
 penning this piece chiefly against the Duke of Queensberry, the largest landed 
 proprietor in Nithsdale, and for whose character he seems to have entertained 
 the utmost detestation. The allusion in the first verse is to the vote his Grace 
 gave on tlve regency question, when he deserted the king, his master, in whose 
 household he held office, and supported the right of the Prince of Wales to 
 assume the government without the consent of Parliament. 
 
 The laddies by the banks o' Nith 
 
 Wad trust his Grace wi' a', Jamie ; 
 But he'll sair^ them as he saii-'d the king. 
 
 Turn tail and rin awa', Jamie. 
 
 Up and waur 2 them a', Jamie, 
 
 Up and waur them a' ; 
 The Johnstons hae the guidin' o't, 
 
 Ye turncoat WTiigs, awa'. 
 
 The day he stood his countiy's friend, 
 
 Or gaed her faes a claw, Jamie, 
 Or frae puir man a blessin' wan, 
 
 That day the duke ne'er saw, Jamie. 
 
 But wha is he, the country's boast, 
 
 Like him there is na twa, Jamie ; 
 There 's no a callant^ tents^ the kye,^ 
 
 But kens o' VTesterha', Jamie. 
 
 To end the wark here 's Whistlebirck,* 
 
 Lang may his whistle blaw, Jamie ; 
 And Maxwell true o' sterling blue, 
 
 And we 'U be Johnstons a', Jamie. 
 
 1 Serve. ^ Beat. » Boy. •* Tends. 6 Cows. 
 
 * Alexander Birtwhistle, Esq.., merchanUn Kirkcudbriglit, and provost of tho 
 baigh. 
 
m\ 31.] SONGS. 363 
 
 Up and waur them a', Jamie, 
 
 Up and waur them a' ; 
 The Johnstons hae the guidin' o 't, 
 
 Ye turncoat Whigs, awa'. 
 
 THE FIVE CARLIKES. 
 
 Tune—" Chevy chace." 
 
 This is another ballad which the poet penned on the contested election men- 
 tioned above. It represents the five burghs in cleverly-drawn figurative char- 
 acters — Dumfries, as Maggy on the banks of Nith : Annan, as Blinking Bess 
 of Annandale ; Kirkcudbright, as Whisky Jean of Gralloway ; Sanquhar, as 
 Black Joan frae Crichton Peel; and Lochmaben, as Marjory of the Many 
 Lochs — each of which is more or less locally appropriate. 
 
 There were five carlines^ in the south, 
 
 They fell upon a scheme, 
 To send a lad to Lon'on town, 
 
 To bring them tidings hame. 
 
 Not only bring them tidings hame. 
 
 But do their errands there ; 
 And aiblins ^ gowd and honour baith 
 
 Might be that laddie's share. 
 
 There was Maggy by the banks o' Mth, 
 
 A dame wi' pride eneugh ; 
 And Marjory o' the Mony Lochs, 
 
 A carline auld and teugh. 
 
 And Blinkin Bess of Annandale, 
 
 That dwelt near Solway-side, 
 And Whisky Jean, that took her gill 
 
 In Galloway sae wide. 
 
 And Black Joan, frae Crichton Peel, 
 
 O' gipsy kith and kin ; — 
 Five wighter^ carlines werena foun' 
 
 The south countrie within. 
 
 To send a lad to Lon'on town. 
 
 They met upon a day ; 
 And mony a knight, and mony a laird. 
 
 Their errand fain wad gae. 
 
 Oh, mony a knight, and mony a laird, 
 
 This errand fain wad gae ; 
 But nae ane could their fancy please. 
 
 Oh, ne'er a ane but twae. 
 
 1 Old women. 2 Perhaps. * More powerful. 
 
3^4 SONGS. [1789, 
 
 The first he was a belted knight,* 
 
 Bred o' a Border clan ; 
 And he wad gae to Lon'on town, 
 
 Might nae man him withstan' ; 
 
 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 cam in a sodger youth, f 
 
 And spak wi' modest grace. 
 And he wad gae to Lon'on town, 
 
 If sae their pleasure was. 
 
 He wadna hecht^ them courtly gifts, 
 
 Nor meikle speech pretend ; 
 But he wad hecht an honest heart 
 
 "VVad ne'er desert his friend. 
 
 Now, wham to choose, and wham refuse. 
 
 At strife thir carlines fell ; 
 For some had gentlefolks to please, 
 
 And some wad please themsel. 
 
 Then out spak mim-mou'd 2 Meg o' Nith, 
 
 And she spak up wi' pride, 
 And she wad send the sodger youth, 
 
 Whatever might betide. 
 
 For the auld guidman J o' Lon'on court 
 
 She didna care a pin ; 
 But she wad send a sodger youth 
 
 To greet his eldest son.§ 
 
 Then up sprang Bess of Annandale, 
 
 And swore a deadly aith, 
 Says, " I will send the Border knight 
 
 Spite o' you carlines baith. 
 
 ** For far-off fowls hae faathers fair, 
 
 And fools o' change are fain ; 
 But I hae tried this Border knight, 
 
 And I '11 try him yet again." 
 
 Then Whisky Jean spak owre her drink, 
 
 "Ye weel ken, kimmers a'. 
 The auld guidman o' Lon'on court, 
 
 His back 's been at the wa'. 
 
 1 Promise. 2 Prim-mouthed. 
 
 * Sir J. Johnston. f Captain Miller. 
 
 t George III. § The Prince of Wales. 
 
.ET. 31.] SONGS, 365 
 
 "And mony a friend that kiss'd his cup 
 
 Is now a f remit ^ \vight ; 
 But it 's ne'er be said o' Whisky Jean, 
 
 I'll send the Border knight." 
 
 Says Black Joan frae Crichton Peel, 
 
 A carline stoor ^ and grim, — 
 " The auld guidman, and the young guidman, 
 
 For me may sink or swim ; 
 
 "For fools will prate o' right and wrang, 
 While knaves laugh in their sleeve ; 
 
 But wha blows best the horn shall win, 
 I'll spier nae courtier's leave." 
 
 Then slow raise Marjory o' the Lochs, 
 
 And wrinkled was her brow ; 
 Her ancient weed was russet gray. 
 
 Her auld Scots blind was true. 
 
 "The Lon'on court set light by me— 
 
 I set as light by them ; 
 And I will send the sodger lad 
 
 To shaw that court the same." 
 
 Sae how this weighty plea may end, 
 
 Nae mortal wight can tell : 
 God grant the king, and ilka man. 
 
 May look weel to himsel ! 
 
 THE BLUE-EYED LASSIE. 
 
 Am—" The Blue-eyed Lass." 
 
 The "Blue-Eyed Lassie" was Miss Jean Jeffrey, daughter of the Rev. Mr Jeffrey 
 of Lochmaben, in Dumfriesshire, at whose house the poet was a frequent visi- 
 tor. On the occasion of his first visit, the young lady, then a charming blue- 
 eyed creature of eighteen, did the honours of the table, and so pleased the 
 poet, that next morning at breakfast he presented her with the following pass- 
 port to fame, in the form of one of his finest songs. Miss Jeffrey afterwards 
 went out to New York, where she married an American gentleman of the 
 name of Renwick, to whom she bore a numerous family. One of her daughters 
 became the wife of Captain Wiiks, of the United States Navy, whose name was 
 recently brought so prominently before the public of this country in connexion 
 with the affair of the steamship Trent, and the capture of the Confederate 
 Commissioner. 
 
 I GAED a waef u' gate ^ yestreen, 
 
 A gate, I fear, I'll dearly rue ; 
 I gat my death frae twa sweet een, 
 
 Twa lovely een o' bonny blue. 
 
 1 EKtranged. 2 Austere. * Road 
 
366 SONGS. [1790. 
 
 'Twas not her golden ringlets bright ; 
 
 Her lills, like roses, wat wi' dew ; 
 Her heaving bosom, lily-white — 
 * It was her een sae bonny blue. 
 
 She talk'd, she smiled, my heart she wiled ; 
 
 She charm'd my soul — I wist na how ; 
 And aye the stound,i the deadly wound. 
 
 Cam frae her een sae bonny 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 bonny blue. 
 
 WHEN FIRST I SAW FAIR JEANIE'S FACE. 
 
 AiE— "Maggie Lauder." 
 
 Th's song first appeared in the New York Mirror in 1846, with the following 
 notice of the heroine, Mrs Renwick {nee Miss Jean Jeflfrey) mentioned above : 
 — " The lady to whom the following verses— never before published— were ad- 
 dressed, known to the readers of Burns as the ' Blue-eyed Lassie,' is one of a 
 race whose beauties and virtues formed for several generations the inspiration 
 of the masters of Scottisli song, ller mother was Agnes Armstrong, in whose 
 honour the touching words and beautiful air of 'Roslin Castle' were composed. 
 
 When first I saw fair Jeanie's face, 
 
 I couldna tell what ail'd me, 
 My heart went fluttering pit-a-pat, 
 
 My een they almost fail'd me. 
 She 'a aye sae neat, sae trim, sae tight, 
 
 All grace does round her hover, 
 Ae look deprived me o' my heart. 
 
 And I became a lover. 
 
 She 's aye, aye sae blithe, sae gay, 
 She 's aye so blithe and cheerie ; 
 
 She 's aye sae bonny, blithe, and gay, 
 Oh, gin I were her dearie ! 
 
 Had I Dundas's whole estate, 
 
 Or Hopetoun's wealth to shine in ; 
 Did warlike laurels crown my brow. 
 
 Or humbler bays entwining — 
 I 'd lay them a' at Jeanie's feet. 
 
 Could I but hope to move her, 
 And prouder than a belted knight, 
 
 I 'd. be my Jeanie's lover. 
 
 She 's aye, aye sae blithe, sae gay, &;c. 
 
 I Pang. 5 Perhaps. * Death. 
 
 * A proverbial expression— Give me the chance of speaking and tte oppor- 
 tunity of gaining her favour. 
 
JiiT. 32.] SONGS. 367 
 
 But sair I fear some happier swain 
 
 Has gain'd sweet Jeanie's favour : 
 If so, may every bliss be hers, 
 
 Though I maun never have her ; 
 But gang she east, or gang she west, 
 
 'Twixt Forth and Tweed all over, 
 While men have eyes, or ears, or taste, 
 
 She 11 always fijid a lover. 
 
 She 's aye, aye sae blithe, sae gay, ko. 
 
 MY LOVELY NAKCY. 
 
 TuNB— " The Quaker's "Wife." 
 
 "The following song," says the poet, in a letter to Clarinda, to whose charms, 
 probably, we'owe the lines, "is one of my latest productions ; and I send it t« 
 you as I would do anything else, because it pleases myself : " — 
 
 Thine 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 thine eyes of love, 
 
 Lest I die with pleasure. 
 
 What is life when wanting love ? 
 
 Night without a morning : 
 Love 's the cloudless summer sun. 
 
 Nature gay adorning. 
 
 TIBBIE DTJNBAIt. 
 
 Tune— ' ' Johnny M -aill. " 
 
 Oh, wilt thou go wi' me, sweet Tibbie Dunbar ? 
 Oh, wilt thou go wi' me, sweet Tibbie Dunbar ' 
 Wilt thou ride on a horse, oi be drawn in a cxr. 
 Or walk by my side, oh, sweet Tibbie Dunbar? 
 
368 SOA^GS. [1790. 
 
 I care na thy daddie, his lands and his money, 
 I care na thy kin, sae high and sae lordly : 
 But say thou mlt hae me for better for waur— 
 And come in thy coatie, sweet Tibbie Dunbar ! 
 
 WHEN ROSY MAY COMES IN Wr FLOWERS. 
 
 I 
 
 Tune— «' The gardener wi' his paidle." 
 
 The poet afterwards produced a new version of this song, with a change in the 
 burden at the end of the stanzas. 
 
 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 through 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 the best — 
 
 The gardener wi' his paidle. 
 
 MY HARRY WAS A GALLANT GAY. 
 
 Tune— '• Highlander's Lament." 
 
 The chorus of this son«r, the poet tells us, he picked up from an old woman In 
 Dunblane, the rest being his own. The old song was composed on a Highland 
 love affair ; but this version was evidently intended for a Jacobite melody. 
 
 My Harry was a gallant gay, 
 
 Pu' stately strode he on the plain ; 
 
 But now he 's banish'd far away, 
 I '11 never see him back again. 
 
 Oh, for him back again ! 
 
 Oh, for him back again ! 
 
 I wad gie a' Knockhaspie's land 
 
 For Highland Harry back again. 
 
John Anderson, my jo, John, 
 
 When we were first acqueut 
 Your locks were like the raven. 
 
 Your bonny brow was breut. 
 But now your brow is beld. John, 
 
 Your locks are like the snaw ; 
 But blessiues on your frosty pow, 
 
 John Anderson, my jo. 
 
 —Page 86». 
 
^r. 32.1 SONGS, 369 
 
 "When a* the lave ^ gae to their bed, 
 
 I wander dowie ^ up the glen ; 
 I set me down and greet ^ my fill, 
 
 And aye I wish him back again. 
 
 Oh, were some villains hangit high, 
 
 And ilka body had their ain ! 
 Then I might see the joyfu' sight. 
 
 My Highland Harry back again. 
 
 BEWARE O' BONNY ANN. 
 
 Tune—" Ye gallants bright." 
 
 'I composed this song," says the poet, "out of compliment to Miss Ann Mas- 
 terton, the daughter of my friend, Mr Allan Masterton, composer of the air, 
 * Strathallan's Lament.'" Miss Masterton subsequently became Mrs Derbi- 
 shire, and went to reside in London. 
 
 Ye gallants bright, I rede * ye right, 
 
 Beware o' bonny Ann ; 
 Her comely face sae fu' o' grace » 
 
 Your heart she will trepan. ^ 
 Her een sae bright, like stars by nighi 
 
 Her skin is like the swan; 
 Sae jimply ^ laced her genty waist, 
 
 That sweetly ye might span. 
 
 ' Youth, Grace, and Love, attendant move^ 
 
 1^ And Pleasure leads the van : 
 
 J In a' their charms, and conquering arms, 
 
 c They wait on bonny Ann. 
 
 The captive bands may chain the hands, 
 
 But love enslaves the man ; 
 Ye gallants braw, I rede you a', 
 Beware o* bonny Ann ! 
 
 JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO. 
 
 Tune—" John Anderson, my Jo." 
 
 John Anderson, my jo/ John, 
 When we were first acquent ; 
 
 Your locks were like the raven. 
 Your bonny brow was brent.* 
 
 1 Rest. « Sad. » Cry. 4 Wnrn. 
 
 * Ensnare. • Tigntiy. f Love— dear. » Smooth. 
 
 :L A 
 
Z70 SONGS. 
 
 But now your brow is beld, John, *^ ?* d ' 
 
 Your locks are like the snaw ; . 5 S c^j | 
 
 But blessings on your frosty pow,"^ % %^ 'S> "S - 
 
 John Anderson, my jo. 't ^ '~' u \ 
 
 John Anderson, ray jo, John, v o ?^ "3 a 
 
 We clamb the hill thegither ; s i: " o ^ 
 
 And mony a canty 2 day, John, "1';^ '^ <u ^ 
 
 We 've had wi' ane anither : ;^ "^ 'o — 
 
 Now we maun totter down, John, ''^ "^ .^fi ^ 
 
 But hand in hand we '11 go ; «jj. j o be c 
 
 And sleep thegither at the foot, -« - « 
 
 John Anderson, my jo, 
 
 m r^ d 
 
 o ^ 
 
 ft"-* 
 
 THE BATTLE OF SHERIFF-MUIR 
 
 TcNB — "Cameronian Rant." 
 
 Tliis is an improved version which the poet composed for the Musewm, of an 
 older and more diffuse song on the same subject, which was written bj :; Mf 
 Barclay, a Berean minister of some note in Edinburgh, and uncle to the dis- 
 tinguished anatomist of the same name. 
 
 ** Oh cam ye here the fight to shun, 
 
 Or herd the sheep wi' me, man ? 
 Or were ye at t'he Sherra-muir, 
 
 And did the battle see, man ? " 
 *' I saw the battle sair and tough, 
 And reekin' red ran mony a sheuTgh ; ^ 
 My heart, for fear, gaed sough ^ for sough. 
 To hear the thuds,^ and see the cluds, 
 O* clans frae woods, in tartan duds,^ 
 
 Wha glaum'd "^ at kingdoms three, man. 
 
 ** The red-coat lads, wi* black cockades, 
 
 To meet them werna slaw, man ; 
 They rush'd and push'd, and bluid outgush'd, 
 
 And mony a bouk ® did fa', man : 
 The great Argyle led on his files, 
 I wat they glanced for twenty miles ; 
 They hack'd and hash'd while broadswords clash'd. 
 And through they dash'd, and hew'd and smash'd. 
 'Till fey ^ men died awa', man. 
 
 " But had ye seen the philabegSj 
 
 And skyrin ^^ tartan trews, man 
 When in the teeth they dared our Whigs 
 
 And covenant true-blues, man ; 
 
 1 Head. 1 Happy. » Ditch. * Sigh. 
 
 * Knocks. • Clothe«. ' Grasped. • Human trunlt-bodf 
 
 » Predestined, w Shining. 
 
in Oa)*ZJ.§'-^;zi W o'erpower'd the targe, 
 ^ TJ^ ^ Et^ > C "^ ^- .r- hasten'd to the charsre. 
 
 o -§ >r .^ SOJVGS. 371 
 
 1-3 o ;r :3 
 
 S^ C3 S^ -1:2 . 
 
 vi/ w ^ w hasten'd to the charge, 
 o'+j'^ ^ S ^'3*'^1^ Tath they frae the sheath 
 .r-,rt g^^ ^«^ >,d jeath, till out o' breath, 
 
 S^ ^ -rr "ci ^ *S •" S -^ ) frighted doos,^ man." 
 
 a 
 
 fl 
 
 ow<^oa3b/)—'a3 , .^ frae the north, man ; 
 
 ^SS^'^S^^ y did pursue 
 
 rS „ - "H S ° ''^ ^ ^ ^^^^ *^ Forth, man ; 
 
 ^ ^ > 'ch S a^ ^ ^i '^^i i^ ^y ^i^ sight, 
 
 ^ 0^ :r. 5=3 
 
 )rig wi' a' their might, 
 
 5M^ajW)'r^^^<^^ > Stirling wing'd their flight ; 
 
 J^^'§>cuq-^>'C° ! the gates were shut ; 
 
 ? -2 !!? fi m 5 ^^^*' P°°^ red-coat, 
 
 D r^ :: fc-< W '^ -g^ ^£^j swarf,2 man ! '* 
 
 jTjj aitsu^i i».d.te 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 neibors' bluid to spill ; 
 For fear by foes that they should lose 
 Their cogs o' brose, they scared at blows, 
 
 And hameward fast did flee, man. 
 
 "They've lost some gallant gentlemen 
 Amang the Highland 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 ; 
 
 And 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 Whigs to hell did flee, man. 
 
 BLOOMING NELLY. 
 
 TuNa — *' On a Bank of Flowers." 
 
 On a bank of flowers, in a ^mmer day 
 
 For summer lightly drest, 
 The youthful blooming Nelly lay, 
 
 With love and sleej) opprest ; 
 
 "i Pigeons. 2 Swoon. 
 
CD 3j OD O CD 1 
 9 Pi ^ O^ •^ 
 
 37<^ SONGS. 
 
 But now your brow is bel| 
 
 Your locks are like the 
 But blessings on your fro^ 
 
 John Anderson, my jo. ', 
 
 John Anderson, my jo, JcJ 
 
 We clamb the hill thegi . 
 And mony a canty ^ day, Ji 
 
 We 've had wi' ane anitl 
 Now we maun totter down! 
 
 But hand in hand we '11 1 
 And sleep thegither at the I 5 i^ I *'^ »!!3 a5*-4 '^ 
 
 John Anderson, my jo, ', ■ P*^ ^r ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ 
 
 P. l-J b^ K^ 
 
 55-^ 
 
 
 THE BATTLE OF SHERIE § ^ ^ ^ § ^ 
 
 re ^- 
 
 TuNB — "Cameronian Rant." 
 
 Tliis is an improved version which the poet composed for the Museum of an 
 older and more diffuse song on the same subject, which was written by :; Mf 
 Barclay, a Berean minister of some note in Edinburgh, and uncle to tiie dis- 
 tinguished anatomist of the same name. 
 
 ** Oh cam ye here the fight to shun, 
 
 Or herd the sheep wi' me, man ? 
 Or were ye at t'he Sherra-muir, 
 
 And did the battle see, man ? " 
 *' I saw the battle sair and tough. 
 And reekin* red ran mony a sheu'gh ; ^ 
 My heart, for fear, gaed sough ^ for sough, 
 To hear the thuds,^ and see the cluds, 
 O' clans frae woods, in tartan duds,^ 
 
 Wha glaum'd ^ at kingdoms three, man. 
 
 ** The red-coat lads, wi' black cockades, 
 
 To meet them werna slaw, man ; 
 They rush'd and push'd, and bluid outgush'd, 
 
 And mony a bonk ® did fa', man : 
 The great Argyle led on liis files, 
 I wat they glanced for twenty miles ; 
 They hack'd and hash'd while broadswords clash'd. 
 And through they dash'd, and hew'd and smash'd. 
 'Till fey ^ men died awa', man. 
 
 ** But; had ye seen the philabegs. 
 
 And skyrin ^^ tartan trews, man 
 When in the teeth they dared our Whigs 
 
 And covenant true-blues, man ; 
 
 1 ITead, « Happy. » Ditch. * Sigh. 
 
 t Knocks. • Clothes. ' Graaped. • Human trunk-body 
 
 • Predestined. » Shining, 
 
ffiT.32.] SONGS. Zll 
 
 In lines extended lang and large, 
 When bayonets o'erpower'd the targe, 
 And thousands hasten'd to the charge, 
 Wi' Highland wrath they frae the sheath 
 Drew blades o' death, till out o' breath, 
 They fled like frighted doos,^ man." 
 
 '*0h, how deil, Tarn, can that be true? 
 
 The chase gaed frae the north, man ; 
 I saw mysel they did pursue 
 
 The horsemen back to Forth, man ; 
 And at Dunblane, 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 neibors' bluid to spill ; 
 For fear by foes that they should lose 
 Their cogs o' brose, they scared at blows, 
 
 And hameward fast did flee, man. 
 
 "They've lost some gallant gentlemen 
 
 Amang the Highland 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 ; 
 And 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 Whigs to hell did flee, man. 
 
 BLOOMING NELLY. 
 TuN»— " On a Bank of Flowers." 
 
 On a b£tnk of flowers, in a ^mmer day 
 
 For summer lightly drest, 
 The youthful blooming Nelly lay, 
 
 With love and sleep opprest ; 
 
 1 Pigeons . 
 
372 SONGS. [1790, 
 
 When Willie, wandering through the wood, 
 
 AVho for her favour 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, 
 
 Were seal'd in soft repose ; 
 Her lips, still as she fragrant breathed, 
 
 It 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- 
 
 His bosom ill at rest. 
 
 Her robes, light waving in the breeze. 
 
 Her tender limbs embrace ! 
 Her lovely form, her native ease. 
 
 All harmony and grace ! 
 Tumultuous tides his pulses roll, 
 
 A faltering, ardent kiss he stole ; 
 He gazed, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd, 
 
 And sigh'd his very souL 
 
 As flies the partridge from the brake, 
 
 On fear-inspirSd wings. 
 So Nelly, starting, half -awake, 
 
 Awiay affrighted springs : 
 Bvit Willie f oUow'd — as he should ; 
 
 He overtook her in the wood ; 
 He vow'd, he pray'd, he found the maid 
 
 Forgiving all and good. 
 
 MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS. 
 
 Tune—" Faille na Miosg." 
 
 " The first half stanza of this song," says Burns, "is old ; the rest is mine.** 
 
 My heart 's in the Highlands, my heart is not here ; 
 My heart's in the Highlands, a-chasing the deer; 
 A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe — 
 My heart 's in the Highlands wherever I go. 
 
 Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North, 
 The birthplace of valour, the country of worth ; 
 Wherever I wander, wherever I rove, 
 The hills of the Highlands for ever I love. 
 
 Farewell to the mountains high cover'd with snow ; 
 Farewell to the straths and gieen valleys below ; 
 Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods ; 
 Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods. 
 
^. 32.] SONGS. 373 
 
 My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not heie; 
 My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer ; 
 A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe— 
 My heart 's in the Highlands wherever I go. 
 
 THE BANKS OF NITH. 
 
 Tune — "Robie donna Gorach.** 
 
 The Thames flows proudly to the sea, 
 
 Where royal cities stately stand ; 
 But sweeter flows the Nith, to me, 
 
 'V\'Tiere Cummins * anee had high command : 
 When shall I see that honour'd land. 
 
 That winding stream I love so dear ! 
 Must wayward Fortune's adverse hand 
 
 For ever, ever keep me here ? 
 
 How lovely, Nith, thy fruitful vales. 
 
 Where spreading hawthorns gaily bloom ! 
 How sweetly wind thy sloping dales. 
 
 Where lambkins wanton through the broom 1 
 Though wandering, now, must be my doom, 
 
 Far from thy bonny banks and braes, 
 May there my latest hours consume, 
 
 Amang the friends of early days ! 
 
 TAM GLEN. 
 
 TuNB— "Tarn Glen." 
 
 My heart is a-breaking, dear tittie^!^ 
 Some counsel unto me come len' ; 
 
 To anger them a' is a pity, 
 But what will I do wi' Tarn Glen? 
 
 I 'm thinking, wi' sic a braw fallow, 
 
 In poortith I might mak a fen ; ^ 
 What care I in riches to wallow, 
 
 If I mauna marry Tarn Glen? 
 
 There 's Lowrie the Laird o' Drumeller, 
 " Guid day to you, brute ! " he comes ben; 
 
 He brags and he blaws o' his siller. 
 But when will he dance like Tam Glen? 
 
 1 Sister. ^ Shift. 
 
 * The well-known Corny ns of Scottish history. 
 
374 SONGS, ri790. 
 
 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' Tarn Glen ? 
 
 My daddie says, gin 1 11 forsake him, 
 He '11 gie me guid 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 ; ^ 
 For thrice I drew ane without failing, 
 
 And thrice it was written — Tam Glen. 
 
 The last Halloween I lay waukin' * 
 My droukit^ sark-sleeve, as ye ken;* 
 
 His likeness cam up the house staukin', 
 And the very gray breeks o' Tam Glen / 
 
 Come counsel, dear tittie ! don't tarry — 
 
 I '11 gie ye my bonny black hen, 
 Gif ye \vdll advise me to marry 
 
 The lad I lo'e dearly— Tam Glen. 
 
 THE TAILOR. 
 
 TOxNB— " The tailor fell through the bed, thimbles and a'." 
 
 The tailor fell through the bed, thimbles and a' ; 
 The tailor fell through the bed, thimbles and a' ; 
 The blankets were thin, and the sheets they were sma , 
 The tailor fell through the bed, thimbles and 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 ! 
 
 » Mother. 2 Bound. 3 Watching. * Wet. 
 
 * For an exi)lanation of this old usage, see, under the head "Poems," Note *j 
 page 32. 
 
>ET. 32.] SONGS. 375 
 
 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. 
 
 YE HAE LIEN WRANG, LASSIE. 
 
 CHOKUS. 
 
 Ye hae lien a' wrang, lassie, 
 
 Ye Ve lien a' wrang ; 
 Ye 've lien in an unco^ bed, 
 
 And wi' a f remit* man. 
 
 Your rosy cheeks are turn'd sae wan, 
 Ye 're greener than the grass, lassie ; 
 
 Your ooatie 's shorter by a span, ^ 
 Yet ne'er an inch the less, lassie. 
 
 O lassie, ye hae play'd the fool, 
 And ye will feel the scorn, lassie ; 
 
 For aye the brose ye sup at e'en. 
 Ye bock 5 them ere the morn, lassie. 
 
 Oh, ance ye danced upon the knowes,^ 
 And through the wood ye sang, lassie ; 
 
 But in the berrying o' a bee byke, 
 I fear ye 've got a stang, lassie. 
 
 THERE'S A YOUTH IN THIS CITY, 
 
 Tune—" Neil Gow's Lament." 
 The first half stanza of this song is old ; the rest by Burns. 
 
 There 's a youth in this city, 
 
 It were a great pity 
 That he frae our lasses should wander awa' ; 
 
 For he 's bonny and braw, 
 
 "Weel favour'd witha', 
 And his hair has a natural buckle and a'. 
 
 His coat is the hue 
 
 Of his bonnet sae blue : 
 His fecket* is white as the new-driven snaw; 
 
 His hose they are blae. 
 
 And his shoon like the slae. 
 And his clear siller buckles they dazzle us a'. 
 
 i Slelancholy. 2 Glad. » Strang 
 
 * Stranger. 5 Vomit. « Hills. 
 
 * An under waistcoat with sleeves. 
 
37^ SONGS. [1790. 
 
 For beauty and fortune 
 
 The laddie 's been courtin' ; 
 Weel-featured, weel-tocher'd, weel-mounted, and braw ; 
 
 But chiefly the siller, 
 
 That gars him gang till her, 
 The penny 's the jewel that beautifies a'. 
 
 There 's Meg wi' the mailen,* 
 
 That fain wad a haen him ; 
 And Susie, whose daddy was laird o' the ha' ; 
 
 There 's lang-tocher'd Nancy 
 
 Maist fetters his fancy — 
 But the laddie's dear sel he lo'ea dearest of a'. 
 
 OUR THRISSLES FLOURISHED FRESH AND FAIR. 
 
 Tune—" Awa', Whiga, awa'." 
 
 rho second and fourth stanzas only of this song are from the pen of the poet 
 the others belong to an old Jacobite ditty. 
 
 Our thrissles flourish'd fresh and fair, 
 
 And bonny bloom'd our roses ; 
 But Whigs cam like a frost in June, 
 
 And wither'd a* our posies. 
 
 Awa', Whigs, awa' ! 
 
 Awa', Whigs, awa' ! 
 Ye 're but a pack o' traitor louns 
 
 Ye '11 do nae guid at a'. 
 
 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 gie the Wiiigs the power o't ! 
 
 Our sad decay in Church and State 
 
 Surpasses my descriving ; 
 The Whigs cam o'er us for a curse, 
 
 And we hae done wi' thriving. 
 
 Grim Vengeance lang has ta'en a nap, 
 
 But we may see him wauken ; 
 Gude help the day when royal heads 
 
 Are hunted like a maukin ! ^ 
 
 1 Have. 
 * A well-stocked farm. 
 
^T. 32.] SONGS. 371 
 
 COME REDE ME, DAME. 
 
 Come rede ^ me, dame, come tell me, dani<5» 
 
 And nane can tell mair truly, 
 What colour maun the man be of 
 
 To Icrve a woman duly. 
 
 The carline ^ flew baith up and down, 
 
 And leugh and answered ready, 
 I learn'd a sang in Annandale, 
 
 A dark man for my lady. 
 
 But for a country quean like thee, 
 
 Young lass, I tell thee fairly. 
 That wi' the white I 've made a shift, 
 
 And brown will do fu' rarely. 
 
 There 's mickle love in raven locks, 
 
 The flaxen ne'er grows youden,^ 
 There 's kiss and hause^ me in the brown, 
 
 And glory in the gowden. 
 
 THE CAPTAIN'S LADY. 
 
 Tune — " Ch, mount and go." 
 
 Oh, mount and go. 
 
 Mount and make you ready ; 
 Oh, mount and go. 
 
 And be 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, MERRY HAE I BEEN TEETHIN' A HECKLE. 
 
 TuNB— "Lord Breadalbane's March." 
 
 Oh, merry hae I been teethin' a heckle, 
 And merry hae I been shapin' a spoon ; 
 
 I Counsel. 2 Old woman. 8 (Jray. * Hug or embrace. 
 
3 73 SONGS, [179a 
 
 And merry liae I been cloutin' ^ a kettle, 
 And kissin' my Katie when a' was done. 
 
 Oh, a' the laug day I ca' at my hammer, 
 And a' the lang day I whistle and sing, 
 
 A' the lang night I cuddle^ my kimrner,^ 
 And a' the lang night am as happy 's a king. 
 
 Bitter in dool I lickit my winnin's, 
 
 O' marrying Bess, to gie her a slave : 
 Blest be the hour she cool'd in her linens. 
 
 And blithe be the bird that sings on her grave ! 
 Come to my arms, my Katie, my Katie, 
 
 And come to my arms and kiss me again ! 
 Drunken or sober, here 's to thee, Katie ! 
 
 And blest be the day I did it again. 
 
 EPPIE ADAIR. 
 
 Tune—" JVly Eppie.* 
 
 And 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 Bwear to be true to 
 
 My Eppie Adair ! 
 
 And oh ! my Eppie, 
 My jewel, my Eppie ! 
 Wha wadna be happy 
 
 Wi' Eppie Adair? 
 A' pleasure exile me, 
 Dishonour defile me. 
 If e'er I beguile thee, 
 
 My Eppie Adair ! 
 
 YOUNG JOCKEY. 
 
 Tune— "Young Jockey." 
 
 « The whole of this song," says Stenhouse, " excepting three or four lines, is the 
 production of Burns." 
 
 Young Jockey was the blithest lad 
 
 In a' our town or here awa' : 
 Fu' blithe he whistled at the gaud,* 
 
 Fu' lightly danced he in the ha'. 
 
 1 Patching up. • Fondle. 8 Dearie. * Plough. 
 
ET. 32.] SONGS. 379 
 
 He roosed ^ my een, sae bonny blue, 
 
 He roosed my waist sae genty sma*, 
 And a3^e my heart came to my mou'^ 
 
 "When ne'er a body heard or saw. 
 
 My Jockey toils upon the plain, 
 
 Through wind and weet, through frost and snaw ; 
 And o'er the lea I leuk fu' fain 
 
 When Jockey's owsen hameward ca*. 
 And aye the night comes round again, 
 
 When in his arms he taks me a' ; 
 And aye he vows he '11 be my ain, 
 
 As lang's he has a breath to draw. 
 
 WEE WILLIE GRAY. 
 
 Wee Willie Gray, and his leather 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. 
 
 JAMIE, COME TRY ME. 
 
 TuNK — " Jamie, come tiy me." 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Jamie, come try me, 
 
 Jamie, come try me, 
 
 If thou wad win my love, 
 
 Jamie, come try me. 
 
 If thou should ask my love, 
 
 Could I 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. 
 
3^0 
 
 SONGS, [1790, 
 
 THE BATTLE OF KILLIECRANKIE. 
 
 TuNK — " Killiecrankie." 
 
 The chorus of this songr, which celebrates the battle where Viscount Dundee fell 
 in the moment of victory, is old ; the rest is from the pen of Burns. 
 
 "Whare hae ye been sae braw, lad ? 
 
 Whare bae ye been sae brankie,^ O? 
 Oh, whare hae ye been sae braw, lad ? 
 
 Cam ye by Killiecrankie, O ? 
 An ye had been whare I hae been. 
 
 Ye wadna been sae cantie,^ O ; 
 An ye had seen what I hae seen, 
 
 On the braes of Killiecrankie, O. 
 
 I fonght at land, I fought at sea ; 
 
 At hame I fought my auntie, O ; 
 But I met the devil and Dundee, 
 
 On the braes o' Killiecrankie, O. 
 The bauld Pitcur fell in a fur,^ 
 
 And Clavers got a clankie, O ; 
 Or I had fed an Athole gled,"* 
 
 On the braes o* Killiecrankie, O. 
 
 GUIDWIFE, COUNT THE LA WIN. 
 
 TuNB— "Guidwife count the lawiiL" 
 
 Gane is the day, and mirk *a the night. 
 But we 11 ne'er stray for f au't ^ o' light, 
 For ale and brandy 's stars and moon, 
 And blude-red wine 's the rising sun. 
 
 Then, guidwife, count the la win, 
 
 The la win, the lawin ; 
 Then, guidwife, count the lawin, 
 
 And bring a coggie ^ mair. 
 
 There 's wealth and ease for gentlemen, 
 And simple folk maun fecht and fen' ; 
 But here we 're a' in ae accord, 
 For ilka man that 's drunk 's a lord. 
 
 My coggie is a haly pool, 
 
 That heals the wounds o' care and dool j'' 
 
 And pleasure is a wanton trout. 
 
 An ye drink but deep ye '11 find him out. 
 
 1 Gaudy. « Merry. » Furrow. * Kitft, 
 
 6 Want. 6 Bumper, ' Grief. 
 
JET. 32.1 sojva^. 3S1 
 
 "WHISTLE O'ER THE LAVE O'T 
 
 Tune— "Whistle o'er the lave o't."- 
 
 First when Maggy was my care. 
 Heaven, I thought, was in her air ; 
 Kow we 're married — spier ^ nae mair— » 
 
 Whistle o'er the lave o 't. — 
 Meg was meek, and Meg was mild, 
 Bonny Meg was nature's child ; 
 Wiser men than me 's beguiled — 
 
 Whistle o'er the lave 't. 
 
 How we live, my Meg and me, 
 How we love, and how we 'gree, 
 I care na by how few may see — 
 
 Whistle o'er the lave o 't. 
 Wha I wish were maggots' meat;, 
 Bish'd up in her winding sheet, 
 I could write — but Meg maun see 't — 
 
 Whistle o'er the lave o 't. 
 
 OH, CAN YE LABOUE LEA, 
 
 Oh, can ye labour lea, young man, 
 
 And can ye labour lea ; 
 Gae back the gate ye cam again, 
 
 Ye 'se never scorn me. 
 
 I fee'd a man at Martinmas, 
 
 Wi' airl-pennies three ; 
 And a' the faut I fan' wi' him, 
 
 He couldna labour lea. 
 
 The stibble-rig is easy plough'a, 
 
 The fallow land is free ; 
 But wha wad keep the handless coof, 
 
 That couldna labour lea? 
 
 WOMEN'S MINDS. 
 
 Tune— 'Trra' that." 
 
 Though women's minds, like winter winds, 
 May shift and turn, and a' that. 
 
 The noblest breast adores them maist, 
 A consequence I draw that, 
 
 I Ask. 
 
\/ 
 
 382 SONGS, [1 791 
 
 For a' that, and a' that. 
 And twice as muckle 's a* that. 
 
 The bonny lass that I lo'e best 
 She '11 be my ain for a' that. 
 
 Great love I bear to all the fair, 
 Their humble slave, and a' that ; 
 
 But lordly will, I hold it still, 
 A mortal sin to thraw that. 
 
 But there is ane aboon the lave,^ 
 
 Has wit, and sense, and a' that ; 
 A bonny lass, I like her best, 
 
 And wha a crime dare ca' that ? 
 
 IT IS NA, JEAK, THY BONNY FACE. 
 
 Tune— "The Maid's Complaint." 
 
 " These verses," says Cunningham, "were originally in English : Burns bestowed 
 a Scottish dress upon them, and made them utter sentiments connected with 
 his own aflfectioDs." 
 
 It is na, Jean, thy bonny face. 
 
 Nor shape, that I admire, 
 Although thy beauty and thy grace 
 
 Might weel awake desire. 
 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. 
 
 MY LOVE SHE'S BUT A LASSIE YET. 
 
 Tune— "Lady Ladinscoth'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. 
 
 » Rest. 
 
«T, 33.] SOA'GS, 383 
 
 I rue the day I songht her, O, 
 
 I rue the day I sought her, O ; 
 Wha gets her needna 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 'fc yet ; 
 Gae seek for pleasure where ye will, 
 
 But here I never miss'd it yet. 
 We 're a' dry wi' drinking o 't ; 
 
 We 're a' dry wi' drinking o 't ; 
 The minister kiss'd the fiddler's wife, 
 
 And couldna preach for thinkin' o 't. 
 
 OA' THE EWES. 
 
 Tune — "Ca' the Ewes to the Knowes." 
 
 The fourth and fifth stanzas of this song, which was written for the Museum, 
 are old, with a few touches of improvement by Burns. He afterwards wrote 
 a much better version for Thomson's collection, which will be found at p. 460 
 
 As I gaed down the water-side, 
 There I met my shepherd lad, 
 He row'd^ me sweetly in his plaid. 
 And he ca'd me his dearie. 
 
 Ca' the ewes to the knowes, 
 Ca' them whare the heather grows, 
 Ca' them whare the bumie rowes, 
 My bonny dearie ! 
 
 Will ye gang down the water-side, 
 And see the waves sae sweetly glide ? 
 Beneath the hazels spreading wide 
 The moon it shines f u' clearly. 
 
 I was bred up at nae sic school, 
 My shepherd lad, to play the fool, 
 And a' the day to sit in dool,^ 
 And naebody to see me. 
 
 Ye sail get gowns and ribbons meet, 
 Cauf -leather shoon upon your feet. 
 And in my arms ye 'se lie and sleep. 
 And ye sail be my dearie. 
 
 If ye '11 but stand to what ye 've said, 
 I 'se gang wi' you, my shepherd lad, 
 And ye may rowe me in your plaid, 
 And I sail be your dearie. 
 
 • ' ■ ' ■ ' > t 
 
 1 Wrapt. » Griet 
 
3^4 
 
 SONGS, [1 791 
 
 While waters wimple ^ to tlie sea ; ^ 
 While day blinks in the lift ^ sae hie ; 
 Till clay-cauld death sail blin' my ee, 
 Ye sail be my dearie. 
 
 SIMMER'S A PLEASANT TIME. 
 
 TuNB— " Aye Waukin, 0." 
 This is an oldjong, on which the poet appears to have made only a few alterations 
 
 Simmer 's a pleasant time, 
 
 Flowers of every colour ; 
 The water rins o^er the heugh,^ 
 
 And I long for my true lover. 
 
 Aye waukin, O, 
 
 Waukin still and wearie : 
 Sleep I can get nane 
 
 For thinking on my dearie. 
 
 When I sleep I dream, 
 
 When I wauk I 'm eerie ; * 
 Sleep I can get nane 
 
 For thinkmg on my dearie, 
 
 Lanely night comes on, 
 
 A* the lave ^ are sleepin* ; 
 I think on my bonny lad, 
 
 And I bleer my een with greetin*.* 
 
 THERE'LL NEVER BE PEACE TILL JAMIE COMES HAME. 
 
 TuNK— "There are few guid fellows when Willie's awa'.** 
 
 * When political combustion," says the poet, in a letter to Thomson, enclosing 
 this song, which had evidently been composed while in a Jacobitical mood, 
 *' ceases to be the object of princes and patriots, it then, you know, becomes 
 the lawful prey of historians and poets." 
 
 By yon castle wa', at the close of the day, 
 I heard a man sing, though his head it was gray ; 
 And as he was singing, the tears fast down came, 
 Tliere '11 never be peace till Jamie comes hame. 
 The Church is in ruins, the State is in jars ; 
 Delusions, oi)pressions, and murderous wars ; 
 AVe darena weel say 't, though we ken wha 's to blame- 
 There '11 never be peace till Jamie comes hame ! 
 
 1 Wander. 2 Heavens. • Steep. 
 
 * TimoKOUS. * Rest • Weeping. 
 
-ffiT. 33.] SONGS, 3S5 
 
 My seven braw sons for Jamie drew sword, 
 And now I gi-eet^ round their gi'een beds in the yerd.^ 
 It brak the sweet heart of my faithfu' auld dame — 
 There '11 never be peace till Jamie comes hame. 
 Now life is a burthen that bows me down, 
 Since I tint ^ my bairns, and he tint his crown ; 
 But till my last moments my words are the same- 
 There '11 never be peace till Jamie comes hame. 
 
 LOVELY DAVIES. 
 
 Tune — "Miss Muir." 
 
 riie heroine of this song was Miss Deborah Davies, a beautiful young English- 
 woman, connected by ties^.d^ blood witli the family of Captain Riddel of Crlen- 
 riddel, at whose house the poet first met her. Her beauty and accompli.s.i 
 ments appear to have made a deep impression upon him,for he has celebrated 
 them in a number of effusions in both prose and verse. In a letter to her 
 enclosing this song, he says, in a strain of enthusiastic gallantry :—" When my 
 theme is youth and beauty— a young lady whose personal charms, wit, and sen- 
 timent, are equally striking and unaffected— by Heavens ! though I had lived 
 threescore years a married man, and threescore years before I was a married 
 man, my imagination would hallow the very idea ; and I am truly sorry that 
 tiie enclosed stanzas have done such poor justice to such a subject." 
 
 Oh, how shall I, unskilfu* try 
 
 The poet's occupation, 
 The tunefu' powers, in happy hours. 
 
 That whisper inspiration ? 
 Even they maun dare an effort 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 v/inter-bound the wave is ; 
 Sae droops our heart when we maun part 
 
 Frae charming, lovely Davies. 
 
 Her smile 's a gift, frae 'boon the lift. 
 
 That maks us mair than princes ; 
 A sceptred hand, a king's command, 
 
 Is in her darting glances : 
 The man in arms, 'gainst female charmsL 
 
 Even he her willing slave is ; 
 He hugs his chain, and owns the reigi 
 
 Of conquering, lovely Davies. 
 
 1 Weep. 2 Earth. 3 Lost 
 
 2 b'~ 
 
386 
 
 SONGS. [1791 
 
 My Muse to dream of sucli a theme, 
 
 Her feeble ijowers surrender ; 
 The eagle's gaze alone surveys 
 
 The sun's meridian splendour : 
 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 BONNY WEE THING. 
 
 TuNB— "Bonny wee Thing." 
 
 This is another, though briefer and more sentimental, song in celebration of th(^ 
 lady mentioned above — " the charming, lovely Davies." 
 
 Bonny wee thing, cannie wee thing, 
 
 Lovely wee thing, wert thou mine, 
 I wad wear thee in my bosom, 
 
 Lest my jewel I should tine.^ 
 "Wishfully I look and languish 
 
 In that bonny face o' thine ; 
 And my heart it stounds ^ wi' anguish, 
 
 Lest my wee thing be na mine. 
 
 Wit, and grace, and love, and beauty, 
 
 In ae constellation shine ; 
 To adore thee is my duty. 
 
 Goddess o' this soul o' mine ! 
 Bonny wee thing, cannie wee thing, 
 
 Lovely wee thing, wert thou mine, 
 I wad wear thee in my bosom, 
 
 Lest my jewel I should tine ! 
 
 WAR SONG. 
 
 AiE— " Oran an Doig ; " or, " The Song of Death." 
 
 " I have just finished," says the poet, in a letter to Mrs Dunlop, enclosing this 
 noble lyric, "the following song, which, to a lady, the descendant of Wallace, 
 and herself the mother of several soldiers, needs neither preface nor apology." 
 The subject, the poet tells us, was suggested to him by an Isle-of-Skye tune 
 entitled, <*Oran an Doig ;" or, "Tlie Song of Death," which he found in a cok 
 lection of Highland airs, and to the measure of which he adapted his stanzas. 
 
 Scene— A. field of battle— Time of the day, Evening— The wounded and dying ot 
 the victorious army are supposed to join in the following song : — 
 
 1 Lose. * Aches. 
 
<ET. 33.] SOA^GS. 387 
 
 Faeewell, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies. 
 
 Now gay with the broad setting sun ! 
 Farewell loves and friendships, ye dear tender ties ! 
 
 Our race of existence is run ! 
 
 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 to the brave ! 
 
 Thou strik'st the dull 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 honour— our swords in our hands, 
 
 Our king and our country to save — 
 While victory shines on life's last ebbing sands — 
 
 Oh ! who would not die with the brave I 
 
 AE FOND KISS. V 
 
 •4'UNB— " Rory Ball's Port." 
 
 This exquisitely beautiful song sprang from the depth of the poet's passion for 
 Clarinda ; and is one of the most vehement and impressive outburets of in 
 tense feeling ever written. Byron and Scott have both stamped it -with their 
 approbation; and Mrs Jameson, speaking of these lines, truthfully and ele- 
 gantly says — ** They are in themselves a complete romance ; and contain the 
 essence of an existence of pain and pleasure distilled into one burning drop." 
 
 Ae fond kiss, and then we sever ; 
 
 Ae fareweel, and then, for ever ! 
 
 Deep in heart-wrung tears I '11 pledge thee, 
 
 Warring sighs and groans 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. 
 
 J '11 ne'er blame my partial fancy, 
 
 Naething could resist my Nancy ; 
 j But to see her was to love her ; I 
 \ Love but her, and love for ever.j 
 
 Had we never loved sae kindly, / 
 Had we never loved sae blindly, V 
 Never met — or never parted, \ 
 We had ne'er been broken-hearted.) 
 
388 SONGS. [1791. 
 
 Fare-thee-weel, tliou first and fairest ! 
 Fare-thee-weel, thou best and dearest ! 
 Thine be ilka joy and treasure, 
 Peace, Enjoyment, Love, and Pleasure! 
 
 Ae fond kiss, and then we sever ; 
 
 Ae fareweel, alas ! for ever ! 
 
 Deep in heart-wrung tears 1 11 pledge thee, 
 
 AVarring sighs and groans I '11 wage thee ! 
 
 GLOOMY DECEMBER. 
 
 Tune— "Wandering Willie." 
 
 The last interview ot the poet with Clarinda took place in Edinbuigh on the 6tli 
 of December 1791, and appears to have been deeply affecting on both sides. 
 In remembrance of this meeting, and while still under the influence of the 
 foelings evoked by it, the poet composed these beautiful lines :^ 
 
 Ance mair I hail thee, thou gloomy December I 
 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, farewell for ever ! 
 Is anguish unmingled, and agony pure. 
 
 "Wild as the winter now tearing the forest. 
 Till the last leaf o' 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 thee wi' sorrow and care ; 
 
 For sad was the parting thou makes me remember, 
 Parting wi' Nancy, oh ! ne'er to meet mair. 
 
 BEHOLD THE HOUR. 
 
 Tune— "Oran Gaoil." 
 
 A month after the Interview mentioned in the introduction to the preceding 
 song — on the 25th of January 1792 — Clarinda, in anticipation of her immediate 
 departure for Jamaica to join her husband, wrote to the poet bidding him fare- 
 well. "Seek God's favour," she says ; '-keep His commandments— be solicitous 
 to prepare for a happy eternity. There, I trust, we will meet in never-ending 
 bliss ! " She sailed a'month afterwards ; and the poet poured his feelings on 
 the occasion into the following fine song : — 
 
^.T. 33.] SONGS. 389 
 
 Behold the hour, the boat arrive, 
 Thou goest, thou darling of my heart ! 
 
 Sever'd from thee can I survive ? 
 But Fate has will'd, and we must part. 
 
 I '11 often greet this surging swell, 
 
 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, 
 AVhere now my Nancy's path may be ! 
 
 While through thy sweets she loves to stray. 
 Oh, tell me, does she muse on me ? 
 
 THE MIRK NIGHT O' DECEMBER. 
 
 Tune—" May, thy morn.'' 
 
 The following song, the production of a lighter mood, is also said to hare been 
 written in commemoration of the final meeting with Clarinda : — 
 
 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 darena name, 
 
 But I will aye remember. 
 And dear was she I darena name, 
 
 But I will aye 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 ! 
 
 * The above two stanzas of this song are given by Chambers ab follow : — 
 
 Behold the hour, the boat arrive ! 
 
 My dearest Nancy, oh, fareweel I 
 Sever'd frae thee, can I survive, 
 
 Erae thee whom I hae loved sae weel? 
 
 Endless and deep shall be my grief; 
 
 Nae ray o' comfort shall I see ; 
 But this most precious, dear belief! 
 
 That thou wilt still remember me. 
 
39^ SONGS. [1792. 
 
 And here 's to fchem we darena tell, 
 
 The dearest o' the quorum. 
 And here 's to them we darena tell, 
 
 The dearest o' the quorum ! 
 
 MY NANNIE'S AWA'. 
 
 TuNB— " There '11 never be peace," &c. 
 
 Some months after the departure of Clarinda, when time had mellowed the poet's 
 passion, and absence calmed the tumult of his feelings, he wrote the following 
 touching pastoral :— 
 
 Now in her green mantle blithe 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 laverock that springs frae the dews of the lawn. 
 The shepherd to warn o' the gray breaking dawn, 
 And thou mellow mavis that hails the night fa', 
 Give over for pity — my Nannie 's awa' ! 
 
 Come, Autumn sae pensive, in yellow and gi*ay, 
 And soothe me with tidings o' Nature's decay : 
 The dark dreary winter, and wild driving snaw, 
 Alane can deUght me — now Nannie 's awa' I 
 
 WANDEEING WILLIE. 
 
 In composing this song, Burns is thought to have thrown himself sympathetically 
 into the circumstances of his mistress — Clarinda — and to have given expres- 
 sion to the feelings with which he supposed her to be animated in seeking, 
 after a separation of many years, a reunion with her wayward, wandering hus- 
 band. The idea of this song appears to have been taken from an old one, of 
 which the two following verses have been preserved : — 
 
 " Here awa', there awa', here aw£?, Willie, 
 Here awa', there awa', here awa' hame ; 
 Long have I sought thee, dear have I bought thee, 
 Now T hae gotten my Willie again. 
 
 '• Through the lang muir I have ft>llow'd ray Willie, 
 Through the lang muir I have follow'd him hame 
 Whatever betide us, nought shall divide us, 
 Love now rewards all my sorrow and pain." 
 
T. 34.] SONGS. 391 
 
 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 simmec, and welcome my Willie — 
 The simmer to nature, my Willie to me. 
 
 Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave of your slumbers, 
 How your dread howling a lover alarms ! 
 
 Wauken, ye breezes ! row gently, ye billows ! 
 And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms ! 
 
 But oh, if he's faithless, and minds na his Nannie, 
 Flow still between us thou wide roaring main ! 
 
 May I never see it, may I never trow it, 
 But, dying, believe that my Willie 's my ain. 
 
 THE DEHi'S AWA* WI' THE EXCISEMAN. 
 
 Tune — " The deil cam fiddling through the town." 
 
 Lockhart gives the following interesting account of this song :—" This spiriteil 
 song was composed on the shores of the Solway, while the poet and a party of 
 his brother excisemen were engaged in watching the motions of a suspicious- 
 looking brig, which had put in there, and which, it was supposed, was engaged 
 in smuggling. The day following that on which she was first seen, the vessel 
 got into shallow water, and it was then discovered that the crew were nume- 
 rous, and not likely to yield without a struggle. Lewars accordingly was 
 despatched to Dumfries for a party of dragoons, and another oflicer proceeded 
 on a similar errand to Ecclefechan, leaving Burns with some men under his 
 orders, to watch the brig and prevent landing or escape. Burns manifested 
 considerable impatience while thus occupied, being left for many hours in a 
 wet salt-marsh with a force which he knew to be inadequate for the purpose it 
 was meant to fulfil. One of his comrades hearing him abuse his friend Lewars 
 in particular, for being slow about his journey, the man answered that he also 
 wished the devil had him for his pains, and that Burns in the meantime would 
 do well to indite a song upon the sluggard. Burns said nothing ; but after 
 taking a few strides by himself among the reeds and shingle, rejoined his 
 party, and chanted to them this well-known ditty :" — 
 
 The deil cam fiddling through the town, 
 
 And danced awa' wi' the Exciseman, 
 And ilka wife cries — " Auld Mahoun, 
 
 I wish you lujck o' the prize, man ! " 
 
 The deil 's awa', the deil 's awa*. 
 The deil 's awa' wi' the Exciseman ; 
 
 He *s danced awa', he 's danced awa'. 
 He 's danced awa' wi' the Exciseman ! 
 
392 SONGS, [1792. 
 
 "We '11 TTiak our maut, we '11 brew our drink, 
 We 'I dance, and sing, and rejoice, raan; 
 
 And mony braw thanks to the meikle black deil 
 That danced awa' wi' the Exciseman. 
 
 The deil 's awa', the deil 's awa , 
 
 The deil 's awa' wi' the Exciseman ; 
 He 's danced awa', he 's danced awa', 
 
 He 's danced awa' wi' the Exciseman ! 
 
 There 's threesome reels, there 's foursome reels. 
 There 's hornpipes and strathspeys, man ; 
 
 But the ae best dance e'er cam to the land. 
 Was— the deil's awa' wi' the Exciseman. 
 
 The deil 's awa', the deil 's awa*. 
 The deil's awa' wi' the Exciseman; 
 
 He's danced awa', he's danced awa', 
 He 's danced awa' wi' the Exciseman ! 
 
 BONNY LESLEY. 
 
 rhe poet, in a letter to Mrs Dunlop, gives the following account of tne origin of 
 this song :—«* Apropos!— do you know thiat I am almost in love with an ac- 
 quaintance of yours ? Know, then," said he, " that the heart-struck awe, the 
 distant humble approach, the delight we should have in gazing upon and lis- 
 tening to a messenger of Heaven, appearing in all the unspotted purity of his 
 celestial home, among the coarse, polluted, far inferior sons of men, to deliver 
 to them tidings that sliould make their hearts swim in joy, and their imagina- 
 tions soar in transport, — such, so delighting and so pure, were the emotions 
 of my soul on meeting the other day with Miss Lesley Baillie, your neighbour 
 at Mayfield. Mr Baillie, with his two daughters, accompanied by Mr H. of G-., 
 passing through Dumfries a few days ago, on their way to England, did me the 
 honour of calling on me, on which I took my horse, (though God 'knows I could 
 ill spare the time,) and accompanied them fourteen or fifteen miles, and dined 
 and spent the day with them. 'Twas about nine, I think, when I left them ; 
 and riding home, I composed the following ballad. You must know that there 
 is an old one beginning with — / 
 
 My bonny Lizzie Baillie, 
 
 I'll rowe thee in my plaidie,' &c. 
 
 {?o T parodied it as follows." Miss Baillie ultimately became Mrs Cumming of 
 Logie, and died in Edinburgh in 1843. 
 
 Oh, saw ye bonny Lesley 
 
 As she gaed o'er the Border? 
 She's gane like Alexander, 
 
 To spread her conquests farther. 
 
 To see her is to love her. 
 
 And love but her for ever; 
 For Nature made her what she is, 
 
 And never made anither 
 
iET. 34] SONGS. 393 
 
 Thou art a queen, fair Lesley, 
 
 Thy subjects we, before thee : 
 Thou art divine, fair Lesley, 
 
 The hearts o' men adore thee. 
 
 The deil he couldna skaith ^ thee, 
 
 Nor aught that wad belang thee ; 
 He 'd look into thy bonny 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. 
 
 Return again, fair Lesley, 
 
 Return to Caledonie ! 
 That we may brag we hae a lass 
 
 There 's nane again sae bonny. 
 
 CRAIGIE-BURN WOOD. 
 
 The poet composed the following song to aid the eloquence of a Mi* Gillespie, a 
 friend of his, who was paying his addresses to a Mis» Lorimer, a young lady 
 who resided at a beautiful place on the banks of the MoflFat, called Craigie- 
 burn Wood. The gentleman did not succeed in his suit, however, as the lady 
 afterwards married another ; but her marriage proving unfortunate, the poet, 
 regarding her with that pity which is arkin to love, made her the subject of 
 some of his finest lyrics. For an account of this lady, see p. 451. Burns after- 
 wards considerably altered this song, and reduced it to the dimensions of the 
 second version. 
 
 Sweet closes the evening on Craigie-bum "Wood, 
 
 And blithely awaukens the morrow ; 
 But the pride of the spring in the Craigie-bum Wood 
 
 Can yield to me nothing but sorrow. 
 
 Beyond thee, dearie, beyond thee, dearie, 
 
 And oh ! to be lying beyond thee ; 
 Oh, sweetly, soundly, weel may he sleep 
 
 That's laid in the bed beyond thee ! 
 
 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 wiinging. 
 
 I canna tell, I maunna tell, 
 
 I darena for your anger ; 
 But secret love will break my heart, 
 
 If I conceal it langer. 
 
 1 Ilarm. a Guard. 
 
394 SONGS, [1792. 
 
 I see thee gracefu', straiglit, and tall, 
 
 I see thee sweet and bonny ; 
 But oh, what will my torments be, 
 
 If thou refuse thy Johnnie ! 
 
 To see thee in anither's arms, 
 
 In love to lie and languish, 
 *Twad be my dead,^ that will be seen, 
 
 My heart wad burst wi' anguish. 
 
 But, Jeanie, say thou wilt be mine, 
 
 Say thou lo'es nane before me ; 
 And a* my days o' life to come 
 
 I '11 gratefully adore thee. 
 
 SECOND VERSION. 
 
 Sweet fa's the eve on Craigie-burn, 
 And blithe awakes the morrow ; 
 
 But a' the pride o' spiing's return 
 Can yield me nought 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 darena for your anger ; 
 But secret love will break my heart, 
 
 If I conceal it langer. 
 
 If thou refuse to pity me, 
 
 If thou shalt love anither, 
 When yon green leaves fade frae the tree, 
 
 Around my grave they '11 wither. 
 
 FKAE THE FRIENDS AND LAITD I LOYE. 
 
 Air — " Carron Side." 
 
 In his notes to the Museum, the poet says of this song :— "I added the last four 
 lines by way of giving a turn to the theme of the poem— such as it is." The 
 entire song, however, was in his own handwriting, and is generally thought to 
 be his own composition, as the other twelve lines have not been found in any 
 collection. 
 
 Frae the friends and land I love, 
 
 Driven by Fortune's felly 2 spite, 
 Frae my best-beloved I rove, 
 Never mair to taste delight ; 
 
 1 Death. ^ Relentless. 
 
^T. 34.] SONGS, 395 
 
 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, 
 
 Desert ilka blooming shore, 
 Till the Fates, nae mair severe, 
 
 Friendship, Love, and Peace restore ; 
 Till Eevenge, wi' lautell'd head, 
 
 Bring our banish'd hame again ; 
 And ilka loyal bonny lad 
 
 Cross the seas and win his ain. 
 
 MY TOCHER 'S THE JEWEL. 
 
 Tune— "My Tocher's the Jewel." 
 
 Oh 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 '11 cherish the bee ; 
 My laddie 's sae meikle in luve wi' the siller 
 
 He canna hae luve to spare for me. 
 
 Your proffer o' luve 's an 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. 
 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, 
 
 And ye '11 crack^ your credit wi' mae^ nor me. 
 
 WHAT CAN A YOUNG LASSIE DO? 
 Tune — " What can a young lassie do wi' an auld man?" 
 
 What can a young lassie, what shall a young lassie, 
 What can a young lassie do wi' an auld man? 
 
 Bad luck on the jDenny that tempted my niinnie'^ 
 To sell her i)oor Jenny for siller and Ian' ! 
 Bad luck on the i^enny, &c. 
 
 1 Know well. 2 Dowry. 3 Money given as earnest of a bargain 
 
 * Timber. 6 Injure. « More. t Mother 
 
396 
 
 SONGS. [1792. 
 
 lie 's always compleenin* frae mornin' to e'enin', 
 Hehoasts^ and he hirples^ the weary day lang ; 
 
 He 's doyl't^ and he's dozen,^ his bluid it is frozen, 
 Oh, dreary 's the night wi' a crazy auld man ! 
 He 's doyl't and he *s dozen, &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 fellows : 
 
 Oh, dool^ 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 endeavour to follow her plan ! 
 I 'U cross him, and wrack him, until I heartbreak him. 
 
 And then his auld brass will buy me a new pan. 
 I "11 cross him, and wrack him, &c. 
 
 OH, HOW CAN I BE BLITHE AND GLAD? 
 
 TuNK — " Owre the hills and far awa*." 
 
 The poet having found the germ of this song in Herd's collection is thought to 
 have wrought into it some allusion to an incident in his own personal history. 
 "This little lamentation of a desolate damsel," says Jeffrey, "is tender and 
 pretty." 
 
 Oh, now can I be blithe and glad. 
 
 Or how can I gang brisk and braw, 
 When the bonny lad that I lo'e best 
 
 Is o'er the hills and far awa' ? 
 When the bonny lad that I lo'e best 
 Is o'er the hiUs and far awa' ? 
 
 It 's no the frosty whiter wind, 
 
 It 's no the driving drift and snaw ; 
 But aye the tear comes in my ee. 
 
 To think on him that 's far awa'. 
 But aye the tear comes in my ee, 
 
 To think on him that 's far awa'. 
 
 My father pat me frae his door, 
 *My friends they hae disown'd me a*, 
 
 But I hae ane will tak my part, 
 The bonny lad that 's far awa'. 
 
 But I hae ane will tak my part. 
 The bonny lad that 's far awa'. 
 
 A pair o' gloves he bought for me, 
 And silken snoods * he gae me twa ; 
 
 1 Coughs. 2 Limps. 8 Crazed, 
 
 * Benumbed. 6 Woe. 
 
 * See p. 352— nofe. 
 
Mr. 34.] SONGS. 397 
 
 And I will wear them for his sake, — 
 
 The bonny lad that 's far awa'. 
 And I will wear them for his sake, — 
 
 The bonny lad that 's far awa'. 
 
 Oh, weary winter soon will pass, 
 And spring will deed the birken-shaw ;^ 
 
 And my young baby will be born. 
 And he '11 be hame that 's far awa\ 
 
 And my young baby will be born, 
 And he '11 be hame that 's far awa*. 
 
 I DO CONFESS THOU ART SAE FAIR. 
 
 Tune— "I do confess thou art sae fair." 
 
 This song was altered by the poet into Scotch, from a poem by Sir Robert Ayton, 
 private secretary to Anne, consort of James VI. "I think," says Burns, "that 
 I have improved the simplicity of the sentiments by giving them a Scota 
 dress." * 
 
 I DO confess thou art sae fair, 
 
 I wud been owre the lugs 2 in luve, 
 Had I na found the slightest prayer 
 
 That lips could speak thy heart could move. 
 I do confess thee sweet, but find 
 
 Thou art sae thriftless o' thy sweets, 
 Thy favours are the silly wind. 
 That kisses ilka thing it meets, 
 
 See yonder rosebud, 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. 
 
 Though thou may gaily bloom a while ; 
 Yet sune thou shalt be thrown aside 
 
 Like ony common weed and vile. 
 
 1 Birch-wood. 2 Ears. » Loses. 
 
 * The following are the old words : — 
 
 "I do confess thou'rt smooth and fair, 
 
 And I might have gone near to love thee ; 
 
 Ilad I not found the slightest prayer 
 That lips could speak had power to move theo. 
 
 But I can let thee now alone. 
 
 As worthy to be loved by none. 
 
 *< I do confess thou'rt sweet ; yet find 
 
 Thee such an unthrift of thy sweets, 
 Thy favours are but like the wind, 
 
 That kisseth everything it meets ; 
 And since thou canst with more than one^ 
 Thou'rt worthy to be kiss'd by none. 
 
398 SONGS. [1792 
 
 YON WILD MOSSY MOUNTAINS. 
 
 Tune — " Yon wild mossy mountains." 
 
 " This song," says the poet, "alludes to a part of my private history which it Is 
 of no consequence to the world to know." 
 
 Yon wild mossy mountains sae lofty and wide, 
 
 That nurse in their bosom the youth o' the Clyde, 
 
 Where the grouse lead their coveys through the heather to feed. 
 
 And the shepherd tends his flock as he pipes on his reed. 
 
 Where the grouse lead their coveys through the heather 
 to feed, 
 
 And the shepherd tends his flock as he pipes on his reed. 
 
 Not Gowrie's rich valleys, nor Forth's sunny shores, 
 To me hae the charms o' yon wild mossy moors; 
 For there, by a lanely, sequester'd clear stream, 
 Besides a sweet lassie, my thought and my dream. 
 For there, by a lanely, sequester'd clear stream, 
 Besides 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, flee the swift hours o' love. 
 For there, wi' my lassie, the day-lang I rove. 
 While o'er us, unheeded, flee the swift hours o' love. 
 
 She is not the fairest, although 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. 
 Her parentage humble as humble can be. 
 But I lo'e the dear lassie, because she lo'es me. ^ 
 
 To beauty what man but maun yield him a prize, 
 
 In her armour of glances, and blushes, and sighs ? 
 
 And when wit and refinement hae polish'd her daits, 
 
 They dazzle our een as they flee to our hearts. 
 And when wit and refinement hae polish'd her darts, 
 They dazzle our een as they flee to our hearts. 
 
 "The morning rose, that untouch'd stands, 
 Arm'd w^ith her briers, how sweetly smells I 
 
 But, pluck'd and strain'd through ruder hands, 
 Her sweet no longer Avith her dwells, 
 
 But scent and beauty both are gont. 
 
 And leaves fall from her, one by one. 
 
 " Such fate, ere long, will thee betide, 
 
 When thou hast handled been a while 
 Like sun-flowers to be thrown aside, 
 
 And I shall sigh while some will smile, 
 To see thy love for moi-e than one 
 Ilath brought thee to be loved by none." 
 
Oh, leeze me on my spinning-wheel, 
 And leeze me on my rock and reel ; 
 The Bun blinks kindly in the biel. 
 Where blithe I turn my spinning-wheel. 
 
 —Best and her Spinning-WTuel, page 3&9. 
 
MT. 34.] SONGS, 39g 
 
 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 ! 
 And the heart-beating love, as I'm clasp'd in her arms. 
 Oh, these are my lassie* t* all-conquering charms ! 
 
 OH FOR AISTE-AND-TWENTY, TAM! 
 
 Tune—" The Moudiewort." 
 
 And oh for ane-and-twenty, Tam ! 
 
 And hey, sweet ane-and-twenty, Tam! 
 1 '11 learn my kin a rattlin' sang, 
 
 An I saw ane-and-twenty, Tam. 
 
 They snooP me sair, and hand me down, 
 And gar me look like bluntie,^ Tam ; 
 
 But three short years will soon wheel roun'- 
 Aud then comes ane-and-twenty, Tam« 
 
 A gleib o' Ian', 3 a claut 0' gear,* 
 Was left me by my auntie, Tam ; 
 
 At kith or kin I needna spier, ^ 
 An 1 saw ane-and-twenty, Tam. 
 
 They '11 hae me wed a wealthy coof ,* 
 Though I mysel hae plenty, Tam ; 
 
 But hear'st thou, laddie — ^there 's my loof " — 
 I 'm thine at ane-and-twenty, Tam. 
 
 BESS AND HEE, SPINNIJSTG-WHEEL. 
 
 TuNB — " The sweet lass that lo'es me." 
 
 Oh, leeze me on my spinning-wheel. 
 And leeze me on my rock and reel ; 
 Prae tap to tae that deeds me bien,^ 
 And haps^ me fieP^ and warm at e'en! 
 I '11 set me down and sing and spin. 
 While laigh descends the simmer sun, 
 Blest wi' content, and milk and meal — 
 Oh, leeze me on my spinning-wheel ! 
 
 On ilka hand the burnies trot,!^ 
 And meet below my theekit cot ; 
 
 1 Curb. 2 A simpleton. 3 a portion of ground. 
 
 * A sum of money. ^ Ask. * Fool. ? Hand. 
 
 8 Comfortably. » Wraps. 10 Soft. u Run. 
 
/. 
 
 400 SONGS. [1792 
 
 The scented birk and hawthorn white, 
 Across the pool their arms unite, 
 Alike to screen the birdies' nest, 
 And little fishes' caller^ rest ; 
 The sun blinks kindly in the biel,' 
 Where blithe I turn my spinning-wheel. 
 
 On lofty aiks the cushats^ wail, 
 
 And echo cons the doolfu' ^ tale ; 
 
 The lintwhites in the hazel braes. 
 
 Delighted, rival ither's lays: 
 
 The craik'^ amang the clover hay, 
 
 The paitrick whirrin' o!fir the ley, 
 
 The Bwallow jinkin' round my shiel,^ 
 
 Amuse me at my spinning-wheel. ^^"^^^^ -t w^'^ ■' 
 
 Wi* sma* to sell, and less to buy, \ -4-Ktf>Bdiy 
 
 Aboon distress, below envy, T^ tK^vws; 
 
 Oh, wha wad leave this humble state, ^.^ f O 
 
 For a' the pride of a' the great ? \ . ^^^tJ-Vn 
 
 Amid their flaring, idle toys, ) J cP 
 
 Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys, y f Ll ^ 
 
 Can they the peace and pleasure feel ^ ^ — * 
 Of Bessy at her spinning-wheel? 
 
 NITHSDALE'S WELCOME HAME. 
 
 This song was written to celebrate the return to Scotland of Lady Winifred Max. 
 well, a descendant of the attainted Earl of Nithsdale. The music to which the 
 poet composed the verses was by Captain Riddel of Glenriddel, 
 
 The noble Maxwells and their powers 
 
 Are coming o'er the Border, 
 And they '11 gae big Terregle's towers, 
 
 And set them a' in order. 
 And they declare Terregles fair. 
 
 For their abode they choose it ; 
 There 's no a heart in a' the land 
 
 But's lighter at the news o't. 
 
 Though stars in skies may disappear, 
 
 And angry tempests gather : 
 The happy hour may soon be near 
 
 That brings us pleasant weather : 
 * The weary night o' care and grief 
 
 May hae a joyfu' morrow ; 
 So dawning day has brought relief — 
 
 Fareweel our night o' sorrow ! 
 
 1 Cool. 2 Cottage, sheltered place. » Wood-pigeon, 
 
 * Woeful. » Landrail. « Cottage. 
 
^T. 34.] SONGS. 401 
 
 COUNTRIE LASSIE. 
 
 Tune—" The Country Lass." 
 
 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 ; ^ 
 Blithe Bessie in the milking shiel,^ 
 
 Says, "I '11 be wed, come o't what will : ** 
 Out spak a dame in wrinkled eild^ — 
 
 " O' giiid advisement comes nae ill. 
 
 " It's ye hae wooers mony ane, 
 
 And, lassie, ye 're but young, ye ken ; 
 Then wait a wee, and cannie wale,^ 
 
 A routine butt, a routhie ben : ^ 
 l^iere's Johnnie o' the Buskie Glen, 
 
 Fu' is his barn, fu' is his byre ; 
 Tak this frae me, my bonny hen. 
 
 It 's plenty beats the luver's fire." 
 
 *' For Johnnie o' the Buskie Glen, 
 
 I dinna care a single flie ; 
 He lo'es sae weel his craps and kye. 
 
 He has nae luve to spare for me : 
 But blithe 's the blink o' Hobble's ee, 
 
 And weel I wat he lo'es me dear : 
 A e blink o' him I wadna gie 
 
 For Buskie Glen and a' his gear.'' 
 
 " Oh, thoughtless lassie, life's a f aught ;^ 
 
 The canniest gate,'' the strife is sair 
 But ay f u'-hant is fechtin' best, 
 
 A hungry care 's an unco care : 
 But some will spend, and some will spare. 
 
 And wilfu' folk maun hae their will ; 
 Syne ^ as ye brew, my maiden fair, 
 
 Keej) 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 ^ luve 
 
 The gowd and siller canna buy ; 
 "We may be x^oor — Bobbie and I, 
 
 Light is the burden luve lays on ; 
 Content and luve bring peace and joy — 
 
 What rcair hae queens upon a throne?" 
 
 1 Sheltered place. 2 Shed. s Age. 4 Wisely choose. 
 
 5 A home with plenty in it. « Stnij?gle. 7 Easiest way. 
 
 s And, » Gladsome. 
 
4C2 SONGS. [1792, 
 
 FAIR ELIZA. 
 
 This £ong i8 said to have been composed by the poet as an expression of the 
 love which a I^Ir Hunter, a friend of his, entertained for a certain lady. The 
 gentleman, however, appears to have failed in his suit, for he went out to the 
 West Indies, and died there a short time after his arrivaL 
 
 Turn again, tliou fair Eliza, 
 
 Ae kind blink before we part, 
 Kue on thy despairing lover ! 
 
 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 offence is loving thee : 
 Canst thou wreck his peace for ever 
 
 AVha for thine wad gladly die ? 
 While the life beats in my bosom, 
 
 Thou slialt mix in ilka throe ; 
 Turn again, thou lovely maiden, 
 
 Ae sweet smile on me bestow. 
 
 Not the bee ux^on the blossom. 
 
 In the pride o' sunny noon ; 
 Not the little sporting faiiy. 
 
 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. 
 
 OH, LUYE WILL VENTURE IN. 
 
 Tune— "The Posie.' 
 
 On, luve will venture in 
 
 Where it daurna weel be seen ; 
 Oh, luve will venture in 
 
 Where wisdom ance has been ; 
 But I will down yon river rove, 
 
 Amang the wood sae green — 
 And a' to pu' a posie 
 
 To my ain dear May. 
 
 The primrose I will i3u'. 
 The firstling of the year ; 
 
^T. 34 ] 
 
 SO/VGS, 403 
 
 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 j^osie 
 
 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 sweet, bonny mou' ; 
 The hyacinth 's for constancy, 
 
 Wi' its unchanging blue — 
 And a' to be a posie 
 
 To my ain dear May, 
 
 The lily it is pure, 
 
 And the lily it is fair, 
 And in her lovely bosom 
 
 I '11 place the lily there ; 
 The daisy 's for simplicity, 
 
 And unaffected air — 
 And a' to be a posie 
 
 To my ain dear May. 
 
 The hawthorn I will pu', 
 
 Wi' its locks o' siller gray, 
 Where, like an aged man. 
 
 It stands at break of day. _ 
 But the songster's nest within the hvLoh 
 
 I winna tak away — 
 And a' to be a posie 
 
 To my ain dear May. 
 
 The woodbine I will pu*. 
 
 When the evening 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. 
 
 I '11 tie the posie round 
 
 Wi' the silken band of love, 
 And I '11 place it in her breast, 
 
 And I 'U swear by a' above, 
 That to my latest draught o' life 
 
 The band shall ne'er remove— 
 And this will be a posie 
 
 To my ain dear May. 
 
404 SONGS, [1792. 
 
 THE BANKS O' BOOK 
 
 Tune— "Caledonian Hunt's Delight." 
 
 Tliis is a second version of the song which the poet composed in 1787 ; and al- 
 though greatly inferior in many respects to the first, it has almost entirely 
 superseded it. For the subject of the song, see the first version, p. 329. 
 
 Ye banks and braes o' bonny Doon, 
 
 How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair ; 
 How can ye chant, ye little bhds, 
 
 And I sae weary, fu' o' care ! 
 Thou '11 break my heart, thou warbling bird, 
 
 That wantons through the flowering thorn : 
 Thou minds me o' departed joys, 
 
 Departed — never to return ! 
 
 Oft hae I roved by bonny Doon, 
 
 To see the rose and woodbine twine ; 
 And ilka bird sang o' its luve, 
 
 And fondly sae did I o' mine. 
 Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, 
 
 Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree ; 
 And my fause luver stole my rose, 
 
 But, ah ! he left the thorn wi' mo. 
 
 SIC A WIFE AS WILLIE HAD. 
 
 Tune— "The Eight Men of Moidart." 
 
 Cunningham gives the following account of the lady said to be the heroine ol 
 this song : — " She was the wife of a farmer who lived near Burns at Ellisland. 
 She was a very singular woman : 'tea,' she said, 'would be the ruin of the na- 
 tion ; sugar was a sore evil ; wheaten bread was only fit for babes ; earthen- 
 ware was a pickpocket ; wooden floors were but fit for thrashing upon ; slated 
 roofs, cold ; feathers, good enough for fowls ;* in short, she abhorred change, 
 and, whenever anything new appeared, such as harrows with iron teeth — * Ay, 
 ay,' she would exclaim, 'ye'U see the upshot!' Of all modern things she 
 disliked china most ; she called it 'brunt clay,' and said it was only fit for 
 'haudin' the broo o' stinkin' weeds,* as she called tea. On one occasion, a 
 southern dealer in cups and saucers asked so much for his ware that he exas- 
 perated a peasant, who said, 'I canna buy, but I ken ane that will:' 'Gang 
 there,' said he, pointing to the house of Willie's wife : — ' dinna be blate or 
 burd-mouthed ; ask a guid penny — she has the siller.' Away went the poor 
 dealer, spread out his wares before her, ajjd summed up all by asking a double 
 price. A blow from her cummock was his instant reward, which not only fell 
 on his person, but damaged his china — 'I'll learn ye,' quoth she, as she heard 
 the saucers jingle, 'to come wi' yer brazent English face, and yer bits 0' brunt 
 clay to me ' ' " 
 
 Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed, 
 Tlie spot they ca'd it Linkum-doddie , 
 
 Willie was a wabster ^ guid, 
 
 Could stown '^ a clue wi' ony bodie : 
 
 1 Weaver. 2 stolen. 
 
mr. 34.] SOJVGS, 405 
 
 He bad a wife was dour and din, 
 Oh, Tinkler Madgie was her mither; 
 
 Sic a wife as Willie had, 
 I wadna gie a button for her. 
 
 She has an ee — she has but ane, 
 
 The cat has twa the very colour ; 
 Five rusty teeth, f orbye 1 a stump, 
 
 A clapper-tongue wad deave a miller ; 
 A whiskin' beard about her mou', 
 
 Her nose and chin they threaten ither — 
 Sic a wife as Willie had, 
 
 I wadna gie a button for her. 
 
 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 in ilka quarter 
 She has a hump upon her breast, 
 
 The twin o' that upon her shouther — 
 Sic a wife as Willie had, 
 
 I wadna gie a button for her. 
 
 Auld baudrons ^ 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 AYater — 
 Sic a wife as Willie had, 
 
 I wadna gie a button for her. 
 
 SMILING SPRLN^G COMES IN REJOICING. 
 
 Tune—" The Bonny Bell." 
 
 The smiling Spring comes in rejoicing. 
 
 And surly Winter grimly flies ; 
 Now crystal clear are the falling waters, 
 
 And bonny 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 bonny Bell. 
 
 The flowery Spring leads sunny Summer, 
 
 And yellow Autumn presses near. 
 Then in his turn comes gloomy Winter, 
 
 Till smiling Spring again appear. 
 
 1 Besides. 2 The cat. s ph-eplace. 4 Palm. 
 
 e Clean. 6 Mouth. 7 An old stocking. 8 Ample fistSi 
 
do6 SONGS, [1792 
 
 Thus seasons dancing, life advancing, 
 Old Time and Nature their changes tell. 
 
 But never ranging, still unchanging, 
 I adore my bonny Bell. 
 
 THE GALLANT WEAVER. 
 
 TuNK— " The Weavers' March.* 
 
 Where Cart* rins rowin' to the sea. 
 By mony a flower and spreading tree, 
 Their lives a lad, the lad for me. 
 
 He is a gallant weaver. 
 Oh, I had wooei's 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 ; 
 Wliile bees delight in opening flowers ; 
 While corn grows green in summer showers, 
 
 1 11 love my gallant weaver. 
 
 SHE'S FAIR AND FAUSE. 
 
 TuxK— "She's Fair and Pause." 
 
 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 coof "^ cam in wi' routh o' gear,"* 
 A nd I hae tint ^ my dearest dear ; 
 But woman is but warld's gear, 
 
 Sae let the bonny lassie gang. 
 
 Whae'er ye be that woman love, 
 
 To this be never blind, 
 Nae f erlie ^ 'tis, though fickle she prove, 
 
 A woman has 't by kind. 
 
 » Lose. 2 Marriage-deed. ' Fool. 
 
 4 Abundance of wealth. 5 Lost. 6 Wonder. 
 
 * The Cart is a river in Renfrewshire, which runs through the town of Paisley 
 celebrated for the labours of the loom. 
 
.ET. 34.] SONGS, 407 
 
 O woman, lovely -woman fair ! 
 An angel form 's fa'n to thy share ; 
 'Twad been o'er meikle to gien ^ thee mair— 
 I mean an angel mind. 
 
 MY AIN KIND DEARIE, 0. 
 
 Tone— "The Lea-Rig." 
 
 When o'er the hill the eastern star 
 
 TeUs bughtin-time "^ is near, my jo ; 
 And owsen frae the furrow'd field 
 
 Return sae dowf ^ and weary, O ; 
 Down by the burn, where scented birks * 
 
 Wi' dew are hanging clear, my jo, 
 1 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 through that glen I gaed to thee, 
 
 My ain kind dearie, O ! 
 Although 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 ! 
 
 MY Y^^IFE 'S A WINSOME WEE THING. 
 
 The following lively lines, the poet tells us, were written extempore to the old 
 air of " My Wife's a Wanton Wee Thing;" — 
 
 She is a winsome wee thing. 
 She is a handsome wee thing, 
 She is a bonny wee thing, 
 This sweet wee wife o' mine. 
 
 1 Have given. 2 Folding-time. s j)xx\\. 4 Birches. 
 
 5 Grassy ridge. c Darkest. "* Frightened. 
 
4o8 SOJVGS. [1792 
 
 1 never saw a fairer, 
 I never lo'ed a dearer ; 
 And neist my heart 1 11 wear her, 
 For fear my jewel tine.^ 
 
 She is a winsome wee thing, 
 She is a handsome wee thing. 
 She is a bonny wee thing, 
 This sweet wee wife o' mine. 
 
 The warld's wrack we share o't, 
 The warstle and the care o 't ; 
 \Vi' her I'll blithely bear it, 
 And think my lot divine. 
 
 HIGHLAND MARY. 
 
 TuNK— "Katharine Ogie." 
 
 Til's is another of those glorious lyrics inspired by the poet's passion for High- 
 land Mary ; and which celebrates, in strains worthy of the occasion, their last 
 interview, and her untimely and lamented death. "The following song," he 
 says, in a letter to Thomson, enclosing the verses, "pleases me ; I think it is 
 in my happiest manner. The subject of the song is one of the most interesting 
 passages of my youthful days ; and I own that I should be much flattered to 
 see the verses set to an air which would insure celebrity. Perhaps, after all, 
 it is the still glowing prejudice of my heart that throws a borrowed lustre over 
 the merits of the composition." See p. 361 for an account of ]Maiy. 
 
 Ye banks, and braes, and streams around 
 
 The castle o* IMontgomery, 
 Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, 
 
 Your waters never drumlie !^ 
 There simmer first unfauld her robes, 
 
 And there the langest tarry ; 
 For there I took the last fareweel 
 
 O' my sweet Highland Mary. 
 
 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' mony a vow, and lock'd embrace, 
 
 Our parting was fu' tender ; 
 And, pledging aft to meet again, 
 
 We tore oursels asunder ; 
 
 » Be lost. 2 Muddy. 3 Birch. 
 
/ET. 34.] SONGS, 409 
 
 But, oh ! foil Death's untimely frost, 
 
 That nipt my flower sae early ! — 
 Now 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 aye 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 ! 
 
 AULD ROB MOREIS. 
 
 The two first lines of the following song were taken from an old ballad— the rest 
 is the poet's : — 
 
 There 's auld Rob Morris that wons^ in yon glen. 
 He 's the king o' guid fellows and wale ^ of auld men ; 
 He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kine, 
 And ae bonny lassie, his darling and mine. 
 
 She 's fresh as the morning the fairest in IMay ; 
 She's sweet as the evening amang the new hay ; 
 As blithe and as artless as lambs on the lea. 
 And dear to my heart as the light to my ee. 
 
 But oh ! she 's an heiress, — auld Robin's a laird, 
 And my daddie has nought but a cot-house and yard ; 
 A wooer like me maunna hope to come speed ; 
 The wounds I must hide 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'd hae smiled upon me ! 
 Oh, how past descriving ^ had then been my bliss, 
 As now my distraction no words can express ! 
 
 DUNCAN GRAY. 
 
 This song was written on the model and to the tune of a coarse old ditty in 
 Johnson's Museum, the name of the hero, and a line or two, being all that 
 was retained. 
 
 1 Dwells. 2 Choice. 8 Death. * Describing. 
 
4IO SCYGS. [1792. 
 
 Duncan Gray cam here to woo, 
 
 Ha, ha, the weeing o 't. 
 On blithe yule night when we were fou. 
 
 Ha, ha, the wooing o 't. 
 Maggie coost her head fu' high, 
 Look'd asklent and unco skeigh,^ 
 Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh ; ^ 
 
 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 bleert and blin*, 
 Spak o' lowpin' o'er 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 't. 
 
 How it comes let doctors tell ; 
 
 Ha, ha, the wooing o 't ; 
 Meg gi'ew sick as he grew hale ; 
 
 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 couldna be her death. 
 Swelling pity smoor'd ^ his wrath ; 
 Now they 're crouse and canty ^ baith ; 
 
 Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 
 
 1 Disdainful. 2 Aloof, s Flattered. 
 
 * Wept. 6 Smothered. ^ Cheei'ful and happy. 
 
 * A.well-known rocky islet in the Frith of Clyde. 
 
Duucau Gray cam here to woo. 
 
 On blithe yule night when we were fou ; 
 
 Ha, ha, the wooing o't 
 Maggie coost her head fu' high, 
 LoOK'd askleut and unco skeigh, 
 Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh ; 
 
 Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 
 
 —Duncan Oray, pa e 410. 
 
A 1.34] SONGS. 411 
 
 COCK UP YOUR BEAVER. 
 
 TuNB — " Cock up your beaver." 
 
 The second stanza only of this song is Burns's — the first is old. 
 
 "When first my brave Johnnie lad 
 
 Came to this town, 
 He had a blue bonnet 
 
 That wanted the crown ; 
 But now he has gotten 
 
 A hat and a feather, — 
 Hey, brave Johnnie 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 behaviour — 
 Hey, brave Johnnie lad, 
 
 Cock up your beaver ! 
 
 BONNY PEG. 
 
 The following lines first appeared in the Edinburgh Magazine for 181& 
 
 As I came in by our gate end, 
 
 As day was waxin' weary, 
 Oh, wha came tripping down the street. 
 
 But bonny Peg, my dearie ! 
 
 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 
 
 Adown yon winding river ; 
 And, oh ! that hour and broomy bower. 
 
 Can I forget it ever? 
 
 THE TITHER MORN. 
 
 To a Highland Air. 
 
 The tither mom, 
 
 When I forlorn, 
 
 Aneath an aik sat moaning 
 
412 SONGS. [1792. 
 
 I did na trow'^ 
 
 I'd see my jo*'* 
 Beside me gin the gloaming. 
 
 But he sae trig ^ 
 
 Lap o'er the rig, 
 • And dawtingly ^ did cheer me, 
 
 "Wlien I, what reck, 
 
 Did least expec' 
 To see my lad sae near me. 
 
 His bonnet he, 
 
 A thought ajee, 
 Cock'd spnish when first he clasp'd me ; 
 
 And I,^ I wat,6 
 
 Wi' fainness grat,^ 
 "WHiile in his grips he press'd me. 
 
 Deil tak' the war ! 
 
 I late and air 
 Hae wdsh'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 blithe and merry, 
 
 I cared na by, 
 
 Sae sad was 1 
 In absence o' my dearie. 
 
 But, praise be blest. 
 
 My mind 's at rest, 
 1 'ra happy wi' my Johnny ; 
 
 At kirk and fair, 
 
 I 'se aye be there. 
 And be as canty ' s "^ ony. 
 
 THE DEUKS DANG O'ER MY DADDIE, O. 
 Tune — " The deuk's dang o'er my daddie." 
 
 The bairns gat out wi' an unco shout, 
 
 The deuk's ^ dang o'er my daddie, O ! 
 The fient may care, quo' the feirie ^ auld wife. 
 
 He was lout a paidlin ^^ body, O ! 
 He paidles out, and he paidles in, 
 
 And he paidles late and early, O ! 
 Tliae seven lang years I hae lien by his side, 
 
 And he is but a f usionless ^^ carlie, O ! 
 
 1 Think. 2 Dear. ' Neat. * Lovingly. 
 
 5 Know. « Wept. * 7 Happy. 5 Duck. 
 
 9 Sturdy. 10 Wandering aimlessly about. n Sapless. 
 
^T. 34-] SONGS. 4^3 
 
 Oh, baud your tongue, my feirie auld wife, 
 Oh, haud your tongue now, Nansie, O I 
 I 've seen the day, and sae hae ye, 
 
 Ye wadna been sae dousie,^ O ! 
 I 've seen the day ye butter'd my brose, 
 
 And cuddled ^ me late and early, O ; 
 But downa do 's ^ come o'er me now, 
 
 And, oh ! I feel it saiiiy, O ! 
 
 HAPPY FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 Cnnningham gives the following account of this song, which first appeared in hia 
 edition of the poet's works : — " Bums, on one occasion, was on a visit at a 
 friend's house Iot two or three days ; and during his stay there a convivial 
 party met, at which the bard was requested to favour the company with a 
 poetical effusion. He promptly complied by writing the song in question. 
 The original MS. is now in the possession of Captain Hendries, who com- 
 mands a Scottish trading vessel, and who is nephew to the gentleman at whose 
 festive board Burns was entertained on the evening alluded to." 
 
 Here around the ingle ^ bleezing, 
 
 Wha sae hapi^y and sae free ; 
 Though the northern wind blaws freezing, 
 
 Frien'ship warms baith you and me. 
 
 Happy we are a' thegither, 
 
 Happy we '11 be yin and a' ; 
 Time shall see us a' the blither. 
 
 Ere we rise to gang awa'. 
 
 See the miser o'er his treasure 
 
 Gloating wi' a greedy ee ! 
 Can he feel the glow o' pleasure 
 
 That around us here we see ? 
 
 Can the peer, in silk and ermine, 
 
 Ca' his conscience half his own ; 
 His claes ^ are spun and edged wi' vermin, 
 
 Though he stan' afore a throne ! 
 
 Thus, then, let us a' be tassing ^ 
 
 Atf our stoups o' gen'rous flame ; 
 And, while round the board 'tis passing. 
 
 Raise a sang in friendship's name. 
 
 Frien'ship maks us a' mair happy, 
 
 Frien'ship gies us a' delight ; 
 Frien'ship consecrates the drappie, 
 
 Frien'ship brings us here to-night. 
 
 1 Pettish, 2 Fondled. 3 A phrase signifying the exhaustion of age. 
 
 4 Fireside. ■'' Clothe?. ^ Tossing. 
 
•ii4 SONGS. [1792. 
 
 OH, SAW YE MY DEARIE. 
 
 Tune—" Eppie M 'Nab." 
 
 Oh, saw ye my dearie, my Eppie M'JSTab? 
 Oh, saw ye my dearie, my Epj^ie 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 Epi)ie M'Nab ! 
 Oh, come thy ways to me, my Eppie M'Nab ! 
 Whate'er 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,i that slie has thee forgot, 
 And for ever disowns thee, her ain Jock Rub. 
 
 Oh, had I ne'er seen thee, my Eppie M'Nab! 
 Oh, had I ne'er seen thee, my Ej^ine M'Nab ! 
 As light as the aii-, as fause as thou's fair. 
 Thou 's broken the heart o' thy ain Jock Rab. 
 
 THE CARLE OF KELLYBURN BRAES. 
 
 TuNB— " Kellyburn Braes ** 
 
 rhis Is an old song which the poet considerably modified and amended. When 
 Mrs Burns was infoi-ming Cromek of the alterations her husband had made on 
 various old songs, she said of the following, "Robert gae this ane a terrible 
 brushing : " — 
 
 Theee lived a carle '^ in Kellyburn braes, 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonny wi' thyme ;) 
 
 And he had a wife was the plague o' his days ; 
 And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 
 
 Ae day as the carle gaed^ up the lang glen, 
 (Heyj and the rue grows bonny wi' tTiyme,) 
 
 He met \d' the devil, says, "How do you fen?-*" 
 And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 
 
 ** I 've got a bad wife, sir; that 's a' my complaint; 
 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonny wi' thyme,) 
 For, saving your presence, to her ye 're a sain$ ; 
 
 Ajid the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime.'* 
 
 ** It 's neither your stot^ no¥ your staig^ I shall crave, 
 (Hey, and the rie grows bonny wi' thyme,) 
 
 1 Know. 2 ]\ian. s Went 
 
 4 Live, 5 Bullock. 6 Colt. 
 
ST. 34] SONGS. 4^5 
 
 But gie me your wife, man, for her I must have, 
 And the thyme it is withered, and rue is in prime/* 
 
 "Oh ! welcome, most kindly," the blithe carle said, 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonny wi' thyme,) 
 
 "But if ye can match her, ye 're waur than 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 bonny wi' thyme,) 
 And, like a poor pedlar, he 's carried his pack, 
 
 And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 
 
 He 's carried her hame to his ain hallan-door ; 
 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonny wi' thyme,) 
 Syne bade her gae in, for a bitch and a whore, 
 
 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 bonny wi' thyme,) 
 
 Turn out on her guard in the clap of a hand ; 
 
 And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 
 
 The carlin^ gaed through them like ony wud^ bear, 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonny wi' thyme,) 
 
 Whae'er she gat hands on cam near her nae mair; 
 And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 
 
 A reekit^ wee devil looks over the wa' ; 
 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonny wi' thyme,) 
 "Oh, help, master, help ! or she'll 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 bonny wi' thyme,) 
 
 He pitied the man that was tied to a wife ; 
 Aiid 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 bonny wi' thyme, ) 
 
 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 travell'd again wi' his pack ; 
 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonny wi' thyme,) 
 And 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 bonny 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.** 
 
 1 Woman. 2 Wild. 8 Smoked. * Most. 
 
i(6 SOA'GS, [1792. 
 
 YE JACOBITES BY :N'A]ME. 
 
 Tone — "Ye Jacobites by Name." 
 
 Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear, give an eai* : 
 Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear; 
 Ye Jacobites by name. 
 
 Your fauts I will proclaim, 
 
 Your doctrines I maun blame — 
 You shall hear. 
 
 'S\Tiat is right, and what is wrang, by the law, by the law? 
 What is right, and what is wrang, by the law? 
 What is right, and what is wrang? 
 A short sword, and a lang, 
 A weak arm, and a Strang 
 For to draw. 
 
 Wliat makes heroic strife famed afar, famed afar? 
 What makes heroic strife famed afar ? 
 What makes heroic strife ? 
 To whet th' 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. 
 
 AS I WAS A- WANDERING. 
 Tune— "Kinn 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 wound o' my dolour again. 
 
 Weel, since he has left me, may pleasure gae wi' him j 
 I may be distress'd, but I winna complain 
 
 I '11 flatter my fancy I may get anither, 
 My heart it- shall never be broken for ane. 
 
 I couldna get sleeping till dawin^ for greeting,^ 
 The tears trickled down like the hail and the rain : 
 
 Had I na got gi-eeting, my heart wad a broken, 
 For, oh ! luve forsaken 's a tormenting pain ! 
 
 i Dawn. 2 Weeping. 
 
r^T. 34.. I ^'jNGS. 4^7 
 
 Althortgh lie has left me for greed o' the siller, 
 
 I diiiua envy him the gains he can win ; 
 I rather wad bear a' the lade o' my sonow 
 
 Than ever hae acted sae faithless to him. 
 
 THE SLAVE'S LAMENT. 
 
 Regarding the authenticity of this song, Stenhouse says that the words and muslo 
 were sent by the poet to the Museum; while Mr C. K. Sharpe asserts that 
 Burns took the idea of the song from an old ballad at one time very popular 
 amongst the peasantry in Scotland. The piece appears to have been formed 
 on the model of the verses entitled, "The Ruined i'armer's Lament," (p. 326,) 
 as it bears a very close resemblance to them. 
 
 It was in sweet Senegal that my foes did me enthral, 
 
 For the lands of Virginia, O ; 
 Torn from that lovely shore, and must never see it more, 
 
 And alas I am weary, weary, O ! 
 
 All on that charming coast is no bitter snow or frost, 
 
 Like the lands of Virginia, O ; 
 There streams for ever flow, and there flowers for ever blow. 
 
 And alas I am weary, weary, O ! 
 
 The burden I must bear, while the cruel scourge I fear, 
 
 In the lands of Virginia, O ; 
 And I think on friends most dear, with the bitter, bitter tear. 
 
 And alas I am weary, weary, O ! 
 
 THE WEAEY FUND O' TOW. 
 TuNK— "The Weary Fund o' Tow." 
 
 I BOUGlTT my wife a stane o' lint^ 
 
 As guid as e'er did grow; 
 And a' that she has made o' that 
 
 Is ae i)oor pund o' tow.^ 
 
 The weary pund, the weary pund, 
 The weary pund o' tow ; 
 
 I think my wife will end her lifo 
 Before she spin her tow. 
 
 There sat a bottle in a bole, 
 
 Beyont the ingle low,^ 
 And aye she took the tither souk,^ 
 
 To drouk^ the stourie^ tow. 
 
 1 Flax. 2 Hemp or flax in a prepared stata, 
 
 8 l^lame of the lire. ■* Swig. 5 Drench, 6 Dusty. 
 
 __ 
 
4i8 
 
 SONGS, I179X 
 
 Quoth I, " For sliame, ye dirty darae, 
 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.^ 
 
 LADY MAEY ANK 
 
 TjNE— "Craigton's Growing." 
 
 Tlie poet having had an old ballad called "Craigton's Growing" cliantcd to hia 
 while on a tour in the Highlands, afterwards mused over it, and produced the 
 XQUowing verses, which he sent to the Museum : — 
 
 Oh, Lady INIary Aim 
 
 Looks o'er the castle wa*, 
 She saw three bonny boys 
 
 Playing at the ba' ; 
 The youngest he was 
 
 The flower amang them a' — 
 My bonny laddie's young, 
 
 But he 's gi'owin' yet. 
 
 O father! O father ! 
 An ye think it tit, 
 \ ^Ye '11 send him a year 
 
 J To the college yet : 
 
 We '11 sew a green ribbon 
 
 Eound about his hat, 
 And that will let them kei 
 He 's to marry yet. 
 
 Lady Mary Ann 
 
 Was a flower i' the dew, 
 Sweet was its smell, 
 
 And bonny was its hue ; 
 And the langer it blossom'd 
 
 The sweeter it grew j 
 For the lily in the bud 
 
 Will be bonnier yet. 
 
 Young Charlie Cochrane 
 
 Was the sprout of an aik ; 
 Bonny and bloomin' ^ 
 
 And strauglit was its make 
 
 2 Swin;, m a rope. 
 
I 
 I 
 
 I /g.T. 34.] SOA^GS, 419 
 
 The sun took delight 
 
 To shine for its sake, 
 And it will be the brag 
 
 O' the forest yet. 
 
 The simmer is gane 
 
 When 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 bonny laddie 's young. 
 
 But he 's growin' yet. 
 
 OH, KENMURE 'S ON AND AWA'. 
 
 Tune — '-Oh, Kenmure's on and awa', Willie." 
 
 •* This song," says Cunningham, "refers to the fortunes of the gallant Gordons of 
 Kenmure in the fatal ' Fifteen.' The Viscount left Galloway with two hundred 
 borsemen well armed ; he joined the other lowland Jacobites— penetrated tc 
 Preston— repulsed, and at last yielded to, the attack of General Carpenter— 
 and perished on the scalTold. He was a good as well as a brave man, and his 
 fate was deeply lamented. The title has since been restored to Che Gordon's 
 Jine." Burns was,;once at least, an invited guest at Kenmure Casile, near New 
 Galloway. 
 
 Oh, Kenmure 's on and awa', Willie I 
 
 Oh, Kenmure 's on and awa' ! 
 And Kenmure's lord 's the bravest lord 
 
 That ever Galloway saw. 
 
 Success to Kenmure's band, Willie i 
 
 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, Vv'iUie ! 
 
 Here 's Kenmure's health in wine ; 
 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'll live or die wi' fame ; 
 But soon wi' sounding victorie 
 
 May Kenmure's lord come hame . 
 
 Here 's him that 's far awa', Willie ! 
 
 Here 's him that's far awa' ! 
 And here 's the flower that I lo'e best— 
 
 The rose that 's like the snaw ! 
 
420 SO.VCS. |i7g2. 
 
 MY COLLIER LADDIE. 
 
 Tune—" The Collier Laddie." 
 
 **I do not know," says Burns, "a blither old song than this ;" which he modified 
 and altered, and then sent to the Museum, 
 
 Oh, whare live ye, my bonny lass ? 
 
 And 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. 
 
 Oh, 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 thino, 
 Gin ye '11 leave your Collier Laddie. 
 
 And ye shall gang in gay attire, 
 
 Weel buskit^ up sae gaudy ; 
 
 And ane to wait at every hand, 
 
 Gin ye '11 leave your Collier Laddie. 
 And ane to wait at every hand. 
 Gin ye '11 leave your CoUier Laddie. 
 
 Though ye had a' the sun shines on, 
 And the eai-th conceals sae lowly, 
 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 a day. 
 
 And spen 't at night fu' brawlie ; 
 And mak my bed in the Collier's neuk,^ 
 And lie down wi' my Collier Laddie. 
 And mak my bed in the Collier's neuk, 
 And lie down wi' my Collier Laddie. 
 
 Luve for luve is the bargain for me, 
 
 Though the wee cot-house should baud mo ; 
 And the warld before me to win my bread, 
 And fair fa' my Collier Laddie. 
 
 And the warld before me to win my bread, 
 And fair fa' my Collier Laddie. 
 
 1 Dressed. 2 Jiut. 
 
.«T. K-J SONGS, 421 
 
 FAREWEEL TO A' OUR SCOTTISH FAME. 
 
 Tune— "Such a Parcel of Rogues in a iVation." 
 
 " Burns," says Cunningham, "has expressed sentiments in this song which were 
 once popular in the north." The poet himself, indeed, appears to have been 
 in the habit of expressing his feelings pretty freely regarding the Union.— 
 "What," he exclaimed, on one occasion, "are all the advantages which my 
 country reaps from the Union that can counterbalance the annihilation of her 
 independence, and even her very name? Nothing can reconcile me to the 
 terms, 'English Ambassador,' 'English Court/" &c. 
 
 Fareweel to a' our Scottish fams^ 
 Fareweel our ancient glory ! 
 
 Fareweel even to the Scottish name, 
 Sae famed in martial story ! 
 
 Now Sark rins o'er the Sc»lway sands, 
 And Tweed rins to the ocean, 
 
 To mark where England's province stands- 
 Such a parcel of rogues in a nation I 
 
 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 valour's station ; 
 But English gold has been our bane- - 
 
 Such a parcel of rogues in a nation ! 
 
 Oh, would, ere 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 parcetof rogues in a nation. 
 
 HERE'S A HEALTH TO THEM THAT'S AWA'. 
 
 Tune—" Here's a health to them that's awa'." 
 
 The poet's political predilections at this period of his life being somewhat 
 marked, and of an ultra-liberal tendency, he is supposed to have thrown them 
 into the following song, composed in honour of the le»iders of the liberal party 
 in the House of Commons: — 
 
 Here 's a health to them that 's awa'. 
 Here 's a healtli to them that 's awa' ; 
 And wha winna wish guid luck to our cause, 
 May never guid luck be their fa' ! 
 
42 2 SONGS. (1792 
 
 It *3 gi.iid to be meriy and wise, 
 It's guid to be honest and true, 
 It *s guid to support Caledonia's cause. 
 And bide by the buff and the blue. 
 
 Here 's a health to them that 's awa'. 
 
 Here 's a liealth to them that 's awa', 
 
 Here 's a health to Charlie * the chief of the clan, 
 
 Although that his band be but sma'. 
 
 ]\Iay 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', 
 
 Here 's a health to them that 's awa' ; 
 
 Here 's a health to Tammie,t the Norland laddie, 
 
 That lives at the lug o' the law ! 
 
 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'. 
 
 Here 's a health to them that 's awa'. 
 
 Here's Chieftain M'Leod,:{: a chieftain worth gowd^ 
 
 Though bred amang mountains o' snaw ! 
 
 Here 's a health to them that 's awa'. 
 
 Here 's a health to them that 's awa' ; 
 
 And wha winna wish guid luck to our cause, 
 
 May never guid luck be their fa' ! 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Tune— "I had a horse, I had nae mair.** 
 
 Gilbert Burns says that a Miss Jane Blackstock, who afterwards became Mrs 
 Whiter, of Liverpool, was the heroine of this song. The poet, in a letter to 
 Thomson, said, " For private reasons, I should like to see it in print." 
 
 Oh, poortith^ cauld and restless love. 
 
 Ye wreck my peace between ye ; 
 Yet poortith a' I could forgive, 
 
 An 'twere na for my Jeanie. 
 
 1 Indict— impeach. 2 Poverty. 
 
 * The Right Hon. Charles James Fox. Buff and blue formed the livery of Fox 
 during the celebrated Westminster elections, and thus came to be adopted as 
 the colours of the Whig party generally. 
 
 t Thomas, afterwards Lord, Erskiue. 
 
 t M'Leod of Dun vegan, Isle of Skye, and then I^I.P. for Inverness. 
 
^T. 34.] SONGS, 423 
 
 Oh, why should Fate sic pleasure have. 
 Life's dearest bands untwining ? 
 
 Or why sae sweet a flower as lovo 
 Depend on Fortune's shining ? 
 
 This warld's wealth when I think on. 
 
 Its pride, and a' the lave o 't — 
 Fie, fie on silly coward man, 
 
 That he should be the slave o 't ! 
 
 Her een sae bonny blue betray 
 
 How she repays my passion ; 
 But prudence is her o'erword ^ aye, 
 
 She talks of rank and fashion. 
 
 Oh, wha can prudence think upon, 
 
 And sic a lassie by him? 
 Oh, wha can prudence think upon, 
 
 And sae in love as I am ? 
 
 How blest the humble cotter's fate! 
 
 He wooes his simple dearie ; 
 The silly bogles, wealth and state, 
 
 Can never make them eerie. ^ 
 
 GALA WATER. 
 
 There 's braw, braw lads on Yarrow biaes. 
 That wander through the blooming heather. 
 
 But Yarrow braes ** nor Ettrick shaws* 
 Can match the lads o' Gala Water. 
 
 But there is ane, a secret ane, 
 
 Aboon them a' I lo'e him better ; 
 And I '11 be his, and he '11 be mine. 
 
 The bonny lad o' Gala Water. 
 
 Although his daddie was nae laird, 
 
 And though I haena meikle tocher ; * 
 Yet rich in kindest, truest love, 
 
 We '11 tent our flocks by Gala Water. 
 
 It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth, 
 That cof 1 6 contentment, peace, or pleasure ; 
 
 The bands and bliss o' mutual love. 
 
 Oh, that 's the chief est warld's treasure I 
 
 I Kefrain. 2 Afraid. 3 HiHg. 
 
 * Woods. 5 Much money. 6 Bought. 
 
424 SONGS. [1793. 
 
 LORD GREGOEY. 
 
 This song was written in imitation of Dr Wolcot's (Peter Pindar) lallad on the 
 same subject,* of which Bums says, in a letter to Thomson, "Pindar's 'Lord 
 Gregory' is beautiful. I have tried to give you a Scots version, which is at 
 your service. Not that I intend to enter the lists with Peter— tliat would be 
 presumption indeed 1 My song, though much inferior in poetic merit, has, 1 
 think, more of the ballad simplicity in it." The idea of both songs, however, 
 is taken from an old strain. 
 
 Oh, mii-k,i mirk is this midniglit 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 bonny Irwin-side, 
 Where first I own'd that virgin love 
 
 I lang, lang had denied ? 
 
 How aften didst thou pledge and vow 
 
 Tliou wad for aye be mine ; 
 And my fond heart, itsel sae true, 
 
 It ne'er mistrusted thine. 
 
 Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory, 
 
 And flinty is thy breast — 
 Thou dart of heaven that flashest by, 
 
 Oh, wilt thou give me rest ! 
 
 1 Dark. 
 
 • The following is "Wolcot's version : — 
 
 <' Ah, ope, Lord Gregory, thy door! 
 A midnight wanderer sighs, 
 Hard rush the rains, the tempests roar, 
 And lightnings cleave the skies. 
 
 " Who comes with woe at this drear night — 
 A pilgrim of the gloom ? 
 If she whose love did once delight, 
 My cot shall yield her room. 
 
 " Alas ! thou heard'st a pilgrim mom"n 
 That once was prized by thee ; 
 Think of the ring by yonder burn 
 Thou gavest to love and me. 
 
 '* Lut shouldst thou not poor Marian know. 
 I '11 turn my feet and part ; 
 And think the stoi*ms that round me blow 
 Far kinder than thy heart." 
 
.ET. 35.J SONGS, 425 
 
 Ye mustering thunders from above, 
 
 Your willing victim see ! 
 But spare, and pardon my fause love 
 
 His wrangs to Heaven and me ! 
 
 OPEN THE DOOli TO ME, OH! 
 
 ** Oh, open the door, some i^ity to show. 
 
 Oh, open the door to me, oh ! 
 Though thou hast been false, 1 11 ever x^rove true, 
 
 Oh, open the door to me, oh ! 
 
 ** Cauld is the blast upon my pale cheek, 
 
 But caulder thy love for me, oh ! 
 The frost that freezes the life at my heart 
 
 Is nought to my pains frae thee, oh ! 
 
 " The wan moon is setting behind the white wave. 
 
 And time is setting with me, oh ! 
 False friends, false love, farewell ! for mair 
 
 1 11 ne'er trouble them nor thee, oh ! " 
 
 She has opened the door, she has open'd it wide ; 
 
 She sees his pale corse on the i)lain, oh ! 
 " My true love ! " she cried, and sank down by his side, 
 
 Never to rise again, oh ! 
 
 YOUNG JESSIE. 
 
 Tune— "Bonny Dundee." 
 
 This song was written in honour of Miss Janet Staig, daughter of the Provosi 
 of Dumfries, and afterwards the wife of Major William Miller, one of the sons 
 of Patrick Miller of Dalswinton, the poet's landlord, in Dumfriesshire. The 
 lady died in 1801, at the early age of twenty-six, and was long remembered in 
 the district for her beauty and gentleness. 
 
 TiiUE-hearted was he, the sad swain o' the Yarrow, 
 
 And fair are the maids on the banks o' the Ayr, 
 But by the sweet side o' the Nith's winding river 
 
 Are lovers as faithful and maidens as fair : 
 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. 
 
426 SONGS. [1793. 
 
 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 demeanour's the jewel of a' I 
 
 THE POOR AND HONEST SODGER 
 
 Air— "The Mill, MiUO!" 
 
 A coiTespondent of Thomson's says, regarding the origin of this song : — " Burns, 
 I have been Informed, was one summer evening at the inn at Brownhill with a 
 couple of friends, when a poor wayworn soldier passed the window : of a sud- 
 den, it struck the poet to call him in, and get the story of his adventures ; 
 after listening to which, he all at once fell into one of those fits of abstraction 
 not unusual with him. He was lifted to the region where he had his 'garland 
 and singing robes about him,' and the result was the admirable song which he 
 sent you for 'The Mill, Mill, 01'" Mill-Mannoch, says Chambers, a sweet 
 pastoral scene on theCoyl, nearCoylton Kirk, is thought to have been the spot 
 where the poet imagined the meeting of the lovers to have taken p'ace. 
 
 When wild war's deadly blast was blawn. 
 
 And gentle peace returning, 
 Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless, 
 
 And mony a widow mourning ; 
 I left the lines and tented field, 
 
 Where lang I 'd been a lodger, 
 My humble knapsack a' my wealth, 
 
 A poor and honest sodger. 
 
 A leal light heart was in my breast, 
 
 My hand unstain'd wi' plunder. 
 And for fair Scotia, hanie again, 
 
 I cheery on did wander. 
 I thought upon the banks o' Coil, 
 
 I thought u])on my Nancy, 
 T 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 trysting thorn, 
 
 Wheee Nancy aft I courted : 
 Wha spied ^ I but my ain dear maid, 
 
 Down by her mother's dwelling ! 
 And turn'd me round to hide the flood 
 
 That in my een was swelling. 
 
 Wi' alter'd voice, quoth I, ** Sweet lasa, 
 
 Sweet as yon hawthorn's blossom. 
 Oh ! happy, happy may he be, 
 
 That 's dearest to thy bosom 1 
 
 iSaw. 
 
^ 
 
 She gazed— she redden'd like a rose- 
 Syne pale like ony lily ; 
 
 She sauk within my arms and cried, 
 *' Art thou my ain dear Willie ? ' 
 
 ^I'he toor and Honest Sudgcr, page 426. 
 
/ET. 35.] SONGS. 427 
 
 My purse is light, I 've far to gaug, 
 
 And fain wad 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 't." 
 
 She gazed— she redden'd like a rose — 
 
 Syne^ pale like ony lily ; 
 She sank within my arms, and cried, 
 
 "Art thou my ain dear Willie ?" 
 "By 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 ; 
 Though 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 is honour : 
 The brave poor sodger ne'er despise. 
 
 Nor count him as a stranger ; 
 Eemember, he 's his country's stay 
 
 In day and hour of danger. 
 
 MEG O' THE MILL. 
 
 Am — " Hey ! bonny lass, will you lie in a barrack?" 
 
 Oh, ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten ? 
 And 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. 
 
 1 Then. 2 Farm. =^ Lout. * Plenty of money 
 
^3 SOJVGS, [1793, 
 
 The miller was strappin', the miller was ruddy ; 
 A h«art like a lord, and a hue like a lady ; 
 The laird was a widdiefu', bleerit knurl ;^ 
 She 's left the guid-fellow and ta'en 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-chain'd bridle, 
 A whip by her side, and a bonny side-saddle. 
 
 Oh, wae on the siller, it is sae prevailing ; 
 And wae on the love that is fix'd on a maiden ! ^ 
 A tocher's * nae word in a true lover's parle, 
 But, gie me my love, and a fig for the warl' I 
 
 WELCOME TO GENERAL DUMOURIER. 
 
 Some one, In the presence of the poet, having expressed joy at the desertion of 
 General Dumourier from the army of the French Republic, in 1793, after 
 having gained some splendid victories with it, in a few moments he chanted, 
 almost extempore, the following verf es to the tune of " Robin Adair ; " — 
 
 You 're welcome to despots, Dumourier ; 
 You 're welcome to despots, Dumourier ; 
 
 How does Dampiere* do ? 
 
 Ay, and Beumonvillef too ? 
 Why did they not come along with you, Dumourier ? 
 I wul fight France with you, Dumourier ; 
 I will fight France with you, Dumourier ; 
 
 I will fight France with you, 
 
 I will take my chance with you ; 
 By my soul, I '11 dance a dance with you, Dumourier* 
 
 Then let us fight about, Dumourier ; 
 Then let us fight about, Dumourier ; 
 
 Then let us fight about, 
 
 Till Freedom's spark is out. 
 Then we 'U be danm'd, no doubt, Dumourier 
 
 THE LAST TIME I CAME O'ER THE MOOR. 
 
 Tn this song the poet is supposed to have given expression to certain feelings of 
 illicit love which it is known he entertained for the beautiful and fascinating 
 Mrs Riddel of Woodley Park, for a further account of whom, see p. 461, It 
 is but just to remember, however, and charitable to believe, that the poet, with 
 an eye to artistic efifect, may have purposely heightened his colours in order 
 to increase the general efifect of his picture. 
 
 1 Ill-tempered, bleared dwarf. * Offered. « Farm. * Dowery. 
 
 * One of Dumourier's generals. f An emissary of the Convention's. 
 
^T, SSJ SONGS. 429 
 
 The last time I came o'er the moor, 
 
 And left Maria's dwelling, 
 What throes, what tortures passing cure, 
 
 "Were in my bosom swelling : 
 Condemned to see my rival's reign. 
 
 While I in secret languish ; 
 To feel a fire in every vein. 
 
 Yet dare not s^Deak my anguisli. 
 
 Love's veriest wretch, despairing, I 
 
 Fain, fain my crime would cover : 
 The unweeting gi^oan, the bursting sigh, 
 
 Betray the guilty lover. 
 I know my doom must be despair. 
 
 Thou wilt nor canst relieve me ; 
 But, O Maria, hear my prayer, 
 
 For pity's sake, forgive me ! 
 
 The music of thy tongue 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, 
 In circling horrors yields at last 
 
 In overwhelming ruin ! 
 
 BLITHE HAE I BEEN. 
 
 Tune— "Liggeram Cosh." 
 
 The "Lesley Is sae fair and coy" of this song was the beautiful Miss Lesley 
 Baillie with whom the poet told Mrs Dunlop he was almost in love, and whom 
 he made the heroine of the song entitled, "Bonny Lesley," (p. 392.) She ap- 
 pears to have been one of those goddesses who wei-e eternally crossing his path, 
 and whose attractions formed, as his brother Grilbert tells us, so many under 
 plots in the drama of his all-embracing love. 
 
 Blithe 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 ; 
 Lesley is sae fair and coy. 
 
 Care and anguish seize me. 
 
 Heavy, heavy is the task. 
 
 Hopeless love declaring: 
 Trembling, I dow nocht but glower,"* 
 
 Sighing, dumb, despairing ! 
 
 1 Dare nought but stare. 
 
4^0 SONGS, [1793, 
 
 If slie Tvinna ease the thraws ^ 
 
 In my bosom swelling ; 
 Underneath the grass-green sod, 
 
 Soon maun be my dwelling. 
 
 LOGAJSr BEAES. 
 
 TuxB — "Logan Water.' 
 
 The poet, in a letter to Thomson, enclosing this song, says, regarding its origin : 
 — "Have you ever, my dear sir, felt your bosom ready to burst with indigna- 
 tion on reading of those mighty villains who divide kingdom against kingdom, 
 desolate provinces, and lay nations waste, out of the wantonness of ambition, 
 or often from still more ignoble passions ? In a mood of this kind to-day, I 
 recollected the air of 'Logan Water,' and it occun-ed to me tliat its querulous 
 melody probably had its origin from the plaintive indignation of some swel- 
 ling, sutl'ering heart, fired at the tyrannic strides of some public destroyer ; 
 and overwhelmed with private distress, the consequence of a country's ruin. 
 If I have done anything at all like justice to my feelings, the following song, 
 composed in three quarters of an hour's meditation in my elbow-chair, ought 
 to have some merit." The two last lines of the first stanza the poet took from 
 a very pretty song to the same air, written by Mr John M'lyt.e, author of a 
 poem entitled, " The Siller Grun." 
 
 O Logan, sweetly didst thou glido 
 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 : 
 
 Blithe morning lifts his rosy eye. 
 
 And evening's tears are tears of joy : 
 
 My soul, delightless. a' surveys, 
 
 While Willie 's far frae Logan braes. 
 
 Within yon milk-white hawthorn bush 
 Amang her nestlings sits the thrush ; 
 Her faithfu' mate will share her toil, 
 Or wi' liis 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. 
 
 1 Throes. * Clouded and rainy. 
 
^T. 35.] SONGS, 431 
 
 Oh, wae upon you, men o' state, 
 That brethren rouse to deadly hate ! 
 As ye make mony a fond heart mourn, 
 Sae may it on your heads return ! 
 How can your flinty hearts enjoy 
 The widow's tears, the orphan's cry ? 
 But soon may peace bring happy days 
 And Willie iiame to Logan braes ! 
 
 THERE WAS A LASS, AND SHE WAS FAIR. 
 
 Tune — "Bonny Jean." 
 
 I have just finished the following ballad," says the poet to Thomson, "and as 
 I do think it is in my best style, I send it to you." The heroine of this song 
 was Miss Jane M'Murdo, the eldest daughter of John M'Murdo, Esq., cham- 
 berlain to the Duke of Queensberry, and who resided, with a family of charm- 
 ing and accomplished daughters, at the ducal seat of Drumlanrig, a few miles 
 from the poet's farm. A frequent guest at this gentleman's table, he appears 
 to have lived on terms of intimacy with the entire family. The heroine, he 
 tells us, he did not paint in the rank which she 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 f aii-est maid was bonny Jean. 
 
 And aye she wrought her mammie's wark, 
 
 And aye she sang sae merrilie : 
 The blithest bird upon the bush 
 
 Had ne'er a lighter heart than she. 
 
 But hawks will rob the tender joys 
 
 That bliss the little lintwhite's nest : 
 And frost will blight the fairest flowers, 
 
 And love will break the soundest rest. 
 
 Young Kobie was the brawest lad, 
 
 The flower and pride of a' the glen; 
 And he had owsen, sheep, and kye, 
 
 And wanton naigies ^ nine or ten. 
 
 He gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryste,'^ 
 
 He danced wi' Jeanie on the down ; 
 And, lang ere witless Jeanie wist, 
 
 Her heart was tint,^ her peace was stown.'* 
 
 As in the bosom o' the stream. 
 
 The moonbeam dwells at dewy e'en ; 
 So trembling, pure, was tender love 
 
 Within the breast o' bonny Jean- 
 
 1 iror.ses. 2 Fair 2 Lost. •- S^olou 
 
43^ SONGS. [,793, 
 
 And now she works her mammie's wark. 
 
 And aye she sighs wi' care and paiu ; 
 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 o' 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 farms wi' mo ? 
 
 ** 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.** 
 
 Now what could artless Jeanie do ? 
 
 She had nae will to say him na : 
 At length she blush'd a sweet consent, 
 
 And love was aye between them twa. 
 
 PHILLIS THE FAIR. 
 
 Tone— "Robin Adair." 
 
 K5ss Philadelphia M'Murdo, one of the daughters of John M'Murdo, Esq., men- 
 tioned above, and who afterwards became Mrs Norman Lockhart of Carnwath, 
 was the heroine of this song. The poet is supposed to have written the lines 
 at the request of his ft-iend, Stephen Clarke the musician, who taught the 
 young lady music, and was nearly in love with his charming pupil, "Phillia 
 the fair." 
 
 "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, 
 PhiUis the fair. 
 
 In each l)ird's careless song 
 Glad did I sliare ; 
 
^T. 35.] SONGS, 433 
 
 While yon wild flowers among, 
 
 Chance led me there : 
 Sweet to the opening day 
 Kosebuds bent the dewy spray ; 
 Such thy bloom ! did I say, 
 
 Phillis the fair. 
 
 Down in a shady walk 
 
 Doves cooing were ; 
 I mark'd the cruel hawk 
 
 Caught in a snare : 
 So kind may Fortune be. 
 Such make his destiny ! 
 He who would injure thee, 
 
 Phillis the fair. 
 
 HAD I A CAYE. 
 
 Tune—" Robin Adair." 
 
 Mr Alexander Cunningham, a writer to the signet in Edinburgh, and a warm 
 friend of the poet's, had wooed and, as he thought, won, a young lady of great 
 beauty and accomplishments ; but another lover having presented himself, 
 with weigMier claims to her regard than poor Cunningham possessed, 
 
 ** The fickle, faithless queen, 
 Took the carl, and left her Johnnie ; " 
 
 and appears to have cast him off with as little ceremony as she would a piece 
 of faded frippery. The poet, in the following lines, has endeavoured to ex- 
 press the feelings of his friend on the occasion : — 
 
 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 9,ir I 
 To thy new lover hie. 
 Laugh o'er thy perjury. 
 Then in thy bosom try 
 What peace is there ! 
 
 BY ALLAN STREAM I CHANCED TO ROVE, 
 
 TuNK— " Allan Water." 
 
 Tn a letter to Thomson, dated August 1793, enclosing this song, the poet says ; 
 — *' I walked out yesterday evening with a volume of the Museum in my hand, 
 when, turning up ' Allan Water,' as the words appeared to me rather unworthy 
 
434 SONGS. [1793. 
 
 of so fine an air, I sat and raved ander the shade of an old thoni, till I wrote 
 one to suit the measure. I maybe wrong, but I think it not in my worst style. 
 Bravo 1 say I ; it is a good song. Autumn is my propitious season. I make 
 more verses in it than all the year else." 
 
 By Allan stream I chanced to rove, 
 
 While Phoebus sank beyond Benledi ; 
 The winds were whispering through the grove, 
 
 The yellow com was waving ready : 
 I listen'd to a lover's sang, 
 
 And thought on yoathfu' pleasures many ; 
 And aye 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 for ever !'* 
 While mony a kiss the seal imprest. 
 
 The sacred vow, — we ne'er should sever. 
 
 The haunt o* Spring 's the primrose brae, 
 
 The Simmer joys the flocks to follow ; 
 How cheery, through 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 through each nerve the rapture dart. 
 
 Like meeting her, our bosom's treasure? 
 
 OH, WHISTLE, AND I'LL COME TO YOU, MY LAD. 
 
 Tune— "Whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad." 
 
 "The old air of 'Whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad,'" says the poet to 
 Thomson, "I admire very much, and yesterday I set the following verses to 
 it;"— 
 
 Oh, whistle, and I '11 come to you, my lad, 
 Oh, whistle, and I '11 come to you, my lad : 
 Though father and mither and a' should gae mad, 
 Oh, whistle, and I '11 come to you, my lad. 
 
 But warily tent ^ when you come to court me, 
 And come na unless the back yett ^ be a-jee ; 
 Syne up the back stile, and let uaebody see, 
 And come as ye were na comin' to me. 
 
 At kirk, or at market, whene'er ye meet me. 
 Gang by me as though that ye cared na a flie ; 
 
 1 Frightsome. 2 Carefully heed. 3 Gate. 
 
^T. 35.] SOAGS. 435 
 
 But steal me a blink o' your bonny black ee, 
 Yet look as ye were na looking at me. 
 
 Aye vow and protest that ye care na for me, 
 And whiles ye may lightly^ my beauty a wee ; 
 But court na anither, though jokin' ye be, 
 For fear that she wile your fancy frae me. 
 
 ADOWN WINDING NITH. 
 
 Tune — " The Mucking o* Creordie's Byre." 
 
 The Phillis of thxS song is thought to have been Miss Philadelphia M'Murdo, the 
 heroine of the lines to "Phillis the Fair," in p. 432. 
 
 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' m' your belles and your beauties, 
 
 They never wi' her can compare : 
 Whaever has met wi' my Phillis, 
 
 Has met wi' the queen o' the fair. 
 
 The daisy amused my fond fancy, 
 
 So artless, so simple, so wild ; 
 Thou emblem, said I, o' my Phillis, 
 
 For she is Simplicity's child. 
 
 The rosebud 's the blush o' my charmer. 
 
 Her sweet balmy lip when 'tis prest ; 
 How fair and how pure is the lily. 
 
 But fairer and purer her breast ! 
 
 Yon knot of gay flowers in the arbour, 
 
 They ne'er wi' my Phillis can vie : 
 Her breath is the breath o' the woodbine. 
 
 Its dew-drop o' diamond her eye. 
 
 Her voice is the song of the morning. 
 That wakes through the green-spreading grove, 
 
 AVhen Phoebus peeps over the mountains, 
 On music, and pleasure, and love, 
 
 But beauty how frail and how fleeting, 
 
 The bloom of a fine summer's day I 
 While worth in the mind o' my Phillis 
 
 "Will flourish without a decay. 
 
 1 Disparage. 
 
43^ 
 
 SONGS. [1793 
 
 COME, LET ME TAKE THEK 
 
 Air— "CauldKaU." 
 
 Come, 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 bonny blue, 
 
 I swear I 'm thine for ever ! 
 And on thy lips I seal my vow, ' 
 
 ^Vnd break it shall I neve:i: ! 
 
 DAINTY DAVIE, 
 
 This is an improved version of a song which the poet wrote gome years before 
 for the Museum, and which will be found at p. 368. The old song which fur- 
 nished the air is said to have been composed on a somewhat indelicate inci- 
 dent that occurred in the life of the Rev. David Williamson, during the times 
 of the Persecution in Scotland. This worthy, it is affirmed, after having 
 married seven wives, died minister of St Cuthbert's, Ediaburgh. 
 
 Now 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 warlock knowe, 
 
 Dainty Davie, dainty Davie ; 
 There I '11 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' n^y Davie. 
 
 When purple morning starts the hare, 
 To steal upon her early fare, 
 Then through the dews I will repair, 
 To meet my faithfu' Davie. 
 
^.T. 35.] SONGS. 437 
 
 When day, expiring in the west. 
 The curtain draws o' nature's rest, 
 I flee to his arms I lo'e best, 
 And that 's my ain dear Davie. 
 
 BRUCE'S ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY AT BANN'OCKBURN, 
 
 Tune— "Hey, tuttie taitie." 
 
 «» There is a tradition," says the poet, in a letter to Thomson, enclosing this 
 glorious ode, "that the old air, ' Hey tuttie taitie,' was Robert Bruce's march 
 at the battle of Bannockburn. This thought, in my solitary wanderings, has 
 warmed me to a pitch of enthusiasm on the theme of liberty and independence 
 which I have thrown into a kind of Scottish ode, fitted to the air, that one 
 might suppose to be the gallant Scot's address to his heroic followers on that 
 eventful morning." This ode, says Professor Wilson— the grandest out of the 
 Bible— is sublime I 
 
 )ScoTS, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, 
 Scots, wham BRUCE has often led ; 
 Welcome to your gory bed, 
 Or to Victory I 
 
 Now 's the day, and now *s the hour ; 
 See the front o' battle lour ; 
 See approach proud Edward's power- 
 Chains and slavery ! 
 
 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 ; 
 Freeman stand, or freeman fa', 
 Let him follow me ! 
 
 By Ox>pression's woes and pains I 
 By your sons in servile chains ! 
 We will drain our dearest veins. 
 But they shall be free ! 
 
 Lay the proud usurpers low ! 
 Tyrants fall in every foe ! 
 Liberty 's in every blow ! — 
 Let us do or die I 
 
43 S SONGS. [1793. 
 
 THOU HAST LEFT ME EVER. 
 
 Tune— "Fee him, father." 
 
 The poet, in sending these verses to Thomson, says— "I do not give them for any 
 merit they have. I composed them about the ' back o' midnight,' and by the 
 leeside ot a bowl of punch, which had overset every mortal in company except 
 the Muse." 
 
 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 aye— 
 I maun see thee never, Jamie, 
 I '11 see thee never I 
 
 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, 
 Ne'er mair to waken ! 
 
 FAIR JENNY. 
 
 Tdjnb— " Saw ye my father." 
 
 Where 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 ? 
 
 No more a-winding the course of yon river, 
 And marking sweet flowerets so fair ; 
 
 No more I trace the light footsteps of pleasure, 
 But sorrow and sad sighing care. 
 
 Is it that Summer 's forsaken our valleys, 
 
 And grim, surly Winter is near? 
 No, no ! the bees humming round the gay roses 
 
 Proclaim it the pride of the year. 
 
 Fain would I hide what I fear to discover, 
 Yet long, long too well have I known; 
 
 All that has caused this wreck in my bosom 
 Is Jenny, fair Jenny alone. 
 
/ET. s5.] SONGS. 439 
 
 Time cannot aid me, my griefs are immortal, 
 
 !N"or hope dare a comfort bestow : 
 Come then, enamoured and fond of my anguish, 
 
 Enjoyment I'll seek in my woe. 
 
 DELUDED SWAIN, THE PLEASUKE. 
 
 Tune—" The Collier's Bonny Lassie." 
 
 Deluded swain, the pleasure 
 The fickle fair can give thee 
 
 Is but a fairy treasure — 
 
 Thy hopes will soon deceive thee. 
 
 The biUows 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 mellcw, 
 
 And then to bed in glory. 
 
 MY SPOUSE, NANCY. 
 Tune—" My Jo, Janet." 
 
 *' 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 V* 
 
440 SONGS, £1793. 
 
 "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." 
 
 ** I will hope and trust in Heaven, 
 
 Nancy, Nancy; 
 Strength to bear it will be given, 
 
 My spouse, Nancy." 
 
 "Well, sir, from the silent dead, 
 
 Still I '11 try to daunt you ; 
 Ever round your midnight bed 
 
 Horrid sprites shall haunt you." 
 
 "I'll wed another, like my dear 
 
 Nancy, Nancy ; 
 Then aU hell will fly for fear, 
 
 My spouse, Nancy." 
 
 OH, WERE MY LOVE YON LILAC FAIR. 
 
 Tune—" Hughie Oraham." 
 The iii-st two stanzas only of this song are by Bums ; the other two are old. 
 
 Oh, were my love yon lilac fair, 
 Wi' purple blossoms to the spring ; 
 
 And I a bird to shelter there, 
 When wearied on my little wing. 
 
 How I wad mourn, when it was torn. 
 By autumn wild, and winter rude I 
 
 But I wad sing, on wanton wing, • 
 
 When 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 bonny breast to fa* ! 
 
 Oh ! there, beyond expression blest, 
 
 I'd feast on beauty a' the night ; 
 Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest, 
 
 TiU fle/di awa' by Phoebus' light ! 
 
 1 Frightened. 
 
^T. 35.] SONGS. 441 
 
 THE LOVELY LASS OF INYERNESS. 
 
 Tune— "The Lass of Inverness." 
 
 Burns's most successful imitation of the old style of ballad composition, says 
 Cromek, seems to be in " The Lovely Lass of Inverness." 
 
 The lovely lass of Inverness 
 
 Nae joy nor pleasure can she see ; 
 For e'en and morn she cries, alas ! 
 
 And aye the saut tear blin's her ee : 
 Drumossie Moor — Drumossie day — 
 
 A waef u' 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 ! 
 Xow wae to thee, thou cruel lord, 
 
 A bluidy man I trow thou be ; 
 For mony a heart thou hast made sair 
 
 That ne'er did wrang to thine or thee. 
 
 A RED, RED ROSE. 
 
 Tune—" Crraham's Strathspey." 
 
 This song was composed by the poet as an improvement of a street ballad, which 
 is said to have been written by a Lieutenant Hinches, as a farewell to his 
 sweetheart, when on the eve of parting. 
 
 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 bonny lass. 
 
 So deep in luve am I ; 
 And I will luve thee still my dear. 
 
 Till aJ the seas gang dry. 
 
 Till sJ the seas gang dry, my dear. 
 
 And the rocks melt wi' the sun : 
 I will luve thee still, my dear, 
 
 "While the sands o' life shall run. 
 
 And fare thee weel, my only luve ! 
 
 And fare thee weel a while ! 
 And I will come again, my luve. 
 
 Though it were ten thousand mile. 
 
442 SONGS. [1794. 
 
 A VISION. 
 
 The following lines were written amid the ruins of Lincluden Abbey, a favourite 
 haunt of the poet's. He contributed a version somewhat different to the 
 Scot^s Musical Mtiseum : — 
 
 As I stood by yon roofless tower, 
 
 AVhere 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 along 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 i-uin'd wa's, 
 Hasting to join the sweeping Nith, 
 
 Whose distant roaring swells and fa's. 
 
 The cauld blue North was streaming forth 
 
 Her lights, wi' hissin', eerie din : 
 Athort the lift they start and shift, ^ 
 
 Like Fortune's favours, 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 daring look had daunted me ; 
 And on his bonnet gi-aved was plain. 
 
 The sacred posy — "Liberty ! " 
 
 And frae his harp sic strains did flow, 
 Might roused the slumbering dead to hear; 
 
 ]3ut, oh ! it was a tale of woe. 
 As ever met a Briton's ear ! 
 
 He san^wi' joy the former day, 
 
 He, weeping, wail'd his latter times ; 
 But what he said it was nae play, — 
 
 I winna venture 't in my rhymes. 
 
 OUT OVER THE FOETH. 
 
 TtJNE— " Charlie Gordon's Welcome Hame." 
 
 Out over the Forth I look to the north. 
 But what is the north and its Highlands to me ? 
 
 1 Owl. ^ I'Ost. 
 
.ET. 36.] SONGS, 443 
 
 The south nor the east gie ease to my breast. 
 The far foreign land, or 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 baby and me. 
 
 JEANIE'S BOSOM. 
 Tune—" Louis, what reck I by thee V* 
 
 Louis, what reck I by thee, 
 Or Geordie on his ocean? 
 
 Dyvor,^ beggar loons to me — 
 I reign in Jeanie's bosom. 
 
 Let her crown my love her law, 
 And in her breast enthrone me : 
 
 King and nations — swith, awa' ! 
 Keif -randies, 2 I disown ye ! 
 
 FOR THE SAKE OF SOMEBODY. 
 
 Tune—" For the Sake of Somebody.'* 
 
 My heart is sair — I dare na tell- - 
 My heart is sair for Somebody ; 
 I could wake a winter night 
 For 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 ? 
 For the sake o' Somebody ! 
 
 * Bankruxjt. 2 Ti^ieving-beggars. 
 
444 SONGS. [1794. 
 
 WILT THOU BE MY DEAKIE. 
 
 Air—" The Sutor's Dochter," 
 
 "VYlLT tliou be my dearie ? 
 
 When soiTow wrings thy gentle heart. 
 
 Wilt thou let me cheer thee ? 
 
 By the treasure of my soul, 
 
 That 's the love I bear thee ! 
 
 I swear and vow that only thou 
 
 Shall ever be my dearie. 
 
 Only thou, I swear and vow, 
 
 Shall ever be my dearie. 
 
 Lassie, say thou lo'es me ; 
 Or, if thou wilt na be my ain, 
 Say na thou 'It refuse me : 
 If it winna, canna be, 
 Thou, for thine may choose me, 
 Let me, lassie, quickly die. 
 Trusting that thou lo'est me. 
 Lassie, let me quickly die, 
 Trusting that thou lo'es me. 
 
 LOVELY POLLY STEWART. 
 
 TdNE— " Ye're welcome, Charlie Stewart." 
 
 The heroine of this song was the daughter of a Mr William Stewart, a neighbour 
 of the poet's at Ell island, and was, when he first knew her, a handsome 
 blooming girl, just bursting into womanhood. She married a wealthy gentle- 
 man early in life ; but, unfortunately, from some act of indiscretion, she fell 
 from "her high estate," and sunk to the lowest depths of poverty and degra- 
 dation ; and is said, on the authority of Mr Chambers, to have been forced to 
 support herself, towards the end of her life, by her labours as a laundress in 
 Maxwelltown. 
 
 O LOVELY Polly Stewart ! 
 
 O charming Polly Stewart ! 
 There 's ne'er a flower that blooms in May 
 
 That 's half so fair as thou art. 
 The flower it blaws, it fades and fa's, 
 
 And art can ne'er renew it ; 
 But worth and truth eternal youth 
 
 Will gie to Polly Stewart. 
 
 May he whose arms shall fauld thy charma 
 
 Possess a leal and true heart ; 
 To him be given to ken the heaven 
 
 He grasps in Polly Stewart ! 
 O lovely Polly Stewart ! 
 
 O charming Polly Stewart ! 
 There 's ne'er a flower that blooms in May 
 
 That 's half so sweet as thou art. 
 
^T. 36.] SOJ^GS. 445 
 
 TO MAEY. 
 
 Tune—" At Setting Day." 
 
 Could aught of song declare my pains, 
 
 Could artful numbers move thee, 
 The Muse should teU, in labour'd strain s^ 
 
 O Mary, how I love thee ! 
 They v/ho but feign a wounded heart 
 
 May teach the lyre to languish ; 
 But what avails the pride of art. 
 
 When wastes the soul with anguish t 
 
 Then let the sudden bursting sigh 
 
 The heart-felt pang discover ; 
 And in the keen, yet tender, eye, 
 
 Oh, read th' 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. 
 
 WAE IS MY HEART. 
 
 Tui?B— "Wae is my heart" 
 
 "Wae is my heart, and the tear's in my ee, 
 Lang, lang, joy 's been a stranger to me : 
 Forsaken and friendless, my burden I bear. 
 And the sweet voice of pity ne'er sounds in my ear. 
 
 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 bonny castle-green ; 
 For there he is wandering, and musing on me, 
 Wha wad soon dry the tear frae his Phillis's ee. 
 
 HERE'S TO THY HEALTH, MY BONKY LASS. 
 T^NB— '5 l^gs&n Burn.^' 
 
 Here's tathy health, my bonny lass, 
 Quid night and joy be wi' thee ; 
 
 I '11 come nae mair to thy bower- door. 
 To tell thee that I lo'e the.e. 
 
446 SOJVGS, [1794. 
 
 Oh, dinna think, my pretty pink, 
 
 Bub I can live without thee : 
 I vow and swear I dinna care, 
 
 How lang ye look about ye. 
 
 Thou 'rt aye 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 '11 count my health my greatest wealth 
 
 Sae lang 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 aye until ye try them : 
 Though 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. 
 
 MY LADY'S GOWN, THERE 'S GATES UPON 'T, 
 
 Tune—" Gregg's Pipes," 
 
 My lady's gown, there 's gairs^ upon't, 
 And gowden flowers sae rare upon 't ; 
 But Jenny's jimps^ and jirkinet,^ 
 My lord thinks meikle mair upon 't. 
 
 My lord a-hunting he is gane. 
 
 But hounds or hawks wi' him are nane ; 
 
 By Colin's cottage lies his game, 
 
 If Colin's Jenny be at hame. 
 
 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 lordship lo'ed. 
 
 1 A triangular piece of cloth inserted at the bottom of a robe. 
 ' A kind of stays. 8 Bodice. 
 
«T. 36.] SOiYGS, , 447 
 
 Out o'er yon muir, out o'er yon moss, 
 "Whare gor-cocks through the heather pass, 
 There wons auld Colin's bonny lass, 
 A lily in a wilderness. 
 
 Sae sweetly move her gentle limbs, 
 Like music-notes o' lovers' hymns : 
 The diamond dew in her een sae blue, 
 "Where laughing love sae wanton swims. 
 
 My lady 's dink,^ my lady's drest. 
 The flower and fancy o' the west ; 
 But the lassie that a man lo'es best, 
 Oh, that 's the lass to mak him blest. 
 
 ANNA, THY CHAEMS. 
 Tune — " Bonny Mary." 
 
 Anna, 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. 
 
 JOCKEY 'S TA'EN THE PAETING KISa 
 
 Tune — '' Bonny Lassie, tak a Man." 
 
 Jockey 's ta'en the parting kiss. 
 
 O'er the mountains he is gane ; 
 And with him is a' my bliss. 
 
 Nought but griefs with me remain. 
 Spare my luve, ye winds that blaw. 
 
 Flashy sleets and beating rain ! 
 Spare my luve, thou feathery snaw, 
 
 Drifting o'er the frozen plain ! 
 
 "When the shades of evening creep 
 
 O'er the day's fair gladsome ee, 
 Sound and safely may he sleep, 
 
 Sweetly blithe his waukening be I 
 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 liame. 
 
 1 Neat, trim. 
 
44^ SONGS. [1794. 
 
 Oil, LAY THY LOOF IN MINE, LASS. 
 Tune—" Cordwainers' March.** 
 
 Oh, lay thy loof ^ in mine, lass, 
 In mine, lass, in mine, lass ; 
 And swear on 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. 
 
 There 's mony a lass has broke my rest, 
 That for a blink 2 I hae lo'ed best ; 
 But thou art queen within my breast, 
 For ever to remain. 
 
 Oh, lay thy loof in mine, lass, 
 In mine, lass, in mine, lass ; 
 And swear on thy white hand, lass, 
 That thou wilt be my ain. 
 
 OH, MALLY'S IVIEEK, MALLY'S SWEET. 
 
 Cunningham gives the following account of the origin of this song : — " The poet 
 was one day walking along the High Street of Dumfries, when he met a young 
 woman from the country, who, with her shoes and stockings packed carefully 
 up, and her petticoats kilted, 
 
 * Which did gently shaw 
 Her straight bare legs that whiter were than snaw,* 
 
 was proceeding towards the Galloway side of the Nith. This sight, by no 
 means so unusual then as now, influenced the Muse of Burns, and the result 
 was this exquisite lyric." 
 
 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. 
 
 Oh, Mally's meek, Mally's sweet, 
 
 Mally 's modest and discreet, 
 ]\Ially 's rare, Mally 's fair, 
 
 Mally 's every way complete. 
 
 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, 
 
 1 Palm 8 Short space. 
 
ET. 36.] SONGS. 449 
 
 Her yellow hair, beyond compare, 
 
 Comes trinkling down her swan-like neck ; 
 
 And her two eyes, like stars in skies, 
 Would keep a sinking ship frae wreck. 
 
 THE BANKS OF CREE. 
 
 Tune— "The Banks of Cree." 
 
 Lady Elizabeth Heron having composed an air entitled " The Banks of Cree," in 
 remembrance of a beautiful and romantic stream of that name, " I have writ- 
 ten," says the poet, " the following song to it, as her ladyship is a particular 
 friend of mine." 
 
 Here 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 not the balmy-breathing gale, 
 Mixt with some warbler's dying fail, 
 
 The dewy star of eve to hail. 
 
 Ifc is Maria's voice I hear ! 
 
 So calls the woodlark in the grove, 
 His little faithful mate to cheer — 
 
 At once 'tis music, and 'tis love. 
 
 And art thou come? and art thou true? 
 
 Oh, welcome, dear, to love and me ! 
 And let us all our vows renew 
 
 Along the flowerj^ banks of Cree, 
 
 ON THE SEAS AND FAE, AWAY. 
 Tune— -"O'er the hills and far away." 
 
 How can my poor heart be glad. 
 When absent from my sailor lad ^ 
 How can I the thought forego, 
 He 's on the seas to meet the foe ? 
 Let me wander, let me rove. 
 Still my heart is with my love : 
 Nightly dreams, and thoughts by day, 
 Are with him that 's far away. 
 
 On the seas and far away, 
 On stormy seas and far away ; 
 Nightly dreams, and thoughts by day. 
 Are aye with liini that 's far iiway. 
 
 2f 
 
450 SONGS. [1794. 
 
 When in summer noon I faint, 
 As weary flocks around me pant, 
 Haply in the scorching sun 
 My sailor 's thundering at his gun : 
 Bullets, spare my only joy! 
 Bullets, spare my darling boy ! 
 Pate, do with me what you may — 
 Spare but him that 's far away ! 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 CA' THE YOWES. 
 
 This is an improved version, which the poet prepared for his friend Thomson, 
 of a song already given at p. 383. 
 
 Ca' the yowes to the knowes, 
 Ca' them whare the heather grows, - 
 Ca' them whare the burnie rowes, 
 My bonny dearie ! 
 
 Hark the mavis' evening sang 
 Sounding Cluden's woods amang I 
 Then a faulding let us gang. 
 My bonny dearie. 
 
 We '11 gae down by Cluden side, 
 Through the hazels spreading wide. 
 O'er the waves that sweetly glide, 
 To the moon sae clearly. 
 
 Yonder Cluden's silent towers, 
 Where at moonshine midnight hours, 
 O'er the dewy bending flowers. 
 Fairies dance sae cheery. 
 
mT.36.] SONGS, 451 
 
 Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear ; 
 Thou 'rt to love and heaven sae dear, 
 Nocht of ill may come thee near. 
 My bonny dearie. 
 
 Fair and lovely as thou art, 
 Thou hast stown my very heart ; 
 I can die— but canna part — 
 My bonny dearie ! 
 
 SHE SAYS SHE LOE'S ME BEST OF A\ 
 
 Tune—" Onagh's Waterfall." 
 
 Miss Jean Lorimer, the flaxen-haired Chloris of this and other fine lyrics, has 
 been once or twice alluded to already ; but as the poet has celebrated her 
 beauty of person and charms of manner in no less than eleven songs, some of 
 which are amongst the finest he ever wrote ; and as her lot in life, for one so 
 beautiful and attractive, was singularly unfortunate, a brief outline of her his- 
 tory will be found interesting — for the leading incidents of ,which we are in- 
 debted to the diligence and research of Mr Robert Chambers. Her father, Mr 
 William Lorimer, was a prosperous farmer at a place called Kemmis Hall, on 
 tlie banks of the Nith, near Dumfries, and with whom the poet was on terms 
 of the closest intimacy. Here he first saw and admired this charming crea- 
 ture, who, though not yet nineteen, was now in the full bloom of her dazzling 
 beauty, and destined to task his Muse to its highest heaven of invention. 
 Slie had, of course, no lack of suitors, many of whom were men of worth and 
 honour; but, unfortunately for herself, her choice fell upon a young gentleman 
 of the name of Whelpdale, a native of the county of Cumberland, who had 
 settled as a farmer in the neighbourhood of Moffat, and with whom she eloped 
 one night from her father's house to Gretna G-reen, where they were married. 
 But, a few short months after this romantic affair, her husband, who was natu- 
 rally of reckless and extravagant habits, fled from the district to avoid his 
 creditors, leaving his wife to return to her father's without a penny to support 
 her. She did not see him again for twenty-three years ! And it was while 
 residing with her parents, in this abandoned condition, that the poet first made 
 her acquaintance, and sang her beauty and her sorrows. A few years after 
 her desertion, however, when the poet's lyre was mute, and the hand that 
 tuned it in her praise was mouldering in the dust, her father met with a series 
 of losses that reduced him to the brink of poverty, and she v/as forced to 
 accept of a situation as an under governess in a gentleman's family. Having 
 supported herself for many years by her services in this capacity, she one day 
 accidentally heard that her husband was imprisoned at Carlisle for debt, after 
 having wandered about the country for years, and squandered some four or 
 five fortunes that had been left him by different relations. With a woman's 
 yearning for the lover of her youth, she went to see him ; but when he was 
 pointed out to her, he was so changed, she scarcely knew him ; and it was 
 only when he pronounced her name, that she recognised, in the broken-down 
 and bloated figure before her the gay gallant with whom she had fled from her 
 fathei^'s house some twenty years before ! After a few visits, as the infatuated 
 man seemed utterly incapable of reforming, she parted with him, never to 
 meet again. Some years afterwards, when friendless and unprotected, she 
 stept from the paths of honour, fell from her respectable position in society, 
 and for a time "had her portion with weeds and outworn faces ! " For years 
 after this she is said to have been in a condition little above beggary, leading 
 a kind of wandering life, and occasionally acting as a domestic servant. Ulti- 
 mately, however, through the exertions of a benevolent gentleman to whom 
 she had disclosed her history, she was rescued from this wretched state, and 
 
45 2 SONGS, [1794. 
 
 became housekeeper to a gentleman residing in Newington, Edinburgh, where 
 she remained for some years. But having at last been seized with consump- 
 tion, which compelled her to leave her situation, she retired to an obscure 
 abode in Middleton's Entry, Potterrow ; and after lingering there for some 
 time in loneliness and suffering, supported by the charity of strangers, she 
 died in September 1831, and was buried in Newington churchyard. 
 
 Sae flaxen were her ringlets, 
 
 Her eyebrows of a darker hue, 
 Bewitchingly o'er-arching 
 
 Twa laughing een o' bonny blue. 
 Her smiling sae wiling, 
 
 Wad make a wretch forget his woe ; 
 Wliat pleasure, what treasure. 
 
 Unto these rosy lips to grow ! 
 Such was my Chloris' bonny face, 
 
 When first her bonny face I saw ; 
 And aye ray 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 mak a saint forget the sky, 
 Sae warming, sae charming. 
 
 Her faultless form and gracefu' air; 
 Hk feature— auld Nature 
 
 Declared that she could do nae mair. 
 Hers are the willing chains o' love, 
 
 By conquering beauty's sovereign law ; 
 And aye my Chloris' dearest charm, 
 
 She says she lo'es me best o' a'. 
 
 Let others love the city. 
 
 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 amaug ; 
 While falling, recalling. 
 
 The amorous thrush concludes his sang ; 
 There, dearest Chloris, wilt thou rove 
 
 By wimpling bum and leafy shaw, 
 And hear my vows o' truth and love, 
 
 And say thou lo'est me best of a' ? 
 
 THE LOVER'S MORNING SALUTE TO HIS MISTRESS. 
 
 Tune— "Deil tak the wars." 
 
 'Having been out in the country dining with a friend," (Mr Lorimer of Kemmis 
 Hall,) says the poet in a letter to Thomson, "I met with a lady, [Mrs "\VheIi> 
 dale— ' Chloris,'] and as usual got into song, and on returning home composed 
 the following : "— 
 
^.T. s6.] SONGS, 453 
 
 Sleep'st thou, 01 wakest thou, fairest creature ? 
 
 Bosy Morn now lifts his eye. 
 Numbering ilka bud which nature 
 
 Waters wi' the tears o' joy r 
 
 Now through the leafy woods, 
 
 And by the reeking floods, 
 Wild nature's tenants, freely, gladly, stray ; 
 
 The lintwhite in his bower 
 
 Chants o'er the breathing flower; * 
 
 The laverock to the sky 
 
 Ascends wi' sangs o' joy. 
 While the sun and thou arise to bless the day 
 
 Phoebus, gilding the brow o' morning. 
 
 Banishes ilk darksome shade, 
 Nature gladdening and adorning ; 
 
 Such to me my lovely maid. 
 
 When absent frae my fair, 
 
 The murky shades o care 
 With startless gloom o'ercast my sullen 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.f 
 
 CHLORIS. 
 
 Regarding the following lines, the poet says :— " Having been on a visit the 
 other day to my fair Chloris — that is the poetic name of the lovely goddess of 
 my inspiration— she suggested an idea, which, on my return home, I wrought 
 into the following song : " — 
 
 My Chloris, mark how green the groves, 
 
 The primrose banks how fair ; 
 The balmy gales awake the flowers, 
 
 And wave thy flaxen hair. 
 
 * Vabiation. — " Now to the streaming fountain. 
 
 Or up the heathy mountain, 
 The hart, hind, and roe, freely, wildly- wanton stray; 
 In twining hazel bowers 
 His lay the linnet pours ; 
 The laverock to the sky," &c. 
 t Var. — " When frae my Chloris parted, 
 Sad, cheerless, broken-hearted, 
 Then night's gloomy shades, cloudy, dark, o'ercast my sty ; 
 But when she charms my sight, 
 In pride of beauty's light : 
 "When through my very heart 
 Her beaming glories dart, 
 'Tis then, 'tis then I wake to life and joy." 
 
454 SONGS. [1794. 
 
 The laverock 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' : 
 Tlie shepherd stops his simple reed. 
 
 Blithe, in the birken shaw.^ 
 
 The princely revel may survey 
 
 Our rustic dance wi' scorn ; 
 But are their hearts as light as ours, 
 
 Beneath the milk-white thorn? 
 
 The shepherd in the flowery glen. 
 
 In shepherd's phrase will woo; 
 The courtier tells a finer tale — 
 
 But is his heart as true ? 
 
 These wild- wood flowers I 've pu'd, to deck 
 
 That spotless breast o' thine ; 
 The courtier's gems maj' witness love — 
 
 But 'tisna love like mine. 
 
 TO CHLORIS. 
 
 The following lines, says the poet, were "written on the blank leaf cf a copy 
 of the last edition of ray poems, and presented to the lady whom, with tiie 
 most ardent sentiments of real friendship, I have so often sung under the 
 name of Chloris : " — 
 
 'Tis Friendship's pledge, my young, fair friend. 
 
 Nor thou the gift refuse, 
 Nor with unwilling ear attend 
 
 The moralising 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 mom 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 comforts of the mind ! 
 
 1 Birch wood. 
 
SONGS. 455 
 
 Thine is the self -approving glow- 
 On conscious honour's part ; 
 
 And — dearest gift of Heaven below — 
 Thine friendship's truest heart. 
 
 The joys refined of sense and taste, 
 
 With every Muse to rove : 
 And doubly were the poet blest, 
 
 These joys could he improve. 
 
 AH, CHLORIS I 
 
 Tu2«B— "Major Graham." 
 
 ThJs is another of those beautiful lyrics, the fruit of the poet's acquaintance 
 with the charming Chloris— the liglitning of whose eye, to use his own words, 
 , was the godhead of Parnassus, and the witchery of her smile the divinity of 
 Helicon ! 
 
 Ah, Chloris ! since it mayna be 
 That thou of love wilt hear ; 
 If from the lover thou maun flee, 
 Yet let the friend be dear. 
 
 Although I love my Chloris mair 
 
 Than ever tongue could tell ; 
 My passion I will ne'er declare, 
 
 I '11 say, I wish thee well. 
 
 Though a' my daily care thou art, 
 
 And a' my nightly dream, 
 1 11 hide the struggle in my heart, 
 
 And say it is esteem. 
 
 SAW YE MY PHELY? 
 
 Tu^'K— " When she cam ben she bobbit.** 
 
 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. 
 
 What says she, my dearest, my Phely ? 
 AYliat says she, my dearest, my Phely ? 
 She lets thee to wit that she has thee forgot, 
 And for ever 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. 
 
4S<5 
 
 I1794. 
 
 HOW LONG AND DREAEY IS THE NIGHT! 
 
 To a Gaelic Air. 
 
 How long and dreary is the night, 
 
 When I am frae my dearie ! 
 I sleepless lie frae e'en to mom, 
 
 Though I were ne'er sae weary. 
 I sleepless lie frae e'en to mom, 
 
 Though I were ne'er sae weary. 
 
 When I think on the happy days 
 
 I spent wi' you, my dearie, 
 And now what lands between us lie, 
 
 How can I be but eerie ?^ 
 And now what lands between us lie. 
 
 How can I be but eerie ? 
 
 How slow ye move, ye heavy hours. 
 
 As ye were wae and weary ! 
 It wasna sae ye glinted^ by 
 
 When I was wi' my dearie. 
 It wasna sae ye glinted by 
 
 When I was wi' my dearie. 
 
 IMPROVED VERSION. 
 
 Tune— "Cauld Kailin Aberdeen." 
 
 How long and dreary is the night, 
 
 When I am frae my dearie ! 
 I restless lie frae e'en to mom. 
 
 Though I were ne'er sae weary. 
 
 For oh I her lanely nights are lang ; 
 
 And oh, her dreams are eerie ; 
 And oh, her widow'd heart is sair, 
 
 That 's 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 eeric^? 
 
 How slow ye move, ye heavy hours ! 
 
 The joyless day how dreary ! 
 It wasna sae ye glinted by. 
 
 When I was wi' my dearie. 
 
^T. 36.] soj\rGS. 4S7 
 
 LET NOT WOMAN" E'ER COMPLAIN. 
 
 Tune—" Duncan Crray." 
 
 *'I have been at 'Duncan Gray,'" says the poet to Thomson, "to dress it into 
 English ; but all I can do is deplorably stupid. For instance :" — 
 
 Let not woman e'er complain 
 
 Of inconstancy in love ; 
 Let not woman e'er complain 
 
 Fickle man is apt to rove : 
 Look abroad through nature's range, » 
 Nature's mighty law is change ; 
 Ladies, would it not be strange, 
 
 Man should then a monster prove ? 
 
 Mark the winds, and mark the skies j 
 
 Ocean's ebb, and ocean's flow ; 
 Sun and moon but set to rise. 
 
 Round and round the seasons go : 
 "Why then ask of silly man 
 To oppose great Nature's plan ? 
 We '11 be constant while we can — 
 
 You can be no more, you know. 
 
 THE CHARMING MONTH OF MAY, 
 
 The poet having given the following English dress to an old Scotch ditty, says, 
 in transmitting it to Thomson : — " You may think meanly of this ; but if you 
 saw the bombast of the original you would be surprised that I had made so 
 much of it." 
 
 It was the charming month of May, 
 When aU 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 youthful, charming Chloe. 
 
 Lovely was she by the dawn. 
 
 Youthful Chloe, charming Chloe, 
 
 Tripping 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-rivaU'd by the radiant eyes 
 
 Of youthful, charming Chloe. 
 
45 8 SONGS, [1794, 
 
 LASSIE WI' THE LINT- WHITE LOCKS. 
 
 Tune— "Roth emurche's Rant." 
 
 "This piece," says the poet, "has at least the merit of being a regular pastoral : 
 the vernal morn, the summer noon, the autumnal evening, and tl.e winter 
 night, arc regularly rounded." 
 
 Now nature deeds ^ the flowery lea, 
 And a' is young and sweet like thee ; 
 Oh, wilt thou share its joy wi' me. 
 And say thou 'It be my dearie, O ? 
 
 Lassie wi' the lint-white locks, 
 
 Bonny lassie, artless lassie, 
 Wilt thou Avi' me tent '^ the flocks ? 
 
 Wilt thou be my dearie, O ? 
 
 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. 
 
 When Cynthia lights, wi' silver ray, 
 The weary shearer's ^ hameward way ; 
 Through yellow waving fields we '11 stray, 
 And talk o' love, my dearie, O. 
 
 And when the howling wintry blast 
 Disturbs my lassie's midnight rest ; 
 Enclasped to my faithfu' breast, 
 I '11 comfort thee, my dearie, O. 
 
 FAREWELL, THOU STREAM. 
 
 Tune— " Nancy's to the greenwood gane." 
 
 This song appears to be an improved version of the one entitled, " The last time 
 I came o'er the moor," (p. 428,) with the substitution of the name Eliza for 
 that of Maria. This change probably arose from the poet's quarrel with Mrs 
 Riddel having rendered her name distasteful to him. See the introduction to 
 the song entitled, " Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy ?" in p. 461. 
 
 Farewell, thou stream that winding flows 
 
 Around Eliza's dwelling ! 
 O 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. 
 
 1 Clothes. 2 Tend. » Reaper's. 
 
/ET. 36.] SONGS. • 459 
 
 Love's veriest wi'etch, unseen, unknown, 
 
 I fain my griefs would cover ; 
 The bursting sigh, th' unweeting groan, 
 
 Betray the hapless lover. 
 I Know thou doom'st me to despair, 
 
 Nor wilt, nor canst, relieve me ; 
 But oh, Eliza, hear one j)rayer — 
 
 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 a,t last 
 
 In overwhelming ruin. 
 
 O PHILLY, HAPPY BE THAT DAY. 
 
 Tune—" The Sow's Tail." 
 
 O Philly, happy be that day, 
 When roving through the gather'd hay, 
 My youthfu' heart was stown away, 
 And by thy charms, my Philly. 
 
 O Willy, aye I bless the grove 
 Where first I own'd my maiden love, 
 AVhilst thou didst j)ledge the Powers abovo 
 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 so welcome to my eye 
 As is a sight o' Philly. 
 
46o SOJ\rGS. [1794. 
 
 Tlie Kttle swallow's wanton wing, 
 Though wafting o'er the flowery spring, 
 Did ne'er to me sic tidings bring 
 As meeting o' my Willy. 
 
 HE. 
 
 The bee that through the sunny hour 
 Sips nectar in the opening flower. 
 Compared wi' my delight is poor, 
 Upon the lips o' Philly. 
 
 SHE. 
 
 The woodbine in the dewy weet 
 "Wlien evening shades in silence meet. 
 Is nocht sae fragrant or sae sweet 
 As is a kiss o' Willy. 
 
 HE. 
 
 Let Fortune's wheel at random rin, 
 And fools may tyne, and knaves may win; 
 My thoughts are a' bound up in ane, 
 And that 's my ain dear Philly. 
 
 "NVTiat 's a' the joys that gowd can gie ? 
 I carena wealth a single flie ; 
 The lad I love 's the lad for me, 
 And that 's my ain dear Willy. 
 
 CONTENTED WI' LITTLE. 
 
 Tune—" Lumps 0' Pudding." 
 
 This song is entitled to more than ordinary attention, as it appears the poet 
 meant it for a personal sketch ; for, in a letter to Thomson, thanking him for 
 the present of a picture of " The Cotter's Saturday Night," by David Allan, the 
 leading painter of the day, he says : — *' Ten thousand thanks for your elegant 
 present. ... I have some thoughts of suggesting to you to prefix a vignette of 
 me to my song, ' Contented wi' little, and cantie wi' mair,' in order that the 
 portrait of my face, and the picture of my mind, may go down the stream of 
 time together." 
 
 Contented wi' little, and cantie^ wi' mair. 
 Whene'er I forgather 2 wi' sorrow and care, 
 I gie them a skelp,^ as they're creeping alang, 
 Wi' a cog o' guid swats,^ and an auld Scottish sang. 
 
 1 Happy. 2 Meet. * Whack. * Flagon of ale 
 
MT. 36.] SONGS. 461 
 
 I whiles claw the elbow o' troublesome thought ; 
 
 But man is a sodger, and life is a faught ; 
 
 My mirth and guid humour are coin in my pouch, 
 
 And my freedom's my lairdship nae monarch dare touch. 
 
 A towmond ^ o' trouble, should that be my fa', 
 A night o' guid-fellowship sowthers ^ it a' : 
 When at the blithe 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 jade gae : ^ 
 Come ease or come travail ; come pleasure or pain ; 
 My warst word is — " Welcome, and welcome again ! '* 
 
 CANST THOU LEAYE ME THUS, MY KATY? 
 
 TuNK— "Roy's Wife." 
 
 This song, which the poet says he composed in two or three turns across his 
 little room, was meant as a representation of the kindly feelings which he 
 now once more began to entertain for his former beautiful and fascinating 
 friend, Mrs Riddel of Woodley Park. Having been a frequent and welcome 
 guest at the house of this kind and accomplished lady, whom he passionately 
 admired, (see the song, "The last time I came o'er the moor," p. 428,) he is 
 said, on one occasion, while under the influence of the wine he had taken at 
 table, and the alluring charms of his fair hostess's conversation and manner, 
 to have so far forgot himself as to attempt to kiss her — an indignity, however, 
 which she punished by withdrawing her friendship. During the continuance 
 of this coldness, which lasted for nearly two years, he weakly gave vent to his 
 wrath and wounded pride in two or three lampoons and other satirical effu- 
 sions ; but ultimately a kindlier feeling took possession of him, under the 
 influence of which he composed this song, and sent it to the lady as a kind 
 of peace-offering. To her honour be it said, she not only had the magnanimity 
 to forgive him, but, in order to soothe his ruffled feelings, and help to heal 
 the breach that kept them separate, she replied to his song in a similar strain 
 of poetic licence.* The poet, it will be observed, with the usual freedom 
 
 1 Twelvemonth. 2 Solders. 8 Stagger and stumble. * Slut go. 
 
 ♦ The following are the pieces which Mrs Riddel sent to the poet in reply to 
 his song : — 
 
 Tune— "Roy's Wife." 
 
 " Tell me that thou yet art true, 
 
 And a' my wrongs shall be forgiven ; 
 And when this heart proves fause to thee, 
 Yon sun shall cease its course in heaven. 
 
 " Stay, my Willie — ^yet believe me, 
 Stay, my Willie — yet believe me, 
 For, ah ! thou know'st na every pang 
 Wad wring my bosom, shouldst thou leave me, 
 
 « But to think I was betray' d, 
 
 That falsehood e'er our loves should sunder I 
 To take the floweret to my breast. 
 And find the guilefu' serpei it under. 
 
462 SONGS. [1794. 
 
 of the sons of Apollo, addresses her as a mistress, and in that character 
 she replies to him. It is gratifying to know that they ultimately became 
 thoroughly reconciled ; and after his untimely and lamented death, he had 
 no warmer eulogist than Maria Riddel. 
 
 Is this thy plighted, fond reward, 
 
 Thus cruelly to i^art, my Katy ? 
 Is this thy faithful swain's regard — 
 
 An aching, broken heaii;, my Katy ? 
 
 Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy ? 
 Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy ? 
 Well thou knowest my aching heart — 
 And canst thou leave me thus for pity ? 
 
 Farewell ! and ne'er such sorrows tear 
 
 That fickle heart of thine, my Katy ! 
 Thou mayst find those will love thee deal — 
 
 But not a love like mine, my Katy ! 
 
 * Could I hope thou'dst ne'er deceive, 
 Celestial pleasures might I choose 'era, 
 I 'd slight, nor seek in other spheres 
 That heaven I 'd find within thy bosom. 
 
 «' Stay, my Willie— yet believe me. 
 Stay, my Willie— yet' believe me, 
 For ah 1 thou know'st na every pang 
 Wad wring my bosom, shouldst thou leave me.* 
 
 " To thee, loved Nith, thy gladsome plains. 
 
 Where late with careless thought I ranged, 
 Though prest with care, and sunk in woe, 
 
 To thee I bring a heart unchanged. 
 I love thee, Nith, thy banks and braes, 
 
 Though Memory there my bosom tear. 
 For there he roved that broke my heart, 
 
 Yet to that heart, ah, still how dear 1 
 
 '' And now your banks and bonny braes 
 
 But waken sad remembrance' smart; 
 The very shades I held most dear 
 
 Now strike fresh anguish to my heart : 
 Deserted bower 1 where are they now — 
 
 Ah I where the garlands that I wove 
 With faithful care, each morn to deck 
 
 The altars of ungrateful love ? 
 
 <• The flowers of spring, how gay they bloom' d, 
 
 When last with him I wandei^'d here I 
 The flowers of spring are pass'd away 
 
 For wintry horrors, dark and drear. 
 Yon osier'd stream, by wliose lone banks 
 
 My songs have lull'd him oft to rest, 
 Is now in icy fetters lock'd — 
 
 Cold as my false love's frozen breast." 
 
^T. 36.] SONGS. 463 
 
 \VHA IS THAT AT MY BOWEK-DOOE? 
 
 Tune— "Lass, an I come near thee." 
 
 The following quaint ditty, it appears, was suggested to the poet by an old song 
 in Ramsay's "Tea-Table Miscellany," entitled, "The Auld Man's Address to 
 the Widow : " — 
 
 "VVha is that at my bower-door? 
 
 Oh, wha is it but Findlay ? 
 Then gae yere gate,^ ye'se nae be here !— 
 
 Indeed, maun I, quo' Findlay. 
 AVhat mak ye sae like a thief? 
 
 Oh, come and see, quo' Findlay ; 
 Before the morn ye '11 work mischief — 
 Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 
 
 Gif ^ I rise and let you in, — 
 Let me in, quo' Findlay ; 
 
 Ye '11 keep me waukin wi' your din- 
 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 ken the gate again ; — 
 
 Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 
 What may pass within this bower, — 
 
 Let it pass, quo' Findlay ; 
 Ye maun conceal till your last hour ; — 
 
 Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 
 
 THE CAKDIN' O 'T. 
 
 Tune — "Salt-fish and Dumplings.* 
 
 I COFT'* a stane o' haslock^ woo, 
 To mak a coat to Johnny o 't ; 
 
 For Johnny is my only jo, 
 I lo'e him best of ony yet. 
 
 The cardin' o 't, the spinnin' o 't, 
 The war x:)in' o 't, the winnin' o 't ; 
 
 When ilka ell cost me a groat. 
 The tailor staw,^ the linin' o 't. 
 
 1 Way. 2 If. » Remain. •♦ Bought. 
 
 » Hause-lock, the wool on the throat— the finest of the fleece. « Stole. 
 
4^4 SOATGS. [1794. 
 
 For thougli his locks be lyart gray, 
 And though his brow be held aboon ; 
 
 Yet I hae seen him on a day 
 The pride of a' the parishen. 
 
 THE PIPER. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 There came a piper out o' Fife, 
 I watna what they ca'd him ; 
 
 He play'd our cousin Kate a spring 
 When fient a body bade him ; 
 
 And aye the mair he hotch'd and blew, 
 The mair that she forbade him. 
 
 JENNY M'CRAW. 
 
 A FRAGMENT, 
 
 Jenny M'Craw, she has ta'en to the heather. 
 Say, was it the Covenant carried her thither ; 
 Jenny M'Craw to the mountains is gane. 
 Their leagues and their covenants a' she has ta*en ; 
 My head and my heart now, quo' she, are at rest, 
 And as for the lave, let the deil do his best. 
 
 THE LAST BRAW BRIDAL. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 The last braw bridal that I was at, 
 
 'Twas on a Hallowmas day, 
 And there was routh^ o' drink and fun. 
 
 And mickle mirth and play. 
 The bells they rang, and the carlines^ sang, 
 
 And the dames danced in the ha' ; 
 The bride went to bed wi' the sillv bridegroom, 
 
 In the midst o' her kimmers ^ a . 
 
 ^ Plenty. 2 Old women. « Women. 
 
ALT. 30 .J SOJVGS. 4t>S 
 
 LINES ON A MERRY PLOUGHMAN. 
 
 As I was a wandering ae morning in si)ring, 
 
 I heard a merry ploughman sae sweetly to sing; 
 
 And as he was singin' thae words he did say, 
 
 There 's nae life like the ploughman's in the month o' Sweet May, 
 
 The laverock in the morning she '11 rise frae her nest, 
 And mount in the air wi' the dew on her breast ; 
 And wi' the merry ploughman she'll whistle and sing ; 
 And at night she '11 return to her nest back again. 
 
 THE WINTER OF LIFE. 
 
 TuxE— "Gril Morice." 
 
 But lately seen in gladsome green, 
 
 The woods rejoiced the day ; 
 Through gentle showers the laughing flowers 
 
 In double pride were gay : 
 But now our joj'-s 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' sleejoless pain ! 
 Thou golden time o' youthfu' prime, 
 
 Why comest thou not again ! 
 
 I 'LL AYE CA' IN BY YON TOWN 
 
 Tune — "I'll gae nae mair to yon town." 
 
 I 'll aye ca' in by yon town, 
 
 And by yon garden green, again ; 
 I '11 aye ca' in by yon town, 
 
 And see my bonny Jean again. 
 
 There 's nane sail ken, there 's nane sail guess, 
 What brings me back the gate again ; 
 
 But she, my fairest, faithfa' lass, 
 And stowlins*^ we sail meet again. 
 
 1 Head. 2 Thaw. « Ap:ed trunk, 
 
 * Without. sSlielter. « Seci-ctlj, 
 
 2 G 
 
466 SONGS. [1794. 
 
 She '11 wander by tlie aiken tree, 
 
 When trystin'-tinie draws near again ; 
 
 And when her lovely form I see, 
 Oh, haith, she '■& doubly dear again ! 
 
 I '11 aye ca' in by yon town, 
 
 And by yon garden green, again ; 
 I '11 aye ca' in by yon town, 
 
 And see my bonny Jean again. 
 
 THE GOWDEN LOCKS OF ANNA. 
 
 Tune— "Banks of Banna." 
 
 'A Dumfries maiden," 8a)'S Cunningham, " witli a light foot and a merry 
 eye, was the heroine of this clever song. Burns thought so well of it himself 
 that he recommended it to Thomson ; but the latter — awai'e, perhaps, of 
 the free character of her of the gowden locks, excluded it, though pressed 
 CO publish it by the poet. Irritated, perhaps, at Thomson's refusal, he wrote 
 ihe additional stanza, by way of postscript, in defiance of his colder-blooded 
 critic." 
 
 Yestreen I had a pint o' wine, 
 A place where body saw na ; 
 Yestreen lay on this breast o' mine 
 
 The gowden locks of Anna. 
 The hungry Jew in wilderness, 
 
 Rejoicing o'er his manna, 
 A~ras naething to my hinny bliss 
 Upon the lips of Anna. 
 
 Ye monarchs tak the east and west, 
 
 Frae Indus to Savannah ! 
 Gie me within my straining grasp 
 
 The melting form of Anna. 
 There I '11 despise imperial charms, 
 
 An empress or sultana. 
 While dying raptures in her arras 
 
 I give and take with Anna ! 
 
 Awa', thou flaunting god o' day ! 
 
 Awa', thoi* pale Diana ! 
 nk star gae hide thy twinkling ray. 
 
 When I'm to meet my Anna. 
 Come, in thy raven plumage, Niglio ! 
 
 Sun, moon, and stars withdrawn a* ; 
 And bring an angel pen to write 
 
 My transpoi-ts wi' my Anna ! 
 
 POSTSCEIPT. 
 
 The kirk and state may join, and tell 
 
 To do such things I maunna : 
 The kirk and state may gae to hell, 
 
 And I '11 gae to my Anna^ 
 
/ET. 36.] SONGS. 467 
 
 She is the sunshine o* my ee, — • 
 
 To live biit^ her I canna ; 
 Had I on earth bi^t wishes three, 
 
 The first should be my Anna. 
 
 HAD I THE WYTE. 
 
 TuiiE— " Had I the wyte ?— she bade me.'* 
 
 Had I the wyte, 2 had I the wyte, 
 
 Had I the wyte ? — she bade me ; 
 She watch'd me by the hie-gate side, 
 
 And up the loan she shaw'd 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^ guidman 
 
 Is o'er ayont the water : " 
 Whae'er shall say I wanted grace, 
 
 When I did kiss and dawt*^ her. 
 Let him be planted in my place, 
 
 Syne say I was a 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? 
 He claw'd her wi' the ripplin-kame. 
 
 And blae and bluidy bruised her ; 
 AVhen sic a husband was frae hame, 
 
 "What wife but wad excused her ? 
 
 I dighted^ aye her een sae blue, 
 
 And bann'd the cruel randy ; ^ 
 And weel I wat her willing mou' 
 
 Was e'en like sugar-candy. 
 At gloamin'-shot it was, I trow, 
 
 I lighted on the Monday : 
 But I cam through the Tysday's dew. 
 
 To wanton Willie's brandy. 
 
 1 Without. 2 Blame. s in. 4 Rugged coarse, 
 
 s Fondle. « Wiped. 7 Scold. ' 
 
4^^3 SONGS, [1794. 
 
 CALEDONIA. 
 
 Tune— "Caledonian Hunt's Delight. " 
 
 There was once fi day — ^but old Time then was young— 
 
 That brave Caledonia, the chief of her line, 
 From some of your northern deities sprung, 
 
 (Wlio 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 th' encounter shall rue ! " 
 With tillage or pasture at times she would sport, 
 
 To feed her fair flocks by her green rustling corn ; 
 Bat chiefly the woods were her favourite 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 : 
 Eepeated, successive, for many long years, 
 
 They darken'd the air, and they plunder'd the land : 
 Tlieir pounces were murder, and terror their cry, 
 
 They M 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 harpj^ -raven took wing from the north, 
 
 The scourge of the seas, and the dread of tlie shore ! 
 The wild Scandinavian boar issued forth 
 
 To wanton in carnage, and wallow in gore ; 
 O'er countries and kingdoms their fury prevail'd, 
 
 No arts could appease them, no arms could repel ; 
 But brave Caledonia in vain they assaiFd, 
 
 As Largs well can witness, and Loncartie tell. 
 
 Tlie Cameleon-savage disturb'd her repose. 
 
 With tumult, disquiet, rebellion, and strife ; 
 Provoked beyond bearing, at last she arose, 
 
 And robb'd liim 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 learn'd to fear ia his own native wood. 
 
 Thus bold, independent, unconquer'd, and free, 
 Her bright course of glory for ever shall run : 
 
 For brave Caledonia immortal must be ; 
 
 I'll prove it from Euclid as clear as the sun: 
 
/ET. 36.] SONGS. 469 
 
 Kectangle-triangle, the figure we '11 choose, 
 
 The ui)right is Chance, and old Time is the base ; 
 
 But brave Caledonia 's the hypothenuse ; 
 Then, ergo, she '11 match them, and match them always. 
 
 THE FAREWELL. 
 Tune— "It was a' for our rightfu' king." 
 
 It was a' for our rightfu' king 
 We left fair Scotland's strand ; 
 
 It was a' for our rightfu' king 
 We e'er saw Irish land, my dear, 
 We e'er saw Irish land. 
 
 Now a' is done that men can do, 
 
 And a' is done in vain ; 
 My love and native land farewell, 
 
 Eor I maun cross the main, my dear. 
 
 For I maun cross the main. 
 
 He turn'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 frae 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 come, 
 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. 
 
 OH, STEER HER UP. 
 Tune—" Oh, steer her up and haud her gaun." 
 
 Oh, steer ^ her up and haud her gaun — 
 Her mither 's at the mill, jo ; 
 
 And gin she winna tak a man, 
 E'en let her tak her will, jo : 
 
 1 Stir. 
 
470 SONGS, [1794. 
 
 First shore ^ her wi' a kindly kiss, 
 
 And ca' anither gill, jo ; 
 A nd gin she tak the thing amiss, 
 
 E'en let her flyte^ her fill, jo. 
 
 Oh, steer her up, and be na blate,^ 
 
 And gin she tak it ill, jo. 
 Then lea'e the lassie till her fate, 
 
 And time nae langer spill, jo : 
 Ke'er break your heart for ae rebute,* 
 
 But think upon it still, jo ; 
 That gin the lassie winna do't, 
 
 Ye '11 fin' anither will, jo. 
 
 BONNY PEG-A-EAMSAY. 
 
 Tune — "Cauld is the e'enin 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, cauld blaws the e'enin' blast 
 When bitter bites the frost. 
 
 And in the mirk and dreary drift 
 The hills and glens are lost. 
 
 Ne'er sae murky blew the night 
 That drifted o'er the hill, 
 
 But bonny Peg-a-B/amsay 
 Gat gi'ist to her mill. 
 
 HEE BALOU! 
 
 TcNE— " The Highland Balou." 
 
 Concerning this song, Cromek says— "The time when the moss-troopers and 
 cattle-drivers on the Borders began their nightly depredations was the first 
 Michaelmas moon. Cattle-stealing formerly was a mei*e foraging expedition , 
 and it has been remarked that many of the best families in the north cac 
 trace their flesceut from the daring sons of the mountains. The produce (bj 
 way of dowry to a laird's daughter) of a Michaelmas moon is proverbial ; and 
 by the aid of Lochiel's lanthorn (the moon) these exploits were the most 
 desirable things imaginable. In the *Hee Balou' we see one of those heroes 
 in the ci'adle." 
 
 Hee balou ! ^ my sweet wee Donald, 
 Picture o' the great Cianronald ; 
 
 1 Try. 5 Scold. 3 Bashful. 
 
 4 llebuke. ^ a cradle-lullaby phrase used by nurses. 
 
^T. 36.] SONGS. 471 
 
 Brawlie kens our wanton cliief 
 Wha got my young Highland tliief. 
 
 Leeze me on thy bonny craigie, 
 An thou live, thou 'It steal a naigie : 
 Travel the country through and through, 
 And bring hame a Carlisle cow. 
 
 Through the Lawlands, o'er the Border, 
 "Weel, my baby, may thou f urder : ^ 
 Herry-^ the louns o' the laigh countrie, 
 Syne to the Highlands, hame to me. 
 
 HERE 'S HIS HEALTH IN WATER. 
 
 Tune—" The Job of Journey work." 
 
 Although my back be at the wa*, 
 And thougli he be the fautor ; 
 
 Although my back be at the wa', 
 Yet, here 's his health in water ! 
 
 Oil ! wae gae by his wanton sides, 
 Sae braw^lie 's he could flatter ; 
 
 Till for his sake I 'm slighted sair, 
 And dree^ the kintra clatter.^ 
 
 But though my back be at the wa', 
 And though he be the fautor ; 
 
 But though my back be at the wa', 
 Yet, here 's his health in water ! 
 
 AMANG THE TREES, WHERE HUMMING BEES. 
 Tune — " The king of France, he rode a race." 
 
 Amang the trees, where humming bees 
 
 At buds and flowers were hinging, O, 
 Auld Caledon drew out her drone, 
 
 And to her j)ipe was singing, O ; 
 'Twas pibroch, sang, strathspey, or reels. 
 
 She dirl'd them aff fu' clearly, O, 
 When there cam a yell o' foreign squeels. 
 
 That dang her tapsalteerie,^ O. 
 
 Their capon craws, and queer ha ha's, 
 They made our lugs^ grow eerie,'' O ; 
 
 1 Prosper. 2 Plunder. 3 Bear. 4 Country talk. 
 
 6 Topsy-turvy « Ears. 7 Weary. 
 
472 
 
 SONGS, 
 
 The hungry bikei did scrape and pike,^ 
 Till we were wae and weary, ; 
 
 But a royal ghaist,^ wha ance was cased 
 A prisoner aughteen year awa', 
 
 He fired a fiddler in the north 
 That dang them tapsalteerie, 
 
 [1794. 
 
 
 CASSILLIS' BANKS. 
 
 
 
 Tune— Uuknown. 
 
 
 
 Now bank and brae are claithed in green, 
 
 And scatter'd cowslips sweetly spring • 
 By Girvan's fairy-haunted stream 
 
 The birdies flit on wanton wing. 
 To Cassillis' banks, when e'ening fa's, 
 
 There, wi' my Mary, let me flee, 
 There catch her ilka glance of love, 
 
 The bonny blink o' Mary's ee ! 
 
 
 
 The chield wha boasts o* warld's walth 
 
 Is af ten laird o' meikle care ; 
 But Mary, she is a' mine ain— 
 
 Ah ! fortune canna gie me mair ! 
 Tlien let me range by Cassillis' banks, 
 
 Wi' her, the lassie dear to me, 
 And catch her ilka glance o' love. 
 
 The bonny blink o' Mary's ee ! 
 
 
 
 BANNOCKS 0' BARLEY. 
 
 
 
 Tu.NE— " The Killogie." 
 
 
 » 
 
 Baxnocks o' bear-meal, 
 
 Bannocks o' barley ; 
 Here 's to the Highlandman's 
 
 Bannocks o' l)arley ! 
 "VVlia 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 Highlandman'g 
 
 Bannocks o' barley ! 
 
 
 1 Band. 
 
 SPicI* 3 Ghost. 
 
 4 Broil. 
 
fET. 36.] SONGS. 473 
 
 Wha, in his wae-days, 
 
 Were loyal to Charlie ? 
 Wha but the lads wi' 
 
 The bannocks o' barley? 
 
 SAE FAE, AWA\ 
 
 TuNK— "Diilkeith 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 ]\Iaker art. 
 
 That form'd this fair sae far awa', 
 Gie body strength, then I '11 ne'er start 
 
 At this, my Avay, sae far awa'. 
 
 How true is love to pure desert, 
 
 So love to her sae far awa' : 
 And nocht can heal my bosom's sriiarb 
 
 While, oh ! she is sae far awa'. 
 Nane other love, nane other dart, 
 
 I feel but hers, sae far awa' ; 
 But fau'er never touch'd a heart 
 
 Than hers, the fair, sae far awa'. 
 
 HER PLOWING LOCKS. 
 
 Tone— Unknown. 
 
 This small piece is said to have been an extemporaneous effusion on a young 
 lady of great beauty whom the poet met one day on the streets of Mauch« 
 line. It was found among his MSS., and fii'st printed by Cromek. 
 
 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 bonny mou' I 
 Her cheeks a mair celestial hue, 
 A crimson still diviner. 
 
 THE HIGHLAND LADDIE. 
 
 Tune — "If thou 'It play me fair play." 
 
 This song was composed on the basis of some Jacobite verses, entitled, " The 
 Uighlaud Lad and the Lowland Lassie." 
 
474 SOJVGS. [1794. 
 
 Tfte bonniest lad tliat e'er I saw, 
 
 Bonny laddie, Highland laddie, 
 Wore a plaid, and was f u' braw, 
 
 Bonny Highland laddie. 
 On his head a bonnet blue, 
 
 Bonny laddie, Highland laddie ; 
 His royal heart was firm and true, 
 
 Bonny Highland laddie. 
 
 Trumpets sound, and cannons roar, 
 
 Bonny lassie. Lowland lassie ; 
 And a' the hills wi' echoes roar," 
 
 Bonny Lowland lassie. 
 Gloiy, honour, now invite, 
 
 Bonny lassie. Lowland lassie. 
 For freedom and my king to fight. 
 
 Bonny Lowland lassie. 
 
 The sun a backward course shall take. 
 
 Bonny laddie, Highland laddie. 
 Ere aught thy manly courage shake, 
 
 Bonny Highland laddie. 
 Go ! for yoursel procure renown, 
 
 Bonny laddie, Highland laddie ; 
 And for your lawful king his crown. 
 
 Bonny Highland laddie. 
 
 THE LASS THAT MADE THE BED TO ME. 
 
 Tune — "The lass that made the bed to me." 
 
 The poet, in his notes to the Museum, says regarding this song : — " 'The bonny 
 lass that made the bed to me ' was composed on an amour of Charles II., when 
 skulking in the north, about Aberdeen, in the time of the usurpation. He 
 formed une petite affaire with a daughter of the house of Port Letham, who 
 was the lass that made the bed to him ] " 
 
 "When Januar' wind was blawing cauld. 
 
 As to the north I took my way, 
 The mirksome^ night did me enfauld, 
 
 I knew na 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 make a bed for me. 
 
 1 Darksome. 
 
£LT, 36.] SONGS, 475 
 
 She made tlie bed 'baitli 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 souu'. " 
 
 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 off your hands, young man," she says, 
 
 " And dinna sae uncivil be : 
 Gif ye hae ony love for me, 
 
 Oh, wrang na my virginitie ! " 
 
 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 the bed to me. 
 
 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 na 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, 
 AVhile the tear stood twinkling 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 : 
 Blithe and merry may she be, 
 
 The lass that made the bed to me. 
 
 The bonny lass made the bed to me. 
 
 The braw lass made the bed to me ; 
 I '11 ne'er forget, till the day I die, 
 * Pillow. Tiie lass that made the bed to me ! 
 
47 <5 SO2VGS. [1794. 
 
 THE LASS OF ECCLEFECHAN. 
 
 Tune— " Jacky Latin/' 
 
 Gat ye me, oh, gat ye me, 
 
 Oh, gat ye me wi' naething ? 
 Hock and reel, and spimiin' wheel, 
 
 A mickle quarter basin. 
 Bye attour,^ my gutcher^ has 
 
 A heigh house aud a laigh ane, 
 A' forbye my bonny sel. 
 
 The toss of Ecclef echan. 
 
 Oh, haud youi' tongue now, Luckie Lahig, 
 
 Oh, haud your tongue and jauneri*^ 
 I held the gate till you I met, 
 
 Syne I began to wander : 
 I tint^ my whistle and my sang, 
 
 I tint my peace and pleasure ; 
 But your green graff ^ now, Luckie Laing, 
 
 Wad airt<5 me to my treasure. 
 
 THE COOPER O' CUBDIK 
 
 Tune— "Bob at the Bowster." 
 
 The cooper o' Cuddie cam here awa' ; 
 
 He ca'd the girrs'' out owre us a' — 
 And our guidwife has gotten a ca* 
 
 That anger'd the silly guidman, 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,^ O. 
 
 He sought them out, he sought them in, 
 Wi', Deil hae her ! and, Deil hae him ! 
 Bat the body he was sae doited^ and blin'. 
 He wistna where he was gaun, O. 
 
 They cooper'd at e'en, they cooper'd at mom, 
 Till our guidnian has gotten the scorn ; 
 On ilka brow she 's planted a horn. 
 And swears that there they shall stan', O. 
 
 1 Besides. 2 Grandsire. » Complaining. 
 
 * Lost. 6 Grave. '^ Direct. 
 
 » Hoops. 8 Ba.iket. ^ Stupid. 
 
^T. 36.] SONGS, 477 
 
 THE HIGHLAND WIDOWS LAMENT. 
 
 Oh ! I am come to the low countrie, 
 
 Och-on, och-on, ocli-rie ! 
 Without a penny in my purse 
 
 To buy a meal to me. 
 
 It wasna sae in the Highland hills, 
 
 Och-on, och-on, och-rie ! 
 Nae woman in the country wide 
 
 Sao 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 bonny knowes. 
 
 And casting woo' to me. 
 
 I was the happiest of a' the clan, 
 
 Sair, sair may I repine ; 
 For Donald was the brawest man, 
 
 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? 
 
 Eight to the wrang did yield : 
 My Donald and his country fell 
 
 Upon CuUoden field. 
 
 Och-on, O Donald, oh ! 
 
 Och-on, och-on, och-rie ! 
 Nae woman in the warld wide 
 
 Sae wretched now as me. 
 
 THEEE WAS A BONNY LASS. 
 
 Theee was a bonny lass. 
 
 And a bonny, bonny lass, 
 And she lo'ed her bonny laddie dear j 
 
 Till war's loud alarms 
 
 Tore her laddie frae her arms, 
 Wi' mony a sigh and a tear. 
 
47^ SONGS, [1794. 
 
 Over sea, over shore, 
 
 Where the cannons loudly roar, 
 He still was a stranger to fear ; 
 
 And nocht could him quail, 
 
 Or his bosom assail. 
 But the bonny lass he lo'ed sae dear. 
 
 OH, WAT YE WHAT MY MINNIE DID? 
 
 Oh, wat ye what my minnie did. 
 
 My minnie did, my minnie did. 
 Oh, wat ye what my minnie did. 
 
 On Tj'sday 'teen to me, jo? 
 She laid me in a saft bed, 
 
 A saft bed, a saft bed, 
 She laid me in a saft bed. 
 
 And bade guid e'en to me, jo. 
 
 And wat ye what the i)arson did. 
 
 The parson did, the parson did, 
 And wat ye what the parson did, 
 
 A' for a penny fee, jo ? 
 He loosed on me a laug man, 
 
 A mickle man, a Strang man, 
 He loosed on me a lang man, 
 
 That might hae worried me^ jo. 
 
 And I was but a young thing, 
 
 A young thing, a young thing. 
 And I was but a young thing, 
 
 Wi' nane to pity nie, jo. 
 I wat the kiik was in the wyte,^ 
 
 In the wyte, in the wyte. 
 To pit a young thing in a fright, 
 
 And loose a man on me, jo. 
 
 OH, GUID ALE COJMES. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Oh, guid ale comes, and guid ale goes, 
 Guid ale gars'-^ 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 ; 
 
 ne. -' -Makes. 
 
Ail. 3^'] SONGS, 479 
 
 I seird them a' just ane by ane ; 
 Guid ale keeps my heart aboon. 
 
 Guid ale hands me bare and busy, 
 Gars me moop^ wi' the servant hizzie/'* 
 Stand i' the stool when I hae done * 
 Guid ale keeps my heart aboon. 
 
 COMING THROUGH THE BKAES 0' CUPAR. 
 
 Donald Brodie met a lass 
 
 Coming o'er the braes o' Cupar ; 
 Donald, wi' his Highland hand, 
 
 Rifled ilka charm about her. 
 
 CHOEUS. 
 
 Coming o*er the braes o' Cupar, 
 Coming o'er the braes o' Cupar, 
 Highland Donald met a lass, 
 And row'd his Highland plaid about her. 
 
 Weel I wat she was a quean, 
 
 Wad made a body's mouth to water ; 
 
 Our Mess John, wi' his auld gray pow,^ 
 His haly lips wad licket at her. 
 
 Off she started in a fright, 
 
 And through the braes as she could bicker; * 
 But souple Donald quicker flew, 
 
 And in his arms he lock'd her sicker.^ 
 
 GUID E'EN TO YOU, KIJVIMER. 
 TuNK— " We're a' noddin." 
 
 Guid e'en to you, kimmer,^ 
 
 And how do ye do ? 
 Hiccup, quo' kimmer. 
 The better that I 'm fou. 
 
 We 're a' noddin, nid, nid, noddin, 
 We 're a' noddin at our house at hame. 
 
 Kate sits i' the neuk,^ 
 
 Suppin' hen broo ; ^ 
 Deil tak Kate, 
 
 An she be na noddin too ! 
 
 I Romp. 2 Wench. s Head. * Run. 
 
 > ^ure. « Lass, 7 Corner. 8 Broth. 
 
480 
 
 SONCrS, [1794 
 
 How's a' wi* you, kimmer, 
 
 And how do ye fare ? 
 A pint o' the best o 't, 
 
 And twa pints mair. 
 
 How's a' wi' yon, kimmer, 
 
 And how do ye thrive ? 
 How mony bairns hae ye? 
 
 Quo' kimmer, I hae five. 
 
 Are they a' Johnny's ? 
 
 Eh ! atweel, na : 
 Twa o' them were gotten 
 
 When Johnny was awa*. 
 
 Cats like milk, 
 
 And dogs like broo, 
 Lads like lasses weel, 
 And lasses lads too* 
 "We 're a' noddin, nid, nid, noddin, 
 We 're a' noddin at our house at hamc. 
 
 MEa O' THE MILL. 
 
 TrNE — "Jackie Hume's Lament. 
 
 This spconcl version of "Mego' the Milt, (p. 427,) prepare- hj J.jt .not tvr k^e 
 M'^'^eum, was founded on an old ditty, which he altered and amendeo. 
 
 Oh, ken ye what Meg o* the Mill has gotten, 
 And ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten ? 
 A braw new naig^ wi' the tail o' a rottan, 
 And that 's what Meg o' the Mill has ^otten. 
 
 Oh, ken ye what Meg o' the Mill lo'es dearly 
 And ken ye what IVIeg o' the Mill lo'es dearly . 
 A dram o' gnid strunt^ in a morning early, 
 And that 's what Meg o' the Mill lo'es dearly. 
 
 Oh, ken ye how iSleg o the Mill was married, 
 And ken ye how Meg o' the Mill was married ? 
 The priest he was oxter'd, the clerk he was earned, 
 And that 's how Meg o' the Mill wUs married. 
 
 On, ken ye how Meg o* the Mill was bedded. 
 And ken ye how Meg o' the Mill was bedded ? 
 Tlie groom gat sne fou,^ he fell twa-fanld beside it, 
 And that 's how IMeg o' the Mill was bedded. 
 
 1 A riding-horse. 2 Wlrlskj. » Drunk. 
 
//rr. 36.] SOATGS, 
 
 481 
 
 YOU^s^G JAIVHE, PEIDE 01' A' THE PLAIN. 
 
 
 Tune—'* The Caiiin 0' the Glen." 
 
 
 ^ Young Jamie, pride of a' the plain, 
 Sae gallant and sae gay a swain ; 
 Through a' our lasses he did rove, 
 And reign'd resistless king of love : 
 But now, wi' sighs and starting tears, 
 He strays among the woods and briers ; 
 Or in the glens and rocky caves, 
 His sad complaining dowie^ raves : 
 
 
 "I wha sae late did range and rove, 
 And changed with every moon my love, 
 I little thought the time was near 
 Eepentance I should buy sae dear : 
 The slighted maids my torments see, 
 And laugh at a' the pangs I dree ;2 
 While she, my cruel, scornfu' fair, 
 Forbids me e'er to see her mair ! " 
 
 
 COMING THKOUGH THE EYE. 
 
 
 , Tune— ' ' Coming through the rye." 
 
 
 Coming through the rj^e, poor body, 
 
 Coming through the rye, 
 She draiglet^ a' her petticoatie, 
 
 Coming through the rye. 
 
 
 O- Jenny's a* wat, poor body, 
 Jenny's seldom dry; 
 
 She draiglet a' her petticoatie, 
 Coming through the rye. 
 
 
 txin^ a body meet a body 
 Coming through the rye ; 
 
 Gin a body kiss a body- 
 Need a body cry? 
 
 
 •(>in a body meet a body 
 Coming through the glen ; 
 
 Gin a body kiss a body — 
 N eed the warld ken ? 
 
 
 I Sadly. 2 Suffer. 8 Soiie> beipatterctl 
 
 4 If. 
 
482 SONGS. [1795, 
 
 THE CAPwLES OF DYSART. 
 
 T0XE— "Hey, ca' through.". 
 
 Up wi' the carles ^ o' Dysart 
 
 And the lads o' Buckhaven, 
 And the kimniers^ o* Largo, 
 
 And the lasses o* Leven. 
 
 Hey, ca' through, ca'^ through, 
 
 For we hae mickle ado ; 
 Hey, ca' through, ca' through. 
 
 For we hae mickle ado. 
 
 We hae tales to tell, 
 
 And we hae sangs to sing; 
 We hae pennies to spend. 
 
 And we hae i)iiits to bring. 
 
 We '11 live a' our days, 
 
 And them that come behm'. 
 Let them do the like. 
 
 And spend the gear they win. 
 
 IS THERE, FOR HONEST POVERTY. 
 
 Tune — *< For a' that and a' that." 
 
 Of the following song— one of the most striking and characteristic effusions 3f 
 his Muse — he says, evidently in a strain of affected depreciation : — "A great 
 critic on songs says that love and wine are the exclusive themes for song- 
 writing. Tlie following is on neither subject, and is consequently no song; 
 but will be allowed, I think, to be two or three pretty good j>rose thoughts in- 
 vei'ted into rhyme." 
 
 Is there, for honest poverty, 
 
 That hangs his head, and a' that ? 
 The 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 ! 
 
 Wliat though 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 ! 
 For a' that, and a' that. 
 
 Their tinsel show, and a' that ; 
 Tlie honest man, though e'er sae poor, 
 
 Is king o' men for a' that ! 
 
 1 Men. a Women. « Push. 
 
^T. 37.] SONGS. 4^3 
 
 Ye see 3^011 birkie,* ca'd a lord, 
 
 Wha struts, and stares, and a' tliat ; 
 Though 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 king can mak a belted knight, 
 
 A marquis, duke, and a' that ; 
 But an honest man's aboon his might, 
 
 Guid faith he maunna^ 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 comin' yet for a' that, 
 That man to man, the warld o'er, 
 
 Shall brothers be for a' that ! 
 
 O LASSIE, ART THOU SLEEPING YET? 
 
 Tune—" Let me in this ae night." 
 
 This beautiful lyi'ic the poet composed on the model of an older one — the bas« 
 metal of which, as with a magician's touch, he has transmuted into gold. 
 
 O LASSIE, art thou sleeping yet, 
 Or art thou waking, I would wit ? 
 For love has bound me hand and foot, 
 And I would fain be in, jo. 
 
 Oh, let me in this ae night. 
 
 This ae, ae, ae night, 
 For pity's sake this ae night, 
 
 Oh, rise and let me in, jo ! 
 
 Thou hear'st the winter wind and weet, 
 Kae star blinks through the drivmg sleet : 
 Tak pity on my weary feet, 
 
 And shield me frae the rain, jo. 
 
 1 Fool. 2 u ije maunna fa' that" = he must not try that. 
 
 * Primafily, the word signifies a lively, mettlesome young fellow; but here the 
 poet's meaning would be better lendered by the words— a proud, affected person 
 
484 SONGS. [1795. 
 
 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. 
 
 HER ANSWER. 
 
 Oh, tell na me o' wind and rain, 
 Upbraid na me wi' cauld disdain ! 
 Gae back the gate ye cam again, 
 I winna let ye in, jo. 
 
 I tell you now this ae night, 
 
 This ae, ae, ae night ; 
 And ance for a', this ae night, 
 
 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. 
 
 The sweetest flower that deck'd the mead, 
 Now trodden like the vilest weed ; 
 Let simple maid the lesson read, 
 The weird may be her ain, jo. 
 
 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. 
 
 THE HERON ELECTION BALLAD^ 
 
 BALLAD L 
 
 Although the three following ballads make no pretension to anything higher than 
 mere electioneering squibs, dashed ofif in the heat of political excitement to 
 serve certain party purposes, and ought therefore to be judged only by the 
 standard applied to all such ephemeral productions, they are yet in many 
 respects highly characteristic, and worthy of preservation, if for nothing more 
 than the rich vein of biting satire that pervades them. They were written by 
 the poet in support of his friend Mr Heron of Kerroughtree, who contested, 
 in the Whig interest, the election to the Stewartry of Kirkcudbright in 
 February 1795. The Tory, or Government candidate, was a Mr Gordon of 
 Balmaghie, a gentleman of small means and little personal influence, but 
 who was supported by the interest of his uncle, Mr Murray of Bx'oughton, one 
 of the largest landowners in the district, and also by that of the Earl of 
 Galloway. 
 
 Whom will you send to London town, 
 To Parliament, and a' that ? 
 
 1 Sharpest, 
 
ffiT. 37.] SOiVGS. 4S5 
 
 Or wha in a' the country round 
 The best deserves to fa' that ? 
 For a' that, and a' that, 
 Tlirough Galloway and a' that ; 
 Where is the laird or belted knight 
 That best deserves to fa' that ? 
 
 Wha sees Kerroughtree's open yett,^ 
 
 And wha is 't never saw that ? 
 Wha ever wi' Kerrcughtree 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. 
 
 Though wit and worth in either sex, 
 
 St Mary's Isle can shaw that ; 
 Wi' dukes and lords let Selkirk mix, 
 And weel does Selkirk fa' that. 
 For a' that, and a' that, 
 Here 's Heron yet for a' that ! 
 The independent commoner 
 Shall be the man for a' that. 
 
 But why should we to nobles jouk?^ 
 
 And it 's against the law that ; 
 For why, a lord may be a gouk^ 
 Wi' ribbon, star, and a' that. 
 For a' that, and a' thab, 
 Here 's Heron yet for a' that ! 
 A lord may be a lousy loun 
 Wi' ribbon, star, and a' that. 
 
 A beardless boy comes o'er the hills 
 
 Wi' uncle's purse and a' that ; 
 But we '11 hae ane frae 'mang oursels, 
 A man we ken, and a' that. 
 For a' that, and a' that. 
 Here 's Heron yet for a' that ! 
 For we 're not to be bought and sold 
 Like naigs, and novvt,"* and a' that. 
 
 Then let us drink the Stewartry, 
 
 Kerroughtree's laird, and a' that, 
 Our representative to be. 
 
 For weel he 's worthy a' that. 
 For a' that, and a' that. 
 Here 's Heron yet for a' that ! 
 A House of Commons such as he, 
 They would be blest that saAV that. 
 
 J Gate. 2 Bend. 3 Fool. 4 Cattle. 
 
^^(^ SONGS, [1795, 
 
 BALLAD TI. 
 
 Tune — " Fy, let us a' to the bridal." 
 
 Fy, let us a' to Kirkcudbright, 
 
 For there will be bickering there ; 
 For Murray's light horse are to muster, 
 
 And oh, how the heroes will swear ! 
 
 And there will be Murray,^ commander, 
 
 And Gordon, 2 the battle to win ; 
 Like brothers they'll stand by each other, 
 
 Sae knit in alliance and kin. 
 
 And there will be black-nebbit Johnnie ^ 
 
 The tongue o' the trump to them a' ; 
 An he gets na hell for his haddin* 
 
 The deil gets na justice ava' ; 
 
 And there will be Kempleton's birkie,^ 
 
 A boy na sae bhick at the bane, 
 But, as for his tine nabob fortune, 
 
 AV'e'll e'en let the subject alane. 
 
 And 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? 
 
 And there will be Cardoness,^ Esquire, 
 
 Sae mighty in Cardoness' eyes, 
 A wight that will weather damnation. 
 
 For the devil the prey will despise. 
 
 And there will be Kenmure,^ sae generous! 
 
 Whose honour is proof to the storm ; 
 To save them from stark reprobation. 
 
 He lent them his name to tlie firm. 
 
 But we winna mention Redcastle,^ 
 
 The body, e'en let him escape ! 
 He 'd venture the gallows for siller. 
 
 An 'twere na the cost o' the rape. 
 
 1 Murray of Broughton. 2 Gordon of Balmaghie. 
 
 3 Mr John Bushby, a sharp-witted lawyer, for whom the poet had no little 
 aversion. 
 
 * William Bushby of Kempleton, brother of the above, who had made a 
 fortune in India, but which was popularly thought to have originated in some 
 questionable transactions connected with the ruinous alTair of the Ayr Bank- 
 before he went abroad. 
 
 5 Mr Bushby Maitland, son of John, and recently appointed Sheriff of Wigton 
 shii-e. ^ David IMaxwell of Cardone^ss. 
 
 7 Mr Gordon of Kenmure. 8 Mr Lawrie of Redcastle. 
 
4£T. 37.] SOjVGS. 4S7 
 
 And where is our king's lord-lieutenant, 
 
 Sae famed for his gratefu' return ? 
 The billie is getting his questions, 
 
 To say in St Stex^hen's the morn. 
 
 And there will be Douglases ^ doughty, 
 
 New-christening towns far and near ; 
 Abjuring their democrat doings, 
 
 By kissing the of a peer. 
 
 And there will be lads o' the gospel, 
 Muirhead,^ wha's as guid as he 's true ; 
 
 And there will be Buittle's apostle, ^ 
 Wha 's mair o' the black than the blue. 
 
 And there will be folk frae St Mary's, 
 
 A house o' great merit and note, 
 The deil ane but honours them highly,— 
 
 The deil ane will gie them his vote 1 
 
 And there will be wealthy young Kichard,^ 
 Dame Fortune should hing by the neck ; 
 
 Tor prodigal, thriftless, bestowing, 
 His merit had won him respect. 
 
 And there will be rich brother nabobs, 
 Though nabobs, yet men of the first,^ 
 
 And there will be Collieston's^ whiskers, 
 And Q.uintin,7 o' lads not the warst. 
 
 And there will be stamp-office Johnnie,^ 
 
 Tak tent how ye purchase a dram ; 
 And there will be gay Cassencarrie, ^ 
 
 And there will be gleg Colonel Tarn ;8 
 
 And there will be trusty Kerroughtree,^'' 
 
 Whase honour was ever his law, 
 if the virtues were jDack'd in a parcel, 
 
 His worth might be sample for a'. 
 
 And strong and respectfu 's his backing, 
 The maist o' the lairds m' him stand ; 
 
 Kae gipsy-like nominal barons, 
 
 Whase property 's paper, but lands. 
 
 1 Jlessrs Douglas of Carlinwark gave the name of Castle Douglas to a village 
 Which rose in their neighbourhood — now a populous town. 
 
 2 Rev. Mr Muirhead, minister of Urr. 
 
 3 Rev. Greorge Maxwell, minister of Buittle. 
 
 * Richard Oswald of Auchincruive. 5 The Messrs Hannay. 
 
 6 Mr Copland of Collieston. 7 Quintin M'Adam of Craigengillaa, 
 
 8 Mr Jolin Syme, distributor of stamps, Dumfries. 
 
 9 Colonel Groldie of Groldielea. 
 
 10 Mr Heron of Kerroughtree, the Whig candidate. 
 
4S8 ■ SOArcS. [1795. 
 
 And can we forget the auld Major, "^ 
 
 Wlia 11 ne'er be forgot in the Greys, 
 Our flattery we '11 keep for some ither, 
 
 Him only it 's justice to praise. 
 
 And there will be maiden Kilkerran,^ 
 And also Barskimming's guid knight, ^ 
 
 And there will be roaring Bii'twhistle,^ 
 Wha luckily roars in the right. 
 
 And there, frae the Niddisdale border, 
 
 AVill mingle the Maxwells in droves ; 
 Teugh Johnnie,^ stanch Geordie,^ and Walie,^ 
 
 That griens for the fishes and loaves. 
 
 And there will be Logan M'Dow{ill,8 
 
 Sculduddery and he will be there ; 
 And also the wild Scot o' Galloway, 
 
 Sodgering, gunpowder Blair.'* 
 
 Then hey the chaste interest o' Broughton, 
 And hey for the blessings 'twill bring ! 
 
 It may send Balmaghie to the Commons, 
 In Sodom 'twould make him a king ; 
 
 And hey for the sanctified Murray,!^ 
 Our land wha wi' chapeLs has stored ; 
 
 He founder'd his horse amang harlots, 
 But gied the auld naig to the Lord. 
 
 JOHN BUSHBY'S LAMENTATION. 
 
 BALLAD in. 
 
 Mr Heron having gained the election, after a hard and hotly-contested straggle, 
 the poet raised a song of triumph over his discomfited foes, singling out foi 
 special castigation his crafty old opponent, John Bushby, factotum to the EurJ 
 of Galloway. 
 
 TWAS in the seventeen hundred year 
 
 O' Christ, and ninety-five, 
 That year I was the wae'est man 
 
 O' ony man alive. 
 
 1 Major Heron, brother of the above. 
 
 2 Sir Adam Ferguson of Kilkei-ran 
 
 8 Sir William Miller of Barskimming, afterwards a judge, with the title of Lord 
 Glenlee. •* Mr Birtwhistle of Kircudbright. 
 
 6 Mr Maxwell of Terraughty. 6 George Maxwell of Carruchan. 
 
 7 Mr Wellwood Maxwell. 8 Captain M 'Dowall of Logan. 
 
 9 Mr Blair of Dun sky. 
 
 10 IMr Mun-ay of Broughton, who had abandoned his wife, and eloped with 9 
 lady of rank. 
 
/ET. 37.] SONGS. 4^9 
 
 In March, the three-and-twentieth day, 
 
 The sun raise clear and bright ; 
 But oh, I was a waefu' man 
 
 Ere to-fa' o' the night. 
 
 Yerl Galloway lang did rule this land 
 
 Wi' equal right and fame, 
 And thereto was his kinsman join'd, 
 
 The Murray's noble name ! 
 
 Yerl Galloway lang did rule the land, 
 
 Made me the judge o' strife ; 
 But now Yerl Galloway's sceptre 's broke. 
 
 And eke my hangman's knife. 
 
 *Twas by the banks o' bonny Dee, 
 
 Beside Kirkcudbright towers, 
 The Stewart and the Murray there 
 
 Did muster a' their powers. 
 
 The Murray, on the auld gray yaud,^ 
 
 Wi' winged spurs did ride. 
 That auld gray yaud, yea, Nid'sdale rade. 
 
 He staw^ upon Nidside. 
 
 An there had been the yerl himsel, 
 
 Oh, there had been nae play ; 
 But Garlies was to London gane, 
 
 And sae the kye might stray. 
 
 And there was Balmaghie, I ween, 
 
 In the front rank he wad shine ; 
 But Balmaghie had better been 
 
 Drinking Madeira wine. 
 
 Frae the Glenkens came to our aid 
 
 A chief o' doughty deed ; 
 In case that worth should wanted be, 
 
 O' Kenmure we had need. 
 
 And there, sae grave. Squire Cardoness 
 
 Look'd on till a' was done ; 
 Sae in the tower o' Cardoness, 
 
 A hnwlet sits at noon. 
 
 And there led I the Bushbys a* ; 
 
 My gamesome Billy Will, 
 And my son Maitland, wise as brave, 
 
 My footsteps follow'd still. 
 
 The Douglas and the Heron's name, 
 
 We set nought to their score : 
 The Douglas and the Heron's name 
 
 Had felt our weight before. 
 
490 SONGS. [1795. 
 
 But Douglases o* weiglit had we, 
 
 A pair o' trusty lairds, 
 For building cot-houses sae famed. 
 
 And christening kail-yards. 
 
 And by our banners march'd Muirhead, 
 
 And Buittle wasna slack ; 
 Whose haly priesthood nane can stain, 
 
 For wha can dye the black ? 
 
 THE DUMFRIES VOLUNTEERS. 
 
 Tone — " Pusli about the jomm." 
 
 Bums having joined the Dumfries Volunteers when they were formed early in 
 1795, signalised that patriotic event by the com])Osition of the following bal- 
 lad, which afterwards became very popular throughout the district. It was 
 first given to the rublic through the columns of the Dumfries Journal, in 
 May of the same year, and did more, says Cunningham, "to right the mind 
 of the rustic part of the population than all the speeches of Pitt and Duu- 
 das, or the chosen Pive-and-Forty." 
 
 Does haughty Gaul invasion threat? 
 
 Then let the louns beware, sir ; 
 There 's wooden walls upon our seas, 
 
 And volunteers on sliore, sir. 
 The Nith shall rin to Corsincon, 
 
 The Crilf el sink in Solway, 
 Ere we permit a foreign foe 
 
 On British ground to rally ! 
 
 We '11 ne'er permit a foreign foe 
 On British gi'ound to rally. 
 
 Oh, let us not, like snarling ouia, 
 
 In wrangling be divided ; 
 Till, slap ! come in an unco loun. 
 
 And wi' a rung^ decide it. 
 Be Britain still to Britain true, 
 
 Amang oursels united ; 
 For never but by British hands 
 
 Maun British wraugs be righted ! 
 For never, &c. 
 
 The kettle o' the kirk and state, 
 
 Perhaps a clout may fail in 't ; 
 But deil a foreign tinkler loun 
 
 Shall ever ca' a nail in 't. 
 Our fathers' bluid the kettle bought, 
 
 And wha wad dare to spoil it ? 
 By heavens ! the sacrilegious dog 
 
 Shall fuel be to boil it ! 
 
 By heavens, &c. 
 
 1 Cuilgel. 
 
mr, 37.] SONGS. 491 
 
 The wretch that wad a tyrant own, 
 
 And the wretch, his true-sworn brother, 
 Wha would set the mob aboon the throne, 
 
 May they be damn'd together ! 
 Wha 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. 
 
 But while we sing, &c. 
 
 OH, WAT YE WHA'S IN YON TOWN? 
 
 Tune — "I'll aye ca' in by yon town." 
 
 Miss Lucy Johnston, in celebration of whose beauty and accomplishments the 
 poet wrote this song, was the daughter of Wynne Johnston, Esq., of Hilton. 
 Having married Kichard Alexander Oswald of Auchincruive, in the county ot 
 Ayr, the poet first met her while residing with her liusband in the neigh- 
 boui-hood of Dumfries, and in his character, and out of compliment to him, 
 sought to do her honour. All her beauty and accomplishments, however, 
 could not save her from an untimely and lamented death. Having gone to 
 Lisbon in search of health, she died there of consumption a few years after 
 her marriage. 
 
 Now haply do^vn 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 ! 
 
 Oh, wat ye wha 's in yon town, 
 Ye see the e'enin' sun ujion ? 
 
 The fairest dame 's in yon town. 
 That e'enin' sun is shining on. 
 
 How blest ye birds that round her sing. 
 And welcome in the blooming year i 
 
 And doubly welcome be the S2)ring, 
 The season to my Lucy dear. 
 
 The sun blinks blithe on yon town, 
 And on yon bonny 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 I 
 
 My cave wad be a lover's bower, 
 Though raging winter rent the air; 
 
 And she a lovely little flower. 
 
 That I wad tent and shelter there. 
 
492 S0N(7S. [1795. 
 
 Oh, sweet is she in yon town 
 
 The sinking sun 's gane down upon , 
 
 A fairer than 's in yon town 
 His setting beam ne'er shone upon. 
 
 If angry fate is sworn ray 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 ! 
 
 Oh, 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. 
 
 ADDRESS TO THE WOODLARK. 
 
 Tune— "Where '11 bonny Ann lie;" or, " Loch-Eroch Side.'* 
 
 Oh, stay, sweet warbling woodlark, stay, 
 Nor quit for me the trembling spray ; 
 A hapless lover courts thy lay, 
 Thy soothing, fond complaining. 
 
 Again, again that tender part. 
 That I may catch thy melting art ; 
 For surely that wad touch her heart 
 Wha kills me wi' 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 ! 
 
 ON CHLORJS BEING ILL. 
 
 Tune— "Aye wakin', 0." 
 
 rhis and the four following pieces are four of the eleven lyrics for which we are 
 indebted to the beauty and charms of Miss Jeau Lorimei', as mentioned at 
 p. 451. 
 
^.T. 37.] SONGS. 493 
 
 Can I cease to care ? 
 
 Can I cease to languisli, 
 While my darling fair 
 
 Is on the couch of anguish? 
 
 Long, long the night, 
 
 Heavy comes the morrow. 
 While my soul's delight 
 
 Is on her bed of sorrow. 
 
 Every hope is fled, 
 
 Every fear is terror ; 
 Slumber even I dread, 
 
 Every dream is horror. 
 
 Hear me, Powers divine ! 
 
 Oh, in pity hear me ! 
 Take aught else of mine. 
 
 But my Chloris sjDare me ! 
 
 forlor:n-, my love, no comfort near. 
 
 Tune— "Let me in this ae night" 
 
 Forlorn, 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, wert thou, love, but near me ; 
 
 I But near, near, near me ; 
 
 j How kindly thoa wouldst cheer me, 
 i And mingle sighs with mine, love ! 
 
 Around me scowls a wintry sky. 
 That blasts each bud of hope and joy ; 
 And shelter, sliade, nor home have I, 
 Save in those arms of thine, love. 
 
 Cold, alter'd Friendship's cruel part. 
 
 To i)oison iortune's ruthless dart — 
 
 Let me not break thy faithful heart, 
 
 And say that fate is mine, love. 
 
 But dreary though the moments fleet, 
 Oh, let me think we yet shall meet ! 
 That only ray of solace sweet 
 Can oil thy Chloris shine, love. 
 
494 SONGS. [1795. 
 
 FilAGMIJlNT— CHLORIS. 
 
 TuxE— " Caledonian Hunt's Delight." 
 
 "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 ? 
 
 MAEK YONDER POMP. 
 
 Tune— "Deil tak the Wars." 
 
 Ma UK yonder pomp of costly fashion, 
 
 Round the wealthy, titled bride : 
 But when compared with real passion, 
 Poor is all that princely i)ride. 
 
 What are the showy treasures ? 
 
 What are the noisy pleasures ? 
 The 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 J 
 
 Ambition would disown 
 
 The world's imperial crown, 
 
 Even Avarice would deny 
 
 His worshipp'd deity. 
 And feel through every vein Love's raptures roll. 
 
 OH, BONNY WAS YON ROSY BRIER. 
 
 Oh, bonny was yon rosy brer. 
 
 That blooms sae far frae haunt o man ; 
 And bonny she, and ah, how dear ! 
 
 It shaded frae the e'enin' sun. 
 
/ETo 37.1 SOA^GS, 495 
 
 Yon rosebuds in the morning dew, 
 How pure amang the leaves sae green ; 
 
 But purer was the lover's vow 
 
 They witness'd in their shade yestreen. 
 
 All in its rude and prickly bower, 
 
 That crimson rose, how sweet and fak 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. 
 
 CALEDONIA. 
 
 Tune—" Humours of Grlen." 
 
 ' The heroine of this song," says Cunningham, " was Mrs Burns, who so charmed 
 the poet by singing it with taste and feeling, that he declared it to be one oi 
 liiS luckiest lyrics." 
 
 Their groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon. 
 Where bright-beaming summers exalt their perfume ; 
 
 Far dearer to me yon lone glen o' green breckan,^ 
 Wi' the burn stealing under the laug yellow broom ; 
 
 Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers, 
 Where the blue-bell and go wan lurk lowly uuseen ; 
 
 For there, lightly tripping amang the wild flowers, 
 A-listening the linnet, aft wanders my Jean. 
 
 Though rich is the breeze in their gay sunny valleys, 
 
 And cauld Caledonia's blast on the wave ; 
 Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud palnce, 
 
 What are they? — The haimt o' the tyrant and slave I 
 
 The slave's spicy forests, and gold-bubbliug fountains, 
 
 The brave Caledonian views wi' disdain ; 
 He wanders as free as the winds of his mountains, 
 
 Save Love's willing fetters — the chains o' his Jean, 
 
 'TWAS NA HER BONNY BLUE EB. 
 
 Tune — "Laddie, lie near me." 
 
 'TwAS na her bonny blue ee was my ruin ; 
 Fair though she be, that was ne'er my undoing 
 
 1 Fern, 
 
49^ SONGS. [1795 
 
 *Twas the dear smile when naehody 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 though fell Fortune should fate us to sever, 
 Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever. 
 
 Mary, I 'm thine wi' a passion sincerest, 
 And thou hast i)lighted me love o' the dearest ! 
 And thou'rt the angel that never can alter — 
 Sooner the sun in his motion would falter. 
 
 HOW CRUEL ARE THE PARENTS! 
 
 ALTERED FROM AN OLD ENGLISH SONG. 
 TuNB— " John Anderson, my Jo." 
 
 How cruel are the parents 
 
 Who riches only prize, 
 And to the wealthy booby 
 
 Poor woman sacrifice ! 
 Meanwhile the hajjless daugliter 
 
 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 impelling ruin 
 
 A while her pinion tries ; 
 Till of escape despairing, 
 
 No shelter or retreat. 
 She trusts the ruthless falconer. 
 
 And drops beneath his feet ! 
 
 LAST MAY A BRAW WOOER. 
 
 Tune—" The 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, believe me, 
 The deuce gae wi 'm, to believe me ! 
 
 He spak o' the darts in my bonny 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, 
 Tlie Lord forgie me for lying ! 
 
y&T. 37.] SONGS. 497 
 
 A weel-stocked mailen^ — laimsel for the laird — 
 
 And marriage aff-hand, were his proffers : 
 I never loot on that I kenn'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 her! 
 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 tryst o' Dalgarnock, 
 And wha but my fine fickle lover was there ! 
 
 I glower'd^ as I 'd seen a warlock, a warlock, 
 
 I glower'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, 
 
 A.nd 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 shachl't * feet. 
 
 But, heavens ! how he fell a swearin', a swearin', 
 
 But, heavens ! how he fell a swearin' ! 
 
 He begg'd, for guidsake, I wad be his wife, 
 
 Or else I wad kill him wi' sorrow ; 
 Sae e'en to preserve the poor body his life, 
 
 I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morrovr, 
 
 I think I maun wed him to-morrow. 
 
 THIS IS NO MY AIN LASSIE. 
 
 Tdnb — "This is no my ain house.'* 
 
 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. 
 
 Oh, this is no my ain lassie, 
 Fail- tho^ijKJ: the lassie be ; 
 
 Oh, ^ cx;j: Ken I my ain lassie^ 
 Kind love is in her ee. 
 
 ifann. 2 starea. 8 Inquired. * Distorted. 
 
 __ 
 
49^ SONGS. [1705. 
 
 She's bonny, blooming, straight, and tall. 
 And lang has had my heart in thrall j 
 And aye it charms my very sanl, 
 The kind love that 's in her ee. 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 NOW SPRIN-G IIAS CLAD THE GROVE IN GREEN. 
 
 A SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 rLis gong wag written by the poet to soothe the wounded feelings of his friend, 
 Mr Alexander Cunningham, writer to the signet, who, as stated at p. 433, had 
 Buffered, and to all appearance deeply, from the heartless conduct of a jilt. 
 
 Now spring has clad the grove in green. 
 
 And strew'd the lea wi' flowers : 
 The furrow'd, waving com is seen 
 
 Rejoice in fostering showers ; 
 "While ilka thing in nature join 
 
 Their sorrows 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 fountains dry. 
 
 The little floweret's peaceful lot. 
 
 In yonder cliff that gi'ows, 
 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 laverock, warbling, springs, 
 And climbs the early sky, 
 
 1 giy. 2 Quick. 
 
.ET. 37] SONGS, 49^ 
 
 ■Winnowing blithe her dewy wings 
 
 In morning's rosy eye ; 
 As little reckt I sorrow's power, 
 
 Until the flowery snare 
 O' witching love, in luckless hour, 
 
 Made me the thrall o' care. 
 
 Oh, had my fate been Greenland snows, 
 
 Or Afrio's burning zone, 
 Wi' man and nature leagued my foes, 
 
 So Peggy ne'er I 'd known ! 
 The wretch whase doom is, " Hope nae mair,*' 
 
 What tongue his woes can tell ! 
 Within whase bosom, save despair, 
 
 Nae kinder spirits dwell. 
 
 THE DEAN OF FACULTY. 
 
 A BALLAD. 
 
 Tune—" The Dragon of Wantley." 
 
 tn 1795, a season of great national suffering had given rise to a spirit of disccn- 
 tent, which manifested itself in public meetings, mobbings, and other unmis- 
 takable indications of a period of fierce political excitement. Amongst the 
 many gatherings of tlie time, one of the most important was held at Edinburgh, 
 at which the Honourable Henry Erskine, Dean of the i'aculty of Advocates, 
 presided. But the Tory members of the Scottish bar, considering their chief, 
 while thus engaged, as "agitating the giddy and ignorant multitude, and 
 cherishing such humours and dispositions as directly tended to overturn the 
 laws," were mortally offended, and determined at the next election to the 
 deanship to oppose his return. Accordingly, on the 12th of Januaiy 1796, 
 Mr Erskine, although universally popular with all parties, and one of fur 
 ablest men at the Scottish bai*, was rejected by a majority of 123 — 38 only hav 
 ing voted for him— and Mr Dundas of Arniston, then Lord Advocate, elected 
 in his stead. On this subject, therefore, and out of feelings of regard for his 
 old friend and patron, Erskine, the poet composed the following satirical ballad. 
 Tiie "pious Bob" of this piece was the sou of the Lord President Dundas, 
 who took no notice of a certain elegy which the poet had composed and sent 
 to him on his father's death, as mentioned at p. 153. 
 
 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 t for the famous job— 
 
 Who should be Faculty's Dean, sii*. 
 
 This Hal for genius, wit, and lore. 
 Among the lirst was number'd ; 
 
 * The Hon. Heniy Erskine. 
 
 t Robert Dundas, Esq., of Arniston. 
 
500 SONGS. [i79(x 
 
 But pious Bob, 'mid learning's store, 
 
 Commandment tenth remember'd. 
 Yet simple Bob the victory got, 
 
 And won his heart's desire ; 
 Which shows that Heaven can boil the pot, 
 
 Though the devil 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, Boljby'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. 
 
 In your heretic sins may ye live and die, 
 
 Ye heretic eight-and- thirty ! 
 But accept, ye sublime Majority, 
 
 My congratulations hearty. 
 A7it]i your Honours and a certain King, 
 
 In your servants this is striking — 
 The more incapacity they bring. 
 
 The more they 're to your liking. 
 
 HEY FOR A LASS WP A TOCHER. 
 
 Tune — "Balinamona Ora." 
 
 AWA* wi' your witchcraft o' beauty's alarms, 
 The slender bit beauty you grasp in your arms; 
 Oh, gie me the lass that has acres o' charms. 
 Oh, gie me the lass wi' the weel-stockit farms. 
 
 Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher. 
 Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher ; 
 Then hey for a lass Avi' 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 bonny green knowes. 
 Ilk spring they're new deckit wi' bonny white yowes. 
 
^T. 3S.] SONGS. 501 
 
 And e'en when this beauty your bosom has blest ; 
 The brightest o' beauty may Cxoy when possest; 
 But the sweet yellow darlings wi' Geordie imprest, 
 The langer ye hae them the mair they 're carest. 
 
 JESSY. 
 
 Tune—" Here 's a health to them that 's awa'." 
 
 The heroine of this song was Miss Jessy Lewars, a kind-hearted, amiable 
 young creature, whom we have had occasion to mention once or twice ah*eady. 
 Her tender and assiduous attentions to the poet during his last illness, 
 it is well known, greatly soothed his fretted spirit and eased his shattered 
 frame. 
 
 Here 's a health to ane I lo'e dear ! 
 
 Here 's a health to ane I lo'e dear ! 
 Tliou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers meet. 
 
 And soft as their parting tear — Jessy ! 
 
 Although thou maun never be mine. 
 
 Although even hope is denied ; 
 'Tis sweeter for thee despairing 
 
 Than aught in the world beside — Jessy ! 
 
 I mourn through the gay, gaudy day. 
 
 As, hopeless, I muse on thy charms ; 
 But welcome the dream o' sweet slumber, 
 
 For then I am lockt in thy arms — Jessy ! 
 
 I guess by the dear angel smile, 
 
 I guess by the love-rolling ee ; 
 But why urge the tender confession, 
 
 'Gainst Fortune's fell cruel decree ! — Jessy ! 
 
 Here 's a health to ane I lo'e dear ! 
 
 Here 's a health to ane I lo'e dear ! 
 Thou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers meet, 
 
 And soft as their parting tear— Jessy ! 
 
 OH, WEET THOU IN THE CAULD BLAST. 
 
 Tune — " The Lass o' Livingstone.'* 
 
 This fine song is another tribute of the poet's Muse to his ministering angel, Miss 
 Jessy Lewars. According to the lady's statement, as related by Mr Chambers, 
 the poet having called upon her one morning, said, if she would play him 
 any favourite air for which she might wish new words, he would endeavour 
 to produce something that should please her. She accordingly sat down 
 to the piano, and played once or twice the air of an old ditty beginning 
 with the words- 
 
502 SONGS. [1796. 
 
 "The robin cam to the wren's nest, 
 And keekit in, and keekit in ; 
 Oh, weel's me on your auld pow, 
 Wad ye be in, wad ye be in," &c. 
 
 Anil, after a few minutes' abstraction, the poet produced the following beautv 
 ful lines :— 
 
 Oh, wert thou in tlie 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 
 
 Ai'ound thee blaw, around thee blaw, 
 Thy bield^ should be my bosom, 
 
 To share it a', to share it a*. 
 
 Or were I in the wildest waste, 
 
 Sae bleak and bare, sae bleak and bare. 
 The desert were a jiaradise, 
 
 If thou wert there, if thou wert there : 
 Or were I monarch o' the globe, 
 
 "Wi* thee to reign, wi' thee to reign, 
 The brightest jewel in my crown 
 
 Wad be my queen, wad be my queen. 
 
 AN EXCELLENT NEW SONG. 
 
 Tune — "Buy Broom Besoms." 
 
 A dissolution of Parliament having taken place in May of this year, a fresh con- 
 test (see p. 484) took place for the Stewartry of kirkcud))right, Mr Heron 
 being on this occasion opposed by the Hon. Montgomery Stewart, a younger 
 son of the Earl of G-alloway's. And the poet, although prostrate from sicknes.^ 
 and confined to his chamber, once more took up the pen in the cause of his 
 friend Mr Heron, and produced the following satirical ballad against his 
 opponents. A great many years ago, a set of vagrant dealers called Troggers^ 
 used to travel about the country districts of Scotland, disposing of various 
 kinds oi wares, which were known by the general name of Troggin. In the 
 ballad, the poet has imagined a Trogger to be perambulating the countiy, 
 offering r.he characters of the Tory or Galloway party for sale as Troggin. 
 Mr Heron again succeeded in beating his opponents, but not till death had 
 placed the poor poet beyond the reach of all earthly joy or sorrow. 
 
 Wha will buy my troggin, 
 
 Fine election ware ; 
 Broken trade o' Broughton, 
 A' in high rej^air. 
 
 Buy bi-aw trogG:in, 
 
 i'rae the banks o' Dee ; 
 Wha wants troggin 
 Let liim come to me, 
 
 1 Shelter. 
 
^T. 38.] SONGS, 5^3 
 
 There 's a noble eaiTs 
 
 Fame and high, renown,* 
 For an auld san^ — 
 
 It 's thought the guids were stowii. 
 Buy braw troggin, &;c. 
 
 Here 's the worth 0' Broughtonf 
 
 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 — 
 
 Sae was never born.§ 
 
 Buy braw troggin, &c. 
 
 Here's the stuff and lining 
 
 O' Cardoness's head ; H 
 Fine for a sodger, 
 
 A' the wale^ o' lead. 
 
 Buy braw troggin, &c. 
 
 Here 's a little wadset,^ 
 
 Buittle's scrap o' truth,^ 
 Pawn'd in a gin-shop, 
 
 Quenching holy drouth. 
 Buy braw troggin, &c. 
 
 Here 's armorial bearings 
 
 Frae the manse o' Urr ; 
 The crest, an auld crab-applOj** 
 
 Rotten at the core. 
 
 Buy braw troggin, &c. 
 
 Here is Satan's picture, 
 
 Like a bizzard gled,* 
 Pouncing poor Eedcastle,'|*t' 
 
 Sprawlin' like a taed.^ 
 
 Buy braw troggin, &c. 
 
 Here 's the font where Douglaa 
 
 Stane and mortar names ; 
 Lately used at Gaily 
 
 Christening Murray's crimes. 
 Buy braw troggin, &c. 
 
 1 Lost. 2 ciioica 3 Mortgage. 
 
 * Kite. fi Toad. 
 
 ♦ The Earl of Galloway. t Mr Murray of Broughton. 
 
 X Gordon of Balmaghie. § A sneering allusion to Mr Bushby. 
 
 \ Maxwell of Cardoness. 
 
 ^ Rev. George Maxwell, minister of Buittle. 
 
 ** An allusion to the Rev. Dr Muirhead, minister of Urr, in Galloway. 
 
 tt W. S.^Lawrie of Redcastle. 
 
504 SOJVGS. [1796. 
 
 Here 's the wortli and wisdoir 
 
 CoUieston* can boast ; 
 Bj a thievish midge ^ 
 
 They had been nearly lost. 
 Buy braw troggin, &c. 
 
 Here is Murray's fragments 
 
 O' the ten commands ; 
 Gifted Vy black Jock, 
 
 To get them aff his hands, 
 Buy braw troggin, &c. 
 
 Saw ye e'er sic troggin ? 
 If to buy ye 're slack, 
 Homie 's ^ turnin' chapman — 
 He '11 buy a' the pack. 
 Buy braw troggin, 
 
 Frae the banks o' Dee ; 
 "Wha wants troggin 
 Let him come to me. 
 
 FAIREST MAID ON" DEVON BANKS. 
 
 Tune—" Rothemurche." 
 
 In this song — composed during the last months of his life, when prostrate with 
 illness and oppressed with poverty — liis mind wandered to the banks of the 
 Devon, where he had spent some happy days, when in the full flush of fame, 
 in the company of the lovely Charlotte Haniilton mentioned at p. 338. 
 
 Fairest maid on Devon banks, 
 
 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 ! 
 C/Ouldst thou to malice lend an ear ? 
 Oh, did not love exclaim, " Forbear, 
 Nor use a faithful lover so." 
 
 Then come, thou fairest of the fair. 
 Those wonted smiles, oh, let me share ; 
 And by thy beauteous self I swear 
 
 No love but thine my heart shall know. 
 
 1 Gnat. 2 Satan. 
 
 * Copland of Collieston. 
 
ET. 38.] SOjVGS. 505 
 
 OH, THAT I HAD NE'ER BEEN MAREIED. 
 
 The last verse only of this song is Burns's— the first is old. 
 
 Oh, that I had ne'er been married, 
 
 I wad never had nae care ; 
 Now I 've gotten wife and bairns, 
 And they cry crowdie ^ ever mair. 
 Ance crowdie, twice crowdie, 
 
 Three times crowdie in a day, 
 Gin ye crowdie ony mair. 
 Ye 11 crowdie a' my meal away. 
 
 "Waefu' want and. hunger fley^ me, 
 
 Glowering by the hallan en' ; 
 Sair I fecht them at the door. 
 
 But aye I 'm eerie ^ they come ben. 
 
 THE RUINED MAID'S LAMENT. 
 
 These lines first appeared in Hogg and Motherwell's edition of the poet's works 
 
 Oh, meikle do I rue, fause love, 
 
 Oh, sairly do I rue. 
 That e'er I heard your flattering tongue, 
 
 That e'er your face I knew. 
 
 Oh, I hae tint * my rosy cheeks, 
 
 Likewise my waist sae sma' ; 
 And I hae lost my lightsome heart 
 
 That little wist a fa'. 
 
 Now I maun thole ^ the scomfu' sneer 
 
 O' mony 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 ta'en the bed 
 
 Wi' thinkin on my fa'. 
 
 Whene'er I hear my father's foot, 
 
 Mv 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 ! 
 
 1 Gruel. 2 Fright. * Afraid. 
 
 * Lost. * Bear. 
 
SoO SOJVGS, [1796. 
 
 Alas ! that e'er a bonny fa,c« 
 Should draw a sauty tear 1 
 
 But Heaven's curse will bhist the man 
 
 Denies the bairn he got ; 
 Or leaves the painf u' lass he loved 
 
 To wear a ragged coat. 
 
 KATHERINE JAFFRAY. 
 
 This song first appeared in Pickering's edition of the poet's works printed in 
 1833, and is ^jaid to liave been copied irom a manuscript in liis own tiand. 
 
 There lived a lass in yonder dale, 
 
 And down in yonder glen, O ! 
 And Katheiine Jaffi'ay was her name, 
 
 Weel known to many men, O I 
 
 Out came the Lord of Lauderdale, 
 
 Out frae the south countrie, O ! 
 All for to court this pretty maid. 
 
 Her bridegroom for to be, O ! 
 
 He 's tell'd her father and mother baith. 
 
 As I hear sundry say, O ! 
 But he hasna tell'd the lass hersel, 
 
 Till on her wedding day, O ! 
 
 Tlien came the Laird o' Lochinton, 
 
 Out frae the English Border, 
 All for to court this pretty maid, 
 
 All mounted in good order. 
 
 ROBIN SHURE IN HAIRST. 
 
 CHOEUS. 
 
 Robin shure in hairst,^ 
 
 I shure wi' him ; 
 Fient a heuk^ had I, 
 
 Yet I stack by him. 
 
 I gaed up to Dunse, 
 
 To warp a wab o' plaiden; 
 At his daddie's yett,^ 
 
 Wha met me but Robin ? 
 
 I Reaped in harvest. 2 gickle. s Qaio, 
 
«' . 3S.] SONGS, 507 
 
 "Was na Hobin bauld, 
 
 Though I was a cotter ; 
 Play'd me sic a trick, 
 
 And me the eller's dochter ? ^ 
 
 Robin promised me 
 
 A' my winter vittle ; 
 Fient haet^ had he but three 
 
 Goose feathers and a whittle. 
 
 SWEETEST MA.Y. 
 
 Sweetest May, let love inspire thee ; 
 Take a heart which he desires thee ; 
 As thy constant slave regard it ; 
 For its faith and truth reward it. 
 
 Proof o' shot to birth or money, 
 Not the wealthy, but the bonny ; 
 Not high-born, but noble-minded. 
 In love's silken band can bind it ! 
 
 Y^HEN I THINK ON THE HAPPY DAFS. 
 
 When I think on the happy days 
 
 I spent wi' you, my dearie ; 
 And now what lands between us lie, 
 
 How can I be but eerie ! 
 
 How slow ye move, ye heavy hours, 
 
 As ye were wae and weary ! 
 It was na sae ye glinted by 
 
 When I was wi' my dearie. 
 
 HUNTING SONG. 
 
 Tune— "I rede you beware at the huntinj?." 
 
 The heather was blooming, the meadows were mawn, 
 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 bonny moor-hen. 
 
 1 Elder's daughter. - Nu thing. 
 
5o8 SONGS. [1796. 
 
 I rede you howare ab the himting, young men ; 
 I rede you beware at the hunting, young men ; 
 Tak some on the wing, and some as they spring ; 
 But cannilj' steal on a bonny moor-hen. 
 
 Sweet brushing the dew from the brown heather bells, 
 Her colours betray'd her on yon mossy fells ; 
 Her plumage outlustred the pride o' the spring, 
 And oh, as she wanton'd gay on the wing. 
 
 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. 
 
 They hunted the valley, they hunted the hill, 
 The best of our lads wi' the best o' their skill ; 
 But still as tlie fairest she sat in their sight, 
 Then, whiiT ! she was over a mile at a flight. 
 
 OH, AYE MY WIFE SHE DANG ME. 
 
 Tune— "My wife she dang me." 
 
 Oh, aye my wife she dang me, 
 
 And aft my wife did bang me ; 
 If ye gie a woman a' her will, 
 
 Guid faith, she '11 soon o'ergang ye. 
 On peace and rest my mind was bent. 
 
 And fool I was I married ; 
 But never honest man's intent 
 
 As cursedly miscarried. 
 
 Some sairie comfort still at last. 
 
 When a' their days are done, man ; 
 My pains o' hell on earth are past, 
 
 I 'm sure o' bliss aboon, man. 
 Oh, aye my wife she dang me. 
 
 And aft my wife did bang me ; 
 If ye gie a woman a' her will, 
 
 Guid faith, she '11 soon o'ergang ye. 
 
 BROSE AND BUTTER. 
 
 Oh, gie my love brose, brose, 
 Gie my love brose and butter 5 
 
 For nane in Carrick or Kyle 
 Can please a lassie better. 
 
.^T. 3S.] SONGS. ^ 509 
 
 Tlie laverock lo'es the grass, 
 The moor-hen lo'es the heather ; 
 
 But gie me a braw moonlight, 
 Me and my love together. 
 
 OH, WHA IS SHE THAT LO'ES ME? 
 
 TuxE — "IMorag.'* 
 
 Oh, 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 rosebuds steeping ! 
 
 Oh, that 's the lassie o* my heart, 
 
 My lassie ever dearer ; 
 Oh, that 's the queen of womankind. 
 
 And ne'er a ane to peer her. 
 
 If thou shalt meet a lassie. 
 In grace and beauty charming, 
 
 That e'en thy chosen lassie, 
 Erewhile thy breast sae warming, 
 Had ne'er sic powers alarming ; 
 
 If thou hadst heard her talking. 
 
 And thy attentions plighted, 
 That ilka body talking, 
 
 But her by thee is slighted. 
 
 And thou art all delighted ; 
 
 If thou hast met this fair one ; 
 
 When frae her thou hast parted. 
 If every other fair one. 
 
 But her, thou hast deserted. 
 
 And thou art broken-hearted. 
 
 DAMON AND SYLVIA. 
 TuKE— "The tither morn, as I forlorn." 
 
 Yon wandering rill that marks the hill, 
 And glances o'er the "Brae, sir. 
 
 Slides by a bower, where mony a flower 
 Sheds fragrance on the day, sir. 
 
510 SONGS. [1795 
 
 There Damon lay, with Sylvia gay, 
 To love they thought nae crime, sir ; 
 
 The wild-hirds sang, the echoes rang, 
 AVhile Damon's heart beat time, sir. 
 
 SHELAH O'NEIL. 
 
 When firet I began for to sigh and to' woo her. 
 
 Of many fine things I did say a great deal, 
 But, above all the rest, that which pleased her the best 
 
 Was, Oh, will you marry me, Shelah O'Neil ? 
 My point I soon carried, for straight we were married, 
 
 Then the weight of my burden I soon 'gan to feel,— 
 For she scolded, she fisted, oh, then I enlisted. 
 
 Left Ireland, and whisky, and Shelah 0'!N"eU. 
 
 Then, tired and duU-hearted, oh, then I deserted, 
 
 And fled into regions far distant from home ; 
 To Frederick's army, where none e'er could harm me, 
 
 Save Shelah herself, in the shape of a bomb. 
 I fought every battle, where cannons did rattle. 
 
 Felt sharp shot, alas ! and the sharp-pointed steel ; 
 But in all my wars round, thank my stars, I ne'er found 
 
 Aught so sharp as the tongue of cursed Shelah O'JS^eil 
 
 THERE'S NEWS, LASSES, NEWa 
 
 There *s news, lasses, news, 
 
 Guid news I have to tell ; 
 There 's a boatfu' o' lads 
 
 Cone to our town to sell. 
 
 OHOEUS. 
 
 The wean^ wants a cradle. 
 And the cradle wants a cod,'' 
 
 And I '11 no gang to my bed 
 Until I get a nod. 
 
 Father, quo* she, Mither, quo' she. 
 
 Do what you can ; 
 I '11 no gang to my bed 
 
 Till I get a man. 
 
 I hae aa guid a craft rig 
 
 As made o' yird and stane ; 
 And waly fa' the ley-crap. 
 
 For I maun till'd again. 
 
 » Child. « Pillow. 
 
TiiT. 38.] SONGS. SIX 
 
 THERE WAS A WIFE. 
 
 There was a wife wonn'd in Cockjjen, 
 
 Scroggam ; 
 She brew'd guid ale for gentlemen. 
 Sing, auld Cowl, lay you down by me, 
 Scroggam, my dearie, ruffum. 
 
 The guidwife's dochter fell in a fever, 
 
 Scroggam ; 
 The priest o' the parish fell in anither. 
 Sing, auld Cowl, lay you down by me, 
 Scroggam, my dearie, ruff am. 
 
 They laid the twa i' the bed thegither, 
 
 Scroggam ; 
 That the heat o' the tane might cool the tither. 
 Sing, auld Cowl, lay you down by me, 
 Scroge;am, my dearie, ruffum. 
 
INDEX OF FIRST LINES 
 
 OP 
 
 POEMS, EPISTLES, EPIGRAMS, &c. 
 
 Accept the gift a friend sincere 
 
 Admiring Nature in her wildest grace . 
 
 Ae day, as Death, that gruesome carl . 
 
 Again the silent wheels of time 
 
 A guid New- Year I wish thee, Maggie . 
 
 A little, upright, pert, tart, tripping wight 
 
 All devil as I am, a damned wretch 
 
 All hail ! inexorable lord 
 
 Among the heathy hills and ragged woods 
 
 An honest man here lies at rest 
 
 As cauld a wind as ever blew 
 
 As Father Adam first was fool'd 
 
 Ask why Grod made the gem so small . 
 
 As Maillie and her lambs thegither 
 
 As on the banks o' wandering Nith 
 
 As Tarn the Chapman on a day . 
 
 At Brownhill we always get dainty good cheer 
 
 Auld chuckle Reekie's sair distrest 
 
 Auld comrade dear, and brither sinner 
 
 A' ye wha live by sowps o' drink , 
 
 Beauteous rosebud, young and gay, 
 Before I saw Clarinda's face . v . 
 Below thir stanes lie Jamie's banes 
 Bless the Redeemer, Cardoness . 
 Blest be M'Murdo to his latest day I 
 Bright ran thy line, Galloway . 
 
 But rarely seen since nature's birth 
 
 Cense, ye prudes, your envious railing . 
 Clarinda, mistress of my soul . 
 Curse on ungrateful man, that can be pleased 
 Cursed be the man, the poorest wretch in life 
 
 Dear , I'll gie ye some advice 
 
 Dear Peter, dear Peter, ... 
 Dear Smith, the sleest, paukie thief , 
 Dweller ia yon dungeon dark , . 
 
 PAOK 
 
 . 120 
 
 . 146 
 
 . 202 
 
 . 137 
 
 . 75 
 
 . 143 
 
 1 
 
 . 98 
 
 . 149 
 
 . 291 
 
 . 296 
 
 . 293 
 
 . 279 
 
 6 
 
 . 215 
 
 . 292 
 
 . 285 
 
 . 257 
 
 . 262 
 
 . 112 
 
 . 151 
 
 . 155 
 
 . 292 
 
 . 291 
 
 . 280 
 
 . 284 
 
 277 
 154 
 275 
 
 294 
 
 273 
 281 
 244 
 1«1 
 
 2 K 
 
5 J 4 INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 
 
 PAGB 
 
 Earth'd up here lies an imp o' hell . , , , . 288 
 
 Edina ! Scotia's darling seat . . , 
 
 
 
 134 
 
 Expect na, sir, in this narration 
 
 
 
 
 114 
 
 Fair empress of the poet's soul . 
 
 
 
 
 155 
 
 Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face 
 
 
 
 
 138 
 
 Fair maid, you need not take tlie hint . , 
 
 
 
 
 274 
 
 Fair tlie face of orient day 
 
 
 
 
 165 
 
 Farewell, dear friend! may guid luck hit you 
 
 
 
 
 273 
 
 Farewell, old Scotia's bleak domains . 
 
 
 
 
 . lis 
 
 Fate gave the word, the arrow sped 
 
 
 
 
 . 159 
 
 Fill me with the rosy wine 
 
 
 
 
 . 293 
 
 Fintry, my stay in wo-ldly strife 
 
 
 
 
 2G6 
 
 For lords or kings I dinna mourn, 
 
 
 
 
 . 159 
 
 Friday first's the day appointed 
 
 
 
 
 118 
 
 Friend of the poet, tried and leal 
 
 
 
 
 . 217 
 
 From those drear solitudes and frowsy cells . 
 
 
 
 
 206 
 
 Grant me, indulgent Heaven, that I may lire 
 
 
 
 
 . 2S6 
 
 Gude pity me, because I 'm little 
 
 
 
 
 201 
 
 Guid-morniu' to your Majesty . 
 
 
 
 
 101 
 
 Guid speed and fui-der to you, Johnny . 
 
 
 
 
 239 
 
 Hail, Poesie 1 thou nymph reserved ! . 
 
 
 
 
 . 209 
 
 Hail, thairm-inspirin', rattlin' Willie ! . 
 
 
 
 
 . 253 
 
 Has auld Kilmarnock seen the deil 
 
 
 
 
 123 
 
 Ha ! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin' ferlie . 
 
 
 
 
 84 
 
 Health to the Maxwells' veteran chief . 
 
 
 
 
 199 
 
 Heard ye o' the tree C France . 
 
 
 
 
 . 212 
 
 Hear, Land o' Cakes, and brither Scots 
 
 
 
 
 . 172 
 
 He clench'd his pamphlets in his fist . 
 
 
 
 
 275 
 
 Here am 1, Johnny Peep 
 
 
 
 
 . 294 
 
 Here brewer Gabriel's fire's extinct 
 
 
 
 
 2S3 
 
 Here cursmg swearing Burton lies 
 
 
 
 
 . 281 
 
 Here Holy Willie's sair worn clay 
 
 
 
 
 23 
 
 Here lie Willie Michie's banes . 
 
 
 
 
 . 275 
 
 Here lies a mock Marquis, whose titles were shamm' 
 
 [1 
 
 
 
 280 
 
 Here lies a rose, a budding rose 
 
 
 
 
 . 290 
 
 Here lies John Bushby, honest man ! . 
 
 
 
 
 . 2L<7 
 
 Here lies Johnny Pigeon 
 
 
 
 . 272 
 
 Here lies, now a prey to insulting neglect 
 
 
 
 286 
 
 Here lies with Death auld Grizzel Grim 
 
 
 
 281 
 
 Here souter Hood in death does sleep . 
 
 
 
 
 . 292 
 
 Here Stuarts ouce in glory reign'd 
 
 
 
 
 277 
 
 Here's a bottle and an honest friend! . 
 
 
 
 
 299 
 
 Here, where the Scottish Muse immortal live.?, 
 
 
 
 
 211 
 
 He who of Rankine sang lies stiff and dead 
 
 
 
 
 297 
 
 Honest Will's to heaven gane . 
 
 
 
 
 295 
 
 How cold is that bosom which folly once fired 
 
 
 
 
 208 
 
 How daur ye ca' me howlet-faced 
 
 
 
 
 2^5 
 
 How shall i sing Drumlanrig's Grace ? 
 
 
 
 
 180 
 
 How wisdom and folly meet, mix, and unite . 
 
 
 
 
 163 
 
 Humid seal of soft affections . 
 
 
 
 
 205 
 
 T am a keeper of the law 
 
 
 
 
 282 
 
 "I burn, I burn, as when through ripen'd corn 
 
 
 
 
 156 
 
 I call no goddess to inspire my strains 
 
 
 
 
 . 27i 
 
 If ye gae up to yon hill-tap 
 
 
 
 
 2 
 
 If you rattle along like your mistress's tongue 
 
 
 
 
 287 
 
 I gat your letter, winsome Willie . - 
 
 
 
 
 234 
 
 1 hold it. sir, my bound en duty 
 
 
 
 
 248 
 
 I lans hae thought, my youLhfu' friend 
 
 
 ! . 250 
 
INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 
 
 5^5 
 
 El-fated genius ! Heaven-taught Eergusson ! 
 
 I mind it weel, in early date 
 
 I'm three times doubly o'er your debtor 
 
 Inhuman man ! curse on thy barb'rous art 
 
 In Mauchline there dwells six proper young belles 
 
 In politics if thou wouldst mix . 
 
 In se'enteen hunder and forty-nine 
 
 In this strange land, this uncouth clime 
 
 In Torbolton, ye ken, there are proper young 
 
 Innocence looks gaily-smiling on 
 
 Instead of a song, boys, I '11 give you a toast 
 
 In wood and wild, ye warbling throng . 
 
 I sing of a whistle, a whistle of worth , 
 
 Is there a whim inspired fool , 
 
 Kemble, thou cur'st my unbelief 
 Ken ye ought o' Captain Grose ? 
 Kilmarnock wabsters, fidge and claw . 
 Kind sir, I've read your paper through 
 Know thou, stranger to the fame 
 
 Lament him, Mauchline husbands a' . 
 
 Late crippled of an arm, and now a leg 
 
 Let other heroes boast their scars 
 
 Let other poets raise a fracas 
 
 Life ne'er exulted in so rich a prize 
 
 Light lay the earth on Billy's breast 
 
 Lone on the bleaky hills the straying flocks 
 
 Long life, my lord, and health be yours 
 
 Lord, we thank Thee and adore 
 
 Maxwell, if merit here you crave 
 
 My blessings on you, sonsie wife 
 
 My blessin's upon thy sweet wee lippie 
 
 My curse upon thy venom'd stang, 
 
 My honour'd colonel, deep I feel 
 
 My lord, I know your noble ear . 
 
 My loved, my honour'd, much-respected friend 
 
 Nae heathen name shall I prefix 
 
 No more of your guests, be they titled or not, 
 
 No more of your titled acquaintances boast 
 
 No more, ye warblers of the wood, no more ! 
 
 No song nor dance I bring from yon great city 
 
 No Stewart art thou, Galloway . 
 
 Now health forsakes that angel face 
 
 Now Kennedy, if foot or horse . 
 
 Now Nature hangs her mantle green 
 
 Now Robin lies in his last lair . , 
 
 Death, hadst thou but spared his life 
 
 Death ! thou tyrant fell and bloody ! . 
 
 Of all the numerous ills that hurt our pence 
 
 O Goudie ! terror of the Whigs . 
 
 Oh, a' ye pious godly flocks 
 
 Oh, could I give thee India's wealth , 
 
 OhI had each Scot of ancient times 
 
 Oh, had the malt thy strength of mind 
 
 Oh, leave novels, ye Mauchline belles . 
 
 Oh, sweet be thy sleep in the land of the grav 
 
 Old Winter with his frosty beard 
 
 Lord, when hunger pinches sore , 
 
5^6 
 
 INDEX OF FIRST IINES, 
 
 Once fondly loved, and still rcmember'd dear 
 
 One Queen Artemisia, as old stories tell 
 
 Oppress'd with grief, oppress' (^ with care, 
 
 Orthodox, orthodox 
 
 rough, rude, ready-witted Rankine 
 
 O Thou dread Power, who reign'st above 
 
 Thou great Being ! what Thou art 
 
 Thou, in whom we live and move 
 
 O thou pale orb, that silent shines 
 
 Tliou, the first, the greatest friend . 
 
 Thou unknown, Almighty Cause 
 
 Thou, wha in the heavens dost dwell 
 
 thou 1 whatever title suit thee 
 
 Thou, who kindly dost provide 
 
 O thou, whom Poesy abhors I 
 
 O why the deuce should 1 repine 
 
 O ye wha are sae guid yoursel . 
 
 ye whose cheek the tear of pity stains 
 
 Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare . 
 
 Rash mortal, and slanderous poet, thy name 
 Revered defender of beauteous Stuart, 
 Right, sir I your text I '11 prove it true 
 
 Pad bird of night, what sorrows call thee forth 
 
 Sad thy tale, thou idle page 
 
 Say, sages, what 's the charm on earlh 
 
 Searching auld wives' barrels . 
 
 Sensibility, how charming 
 
 Shrewd Willie Smellie to Crochallan came 
 
 Sic a reptile was Wat 
 
 Sing on, sweet thrush, upon the leafless bougli 
 
 Sir, as your mandate did request 
 
 Sir, o'er a gill I gat your card . 
 
 Some books are lies fra end to end 
 
 Some hae meat, and canna eat . 
 
 Spare me thy vengeance, Galloway 
 
 Still anxious to secure your partial favour 
 
 Stop, thief 1 Dame Nature cried to Death 
 
 Streams that glide in orient plains 
 
 Sweet floweret, pledge o' raeikle love . 
 
 Sweet naivete of feature . 
 
 Talk not to me of savages 
 
 That there is falsehood in his looks 
 
 The black-headed eagle . . ■ . 
 
 The devil got notice that Grose was a-dying 
 
 Thee, Caledonia, thy wild heaths among 
 
 The friend whom wild from wisdom's way 
 
 The graybeard, old Wisdom, may boast of his 
 
 The king's most humble servant, I 
 
 The lamp of day, with ill-presaging glare 
 
 The man, in life wherever placed 
 
 The poor man weeps— here Gavin sleeps 
 
 There 's death in the cup — sae bewaye . 
 
 The simple bard, rough at the rustic plough 
 
 The sun had closed the winter day 
 
 The wind blew hollow frae the hills 
 
 The wintry west extends his blast 
 
 Thine be the volumes, Jessy fair 
 
 This day, Time winds the exhausted chain, 
 
INDEX OF FIRST LINES, 5^7 
 
 PAGH 
 
 This wot ye all whom it concerns . . . . . .132 
 
 Thou bed, in which I first began 
 
 
 
 . 181 
 
 Thou flattering mark of friendship kind . , 
 
 
 
 . 136 
 
 Though fickle Fortune has deceived me 
 
 
 
 . 272 
 
 Thou of an independent mind .... 
 
 
 
 . 289 
 
 Thou's welcome, wean ! mishanter fa' me 
 
 
 
 . 136 
 
 Thou, who thy honour as thy God reverest, , 
 
 
 
 . 198 
 
 Thou whom chance may hither lead 
 
 
 
 . 157 
 
 Thou whom chance may hither lead 
 
 
 
 . 157 
 
 Through and through the inspired leaves 
 
 
 
 . 285 
 
 'Tis Friendship's pledge, my young, fair friend 
 
 
 
 . 214 
 
 To Riddel, much-lamented man 
 
 
 
 . 287 
 
 *Twas in that place o' Scotland's isle . 
 
 
 
 . 78 
 
 'Twas where the birch and sounding thong are plied , 
 
 
 
 . 200 
 
 Fpon a simmer Sunday morn . 
 
 
 
 . 106 
 
 Upon that night, when fairies light 
 
 
 
 . 26 
 
 Wae worth thy power, thou cursed leaf 
 
 
 
 . 119 
 
 Was e'er puir poet sae befitted . 
 
 
 
 . 282 
 
 We cam na here to view your warks . 
 
 
 
 . 276 
 
 Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower . 
 
 
 
 . 93 
 
 Wee, sleekit, cowrin', tim'rous beastie . 
 
 
 
 . 24 
 
 What ails ye now, ye lousie bitch 
 
 
 
 . C8 
 
 "What dost thou in that mansion fair? . 
 
 
 
 . 284 
 
 What needs this din about the town o' Lon'on, 
 
 
 
 . 179 
 
 "When biting Boreas, fell. and doure 
 
 
 
 . 61 
 
 When by a generous public's kind acclaim 
 
 
 
 . 139 
 
 When chapman billies leave the street 
 
 
 
 . 187 
 
 When chill November's surly blast 
 
 
 
 . 33 
 
 When Death's dark stream I ferry o'er 
 
 
 
 . 276 
 
 When lyart leaves bestrew the yird 
 
 
 
 . 45 
 
 When Nature her great masterpiece design'd . 
 
 
 
 . 2C0 
 
 While at the stock the shearers cower . 
 
 
 
 . 240 
 
 While briers and woodbines budding green 
 
 
 
 . 21Q 
 
 While Europe's eye is fix'd on mighty things, 
 
 
 
 . 203 
 
 While new-ca'd kye rowte at the stake 
 
 
 
 . 230 
 
 While virgin Spring, by Eden's flood . 
 
 
 
 . 198 
 
 While winds frae aff Ben Lomond blaw 
 
 
 
 . 223 
 
 Whoe'er he be that sojourns here 
 
 
 
 . 278 
 
 Whoe'er thou art, reader, know 
 
 
 
 . 293 
 
 Whoe'er tliou art, these lines now reading 
 
 
 
 . 142 
 
 Whose is that noble, dauntless brow 
 
 
 
 . 137 
 
 Why am I loath to leave this< earthly scene 
 
 
 
 . 10 
 
 Why, ye tenants of the lake 
 
 
 
 . 150 
 
 Wi' braw new branks in mickle pride , 
 
 
 
 . 12] 
 
 With Pegasus upon a day 
 
 
 
 . 162 
 
 Wow, but your letter made me vauntie 
 
 
 
 . 264 
 
 Ye holy walls, that, still sublime 
 
 
 
 . 178 
 
 Ye hypocrites ! are these your pranks ? 
 
 
 
 . 296 
 
 Ye Irish lords, ye knights and squires , 
 
 
 
 . 70 
 
 Ye men of wit and wealth, why all this sneering 
 
 
 
 . 287 
 
 Ye true "Loyal Natives" attend to my song . 
 
 
 
 . 291 
 
 Your news and review, sir, I 've read through and through, sir 
 
 . 160 
 
 If ours this moment I unseal , 
 
 
 . 274 
 
 
 
 
 
INDEX OF FIRST LINES OF SONGS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Adieu I a heart-wnrm, fond adieu I . . , . , . o25 
 
 Adovvn winding Nilh I did wander 
 
 435 
 
 Ac fond kiss, and tlien we sever 
 
 387 
 
 Again rejoicing nature sees 
 
 319 
 
 Ah, Cliloris J since it mayna be 
 
 455 
 
 A Higliliind lad my love was born 
 
 48 
 
 Although my back be at the wa' 
 
 471 
 
 Alth ugh my bed were in yon muir 
 
 309 
 
 Amang the trees, where humming bees ..... 471 
 
 Ance mair I hail thee, thou gloomy December I . . . . S88 
 
 And oh for ane-and-twenty, Tam I ..... . o99 
 
 And oh ! my Eppie ........ 378 
 
 Anna, thy charms my bosom fire ...... 447 
 
 A rosebud by my early walk ....... 336 
 
 As I came in by our gate end . . . . . . .411 
 
 As I gaed down the water-side ....... 382 
 
 As I stood by yon roofless tower ...... 442 
 
 As I was a-waudering ae midsummer e'ening .... 41 ti 
 
 As I was a-wandering ae morning in spring ..... 4G5 
 
 As I was walking up the street ...... 448 
 
 A' the lads C Thorniebank 334 
 
 Awa' wi' your witchcraft o' beauty's alarms ..... 500 
 
 Bannocks o' bear-meal ........ 472 
 
 Behind yon hills, where Lugar flows ...... 301 
 
 Behold the hour, the boat arrive ...... 389 
 
 Blithe, blithe, and merry was she ...... 334 
 
 Blithe hae I been on yon hill . . . . . . .429 
 
 Bonny lassie, will ye go . . . . . . . . 332 
 
 Bonny wee thing, cannie wee thing ...... 386 
 
 Braw, braw lads of Gala Water . . . . . . .352 
 
 But lately seen in gladsome green ...... 465 
 
 By Allan stream I chanced to rove ...... 434 
 
 By yon castle wa', at the close of the day . . • . . 384 
 
 Can I cease to care ? . . . . . . . .493 
 
 Ca' the yowes to the knowes ....... 450 
 
 Cauld is the e'enin' blast ....... 470 
 
 Come boat me o'er, come row me o'er ...... 357 
 
 Come, let me take thee to my breast . . . r . . 436 
 
 Come rede me, dame, come tell me, danie ..... 377 
 
 Coming through the rye, poor body ...... 481 
 
 Contented wi' little, and cantie wi' mair . . . . .460 
 
 Could aught of song declare my pains ...... 445 
 
INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 
 
 Sf9 
 
 
 PAGB 
 
 Deluded swain, the pleasure ....•- 
 
 . 439 
 
 Dire was the hate at old Ilarlaw .... 
 
 . 4<>9 
 
 Does haughty Gaul invasion threat ? . . . • 
 
 . 490 
 
 Donald Brodie met a lass . . , , 
 
 . 479 
 
 Duncan Gray cam here to woo ..... 
 
 . 410 
 
 Fairest maid on Devon banks ..... 
 
 . 504 
 
 Farewell, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies 
 
 . 381 
 
 Fareweel to a' our Scottish fame .... 
 
 . 421 
 
 Farewell, thou stream that winding flows 
 
 . 458 
 
 Farewell, ye dungeons dark and strong 
 
 . 339 
 
 First when Maggy was my care . . , . 
 
 . 381 
 
 Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes 
 
 . 321 
 
 Forlorn, my love, no comiort near .... 
 
 . 493 
 
 Frae the fiiends and land I love .... 
 
 . 394 
 
 From thee, Eliza, I must go . 
 
 . 323 
 
 Fy, let us a' to Kirkcudbright ..... 
 
 ; 486 
 
 Gane is the day, and mirk 's the night « 
 
 ,. 380 
 
 Gat ye me, oh, gat ye me 
 
 . 476 
 
 Go fetch to me a pint o' wine .... 
 
 . 350 
 
 Green grow the rashes, ! , . . . 
 
 . 312 
 
 Guid e'en to you, kimmer ..... 
 
 . 479 
 
 Had I a cave on some wild, distant shore 
 
 . 433 
 
 Had I the wyte, had I the wyte .... 
 
 . 467 
 
 Hee balou ! my sweet wee Donald .... 
 
 . 4T0 
 
 Her daddie forbad, her minnie forbad . 
 
 . 352 
 
 Here around the ingle bleezing .... 
 
 . 413 
 
 Here awa', there awa', wandering Willie 
 
 . 391 
 
 Here is the glen, and here the bower .... 
 
 . 449 
 
 Here's a health to ane I lo'e lear .... 
 
 . 501 
 
 Here's a health to them that's awa' .... 
 
 . 421 
 
 Her flowing locks, the raven's wing .... 
 
 . 473 
 
 Here 's to thy health, my bonny lass .... 
 
 . 445 
 
 Hey, the dusty miller . . 
 
 . 353 
 
 How can my poor heart be glad .... 
 
 . 449 
 
 How cruel are the parents ..... 
 
 . 496 
 
 How long and dreary is the night .... 
 
 . 456 
 
 How pleasant the banks of the clear-winding Devon 
 
 . 338 
 
 Husband, husband, cease your strife .... 
 
 . 439 
 
 I am a bard of no regard ..... 
 
 . 52 
 
 I am a son of Mars, who have been in many wars 
 
 . 46 
 
 I am my mammy's ae bairn ..... 
 
 . 359 
 
 I bought my wife a Stan e o' lint .... 
 
 . 417 
 
 I coft a stane o' haslock woo ...... 
 
 . 463 
 
 I do confess thou art sae fair ..... 
 
 . 397 
 
 I dream'd I lay where flowers were springing 
 
 . 301 
 
 I gaed a waefu' gate yestreen ..... 
 
 . J-^i5 
 
 I hae a wife o' my ain ...... 
 
 . 3^9 
 
 I '11 aye ca' in by yon town ..... 
 
 . 465 
 
 I '11 kiss thee yet, yet ...... 
 
 . 343 
 
 I married with a scolding wife ..... 
 
 . 335 
 
 I once was maid, though I cannot tell when . 
 
 . 47 
 
 In coming by the brig o' Dye ..... 
 
 . 353 
 
 In simmer, when the hay was mawn .... 
 
 . 401 
 
 I see a form, I see a face ..... 
 
 . 497 
 
 Is there, for honest poverty ..... 
 
 . 482 
 
 Is this thy plighted, fond reward . . . , 
 
 . 462 
 
 It is na, Jean, thy bonny face ..... 
 
 . 382 
 
 It was a' for our rightfu' king .... 
 
 . 469 
 
5 2 o INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 
 
 WGK 
 
 It was in sweet Senegal that my foes did me enthral .... 417 
 
 It was the charming month of May- 
 
 
 
 . 457 
 
 It was upon a Lammas night . 
 
 
 
 
 . SIO 
 
 Jamie, come try me . . . 
 
 
 
 
 . 379 
 
 Jenny M'Craw, she has ta'en to the heather 
 
 
 
 
 . 464 
 
 Jockey's ta'en the parting kiss 
 
 
 
 
 . 447 
 
 John Anderson, my jo, John 
 
 
 
 
 . 369 
 
 Landlady, count the lawin 
 
 
 
 
 . 356 
 
 Lass, when your mither is frae hame . 
 
 
 
 
 . 348 
 
 Last May a braw wooer cam down the lang gle 
 
 u 
 
 
 
 . 496 
 
 Let me ryke up to dight that tear 
 
 
 
 
 . 49 
 
 Let not woman e'er complain . 
 
 
 
 
 . 457 
 
 Loud blaw the frosty breezes 
 
 
 
 
 . 341 
 
 Louis, what reck I by thee 
 
 
 
 
 . 443 
 
 Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion 
 
 
 
 
 . 494 
 
 Musing on tlie roaring ocean 
 
 
 
 
 . 342 
 
 My bonny lass, I work in brass 
 
 
 
 
 . 50 
 
 My Chloris, mark how green the groves 
 
 
 
 
 . 453 
 
 My father was a farmer . 
 
 
 
 
 . 306 
 
 My Harry was a gallant gay 
 
 
 
 
 . 368 
 
 My heart is a-breaking, dear tittie 
 
 
 
 
 . 373 
 
 My heart is sair— I dare na tell — 
 
 
 
 
 . 443 
 
 Jty heart is wae, and unco wae 
 
 
 
 
 . 333 
 
 l\Iy heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not 
 
 here 
 
 
 
 . 372 
 
 ^ly heart was ance as blithe and free . 
 
 
 
 
 . 351 
 
 My lady's gown, tliere 's gairs upon 't . 
 
 
 
 
 . 446 
 
 My love she 's but a lassie yet . 
 
 
 
 
 . 3S2 
 
 My Peggy's face, my Peggy's form 
 
 
 
 
 . 338 
 
 Nae gentle dames, though e'er sae fair 
 
 
 
 
 . 322 
 
 No churclimau am I for to rail and to wi-ite 
 
 
 
 
 . 313 
 
 Now bank and brae are claithed in green 
 
 
 
 
 . 472 
 
 Now haply down yon gay green shaw . 
 
 
 
 
 . 491 
 
 Now in her green mantle blithe nature arrays 
 
 
 
 
 . 390 
 
 Now nature deeds the flowery lea 
 
 
 
 
 . 458 
 
 Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers 
 
 
 
 
 . 4C6 
 
 Now spring has clad the grove in green 
 
 
 
 
 . 498 
 
 Now westlin winds and slaught'ring guns 
 
 
 
 
 . 311 
 
 O'er the mist-shrouded cliffs of the lone mountain straying 
 
 
 . 320 
 
 Of a' the airts the wind can blaw 
 
 
 . 344 
 
 Oh, aye my wife she dang me . 
 
 
 
 
 . 608 
 
 Oh, bonny was yon rosy brier . 
 
 
 
 
 . 494 
 
 Oh, cam ye here the fight to shun 
 
 
 
 
 . 370 
 
 Oh, can ye labour lea, young man . 
 
 
 
 
 . 381 
 
 Oh, gie my love brose, brose 
 
 
 
 
 . 508 
 
 O'p, guid ale comes, and guid ale goes . 
 
 
 
 
 . 478 
 
 Oh, how can I be blithe and glad 
 
 
 
 
 . 396 
 
 Oh, how shall I, unskilfu' try . 
 
 
 
 
 . 385 
 
 Oh ! I am come to the low countrie 
 
 
 
 
 . 477 
 
 Oh, Kenmure 's on and awa', Willie 
 
 
 
 
 . 419 
 
 Oh, ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten ? . 
 
 
 
 
 . 427 
 
 Oh, keu ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten 
 
 
 
 
 . 480 
 
 Oil, Lady Mary Ann .... 
 
 
 
 . 418 
 
 Oh, lay thy loof in mine, lass 
 
 
 
 . 448 
 
 Oh leeze me on my spinning-wheel 
 
 
 
 . 399 
 
 Oh, luve will venture in , 
 
 
 , , 
 
 . 403 
 
 Oh, meikle do I rue, fause love 
 
 , , 
 
 . 605 
 
 Oh. meikle thinks my luve o' my beauty 
 
 . 
 
 . 395 
 
INDEX OF FIRST LINES, 5 2 1 
 
 PJIGB 
 
 Oti, meny hae I been teethin' a heckle . . . . .377 
 
 Oh, mirk, mirk is this midnight hour . 
 
 
 
 . 424 
 
 Oh, mount and go . . . • 
 
 
 
 . 377 
 
 Oh, my luve's like a red, red rose 
 
 
 
 , 441 
 
 Oh, once I loved a bonny lass . 
 
 
 
 . 300 
 
 Oh, open the door, some pity to show • 
 
 
 
 . 425 
 
 Oh, poortith cauld and restless love 
 
 
 
 . 422 
 
 Oh, sad and heavy should I part 
 
 
 
 . 473 
 
 Oh, saw ye bonny Lesley 
 
 
 
 . 392 
 
 Oh, saw ye my dearie, my Eppie M'Nab 
 
 
 
 . 414 
 
 Oh, saw ye my dear, my Phely ? 
 
 
 
 . 455 
 
 Oh, stay, sweet warbling woodlark, stay 
 
 
 
 . 492 
 
 Oh, steer her up and baud her gaun — . 
 
 
 
 . 469 
 
 Oh that I had ne'er been married 
 
 
 
 . 505 
 
 Oh, wat ye what my minnie did 
 
 
 
 . 478 
 
 Oh, were I on Parnassus' hill . 
 
 
 
 . 345 
 
 Oh, were my love yon lilac fair . 
 
 
 
 . 440 
 
 Oh, wert thou in the cauld blast 
 
 
 
 . 502 
 
 Oh, wha is she that lo'es me . 
 
 
 
 . 509 
 
 Oh, wha my babie-clouts will buy,? 
 
 
 
 . 318 
 
 Oh, whare did ye get that hauver-meal bannock f 
 
 
 
 . 335 
 
 Oh, whare live ye, my bonny lass ? 
 
 
 
 . 420 
 
 Oh, wha will to Saint Stephen's house . 
 
 
 
 . 846 
 
 Oh, wliistle, and I'll come to you, my lad 
 
 
 
 . 434 
 
 Oh, whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad 
 
 
 
 . 340 
 
 Oh, Willie brew'd a peck 0' maut 
 
 
 
 . 3C0 
 
 Oh, wile thou go wi' me, sweet Tibbie Dunbar ? 
 
 
 
 . 367 
 
 lassie, art thou sleeping yet ? 
 
 
 
 . 483 
 
 Logan, sweetly didst thou glide 
 
 
 
 . 450 
 
 Mary, at thy window be . . . 
 
 
 
 . 310 
 
 May, thy morn was ne'er sae sweet . . 
 
 
 
 . 389 
 
 lovely Polly Stewart .... 
 
 
 
 . 444 
 
 On a bank of flowers, in a summer day 
 
 
 
 . 371 
 
 On Cessnock banks there lives a lass . 
 
 
 
 . 304 
 
 One night as I did wander 
 
 
 
 . 314 
 
 Philly, happy be that day . 
 
 
 
 . 459 
 
 raging Fortune's withering blast 
 
 
 
 . 316 
 
 rattlin', roarin' Willie 
 
 
 
 . 357 
 
 Tibbie, I hae seen the day . 
 
 
 
 . 302 
 
 Our thrissles flourish'd fresh and fair . 
 
 
 
 . 376 
 
 Out over the Forth I look to the north . 
 
 
 
 . 442 
 
 Powers celestial ! whose protection . , 
 
 
 
 . 323 
 
 Raving winds around her blowing • , 
 
 
 
 . 342 
 
 Robin shure in hairst . . , , 
 
 
 
 . 606 
 
 Sae flaxen were her ringlets . . , 
 
 
 
 . 452 
 
 Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled 
 
 
 
 . 437 
 
 See ! the smoking bowl before us 
 
 
 
 . 63 
 
 She is a winsome wee thing .... 
 
 
 
 . 407 
 
 She 's fair and fause that causes my smart , 
 
 
 
 . 406 
 
 Should auld acquaintance be forgot 
 
 
 
 . 350 
 
 Simmer's a pleasant time 
 
 
 
 . 384 
 
 Sir Wisdom's a fool when he's fou . . , 
 
 
 
 . 47 
 
 Sleep'st thou, or wakest thou, fairest creature ? 
 
 
 
 . 453 
 
 Stay, my charmer, can you leave me . 
 
 
 
 . 340 
 
 Sweet closes the evening on Craigie-burn Wood 
 
 
 
 . SD3 
 
 Sweetest May, let love inspire thee 
 
 
 
 . 50T 
 
 The bairns gat out wi' an nnco shout . 
 
 
 
 , 412 
 
 The blude-red rose at Yule may blaw . 
 
 
 
 . 356 
 
52 2 INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 
 
 PAUB 
 
 The bonniest lad that e'er I saw ...... aV4 
 
 The Catrine woods were yellow seen 
 
 
 
 0X6 
 
 The cooper o' Cuddie cam here awa' 
 
 
 
 47G 
 
 The day returns, my bosom burns 
 
 
 
 . 348 
 
 The deil cam fiddling through the town 
 
 
 
 3j1 
 
 The gloomy night is gathering fast 
 
 
 
 328 
 
 The heatiier was blooming, the meadows were mawn 
 
 
 
 607 
 
 Their groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon 
 
 
 
 49.5 
 
 The laddies by the banks o' Nith 
 
 
 
 . 302 
 
 The last braw bridal that I was at . . . 
 
 
 
 404 
 
 The last time I came o'er the moor 
 
 
 
 4:29 
 
 The lazy mist hangs from the brow of the hill 
 
 
 
 . 349 
 
 The lovely lass of Inverness .... 
 
 
 
 441 
 
 The noble Maxwells and their powers . 
 
 
 
 400 
 
 The ploughman he's a bonny lad 
 
 
 
 . 355 
 
 There came a piper out o' Fife .... 
 
 
 
 404 
 
 There lived a carle in Kellyburn braes 
 
 
 
 414 
 
 There lived a lass in yonder dale 
 
 
 
 506 
 
 There's auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen 
 
 
 
 409 
 
 Tliere 's a youth in this city .... 
 
 
 
 375 
 
 There 's braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes 
 
 
 
 4-_'3 
 
 There's news, lasses, news .... 
 
 
 
 510 
 
 There was a bonny lass ..... 
 
 
 
 477 
 
 There was a lad was born in Kyle 
 
 
 
 315 
 
 There was a lass, and she was fair 
 
 
 
 4;l 
 
 There was a lass, they ca'd her Meg 
 
 
 
 320 
 
 There was a wife wonn'd in Cockpen . 
 
 
 
 511 
 
 There was once a day— but old Time then was young- 
 
 
 4 
 
 468 
 
 There were five carlines in the south . 
 
 
 
 363 
 
 There were three kings into the east . 
 
 
 
 308 
 
 The small birds rejoice in the green leaves returning 
 
 
 
 344 
 
 The smiling Spring comes in rejoicing 
 
 
 
 405 
 
 The sun he is sunk in the west 
 
 
 
 3i!6 
 
 The tailor fell through the bed, thimbles and a' 
 
 
 
 374 
 
 The Thames flows proudly to the sea . 
 
 
 
 373 
 
 The tither morn ...... 
 
 
 
 411 
 
 The winter it is past, and the summer's come at last 
 
 
 
 359 
 
 Thickest night, o'erhang my dwelling! 
 
 
 
 341 
 
 Thine am I, my faithful fair .... 
 
 
 
 307 
 
 Though cruel fate should bijj us part . 
 
 
 
 314 
 
 Though women's minds, like winter winds 
 Tlion hast left me ever, Jamie! 
 
 
 
 381 
 
 
 
 438 
 
 Thou ling'ring star, with less'ning ray 
 
 
 
 361 
 
 Tis Friendship's pledge, my young, fair friend 
 
 
 
 454 
 
 True-hearted was he, the sad swain o' the Yarrow 
 
 
 
 425 
 
 Turn again, thou fair Eliza .... 
 
 
 
 402 
 
 Twas even— the dewy fields were green 
 
 
 
 327 
 
 'Twas in the seventeen hundred year . 
 
 
 
 4S8 
 
 'Twas ua her bonny blue ee was my ruin 
 
 
 
 494 
 
 TTp in the morning's no for me 
 
 
 
 358 
 
 Up wi' the carles o' Dysart .... 
 
 
 
 482 
 
 "Wae iP my heart, and the tear's in my ee 
 
 
 
 415 
 
 Weary fa' you, Duncan Gray .... 
 
 
 
 354 
 
 Wee Willie Gray, and his leather wallet 
 
 
 
 379 
 
 Wha is that at my bower-door t . 
 
 
 
 463 
 
 Whare hae ye been sae braw, lad? 
 
 
 
 ScO 
 
 What can a young lassie, what shall a young lassie . 
 
 
 
 395 
 
 What will I do gin my lioggie die ? . 
 
 
 
 358 
 
 Wlien clouds in skies do come together 
 
 
 
 313 
 
 V/iiti will buy my troggin .... 
 
 . &UJ 
 
INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 5 23 
 
 PAGE 
 
 When first I began for to sijrh and to woo her .... 510 
 
 When first I came to Stewart Kyle 
 
 
 . 316 
 
 When first I saw fair Jeanie's face 
 
 
 
 . 366 
 
 When first my brave Johnnie lad 
 
 
 
 . 411 
 
 When Guildford good our pilot stood . 
 
 
 
 . 330 
 
 When I think on the happy days 
 
 
 
 . 607 
 
 When Januai-* wind was blawing cauld 
 
 
 
 . 474 
 
 When o'er the hill the eastern star 
 
 
 
 . 407 
 
 When rosy May comes in wi' flowers . 
 
 
 
 . 368 
 
 When wild war's deadly blast was blawn 
 
 
 
 . 426 
 
 Where are the joys I have met in the mornng 
 
 
 
 . 438 
 
 Where, braving angry Winter s storms 
 
 
 
 . 337 
 
 Where Cart rins rowin' to the sea 
 
 
 
 . 406 
 
 While larks with little wing 
 
 
 
 . 432 
 
 Whom will you send to London town . 
 
 
 
 . 484 
 
 Why, why tell thy lover 
 
 
 
 . 494 
 
 Willie Was Je dwalt on Tweed . 
 
 
 
 . 404 
 
 Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary 
 
 
 
 . 323 
 
 Wilt thou be my dearie ? . . . 
 
 
 
 . 444 
 
 Ye banks, and braes, and streams around 
 
 
 
 . 408 
 
 Ye banks and braes 0' bonny Doon 
 
 
 
 . 404 
 
 Ye flowery banks of bonny Doon 
 
 
 
 . 329 
 
 Ye gallants bright, I rede ye right 
 
 
 
 . 36G 
 
 Ye hae lien a' wrang, lassie .... 
 
 
 
 . 37.5 
 
 Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear, give an ear 
 
 
 
 . 41G 
 
 Ye sons of old Killie, assembled by Willie 
 
 
 
 . 325 
 
 Yestreen I had a pint 0' wine . 
 
 
 
 . 466 
 
 yon wandering rill that marks the hill 
 
 
 
 . 509 
 
 STon wild mossy mountains sae lofty and wid? 
 
 
 
 . 398 
 
 Young Jamie, pride of a' the plain 
 
 
 
 . 481 
 
 Young Jockey was the blithest lad 
 
 
 
 . 378 
 
 Young Peggy blooms our bonniest lass 
 
 
 
 . 317 
 
 1 ou 're welcome to despots, Dumoui-ier 
 
 
 
 . 428 
 
 THE END. 
 
A SELECTION FROM CATALOGUE 
 
 OF 
 PUBLISHED Br 
 
 WILLIAM P. HMMO, EDINBUR&H. 
 
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 [^Continued on next page 
 
$00 ks pttblts^e^ hig WiUlxnm ^. ^hnrno. 
 
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 WORKS OF THE POETS, 
 
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 HOLY WAE. 
 
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8 gookf irttbUfl^tb bg iSiUiam |p, |l[hittnoi« 
 
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 [^Continued on next jxj^e. 
 
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§aoU (tnblis^tb bg SStlliam f^. JSmmo. 13 
 
 NIMMO'S 
 
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