8 8 3 

 
 'liO'BXJ^ iB'HlRi^
 
 - 
 
 CRITIQUE 
 
 ON THE 
 
 POEMS 
 
 OF 
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 
 
 f 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY ENGRAVINGS. 
 
 EDINBURGH: 
 
 Printed by John Brown, 
 
 FOR BELT. & BRADFUTE, EDINBURGH, W. ANDERSON, STIRLING, 
 AND THOMAS HAMILTON, LONDON. 
 
 1812.
 
 "PR 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 Xp the following remarks on the Poems of Burns 
 tend in any degree to point out their beauties 
 and their defects to the great body of those 
 readers who admire or censure them without 
 knowing why, they will answer the only purpose 
 for which they are offered to the public. To the 
 poetical reader of highly cultivated taste they 
 are not offered ; and therefore nothing like phi- 
 losophical criticism has been here attempted. If 
 the country gentleman, the farmer, the artisan, and 
 all those who have moved in the same sphere with 
 the poet, shall be led to look into themselves for 
 the truth of those pictures which he has painted 
 in such vivid colours, the object of this publica- 
 tion will be completely answered. It is proper 
 
 191 * iyr>
 
 IV 
 
 to add, that the arrangement which has been 
 here followed is that in which the poems are 
 printed in the edition published by the trustees 
 of the late James Morison, bookseller in Perth ; 
 though the remarks may be equally acceptable 
 and equally useful to those who are possessed of 
 the other editions. The philosophical critic and 
 the man of taste are again requested to observe, 
 that no attempt is here made to instruct them; 
 and that the sole object of the present publication 
 is to enable men of less cultivated minds to 
 instruct themselves, by the aid of engravings, 
 illustrative of the poetry.
 
 Directions to the Binder for placing the Plates. 
 
 Frontispiece opposite the Title. 
 
 The Twa Dogs to face - page 7 
 
 Scotch Drink - 12 
 
 The Author's Earnest Cry and Prayer 14 
 
 Holy Fair - ' - - - - 19 **• 
 
 Death and Doctor Hornbook - i - 21 
 
 The Vision - 31 
 
 Halloween - - - 35 
 
 Auld Farmer's Salutation - 36 
 
 Winter Night 39 
 
 Despondency - 43 
 
 -<=?-Cotter's Saturday Night - - 47 
 
 -—•Epistle to Lapraik - - - - 53 - ss 
 
 Friars-Carse Hermitage - 56 
 
 Lament of Mary Queen of Scots 57 
 
 Lament for James Earl of Glencairn - 58 
 
 Grose's Peregrinations - - - 61 
 
 Tam o' Shanter - - - 62 — 
 The Whistle, Chevalier's Lament, Strathallan*s 
 
 Lament, John Anderson my Jo 66 
 
 Lammas Night, Willie brew'd a Peck o' Maut 67
 
 CRITIQUE 
 
 OS 
 
 THE POEMS OF BURNS. 
 
 Among modern poets, it would be difficult to 
 mention one who has displayed greater originality 
 of genius than Burns, the Ayrshire Ploughman. 
 The range of his thoughts was not indeed very 
 extensive, rior were the subjects on which he 
 wrote greatly varied ; for as the most powerful 
 genius cannot create one simple idea,- but must 
 content itself with making different combinations 
 of those which are treasured up in the memory, 
 an illiterate bard, who has not stored his mind 
 by travel and attentive observation, has compa- 
 ratively but a small number of materials on which 
 to work. Such a bard, however, may possess, in 
 the highest degree, the talents essential to his art. 
 
 A
 
 The province of poetry is to describe, in vivid 
 colours, nature and passion ; and the most illi- 
 terate man, of a vigorous mind, may describe 
 with accuracy such scenes of nature as he has 
 seen, and such passions as he has experienced 
 either in himself or in others ; but he must do 
 more than this to be entitled to the honour of a 
 poet. In genuine poetry, there is something ana- 
 logous to creation, or at least to the reduction of 
 chaos into form. To describe only individual 
 scenes, is to write natural history rather than 
 poetry. The poet must be able to analyse the 
 ideas of individual scenes into their constituent 
 parts ; to combine these parts into new forms — 
 possible, however, in themselves, and analogous 
 to what he has actually witnessed ; and to exhibit, 
 in a striking point of view, the effects of the va- 
 rious passions — not only such effects as he has 
 known to flow from them, but all such effects as 
 they are .naturally capable of producing. 
 
 All this may be done by an illiterate poet who 
 has never travelled, as well as by him who has 
 had the benefit of a liberal education, and made 
 the tour of Europe : but it is obvious that the 
 range of the former must be much more limited 
 than the range of the latter. His descriptions, 
 however, if not so varied, may be more vivid ; for 
 the learned poet is too apt to intermix what he
 
 3 
 
 has read or heard With what lie has seen ; and 
 the copy of a copy can never produce the same 
 powerful effect with a faithful painting from 
 nature. 
 
 Had Burns attempted to paint the face of a 
 country quite different from any that he had ever 
 seen, or to describe the manners of courtiers, he 
 would certainly have failed ; or had he possessed, 
 on the other hand, the advantages of a liberal 
 education, it may be doubted whether his language 
 would have been so perfectly adapted to the de- 
 scription of those scenes, with which alone he 
 was thoroughly acquainted. But, by selecting all 
 his 'subjects from low life as it actually presented 
 itself to his own eyes, and Writing in the very 
 language which is spoken by the heroes and he- 
 roines of his poems, his powerful imagination has 
 produced an effect, on the mind of every man of 
 taste to whom his language is intelligible, similar 
 to that which his latest biographer, and one of 
 the most judicious of his critics*, has declared 
 that the first perusal of his poems produced on 
 him. 
 
 " Before finishing a page," says this modest 
 though able writer, " I experienced emotions of 
 
 * See Burns's Poems, published (1811) by the trustees of 
 the late James Morison, and sold by Bell and Brndfute, 
 Edinburgh, and Anderson, Stirling. 
 
 A3 
 
 /
 
 4< 
 
 surprise and delight, of which I had never been 
 conscious before. The language which I had 
 then begun to despise, as fit for nothing but col- 
 loquial vulgarity, seemed to be transformed, by 
 the sorcery of genius, into the genuine language 
 of poetry. It expressed every idea with a brevity 
 and force, and bent itself to every subject with a 
 pliancy, in which the most perfect languages too 
 "*— soften fail. In this dialect I found the characters 
 and customs of those by whom it is employed, 
 their sentiments, their virtues, their passions, 
 their follies, and the scenes in which they act, 
 pourtrayed with a strength of resemblance, and 
 with so masterly a selection of those strokes on 
 which resemblance depends, as made the original 
 draw life and interest from the picture. Every 
 line awakened a train of associations ; every 
 phrase struck a note which led the mind to per- 
 form the accompaniment. The whole abounded 
 with conceptions that were new, yet natural ; 
 and with images which had all the distinctness 
 and illumination of realities. In general cha- 
 racter, the description gave it the clearness and 
 precision of individuality, while individuals were 
 at once perceived, even by strangers to the objects 
 represented, to be offsets from the great root of 
 human nature. On every page the stamp of 
 genius was impressed. All was touched by a
 
 hand of that astonishing dexterity, as to seem 
 only performing- its easiest and most habitual 
 functions, when accomplishing what every other 
 would attempt in vain." 
 
 Although this critic, being a native of the 
 same district of country with the poet, must have 
 perceived, in the description of rural scenes that 
 were familiar to him, beauties which a stranger 
 cannot observe ; yet, from attention to the parti- 
 cular object of each poem, every man of taste 
 must be convinced of the justness of his general 
 criticism. Every man of taste feels a kind of 
 intuitive conviction, that the various scenes are 
 described with accuracy, and that each actor 
 exhibited on the stage performs the part that is 
 natural to him. 
 
 Burns, like many other poets, has delivered his 
 sentiments of men and manners occasionally in 
 fables or apologues ; a species of composition of 
 very high antiquity, and well adapted for the 
 purpose of conveying unwelcome truths to the 
 ears of greatness, under the despotic governments 
 of the East, where the apologue appears to have 
 been invented. The expediency of exhibiting 
 beings irrational and inanimate, in this age and 
 country, speaking and acting with human interests 
 and passions, does not indeed seem very evident ; 
 but there must be some charm in such composi-
 
 h 
 
 tions, for which reason cannot easily account ; 
 since fables, when written with liveliness, are 
 universally popular. That in liveliness the fables 
 of Burns have no cause to shrink from a compa- 
 rison with those of any one of his predecessors, 
 will, by the reader of taste, be readily granted. 
 
 In his whole collection of poems, there are but 
 three justly entitled to the appellation of apo- 
 logues : these are, The Twa Dogs, The Brigs 
 of Ayr, and The Humble Petition of Bruar 
 Water. The fable of The Twa Dogs stands, in 
 most editions, as the, first of his poems, though it 
 was not the first that was written and circulated 
 among his friends ; and it has certainly all the 
 excellencies of that species of fabie with which it 
 must be classed. The two dogs are made to 
 speak and reason like two men, and to enter each 
 into the interests of their respective masters. 
 Ccesar, the gentleman's dog, and the scholar, is 
 exhibited as expressing his surprise how such 
 dogs as Luath, the ploughman's collie, can con- 
 trive to live — how indeed such men as his master 
 can contrive to live ! He then gives a description 
 of the feasting and profusion which prevail daily 
 in the house of his own master, and which de- 
 scend from the table of " the gentry" to the hall 
 of the servants, where even " the whipper-in," of 
 whom this rational dog talks with great con-
 
 *Jfl£TJ5 1'*WJ&. DO'Jj 
 
 BOW Til V. V
 
 tempt, eats a better dinner than any farmer on 
 his Honour's land. 
 
 Luath, in reply, admits that ploughmen and 
 cotters live very poorly ; but, after giving a livery 
 picture of their various distresses, he observes, 
 that, though he cannot account for it, they are 
 generally contented. 
 
 Caesar, who possesses all the feelings of a bene- 
 volent landlord, then animadverts on the neglect 
 which the lower orders of the peasantry expe- 
 rience from those whom he calls " the gentry ;" 
 and adds, with the feelings of the poet himself 
 
 s 
 
 '* I've noticM, on our laird's court-day, 
 An' raony a time my heart's been wae, 
 Poor tenant bodies, scant o' cash, 
 How they maun thole a factor's snash : 
 He'll stamp an' threaten, curse an 1 swear, 
 Hell apprehend them, poind their gear ; 
 While they maun stand wi' aspect humble, 
 An' hear it a', an 1 fear an" tremble." 
 
 Burns had himself probably felt what he calls 
 the snash of a factor or land-steward ; and, from 
 his own feelings, he has painted a scene which 
 every reader seems to behold. 
 
 Luath returns to the defence of his associates 
 (for he speaks as if he were a tenant body himself), 
 contending, that they are not so wretched as his
 
 friend supposes ; and he gives very sufficient proofs 
 that they enjoy much happiness at little expense. 
 He admits, however, that there is likewise much 
 misery among the poor, which he attributes to 
 the rascally factors or land-stewards, who labour 
 to ingratiate themselves with their masters by 
 racking the rents of their lands, to enable them 
 to procure seats in parliament for the good of 
 Britain. 
 
 This observation gives the poet an opportunity 
 of making Ca?sar expatiate on the venality of the 
 house of commons, and on the dissipation and 
 extravagance of the members ; to which Luath 
 replies, 
 
 " Hech man ! dear Sirs ! is that the gate 
 They waste sae mony a braw estate ? 
 Are we sae foughten an 1 harass'd 
 For gear to gang that gate at last ?"" 
 
 Burns was not, when he wrote this poem, so 
 entangled in factious politics as his latest bio- 
 grapher represents him to have been afterwards. 
 His two dogs, therefore, quit that thorny laby- 
 rinth very quickly, and return to their discussion 
 of the comparative happiness of the rich and the 
 poor ; which, by sound arguments, they prove to 
 be more nearly balanced than perhaps either the 
 poor or the rich generally suppose. To Luath,
 
 who, like many in the lower orders of society, 
 expresses his opjnion that the life of the great 
 must be a life of pleasure, Caesar replies, 
 
 " L — d man ! were ye but whyles whare I am, 
 The gentles ye wad ne'er envy 'em. 11 
 
 It may be objected to the classing of The Brigs 
 of Ayr among legitimate apologues, that they are 
 the spirits which preside over the bridges, and not 
 the bridges themselves, which carry on the dia- 
 logue ; and that this poem more nearly resembles 
 a fairy tale than one of the fables of Phaedrus. 
 
 The spirits indeed are made to perch each on 
 the bridge under his own immediate protection, 
 and to commence the angry dialogue ; but we 
 instantly lose sight of the spirits, which are not 
 indeed purely spiritual, and consider the brigs 
 themselves as animated, and railing at each other. 
 
 In this altercation, as one of his critics justly 
 observes, " we take part with the venerable and 
 insulted ancient, as with the reduced but dignified 
 representative of an honourable ancestry ; while 
 we scorn and resent the petulance of its rival, as 
 of the disgusting triumph of upstart ostentation 
 and prosperous vulgarity." This, however, we 
 could not do, did our imagination rest on the 
 spirits as the speakers : it is the Gothic archi-
 
 JO 
 
 tecture of the Auld Brig that interests us, and 
 makes the poem a perfect apologue, at least until 
 the railers are silenced by a new race of spirits. 
 But whether a legitimate apologue or not, this 
 fable has not surely equal merit with the Twa 
 Dogs. 
 
 If an apologue be properly defined by Johnson, 
 The Humble Petition of Bruar Water has an un- 
 questionable claim to that appellation. " A fable 
 or apologue," says that great critic*, " seems to 
 be, in its genuine state, a narrative, in which 
 beings irrational, and sometimes inanimate (ar- 
 bores hquuntur, noil tantmn ferce), are, for the 
 purpose of moral instruction, feigned to act and 
 speak with human interests and passions." 
 
 To this description the Petition of Bruar Water 
 certainly conforms. It contains a narrative, in 
 which the stream addresses the Duke of Athol 
 with human passion, excited by the want of trees 
 and shrubbery to shade it from the scorching heat 
 of the summer's sun. There is not indeed much 
 moral instruction in this narrative ; but if there 
 be morality in preventing the inferior animals 
 from suffering unnecessary pain, there is a little 
 moral instruction conveyed in the following 
 stanza. 
 
 * In his life of Gay.
 
 11 
 
 The lightly-jumping, glowrin troutt, 
 
 That througti my waters play, 
 If in their random wanton spouts 
 
 They near the margin stray ; 
 If, hapless chance ! they linger lang, 
 
 I'm scorching up so shallow, 
 They're left the whitening stanes amang, 
 
 In gasping death to wallow." 
 
 Burns was ever ready to employ all the powers 
 of his genius in painting the joys of intoxication. 
 His two poems, entitled, Scotch Drink, and The 
 Author's Earnest Cry and Prayer to the Scotch 
 Representatives in the House of Commons, are both 
 on this unworthy subject ; but though we con- 
 demn the tendency of these verses, it is impossible 
 not to admire the vivid and well defined colours 
 of the painting displayed in them. Nor are they 
 Bacchanalian scenes only which are described in 
 these poems. In the former, we have a very 
 pleasing picture of the contentment with which 
 the peasant feeds on bread and beer. The fa- 
 vourite liquor of Burns, when these poems were 
 written, appears to have been whisky or ale ; for 
 he had not then been introduced into the gay, 
 and to him ruinous, scenes of Edinburgh ; and 
 therefore, celebrating the virtues of his Scotch 
 drink, he says,
 
 Y2 
 
 " Thou cleai*s the head o' doited lear ; 
 Thou cheers the heart o' drooping care ; 
 Thou strings the nerves o' labour sair, 
 
 At's weary toil ; 
 Thou even brightens dark despair 
 
 Wi' gloomy smile. 
 
 " Aft, clad in massy siller weed, 
 Wi' gentles thou erects thy head ; 
 Yet humbly kind, in time o' need, 
 
 The poor man's wine, 
 His wee drap parritch, or his bread, 
 
 Thou kitchens fine." 
 
 In this poem ale or beer seems to share his 
 favour equally with whisky ; but in his " Earnest 
 Cry and Prayer," whisky is described as the 
 sumtnum bonum, not of himself only, but of his 
 countrymen in general. It was written on the 
 occasion of some restrictions which had been laid 
 on the Scotch distilleries, and addressed to the 
 Scottish members in the house of commons ; to 
 whom the poet says, 
 
 " Arouse, my boys ! exert your mettle 
 To get auld Scotland back her kettle, 
 Or, faith ! I'll wad my new pleugh-pettle, 
 
 Ye'll see't or lang, 
 She*ll teach you, wi' a reekin whittle, 
 
 Anither sang.
 
 jCQ^CLEI IDI&3ISf3L, 
 
 IRAP FARKITC M . OK HIS ISMKAl) 
 
 THOC MTCBENS FINK
 
 IS 
 
 " An', L — d, if ance they pit her till't. 
 Her tartan petticoat she'll kilt, 
 An' durk an' pistol at her belt, 
 
 She'll tak the streets, 
 An' rin her whittle to the hilt 
 
 I' the first she meets !" 
 
 Having pursued this strain through many 
 stanzas, and concluded his " Earnest Cry and 
 Prayer," he seems to have recollected that he had 
 in fact libelled his countrymen, by representing 
 them as ready to rise in rebellion for whisky. To 
 do away this impression from the minds of his 
 readers, he adds to the prayer a postscript, in 
 which the hardihood, loyalty, and courage of the 
 Scotch, are duly praised, but attributed, at the 
 same time, to the virtues of his favourite liquor. 
 After describing the cowardice and effeminacy of 
 those who drink wine, and live under " warmer- 
 skies," he adds, 
 
 " But bring a Scotsman frae his hill, 
 Clap in his cheek a Highland gill, 
 Say, such is royal George's will, 
 
 An' there's the foe ; 
 He has nae thought but how to kill 
 Twa at a blow. 
 
 " Nae cauld, faint-hearted doubtings tease him . 
 Death comes ! — \vi' fearless eve he sees him.
 
 14. 
 
 Wi' bluidy hand a welcome gi'es him ; 
 
 An' when he fa's, 
 His latest draught o' breathing lea'es him 
 
 In faint huzzas." 
 
 This is such painting as hath seldom been sur- 
 passed, unless by Burns himself in some of his 
 other poems. By him, however, it has been sur- 
 passed in The Holy Fair, Halloween, and The 
 Cotter's Saturday Night, which, though poems of 
 very different kinds, all exhibit the manners of 
 rural life in that part of Scotland where Burns 
 was born, and passed his earliest and best days. 
 
 In The Holy Fair, as has been well observed, 
 the first stanza contains one of the finest descrip- 
 tions of a summer morning that is to be found in 
 any language. It is, however, in describing man- 
 ners that, even in this poem, Burns chiefly dis- 
 plays his superiority over other bards : but to 
 enable the English reader to feel the force and 
 enjoy the beauty of those descriptions, it will be 
 necessary to explain to him what is meant by a 
 holy fair. 
 
 It is universally known, that in Scotland the 
 sacrament of the Lord's supper is, in country 
 parishes, seldom celebrated above once in the 
 year ; and that, as no festivals are kept in the 
 church of Scotland, the summer is chosen for the
 
 15 
 
 season of that celebration. The sacrament is 
 never celebrated in contiguous churches on the 
 same day ; for, to add solemnity to that ordi- 
 nance, it is deemed of importance to have five or 
 six clergymen collected at the celebration, and 
 sermons preached by them all to the immense 
 concourse of people who flock tog-ether from the 
 neighbouring parishes. The sacrament is admi- 
 nistered in the church, where a sermon is preached 
 before the administration commences, by the mi- 
 nister of the parish, generally on the doctrine of 
 redemption, or on the import of that rite which 
 was instituted in remembrance of it, and in which 
 they are so soon to be engaged. The church, 
 however, would not probably contain one third 
 of the people who assemble on the occasion ; and 
 therefore, in the church-yard, or some other con- 
 tiguous and convenient place, is erected a kind of 
 tent, from which the several ministers, in rotation, 
 preach to the promiscuous crowd seated on the- 
 grass around them. 
 
 At the period when this practice was first 
 introduced, it may have been productive of good 
 effects ; but in this age of levity and lukewarm- 
 ness, it is not easy to figure to one's self any 
 consequence that can result from it which is not 
 evil. Multitudes are drawn together from great- 
 distances, for the sake, as they pretend, of being
 
 16 
 
 edified by a variety of excellent sermons : but 
 that this is a mere pretence, is evident from the 
 very name of Holy Fair given to those assemblies 
 by such as most regularly frequent them. The 
 practice, which is discountenanced by the most 
 enlightened clergymen of the present day, is 
 now much less prevalent than it was, even when 
 Burns wrote this poem ; and it is probable, that 
 in less than twenty years hence there will be 
 nothing in Scotland at all resembling the Holy 
 Fair described by him. Would the clergy agree, 
 as in all other churches, and as was proposed 
 many years ago by one of the greatest ornaments 
 of their body*, to administer the sacrament on 
 the same day in every church in the kingdom, 
 there would indeed be much less preaching than 
 at present on such occasions, but there would 
 likewise be much less indecency : the people 
 would gradually " learn not to think of men 
 above that which is written, nor to be puffed up 
 for one against another ;" whilst they would soon 
 discover, that to hear sermons is not the most 
 important purpose for which they are enjoined 
 " not to forsake the assembling of themselves 
 together" on any Lord's day, but more especially 
 when the sacrament of the Lord's supper is 
 dispensed. 
 
 * The late Dr Erskine of Edipburgh.
 
 17 
 
 That Burns was incited to write his Holy Fair 
 by a wish to promote so salutary a reformation as 
 this, is not very probable ; but the picture which 
 he paints of hypocrisy, drunkenness, and obscenity, 
 prevalent at such meetings, though perhaps over- 
 charged, has certainly some resemblance to what 
 he must have witnessed at them : and if so, it 
 ought to put an end to holy fairs in every church. 
 We are, however, concerned at present only with 
 the powers of poetry displayed on this subject ; 
 and we are persuaded that the following descrip- 
 tion is so perfectly just, as to bring before the 
 mind's eye of every man who understands the 
 language the very scene described. After an 
 exquisite account of the bustle and confusion 
 occasioned by such a heterogeneous collection of 
 persons, some really pious, some hypocrites, and 
 others blackguards — of prostitutes, and rural lovers 
 of a more virtuous character — all met at one place 
 for such a variety of purposes ; he thus introduces 
 to his readers the preacher who took the lead on 
 the occasion. 
 
 " Now a' the congregation o'er 
 Is silent expectation, 
 For ****** speels the holy door, 
 
 Wi' tidings o' d-mn-t-n. 
 Should Hornie, as in ancient days_, 
 'Mang sons o' G — present him, 
 B
 
 18 
 
 The very sight o' ******'s face 
 To's ain het hame had sent him 
 
 Wi' fright that day 
 
 44 Hear how he clears the points o' faith 
 Wi 1 rattlin an 1 thumpin f 
 Now meekly calm — now wild in wrath, 
 
 He's stampin an' he's jumpin ! 
 His lengthen'd chin, his turn'd-up snout. 
 
 His eldritch* sque,el an' gestures, 
 O how they fire the heart devout, 
 Like cantharidian plasters, 
 
 On sic a day !" 
 
 Whoever has witnessed the extravagant action 
 of any celebrated field preacher, will confess that 
 this picture, though richly coloured, is not over- 
 charged. But a different picture succeeds it. 
 The real judges of orthodoxy are driven, by some 
 preacher of morals in an English style, from the 
 environs of the tent to the ale-house ! 
 
 (i Now butt an' ben the change-house fills 
 Wi' yill-caup -f- commentators ; 
 Here's crying out for bakes \ an' gills, 
 An' there the pint-stoup clatters ; 
 
 * Ghastly, frightful. f Vessels holding ale. 
 
 % A kind of biscuits.
 
 21 DLL\r IS'iliriii. 
 
 II E LAD S 
 O M I N D IW 
 
 SES, 1M. V Til 1". I.V 
 TL AN 1) BODY, 
 
 LT K.OUN1J THE TAR1.E , WKK 1. CONTK 
 S 1> STF.KH ABOUT THE TODDY.
 
 
 19 
 
 While thick an' thrang, an' loud an' lang, 
 
 Wi' logic an' wi' scripture, 
 They raise a din, that, in the end, 
 
 Is like to breed a rupture 
 
 O' wrath that day. 
 
 " Leeze me on drink ! it gi'es us mair 
 Than either school or college ; 
 It kindles wit, it waukens lair, 
 
 It pangs us foil o' knowledge. 
 Be't whisky gill, or penny wheep, 
 
 Or ony stronger potion, 
 It never fails, on drinking deep, 
 To kittle up our notion 
 
 By night or day. 
 
 " The lads an' lasses, blythely bent 
 To mind baith saul an' body, 
 Sit round the table, weel content, 
 
 An' steer about the toddy. 
 On this ane's dress, an 1 that ane's leuk, 
 
 They're making observations ; 
 While some are cozie i 1 the neuk, 
 An' forming assignations 
 
 To meet some day." 
 
 If this painting be as correct as it is vivid, the 
 concluding stanza of the poem is most natural, 
 
 " How mony hearts this day converts 
 O' sinners an' o' lasses ! 
 B 2
 
 20 
 
 Their hearts o' stane gin night are gane 
 
 As saft as ony flesh is. 
 There's some are fou o' love divine ; 
 
 There's some are fou o 1 brandy ; 
 An' mony jobs that day begin, 
 
 May end in houghmagandie * 
 
 Some ither day." 
 
 It is observed by a very judicious critic f, that 
 Burns " was scarcely excelled by Lucian himself 
 in that species of humour which is produced by 
 debasing objects of the most serious and solemn 
 magnitude to the level of easy and indifferent 
 familiarity. In the verses on Dr Hornbook, where 
 the poet relates his interview and social chat with 
 Death, whose bony figure is drawn with equal 
 drollery and correctness, how is the scythe of that 
 dreaded Being stript of its terrors, when it serves 
 only to suggest this homely and neighbourly 
 address — 
 
 6 Guid e'en t'ye, friend ! hae ye been mawin, 
 When ither folk are busy sawin ?' 
 
 " Nor is the familiarity less, when Death, like 
 
 * Either fornication or public penance for having committed 
 that sin. 
 
 -|- See the Poems, in two volumes, printed for the Trustees 
 of James Morison, Bell and Bradfute, and Anderson.
 
 X) IS ATI! A'iTD DOC'i'OS "i[ UlIiltflB Q QIK.
 
 21 
 
 tbe starved apothecary, pleads his poverty, as an 
 excuse for following an unpopular calling : 
 
 * Folk maun do something for their bread, 
 An' sae maun Death." 
 
 This is perfectly just ; and to these instances 
 of Burns's success in bringing down the most 
 awful objects to the level of even ludicrous fami- 
 liarity, may be added another from the same poem. 
 Death, after complaining of the ignorant quack 
 Dr Hornbook, for encroaching on his province, 
 and killing, by his poisonous nostrums, those who 
 ought to have fallen by his scythe or dart, thus 
 addresses the poet, in the true gossip mode of 
 communicating a secret : 
 
 " But, hark ! I'll tell you of a plot, 
 Thd dinna ye be speaking o't ; 
 Fll nail the self-conceited sot 
 
 As dead's a herrin ; 
 Neist time we meet, I'll wad a groat, 
 
 He gets his fairin." 
 
 The critic, who has been already so often 
 quoted, justly observes, that " this poem has all 
 the excellence of which its description admits ; 
 and that though humour be its ground-work, it is 
 occasionally streaked with a vein of sublimity ; as
 
 22 
 
 in the expression, * It spak howe,' and in th© 
 incident which puts an end to the conversation. 
 
 li But just as he hegan to tell, 
 
 The auld kirk hammer strak the bell, 
 Some wee short hour ayont the twal, 
 
 Which raisM us baith : 
 I took the way that pleas' d mysel, 
 
 An' sae did Death." 
 
 The Ordination is a poem of great merit in its 
 way ; though in it, as in Holy Willie's Prayer, 
 the author sometimes writes very irreverently on 
 the most serious and awful subjects. His object, 
 in both these poems, is to hold up to contempt 
 and derision the peculiar doctrines of Calvinism, 
 and other topics of orthodoxy, which he had pro- 
 bably never studied, and did not understand. 
 That there is great danger in constantly preach- 
 ing on such topics to a mixt and illiterate au- 
 dience, cannot perhaps be denied ; but that mode 
 of preaching will not be banished from the church 
 by describing it in such ludicrous terms as the 
 following : 
 
 " Now, auld Kilmarnock, cock thy tail, 
 An' toss thy horns fu' canty ; 
 Nae mair thoult rowte out-owre the dale, 
 Because thy pasture's scanty ;
 
 23 
 
 For lapfu's large o' gospel kail 
 Shall fill thy crib in plenty, 
 
 An' runts o 1 grace, the pick an' wale, 
 No gi'en by way o' dainty, 
 
 But ilka day." 
 
 The poem, entitled The Calf, may have been a 
 good jeu d' esprit on the occasion of its being* 
 written ; but it seems hardly worthy of a place 
 in a collection of the author's works. 
 
 The Address to the De'il is a poem of a very 
 superior order ; in which the bard details all the 
 superstitious opinions of the Scottish vulgar con- 
 cerning his infernal majesty's appearances on 
 earth to frighten solitary or midnight travellers ; 
 his influence exerted, either immediately by him- 
 self or by his imps, on cattle and on men ; his 
 being raised by the mystic rites of masons and 
 others ; his carrying off to hell the youngest 
 brother on these occasions, unless his rage be 
 stopt by the present of a cock or a cat ; his 
 wandering in church-yards with warlocks and 
 witches ; and his having once appeared to the 
 poet himself in the form of a rash-buss, when, 
 gays he,
 
 24 
 
 " The cudgel in my nieve did shake, 
 Each bristled hair stood like a stake, 
 When, wi' an eldritch stoor, quaick, quaick ; 
 
 Amang the springs, 
 Awa ye squatter'd like a drake, 
 
 On whistling wings." 
 
 This poem concludes with a stanza, which seems 
 to indicate that Burns had adopted the opinion 
 of Origen respecting future punishment ; though 
 it is not easy to conceive where he could pick up 
 that opinion. 
 
 " But fare ye weel, auld Nickie-ben ! 
 O wad ye tak a thought an' men' ! 
 Ye ablins might — I dinna ken — 
 
 Still hae a stake : 
 I'm wae to think upon yon den, 
 
 Even for your sake." 
 
 In the order in which Burns's poems follow 
 each other in the most common editions, The 
 Death and Dying Words of Poor Mailie, the 
 Author's only Pet Yowe, and Poor Maine's Elegy, 
 are placed immediately after The Address to the 
 De'il. They are both interesting poems, but 
 have obtained, perhaps, praise at least equal to 
 their merit. In delivering her dying requests, 
 by doytin Hughoc, to her kind master, Mailie
 
 25 
 
 appears, not as a ewe, but as an humble and 
 grateful domestic ; and the sentiments which she 
 utters are in that character natural and proper, 
 and admirably expressed. 
 
 The Elegy on Mailie was confessedly * sug- 
 gested by the Reverend Mr Skinner's Eivie wi 
 the Crooked Horn ; and notwithstanding the su- 
 periority of Burns's genius, it is, though very 
 fine, generally admitted to be, like other imita- 
 tions, inferior to the original. From the following 
 imitations, which seem the most striking, the 
 reader will be able to form some judgment for 
 himself of the respective merits of the two 
 poems. 
 
 " When ither ewies lap the dyke, 
 An' ate the kail, for a' the tyke, 
 My ewie never play'd the like, 
 But tyc'd about -f* the barn wa'." 
 
 Skinner. 
 
 *' I wat she was a sheep o 1 sense, 
 An' could behave hersel wi' mense ; 
 I'll say't, she never brak a fence 
 
 Through thievish greed." 
 
 Burns. 
 
 * See the Posthumous Works of the Reverend John 
 Skinner, at Langside, Vol. III. 
 
 f Tyc'd about, walked slowly or warily about.
 
 26 
 
 <(r O ! had she died o' crook or cauld, 
 As ewies do when they grow auld, 
 It wad na been, by mony fauld, 
 
 Sae sair a heart to nane o's a 1 : 
 
 For a' the claith that we hae worn, 
 
 Frae her an' her's sae aften shorn ; 
 
 The loss o' her we could hae borne, 
 
 Had fairstrae death ta'en her awa." 
 
 Skinner. 
 
 " 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 an' neebor dear, 
 
 In Mailie dead." 
 
 t( But thus, poor thing { to lo3e her life 
 Aneath a bluidy villain's knife ; 
 I'm really fley't that our guidwife 
 
 Will never win aboon't ava. 
 O, a' ye bards benorth Kinghorn, 
 Call your muses up, an' mourn 
 Our ewie wi' the crooked horn, 
 Stown frae us, an' fell'd, an' a'." 
 
 Burns. 
 
 Skinner. 
 
 Wae worth the man wha first did shape 
 That vile wanchancie thing — a rape !
 
 27 
 
 X 
 
 It maks guid fellows girn an' gape 
 
 Wi' choakin dread, 
 'An 1 Robin's bannet wave wi' crape, 
 For Mailie dead. 
 
 " O, a* ye bards on bonnie Doon, 
 An' wha on Ayr your chanters tune, 
 Come, join the melancholious croon 
 O* Robin's reed ! 
 His heart will never get aboon 
 
 His Mailie dead." 
 
 Burns. 
 
 That in these concluding stanzas of the two 
 poems, the imitation falls far short of the original, 
 will admit of no doubt. Burns diminishes the 
 effect of his plaintive song by his ludicrous allusion 
 to the gallows. 
 
 The poetical epistle to J. S. which generally 
 comes next to Poor MaUie's Elegy in the order 
 of Burns's poems, seems to have been written 
 before he had acquired courage to appear as an 
 author before the public. It is full of expressions 
 of regard and esteem for the person to whom it 
 is addressed ; and it paints, in very lively colours, 
 the bard's dread of going with his effusions to the 
 press, at the very time that he is praying for 
 " ay routh o' rhymes." This mixed feeling of
 
 28 
 
 confidence in his own powers, combined with a 
 dread of the public decision, is described with his 
 usual felicity. 
 
 In The Dream, addressed to the king and royal 
 family in the year 1786, the poet contrives to 
 declare his own sentiments of the American war, 
 and of the ministers by whom it was carried on, 
 as well as of the conduct of some of the princes, 
 in very plain terms, but in a manner that could 
 give no offence. He then glances at some parti- 
 cular hardships to which British princesses are 
 necessarily subjected ; and concludes the poem 
 with the following warning : 
 
 " God bless you a' } consider now, 
 Ye're unco muckle dautet ; 
 But ere the course o' life be through, 
 
 It may be bitter sautet : 
 An' I hae seen their coggie fou, 
 That yet hae tarrow't at it ; 
 But or the day was done, I trow, 
 The laggen they hae clautet . 
 
 Fu' clean that day.' 
 
 Had this been addressed to the royal family of 
 France at that period, it might be said to have 
 been written by inspiration more than poetical.
 
 29 
 
 The Vision has been often mentioned as one 
 of the most elevated of Burns's poems ; and to 
 this character it is perhaps justly entitled, but it 
 is not one of his happiest effusions. He describes 
 very naturally his fatigue after a day of rural 
 labour ; his imagination wandering after those 
 scenes of ease and comparative affluence which 
 might have been his, had he entered into business, 
 instead of employing his time and talents in 
 writing verses ; and his half-formed vow, pro- 
 ceeding from these melancholy reflections, that 
 he would henceforth be " rhyme-proof till his last 
 breath," when he was interrupted by the appear- 
 ance of the Rustic Muse of Kyle. He likewise 
 describes her dress and appearance with great 
 propriety ; but he seems to have viewed herself 
 and her actions, to use the words of Dryden, 
 " through the spectacles of books." Her mantle 
 is described, as a map of that part of Scotland in 
 which the poet resided, with as much minuteness 
 as Homer describes the several compartiments of 
 the shield of Achilles ; but the description is per- 
 fectly characteristic, and so contrived as to admit 
 of compliments to some of the poet's friends, and 
 of due praise bestowed on some of the ancient 
 defenders of his country. He then says.
 
 30 
 
 " With musing deep, astonish'd stare, 
 I view'd the heavenly-seeming Fair ; 
 A whispering throb did witness bear 
 
 Of kindred sweet, 
 When", with an elder sister's air, 
 
 She did me greet. 
 
 ' All hail ! my own inspired Bard t 
 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. 1 ' 
 
 She then enumerates the different employments 
 over which so many guardian spirits preside : 
 adding, 
 
 " 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." 
 
 Then telling him with what hope she beheld 
 his earliest efforts in rhyme, and warning him 
 not to soar above rural scenes in his poetic flights, 
 she thus concludes her address :
 
 CL'IKlii '9"3.3'JZ)'SS , 
 
 ; i) t H i: im i.i. r roth i> my hi
 
 31 
 
 * Theft never murmur nor repine ; 
 Strive in thy humble sphere to shine ;, 
 And, trust me, not PotosVs mine, 
 
 Nor kings' regard, 
 Can give a bliss o'ermatching thine, 
 A rustic bard. 
 
 * To give my counsels all in one, 
 Thy tuneful flame still careful fan ; 
 Preserve the dignity of man 
 
 With soul erect ; 
 And trust, the universal plan 
 
 Will all protect. 
 
 * And wear thou this !' — she solemn said, 
 And bound the holly round my head : 
 The polish'd leaves and berries red 
 
 Did rustling play ; 
 And, like a passing thought, she fled 
 In light away. v 
 
 The Address to the Unco Guid, or the Rigidly 
 Righteous, is a severe satire on those who value 
 themselves on their own piety and virtue, and 
 delight in censuring their less-guarded neighbours. 
 It is a poem as unexceptionable in its tendency 
 as any that Burns has published ; and concludes 
 with the two following admirable stanzas :
 
 S<2 
 
 *' Then gently scan your brother man, 
 
 Still gentler sister woman ; 
 Though they may gang a kennin wrang. 
 
 To step aside is human : 
 One point must still be greatly dark, 
 
 The moving why they do it ; 
 And just as lamely can ye mark 
 
 How far perhaps they rue it. 
 
 • Who made the heart, 'tis He alone 
 
 Decidedly can try us ; 
 He knows each chord its various tone, 
 
 Each spring its various bias. 
 Then at the balance let's be mute ; 
 
 We never can adjust it ; 
 What's done we partly may compute, 
 
 But know not what's resisted."" 
 
 The poems on Tarn Samson are written with 
 great humour, and are worthy of their author ; 
 but there is perhaps nothing in them which, if 
 torn from what precedes and follows it, would 
 interest any reader, except a native of Kilmarnock. 
 
 The noem entitled Halloween is one of the most 
 amusing in the author's whole collection. It 
 contains a full and accurate account of various 
 spells which, on the eve of All Saints, when the
 
 33 
 
 devil is thought to be let loose, the youthful 
 peasants in Scotland were wont to employ, in 
 order to discover the form, name, and fortune, of 
 their future husbands and wives. These super- 
 stitious follies, of which the origin is not accu- 
 rately known, are going so fast into desuetude, 
 that they would soon have been entirely for- 
 gotten, had not Burns preserved the remembrance 
 of them in this charming poem. 
 
 " The first of these ceremonies is the pulling 
 of a stock or plant of kail. The young people, 
 who have convened for the purpose of keeping 
 their Halloiueen, go out under night, hand in 
 hand, with their eyes shut, and pull the first 
 plant that they meet with. Its being large or 
 small, straight or crooked, is prophetic of the 
 size and shape of the grand object of all their 
 spells. If any earth adhere to the root, the future 
 husband or wife is to have a fortune ; and the 
 taste of the custoc, or heart of the stem, is indi-v. 
 cative of his or her temper or disposition. Lastly, 
 the stems, or the runts^ as they are called, are 
 placed somewhere over the door of the house ; 
 and the Christian names of the people who happen 
 to come first in, are, according to the priority of 
 placing the runts, the names in question." All 
 this our bard so paints in the following stanzas, 
 
 C
 
 S4> 
 
 as to bring it immediately into the view of hi& 
 readers. 
 
 " Then first an 1 foremost, through the kail, 
 Their stocks maun a' be sought ance ; 
 They steek their een, an' graip an* wale 
 
 For muckle anes an"' straught anes. 
 Poor havVel Will fell aff the drift, 
 
 An' wander'd through the bow-kail, 
 An 1 pou't, for want o' better shift, 
 A runt was like a sow-tail, 
 
 Sae bow't that night, 
 
 " Then, straught or crooked, yird or nane. 
 They roar an' cry a 1 throu'ther ; 
 The vera wee-things, todlin, rin 
 
 Wi' stocks out-owre their shouther ; 
 An' gif the custocs sweet or sour, 
 Wi' joctelegs they taste them ; 
 Syne coziely, aboon the door, 
 
 Wi' canny care they've plac'd them 
 To lie that night" 
 
 Another of these spells is performed in the 
 following manner. Three dishes are ranged on 
 the hearth, of which one has in it clean water, 
 another dirty water, and the third is left empty. 
 The person who is to try his fortune is blind- 
 folded, led to the hearth, and desired to dip his

 
 $5 
 
 left hand into one of the dishes. If it chance to 
 be put into the clean water, the future husband 
 or wife will come to the bed of matrimony a maid ; 
 if into the dirty water, a widow, or something 
 worse ; and if into the empty dish, the person 
 making the experiment will not be married at 
 all. This is repeated three times, the arrange- 
 ment of the dishes being altered each time. 
 
 " In order, on the clean hearth-stane> 
 
 The luggies three are rang'd, 
 
 An' every time great care is ta'en 
 
 To see them duly chang'd. 
 Auld uncle John, wha wedlock's joys 
 
 Sin' Mar's year did desire, 
 Because he gat the toom dish thrice, 
 He heav'd them on the fire 
 
 In wrath that night." 
 
 These are among the simplest of the spells. 
 Others are more awful, as they are believed to 
 bring the devil himself on the stage, in the form 
 of the future husband or wife ; and Burns has, 
 with his usual strength of colouring, painted the 
 terror of those who " dared by them to seek the 
 foul thief to spae their fortune." 
 
 The Auld Farmer's New Year Morning's Sa- 
 lutation to his Auld Mare Maggie, on giving her 
 
 2
 
 S6 
 
 the accustomed Rip of Corn, is a moral as well as- 
 pathetic address of a master to an old and faithful 
 servant. 
 
 " A guid new year I wish thee, Maggie ! 
 Hae, there's a rip to thy auld baggie ; 
 Though thou'rt howe-backit now, an' knaggie, 
 
 I've seen the day, 
 Thou couldst hae gaen like ony staggie 
 
 Out-owre the lay." 
 
 He then enumerates all her past services and 
 exploits ; and concludes with promising what 
 every man in such circumstances, who can afford 
 it, seems in duty bound to perform. 
 
 *' An' think na, my auld trusty servan', 
 That now, perhaps, thou'rt less deservin. 
 An' thy auld days may end in starvin ; 
 
 For my last fow*, 
 A-heapit stimpart-f, I'll reserve ane 
 
 Laid by for you. 
 
 " We've worn to crazy years thegither ; 
 We'll toyte about wi' ane anither ; 
 Wi' tentie care I'll flit thy tether 
 
 To some hain'd rig, 
 Whare ye may nobly rax your leather, 
 
 Wi' sma' fatigue." 
 
 * A bushel. f The eighth part of a bushel,
 
 iVC'iLi) ^A'JiXa'-EJVS SAX.'STJ.'Ail'HOBr.
 
 37 
 
 The address To a Mouse, on turning up her 
 Nest with the Plough, has always been admired 
 and praised ; but neither praised nor admired 
 above its merits. The following stanzas are pe- 
 culiarly affecting'. 
 
 " But, mousie, thou art no thy lane, 
 In proving foresight may be vain ; 
 The best laid schemes o' mice an' men 
 
 Gang aft a-gley, 
 An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain, 
 
 For promis'd joy. 
 
 ** Still thou art blest compar'd wi' me ! 
 The present only toucheth thee ; 
 But, och ! I backward cast my e^ 
 
 On prospects drear ! 
 An' forward, though I canna see, 
 
 I guess an' fear." 
 
 The first stanza of The Winter Night is per- 
 haps the finest description of a stormy winter day 
 that is to be found in any language. 
 
 " When biting Boreas, fell an' doure, 
 Sharp shivers through the leafless bow'r ; 
 When Phoebus gi'es a short-liv'd glowr, 
 
 Far south the lift, 
 Dim darkening through the flaky showV, 
 Or whirling drift." 

 
 38 
 
 He who, on reading these lines, does not fancy 
 himself looking at the noon-day sun through a 
 shower of snow or whirling drift, could not, by 
 any criticism, be made to see their beauty or feel 
 their force. In the same strain the poet describes 
 the steeples rocking ; the rivulets choaked up, 
 and then bursting the barriers of snow ; the doors 
 and windows rattling by the storm through the 
 night ; and then mourns over the cattle, the 
 sheep, the singing birds, and even the birds of 
 prey, 
 
 " While, pitiless, the tempest wild 
 
 Sore on them beats.' 1 
 
 He then changes his measure, and, in strains 
 something similar to those of Collins, compares 
 the pelting of the storm to the oppression exer- 
 cised by man on man ; and justly concludes, that 
 the latter is harder to be borne than the former. 
 He enumerates the different kinds of misery which 
 the powerful and unprincipled bring on those who 
 are placed below them in the gradations of society ; 
 and dwells with peculiar emphasis on those who 
 first seduce and then desert unsuspecting female 
 innocence. 
 
 " Is there, beneath love's noble name, 
 Can harbour, dark, the selfish aim, 
 To bless himself alone ?
 
 WITiTOIIilE ISTE t>2Ha J =
 
 39 
 
 Mark maiden innocence a prey 
 
 To love-pretending snares ; 
 This boasted honour turns away, 
 Shunning soft pity's rising sway, 
 Regardless of the tears and unavailing pray'rs. 
 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 blasts 
 
 We entirely agree with the critic whom we 
 have so often quoted with approbation, that the 
 two different portions of this poem might be 
 conceived to have been composed by different 
 authors. Both are vigorously conceived ; but in 
 the measure of the latter Burns was not prac- 
 tised ; and the consequence is, that it seems an 
 effort of labour. 
 
 It is remarked by the same critic, that the 
 writings of Burns exhibit few traces of pro- 
 gressive improvement in his art. " The Epistle 
 to Davie, a Brother Poet, which is the earliest of 
 those compositions where his powers seem to 
 have been seriously put forth, is little inferior to 
 his latest productions. It was written about the 
 period of his father's death, and presents an af- 
 fecting specimen of his reflections under a singular 
 accumulation of distresses. It seems to be a sort 
 of effort to accustom his thoughts to the very
 
 40 
 
 darkest possibilities of evil, and to a recollection 
 of the consolations which will be left when his 
 anticipations shall be realized. His consciousness 
 of superior talents, to which his attention, at the 
 time, had perhaps been drawn by their exertion 
 in conversation with his brother poet, makes him 
 consider with regret, and not without some of 
 that indignation which was more congenial to his 
 character, the peculiar discomforts of his situa- 
 tion. These are admirably described in the open- 
 ing stanza, which represents the northern blast 
 as drifting the snow to the very hearth of his 
 wretched cottage. He then anticipates the period 
 to which he seems so near, when the unequal 
 distribution of external advantages may reach its 
 extreme, and when his friend and he may be 
 reduced to the condition of itinerant beggars. 
 The evils of this condition he does not palliate ; 
 but sooths himself with the reflection, that, after 
 all the gifts of fortune are gone, those of nature 
 will remain. 
 
 " What though, like commoners of air, 
 We wander out, we know not where, 
 
 But either house or hall ? 
 Yet Nature's charms, the hills and woods, 
 The sweeping vales and foaming floods, 
 Are free alike to all.
 
 41 
 
 In days when daisies deck the ground, 
 
 An 1 blackbirds whistle clear, 
 With honest joy our hearts will bound, 
 To see the coming year. 
 
 On braes, when we please, then 
 
 We'll sit an' sowth a tune, 
 Syne rhyme till't, well time till't, 
 An' sing't when we hae done." 
 
 These two last lines the critic thinks feeble ; 
 but they are not feebler than many others to be 
 found in poems by the most celebrated authors, 
 in much less difficult measures. In the following 
 stanza, the advantages to be derived from adver- 
 sity are described with the genuine spirit of the 
 Stoic philosophy. 
 
 <{ Then let us cheerm** acquiesce, 
 Nor make our scanty pleasures less, 
 
 By pining at our state ; 
 An' even should misfortunes come, 
 I, here wha sit, hae met wi' some, 
 
 An's thankfu' for them yet : 
 They gPe the wit of age to youth ; 
 
 They let us ken oursel ; 
 They make us see the naked truth, 
 The real guid an 1 ill. 
 
 Though losses an' crosses 
 Be lessons right severe, 
 There's wit there, ye'll get there, 
 Ye'll find nae ither where."
 
 ¥2 
 
 The conclusion of this epistle is eminently 
 happy in the exhibition of a hackneyed allegory 
 in a new form. 
 
 No poet was ever better acquainted with the 
 passion of love, with all its hopes and fears, its 
 blisses and disappointments, than Burns ; and 
 therefore no poet was better qualified to write 
 the. Lament of a Friend, on the unfortunate Issue 
 of an Amour. The following stanza, in particular, 
 is composed in the language of truth and nature. 
 
 " No idly-feignM poetic pains 
 
 My sad love-lorn lamentings claim; 
 No shepherd's pipe — Arcadian strains ; 
 
 No fabled tortures, quaint and tame : 
 The plighted faith, the mutual flame, 
 
 The oft attested powers above, 
 The promts' d father's tender name — 
 
 These were the pledges of my love." 
 
 The whole poem is in unison with this ; but 
 the limits allotted to the present work admit not 
 of longer quotation. 
 
 We are told by the bard's latest biographer, 
 that his mind was of a gloomy cast, as many 
 vigorous minds have been ; and we find, accord- 
 ingly, that he succeeds in nothing better than
 
 lUl^o^ DSD^B C v 3\ 
 
 ir. dista;
 
 43 
 
 in painting* gloomy scenes. His ode entitled 
 Despondency is a masterpiece in this kind of 
 writing-. After describing, in the most forcible 
 language, his griefs and cares to be such as made 
 life a load too heavy to be borne, he contrasts Ids 
 own desponding state with that of men immersed 
 in business ; of whom he says, with philosophic 
 truth, that even when the end, for which they toil 
 and bustle, is denied to them, 
 
 " Yet, while the busy means are ply'd, 
 They bring their own reward." 
 
 He then thinks of the hermit, who seems to 
 have as little employment as himself, and says, 
 
 " How blest the solitary's lot, 
 Who, all forgetting, all forgot, 
 
 Within his humble cell, 
 The cavern wild with tangling roots, 
 Sits o^r his newly-gatherM fruits, 
 
 Beside his crystal well ! 
 Or haply, to his ev'ning thought, 
 
 By unfrequented stream, 
 The ways of men are distant brought, 
 A faint-collected dream : 
 While praising, and raising 
 
 His thoughts to Heav'n on high, 
 As wand'ring, meand'ring, 
 He views the solemn sky."
 
 4.4 
 
 He regrets that he cannot, like the hermit, 
 despise the pleasures of the world, and " heed 
 nor human love nor human hate ;" but he utters 
 not one prayer to the Supreme to wean his heart 
 from these things, and give him the dispositions 
 which he envies in the hermit. Whether this be 
 a fault or a beauty may be questioned. To the 
 pious reader it would have been pleasing to find 
 a fellow-creature seeking relief, under such severe 
 affliction, in the consolations of religion : but 
 Burns was describing the feelings of despondency; 
 and no man can be in the state of absolute de- 
 spondency, who is capable of addressing his Maker 
 in the language of devotion. 
 
 That Burns was not himself without the con- 
 solations of religion under all his accumulated 
 distresses, is apparent from the concluding stanza 
 of the dirge entitled Winter, which was written 
 about the same period with the ode on Despondency. 
 After painting, in the most vivid colours, the effects 
 of a stormy winter day on the face of nature, and 
 comparing the fate of the leafless trees to his own, 
 he thus addresses his God, in the strains, not of 
 Stoicism, but of Christianity : 
 
 " Thou Power Supreme, whose mighty scheme 
 These woes of mine fulfil,
 
 
 45 
 
 Here firm I rest, they must be best, 
 
 Because they are thy will. 
 Then all I want — (O do thou grant 
 
 This one request of mine !) 
 Since to enjoy thou dost deny, 
 
 Assist me to resign." 
 
 It would not be easy to produce an effusion of 
 piety sublimer than this, in the works of any poet, 
 ancient or modern. 
 
 It has been observed, that in Halloween we 
 have the interior of a Scottish peasant's cottage, 
 with all its appropriate manners and customs, at 
 the season of merry-making ; and that in The 
 Cotter s Saturday Night we have the same scene, 
 under a more affecting and impressive aspect. 
 The scene is so admirably painted in both cases, 
 that, as we read, we fancy ourselves engaged in 
 the sports of the former, and in the devotions and 
 supper of the latter. The Saturday Night is 
 indeed universally felt as the most interesting of 
 all the author's poems. In some of the others 
 there may be single passages equal to any thing 
 in this, as, for instance, the stanza last quoted 
 from Winter; but Burns has no other poem 
 which takes such hold of all the reader's best 
 affections as the Cotter's Saturday Night, and
 
 46 
 
 which retains that hold, without relaxation, from 
 the beginning to the end. We accompany the 
 cotter as he returns weary from his labour with 
 his spades, mattocks, and hoes ; and we feel with 
 him the chilling blasts of November. We share 
 the satisfaction with which he views his cot at a 
 distance, under the shelter of an aged tree ; and 
 his feelings on entering it, when he is welcomed 
 by the smiles of his wife, and the prattling of his 
 children. We partake of the happiness of both 
 parents, as their more advanced children enter to 
 pay to them their weekly visit, and give an ac- 
 count of the services which they perform to their 
 several masters and mistresses. We enter warmly 
 into the anxiety of the mother, when she discovers 
 that their eldest hope, Jenny, had been accom- 
 panied by a lover " o'er the moor ;" and into her 
 satisfaction on finding that the young man is 
 sober and virtuous, and that her " bairn is re- 
 spected like the rest." We listen with attentive 
 respect to the father, when he admonishes his 
 children to obey their master's and their mistress's 
 commands ; to be diligent and faithful in the 
 work appointed to them ; to fear the Lord always ; 
 and never to forget their prayers morning or 
 evening. We partake with them in their sober 
 repast ; and attend with reverence, when,
 
 r, rjl'I'l&lLi'J jATt f -^.iY iTi &M: 
 
 Till LC
 
 47 
 
 " The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face, 
 _They round the ingle form a circle wide ; 
 The sire turns owre, wi' patriarchal grace, 
 The big ha'-bible, ance his father's pride : 
 His bannet reverently is laid aside, 
 
 His lyart haffets wearing thin an 1 bare : 
 Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide, 
 He wales a portion wi 1 judicious care, 
 And, * Let us worship God !' he says, with solemn air." 
 
 The account which is given of the worship is 
 perfectly correct, and highly honourable to the 
 Scotch peasantry in general, and to the author's 
 father in particular, from whose practice these 
 scenes are said to have been painted. On the 
 reflections of the author himself on the essence 
 of devotion, too much praise cannot be bestowed ; 
 and every reader of piety and virtue will agree 
 with him, that 
 
 i( From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs, 
 That makes her lov'd at home, rever'd abroad." 
 
 It has been already observed*, that the range 
 of an illiterate poet's thoughts cannot be very 
 extensive, nor the subjects on which he writes 
 very various. Of the truth of this observation 
 
 * Page 2.
 
 48 
 
 Burns furnishes a complete proof, in the poems 
 which, in his collection, generally succeed the 
 Cotter's Saturday Night In the dirge, entitled, 
 Man was made to mourn, in the Prayer on the 
 Prospect of Death, and in the Stanzas on the same 
 Occasion, there is not perhaps one sentiment that 
 is not to be found in the Lament occasioned by the 
 unfortunate Issue of a Friend's Amour, Despondency, 
 and Winter. The same sentiments, when they 
 occur in the different poems, are indeed differently 
 expressed, and they are always expressed perspi- 
 cuously and forcibly ; but as it is a very small 
 and inferior part of Burns's merit that rests on 
 his language, it would be a waste of time to 
 dwell on these differences. 
 
 The verses left at the house of a reverend 
 friend, where he had lodged one night, are very 
 good, but have nothing in them remarkable ; and 
 his paraphrases on the psalms are not superior to 
 those of Tate and Brady, Watts, and Merrie ; 
 whilst they are all very far inferior to the prose 
 translations in the Bible and the English Book of 
 Common Prayer. 
 
 The two stanzas To Buin have in them some- 
 thing of the spirit and manner of Gray, though 
 in a very different measure ; but they are not 
 equal to Gray's Ode to Adversity, nor are they, 
 perhaps, worthy of Burns.
 
 49 
 
 The verses To Miss L , with Beattie's 
 
 Poems for a New- Year's Gift, are such as might 
 have been written by a poet very inferior to the 
 author of the Epistle to Davie; and so is the 
 Epistle to a Young Friend, though it has much of 
 the spirit and manner of Burns. The eighth 
 stanza, in which hell is treated as a bugbear, and 
 honour laid down as the criterion of right conduct, 
 is, in a moral point of view, very exceptionable. 
 
 The verses On a Scotch Bard gone to tfte West 
 Indies, seem to have been written on himself, 
 when he meditated a voyage to Jamaica, on his 
 being refused by the father of his Jean as a 
 husband to his daughter. His own character, at 
 least, is strikingly pourtrayed in them ; though 
 it must be confessed that they have not much 
 merit of any other kind. They would have done 
 honour to most rustic bards ; but, as the compo- 
 sition of him who wrote The Holy Fair, Hal- 
 loween, and The Cotter* s Saturday Night, the 
 utmost that can be said of them is, that they do 
 not disgrace their author. 
 
 The verses To a Haggis have in them much 
 humour ; but it is humour that will be relished 
 only by a Scotchman, and even of Scotchmen 
 only by such as have not learned, from their 
 neighbours on the south side of the Tweed, to 
 banish that national dish from their tables. 
 
 D
 
 50 
 
 The dedication of his works toG***** H******* 
 Esq. has much merit. This appears to be the 
 gentleman whom Holy Willie, in the prayer which 
 has been already noticed, curses in the following: 
 terms : 
 
 " L — d, mind G n H n's deserts, 
 
 He drinks, an* swears, an' plays at carts, 
 Yet has sae mony taking arts, 
 
 Wi' grit an' sraa', 
 Frae G — d an' priest the people's hearts 
 
 He steals a»va. 
 
 u An* when we chasten'd him therefore, 
 Thou kens how he bred sic a splore 
 As set the warld in a roar 
 
 O' laughin at us : 
 Curse thou his basket an 1 his store, 
 
 Kail, an' potatoes." 
 
 The same man who incurs the displeasure of 
 Holy Willie, and brings these heavy curses on 
 himself, is thus characterised in The Dedication. 
 
 " I readily an' 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'll no refus't^ 
 Till aft his guidness is abus'd ;
 
 51 
 
 An' rascals whyles that do him wrong, 
 Ev'n that, he does na mind it lang: 
 As master, landlord, husband, father, 
 He does na fail his part in either. 
 
 " But then, nae thanks to him for a* that; 
 Nae godly symptom ye can ca' that ; 
 It's naething but a milder feature 
 Of our poor, sinfu 1 , corrupt nature : 
 Ye'll get the best o' moral works 
 'Mang black Gentoos an 1 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 an' deed, 
 It's no through terror of d-mn-t — n, 
 It's just a carnal inclination." 
 
 The verses To a Louse, on seeing one on a 
 Lady's Bonnet at Church, would be said to be 
 Burns's, or at least to be worthy of him, wherever 
 they were found. The conclusion is pretty, and 
 moral as well as pretty. On observing the louse 
 on the very top of the lady's bonnet, in full view 
 of all that were seated near her, and the lady 
 herself looking contemptuously around her, he 
 says. 
 
 1) 2
 
 52 
 
 " i O, Jenny, dinna toss your head, 
 An' set your beauties a' abread ! 
 Ye little ken what cursed speed 
 
 The blastie's makin t 
 Thae winks an 1 finger-ends, I dread, 
 Are notice takin ! 
 
 " O wad some powV the giftie gi'e us, 
 To see ourselves as others see us ! 
 It wad frae mony a blunder free us, 
 
 An' foolish notion : 
 What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us, 
 
 An' ev'n devotion !" 
 
 In the Address to Edinburgh there is nothing 
 particular to arrest attention. The verses are 
 good, and not unworthy of their author ; but 
 they might have been composed by meaner poets. 
 
 The two Epistles to J. L k, an old Scottish 
 
 Bard, are of a superior order. The object of 
 them is to solicit the friendship of the old poet, 
 to whom, when they were written, Burns seems 
 to have been an absolute stranger : and the 
 address which he employs to accomplish this 
 object, shews him to have been, even then, though 
 only twenty-six years of age, perfectly acquainted 
 with the road to the hearts of authors in general, 
 and of poets in particular. He thus addresses 
 the unknown bard :
 
 ,ip:i; j'a'iiEi ii'-o ikA:jp ih.au: its, 
 
 Till. U(;\ri; AN\1 WKAVF, OVH S 
 UKKI'1 WAS MI'rKl.K FUN AND 
 
 HAI» A 11V',.'
 
 5S 
 
 ** While briars an' woodbines budding green, 
 An 1 paitricks scraichin loud at e'en, 
 An' morning poussie whiddin seen, 
 
 Inspire my muse, 
 Tins freedom, in an unknown frien', 
 I pray excuse. 
 
 " On Fasten-e'en we had a rockin, 
 To ca' the crack an' weave our stockiu, 
 An' there was muckle fun an' jokin, 
 
 Ye need na doubt ; 
 At length we had a hearty yokin 
 
 At sang about. 
 
 " There was ae sang, amang the rest, 
 Aboon them a' it pleas'd me best, » 
 
 That some kind husband had addre&t 
 
 To some sweet wife : 
 It thuTd the heart-strings through the breast, 
 A 1 to the life. 
 
 -" I've scarce heard ought describ'd sae weel, 
 What generous manly bosoms feel ; 
 Thought I, * Can this be Pope, or Steele, 
 
 Or Beattie's wark ?' 
 They tald me 'twas an odd kind chiel 
 
 About Muirkirk." 
 
 This comparison of the old bard to Pope or 
 Steele or Beattie gained his friendship at once ; 
 and to the complimentary epistle, which was
 
 >i 
 
 written on the 1st of April 1785, an answer was 
 so quickly returned, that we find our author 
 writing a poetical reply on the 21st of the same 
 month ; when the two poets were so strongly 
 attached to each other, that the second epistle is 
 concluded with the following contrast of their 
 own future destination with that of the sordid 
 sons of Mammon. 
 
 " Though here they* scrape, an' squeeze, an" 1 growl, 
 Their worthless nievefu' 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 L*****k and B**** arise 
 To reach their native kindred skies, 
 An' sing their pleasures, hopes, an' joys, 
 
 In some mild sphere^ 
 Still closer knit in friendship's ties, 
 
 Each passing year." 
 
 The epistle To W. #****%, Ochiltree, which 
 was written about the same time with the verses 
 to J. L*****k, and in the same measure, has con- 
 siderable merit, but nothing particularly worthy 
 
 * The sons of Mammon.
 
 J}5 
 
 of notice, except the contempt poured by the 
 author on some theological controversies then 
 prevalent in the south-west of Scotland. 
 
 4C Sae, ye observe, that a 1 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." 
 
 The Epistle to J. ]{**#*** f inclosing some Poems, 
 is in the same measure ; but remarkable only for 
 coupling together, in one short poem, two subjects 
 so perfectly distinct as the unmasking of hypo- 
 crisy and the severity of the game laws ! John 
 Barleycorn is a successful imitation of old ballads, 
 perhaps not worthy of being imitated by Burns ; 
 and the Fragment to the tune of Killicrankie is a 
 satire on all those statesmen and generals who 
 acted a conspicuous part in the American war. 
 
 In the last and best edition of our author's 
 poems, these things are immediately followed by 
 certain Verses written in Friar s-Carse Hermitage ', 
 on Nith-side. The verses are pretty, and contain 
 some sage counsels both to the young and to the 
 tdd ; of which the following is a fair specimen.
 
 56 
 
 " As the shades of evening close, 
 Beck'ning thee to long repose, 
 As life itself becomes disease, 
 Seek the chimney-nook 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. 1 ' 
 
 These verses are followed by what is called an 
 
 Ode, sacred to the Memory of Mrs of ; 
 
 a satire as keen as that of Dr Arbuthnot, in his, 
 celebrated Epitaph on Colonel Charteris. 
 
 The succeeding verses are of a different order. 
 They are entitled, Elegy on Captain Matthew 
 Henderson, a Gentleman who held the Patent for 
 his Honours immediately from Almighty God. To 
 the elegy is subjoined an epitaph, after the 
 example, perhaps, of Gray ; but though the poet 
 seems to have regarded his friend with great 
 esteem and affection, the measure of the verses 
 composing the Elegy seems not well adapted to 
 the sentiments of sorrow meant to be expressed ; 
 nor would any man under the dominion of real 
 grief feel himself disposed to play upon words, as 
 Burns plays on them in the epitaph. 
 
 The Lament of Mary Queen of Scots on the 
 Approach of Spring, is written in the language 01
 
 I i J All i J - C AH i ZJ IE HTLB iiaa^J.' A i>^ 
 
 111)1 N V Y N "<M\ 1)1' K AS E
 
 iiiM^iSfa! DI3' lA'iL'' O'D'^^yf D3 1 3 C D^<
 
 57 
 
 truth and nature. Every thing-, indeed, conspired 
 to make our author exert his powers on such a 
 subject ; — the elevated rank of the prisoner, her 
 unparalleled sufferings, her sex, her beauty, and 
 his own attachment to the house of Stuart, all 
 crowded together in his mind, and banished from 
 it every sentiment ludicrous or trifling. The 
 following stanzas express strongly what may 
 have passed, on the occasion, in the mind of the 
 unfortunate queen, who was herself a worshipper 
 of the Muses. 
 
 " Now blooms the lily by the bank, 
 
 The primrose down the brae ; 
 The hawthorn's budding in the glen, 
 
 An' milk-white is the slae: 
 The meanest hind in fair Scotland 
 
 May rove their sweets amang ; 
 But I, the queen of a' Scotland, 
 
 Maun lie in prison Strang. 
 
 But as for thee, thou false woman, 
 
 My sister an' 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 pitying e'e."
 
 .58 
 
 The verses To Robert Graham of Fintry, Esq. 
 are a tribute of respect and gratitude to one of 
 the poet's steadiest friends and patrons ; but there 
 is less originality in them than perhaps in any 
 other of Bukns's poems. The attack on critics 
 is mere hackneyed common-place ; and is the 
 less excusable, that hardly any other poet has 
 had so little ground of complaint against them. 
 
 The Lament for James Earl of Glencairn is in 
 a different measure from that of the Lament of 
 Mary Queen of Scots, but not inferior to it in 
 merit of any kind. The Earl of Glencairn was 
 one of the poet's earliest patrons, and never de- 
 serted him to the day of his death. As the heart 
 of Burns was susceptible of all the finer feelings, 
 and particularly of gratitude, he thus describes a 
 bard laden with years bewailing his lord, " whom 
 death had all untimely ta'en." 
 
 " He lean'd him on an ancient aik, 
 
 Whase trunk was mould'ring down with years ; 
 His locks were bleached white with time, 
 
 His hoary cheek was wet wi 1 tears : 
 And as he touch'd his trembling harp, 
 
 And as he tun'd his doleful sang, 
 The winds, lamenting through their caves,. 
 
 To echo bore the notes aiang."
 
 '1jj±~M*3!,WJ! J' U'Al ^iA'JilL V'J &'JL'Jj'£I ■'C&2IS1S1' 
 
 ,\N1> A.-- J I K Tlil'rn II HIS T1CKMB1.INI 
 
 ash as hi; tf'sh his uoi.KFri. s.i^
 
 59 
 
 The song is worthy of the bard by whom it 
 was composed, and of the nobleman on whom it 
 was sung. The concluding stanza shews that 
 Burns, however little religious he might appear 
 to have been, was familiar with the poetical 
 books of the Old Testament ; though it may be 
 doubted whether the use that, in the following 
 lines, is made of the similies taken from these 
 sacred books, be altogether proper. 
 
 " The bridegroom may forget the bride 
 
 Was made his wedded wife yestreen ; 
 The monarch may forget the crown 
 
 That on his head an hour has been ; 
 The mother may forget the child 
 
 That smiles sae sweetly on her knee ; 
 But I'll remember thee, Glencairn, 
 
 An' a' that thou hast done for me." 
 
 In the Lines sent with the foregoing Poem to 
 Sir John Whiteford, Baronet, there is nothing but 
 common-place ; and very little that is entitled to 
 great praise in the verses on the Wounded Hare. 
 A higher character can hardly be given of the 
 Address to the Shade of Thomson. What is said 
 of the durability of Thomson's fame is true ; but 
 it might have been said by a poet very inferior 
 to Burns.
 
 60 
 
 The Epitaphs on a celebrated Ruling Elder, a 
 Noisy Polemic, and Wee Johnnie, are ludicrous 
 and satirical ; but a ludicrous epitaph on a real 
 monument, though such things were formerly to 
 be met with, would now be offensive to every 
 reader of taste and feeling. The lines On the 
 Author's Father do him great honour, and, had 
 the name been inserted, would have been an ex- 
 cellent epitaph ; but the remark of Johnson, that 
 the omission of the name in an epitaph is a fault 
 which scarcely any beauty can compensate, is 
 unquestionably just : an epitaph without a name 
 is an epitaph to be let. Of the other epitaphs, 
 none is worthy of notice except that For G***** 
 iiZ********, Esq. whom we have already seen 
 praised more than once by the bard, for his bene- 
 volence, and detestation of cant and hypocrisy. 
 The same qualities constitute the subject of th'e 
 epitaph. 
 
 " The poor man weeps — here G***** sleeps,, 
 Whom canting wretches blam'd ; 
 But with such as he, where'er he be, 
 May I be sav'd or d • d /" 
 
 To the sentiment or wish expressed in the 
 second couplet, it may be justly objected, that it 
 implies too great confidence in mere human virtue.
 
 SHi'D^ISa TISSUE &m.TJSJ£2Z O'tf-3, 
 
 ;TY AiltN CAl'S AND JlNtVLlN J A C K K
 
 61 
 
 The verses On the late Captain Grose's Pere* 
 grinations through Scotland, collecting the Anti- 
 quities of that Kingdom, is a very singular pro- 
 duction. It is certainly replete with humour ; 
 but whether the bard intended it to be compli- 
 mentary or satirical, might admit of a dispute 
 that would not easily be decided. The genius 
 of the captain, and his courage, are both highly 
 praised ; for the former is said to have been bright, 
 and the latter to have been so steady, that he 
 who possessed it would have fallen rather than 
 fled ; but the person of this gallant soldier is 
 mentioned in terms far from respectful, and his 
 favourite pursuits are exposed to contemptuous 
 laughter. Having informed the reader that Mr 
 Grose had quitted the profession of a soldier, and 
 taken up the trade of an antiquary, the poet says, 
 
 " He has a fouth o' auld nicfc-nackets : 
 Rusty aim caps an 1 jinglin jackets, 
 Wad haud the Lothians three in tackets, 
 
 A towmont gude ; 
 An 1 parritch-pats an' auld saut-backets 
 Before the flood. 
 
 " Of Eve's first fire he has a cinder, 
 
 Auld Tubal-Cain's fire-shool an' fender ; 
 That which distinguished the gender 
 O 1 Balaam's ass :
 
 62 
 
 A broomstick o 1 the witch o' Endor, 
 
 Weel shod wi' brass." 
 
 As an atonement for this ridicule of " the 
 antiquarian trade" Mr Grose is praised for his 
 convivial talents ; and the author concludes his 
 satire and compliment with saying, 
 
 " I'd take the rascal by the nose, 
 
 Wad say, Shame fa' thee." 
 
 It has been justly observed, that Tarn o' Shanter, 
 which was one of Burns's latest compositions, is 
 also one of the most perfect, combining the comic 
 archness of Prior with the terrific sublimity of 
 Shakespeare. The character of Tarn is drawn 
 in the following verses, which, though they do 
 not anticipate, prepare us for all the events, na- 
 tural and supernatural, which are recorded in the 
 poem. 
 
 " O Tarn ! 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 was nae sober ; 
 That ilka melder, wi' the miller 
 Thou sat as lan<( as thou had siller ;
 
 h'AjM d £3:£iAi^o;^iiii. 
 
 .- HE TAT LI) Till: E WI.KI. Tl! 
 A Kl.TiTH r:H I N ti . HI. r ST EH I 
 Til AT t'HAE' KOVEM1IEH Tl 
 NAT. MARKET PAY TUOT K 
 AND F.VKKT n 01; S K
 
 6$ 
 
 That every naig was caM a shoe on, 
 The smith an 1 thee gat roaring fou on ; 
 That at the L — d's house, ev'n on Sunday, 
 Thou drank wi' Kirton Jean till Monday. 
 She prophesied, that, late or soon, 
 Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doon ; 
 Or catch'd wi' warlocks in the mirk, 
 By Alloway's auld haunted kirk.' 1 
 
 We are after this conducted to an ale-house, 
 where we feel ourselves seated with Tarn at a 
 blazing fire, and grow soon familiarly acquainted 
 with the landlord and landlady, and the souter 
 with whom Tarn " had been fou for ouks the- 
 gither." We perceive our spirits to rise as Tarn 
 grows " glorious" with drinking ; and we sally 
 out with him at " the key-stane hour o' night's 
 black arch." " We accompany the hero through 
 the tempest, we gaze with him at the window of 
 the illuminated ruin, and shudder at the strange 
 mixture of uncouthly horror and heaven-defying 
 merriment." Within the ruin we are told that 
 " Tam saw an unco sight : 
 
 " Warlocks an' witches in a dance, 
 Nae cotillion brent new frae France, 
 But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, an 1 reels, 
 Put life an' mettle in their heels. 
 A winnock bunker in the east, 
 There sat Auld Nick, in shape o' beast,
 
 64 
 
 A towzie tyke, black, grim, an large ; 
 To gfe them music was his charge : 
 He screw'd the pipes, an' gart. them skirl. 
 Till roof an' rafters a' did dirl. 
 Coffins stood round, like open presses, 
 That shawM the dead in their last dresses ; 
 An' by some devilish cantrip slight, 
 Each in its cauld hand held a light ; 
 By which heroic Tarn was able 
 To note upon the haly table, 
 A murderer's banes in gibbet aims ; 
 Twa span-lang e wee, unchristen'd bairns ; 
 A thief new cutted frae a rape, 
 Wi 1 his last gasp his gab did gape J 
 Five tomahawks, wi' blude red-rusted ; 
 Five scymitars, wi' murder crusted ; 
 A garter which a babe had strangled ; 
 A knife a father's throat had mangled, 
 Whom his ain son o' life bereft, 
 The grey hairs yet stack to the heft : 
 Wi' mair o' horrible an' awfu', 
 Which ev'n to name wad be nnlawfuV' 
 
 That Burns had in his mind the caldron of 
 Shakespeare's witches when he wrote these lines, 
 it seems impossible to doubt ; but it must like- 
 wise be admitted, that the imitation does not 
 disgrace the great original. Here, as well as in 
 the tragedy of Macbeth, we are so completely 
 carried out of ourselves, that u we cannot at once
 
 "J! 'II IE WL££ 1 25 "J. J IjISJ 
 
 ■KAIUHIIIinni.TIHinT SOAR when crkation sii.m.i.
 
 V5 
 
 resume our own persons, and withdraw from the 
 contemplation of objects, which, by superior viva- 
 city, compensate for their want of reality." The 
 conclusion of this singular tale conveys to the 
 reader a lesson of prudence and virtue. 
 
 There is nothing worthy of particular atten- 
 tion in the verses which succeed Tarn o' Shanter, 
 except in The Humble Petition of Bruar Water, 
 of which some notice has been taken already, 
 until we come to the ballad entitled The Whistle ; 
 nor is there in it, as a poem, much to interest a 
 reader of taste. The' subject is a whistle, which 
 was brought from Denmark by one of the attend- 
 ants of Anne, who was married to James VI. 
 king of Scotland ; and it was to be held by the 
 tenure of drinking ! Whoever is in possession of 
 this whistle is bound to give it to any gentleman 
 who shall demand it, or to enter into a contest 
 with him who shall drink the greatest quantity 
 of wine. In the year 1790, it was the property 
 of Walter Riddel, Esq. of Glenriddel ; but was 
 contended for on the 16th of October, against 
 him, by Sir Robert Lawrie of Maxwelton and 
 George Fergusson, Esq. of Craigdarroch. The 
 three gentlemen, therefore, sat down to hard 
 drinking, and chose Burns for the umpire of the 
 contest. After sitting from dinner until sun-rise 
 
 E
 
 66 
 
 next morning, the prize was won by Mr Fer~ 
 
 gusson ; 
 
 " When up rose our bard, like a prophet in drink : — 
 * Craigdarroch, thou'lt soar when creation shall sink ? 
 But if thou would flourish immortal in rhyme, 
 Come — one bottle more — and have at the sublime ! 
 
 ' Thy line, that 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 ! v 
 
 To attempt to ascertain the particular merit 
 of each of Bcjrns's songs would be an endless 
 task. They are on various subjects, and, by the 
 lovers of music, are all admired. Like his other 
 poems, they exhibit such views of their several 
 subjects, whether gay, humorous, or sad, that the 
 reader of taste and feeling fancies every thing, 
 of which he is reading, presented to his view. 
 In The Chevalier's Lament, we see that adven- 
 turer in an attitude of the deepest despondency : 
 Lord Strathallan is presented to us, in a cave, 
 during a tempestuous night, lamenting the defeat 
 at Culloden, which had left him and his party 
 without a friend ; and we see the aged pair. 
 John Anderson and his wife, in the most inte- 
 resting attitude. We enter into the feelings of
 
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 la'Liijvr.iLAii/iiJsiitf 4 '±,jb.mwwj.>. 
 
 •1 s ii >'. II Ml: II AVf
 
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 HEART WAS BEATING RAH
 
 'Wl^lLim, 2B3iaW3D J^^^Q^L t) J 'MS^'U^S ■. 
 
 RE ft HOH
 
 67 
 
 the lovers in the song entitled Lammas Night ; 
 and in Willie brew'd a Peck o' Maut we seem to 
 be looking on the three happy topers, when de- 
 claring themselves " nae that fou" They were, 
 the bard himself, and his two friends, Messrs 
 William Nicol and Allan Cleghorn. But we 
 pass on to a poem of a higher order. 
 
 Of The Jolly Beggars, so correct a character 
 has been given in the first number of the Quar- 
 terly Review, that, as we could not improve it, 
 we shall here transcribe it for the entertainment 
 of our readers, to whom we recommend that 
 respectable literary journal. 
 
 " For humorous description and nice discrimi- 
 nation of character, this cantata" say these able 
 critics, " 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 ale-house. 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 circumstances of their 
 
 E 2
 
 68 
 
 appearance are judiciously thrown into the shade. 
 Nor is the art of the poet less conspicuous in the 
 individual figures than in the general mass. The 
 festive vagrants are distinguished from each other 
 by personal appearance and character, as much 
 as any fortuitous assembly in the higher orders 
 
 of life 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. — ' But weary fa' the waefu' woodie !' 
 Being now at liberty, she becomes an object of 
 rivalry between * a pigmy scraper wi' 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 wandering ballad-singer, 
 with a brace of doxies, is last introduced upon 
 the stage. Each of these mendicants sings a 
 song in character ; and such a collection of hu- 
 morous lyrics, connected by vivid poetical descrip- 
 tion, is not perhaps to be paralleled in the English 
 language." 
 
 That this is sound criticism, the reader will be 
 convinced by the following recitaiivo, after " the 
 mirth and fun of the company had become fast 
 and furious," in consequence of drink and a song: 
 by the ballad-singer :
 
 69 
 
 4i So sung the bard — an' Nansie's wa's 
 Shook with a thunder of applause, 
 
 Re-echo'd from each mouth ; 
 They toom'd their pocks an' pawn'd their duds, 
 They scarcely left to coor their fuds, 
 To quench their lowan drouth. 
 
 Then owre again, the jovial thrang 
 
 The poet did request 
 To lowse his pack an' wale a sang, 
 A ballad o' the best. 
 He, rising, rejoicing, 
 
 Between his twa Deborahs, 
 Looks round him, an 1 found them 
 Impatient for the chorus." 
 
 These verses present to our view the inside of 
 Nansie's house, and the eager looks of the ragged 
 company. 
 
 Of the remaining poems, perhaps there is not 
 one, except Holy Willie's Prayer, that is in 
 Burns's best manner; and of that prayer suffi- 
 cient notice has been taken already. The Kirk's 
 Alarm has little merit ; and of The Twa Herds, 
 though the wit of it is occasionally irresistible, 
 the tendency is very doubtful. It is the same 
 with that of Holy Willie's Prayer, though cer- 
 tainly less exceptionable, as the same mischief 
 can never follow from exhibiting to public scorn
 
 70 
 
 the ridiculous quarrel of two violent theologians, 
 as from laughing at a theological system, which, 
 whether true or false, has been held entire by 
 some of the greatest and best of men, and is 
 admitted by all to be not easily demolished. 
 
 On the whole, it appears that the subjects of 
 Burns's poetry are not numerous, being confined 
 to rural scenes, rustic manners, rustic supersti- 
 tions, and the ridicule of those theological disputes 
 which agitate the minds of the Scottish peasantry ; 
 but if his scenes be not much varied, they are all 
 painted in the most vivid colours. His poems, 
 therefore, are universally admired, and will long 
 continue to be so among those to whom such 
 scenes and superstitions are familiar ; and though 
 there are scattered through them a few images 
 which the more serious reader may reasonably 
 wish away, he must be easily alarmed who dreads 
 the consequences of the poems of Robert Burns 
 on the minds of any order of men in society. 
 
 Edinburgh : 
 Printed by John Brown. 
 
 8 9 
 
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