~f^^' -^^ li 1)11 wr, -'''/^ ' -=-1-14.- )^ J i iA UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA AT LOS ANGELES ' }i .^c ^ / ^ ^^ V ^OEMS, ^LY SCOTTISH, RT BURNS: AN ACCOUNT ZIF^ AND CHARACTEBo PERTH; PRINTED BY R. MORISON, AND SOLD BY THE PRINCIPAL BOOKSELLERS IN THE UNITED KINGDOM. 1813. DEDICATION ^ -^ P THE SECOND EDITION OF THESE FOEMS.M*i ^ OO ' , TO THE . N NOBLEMEN AND GENTLEMEN ^ ^ OF THE '^ CALEDONIAN HUNT. ^ HY LORDS AND GEKTLEMEN, A Scottish Bard, proud of the name, and whose ^ highest ambition is to sing in his Country's service, 3 where shall he so properly look for patronage as to the illustrious Names of his native Land ; those who bear e^ the honours and inherit the virtues of their Ancestors ? g? The Poetic Genius of my Country found me, as the *^ prophetic bard Elijah did Elisha at the Plough ; and z threw her inspiring mantle over me. She bade me ~' sing the loves, the joys, the rural scenes and rural pleasures of my native soil, in my native tongue : I q tuned ray wild, artless notes, as she inspired. She ji whispered me to come to this ancient Metropolis of & Caledonia, and lay my Songs uncler your honoured C4 protection : I now obey her dictates. Though much indebted to your goodness, I do not approach you, my Lords and Gentlemen, in the usual style of dedication, to thank you for past favours : that path is so hackneyed by prostituted Learning, that ho- nest Rusticity is ashamed of it. Nor do I present this Address with the venal soul of a servile Author, look- ing for a continuation of t the Plough, and am inde the common Scottish nan Countrymen; and to tell t title. I dome to congrati blood of her ancient heroes still runs uncontaminated ; and that from your courage, knowledge, and public spirit, she may expect protection, wealth, and liber- ty In the last place, I come to proffer my warmest wishes to the Great Fountain of honour, the Monarch of the Universe, for your welfare and happiness. When ye go forth to wak^n the Echoes, in the an- cient and favourite amusement of your Forefathers, may Pleasure ever be of your party ; and may Social Joy await your return ! When harrassed in courts or camps with the justlings of bad men and bad measures, may the honest consciousness of injured worth attend your return to your native seats ; and may domestic Happiness, with a smiling welcome, meet you at your gates ! May Corruption shrink at your kindling indig- nant glance ; and may Tyranny in the Ruler, and licen- tiousness in the People, equally find you an inexora- able foe ! I have the honour to be, With the sincerest gratitude and highest respect, MY LORDS AND GENTLEMEN, Your most devoted humble Servant, ROBERT BURNS. Edinburgh ? April 4, 1784. J CONTENTS. Page. THE Twa Dogs 1 Scotch Drink . . ... ... 8 The Author's Earnest Cry. and Prayer . . 12 The Holy Fair 17 Death and Doctor Hornbook ... 24 The Brigs of Ayr 30 The Ordination . . . . . . 36 The Calf 40 Address to the Deil ... . , 41 The Death and Dying Words of Poor Maillie . 45 Poor Maillie's Elegy 47 To J. S**** 48 A Dream 53 The Vision ...... 57 Address to the Unco Guid .... 65 Tarn Samson's Elegy 67 Epitaph .... 70 Halloween 71 The New Year Morning's Salutation to his Auld Mare Maggie . . . . . .80 To a Mouse 83 A Winter Night . . . . . 85 Epistle to Davie, a Brother Poet . . 88 The Lament . . . ... 92 Despondency . . . ... 95 Winter 97 The Cotter's Saturday Night ... 98 Man was made to Mourn . . . .103 A Prayer in the Prospect of Death . . 106 Stanzas on the same occasion . ^ . 107 VI Page. Verses on a Friend and hia Family . 108 The First Psalm . . . . . ibid A Prayer under the Pressure of Violent Anguish 109 The First Six Verses of the Ninetieth Psalm . 110 To a Mountain Daisy . . . . Ill To Ruin , 112 To MissL . . . . . -lis Epistle to a Young Friend . . . ibid On a Scotch Bard gone to the West Indies . 116 To a Haggis 118 A Dedication to Gavin Hanulton, Esq; . . 119 To a Louse 123 Address to-Edinburgh .... 124? Epistle to J. Lapraik 126 To the same 130 To W. S*****n, Ochiltree . . . 133 Epistle to J. R***** . . . . 138 John Barleycorn . . . . . 140 A Fragment . . . . - . 142 Written in Friars Carse Hermitage . . 144* Ode, Sacred to the Memory of Mrs of 146 Elegy on Captain Matthew Henderson . . 147 The Epitaph . , . , . . 149 Lament of Mary, Queen of Scots . . 150 To Robert Graham, Esq of Fintry . . 152 Lament for James, Earl of Glencairn . . 154> Lines sent to Sir John Whiteford of Whiteford, Bart ....... 156 On seeing a Wounded Hare . . . 157 Address to the Shade of Thomson . . ibid Epitaph on a Celebrated Ruling Elder . . 158 on a Noisy Polemic . . . ibid - on Wee Johnnie . . . .159 for the Author's Father . . ibid for R. A., Esq. .... ibid - for G. H., Esq ibid A Bard's Epitaph ibid On the late Capt. Grose's Peregrinations through Scotland 160 TCam o' Shanter ..... 162. Page, Tn scaring some Water Fowl in Loch-Turit . 172 Written with a Pencil over the Chimney-piece of the Padour of the Inn of Kenmore, Taymouth 173 Written with a Pencil Standing by the Fall of Fyers, near Loch-Ness . . . . 174 On the birth of a Posthumous Child . . 175 The Whistle 176 Second Epistle to Davie . . . . 17S Song 1. It was upon a Lammas Night . . 180 2. Now westlin winds . . 181 3. Behind yon hills . . . . 183 4-. There's nougiit but care on every han' . 184? 5. Again rejoicing Nature sees . . . 185 6. The gloomy night is gathering fast . 187 7. From thee Eliza I must go . . 188 8. Adieu, a heai-twarm fond adieu . . ibid 9. No Churchman am I . . . 190 10. Anna, thy charms my bosom fire . .191 11. Here aw a') there awa', wandering Willie ibid 12. Braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes . .192 13. There's auld Rob Morris . . 193 14. Oh, open the door, some pity to shew . ibid 15. When wild wars deadly blast was blawn 194 16. O stay, sweet warbling woodlark, stay . 196 17. Here is the grove, and here the bovv'r . 197 18. The day returns, my bosom burns . . 198 19. O were I on Parnassus hill . . ibid 20. How lang and dreary is the night . . 199 21. Now summer blinks on flow'ry braes . 200 22. Stay my charmer, can you leave me . 201 23. Thickest night o'erhang my dwelling . 202 24. Loud blaw the frosty breezes . . . ibid 25. Raving winds around her blowing . . 203 2Q. Musing on the roaring ocean . . . 204 27. By Ochtertyre grows the aik . . . 205 28. A rose-bud by my early walk . . . 206 vm Pagre. Song 29. Where braving angry winter's storms . 20T 30. O Tibbie, I hae seen the day . . ibid 31. Clarinda, mistress of my soul . . 209 32. The lazy niist hangs .... ibid 33. Of a' the airts the wind can blaw . 210 34. The Catrine woods were yellow seen . 21 1 35. O Willie brew'd a peck o' maut . ibid 36. I gaed a waefu' gate yestreen . . 212 37. The Thames flows proudly to the sea . 213 38. John Anderson my jo, John . . 214< 39. My heart is a-breaking, dear Tittie . 215 40. O meikle thinks my luve . . . 217 41. Gane is the day, and mirk's the night 218 42. What can a young lassie . . . ibid 43. Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing . 219 44. An' O for ane and twenty, Tam . . 220 45. O leeze me on my spinning wheel . ibid 46. In simmer when the hay was mawn . 221 47. Turn again, thou fair Eliza . . 223 48. O luve will venture in ... . 224 49. Ye banks and braes o bonny Doon . 225 50. Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed . . ibid 51. Ance mair I hail thee .... 226 52. Wilt thou be my dearie . . . 227 53. She's fair and fause . ... 228 54. Flow gently, sweet Afton . . . ibid 55. Where Cart rins rowin to the sea . 229. 5Q. My heart is sair, I darena tell . . 230 57. The lovely lass o' Inverness . . 231 58. Fate gave the word, the arrow sped . ibid 59. O May, thy morn was ne'er sae sweet 232 QO. O wat ye wha's in yon town . . ibid 61. O my luvc's like a red red rose . . 234 62. Duncan Gray came here to woo . . 235 63. O Poortith cauld 236 64. O mirk mirk is this midnight hour . 237 65. O ken ye what Meg o' the Mill . . 238 66. O Logan, sweetly didst thou glide . 239 67. There was a lass and she was fair . 240 68. Had I a cave on some wild distant shore 242 IX Page, vng 69. Should auld acquaintance be forgot . 242 '^'* Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled . . 243 Husband, husband, cease your strife 244< Ca' the yowes to the knowes . . 245 lo. Let not woman e'er complain , . 246 74. My Chloris, mark how green the groves 247 75. Where are the joys I hae met in the morning 248 76. Contented wi* little and cantie wi' mair 249 77. Now in her green mantle . . . 250 78. Their groves of sweet myrtle . . ibid 79. 'Twas na her bonnie blue e'e . . 251 80. Now spring has clad .... 252 81. Last May a braw wooer . . . 253 82. Awa' wi' your witchcraft . . . 254 A Vision 255 Address to the Tooth- Ache . ... 256 The Jolly Beggars 257 Holy Willie's Prayer 267 Epitaph on Holy Willie .... 269 The Kirk's Alarm . . . . . 270 The Twa Herds 272 Letter to John Goodie, Kilmarnock . . 275 The Inventory . .. . . . . 276 Epigram 279 Epitaph on a Wag in Mauchline . . . ibid Epigram on Elphistoue's Translation of Martial's Epigrams * . ibid Epigram on Capt. Francis Grose . . . 280 Lines addressed to Mr John Ranken . . ibid Epitaph on a Country Laird . ... 281 Prologue spoken by Mr Woods on his Benefit Night ibid Song, The De'il cam' fiddling . . . 282 On a bank of flowers . ... SSS-; AN ACCOUNT OF THE IvIFE AND CHARACTER OF THE AUTHOR. Great as is the interest which has been excited by the Poems of the Ayrshire ploughman, his. life ana character have becorne objects of no less attention. Some account of the latter being therefore an indis- pensable requisite in an edition of the former, the fol- lowing sketch is prese-nted to the reader. Robert Burns, the son of William Burnes and Agnes Brown, was born on the 25th of January 1 759, in a clay-built cottage on the banks of the Doon, about two miles from Ayr, and a few hundred yards from Al- loway Kirk. In the sixth year of his age, he and his younger brother Gilbert were sent to school, where, under the tuition qt Mr Murdoch, they made a rapid progress in English reading.jKid grammar. They re- mained under the care of tharable teacher about two years and a half, but, during the last two years, their attendance was rendered very irregular, in conse- quence of the removal of their father, with his family, to Mount Oliphant in the parish of Ayr, which took place in 1766. Several accidents concurring with the unfavourable- ness of the soil of this farm and the highness of its rent, to put it out of the power of ^yilliam Burnes to maintain any servant upon it, the whole labour devolv- ed on him and his family. It was therefore impracti- cable for the brothers to prosecute their education un- '^^!w- der a regular teacher ; but part of their leisure lime in the evenings they occupied in receiving instructions in Arithmetic from their father, who continued to be their only preceptor, till the year 1773, when they went to improve themselves in writing at the parish school of Dalrymple. But as they could not both be spared from the farm at the same time, they were obliged to take a week of farm labour ^nd a week of instruction alternately ; and even this continued only fof a quarter of a year. A week before harvest the following sea- son, and two weeks after, Robert boarded and lodged with Mr Murdoch at Ayr, for the purpose of improv- ing his acquaintance with English grammar. By the advice of his instructor, however, who was then en- ' gaged in the acquisition of the French language, he directed part of his attention to the same object, and found it so congenial to his taste that he ever afterre- tained a fondness for it. The Study of Latin he did not find so alluring. The only piece of education which he received after this was in his 19th year, a few weeks of which he employed at the parish school of Tarbolton, in gaining some knowledge of Land-Surveying. The infirmities of age having rendered his father in- capable of much exertion. Burns had in his fifteenth year become the principal labourer on the farm. He thus had duties to perform to which few boys of the same age are in any degree equal. He had strength above his years, however, and his appUcation enabled him to execute all that w-as required of him : he did the work of a man. This year of Burns' life, however, is distinguished by an occurrencf of much greater importance than his exertions in manual labour. He had early begun to turn his knowledge of English to the best account, by reading with avidity every book which came in his way. These were indeed few ; but to a person who reads rather for the sake of information than present amusement, they were capable of imparting much ge- neral knowledge. It has been reniarked that mental, like bodily strength, depends much more on the digest thaa the swallow; and Burns was qualified in no ordi nary degree to digest his reading, as well by the na- tural vigour of his understanding, as by the habit of investigation to which he was initiated, or which at least was greatly encouraged by the conversation of liis father, who, to the strictest integrity, joined a degree of intelligence and discernment much above the ordinary level. Nor while his judgment was thus gaining strength by the invigorating exercise which it received, were the powers of his imagination allowed to languish. They may be supposed to have received their first impetus from the traditionary legends con- nected with Alioway Kirk, to which he was accus- tomed to listen in his earlier years, and among the books which chance afterwards put into his hands, he found much to gratify the taste which he had thus ac- quired. But his powerful mind, which Professor Stewart supposes to have equally fitted him for any line of ex- ertion, had not yet received its bent, when he con- ceived an attachment to a female with whom he hap- pened to be connected, this autumn, in the work of the harvest. Love was the theme of most, if not all, of the songs with which he was acquainted ; he adopted the style of these songs in composing an address to the object of his affection, and Poetry may be considered to have become from this time the business of his life. The affairs of the farm of Mount Oliphant continu- ed so bad as to induce William Burncs to avail himself of an opportunity of resigning it, which occurred in 1777, when he removed to Lochlea, in the parish of Tarbolton. The terms on which he occupied this farm were not reduced to writing ; a dispute arose concern- ing them, the decision of which involved his affairs in ruin ; and in the midst of this ruin he died on the 13th of February 1784'. Although often inconstant in his attachments, it can hardly be doubted that, at the commencement of each, Burns generally looked upon matrimony as its proba- ble result. But the af&irs of Lochlea were not more prosperous than those of Mount Oliphant had been, and he had only the scanty allowance of l a year a 5um on which it would be vain to think of maintaining a family. As a mean of improving his income, he de- termined to attempt the business of flax-dressing, the idea of which seems to have been suggested to him by the circumstance of his having been engaged, in com- pany with his brother, in a yearly speculation of grow- ing flax on a small piece of land which they rented from their father. In 1780, he removed to Irvine to prosecute his design. But this undertaking was un- successful. In an evening of jollity, his work-shop, with all the flax it contained, was consumed by fire, and he returned to Lochlea. On his return to his father's family, he found matters 4n a worse situation than they were in before his depar- ture. There was strong reason to fear that his father would soon be obliged to leave Lochlea, and the two brothers, as a resource in that event, took the farm of Mossgiell in 1783. They were only the nominal te- nants, however. It was a family concern, and they only received the wages of labourers. At the village of Tarbolton, Burns and his brother had assisted in the formation of a debating society, of which they continued to be distinguished members until their departure from that neighbourhood. At Mauchline, to the vicinity of which they removed, a similar institution was formed on their arrival. In the midst of the toil to which Burns hadhitherto been subjected he did not neglect the inspirations of his muse. The strength of his memory freed him from the necessity of immediately committing to paper the effusions of his fancy ; and, indeed, he generally carried his compositions in his mind till they had received his last finishing. He was thus enabled to prosecute his poetical labours with little loss of time; and so inde- fatigably did he avail himself of the convenience he thus enjoyed, that, in nS'l-, and the succeeding year, he composed all those poems on which his reputation principally rests. With the exception of Winter, a Dirge, the Dying Words of Poor Mailliey and a few songs, none of his published pieces were written be- fore that time. About 1785, he had formed a connection with Mis Jean Armour. When this could no longer he kept secret, it was determined between them that they should make a legal acknowledgement of marriage, and as he had no prospect of being enabled to provide for a family by remaining at home, he resolved to go to Jamaica to push his fortune. Mr Armour, however, who had not before suspected his daughter's situation, was highly displeased at what would be generally considered as the only means of reparation, and even required the destruction of the papers ratifying the marriage. With this demand Burns was at last induced to comply, al- though it must have been with feelings of the most poignant grief. Although Burns was thus freed from the necessity of providing for a wife, he was called upon to find se- curity for the maintenance of the two children who were the fruits of his connection; This was out of his power, and he finally determined upon leaving his na- tive country. He engaged with a Dr Douglas to go out to Jamacia as an assistant overseer, but was una- ble to procure money to pay his passage. In this di- lemma he was advised by Mr Hamilton to attempt the publication, by subscription, of a volume of his poems. This succeeded : the volume was published in July 1786, and he gained by the sale, 20; a sura merely sufficient to carry him out. He had engaged his passage, and sent for his trunk to Greenock, when Dr Laurie, minister of Loudon, received a letter from Dr Blacklock, expressing hii admiration of the poems, and giving his opinion, that a second edition would proba'oly meet with great pa- tronage. This letter was immediately communicated to Burns, and, being the first tribute of applause he had received from any person of literary eminence, produc- ed an instantaneous change in his designs. In Novem- ber the same year, he was at Edinburgh preparing for publication. At the Scottish metropolis Burns met with a ready reception into the circles both of literature and fashion, where his colloquial talents caused his company to be universally courted. * His manners,'' says Professoc b2 Stewart, " were simple, manly, and independent, strong' ]y expressive of conscious genius and worth ; but with- out any thing that indicated forwardness, arrogcince, 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 gentleness and accom- modation 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 any thing approaching to meanness or servi- lity, rendered his manner somewhat decided and hard. Nothing, perhaps, was more remarkable among his va- rious attainments, than the fluency, and precision, and originality 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. *' 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 unfavourable ef- fects which they left on his mind. He retained the same simplicity of manners and appearance which struck me so forcibly when I first saw him in the coun- try ; nor did be seem to feel any additional self-impor- tance from the number and rank of his new acquaint- ance. His dress was perfectly suited to his station, plain and unpretending, with a sufficient attention to neatness." To Mr Mackenzie, he was particularly indebted for an essay, which that gentleman published in the Lounger, recommending him to the pubhc notice, and support- ing that recommendation with well selected extracts from his poems, and critical observations no less just than generous. He was a frequent guest at the table of Lord Monboddo, whose accomplished daughter's kindness and condescension drew from him the warmest expressions of admiration. He said that he did not discover any very material difference between men in tlie hi<^her and in the lower ranks of gocietv, but he confessed that refined' and accompUshed feujales were a class of which he had formed a very inaJequate con- ception, until he enjoyed their acquaintance. While at Edinburgh he sought out the grave of the Poet Fergusson, where, finding it destitute of any mo- nument, he obtained leave to erect a stone to the me- mory of his luckless fellow-bard. It bears the follow- ing inscription : HERE LIES ROBERT FERGUSSON, POET; Born, September 5, 1751 Died, 16th Octoberj 1774* No sculptur'd marble here, nor pompous h-f, "No storied urn nor animated bust;"' This simple stone diiccts pale Scotia's way To nouT her sorrows o'er her poet's dust; On the other side of thestoee. By special grant of the Managers to Robert Burns, wha erected this stene, this burial place i$ to remain for ever sacred to the memory of Robert Fcrgussorj By Jams, Earl of Glencairn, lie was introduced to the gentlemen of the Caledonian Hunt, to whom he dedicated the enlarged and improved edition of his poems. It was published by subscription, and met with the most flattering reception. Its profits enabled him to gratify his taste for travelling, and on May C, 1787, he set out in company with Mr Robert Ainslie on an excursion through the sou-thern parts of Scot- land. He extended his journey into England, as far as Newcastle, crossed to Carlisle, and returned to his brother's house in Dumfi-ics-shire in the beginning of June, in very different circumstances from tl ose in vvhi( ii he had lefl it. The proud satisfact-ion v. liich his ' elations must have felt in J)is fame and celeLrity cou.d only be exceeded by the gratification wliici' his own independent spirit would derive from bcii'^, now able to relieve their necessitits. In the cotrsc of big journey he everywhere met with the mof^t wclci ne re- ception. At Jedburgh he was presented with tlir I'ree- doni of the cify. He returrkcd to Edinburgii in August, ar '. went frouj theiice, along with Dr Adair, through i&tirling, bS to the vale of Devon ; to which Jie was attracted both by the beauties of the place and by the impulse of friendship. Mr Gavin Hamilton's mother and sister then resided at Hervieston on the banks of the Devon. In this excursion he gratified his natural feelings by a visit to Mrs Bruce, an old lady above 90, and a lineal descendant of the family which gave birth to King Robert Bruce, whose helmet and two-handed sword were in the possession of this venerable dame. In September he set out from Edinburgh on an ex- tended tour through the Highlands. His companion in this journey was Mr Nicol, one of the teachers of the High School of Edinburgh, a man of strong judg- ment and great powers of conversation, whose wit and manners were a good deal tinctured with a degree of coarseness, but too congenial to the taste of the hard, whom he also resembled in his habits of good fellow- ship and improvidence. By Burns he was described as having a * mind like his body' which was robust and ungraceful. ' He has,' said the poet, ' a confounded strong in-knee'd sort of a soul.' The travellers pro- ceeded in a post-chaise by Dunkeld, Taymouth, and Blair, to Inverness, and taking the const road from this place,. arrived at Edinburgh in October. In this excursion he everywhere received a welcome as cor- dial as on other occasions. At Athole House, he met with Mr Graham of Fintry who afterwards procured, him his office in the excise. The ungovernable tem- per of his companion did not only give him much un- easiness in this tour, but was probably of serious de- triment to his future fortunes. , His manners rendered him so unfit for refined society, that Burns was anxious to introduce him to it as little as possible : and, hap- pening to dine at Gordon Castle, while he left his fel- low traveller at the Inn at Fochabers, he exasperated him to such a degree, that, when he went, accompa- nied by a gentleman who carried an invitation to him to join the party at the Castle, he found him walking about before the Inn only delaying his setting oft" tilt the horses could be put to the carriage. No remon- ttrances could prevail on him to change his resolution^ and Burns, to avoid a separation, was compelled to re- sign the enjoyment lie expected to find at Gordon Castle, and thus in all probability missed an opportu- nity of forming acquaintances which were likely to prove to him of permanent advantage. After his return to Edinburgh, Burns, at the request of Mr Johnson, who was then publishing the Scots Musical Miscellany, employed himself in furnishing new verses to some of the tunes in that collection, and improving those which were commonly sung to others. In February 1788 be came to a settlement with his publisher, when he found 500 at his command. Of this sum he immediately advanced J&200 to his brother, who was then striving with considerable difficulties in the management of Mossgiell ; the remainder he en- ph)yed in stocking the farm of EJlisland, of which he obtained a lease on terms which he was advised to of- fer by two of his friends who had carefully inspected . it. But the example of his father seems to have given him some distrust of his future success as a farmer,, and through the influence of Mr Graham of Fintry he was appointed to receive instructions to qualify him to execute the duties of an officer of excise. On the return of Burns from Edinburgh his first step of importance was tO complete and render per- manent his union with his Jean. She m as, however, necessarily prevented from accompanying him to his new farm, where he then took up his abode, nor did she actually remove until towards the end of the year. From the temper of mind in which he appears to have been immediately after he took up his residence here*, there is reason to suppose that, aided by the It was at this time he composed the following stanzas. Ihac a w.fe o' my aiu, 1 am nacbody's lord, I'll partake wi' ua.body ; I'll be slave to natbody; I'll tak cuckold frae nane, 1 hae a guid braid iword, I'll gie cuckold to naebody. I'll tak dums frae naebody. I hae a penny to spend, I'll be merry and free, There thanks to naebody ; I'll be sad (or naebody ; 1 hae naething to lend, ' If naebody care for mc, I'll burrow frae naebody. I'll care for naebody. society of his wife and children, his resolution to aban- don the enjoyments of the table might have prevailed. But in visiting his family, the distance of Mossgiell was too great for him to accomplish in one day, and the company he met with at the Inn on the road kept alive his passion for that species of pleasure. While at Ellisland, also, where it was necessary for him to pass the greater part of his time, his solitude in a smoky uncomfortable dwelling rendered him very will- ing to accept the invitations to the tables of the neigh- bouring gentlemen which his celebrity procured him. The simplicity of a farm life soon became disagree- able to him, and his dislike at the patient steadiness which it requires was increased b}' an, excise appoint- ment which the friendship of Mr Graham of Fintry pro- cured him, in the autumn of tliis year. Although he still continued to bestow some attention on bis farm, liis care of it was not so constant as is always neces- sary in a farmer who pays an adequate rent. This ne- glect was soon followed by its natural consequence. He discovered that at best it would prove but a pro- fitless concern, and he relinquished it, after he had been three years and a half in possession. His conduct as an excise-officer having gained the approbation of the Board, he received a new appoint- ment by which his income was augmented to about je70 per annum, and in the end of 1791 he removed in consequence to Dumfries. This was considered by Burns as the prelude to far- ther advancement. His constant patron, Mr Graham, contemplated the means of effecting his removal to a situation at Leith, where his emoluments would ris3 nearly to ^200 per annum, and where he would have a good deal of leisure to cultivate the society of his li- terary friends in Edinburgh. This design, however, was frustrated by the imprudence of the poet himself. On the first breaking out of the French Krvolution, the abhorrence in which Burns held every thing that resembled tyranny or oppression, made him adopt with warmth the opinion of those who flattered them- selves that the people of France would be ijidemnifiei XI for the horrors of that tremendous convulsion, by the establishment of a political system under which they would enjoy a greater degree of civil liberty than was compatible with the spirit of the old regime. But the views of those, who wished for a similar overturning at home, he completely disclaimed. In bis common- place book, he says, " Whatever might be my se;iti- ments of republics, antient or modern, as to Britain I ever abjured the idea. A constitution, which, in its original principles, experience has proved to be every way fitted for our happiness, it would be insani- ty to abandon for an untried visionary theory." In the confusion of opinions which then prevailed, how- ever, it is unlikely that he, with all his tavern engag- mentsrcouid use such caution in expressing his real sen- timents of that important event, as to escape the charge of disaftection to the government of his own country. Nor, perhaps, would it be an excess of re- finement to suppose that this imputation, however causeless at first, might create a somewhat plausible foundation for its repetition. His confidence in the accuracy of his opinion, and in the superiority of his own powers, would make him contemn every evasion of the arguments which could be used against him; and his anxiety to avoid the appearance of receding from what he had once avowed, would, in the moments of intoxication, make him go much greater lengths than on calm consideration he would think himself warranted. Accordingly, he did utter words which were reported to the Board of Excise as she;wing him unworthy of being retained in its service. An enquiry was immediately instituted ; but the result being more favourable than was expected, he was allowed to re- main in his situation. He, was given to understand, however, that his advancement was deferred, and he ever afterwards despaired of its taking place. This occurrence having annihilated the prospects in which he had sometimes indulged, of being able to leave his family in a state of independence. Burns be- came still more eager than formerly to forget himself in the phrenzy of intoxication. He began, in consequence^^ t6 be less courted by those of the higher ^nd middle walks of life, who had patronised him on his first com- ing to Dumfries, and tiie mortification which his pride would thus receive, may be deemed to have increased bis habits of dissipation. The kindness which he met with at home made hira often resolve to wean himself from this course, the hurtful tendency of which he always distinctly perceived. But this was a task too hard fdr bira. He had by this time lost all relish for the tran- quillity of domestic enjoyment. " He who suffers the pollution of inebriation," says Dr Currie, " how shall he escape other pollution ? But let us refrain from the mention of errors, over which delicacy and humanity draw a veil.'* In the midst of his inteaiperance, however, Burns"* engaged with eagerness and success in furnishing songs for Mr Thomson's Musical Work, and in the execu- tion of this engagement he continued to occupy him- self till the end of his life. When Mr Thomson soli- cited his aid, he accompanied this request with an of- fer of pecuniary recompense ; but the latter was re- ' jected by the poet, as promptly as he complied with the former. This refusal was shewn to have been dicta- ted by principle, by a similar reply which he afterwards sent to the Editor of the Morning Chronicle, who of- fered to allow him ^50 per annum for a periodical copy of verses. The excesses in which Burns was accustomed to in- dulge, had, in the autumn of 1795, very much weak- ened his frame. His stomach, which had always been liable to disorder, now began to fail in performing its functions. He was affected with head-ache and a vio- lent palpitation of the heart. In order to try the effects- of sea-bathing, he removed to the Brow on the Solway Frith, in the end of June 1796; and tbere he died on the 21st of July following. Having been a member of the Dumfries volunteer corps, his remains was interred with military honours on the 25th of the same month. By an uncommon and affecting coincidence, Mrs Burns nas on the same day delivered of a son, who was soon iaid in the same grave with his father. The rest ^f his family consisted of four sons. Burns had been anxious, often to a very distressing degree, that he should be able to make provision for his wife and children in the event of his decease. In his last illness the idea of their poverty hung heavy on his mind; and, indeed, as he was for some months in- capable of attending to the duties of his office, hi* anxiety was increased by the apprehension that his salary would, as is usual in such cases, be reduced one-half. Mr Stobbie, however, a young-expectant in the excise, kindly undertook to act for him without re- muneration. A subscription in favour of the widow and children, which was opened at Dumfries, soon amount- ed to 3^700, and was vested in the hands of trustees. An edition of the works of the poet was also projected for the same purpose, and Dr Currie of Liverpool was solicited to undertake the task of Editor and Biogra- pher. The profits of this publication were disposed of in the same way as the sum before raised by sub- scription, and the widow was thus placed beyond the reach of indigence, and the means of education secur- ed to her family. In person. Burns was strong and well made. He was nearly five feet ten inches in stature, with a round- ness in his shoulders, which was probably occasioned by the nature of his employment. His well-raised forehead shaded with blacis hair, and his large dark eyes seemed characteristic of his deep penetration. He was jealous of the respect due to himself, and his first reception of strangers was often in some degree haugh- ty. But to those who addressed him in the spirit of friendship his manner was singularly engaging. Con- scious of his own talents, he had in all companies the most perfect self-possession. His conversation was powerful. He was enabled to avail himself to the ut- most of the strength of his judgment and the brilliancy of his imagination, by his ready command of language, and the advantages of a' countenance and voice which he could easily adapt to every subject. It was in the society of women, however, where the sorcery of his conversation was most conspicuous. In large com- panies he was often silent and gloomy. The character of Burns has been a subject of keen controversy. His enemies have inveighed with warmth against his dissipation and irreligion, while his friends have excused him for the former on account of the strength of his passions and the temptations to which he was exposed, and for the appsarance of the latter on account of the indignity to which he was subjected by the national church of his country, and of the mo- ral depravity which too frequently shelters iiself un- der the cloak of religion ; we say ap^jearance, as it is denied by his friends that his shafts were ever levelled against the spirit of true religion. Of the moral and religious tendency of his writings, however, there will only be difference of opinion among those who differ in their sentiments of morals and religion ; it is not in the writings of Burns that the ambiguity lies. The The plea of the strength of his passions and the great- ness of the temptations to which he was exposed have been too much dwelt upon by one party as it has been too slightly treated by their opponents. That thej'^ should have occasionally betrayed him may surely be admitted, but they appear to have been assisted by a certain laxity of principle. He was too much accus- tomed to consider sobriety as the virtue of plodding dulness; and this made him view its opposite in a less xmfavourable light than he ought. It has been said, indeed, that there are many who have gone greater lengths without its being made a matter of public re- prehension. But although dissipation alone be not a sure way to public notice, it cannot be expected that the vices of him who has ah-eady gained celebrity, should sleep in obscurity. In his amorous attachments he was ardent, but in his inconstancy, he must be admitted to have shewn too little feeling for the suffer- ings of those whom he deserted. It must not be forgot, however, that, with this one exception, he has never been charged with any vice, or even impropriety of con- duct, of which he was not the principal victim. POEMS, SCOTTISH. THE TWA DOGS, ^ TALE. J. WAS in that place o' Scotland's isle That bears the name o' Auld King Coil, Upon a bonie day in June, When wearing thro* the afternoon, Twa dogs, that were na thrang at hame, Forgather'd ance upon a time. The first I'll name, they ca'd him CiESAR, Was kecpit for his Honor's pleasure : His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs, Shevv'd he was nane o' Scotland's dogs. But whalpit some place far abroad, Whare sailors gang to fish for cod. His locked, letter'd, braw brass collar, Shevv'd him the gentleman and scholar : But tho' he was o' high degree. The fient a pride na pride had he ; But wad hae spent an hour caressin, Ev'n wi' a tinkler-gypsey's messin ; At kirk or market, mill or smiddie, Nae tawted tyke, tho' e*er sae duddie. But he wad stan't, as glad to see him. And stroan't on stanes an' hillocks wi' him. A The tither was a ploughman's collie, A rhyming, ranting, raving billie, Wha for his friend an' comrade had him. And in his freaks had Luath ca'd him, After some dog in Highland sang*. Was made lang syne, Lord knows how lang. He was a gash an' faithfu* tyk. As ever lap a sheugh or dyke. His honest, sonsie, baws'nt face. Ay gat him friends in ilka place. His breast was white, his touzie back Weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black ; His gawcie tail, wi' upward curl. Hang o'er his hurdles wi' a swirl. Nae doubt but they were fain o' ither, An' unco pack an' thick thegither ; Wi' social nose whyles snuiF'd and snowkit, Whyles mice an' moudieworts thej' howkit; Whyles scour'd awa in lang excursion, And worried ither in diversion ; Until wi' daffin weary grown. Upon a knowe they sat them down. And there began a lang digression About the Lords o' the Creation. CJESAR. I've aften wonder'd, honest Luath, What sort o' life poor dogs like you have; An' when the gentry's life I saw. What way poor bodies liv'd ava. Our Laird gets in his racked rents. His coals, his kain, and a* his stents : He rises when he likes hinisel ; His flunkies answer at the bell ; He ca's his coach ; he ca's his horse ; He draws a bonie silken purse, " As lang's my tail, where, thro* the steaks. The yellow lettered Geordie keeks. Cuchullin's dog In Osslan's Fingal. s Frae morn to e'en it's -nought but toiling. At baking, roasting, frying, boiling ; An' tho' the gentry first are stechen. Yet ev'n the ha' folk fill their pechan Wi' sauce, ragouts, an' sicklike trashtrie, That's little short o' downright wastrie. Our Whipper-in, wee blastit wonner. Poor worthless eit", it eats a dinner. Better than ony tenant man His Honor has in a' the Ian' : An' what poor cot-folk pit their painch in, I own it's past my comprehension. LUATH. Trowth, C^sAR, whyles they're fash't eneugh ; A cottar howkin in a sheugh, Wi' dirty stanes biggin a dyke. Baring a quarry, and sickhke. Himself, a wife, he thus sustains, A smytrie o' wee duddie weans. An' nought but his han* darg, to keep Them right and tight in thack an' rape. An' when they meet wi' sair disasters. Like loss o' health, or want o' masters. Ye maist Avad think, a wee touch langer. An' they maun starve o' cauld and hunger ; But, how it comes, I never kend yet. They're maistly wonderfu' contented ; An' buirdly chiels, an' clever hizzies, Are bred in sic a way as this is. CiESAR. But then to see how ye're negleckit, How hufF'd, and cuff'd, and disrespeckit ! L d, man, our gentry care as little For delvers, ditchers, and sic cattle ; They gang as saucy by poor folk. As I would by a stinking brock. I've notic'd, on our Laird's court-day, An' mony a time my heart's been wae, A2 Poor tenaBt bodies, scant o' casbj How they maun thole a factor's snash : He'll stamp an' threaten, curse an' swear, He'll apprehend them, poind their gear; While they maun stan', wi' aspect humble, An' hear it a', an' feat an' tremble ! I see how folk live that hae riches ; But surely poor folk mSun be wretches ? LUATH. They're nae sae wretched's ane wad think; Tho' constantly on poortith's brink : They're sae accustom'd wi' the sight, The view o't gies them little fright. Then chance an' fortune are sae guided, They're ay in less or mair provided ; An' tho' fatigu'd wi* close employment, A blink o' rest's a sweet enjoyment. The dearV!St comfort o' their lives. Their grushie weans an' faithfu' wives ; The prattling things are just their pride,. That sweetens a' their fire-side. An* whyles twalpennie worth o' nappy Can make the bodies unco happy ; They lay aside their private cares. To inind tlie Kirk and State affairs : They'll talk o' patronage and priests, Wi' kindling fury in their breasts. Or tell what new taxation's coniin. An' ferlie at the folk in London. As bleak-fac'd Hallowmas returns. They get the jovial, ranting kirns, When rural life, o' ev'ry station. Unite in common recreation ; Love blinks. Wit slaps ; an' social Mirth Forgets there's Care upo' the earth. That merry day the year begins, They bar the door on frosty winds ; The nappy reeks wi' mantling ream. An' sheds a heart-inspiring steim ; The luntin pipe, an* sneeshin mill. Are handed round vvi' right guid will ; The cantie aidd folks, crackin crouse ; The young anes raatin thro' the house, My heart has been sae fain to see them, That I for joy hae barkit wi' them. * Still it's owre true that ye hae said, Sic game is now owre aften play'd. There's mony a creditable stock O' decent, honest-fawsont folk. Are riven out baith root and branch, Some rascal's pridefu' greed to quench; Wha thinks to knit himsel the faster In favour -wi' some gentle Master, Wha, ablins, thrang a-parliamentin. For Britain's guid his soul indentin CJESAR. Haith, lad, ye little ken about it ; For Britam's guid ! guid faith ! I doubt it. Say rather, gaun as Premiers lead him, An' saying ai/e or ?2o 's they bid him : At operas an' plays parading. Mortgaging, gambling, masquerading; Or maybe, in a frolic daft. To Hague or Calais take a waft, To mak a tour, an' tak a whirl, To learn bon ton an' see the worl'. There, at Vienna or Versailles, He rives his father's auld entails ; Or by Madrid he takes the rout, To thrum guitars, and fecht wi' nowt ; Or down Italian vista startles, Wh-re hunting among groves o' myrtles: Then bouses drumly German water. To mak himsel' look fair and fatter, An' clear the consequential sorrows, Love-gifts of Carnival signoras. For Britain's guid ! for her destruction ^ Wi* dissipation, feud, an' faction i A a LUATH. Hech man ! dear sirs ? is that the gate They waste sae mony a braw estate ! Are we sae foughten an' harass'd For gear to gang that gate at last ! O would they stay aback frae courts, An' please .themselves wi' countra sports, It wad for ev'ry ane be better, The Laird, the Tenant, an' the Cotter ! For thae frank, rantin, rarablin 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 moor-cock, The ne'er a bit they're ill to poor folk. But will ye tell me, Master C^sar, Sure great folk's life's a life o' pleasure ; Nae cauld or hunger e'er can steer them. The vera thought o't need na fear them. C^SAR. L d, man, were ye but whyles whare I am, The gentles ye wad ne'er envy 'em. It's true, they need na starve or sweat. Thro' winter's cauld, or simmer's heat ; They've nae sair wark to craze their banes. An' fill auld age wi' grips an' granes: But human bodies are sic fools. For a' their colleges and schools. That when nae real ills perplex them. They mak enow themsels to vex them ; An' ay the less they hae to sturt then^. In like proportion less will hurt them. A country fellow at the pleugh. His acre's till'd, lie's right eneugh ; j^ country girl at her wheel, Her dizzen's done, she's unco weel : But Gentlemen, an' Ladies warst, Wi' ev'ndown want o' wark are curst. They loiter, lounging, lank, an' lazy; Tho* deil haet ails them, yet uneasy j Their days insipid, dull, an' tasteless ; Their nights unquiet, lang, an* restless ; An' ev'n their sports, their balls an' races, Their galloping thro' public places. There's sic parade, sic pomp, an' art, The joy can scarcely reaclv the heart. The men cast out in party matches. Then sovvther a' in deep debauches ; ^e night they're mad \vi' drink an' wh-ring, Niest day their life is past enduring. The Ladies arm-in-arm in clusters. As great and gracious a' as sisters ; But hear their absent thoughts o' ither. They're a' run deils an' jads thegither. Whyles, owre the wee bit cup an' platie. They sip the scandal potion pretty ; Or lee-lang nights, wi' crabbit leuks. Pore owre tlie devil's pictur'd beuks ; Stake on a chance a farmer's stackyard. An* cheat like onie unhang'd blackguard. There's some exception, man an' woman ; But this is Gentry's life in common. By this the sun was out o' sight, An' darker gloarain brought the night : The bum-clock humm'd wi' lazy drone; The kye stood rowtin i' the loan : When up they gat, and shook their lugs, Rejoic'd they were na men but (logs ; An' each took aft" his several way, Rcsolv'd to meet some ith.er day. 8 SCOTCH DRINK. Gie him strong drink until he wink. That's sinking in despair ; An' liquor guid to fire his bluid. That's prest wi' grief an' care ; There let him bouse, an' (Jeep carouse, Wi' bumpers flowing o'er, Till he forgets his loves or debts, An' miuds his griefs no more. Solomon's prov. xxxi. 6, 7. Let Other Poets raise a fracas, 'Bout vines, an' wines, an' drunken Bacchus, An' crabbit names an' stories wrack us, An' grate our lug, I sing the juice Scots bear can mak us, In glass or jug. O thou my Muse ! guid auld Scotch Drink ! Whether thro' wimpling worms thou jink, Or, richly brown, ream o'er the brink, In glorious faem, Inspire me till I lisp and wink. To sing thy name ! Let husky Wheat the haughs adorn. An' Aits set up their awnie honi, An' Pease and Beans at e'en or morn. Perfume the plain, Leeze me on thee, John Barleycorn, Thou king o' grain ! On tliee aft Scotland chows her cood. In souple scones, the wale o' food ! Or tumblin in the boiling flood Wi' kail an' beef; But when thou pours thy strong heart's blood. There thou shines chief.. Food fills the wame an' keeps us livin ; Tho' life's a gift no worth receivin. 9 When heavy dragg'd wi' pine an' grieti'n ; But oil'tl by thee, The wheels o' life gae down-hiil scrievin, Wi' rattlin glee. Thou clears the head o' doited Lear; Thou chears 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, W^i' 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 ? Ev'n godly meetings o' the saunts. By thee inspir'd. When gaping they besiege the tents. Are doubly fir'd. That merry night we get the corn in, O sweetly then thou reams the horn in ! Or reekin on a New-year mornin In cog or bicker, . An' just a wee drap sp'ritual burn in, An' gusty sucker I When Vulcan gi'es his bellows breath, An' ploughmen gather wi' their graith, O rare ! to see thee fizz an' freath P th' lugget caup! Then Burneivin* comes on like death At ev'ry chaup. Nae mercy, then, for airn or steel ; The brawnie, bainie, ploughman chiel. Brings hard owrehip, wi' sturdy wheel, The strong forehanomer, * Surnetvw, {Burn- the- -wind), the Blacksmith. 10 Till block an' studdie ring an' reel Wi' dinsome clamour* When skirlin weanies see the light, Thou maks the gossips clatter bright, How fumblin cuifs their dearies slight; Wae worth the name ! Nae howdie gets a social night, Or plack frae them. When neebors anger at a plea. An' just as wud as wiul can be. How easy can the barlcij-hree Cement the quarrel 1 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 ! But monie daily wcet their weason Wi' liquors nice. An' hardly, in a winter's season. E'er spier her price. Wae worth that hrnndy^ burning- trash! Fell source o' monie a pain an' brash ! Twins monie a poor, doylt, drunken hash, O' half his days; An' sends, beside, auld Scotland's cash To her warst faes. Ye Scots wha wish auld Scotland well ! Ye chief, to you my tale I tell, Poor plackless devils like mysel ! It sets you ill, Wi* bitter dearthfu' wines to mell. Or foreign gill. May gravels round his blather wrench, An' gouts torment him inch by inch, Wha twists his gruntle wi' a glunch O' sour disdain. Out owre a glass o' 'whisky punch Wi' hi)nest men. 11 O WhisJci/ 1 soul o' plays an' pranks.^ Accept a Bardie's humble thanks ! When wanting thee, what tuneless cranks Are ray poor verses ! Thou comes: they rattle i' their ranks At ither's a s ! Thee, Ferintosh ! O sadly lost ! Scotland lament frae coast to coast ! Now colic grips, an' barkin hoast May kill us a' ; For loyal Forbes* charter'd boast Is ta'en awa ! Thae curst horse-leeches o' th' Excise, Wha mak the Whiskij stclls their prize ! Haud up thy han', Deil ! ance, twice, thrice ! There, seize the blinkers ! An' bake them up in brunstane pies For poor d n'd drinkers. Fortune ! if thou'll but gie me still Hale breeks, a scone, an* Whisky gilly An' rowth o' rhyme to rave at will, Tak' a' the rest, Aa' deal't about as thy blind skill Directs thee besL 12 THE AUTHOR'S EARNEST CRY AND PRAYER* TO THE SCOTCH REPRESENTATIVES IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS. Dearest of d'scillation ! last and best f- How art thou lost ! PARODY ON MILTON. Ye Irish Lords, ye Knights an' Squires, Wha represent our brughs an' shires, An' doucely manage our aftairs In Parliament, To you a simple Poet's prayers Are humbl}'- sent. Alas ! my roupet Muse is hearse ! Your Honors heart wi' grief 'twad pierce, To see her sittin on her a e Low i' the dust. An* scriechin out prosaic verse. An' like to burst ! Tell them wha hae the chief direction, Scotland an' me's in great afffiction, E'er sin' they laid that curst restriction On Aquavitce ; An' rouse them up to strong conviction, An' move their pity. Stand forth, an' tell yon Premier Youth^ The honest, open, naked truth : Tell him o' mine an' Scotland's drouth. His servants humble : The muckle devil blaw ye south, If ye dissemble! * This was written before the Act anent the Scotch Distillef- ies, of Session 1786; for which Scotland and the Author return their most grateful thanlu. 13 Does ony great man glunch an* gloom f Speak out, an* never fash your thumb ! Let posts an' pensions sink or soora Wi' them wlia grant 'era! if honeistly they canna come, Far better want *em. In gath'rin votes you were na slack ; New stand as tightly by your tack; Ne'er claw your lug, an* fidge your back, An* hum an haw; But raise your arm, an^ tell your crack Before them a*. Paint Scotland greeting owre her thrissle ; Her mutchkin stoup as toom's a whissle ; An' d-mn'd Excisemen in a bussle. Seizin a Stell, Triumphant crushin 't like a mussel Or lampit shell. Then on the tither hand present her, A blackguard Smuggler right behint her. An' cheek-for-chow, a chuffie Vintner, Colleaguing join. Picking her pouch as bare as winter. Of a' kind coin. Is there, that bears the name o* Scof, But feels his heart's biuitl rising hot, To see his poor auld Mither's jooi Thus dung in staves. An' plunder*d o' her hindmost groat By gallows knaves ? Alas ! Pm but a nameless wight, Trode i' the mire out o' sight ! But could I like Montfromeries fight. Or gab like Bostvell, There's some sark-necks I wad draw tight. An* tie some hose well. God bless your Honors, can you see*t. The kind, auld, cantie Carlin greet, B u An* no get vRarmly to your feet, An* gar them hear it. An' tell them, wi' a patriot-heat, Ye winna bear it ! Some o' you nicely ken the laws. To round the period an' pause, An' wi' rhetoric clause on clause To mak harangues ; Then echo thro' Saint Stephen's wa's Auld Scotland's wrangs. Dempster, a true blue Scot I'se warran Thee, aith-detesting, chaste Kilkerran ; An' that glib-gabbet Highland Baron, The Laird o' Graham ; An' ane, a chap that's d-mn'd auld farran, Hundas his name. ErsJcine, a spunkie Norland billie ; True Campbells, Frederick, an' Jlai/ ; An' Livingstone, the bauld Sir Willie i An' monie i there, Whom auld Demosthenes or Tully Might own for brithers. Arouse, my boys ! exert your mettle, To get auld Scotland back her kettle ; Or faith ! I'll wad my new pleugh-pettle, Ye'U see't or lang. She'll teach you, wi' a reekin whittle^ Anither sang. This while she's been in crankous mood. Her lost Militia fir'd her bluid; (Deil na they never mair do guid, Play'd her that phskie !) An* now she's like io rin red-wud About her Whisky. 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. 15 An' rin her wfiittle to the hilt I' the first she meets ! For G-d sake, Sirs ! then speak her fair, An' straik her cannie wi* the hair, An' to the muckle house repair Wi' instant speed. An' strive, wi' a* your wit an' lear. To get remead. Yon ill-tongu'd tinkler, Charlie Fox, May taunt you wi' his jeers an' mocks ; But gie him't het, my hearty cocks ! E'en cow the caddie ! An' isend him to his dicing box An' sportin lady. Tell yon guid bluid o' auld Boconnock's I'll be his debt twa mashlum bonnocks, An' drink his health in auld -Nanse TinnocJc's'* Nine times a-week, If he some scheme, like tea an' winnocks. Wad kindly, seek. Could he some commutation broach, I'll pledge my aith in guid braid Scotch, He need na fear their foul reproach Nor erudition, Yon mixtie-maxtie, queer hotch-potch. The Coalition. Auld Scotland has a raucle tongue ;- She's just a devil wi' a rung; An* if she promise auld or young ^ To tak their part, Tho' by the neck she should be strung^, She'll no desert. An' now, ye chosen Five-and-Fortyy May still your Mither's heart support ye ; Then, though a Minister grow dorty. An' kick your place, B 2 A worthy old Hostess of the Author's in Mauchline, where he 30iactiHic studied Politics over a glass of guide auld Scotch Drink. 16 Ye'll snap your fingers, poor an' hearty. Before his face. God bless your Honors a' your clays, Wi' soups o' kail and brats o' claise,' In spite o' a' the thievish kaes That haunt St Janne*'s ! Your humble Poet sings an' prays While Rab his name is. POSTSCRIPT, Let half-starv'd slaves in wanner skies See future wines, rich-clust' ring, rise; Their lot auld Scotland ne'er envies, But blythe and frisky. She eyes her freeborn, martial boys Tak aff their Whisky.. What tho' their Phoebus kinder warms. While Fragrance bloomi? and Beauty charms ! When wretches range, in famish'd swarms. The scented groves. Or hounded forth, dishonor arms In hungry droves. Their gun's a burden on their shouther; They downa bide the stink o' powther ; Their bauldest thought's a hank'ring swither To Stan' or rin. Till skelp a shot they're afF, a' throw'ther. To save their skin. But bring a Scotsman frae his hill, Clap in his cheek a Highland gill, Say, such is royal George'* s will. An' there's the foe ; He has nae thought but how to kill Twa at a blow. Nae cauld, faint-hearted doubtings tease him ^ Death comes ! wi' fearless eye he sees Ijim ; Wi' bluidy hand a welcome gies him ; An' when he fa's, n l^s latest draught o* breathin lea'es him In faint huzzas. Sages their solemn een may steek. An* raise a philosophic reek. An' physically causes seek. In clime and season ; But tell me Whuky^s name in Greek, I'll tell the reason. Scotland, my auld, respected Mither! Tho' whyles ye moistify your leather. Till whare ye sit, on craps o' heather, Ye tine your dam ; Freedom and Whisky gang thegither ! Tak aiFyour dram! THE HOLY FAIR*; A robe of seeming truth and trust Hid crafty Observation ; And secret hung, with poison'd crust, The dirk of defamation : A mask that like the gorget show'd,- Dye-varying on the pigeon ; And for a mantle large and broad. He wrapt him in Religion. HYPOCRISY A-LA-MODE. I. Upon a simmer Sunday morn, When Nature's face is fair, I walked forth to view the corn, An' snufFthe caller air. B 3 Holy Fair is a common phraK in the Weit of Scotlacd fr Ittctamental occasion. 18 The rising sun owre Galston muks, Wi' glorious light was glintin ; The hares were hirplin down the furs, The lav*rocks they were chantin Fu' sweet that day, IL As lightsomely I glowr'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 the fashion shining, Fu* gay that day. III. The tvaa appear'd like sisters twin. In feature, form an' claes ! Their visage, wither'd, lang an' thin. An* sour as ony slaes ; The third cam up, hap-stap-an*-lowp,, As light as ony lambie, An* wi' a curchie low did stoop. As soon as e'er she saw me, Fu' kind that day. IV. Wi' bonnet aff, quoth I, ' Sweet lass, I think ye seem to ken me ; * I'm sure I've seen that bonnie face, * But yet I capna name ye.' Quo' she, an' laughin as she spak. An' taks me by the hands, * Ye, for my sake, hae gi'en the feek ' Of a' the ten commands * A screed some day. V. * My name is Fun your cronie dear,. The nearest friend ye hae ; * An' this is Superstition here, * An* that's Hypocrisy. 19 * I'm gaun to ********* Holy Fairy ' To spend an jiour in daffin : . * Gin ye'll go there, yon runkl'd pair, * We will get famous laughin * At them this day.' VI. Quoth I, With a' my heart, I'll do't ; * I'll get my. Sunday's sark on, * An' meet you on the holy spot ; * Faith, we'se hae fine remarkin !' Then I gacd hame at crowdie-tinie, m An' soon I made me ready ; For roads were clad, frae side to side, Wi' monie a wearie body. In droves that day. VII. Here farmers gash, in ridin graith, Gaed hoddin by their cotters ; There, swankies young, in braw braid-claith, * Are springin o'er the gutters. The lasses, skelpin barefit, thrang, fn silks and scarlets glitter j Wi' siveet-milk cheese, in monie a whang. An' Juris bak'd wi' butter Fu' crump that day. VIII. Wlicn by the plate we set our nose, Weel heaped up wi' ha'pence. A greedy glowr Black Bonnet throws, An' we maun draw our trppence. Then in we go to see the show. On ev'ry side they're gathrin ; Some carrying dales, some chairs an* stools. An' some are busy blethrin Right loud that day. IX. Here stands a shed to fend the show'rs. An' screen our countra Gentry, There, racer Jess, an' twa-thiee wh-res, Are blinkin at the entry. 20 Here sits a raw of tittlin jades, Wi* heaving breast and bare neck, An' there a batch o' wabster lads, Blackguarding frae K*******ck For Jiin this day* X. Here some are thinkin on their sins, An' some upo' their claes ; Ane curses feet that fjl'd his shins, Anither sighs an' prays : On this hand sits a chosen swatch, Wi' screw'd up grace-proud faces; On that a set o' chap& at watch, Thrang winkin on the lasses To chairs that day,- XI. O happy is that man an* blest ! Nae wonder that it pride him ! Whase ain dear lass, that he likes best. Comes clinkin down beside him ! "Wi' arm repos'd on the chair-back. He sweetly does compose him ; Which, by degrees, slips round her neck, Ab's loof upon her bosom Unkend that day. xn. Now a* the congregation o'er Is silent expectation ; For ****** spaels the holy door, W' tidings o' d-mn-tn. Should Hornie, as in antient days, 'Mang sons o' G present him, The vera sight o' ******'s face, To's ain het hame had sent him Wi' fright that day. XIII. Hear how he clears the points o* faith Wi' rattlin an' thumpin ! Now meekly calm, now wild in wratfc, He's stampin an' he's juropic! 21 His lengthen'd chin, his turn'd-up snout. His eldritch squeel and gestures, O how they fire the heart devout, Like cantharidian plasters. On sic a day ! XIV. . But, hark ! the tent has chang'd its voice ; There's peace an' rest nae langer : For a' the real judges rise. They canna sit for anger. ***** opens out his cauld harangues. On practice and on morals ; An' aff the godly pour in thrangs, To gie the jars an' barrels A lift that day. . XV. What signifies his barren shine. Of moral pow'rs and reason ? His English style, an' gesture fine, ' Are a* clean out o' season. Like Socrates or AnioninCy Or some auld pagan Heathen, The moral man he does define, But ne'er a word o' faith in That's right that day, XVI. In guid time comes an antidote Against sic poisonM nostrum ; For *******, frae the water-fit. Ascends the holy rostrum : See, up he's got the word o' G , An' meek an' mim has view'd it ; While Common-Sense has ta'en the road. An' afiP, an' up the Cowgate*, Fast, fast, that day. xvn. We^ ******, niest, the Guard relieves. An' Orthodoxy raibles, * A street so called which faces the ient In Tho*in his hart he weel believes, An' thinks it auld wives' fables: But, faith ! the birkie wants a Manse, So, cannily he hums them ; Alfho' his carnal wit an' sense Like hafflins-ways o'ercomes him At times that day. XVIII. Now butt an' ben, the change-house fills Wi' yill-caup Commentators : Here's crying out for bakes an' gills, An' there the pint-stowp clatters; While thick an' thrang, an' loud an' lang, Wi' Logic, an' wi' Scripture, They raise a din, that, in the end, Is like to breed a rupture O' wrath that day. XIX. Leeze me on Drink ! it gies us mair Than either School or College : It kindles wit, it waukens lair. It pangs us fou o' knowledge. Be't whisky gill, or penny wheep. Or ony stronger potion, It never fails, on drinking deepj To kittle up our notion By night or day. XX. The lads an' lasses, blythely bent To mincf baith saul an' ho^y^ Sit round the table^ weel content, An' steer about the toddy. On this ane's dress, an' that ane's leuk^ They're making observations ; While some are cozie i' the neuk. An' formin assignations , To meet some day. XXI. But now the L d's ain trumpet touts, Till a* the hills are rairin, 23 Ari' echoes back return the shouts ! Black ****** is na spairin : His piercing words, like Highlan' swords. Divide the joints an' marrow ; His talk o' H-ll, whare devils dwell, Our vera sauls does harrow* Wi' fright that day. XXII. A vast, unbottom'd, boundless pit, Fill'd fou o' lowin brunstane, Wha's ragin flame, an' scorchin heat. Wad melt the hardest whun-stane ! The half asleep start up wi' fear, An' think they hear it roarin. When presently it does appear, 'Twas but some neebor snorin Asleep that day. XXIII. 'T-wad be owre lang a tale, to tell How mony stories past. An' how they crouded to the yill, When they were a' dismist : How drink gaed round, in cogs an' caupe, Amang the furms and benches ; An' cheese an' bread, frae women's laps. Was dealt about in lunches, An' dawds that day. XXIV. In comes a gaucie, gash Guidwife, An' sits down by the fire. Syne draws her kebbuck an' her knife; The ksses they are shyer. The auld Guidmen, about the grace^ Frae side to side they bother. Till some ane by his bonnet lays, An' gi'es them't like a tether, Fu' lang that day. -Shakespeare's Hamlet, 24- XXV. Waesucks 1 for hira that get's nae lass, Or lasses that hae naething ! Sma' need has he to say a grace, Or melvie his braw claithing ! O wives be mindfu', ance yoursel How bonie lads ye wanted, An' dinna, for a kebbuck-heel, Let lasses be affronted On sic a day ! XXVI. Now Clinl-mnheU, wi' rattlin tow. Begins to jow an' croon ; Some swagger hame, the best they dow, Some wait the afternoon. At slaps the billies halt a blink, Till lasses strip their shoon ; Wi' faith an' hope, an' love an' drink, They're a' in famous tune, For crack that day. XXVIl. How monie 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 fou o' love divine ; There's some are fou o' brandy ; An' monie jobs that day begin, May end in houghmagandie Some ither day. DEATH AND DOCTOR HORNBOOK. J TRUE STORY. Some books are lies frae end to end. And some great lies were never penn'd : 25 Ev'n Ministers they hae been kenn'd, In holy rapture, A rousing whid, at times, to vend, And nail't vvi' Scripture. But this that I am gaun to tell. Which lately on a night befel, Is just as true's the Deil's in hell Or Dublin city: That e*er he nearer comes oursel 'S a muckle pity. The Clachan yill had made me canty, I was na fou, but just had plenty ; I stacher'd whyles, but yet took tent ay To free the ditches ; An' hillocks, stanes, an' bushes kenn'd ay Frae ghaists ^n' witches. The rising Moon began to glowr The distant Cumnock hills out-owre : To count her horns, wi' a' my power, I set mysel ; But whether she had three or four, I cou'd na tell. I was come round about the hill. And todlin down on JVillie's millf Setting my staff wi' a' niy skill. To keep me sicker ; The' leeward whyles, against my will, I took a bicker. 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-tae'd leister on the ither Lay, large an' lang. Its stature seem'd lang Scotch ells twa, The queerest shape that e'er I saw. For fient a wame it had ava ; And then its shanks, C They were as thin, as sharp, an' sma* As cheeks o' branks. * Guid-een,' quo' I ; * Friend ! hae ye been mawin, * When ither folk are busy sawin* ?' It seem'd to mak a kind o' stan', But naething spak ; At length, says T, ' 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 may be come to stap my breath ; * But tent me, billie ; * I red ye weel, tak care o' skaith, * See there's a gully !' * 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 mislear'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, an' sae we're gree't ; * We'll ease our shanks an' tak a seat, * Come, gies your news ; * This whilef ye hae been mony a gate, * At mony a house.* * Ay, ay !' quo' he, an' shook his head, * It's e'en a lang, lang time indeed * Sin' I began to nick the thread. An' choke the breath : * Folk maun do something for their bread, An' sae maun Death. * Sax thousand years are near hand fled * Sin I was to the hutching bred, * An' mony a scheme in vain's been laid, ' To stap or scar me ; This rencounter happened in seed-time, 1785. f An epidemical fever was then raging in that country. 27 * Till ane Hornbook* s* ta'en up the trade * An* faith, he'll waur me. * Ye ken Jock Hornbook i' the Clachan, * Deil mak his king's-hood in a spleuchan ! * He's grown sae weel acquaint wi' Buchan\ * An' ither chaps, * The weans haud out their fingers laughin, An' pouk my hips. ' See, here's a scythe, and there's a dart, * They hae pierc'd mony a gallant heart ; * But Doctor Hornbook, wi' his art * xlnd cursed skill, * Has iuade them baith no worth a f t * D-mn'd haet they'll kill ! * *T was but yestreen, nae farther gaen, * I threw a noble throw at ane ; * Wi' less, I'm sure, I've hundreds slain ; ' But deil-ma-care, 'It just play'd dirl on the bane, * But did nae mair. * Hornbook was by, wi' ready art, * And had sae fortify'd the part, * That when I looked to my dart, * It was sae blunt, * Fient haet o't wad hae pierc'd the heart * Of a kail- runt. * I drew my scythe in sic a fury, * I nearhand cowpit wi' my hurry, * But yet the bauld Apothecary * Withstood the shock ; * I might as weel hae tried a quarry * O' hard whin rock. * Ev*n them he canna get attended, * Altho' their face he ne'er had kend it, * This gentleman, Dr Harnbook, is, professionally, a brother of the soTcrcign Order of the Ferula ; but, by intuition an^ iflspir*- tion, is at once an Apothecary, Surgeon, aBd Physiciaa. f Suckan's Domestic Medicine. C2 28 * Just in a kail-blade, and send it, * As soon's he smells% * Baith their disease, and what will mend it, * At ance he telis't. * And then a' doctor's saws and whittles, * Of a* dimensions, shapes, an' mettles, * A* kinds o' boxes, mugs, an* bottles, * He's sure to hae ; * Their Latin names as fast he rattles * As ABC. * Calces o' fossils, earth, and trees ; * True Sal-marinum o' the seas ; * The Farina of beans and pease, * He has't in plenty ; * Aqua-fontis, what you please, * He can content ye. * Forbye some new, uncommon weapons, * Urinus Spiritus of Capons ; * Or Mite-horn shavings, filings, scrapings, * Distill'd per se ; * Sal-alkali o' Midge-tail-clippings, * And mony mae.* * Waes me for Johnny Ged's Hole* now,' Quo' I, * if that the news be true ! * His braw calf- ward whare gowans grew, * Sae white and bonie, * Nae doubt they'll rive it wi' the plew ; * They'll ruin Johnie I The creature grain'd an eldritch laugh, And says, * Ye need na yoke flie pleugh, * Kirkyards will soon be till'd eneugh, * Tak ye nae fear : * They'll a' be trendh'd wi' mony a sheugh^ * In twa-three year. * Whare I kill'd ane a fair strae death, * By loss o' blood or want of breath, * This oight I'm free to tak my aith, < That Hornbook's skill * The grave-digger. 29 * Has clad a score i' their last claith, * By drap an* pilh * An hone&t Wabster to his track, * Whase wife's twa nieves were scarce weel bred, * Gat tippence-vvorth to mend her head, * When it was sair ;, * The wife slade cannie to her bed, * But ae*er spak mair, * A countra Laird had ta'en the batts, * Or some curmurring in his guts, * His only son for Hornbook sets, * An' pays him well. * The lad, for twa guid gimmer-pets, * Was Laird bimseh, * A bonie lass ye kend her name, * Some ill-brewn drink had hov'd her wame ; * She trusts hersel, to hide the shame, * In Hornbook^s care j. *'Horn sent her aflPto her lang hame,. * To hide it there; * That*s just a swatch o' Hornbook's way ; * Thus goes he on from day to day, * Thus does he poison, kill, an' slay, * An's weel paid fbr't; * Yet stops me a' my lawfu' prey, Wi his d-mn'd dirt : * But hark ! I'll tell you of a plot, * Tho* dinna ye be speakin o't ; * I'll nail the self-conceited sot, * As dead's a herring * Niest time we meet, I'll wad a groat, * He gets his fairin ! But just as he began to tell. The auld kirk-hammer strak the bell Some wee short hour ayont the twal. Which rais'd us balth i I tool|t the way that pleas'd mysel. And sae did Deailk C3 so THE BRIGS OF AYR, ^ POEM. INSCRIBED TO J. b*********, ESQ. AYR* The simple Bard, rough at the rustic plough, Learning his tuneful trade from ev*ry bough ; The chanting linnet, or the mellow thrush. Hailing the setting sun sweet in the green thorn bush ; The soaring lark, the perching red-breast shrill, Or deep ton'd plovers, grey, wild whistling o'er the bill j 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 arras in stern Misfortune's field ;. Shall he be guilty of their hireling crimes. The servile mercenary Swiss of rhymes ? Or labour hard the panegyric close. With all the venal soul of dedicating Prose ! No ! 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. Still, if some Patron's gen'rous care he trace, Skill'd in the secret, to bestow with grace ; When B********* befriends his humble name,, And hands the rustic stranger up to fame, With heart-felt throes his grateful bosom swells. The godlike bliss, to give, alone excels. 'Twas when the stacks get on their winter-hap, And thack and rape secure the toil-won crap ; Potatoe-bings are snugged up frae skaith Of coming Winter's biting, frosty breath ; The bees rejoicing o*er their summer toils, Unnumber'd buds an' flowers' delicious spoils, Seal'd up with frugal care in massive waxen piles Are doom'd by man, that tyrant o'er the weak, The death o' devils smoor'd wi' brimstone reek : ] :1 31 The thundering guns are heard on ev'ry side. The wounded coveys, reeling, scatter wide ; The feather'd field-mates, bound by Nature's tie. Sires, mothers, children, in one carnage lie : (What warm, poetic heart but inly bleeds. And execrates man*s savage, ruthless deeds!) Nae mair the flow'r 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 precede the sunny days, Mild, calm, serene, wide-spreads the noon-tide blaze While thick the gossamour waves wanton in the rays *Twas in that season, when a simple Bard, Unknown and poor, simpUcity's reward, Ae night, within the antient brugh of Ayr^ , By whim inspir'd, or haply prest wi' care. He left his bed, and took his wayward rout, And down by Simpson^s* wheel'd the left about : (Whether impell'd by all- directing Fate, To witness what I after shall narrate ; Or whether, rapt in meditation high. He wander'd out he knew not where nor why)y The drowsy Dungeon-clockf had number'd two, And Wallace Toiverf had sworn the fact was true : The tide-swoln Frith, with sullen-sounding roar, Through the still night dash'd hoarse along the shore All else was hush'd as Nature's closed e'e ; The silent moon shone high o'er tow'r and tree : The chilly frost, beneath the silver beam. Crept, gently-crusting, o'er the glittering stream. When lo 1 on either hand the list'ning Bard, The clanging sugh of whistling wings he heard ; Two dusky forms dart thro' the midnight air. Swift as the Gos% drives on the wheeling hare ; Ane on th' Auld Brig his airy shape uprears, The ither flutters o'er the rising piers : Our warlock Rhymer instantly descry'd The Sprites that owre the Brigs of' Ayr preside. * A noted tavern at the Auld Bris end. f The two steeples, J The gos-hawk, or fakon. 32 (That bark are second-sighted is nae joke, And ken the lingo of the sp'ritual folk ; Fays, Sjmnkies, Kelpies, a', they can explain them, And ev'u the vera diels they brawly ken them). Auld Brig appear'd of antient Pictish race, The vera wrinkles Gothic in his face ; He seem'd as he wi' time had warstled lang, Yet teughly doure, he bade an unco bang. JVetv Brig v^^as buskit in a braw new coat, That he, at London, frae ane Adams, got ; In's hand five taper staves as smooth's a bead,. Wi' virls and whirlygiguras at the head. The Goth was stalking round with anxious search, Spying the time-worn flaws in every arch ; It chanc'd his new-come neebor took his e'c, And e'en a vex'd and angry heart had he ! Wi' thievless sneer to see his modish mien, He, down the water gies him this guid-een- ^ AULD BRIG. I doubt na, frien', ye'll think ye're nae sheep-shank,, Ance ye were streckit o'er frae bank to bank ! But gin ye be a brig as auld as me ; Tho' iaith that day, I doubt, ye'll never see ; There'll be, if that date come, I'll wad a boddle, Some fewer whigmeleeries in your noddle. NEW BRIG. Auld Vandal, ye but shew your little mense. Just much about it wi' your scanty sense ; Will your poor, narrow foot-path of a street. Where twa wheel-barrows tremble when theyjtieet. Your ruin'd, formless bulk o' stane an' lime. Compare wi' bonie Brigs o' modern time ? There's men o' taste wou'd tak the Ducat-stream*. Tho' they should cast the vera sark and swim, E'er they would grate their feelings wi' the view Of sic an ugly, Gothic hulk as you. AULD BRIG. Conceited gowk ! pufF'd up wi' windy pride J ^his mony a year I've stood the flood an tide ; * A noted ford, just above the Auld Brig. 33 And tho' vvi' crazy eild I'm sair forfairn, I'll be a Brigy when ye're a shapeless cairn ! . As yet ye little ken about the matter, But twa-three winters will inform ye better. When heavy, dark, continued, a'-day rains, Wi' deepening deluges o'erflow the plains; When from the hills where springs the brawling Coil^ Or stately Lugar's mossy fountains boil. Or where the Greenock winds his moorland course. Or haunted Garpal* draws his feeble source, Arous'd by blust'ring winds an' spotting thowes. In mony a torrent down the sna-broo rowes ; While crashing ice, borne on the roaring speat. Sweeps dams an' mills, an' brings a' to the gate; And from Glenbuckf, down to the Raiton-Key.\f Auld Ayr is just one lengthen'd, tumbling sea ; Then down ye'U 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 NEW BRIG. Fine Architecture ! trowth, I needs must say't o't ! The L d be thankit that we've tint the gate o't ! Gaunt, ghastly, ghaist-alluring edifices. Hanging, with threat'ning jut, like precipices ; O'er-arching mouldy, gloom-inspiring coves, Supporting roofs fantastic, stony groves : Windows and doors, in nameless sculptures drest, With order, symmetry, or taste, unblest ; Forms like some bedlam-Statuary's dream. The craz'd creations of misguided whim; Forms might be worshipp'd on the bended knee. And still the second dread command be free, Their likeness is not found on earth, in air, or sea. Mansions that would disgrace the building taste Of any mason reptile, bird or beast; The banks of Garpal Water is one of the few places in the West of Scotland, where those fancy-scaring beings known by the name of Ghaists, still continue pertinaciously to inhabit. f The source of the river Ayr. \ A small landing-place above the large key. } 34. Fit only for a doited Monkish race, Or frosty maids forsworn the dear embrace ; - Or Cuifs of latter times, wha held the notion That sullen gloom was sterling true devotion ; Fancies that our guid Brugh denies protection, A,nd soon may they expire, unblest with resurrection ! AULD BRIG. O ye, my dear-remember'd antient yealings, Were ye but here to share ray wounded feelings ! Ye worthy Proveses, an' mony a Bailie, Wha in the paths o' righteousness did toil ay; Ye dainty Deacons, an' ye douce Conveners, To whom our moderns are but causey-cleaners; Ye godly Councils wha hae blest this town ; Ye godly Brethren of the sacred gown, Wha meekly gae your hurdies to the smiters ; And (what would now be strange) yc godly Writers: A' ye douce folk I've born 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 agonizing, curse the time and place When ye begat the base degen'rate race \ Nae langer Rev'rend Men, their country's glory, In plain braid Scots hold forth a plain braid story ! Nae langer thrifty Citizens, an' douce. Meet owre a pint, or in the Council-house; But staumrel, corky-headed, graceless Gentry, The herryment and ruin of the country ; Men, three-parts made by Taylors and by Barbers, Wha waste your weel-hain'd gear on d d new Brigs and Harbours ! NEW BRIG. Now baud you there ! for faith ye've said enough, And muckle mair than ye can mak to through. As for your Priesthood, 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 spar'd: To lifcea them to your auld-warld squad. S4 [ must needs say comparisons are odd. ^n A^r, Wag-wits nae mae can Inie a handle Yo mouth ' a Citizen,' a term o^ scandal : S^ae mair the Council waddles down the street, [n all the pomp of ignorant conceit ; Men wha grew wise priggin owre hops an' raisins, 3r gather'd lib'ral views in Bonds and Seisins. [f haply Knowledge, on a random tramp, Had shor'd them with a glimmer of his lamp, A.nd would to Common-sense, for once betray'd them, Plain, dull Stupidity stept kindly in to aid them. What farther clishmaclaver might been said, What bloody wars, if Sprites had blood to shed, ^5^0 man can tell ; but all before their sight, A. fairy train appear'd in order bright: A.down the glittering stream they featly danc'd ; Bright to the moon their various dresses glanc'd. rhey footed o'er the wat'ry glass so neat, rhe infant ice scarce bent beneath their feet : Whilst arts of Minstrelsy among them rung, f\nd soul-ennobling Bards heroic ditties sung, J had M'Lauchlan*, thairm-inspiring Sage, [3een there to hear this heavenly band engage. When thro' his dear Strathspeys they bore with " land rage ; 3r when they struck old Scotia's melting airs, rhe lover's raptur'd joys or bleeding cares ; How would his Highland lug been nobler fir'd. And ev'n his matchless hand with finer touch inspir'd ! N^o guess could tell what instrument appear'd. But all the soul of Music's self was heard ; Harmonious concert rung in every part, While simple melody pour'd moving on the heart, rhe Genius of the Stream in front appears, A. venerable Chief advanc'd in years ; His hoary head witli water-lilies crown'd. His manly legs with garter tangle bound. * A well known performer of Scottiih music on the violi*. ^' 1 High-r 36 Next came the loveliest pair in all the ring, Sweet Female Beauty hand in hand with Spring ; Then, crownM with flow'ry hay, came Rural Joy, And Summer, with his fervid-beaming eye : All-chearing Plenty, with her flowing horn, Led yellow Autumn wreath'd with nodding corn ; Then Winter's time-bleach'd locks did hoary show. By Hospitality with cloudless brow. Next foilow'd Courage with his martial stride, From where the Feal wild-Woody covers hide ; Benevolence, with mild, benignant air, A female form, came from the tow'rs of Stair : Learning and Worth in equal measures trode. From simple Catrine, their long-lov'd abode : Last, white-rob'd Peace, crown'd with a hazel wreath. To rustic Agriculture did bequeath The broken, iron instruments of death; At sight of whom our Sprites'forgat their kindling wrath. THE ORDINATION. For sense they little owe to frugal Heav'n To please the Mob, they hide the little giv'n. I. Kilmarnock Wabsters fidge an* claw, An* pour your creeshie nations; An' ye wha leather rax an' draw. Of a* denominations ; Swith to the Laigh Kitk, ane an' a'. An' there tak up your stations: Then afF to B gb 's in a raw. An' pour divine libations, For joy this day. S7 II. Curst Common-sense, that imp o' h-H, Cam in wi' Maggie Lauder* ; But O******* aft 'made lier yell, An' R***** sair misca'd her ; This day M'******* taks the flail, An' he's the boy will blaud her ! He'll clap a shangan on her tail, An' set the bairns to daud her Wi' dirt this day. III. Mak haste an* turn king David owre. An* lilt wi' holy clangor ; O' double verse come gie us four, An' skirl up the Bangor : This day the Kirk kicks up a stoure, Nae mair the knaves shall wrang her-. For Heresy is in her pow'r, And gloriously she'll whang her Wi' pith this day. IV. Come, let a proper text be read. An' touch it afF wi' vigour. How graceless Hamf leugh at his Dad, which made Canaan a niger ; Or PhineasX drove the murdering blade, Wi' wh-re-abhorring rigour ! Or Zipporahy the scalding jad, Was like a bluidy tiger, I' th* inn that day. V. 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 ; D * Alluding to a scoffing ballad which was made on the adm^ ioa of the late Reverend and worthy Mr L. to the Laigh Kirk. t 0nesis ix. 22. \ Numbers xxv. 8. Exodus iv. 2^, 410724 S8' And gie him o'er the flock, to ^eed. And punish each transgression ; Especial, rams that cross the breed, Gie them sufficient threshin ; Spare them nae day. VI. Now auld Kilmarnock cock thy tail, ^ And toss thy horns fu' canty ; Nae mair thoul't rowte out-owre the dale, Because thy pasture's scanty ; For lapfu's large o' gospel kail Shall fill thy crib in plenty. An' runts o' grace the pick and wale. No gi'en by way o' dainty, But ilka day. VII. "Nae mair by Babel^s streams we'll weep. To think upon our Zion ; And hing our fiddles up to sleep. Like baby-clouts a-dryin ; Come, screw the pegs wi' tunefu* cheep, And o'er the thairms be tryin ; Gh, rare ! to see our elbucks wheep. And a' like lamb-tails flyin Fu' fast this day! VIII. Lang Patronage, wi' rod o' aicn. Has shor'd the Kirk's undoin. As lately F-niu-ch, sair forfairn. Has proven to its ruin ; Our Patron, honest man 1 Glen cairo, He saw mischief was brewin ; And like a godly elect bairn. He's wal'd us out a true ane, And sound this day. IX. ]^ow R*#***** harangue nae mair, ' But steek your gab for ever : Or try the wicked town of A**, for there they'll thijjk you clever-: 39 Or, nae reflection on your leafy Ye may commence a Shaver ; Or to the N-th-rt-n repair. And turn a Carpet- weaver, Aff-hand this day. X. M***** and yo\i were just a match. We never had sic twa drones : Auld Hornie did the Laigh Kirk watoh, Just like a winkin baudrons : And ay he catch'd-the tither wretch. To fry them in his caudrons : But no\v his Honour maun detach, Wi' a' his brunstane squadrons. Fast, fast, this day. XI. See, see auld Orthodoxy's faes She*s swingein thro' the city ; Hark, how the nine-tail'd cat she plays ! I vow its unco pretty : There, Learning, with his Greekish face. Grunts out some liatin ditty ; And Common Sense is gaun, she Bays, To mak to Jamie Beattie Her plaint this day. xn. But there's Morality himsel. Embracing all opinions ; Hear, how he gies the tither yelF, Between his twa companions ; 6ee, how she peels the skin an' fell. As ane were peelin onions ! Now there ! they're packed aff to h-ll. And banish'd our dominions. Henceforth this day. xni. O happy day ! rejoice, rejoice ! Come bouse about the porter ! Morality's demure decoys Shall here nae mair find quarter : M.*******, R*****, are the boys That Heresy can torture ; They'll gie her on a rape a hoyse. And cow her measure shorter By th' head some day. XIV. Come, bring the tither mutchkjn in, And here's for a conclusion, To every New-light* mother's son, From this time forth, Confusion: If roair they deave us with their din. Or Patronage intrusion, We'll light a spunk, an' ev'ry skin We'll rin them aff in fusion Like oil, some day. THE CALF. TO THE REVEREND Mr On his Text, Malachi, ch. iv. ver. 2. '* And they shall go forth, and grow up, like " CALVE 8 of the stall." Right, Sir ! your text I'll prove it true. Though Heretics may laugh ; For instance, there's jroursel just now, God knows, an unco Calf! And should some Patron be so kind". As bless you wi' a kirk, I doubt na. Sir, but then we'll find, '^^ Ye're still as great a Siirk. But, if the Lover's raptur'd hour Shall ever be your lot, * New-light is a cant phrase in the west of Scotland for thoe religious opinions which Dr Taylor of Norwich has defended so nrenuoutly. 41 Forbid it, ev'ry heavenly Pow'r, You e'er should be a Stot ! Tho' 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 notote. And when ye're number'd wi' the dead ' Below a grassy hillock, Wi' justice they may mark your head * * Here lies a famous Bullock /' ADDRESS TO THE DEIL. O Prince ! O Chief of many throned Pow'r?, That led th' embattled Seraphim to war '* MILTOK an' reestit gizz. Ye did present your smoutie phiz, 'Mang better folk. An' sklented on the mmi of Uzz Your spitefu' joke ? An' how ye gat him i' your thrall, An' brak him out o' house an' hall. While scabs an' blotches did him gall, Wi' bitter claw, . An' lows'd his ill-tongu'd, wicked Scawl, Waswarstava? But a' your doings to rehearse, Your wily snares an' fechtin fierce. Sin that day Michael* did you piercer Down to this time. Wad ding a' Lallan' tongue, or Erse, In prose or rhyme. And now, auld ClootSy I ken ye're thinkin, 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. An' cheat you yet. But, fare you weel, auld A^A-iV-^en / O wad ye tak a thought an' men' 1 ||| Ye aiblins might I dinna ken Still hae a stake I'm wae to think upo' yon den, Ev'n for your sake! Vide Milton, Book Yl. 4S THE DEATH AND DYING WORDS OF POOR MAILIE, THE author's only PET YOWA AN UNCO MOURNFU* TALE, As Mailie, an' her lambs tbegither, Were ae day nibbling on the tether. Upon her cloot she coost a hitch, An' owre she warsl'd in the ditch : There, groaning, dying, she did lie, When Hughoc* he came doytin by. Wi' glowrin een, an' lifted ban's. Poor Hughoc like a statue st^n's ; He saw her days were near band ended, But, wae's my heart ! he could na mend it ! He gaped wide, but naething spak ; At length poor Mailie silence brak. * O thou, whase lamentable face Appears to mourn my woefu' case ! My dying words attentive hear. An' bear them to my Master dear. * Tell him, if e'er again he keep As muckle gear as buy a sheep, O, bid him never tie them mair Wi' wicked strings o' hemp or hair J" But ca' them out to park or hill. An' let them wander at their will : So may his flock increase, an' grow To scores o' lambs, an-' packs o' woo' I * Tell him,.he was a Master kin'. An' aye was guid to me and mine ; An' now my dying charge I gie him, My helpless lambs I trust them wi' him. A neibor herd callaa. 4^ * O, bid him save their harmless lives, Frae dogs, an* tods, an' batchers' knives ! But gie them guid cow-milk their fAij Till they be fit to fend themsel ; An' tent them duly, e'en an' morn, Wi' teats t)' hay an' rips o' corn. * An' may they never learn the gaets Of ither vile, wanrestfu' pets ! To slink thro' slaps, an' reave an' steal. At stacks o' pease, or stocks o' kail. So may they, like their great forbears. For monie a year come thro' the sheers : So wives will gie them bits o' bread, An' bairns greet for them when they're dead. * My poor toop-lamh, my son an' heir, O, bid him breed him up wi' care ! An' if he live to be a beast, To pit some bavins in his breast ! An* warn him, what I winna name. To stay content wi' yowes at hame ; An' no to r-in an' wear his cloots, Like*ther menseless, graceless, brutes. * An* riiest, my yoxrne, silly thing, Gude keep thee frae a tether string ! O, may thou ne'er forgather up Wi' ony blastit, moorland toop ; But ay keep mind to moop an' mell, Wi' sheep o' credit like thysel ! * And now, my bairns, wi' my last breath, I lea'e my blessin wi' you baith : An' when you think upo' your Mither, Mind to be kin' to ane anither. * Now, honest HughoCy dinna fail To tell my Master a' my tale ; An' bid him burn this cursed tether. An', for thy pains, thou'se get my blether,* This said, poor Mnilie turn'd her head^ Aa*^ clos'd her een amang the dead. 47 POOR MAILIE'S ELEG Y. XrAMEN* in rhyme, lament in prose, Wi' saut tears trickling down your nose ; Our Bardie's fate is at a close, Past a' rcmead ; The last sad cape-stane of his woes ; Poor MaiUe*s dead i Its no the loss o' warl's gear. That could sae bitter draw the tear, Or mak our Bardie, dowie, wear The mourning weed; He's lost a friend and neebor dear, In Mailie dead. Thro' a' the toun she trotted by liim ; A lang half-mile she could descry him ; Wi' kindly bleat, when she did-cpy him. She ran wi' speed : A friend mair faithfu' ne'er cam nigh him. Than Mailie dead. I wat she was a sheep o' sense. An* could behave hersel wi' mense : I'll say't, she never brak a fence. Thro' thievish greed. Our Bardie, lanely, keeps the spence Sin' Mailie's dead. Or, if he wanders up the howe. Her living image in her yotxe., Comes bleating to him, owre the knowe, For bits o' bread ; An' down the briny pearls rowe For Mailie dead. She was nae get o' moorland tips, Wi* tawted.ket, an* hairy hips; Sqx her forbears were brought in ships -Frae yont the Tweeds 48 A homer Jleesh 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, Wi' chokin dread ; An Robin's bonnet wave wi' crape, For Mailie dead. O, a' ye Bards on bonie Doon ! An' wha on Ayr your chanters tune ! Come, join the melancho'lious croon O' Eoiin's reed ! His heart will never get aljoon ! Hi Mailie dead! TO Friendship ! Mysterious cement of the soul ! Sweet'ner of Life and solder of Society ! I owe thee much. Blair. Dear S****, the sleest, paukie thief, That e'er attempted stealth or rief, Ye surely hae some warlock- brief Owre human hearts; For ne*er a bosom yet was prief Against your arts. For me, I swear by sun an' moon, And ev'ry star that blinks aboon, Ye've cost me twenty pair o' shoon Just gaun to see you ; And ev'ry ither pair that's done, Mair ta'en I'm wi' you. 49 That auld capricious cailjn, Nature, To mak amends for scrimpk stature, lihe's turn'd you atf, a human creature On her Jirst plan, And in her freaks, on ev'ry feature, She's wrote, the Mem- Just now Pve taen the fit o' rhyme, My barmie nodd!e"'s working prime, My fancy yerkit up sublime Wi' hasty summon : Ilae ye a leisure- moment's time To hear what^s comin ? Some rhyme a neebor's name to lash ; Some rhyme (vain thought!) for needfu' cash; Some rhyme to court the countra clash, An' raise a din ; For me, an ahn I never fash ; I rhyme for fun. The star that rules my luckless lot Has fated me the russet coat, An' damn'd n>y fortune to the groat; But in requit, Has blest me wi' a random shot O' countra wit. This while my notion's taen a sklent, To try my fate in guid black prent , But still the mair I'm that way bent, Sometliing cries, * HooUe i * I red you, honest man, tak tent ! ' Ye'll shaw your folly. * There's ither poets, much your betters, * Far seen in Gmek, deep men o' letters, Hae thought they had ensur'd their debtors, * A' future ages ; * Now meths deform in shapeless tatters, * Their unknown pages." Then fareweel hopes o- laurel-boughs. To garland my poetic brows ! E BQ Henceforth I'll rflve where busy plonghs Are whistling thrang". An* teach the lanely heights an' howe My rustic sang. I'll wander on with tentless heed How never-halting moments speed, Till fate shall snap the brittle thread ; Then, all unknown, J'll lay me with th' inglorious dead, .Forgot and gone ! But why o' Death begin a tale ? ,3ust now we're living, sound and hale, Then top and maintop croud the sail. Heave Care o'er-side !, And large, before Enjoyments gale, Let's tak the tide. This life, sae far's I understand, Is a' enchanted fairy land. Where Pleasure is the Magic Wand, That, wielded right, Maks Hours like M.inutes,.hand in hand. Dance by fu' light. The magic wand then let us wield; For, ance that five-an'-forty's speel'd, See crazy, weary, joyless Eild, Wi' wrinkl'd face. Comes hostin, hirplin owre the field, Wi* creepin pace. When ance Life's day draws near the gloamin, Then farweel vacant careless roamin ; An' fareweel cheerfu' tankards foamin. An' social noise ^ An* fareweel dear, deluding laoman^ The joy of joys 1 O Life ! how pleasant in thy morning. Young Fancy's rays the hills adorning ! Cold-pausing Caution's lesson scorning. We, frisk away. 51 Like school-bays, 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. Among the leaves ; And tho' the puny wound appear, Sho<-t while it grieves. Some, lucky, find a flow'ry spot, For which they never toil'd nor swat ; They drink the sweet and eat the tat. But care or pain ; And, haply, eye the barren hut With high disdain. With steady aim, some Fortune chase : Keen bope does ev^'ry sinew brace ; Thro' fair, thro' foul, they urge the race. And seize the prey ; Then canie, in some cozie place. They close the day* And others, like your humble servan'. Poor. wights ! nae rules nor roads observio; To right or left, eternal swervin. They zig-zag on ; Till curst with age, obscure an' starving They aften groan. Alas ! what bitter toil an' straining But truce with peevish, poor complaining! Is Fortune's fickle Luna waning ? E'en let her gang ! Beneath what light she has remaining. Let's sing our sang. My pen I here fling to the door. And kneel, * Ye Pow'rs !' and warm implore, Tho* I should wander Terra o'er, In all her climes, * Grant roe but this, I ask no more, * Ay rowth o' rhymes. E 2 da * Gie^ dreeping roasts to countra Lafrds, * Till icicles hing frae their beards ; * Gie fine braw claes ta fine Life-guards, * And Maids of Honor j * And yill an* whisky gie to Cairds, ' Until they gcoi^ier. * A Title, Dempster merits it ; * A garter gie to IVillie Pitt ; * Gie wealth to some be-ledger'd Cit, ' In cent, per cent. ^ But give me real, sterling Wit, ' And I'm content. * While ye are pleas*d to keep me hale^ * ni sit down o'er my scanty meal, * Be't tvater-brose or muslin-kail^ * Wi' cheerfu' face, * As lang's the Muses dinna fail * To say the grace.' An anxious e'e I never throws Behint my lug, or by my nose ; I jouk beneath Misfortune's blows As weel's I may ; Sworn foe to Sorrow, Care, and Prose, I rhyme away. O ye douce folk, that live by rule. Grave, tideless-blooded, calm and cool. Compared wi' you O fool ! fool ! fool ! How much unlike ^ Your hearts are just a standing pool. Your lives, a dyke ! Nae hair-brain'd, sentimental traces In your unlettered, nameless faces ! In arioso trills and graces Ye never stray, But gravissimOf solemn basses Ye hum away. Ye are sae grave^ nae doubt ye're tme^ Nae ferly tho' ye da despise 5S The halrum-scairum ram-stam boys, The rattlin squad : I see you upward cast your eyes Ye ken the road Whilst I but I shall baud me there Wi* you I'll scarce gang ony where Then, JamiCf I shall say nae mair. But quat my sang. Content wi' You to mak a pair, Whare'er I gang. A dream: Thoughts, words, and deeds, the Statute blames with reason ; " But surely Dreams were ne'er indicted Treason." =9 0r reading in the -public papers, the Laureates Ode, with the o- ther parade of June 4, 1786, the Author was no sooner dropt asleep, than he imagined himself transported to the Birth-da.y LcTce ; and in his dreaming fancy, made the following Address.] I. GuiD-MORNiN to your Majesiyy May heav'n augment your blisses. On ev'ry new Birth-day ye see, . A humble Poet wishes ! My Hardship here, at your Levee, . On sic a day as^ this is. Is sure an uncouth sight to see, Amang the Birth-day dresses Sae fine that day. II. I see ye're complimented, thrang, By mony a lord and lady ; * God save the King !' 's a cuckoo sang That's unco easy said ay ; The Poets, too, a venal gang, Wi* rhymes weel-turn'd and ready, E3 54 Wad gar you trow ye ne*er do wrang. But ay unerring steady, On sic a day. III. For me ! before a Monarch's face, Ev'n there I winna flatter ; For neither Pension, Post, nor Place^ Arn I your humble debtor : So, nae reflection on Your Grace^ Your Kingship to bespatter ; There's monie waur been o' the race. And aiblins ane been better Than you this day. IV. *Tis very true, my sovereign King, My skill may weel be doubted : But Facts are cheels that winna dingj> An* downa be disputed : Your Royal Nest, beneath your wing,. Is e'en right reft an' clouted. And now the third part of the strings An' less> will gang about it Than did ae day. V. Far be't frae me that I aspire To blame your Legislation, Or say, ye wisdom want, or fire. To rule this mighty nation ! But faith ! I mucKle doubt, my Sire, Ye've trusted Ministration To chaps, wha, in a barn or byre. Wad better fill'd their station Than courts yon day. VI. And naw ye've gien auld Britain peacCj Her broken shins to plaister ; Your sair taxation does her fleece. Till she has^ scarce a tester ; For me, thanle God, my life's a lease^ Nae bargain wearing faster^ 55 Or, faith ! I fear, that, wi' the geese,. I shortly boost to pasture I* the craft some day, VII. I'm no mistrusting Willie Pitff When taxes he enlarges, ( An' PVill's a true guid fallow's get, A Name not Envy spairges). That he intends to pay your debt. An' lessen a' your charges ; But, G-d sake I let nae saving-Jit Abridge your bonie Barges An' Boats this day. VIIL Adieu, my Liege ! may Freedom geok Beneath your high protection ; An* may ye rax Corruption's neck. And gie her for dissection ! But since I'm here, I'll no neglect, In loyal, true affection, To pay your Queen, with due respect, My fealty an' subjection This great Birth-day. IX, Hail, Majesty Most Excellent ! While Nobles strive to please ye, Will ye accept a compliment A simple Poet gies ye ? Thae bonie bairntime, Heav'n has lent,. Still higher may they heeze ye In bliss, till Fate some day is sent, For ever to release ye Frae care that day. X. For you, young Potentate o' W , I tell your Highness fairl}', Down Pleasure's stream, wi' swelling sails, I'm tauld ye're driving rarely ; But some day ye may gnaw your nails An' curse your folly sairly. 5S That e*er ye brak Diana's pales,' Or rattl'd dice wi* Charlie, By night or day. XI. Yet aft a ragged Cotvte*s been known To mak a noble Aiver ; So, ye may douceJy fill a Throne, For a' their clish-ma-claver : There, Him* at Agincourt wha shone, Few better were or braver ; And yet, wi* funny, queer Sir John\f He was an unco shaver For nionie a-day. XH. For you, right rev'rend O , . Nane sets the latvn-sleeve sweeter, Altbo' a ribban at your lug Wad been a dress completer : As ye disown yon paughty dog That bears the Keys of Peter, Then, swith ! an' get a wife to hug, Or, trouth ! ye'll stain the Mitre Some luckless day. xni. Young, royal Tarry Breeks, I learn, Ye've lately come athwart her ; A glorious GalleyX, stem an' stern, Weel rigg'd for Venus barter ; But first hang, o.ut, that she'll discern. Your hymeneal charter. Then heav aboard your grapple aim. An* large upo' her quarter. Come full that day. XIV. Ye, lastly, bonie blossoms a'. Ye royal Lasses dainty, * King Henry V. \ Sir John Falstaff, Fitie Shakspear. I Alluding to the News-paper account of a eartain Roy^al Sailor's amour. 57 Heav*n mak yoit guid as weel as bravr, An' gie you lads a-plenty : But sneer na British boys awa', For Kings are unco scant ay ; An' German Gentles are but sma*f They're better just than voant ay On onie day. XV. 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' r 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 Fa' clean that day. THE VISION. SUAN FIRST*. The sun had clos'd the winter day. The Curlers quat their roaring play, An' hunger'd maukin ta'en her way To kail-yards green, While faithless snaws ilk step betray Whare she has been. The thresher's weary Jlingin-tree The lee-lapg day had tired me ; And whan the Day had clos'd his e'e, Far i' the West, Ben i* the spence, right pensivelie, I gaed to rest. Duaa, a term of Ossian's for the different divwiwis of a di- gressive poem. See bis C*th-Loda, voL 2. of M'Pherson's Trans* htia. There, lanely, by the ingle-cheeky I sat and outlandiish Hizzie, braw. Come full in sight. Ye need na doubt, I held my whisht ; The infant aith, half form'd, was crusht; I glowr'd as eerie's I'd been dusht In some wild glen ; When sweet, like modest worth, she blusht. And stepped ben. Green, slender, leaf-clad holly-boughs. Were twisted, gracefu*, round her bxows^- 59 i took her for some Scottish Muse, -By that same token ; ^n* come to stop those reckless vows, Wou'd soon been broke. A * hair-brain'd sentimental trace' Was strongly marked in her face ; A wildly-witty rustic grace Shone full upon her ; Her eye, ev'n turn'd x>n empty space, Beam'd" keen with honor. Down flow'd her robe, a tartan sheen, Till half a leg was scrin>ply seen ; And such a leg ! my bonie Jean Could only peer it ; -Sae strai^ght, sae taper, tight and clean, Nane else came near it. Her mantle large, of greenish hue. My gazing wonder chiefly drew, .Deep lights and shades, bold-mingling, threw A lustre grand ; And seem'd, to my astonish'd view, A loell-knoivn Land. Here, rivers in the sea were lost ; There, mountains to the skies were tost : Here, tumbling billaws mark'd the coast, With surging foam ; There, distant shone Art's lofty boast, ' The lordly dome. Here, Doom pour'd down his far-fetch'd floods- There, well-fed Irwine stately thuds : Auld hermit Ai/r staw thro' his woods, On to the shore ; And many a lesser torrent scuds, With seeming roar. Low, in a sandy valley spread, An antient borough rear'd her head ; 3till,.as in Scottish story read, She boasts a race, -60 To eVry nobler virtue bred, And polish'd gracCx. By stately ton'r or palace fair, ~ Or ruins pendent in the air, Bold stems of Heroes, here and there, I could discern ; Some seem'd to muse, some seem'd to dare. With feature stern. My heart did glowing transport feel. To see a race* heroic wheel, And brandish round the deep-dy'd steel In sturd}' blows ; While back-recoiling seem'd to reel Their Suthron foes. His CauNTR"x's SAViouRf , mark him weJi! Bold Richardton''s\ heit)ic swell ; The chief on Sark who glorious fell, In high command; And He whom ruthless Fates expel His native land. There, where a sceptr'd Pictish shadejj Stalk'd round his ashes lowly laid, 1 raark'd a martial race, pourtray'd In colours strong; Bold, soldier-featur'd, undismay'd They strode along. ^ Thfo* many a wild, romantic grove, Near many a hermit-fancied cove, The Wallaces. + WiUJam Wallace. \ Adam Wallace f Richardto, cousin to the immortal Prc- crver of Scottish Independence. Wallace, Laird of Craigie, who was second in conimand, un- der Douglas, Earl of Ormond, at the famous battle on the banks of Sark, fought inno 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. II Coilus, King of the Picts, from whom the district of Kyle is said to take its name, lies buried, as tradition says, near the fa- mily-seat of the Montgomeriei of Coilsfitld, where his buriftl- place is still shewn. % Barskimming, the seat of the l4ord Justice-Clerk. ^1 (Fit haunts for Friendship or for Love, In nausing mood) An aged Judge., I saw him rove, Dispensing good. * With deep-struck reverential awe. The learned Sire and Son I saw, To Nature's God and Nature's law They gave their lore. This, all its source and end to draw, That, to adore. Brydon's brave Wardf I well could spy. Beneath old Scotia's smiling eye ; Who call'd on Fame, lo'w standing by. To hand him on, Where many a Patriot-name on high, And Hero shone. DUAN SECOND. WiTEi musing-deep, astonish'd stare, * I view'd the heavenly-seeming Fair; A whispVing throb did witness bear Of kindred sweat, When with an elder sister's air She did me greet, * All hail ! my own inspired Bard ! ' In me thy native muse regard ! * Nor longer mourn tliy 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, * Hannoniausly, * * As arts or arras they understand, * Their labours ply. F * Catrine, the seat of the late Doctor, and present Professor Stewart. f Colonel f uUarton, 62 * They Scotia's race among them share ; * Some fire the Soldier on to dare ; * Some rouse the Patriot up to bare ' Corruption's heart : * Some teach the Bard, a darling care, ' The tuneful art. * '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 Sag?, ' Charm or instruct the future age, * They bind the wild, poetic rage * la energy, *^ Or point the inconclusive page * Full on the eye. * Hence Fullarton, the brave and young ; "Hence Dempster's zeal-inspired tongue ; * Hence, sweet harmonious Beattie sung ' His " Minstrel lays ;" * Or tore, with poble ardour stung, The Sceptic's bays. * To lower or^rs are assign'd * The humbler ranks of human-kind, * The rustic bard, the lab'ring hind, * The artisan ; -^ All chuse, as various they're inclin'd, * The various man. * When yellow waves the heavy grain, -* The threat'ning storm some, strongly, reia ; * Some teach to meliorate the plain, ' With tillage-skill ; * And some instruct the shepherd-train, ' Blythe o'er the hill. * Some hint the lover's harmless wile; * pme grace the maiden's artless smile ; ^ Some soodie the lab'rer's weary toD, * For humble gains, * And make his cottage-scenes beguile ' Ilis cares and pain^, * Some, bounded to a district- space, * Explore at large man's infant race, 'To mark the embryotic trace ' Of rustic Bard J "And careful note each op'ning 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 pow'r ; *"! mark'd thy embryo tuneful flame, * Thy natal hour. * With future hope, I oft would gaze, * Fond, on thy little early ways, * Thy rudely caroU'd, chiming phrase, * In uncouth rhymes^ * Fir*d at the simple, artless lays * Of other times. * I saw thee seek the sounding shore, * Delighted with the dashing roar ; * Or when the North his fleecy store * Drove thro' the sky, *" I saw grim Nature's-visage hoar * Struck thy young eye. * Or when the deep green-mantl'd earth ' Warm cherish'd ev'ry flow'ret's birth, * And joy and music pouring forth * In ev'ry grove, * I saw thee eye the gen'ral mirth * With boundless love. * When ripen'd fields, and azure skies, * Call'd forth the reapers' rustling noise, * I saw thee leave their ev'ning joys, * And lonely stalk,, F2 64- * To vent thy bosom's swelling rise * In pensive walk. * When youthful love, warm-blushing strong, * Keen-shivering shot tBy nerves along, * Those accents, grateful to thy tongue, * Th' adored namCy * I taught thee how to pour in song, * To soothe thy flame. * I saw thy pulse's maddening play, * Wild send thee pleasure's devious way, * Misled by fancy's meteor-ray, ' By passion driven ; * But yet the light that led astray * Was Viglit from heaven. * I taught thy manner's-painting strains, The loves, tlte 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 Thmnson's landscape glow ; * Or wake the Ijosom-melting tlnoe, * With ahenstone^ s art j, * Or pour, with Gray^ the moving flow * Warm on the heart. * Yet, all beneath th' unrivall'd rose, * The lowly daisy sweetly blows ; * Tho' large the fore&t's monarch throws ' His army shade, * Yet green the juicy hawthorn grows, * Adovvn the glade. * Then never murmur nor repine; * Strive in thy humble sphere to shine ; * And trust me, not Potosi's mine, * Nor King's regard, * Can give a bliss o'ermatching thine, * A rustic Bard. 65^ * 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.- ADDRESS TO THE UNCO GUm, OR THE RIGIDLY RIGHTEOUS. My son, these maxims make i rule, And lump them ay thegither ; The Rigid Righteous is a fool, The Rigid- fVise anither; The cleanest corn that e'er wardight May hae some pyles o' cafF in ; So ne'er a fellow-creature slight For random fits o' daffin. Solomon. Eccles. ch. vii. ver. 16. I. O YE wha are sae guid yoursel, Sae pious and sae holy, Ye've nought to do but mark and tell Your Neebour's fauts and folly ! Whase life is like a weel gaun mill, Supply'd wi* store o' water. The heapet happer's -ebbing still. And still the clap plays clatter. F3 6$ II. Hear me, ye venerable core, As counsel for poor mortals, That frequent pass douce wisdom's door For glaikit folly's portals ; I, for their thoughtless, careless sakes, Would here propone defences, Their donsie tricks, their black mistakes, Their failings and mischances. III. Ye see your state wi* their's compar'd, 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 leave) Your better art o' hiding. IV. 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 ; But in the teeth o'baith to sail, It makes an unco leeway. V. See social-life and glee sit down, All joyous and unthinking. Till, quite transmugrify'd, they're grown Debauchery and drinking : O would they stay to calculate Th' eternal consequences ; Or your more dreaded h-11 to state D-mnation of expenses ! VI. Ye high, exalted, virtuous dames, Ty'd up in godly laces. 6r Before ye gie poor Jrnilij/ names, Suppose a change o' cases ; A dear-lov'd lad, convenience snug, A treacherous inclination But, let me whisper i' your lug, Ye're aiblins nae temptation. VII. Then gently scan your brother man, Still gentler sister woman ; Tho' they may gang a kennin wrang, To step aside is human : One point must still be greatly dark, The moving rvhy they do it : And just as lamely can ye mark. How far perhaps they rue it. VIII. Who made the heart, 'tis //e 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. TAM SAMSON'S* ELEGY. An honest man's the noblest work of God. Pope. Has auld K********* seen the Dei! ? Or great M********f thrawn -his heel? * When this worthy old Sportsman went out last mtiir-fowl 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 niuirs. On this hint the Author composed his Elegy and Epitaph. f A certain Preacher, a great favourite with the MillioHi Vide OnsiNATio^, Stanza II. 68' Or R*******"-!" again. grown weel, To preach an' read ? * Na,.waur than a' 1' cries ilka chiel, , ' Tarn Samsons dead !' K********* lang may grunt an' grane, An' sigh, an' sab an' greet her lane, An' dead her bairns, man, wife, an' wean, In mourning weed ; ' To Death she's dearly paid the kane, Tara Samson's dead ! The Brethren of the mystic level May hing their head in wofu' bevel, "While Ijy their nose the tears will revel, Like ony bead ; Death's gien the Lodge an unco devel, * Tam Samson's dead ! "When Winter muffles up his cloak. And binds the mire like a rock, "When to the loughs the curlers flocks Wi' gleesome speed, "Wha will they station at the cock? Tam Samson's dead! He was the king o' a' the core, To guard,, or draw,^,or wick a bore. Or up tlie rink like Jehu roar In time of need ; But now hfe lags on death's hog-score, Tam Samson's dead ! Now safe the stately sawmount sail, And trouts bedropp'd wi' crimson hail. And eels w6el kenn'd for souple tail. And geds fov greed. Since dark in deatWs ^fish- creel we wail, Tam Samson dead ! Uejuice ye birring paitricks a' ; Ye cootie moorcocks crousely craw ; f Anothir Preacher, an equal favourite with the Ffew,- who was at. that- time ailing. For turn see also the ORiATiOM, stanza IX. 69 Ye maukihs, cock your fud fu' braw, . Withouten dread ; Your mortal fae is now awa', Tam Samson's dead ! That woefu' morn be ever mourn'd Saw him in shootin graith adorn'd While pointers round impatient burn'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 ancles fetters ; In vain the burns came down like waters. An acre braid ! * Now ev'ry auld wife, greetin, clatters, Tam Samson's dead ! . Owre many a weary hag he limpit, And ay the tither shot he thumpit, Till coward death behind him jumpit, Wi' deadly feide ; Now he proclaims wi' tout o' trumpet, Tam Samson's dead! When at his heart he felt the dagger, He reel'd his wonted bottle-swagger. But yet he drew the mortal trigger Wi' weel-aim'd heed; L d, five!* He cry'd, an' owre did stagger; Tam Samson's dead ! Ilk hoary hunter mourn'd a briiher ; Ilk sportsman-youth bemoan'd a father ; Yon auld gray stane, amang the heather, Marks out his head, Whare Burns has wrote, in rhyming blether, Tam Samsons dead ! There, low he lies, in lasting rest ; Perhaps upon his mould'ring breast Some spitefu* muirfowl bigs her nest, To hatch an' breed ; Alas ! nae mair he'll them molest ! Tam Samson's dead !; -70 When August winds the heather wave, And sportsmen wander by yon grave. Three vollies let his mem'ry crave O' pouther an' lead. Till echo answer iVae her cave,^ Tam Samson's dead !' Heav'n rest his saul, whare'er be be ! Is th' wish o' mony mae than me : He had twa fauts, or may be three, Yet what remead ? Ae social, honest man want we : Tam Samson's dead! THE EPITAPH. Tam Samson's weel-worn clay here lias. Ye canting zealotr, spare him ! If honest worth in Heaven rise, Ye'll mend or ye win near him. PER CONTRA. Go, Fame, an' canter like sr filly Thro' a* the streets an' neuks o' Killie*\, Tell every social, honest billie To cease his grievin. For yet, unskaith'd by Death's gleg guUie, Tam Samson s livin. KilUe is a phrase the country-folks sometimes iisc for tkc aaaie of a certain towa.in the West. 71 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 arc 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 sec the remains of it, among the more uneniightened in our own. HALLOWEEN*. " Yes ! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, " The simple pleasures of the lowly train : " To me more dear, congenial to my heart, ". One native charm, than all the gloss of art'' Goldsmith. 1. TJpoN that Bight, when fairies light, On Cassilis Doivnansf dance, Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze, On sprrghtly coursers prance ; Or for Colean the rout is taen. Beneath the moon's pale beams ; There, up the Covej^ to stray an' rove, Amang the rocks an' streams To sport that night. Is thought to be a night when witches, devils, and othr tnischief-making beings, are all abroad on their baneful, midnight errands ; particularly those aerial people, the fairies, are said, on that night to hold a grand -anniversary. + Certain Jittle, romantic, rocky, green hills, in the neigh- bourhood of the antient seat of the Earls of Cass lis. ^ A noted cavern near Coiean-house, calfed the Cove of Colean ; which, as well as Cassilis Downans, is famed, in country story, for being a favoiurite haunt iA fairies. /T2 11. Amang the bonny, wintlin banks, Where Doon rins, vvimphn, clear, Where Bruce* ance rul'd the martial ranks. An' sliook the Carrick spear, Some jnerr}', friendly, countra folks. Together did convene. To burn their nits, an' pou their stocks, An' baud their Ha'lou^een Fu' blythe that day. III. The lasses feat, an' cleanly neat, Mair braw than when they're fine ; Their faces blythe, fu' sweetly kythe, Hearts leal, an' warm, an' kin' : The lads sae trig, wi' wooer-babs, Weel knotted on their garten. Some unco- blate, an' some wi' gabs Gar lasses hearts gang startin Whiles fast at night. IV. Then first and foremost, thro' the kail, Their docksf maun a' be sought ance? They steek their e'en, an' graip an' wtUe, For muckle anes an' straught Jtnes. Poor hav'rel Will fell aff the drilt. An* wander'd thro' the Bow-kail, * The famous family of that name, the ancestors of Robert, the great Deliverer of his Country, were Earls of Carrick. t 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 piill the first they meet with : Its heing 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 zny ylrd,- or earth, (stick to the root, that is tocher, or fortune; and tlie taste of the casloc, that is, the heart ot 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 runis, the names in question. 73 An' pou't, for want o' better shift, A runt was like a sow-tail, Sae bow't that night. V. Then, straught or crooked, yird or nane. They roar an' cry a' throu'ther ; The vera wee-things, todlin, rin Wi' stocks out-owre their shouther^ An' gif the castocs sweet or sour, Wi' joctelegs they taste them ; Syne coziely aboon the door, Wi' cannie care they've placed them To lie that night. VI. The lasses staw frae 'mang them a', To pou their stalks o* corn* ; But Rab slips out, an' jinks about, Behint the muckle thorn : He grippet Nelly hard an' fast ; Loud skirl'd a' the lasses; But her tap-pickle maist was lost. When kiutlin in the Fause-housef Wi' him that night. VII. The auld guid-wifc's weel-hoordet nitsX Are round an' round divided. An' nionie lads' and lasses' fates Are there that niyht decided : G " They go to th barn-yard, -and pull each, at three several times, a stalk of oats. If tl^e third stalk wants the tip- fickle, thac is, the grain at the top of the stalk, the party in question will come to the marriage-bed any thing but a maid. f When the corn is in a doubtful state, by being too green, or "wtt, the stack-builder, by means of old timber, &c. makes a large apartment iii his stack, with an opening in the side which is fair- est exposed to the wind : this he calls a fause-house. ^ Burning the nuts is a favourite 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 ons another, the course and issue of the courtship will be. Some kindle, couthie,.side by side. An' burn thegither trimly ; Some start awa, wi' saucy pride, An' jump out-ovrre the chinilie Fu' high that night. VIII. Jean slips in twa wi' tentie e'e ; Wha 'twas she wadna tell ; But this is Jockf an' this is me^ She says in to hersel : He bleez'd owre her, an' she owre him. As they wad pever mair j)art. Till fuff ! he started up the luni. An' Jean had e'en a sair heart To see't that night. IX. Poor Willie, wi' his hoto-lcail-runtf Was hrunt wi' primsie Mallie; An' Mallie, nae dout, took the drunt. To be compar'd to Willie : Mall's nit lap out wi' pridefu' fling. An' her ain fit it* brunt it ; While Willie lap and swoor byjingy 'Twas just the way he wanted To be that night. X. Nell had the fause-houge jn her min'. She pits hersel an Rob in ; In lovin' 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 in the neuk for't, Unseen that night. XI. But Merran sat behint their backs, Her thoughts on Andrew Bell ; She lea'es them gashin at their cracks. And slips out by hersel : 15 She thro' the yard the nearest taks, An' to the kiln she goes then, An' darklins grapit for the bauks, ' And in the blue-clue * throws then, Right fear't that night. XII. An' ay she win't; an' ay she swat, I wat she made nae jaukin ; Till something held within the pat ; Guid L d ! but she was quakin ! 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 nighf. XIII. Wee Jenny to her graunie says, * Will ye go wi me, graunie i * I'll eat the apple f at the glass, ', ' * I gat frae uncle Johnie :' She fuff't her pipe wi' sic a lunt. In wrath she was sae vap'rin. She notic't na, an aizle brunt Her braw new worset apron Out thro' that mghu XIV. * Ye little Skelpie-limmer's face ! * How daur you try sic sportin, * As seek the foal Thief ony place, * For him to spae your fortune : G 2 * whoever would, with success, try this spell, must strictly observe these directions : Steal out, all alone, to the kiln, and, darkling, throw into the pot/ a clue of blue yarn ; wind it in a new clue off the old one ; and, towards the latter end something will hold the thread ; demand, fVha bauds ? i. e. who holds ; and answer will be returned from the kiln-pot, by naming the Chris- tian and surname of your future spouse. t Take a candle, and go alone to a looking-glass; eat an ap- ple before it, and some traditions say, you should comb your hair all the time; the face of your conjugal companion, to be, will be een in the glass, as if peeping over your shoulder. 76 < Nae doubt but ye may get a sight / * Great cause ye hae to fear it ; * For monie ane has gotten a fright^ * An' liv'd an' died deleeret, * On sic a night. XV. Ae hairst afore the Sherra-muir, * I mind't as weel's yestreen, I was a gilpey then, I'm sure \< * I was na past fyfteen : * The simmer had been cauld an' watj^ [ * An' stuff was unco green ; An' ay a rantin kirn we gat, ' An' just on Uallmiceen * It fell that night. XVI. * Qur stibble-rig was Rab M'Graen^ /7 * A clever, sturdy fallow ; His sin gat Eppie Sim wi' wean, * That liv'd in Achraacalla : * He gat hemp-seed*, I mind it weel>, r> * An' he made unco light o't; * But monie a day was by himself ;?- < He was sae sairly frightet * That vera night.^ XVII. Then up gat fechtin Jamie Fleck, An' he swoor by his conscience. That he could satu hemp-seed a peck ; For it was a' but nonsense ; The auld guidman raught down the pock. An' out a handfu' gied him ; * Steal out, unperceived, and sow a handful of hcmpsce*; Jiarrowing it with any thing you can conveniently draw after you. Kepeat, 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. Seme traditions say, * Come after me and shaw thee,' that is, shew thyself ; in which case, it simply appears. Others omit the har- rowing, and say, Come after mc and harrow thee' 7r Syne bad him slip frae 'mang thie fouk, Some time when nae ane see'd hira, An' try't that night. XVIII He marches thro* amang the stacks, Tho' he was something sturtin ; The graip he for a harrovo taks, An' haurls at his curpin : An' every now an' then, he says> * Hemp-seed I saw thee^ * An' her that is to be my lass, * Come after me, an' draw thee * As fast this night.' XIX. lie whistl'd up Lord Lenox' march, To keep hi* courage cheary ; Altho' his hair began to arch, He was sac fley'd an' eerie : Till presently he hears a squeaky An' then a grane an' gruntel ; He by his shouther gae a keek, An' tumbl'd wi' a wintlfe Out-owre that night.- XX. He roar'd a horrid murder-shout, In dreadfu' desperation ! An' young an' auld came rinnin out, An' hear the sad narration : He swoor't was hilchin Jean M'Craw, Or crouchie Merran Humphie, 'Till stop ! she trotted thro' them a'. An' wha was it but grumphie., Asteer that night '. XXI. Meg fain wad to the barn hae gaen. To vcinn three ijoechts o' naething* ; G 3 * This charm must likewise be performed, unpercelved, and alone. You go t tkc ^r, and oprn both doors, taking them ff 78. But for to meet the deil her lane. She pat but little faith in : She gies the herd a pickle nits. An' twa red cheekit apples, To watch, while for the barn she sets,. . In hopes to see Tam Kipples That vera night. XXII. She turns the key wi' cannie thraw, An' owre the threshold ventures ; But first on Sawnie gies a ca*. Syne bauldly in she enters : A rattan rattl'd up the wa'. An' she cry'd L d preserve her ! An' ran thro' midden-hole an' a*. An' pray'd wi' zeal and fervour, Fu' fast that night.. XXIII. They hoy't out Will, wi' sair advice ; They hecht him some fine braw ane ; It chanc'd the stack hejathom't thrice* y Was timmer-propt for thrawin ; He taks a swirlie, auld moss-oak. For some black, grousome carlin ; An* loot a winze, an' drew a stroke, Till skin in blypes came haurlin Aff's neives that night, the hinges, if possible ; for there is danger, that the heing, about to appear, may shut the doors, and do you some mischief. Then take that instrument used in winnowing the corn, which, in our country dialect, we call a ivecht ,- 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. Take an opportunity of going, unnoticed, to a hear-itack, and fathom it three times round. The last fathom of the last time, you will catch in your arms the appearance of your future ccn- JBgal yoke-fellow. 79 XXIV. A wanton widow Leezie was, As canty as a kittlin ; But, Och ! that night, amang the shaws, She gat a fearfu' setth'n ! She thro' the whins, an' by the cairn, An' owre the hill gaed scrievin, Whare three lah'ds' lands met at a burn*^ To dip her left sark-sleeve in. Was bent that night. XXV. Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays. As thro' the glen it wirapl't ; Whyles round a rocky scar it strays ; Whyles in a weil it dimpl't ! Whyles glitter'd to the nightly rays, Wi' bickerin, dancin dazzle ; Whyles cookit underneath the braes, - Below the spreadin hazle. Unseen that night. XXVI. Amang the bi*achens, on the brae. Between her an' the moon, The deil, or else an outler quey. Gat up an' gae a croon : Poor Leezie's heart maist lap the hool"; Near lav'rock-height she jumpit. But mist a fit, an' in the pool Out- owre the lugs she plumpit, Wi' a plunge that night. XXVII. In order, on the clean hearth-stane. The luggies threef are ranged, * Ye go out, one or more, for this-is a social spell, to a sonth 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 eleeve 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 ether side of it. f Take three dishes ; put clean water in one, foul water is And ev'ry 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 heav'd them n the fire ' In wrath that night. XXVIII. Wi' merry sangs, an' friendly cracks, I wat they did na weary ; An' unco tales, an' funnie jokes, Their sports were cheap an' cheary ; Till buiter'd So'ns* wi' fragrant lunt. Set a' their gabs a-steerin ; Syne, wi' a social glass o' strunt, Tliey parted aff careerin Fu' blythe that night. THE NEW YEAR MORNING SALUTATION TO HIS AULD MARE, MAGGIE, ON GIVING HER THE ACCUSTOMED RIPP OF CORN TO HANSEL IN THE NEW-YEAR, A guid new-year I wish thee, Maggie ! Hae, there's a rifjf to thy auld baggie : Tho' thou's howe-backit, now, an' knaggie, I've seen the day, 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 foretels, with equal certainty, no marriage at all. It is repeated three times; and every time the arrangement of the dishes is altered. So'vVens, with butter instead of milk te them^ is always the Nalloviecn Suffer. % 81 Thou could hae gaen like ony staggie Out-owre the lay. The' now thou*s dowie, stiff, an' crazy. An' thy auld hide as white's a daisy, t*ve seen thee dappl't, sleek, an' glaizie, A bonny gray : He should been tight that daur't to j-aize thee^ Ance ia a day. , Thou ance was i' the foremost rank, Kjilly^ buirdly, steeve, an' swank, An' set vreel down a shapely shank, As e'er tread yird ; An' cou'd hae flown out-owre a stank. Like ony bird. It's now some nine-an'- twenty year, Sin thou was my guid-father's meer ; He gied rae thee, o' tocher clear, An' fifty mark ; Tho' it was sma', 'twas weel-won gear, An' thou was stark. When first I gaed to woo my Jenny, Ye then was trottin wi* your minnie : Tho' ye was trickie, slee, an' funnie, ''^ ^*-* Ye ne'er was donsie ; But hamely, tawie, quiet, an' cannie. An' unco sonsie. That day, ye pranc'd wi' muckie pride. When ye bure hame my bonnie bride ; An' sweet an' gracefu' she did ride, Wi' maiden air ! Kyle Stewa^rt I could bragged wide. For sic a pair. Tho' now ye dow but hoyte and hoble,. An' wintle like a saumont-coble. That day ye was a jihker noble. For heels an' win' I An' ran them till they a' did wauble. Far, far, behin*. 82f When thou an*'I were young an' sklegh. An' stable-meals at fairs were driegh. How thou wa And I my darling Jean ! It warms me, it charms me. To mention but her name ; It heats me, it beets me. And sets me a* on flame ! IX. O, all ye Pow'rs who rule above ! O Thou, whose very self art love J Thou know'st my words sincere ! The life-blood streaming thro' my heart, Or my more dear immortal part, Is not more fondly dear ! When heart-corroding care and grief Deprive my soul of rest, Her dear idea brings relief And solace to my breast. Thou Being, All-seeing, O hear my fervent prayer ; Still take her, and make her Thi/ most peculiar care ! X. All. hail ye tender feelings dear ! The smile of love, the friendly tear. The sympathetic glow : Long since, this world's thorny ways Had number'd out my weary days, Had it not been for you ! Fate still has blest me with a friend. In every care and ill ; And oft a more endearing band, A tie more tender still. It lightens, it brightens, The tenebrific scene, To meet with, to greet with My Davie or my Jean. . XL O, how that name inspires my style ! The words come skelpin, rank and file. 92 Amaist before I ken i The ready measure rins as fine^ As PhcEbus and the famous Nine Were glowrin owre my pen, My spaviet Pegasus will limp, Till ance he's fairly het ; And then he'll hilch, and stilt, and jimp, And rin an unco fit: But lest then, the beast then. Should rue this hasty ride, 1*11 light now, and dight now, Hie sweaty, wizen'd hide. THE LAMENT, OCCASIONED BY THi: UNFORTUNATE ISSUE OF A FRIEND'S AMOUR.- Alas! how oft does goodness wound itself! And sweet Afection prove the spring of woe. Home. L fchou pale orb, that silent shines, While care-untroubled mortals sleep ! Thou seest a wretch that inly pines, And wanders here to wail and weep ! With woe 1 nightly vigils keep. Beneath thy wan, unwarming beam ; And mourn in lamentation deep. How life and love are all a dream. II. 1 joyless view thy rays adorn The faintly-marked, distant hill : 9S I joyless view thy trembling horn, Reflected in the gurgling rill : My fondly-fluttering heart, be still ! Thou busy povv'r, remembran^je, cea&e i Ah ! must the agoniziag thrill For ever bar returning peace I III. No idly-feign'd 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 pow'rs above ; The promts' djatker's tender name ; These were the pledges of my love ! IV. Encircled in her clasping arms. How have the raptur'd moments flown : How have I wish'd for fortune's charms, For her dear sake, and her's alone 1 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 ? V. ' Oh ! can she bear so base a heart. So lost to honour, lost to truth, As from the fondest lover part. The phghted husband of her youth 1 Alas ! life's path may be unsmooth ! Her way may lie thro' rough distress ! Then, who her pangs and pains will soothe, Her sorrows share, and make them less I VI. Ye winged hours that o'er us past, Enraptur'd more, the more enjoy'd. Your dear remembrance in my breast, y > My fondly-treasur'd thoughts employ*# That breast, how dreary now, and void> For her too scanty oace ef room ! m Ev'n ev'ry ray of hope destroy'd, And not a imh to gild the gloom f VII. The morn that warns th' approaching day. Awakes me up to toil and woe : I see the hours in long array, That I must suffer, lingering, slow. Full many a pang, and many a throe. Keen recollection's direful train. Must wring my soul, ere Phcebus, low, Shall kiss the distant, western main. VIII. And when my nightly couch I try, Sore-harrass'd out with care and grief. My toil-beat nerves, and tear-worn eye. Keep watchings with the nightly thief: Gr if I slumber, f^ncy, chief. Reigns haggard-wild, in sore affright : Ev'n day, all-bitter, brings relief, From such a horror-breathing night. IX. O ! thou briglit queen, who o'er th' expanse. Now highest reign'st, with boundless sway ! Oft has thy silent-marking glance Observ'd us, fondly-wand'ring, stray ! The time, unheeded, sped away. While love's luxurious pulse beat high. Beneath thy silver-gleaming ray, To mark the mutual-kindling eye. X. Oh ! scenes in strong remembrance set f ' Scenes, never, never, to return ! Scenes, if in stupor I forget, Agajn I feel, again I bum ! From ev'ry joy and pleasure torn, Life's weary vale I'll wander thro' ; And hopeless, comfortless, I'll mourn A faithless woman's broken vow I DESPONDENCY JAT ODE. I. Gppress'd with grief, oppress'd with care, A burden more than I can bear, I sit me down and sigh ; O life ! thou art a galling load, Along a rough, a weary road, To wretches such as I ! ' Dim-backward as I cast my view. What sick'uing scenes appear ! What sorrows yet may pierce me thro'. 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 ! U. . Happy, ye sons of busy-life. Who, equal to the bustling strife, No other view regard ! Ev'n when the wished end'% 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 ev'ry sad returning night. And joyless morn the same. You, bustling, and justliug. Forget each grief and pain ; I listless, yet restless. Find ev'ry prospect vain. III. 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-gafher'd fruits, Reside his crystal well ! Or, haply, to his ev'ning thought, By unfreqiffented 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. IV. Than I, no lonely hermit placed Where never human footstep trac'd, Less fit to play the part ; The lucky moment to improve, Ar\d 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 ! V. Oh 1 enviable, early days. When dancing thoughtless pleasure's maze. To care, to guilt unknown ! How illexchang'd for riper times, To feel the follies, or the crimes. Of others, or my own ! Ye tiny elves that guiltless sport. Like linnets in the bush, Ye little knowgthe ills ye court. When manhood is your wish ! The losses, the crosses, That active man engaged The fears all, the tears all, Of dim-declining age! -^ 97 V/INTER ^ DIRGE, I. The wint'ry west extends his blast, And hail and rain docs blaw ; Or, the stormy north sends driving forth, The blinding sleet and snaw ; While tumbling brown, the burn comes down. And roars frae bank to brae ; *And bird and beast in covert rest. And pass the heartless day. II. " The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast *,'* The joyless winter-day, iet 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 ! III. Thou Poxv*r Supreme^ whose mighty scheme These woes of mine fulfil, 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 resmn. I ' Dr Youn^. 93 THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHX Inscribed to R. J****, Esq. Let not ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys and destiny obscure ; ;Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile, The short but simple aimals of the poor. Qray. I. My lov'd, 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 A**** in a cottage would liave been ; Ah ! though his worth unknown, far happier there, ' I. ween ! II. November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh ; The short'ning winter-day is near a close ; The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh ; The black'ning trains o' craws to their repose: "The toil-worn cotter frae his labour goes, This night his weekly moil is at an end. Collects his spades his mattocks, and his hoes, Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend. And weary o'er the moor, his course does hameward bend. y III. At length his lonely cot appears in view, Beneath the shelter of an aged tree; Th' expectant 'wee-things^ todlin, stacher through To meet their dad, wi' flichterin noise aja' glee. 9' His wee bit ingle, blinkin bonnily, His clean hearth-stane, his thriftie tvifies smilej, Hie lisping infant prattling on his knee. Docs a' his weary carking cares beguile, An' makes him quite forget his labour an' his totL IV. Belyve the elder bairns come drappin in. At service out, araang the farmers roun' ; Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, some teutie rin A cannie errand to a neebor town : Their eldest hope, their Jenny^ woman-grown, In youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in her e'e, Comes hame, perhaps, to shew a braw new gown^ Or deposite her sair-won penny fee, To help her paren^ dear, if they in hardship be. V; Wi' joy unfeign'd brothers and sisters meet. An' each for other's weelfare kindly spiers : The social hours, swift-wing'd unnotic'd fleet ; Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears ; The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years ; Anticipation forward points the view. The mother, wi' ber needle an' her sheers. Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new ;- The father mixes a* wi' admonition due. VL Their master's an' theii* mistress's command, The younkers a' are warned to obey ; An' mind their labours wi' an eydent hand. An' ne'er tho' out o' sight, to jauk or play ; * An' O ! be sure to fear the Lord alway ! * An* mind your duty, duly, morn an' night ! * Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray, Implore his counsel and assisting might ; * They never sought in vain, that sought the Lord aright ! ' VII. But hark ! a rap comes gently to the door ; Jenny f wha kens the mearUng o' the same, 12 100 Tells how a neebor 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 e'e, and flush her cheek ; With heart-struck anxious care, inquires his name, While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak ; Weel pleas'd the mother hears, it's nae wild worthless rake. VIII. Wi' kindly welcome Jenny brings him ben ; A strappan youth ; he takes the mother's eye ; Blythe Jenny sees the visit's no ill ta'en ; The father cracks of horses, pleughs, and kye^ The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi* joy. But blate and lakhfu*, scarce can weel behave ; The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy What makes the youth sae bashfu' an sae grave ; Weel pleas'd to think her bairn's respected like the lave. IX. O Happy love ! where love like this is found ! O heart felt raptures ! bliss beyond compare ! I've paced much this weary, mortal round ; And sage experiejice bids me this declare * If Heav'n a draught of heav'nly pleasure spare, * One cordial in this melancholy vale, * 'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair, In others' arms breathe out the tender tale, < Beneath the milk-white thora that scents the ev'ning gale !' X. Is there, in human form, that bears a heart A wretch ! a villain ! lost to love and truth ! That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art Betray sweet Jenny^s unsuspecting youth ? Curse on his perjur'd arts ! dissembling smooth J Are honour, virtue, conscience, all exil'd ; Is there no pity, no relenting ruth, Points to the parents fondling o'er their child ? Then paints th^ ruin'd naaid, and their distraction wild ! Ml XI. But now the supper crowns their simple board. The healsonie parritch, chief o' Scotia's food : Tlie soupe their only HaxaJcie does afford, That 'yont the hallan snugly chows her cood : The dame brings forth in complimental mood, To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd kebbuck, fell, An' aft he's prest, an' aft he ca's it guid ; The frugal- wifie, garrulous, will tell, How 'twas a towiond auld, sin* lint was i* the bell. XII. 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-h'ible, ance his father's pride : His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside, His lyart haffets v/earin thin an' bare; Those strains tliat once did sweet in Zion glide. He wales. a portion with judicious care ; And ' Let us xKorship God !' he says with solemn air. XIII. They chant their artless notes in simple giu'se ; They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim. Perhaps Dwidee's wild warbling measures rise. Or plaintive Martyrs, worthy of the name ;. Or noble Elgin beets the heav'n-ward flame. The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays : Compar'd with these, Italian trills are tame; The tickl'd ears no heart-felt raptures raise ; Kae unison hae they with our Creator's praise. ' XIV. The priest-like father reads the sacred page. How Abram was the Jrieiid of God on high; Or, Moses bade eternal warfare wage With Amalek's ungracious progeny ; Or how the royal hard did groaning lye Beneath the stroke of Heav'n's avenging ire; Or t/oi's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry ; Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire; Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre. . I 3 102 XV. Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme, How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed ; How He, who bore in Heav'n 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 Babylon's doom pronounc'd by Heav'n's command. XVI. Then kneeling down^to Heaven's Eternal King, The saint, the father, and the husband, prays : Hope springs exulting on triumphant wing*,' That thus they all shall meet in future days : There, ever bask in uncreated rays, i 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.^ XVII. Corapar'd with this how poor religion's pride, In all the pomp of method, and of art. When men display to congregations wide. Devotion's every grace, except the heart ! The PotoV, incens'd, the pageant will desert, The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole; But haply, in some cottage far apart. May hear, well-pleas'd, the language of the soul; And in his book of life the inmates poor enroll. XVIII. Then homeward all take off their sev'ral way; The youngling cottagers retire to rest ; The parent-pair their secret homage pay. And proffer up to Heav'n the warm request. That He, who stills the raven's clam'rous nest. And decks the lily fair in flow'ry pride, * Pofe's Windsor Forest. 103 Would, in the way His Wisdom sees the best. For them and for their Httle one's provide ; But chiefly in their hearts with grace divine preside. XIX. From scenes Hke these, okl Scotia^s grandeur springs, That makes her lov'd at home, rever'd abroad : Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, * An honest man's the noblest work of God;* And certes, in fair virtue's heav'nly 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 ! XX. O Scotia ! my dear, my native soil ! For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent 1 Long may ti)y hardy sons of rustic toil. Be bless'd with health, and peace, and sweet content! And, O ! may Heav'n, their simple lives prevent From luxury's contagion, weak and vile V Then, howe'er croivns and coronets be rent, A virtuous 'populace may rise the while,. And stancLa wall of fire around their much-lov'd Isle. XXI. O Thou! who pour'd the patriotic tide That stream'd thro' Wallace's undaunted heart ; Who dar'd to, nobly, stem tyrannic pride. Or nobly die, the second glojious part, (The patriot's (Sod, peculiarly thou art, His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward!) O never, never, Scotia's realm desert ; But still the patriot^ and the patriotrhard, In bright succession raise, her ornament and guard 1 MAN WAS MADE TO MO URN. J DIRGE. I. When chill November's surly blast Made fields and forests bare,. 104 One ev'ning as I wander'd forth Along the banks of Ai/r, I spied a man whose aged step Seem'd weary, worn with care ; His f^ce was furrow 'd o*er with years And hoary was his hair. II. Young stranger, whither wand*rest thou ! (Began the rev'rend sage ;) Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain. Or youthful pleasure's i*age ? Or haply, prest with cares and woes, Too soon thou hast began To wander forth, with me to mourn The miseries of man. III. ' The sun that overhangs yon moors, Out-spreading 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 ev'ry time has added proofs, That man was made to mourn. IV, O man ! while in thy early years, How prodigal of time ! Mis-spending 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. V. 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 ! Shew man was made to mourn. VI. A few seem favourites of fate, In PIeasure*is lap carest ! Yet, think not all the rich and great Are likewise truly blest. But, Oh ! what crowds in ev'ry land. Are wretched and forlorn. Thro' weary life this lesson learn. That man was made to mourn. VII. Many and sharp the num'rous ills Inwoven with our frame ! More pointed still we make ourselves. Regret, remorse, and shame ! And man, whose heav'n-erected face, The smiles of love adorn, Man's inhumanity to man Makes countless thousands mourn J VIII. 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 lovdly Jelloiv-xvor7n The poor petition spurn. Unmindful, tho' a weeping wife. And helpless offspring mourn. IX. If I'm designed yon lordling's slave> By Nature's law design'd, Wliy was an independent, wish E'er planted in my mind ? If not, why am I subject to His cruelty, or scorn ! Or why has man the will and povv's? To make his fellow raourn ?. X. Yet, let not this too mueh, my so^ Disturb thy youthful breast : _ This partial view of human-kind Is surely not the last ! The poor, oppressed, honest man. Had never, sure, been born. Had there not been some recompense To comfort those that mourn ! XI. 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 plt-asure torn ; But, Oh ! a blest relief to those That weary-laden mourn I A PRAYER, IN THE PROSPECT OF DEATH* I. O Thou, unknown. Almighty Cause Of all my hope and fear ! In whose dread presence, ere an hour,.. Perhaps I must appear ! II. If I have wander'd in those paths Of life I ought to shun ; As somethings loudly, in my breast, Remonstrates I have done ; III. Thou know'st that Thou hast formed me With passions wild and strong ; Ajid list'ning to their witching voice Has often led me wrong. IV. "liVhere huiiaan weakness has come sliorj, Ovfrailty stept aside, Do Thou, All-Good! for such Thou art, In shades of darkness hide. V. Where with intention I have erf'd, No other plea I have, But, Thou art good; and goodness still Dehghteth ta forgive. STANZAS ON THE SAME OCCASION. Why am I loth to leave this earthly scene ! Have I so found it full of pleasing charms ! Some drops of joy with draughts of ill between: Some gleams of sunshine mid renewing storms: Is it departing pangs my soul alarnis ? 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-a?enging rod. Fain would I say, * Forgive my foul offence !' Fain promise never more to disobej' ; But, should my Author health again dispense; Again I might desert fair virtue's way ; ..Again in folly's path might go a?iray4 Again exalt the brute and sink the man ; Then how should 1 for heav'nly mercy pray, Who act so counter heav'nly mercy's plan ? Who sin so oft have mourn'd, yet to temptation raii? O thou Great Goversor 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 controuling pow'r assist even me, Those headlong, furious passions to confine ; For all unfit I feel my powers to be. To rule their torrent in th' allowed line ; -O, aid me with Thy. help, Omnipotence Divine ! t08 VERSES ON A FRIEND AND HIS FAMILt* I. O Thou dread PowV, who reign'st above I I know Thou wilt me hear : When for this scene of peace and love, I make my pray'r sincere, II. The hoary sire the mortal stroke. Long, long, be pleas'd to spare ; To bless his little filial flock, And shew what good men are. III. She, who her lovely offspring eyes With tender hopes and fears, O bless her with a mother's joya, But spare a mother's tears ! IV. Their hope, their stay, their darling youtlj. In manhood's dawning blush ; Bless him, Thou God of love and truth, Up to a parent's wish. V. The beauteous, seraph sister-band, With earnest tears I pray. Thou know'st the snares on ev'ry hand. Guide Thou their steps alway. VI. When soon or late they reach that coasij O'er life's rough ocean driv'n. May tliey rejoice, no wand'rer lost, A family in heav'nl THE FIRST PSALM. Thb man, in life wherever plac'd, Hath happiness in store, * Visiting at a Reverend Friend's house, the AutllOT left t^ abov Verses in the room where he slept. 109 WHio walks not in the wicked's way, Nor learns their guilty lore ! Nor from the seat of scornful pride Casts forth his eyes abroad, But with humility and awe Still walks before his God. That man shall flourish like the trecB Which by the streamlets grow ; The fruitful top is spread on high. And firm the root below. But he whose blossom buds in guilt Shall to the ground be cast, And like the rootless stubble tost. Before the sweeping blast. For why? that God the good adore Hath giv'n them peace and rest, But hdth decreed that wicked men Shall ne'er be truly blest. A PRAYER, UNDER THE PRESSURE OF VIOLENT ANGUISH, 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 ray soul Obey thy high behest. Sure thou, Almighty, canst not act From cruelty or wrath ! Or free my weary eyes from tears, Or close them fast in death ! But if I must afflicted be, To suit some wise design ; K 110 Then, man my soul with firm resolves To bear and not repine. THE FIRST SIX VERSES OF THE NINETIETH PSALM. O Thou, the first, the greatest friend Of all the human race ! Whose strong right hand has ever been Their stay and dwelling place ! Before the mountains heav'd their heads Beneath thy forming hand, Before this pond'rous globe itself. Arose at thy command ; That Pow'r which jrais'd 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 beibre thy sight Tlian yesterday that's past. Thou giv'st the word : Thy creature, man. Is to existence brought ; Again Thou say'st, ' Ye sons of men, * Return ye into nought !' Thou layest them, with all their cares, In everlasting sleep ; As with a flood Thou tak'st them off With overwhelming sweep. They flourish like the morning flow'r. In beauty's pride array'd : But long ere night cut down it lies All wither'd and decay 'd. Ill TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY, ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH, IN APRIL, 1786i Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r, Thou's met me in an evil hour ; For I maun crush amang the stoure Thy slender stem. To spare thee now is past my pow'r. Thou bonnie gem. Alas ! it's no thy neebor sweet. The bonnie Larky companion meet ! Bending thee 'mang tlie dewy weet! Wi' spreckl'd breast. When upward-springing, biythe, 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 flow'rs our gardens yield. High shelt'ring woods and wa's maun shield ; But thou, beneath the random bield O' clod or stane. Adorns the his tie stibble-Jieldy Unseen, alane. There, in thy scanty mantle clad. Thy snawie bosom sun-ward spread. Thou lifts thy unassuming head In humble guise ; But now the share uptears thy bed. And low thou lies ! Such is the fate of artless maid, SweetJlotjoWei of the rural shade 1 By love's simplicity betray'd. And guileless trusty K 2 112 Tin 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 ! Unskilful he to note the card O^ prudent lore^ Till billows rage, and gales blow hard. And whelm him o'er ! __ Such fate to suffering ivorth is giv'n. Who long with wants and woes has striv'n. By human pride or cunning driv'n To rais'ry's brink, Till wrench'd of ey'ry stay but ^eao'w, He, ruin'd, sink! Ev'n thou who mourn'st the daisy's fate, That fate is thine no distant date ; Stern Y\xm& plough'share drives, elate. Full on thy bloom. Till crush'd beneath the furrow's weight, Shall be thy doom J TO RUIN. I. All hail ! inexorable lord ! At whose destruction-breathing word, The mightiest empires fall ! Thy cruel, woe-delighted train. The ministers of grief and pain, A sullen welcome all ! With stern-resolv'd, despairing eye. I see each aimed dart ; For one has cut ray dearest tye^ And quivers in ray heart. Then low'ring, and pouring, The storm no inore I dread ; Tho' thick'ning and black'ning^ Eound my devoted head. irs ir. And diou grim pow'r, by life abhorr'd, While life a pleasure can afford, Oh ! hear a wretch's pray'r ! No more I shrink appall'd, afraid ; I court, I beg thy friendly aid. To close this scene of care ! When shall my soul, in silent peace. Resign Wk's joyless day; My weary heart its throbbings cease, Cold mould'ring in the clay ; No fear more, no tear more. To stain my lifeless fixce, Enclasped, and grasped Within thy cold embrace ! TO Miss L- WITII BEATTIe's POEMS AS A NEW YEAR*S GIFT,. JAN. 1, 1787. Again the silent wheels of time Their annual round' have driv'n. And you, tho' scarce in maiden prime, Are so much nearer heav'n. 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 charg'd, perhaps too true ; But may, dear maid, each lover prove An Edwin still to you. EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND. May 1786. I LANG liae thought, my youthfu' friend, A something to have sent you, K 3 114 Tho* it should serve nae other end Then just a kind memento ; But how the subject-theme may gaag, Let time and chance determine ; Perhaps, it may turn out a sang ; Perhaps, turn out a sermon. II. Ye'U try the world soon, my lad, And Andretu dear, believe me, Ye'U find mankind an unco squad, And muckle they may grieve ye : For care and trouble set your thought, Ev'n when your end*s- attained ; And a' your views may come to nought. Where ev'ry nerve is strained. III. I'll 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,. An' little to be trusted ; If self the wavering balance shake, It's rarely right adjusted ! IV. Yet they wha fa' in fortune's strife. Their fate we should na censure. For still th' important end of life, They equally may answer : A man may hae an honest heart, Tho' poortith hourly stare him ; A man may tak a neebor's part. Yet hae nae cash to spare him. V. Ay free, afF han', your story tell, WTien 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 j Fut keek thro' ev'ry other man^. Wi' sharpen'd sly inspection. VI. The sacred lowe o' weel-plac*d love^ Luxuriantly indulge it : But never tempt th' illicii^ rove, Tho' naething should divulge it : I wave the quantum o' the sin, The hazard of conceahng ; But Och ! it hardens a' within, And petrifies the feeling 1 VII. To catch dame Fortune's golden smilej. Assiduous wait upon her; And gather gear by ev'ry wile That's justify'd by honor: Not for to hide it in a hedge. Nor for a train-attendant ; But for the glorious privilege Of being independent. VIII. The fear o' hell's a hangman's whipj To baud the wretch in order; But where ye feel your honor grip. Let that ay be your border : Its slightest touches, instant pause- Debar a' side pretences ; And resolutely keep its laws, Uncaring consequences. IX. The great Creator to revere. Must sure become the creature ; But still the preaching cant forbear, And ev'n the rigid feature : Yet ne'er with wits profane to range^ Be complaisance extended ; An atheist's laugh's a poor exchange For Deity offended ! 116 X. When ranting round in pleasure's ring, Religion may be blinded ; Or if she gie a random stingy It may be little minded : But when on life we're tempest-driv'ri, A conscience but a canker A correspondence fix'd wi' heav'n, Is sure a noble anchor ! XL 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 ye better reck the rede. Than ever did th' adviser. ON A SCOTCH BARD, GONE TO THE WEST INDIES. A' YE wha live by soups o' drink, A' ye wha live by crambo-clink, A' ye wha live and never think. Come mourn wi' me ! Our bilHe's gien us a' a jink. An' owre the sea. Lament him a' ye rantin core, Wha dearly like a random-splore, Nae mair he'll join the merry roar. In social key ; For now he's taen anither shore. An' owre the sea. The bonnie lasses weel may wiss hira. And in their dear petitions place him ; The widows, wives, an' a' may bless him, W^i' tearfu' e'e ; 117 For weel I wat they'll sairly miss him That's owre the sea. O fortune, they hae room to grumble ! Hadst thou taen afF some drowsy bummie, Wha can do nought but fyke an* fumble, 'Twad been nae plea ; But he was gleg as ony wumble, That's owre the sea ! Auld, cantie Kyle may weepers wear, An' stain them wi' the saut, saut tear ; 'Twill mak her poor auld heart, I fear, In flinders flee : He was her laureat raonie a year. That's owre the sea ! He saw misfortune's cauld Nor-toest Lang mustering up a bitter blast ; A jillet brak his heart at last, 111 may she be ! SO) took a birth afore the mast, An' owre the sea. 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^ An* owre the sea. He ne'er was gien to great misguiding, Yet coin his pouches wad na bide in ; Wi* him it ne'er was under hiding ; He dealt it fiee : The muse was a' that he took pride in, That's owre the sea. Jamaica bodies, use him weel, An' hap him in a cozie biel : Ye'U find him ay a dainty chiel. And fou o' glee : He wad na wrang'd the vera deil, That's owre the sea* 118 Fareweel, my rhyme-composing hillie t' Your native soil was right ill-willie; But may ye flourish like a lily, Now bonnilie ! I'll toast ye in my hindmost gillie, Tho' owre the sea ! TO A HAGGIS. Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, Great chieftain o' the pudden-race ! Aboon them a' ye tak' your place, Painch, tripe, or thairm Weel are ye wordy of a grace As lang's my arm. The groaning trencher there ye fill. Your hurdles like a distant hill Your pin wad help to mend a mill Iq time o' need. While thro' your pores the dews distil Like amber-bead. His knife see rustic labour dight, An' cut you up wi' ready slight. Trenching your gushing entrails bright Like onie ditch ; An then, O what a glorious sight, Warm-reekin, rich! Then horn for horn they stretch an* strive, Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive. Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve Are bent like drums ; Then auld guidman, maist like to rive, Bethankit hums. Is there that o'er his French ragout. Or olio that wad staw a sow. Or jHcassee wad mak her spew Wi' perfect sconner. \ \ 119 Xooks 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; Thro' bloody flood or field to dash, O how unfit ! But mark the rustic, haggis-fed^ The trembling earth resounds his tread, Clap in his walie nieve a blade, He'll mak it whissle; An' legs, an' arms, an' heads will sned, Like taps o' thrissle. Ye Pow'rs wha mak mankind your care. And dish them out their bill o' fare, Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware That jaups in luggies ; But, if ye wish her gratefu' pray'r, Gie her a haggis. ! A DEDICATION to Gavin Hamilton, Esft. Expect na. Sir, in this narration, A fleechin, fleth'rin dedication. To roose you up, an' ca' you guid, An' sprung o' great an' noble bluid. Because ye're surnam'd like His Grace, Perhaps related to the race ; Then when I'm tir'd ^and sae are ye, \Vi' mony a fulsome, sinfu' lie, Set up a face, how I stop short, For fear your modesty be hurt. This may ^o maun do. Sir, wi' them wha Maun please the great fouk for a wamefou ; For me ! sae laigh 1 needna bow. For Lord be than kit, I can plough ; And when I dcwiia yoke a naig, Then, Lord be thankit, / can beg ; .A 120 Sae I shall say, an'' that's nae flatt'rin, It's just sic poet an' sic patron. The poet, some guid angel help him, Gr else, I fear some ill ane skelp him ! He may do weel for a' he's done yet, But only he's no just begun yet. The patron, ( Sir, ye maun forgie me, I winna lie, come what will o' me) On ev'ry hand it will allow'd be, He's just nae better than he should be. I readily and freely grant. He downa see a poor man want ; What's no his ain he winna tak it. "What aince he says he winna break it; Ought he can lend he'll no refus't, Till aft his guidness is abus'd ; And rascals whyles that do him wrang, 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' thatj Nae godly symptom ye can ca' that ; It's naething but a milder feature, Of our poor, sinfu', corrupt nature : Ye'll 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 thro' terror of d-mn-tn ; Its just a carnal inclination. Morality, thou deadly bane, Thy tens o' thousands thou hast slain! Vain is his hope, whose stay and trust is In moral mercy, truth, and justice ! No stretch a point to catch a.plack,; Abuse a brother to his back; 121 I wli r^ But point the rake that taks the door ; Be to the poor like onie whunstane, And haud their noses to the grunstane ; Ply ev'ry art o' legal thieving ; No matter, stick to sound believing. Learn three-mile pray'rs, an' half-mile graces, Wi' weel-spread looves, an' lang, wry faces ; Grunt up a solemn, lengthen'd groan, And damn a' parties hut your own; I'll warrant then, ye're nae deceiver, A steady, sturdy, staunch believer. ye wha leave the springs of C-lv-Uj For gumlie dubs of your ain delvin ! Ye sons of heresy and error, Ye'll some day squeel in quaking terror When vengeance draws the sword in wrath, And in the fire throws the sheath ; .Wheit ruin, with his sweeping besom, Just frets till heav'n commission gies hira ! While o'er the harp pale mis'ry moans, And strikes the ever-deep'ning tones, Still louder shrieks, and heavier groans ! Your pardon. Sir, for this digression, 1 maist forgat my dedication j But when divinity comes cross me. My readers still are sure to lose rae. So, Sir, you see 'twas nae daft vapour. But I maturely thought it proper. When a' my works I did review. To dedicate them. Sir, to you : Because (ye need na tak it ill) I thought them something like yoursel. Then patronise them wi' your favour. And your petitioner shall ever I had amaist said, ever pray, But that's a word I need na say : For prayin I hae little skill o't ; I'm baith dead sweer, an' wretched ill o't; L 5 122 But Pse repeat each poor man's prayr^ That kens or hears about you, Sir * May ne'er misfortune's govvHng bark * Howl thro' the dwelHng o' the Clerk I * May ne'er his gen'rous, honest heart, * For that same gen'rous spirit smart ! * May K******'s far-honoured name * Lang beet his hymeneal flame, * Till H*******s, at least a dizen, * Are frae their nuptial labours risen : * Five bonnie lasses round their table, * And seven braw fellows, stout an' able, * To serve their King and Country weel ; * By word, or pen, or pointed steel ! * May health and peace, with mutual rays, Shine on the ev'ning o' his days ; * Till his wee curlie Johns ier-oe, ' When ebbing life nae mair shall flow, * The last, sad, mournful rites bestow ! I will not wind a lang conclusion, Wi' complimentary effusion : But whilst your wishes and endeavours, Are blest with fortune's smiles and favours, I am, dear Sir, with zeal most fervent. Your much indebted, humble servant. But if (which Pow'rs above prevent) That iron-hearted carl, Wantf Attended in his grim advances, By sad mistakes, and black rnischances. While hopes, and joys, and pleasures fly hinQj, Make you as poor a dog as I am. Your humble servant then no more, For who would humbly serve the poor ! But, by a poor man's hopes in heav'al While recollection's pow'r is giv'n, If, in the vale of humble life, The victim sad of fortune's strife, I, thro' the tender gushing ter, Should recognize my master dear. ] 123 ff friendless, low, we meet together, Then, Sir, your hmd-^my friend and brother J TO A LOUSE, ON SEEING ONE ON A LADY's BONNET AT CHUHCII. Ha ! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie, Your impudence protects you sairly ; I canna say but ye strunt rarely, Owre gauze and lace ; Tho' faith, I fear, ye dine but sparely On sic a place. Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonner, Detested, shunn'd, by saunt an' sinner^ How dare ye set your fit upon her, Sae fine- a lady ! Gae somewhere else and seek your dinner. On some poor body. Swith, in some beggar's haffet squattle ; There ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle Wi' ither kindred, jumpin cattle. In shoals and nations ; Whare horn nor bane ne'er dare unsettle Your thick plantations. Now, baud you there, ye're out o' sight, Below the fatt'rils, snug an' tight ; Na, faith ye yet ! ye'll no be right Till ye've got- on it, The vera tapmost, tow'ring height O' Miss's bonnet. " My sooth ; right bauld ye set your nose out, As plump and gray as onie grozet ; O for some rank, mercurial rozet, Or fell; red smeddum, IM gie you sic a hearty doze o't, Wad dress your droddura ! 1*2 1^4 I wad na been surpris'd to spy You on an auld wife's flainen toy ; Or aibiins some bit duddie boy, On's wyliecoat ; But Miss's fine Lunardi > fie. How daur ye do't I O, Jenny, dinna toss your head. An' set your beauties a' abread ! Ye little ken what cursed speed The blastie's makin 2 Thae imnks and ^nger-ends, I dread. Are notice takin ! O wad some pow'r the giftie gie us To see ourselves as others see us ! It wad frae monie a blunder free us And foolish notion : What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us, And ev'n devotion ! ADDRESS TO EDINBURGH. I. Edina ! Scotia & darling seat ! All hail thy palaces and tow'rs, Where once beneath a monarch's feet Sat legislation's sov'reign pow'rs ! From marking wildly-scatter'd flow'rs, As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd. And singing, lone, the ling'ring hours, I shelter in thy honor'd shade. 11. Here wealth still swells the golden tide, As busy trade his labours plies ; There architecture's noble pride Bids elegance and splendor rise ; Here justice, from her native skies. High wields her balance and her rod ; There learning, with his eagle eyes, Seeks science in her coy abode. 125 III. Thy sons, Edina, social, kind, With open arms the stranger hail ; Their views enlarg'd, their lib'ral 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! IV. Thy daughters bright thy walks adorn,* Gay as the gilded summer sky, Sweet as the dewy milk-white thorn. Dear as the raptur'd thrill of joy ! Pair B***** strikes th' adoring eye, Heav'n's beauties on my fancy shine ;-- I see the Sire of Love on high. And own his work indeed divine 1 V. There watching high the least alarms, Thy rough rude fortress gleams afar; Like some bold vet'ran, gray in arms. And mark'd with many a seamy scar ; - The pond'rous wall and massy bar. Grim-rising o'er the rugged rock ; Have oft withstood assailing war. And oft repell'd th' invader's shock. VI. With awe-struck thought, and pitying tears, I view that noble, stately dome. Where Scotia^s kings of other years, Fam'd heroes, had their royal home : Alas, how chang'd the times to come ! Their royal name low in the dust ! " Their hapless race vvild-wand'ring roam ! Tho' rigid law cries out, 'twas just! VII. Wild beats my heart, to trace yonr steps, Who^y a'^ic^stors, in days' of yore, 126 Thro' hostile ranks and ruin'd gaps Old. Scotia's bloody lion borej Ev'n / who sing in rustic lore, Haply, mi/ sires have left their shed. And fac'd grim danger's loudest roar. Bold-following where yourjathers led ! VIII. Edina ! Scotia's darling seat ! All hail thy palaces and tow'rs, "Where once beneath a monarch's feet Sat legislation's sov'reign powers ! From marking wildly-scatter'd flow'rs, As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd. And singing, lone, the ling'ring hours, I shelter'd in thy honor'd shade. EPISTLE TO J. LAPRAIK, AN OLD SCOTTISH BARD April 1, 1785. While briers an* woodbines budding green, An' paitricks scraichin loud at e'en. An' morning poussie whiddin seen. Inspire my muse. This freedom in an unknoivn frien', I pray excuse. On fastin-een we had a rockin. To ca' the crack and weave our stockin ; And there was muckle fun an jokin. Ye need na doubt ; At length we had a hearty yokin At sang about. There was ae sang, araang the rest, Aboon them a' it yjkas'd me best. That some kind husband had addrest To some sweet wife : It thirVd the heart-strings thro' the breast, A' to the life. 127^ I've scarce heard ought describ'd sae weel, What gen'rous, manly bosoms feel ; Thought I, Can this be Pope, or Steele, Or Beattie's wark!* They tald me 'twas an odd kind chiel About MuirkirL It pat me fidgin-fain to hear't. And sae about him there I spier't. Then a' that ken't him round declar'd, He had ingine, That nane excell'd it, few cam near't, * It was sae fine. That set him to a pint of ale, All' either douce or merry tale. Or rhymes an' sangs he'd made hirasel, Or witty catches, *Tween Inverness and Tiviotdale, He had few matches. Then up I gat, an' swoor an aith, Tho' I should pawn my pleugh and graith. Or die a cadger-pownie's death, At some dyke-back, A pint an gill I'd gie them baith, To hear your crack. But, first an' foremost, I should tell, Amaist as soon as I could spell, I to the crambo Jingle fell, Tho' rude an' rough. Yet crooning to a body's sel, Does weel eneugh, I am nae poet, in a sense, But just a rhymer, like, by chance. An' hae to learning nae pretence, Yet what the matter ? Whene'er my muse does on me glance, I jingle at her. Your critic-folk may cock their nose. And say, ' How can you eer propose, 12& '^ Ybu wha ken hardly verse frae prosef ' To mak a 5a?2^ f ' But, by your leaves, my learned foes, Ye're may be wrang. What's a' your jargon o' your schools. Your Latin nantes for horns an' stools ; If honest nature made you Jbols, What sairs your grammars ? Ye'd better taen up spades and shools, Or knappin-haranaers. A set o' dull, conceited hashes, Confuse their brains in college classes ! They gang in stirks, and come out asses, Plain truth to speak; An' syne they think to climb Parnassus By dint o' Greek! Gie me ae spark o' nature's fire, That's a' the learning I desire ; Then tho' I drudge thro' dub an* mire. At pleugh or cart. My muse, tho' hamely in attire, May touch the heart? for a spunk o* Allan's glee. Or Fergusson%, the bauld and slee, Or bright Lapraik\ my friend to be, If I can hit it! That would be lear eneugh for me. If I could get it. Now, Sir, if ye hae friends enow, Tho' real friends, I b'lieve are few. Yet, if your catalogue be fou, I'se no insist ; But gif ye want ae friend that's true, Vm on your list. 1 winna blaw about mysel ; As ill I like my fauts to tell ; But friends and folk that wish me well, They sometimes roose me ; 129 Tho* I maun own, as monie still As far abuse me. There's ae weejaut they whyles lay to me, I like the lasses Gude forgi'e me ! For mouie a plack they wheedle frae me, At dance or fair ; May be some ither thing they gie me They weei can spare. But MaucJdine race, or Mauchline fair, I should be proud to meet you there ; We'se gie ae night's discharge to care, If we forgather. An' hae a swap o' rht/min-ware Wi* ane anither. The four-gill chap, we'se gar him clatter, An' kirsen him wi' reekin water ; 1^ Syne we'll sit dowa an* tak our whitter, To chear our heart ; . An* faith, we*se be acquainted better Before we part. Awa ye selfish warly race, Wha think that bavins, sense, an' grace, Ev'n love an' friendship, should give place To catch-the-plack ! I dinna like to see your face. Nor hear your crack. But ye whom social pleasure charms, "Whose hearts the tide 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 L But to conclude my lang epissle, As my auld pen's worn to the grissle ; Twa lines frae you wad gar me fissle, Who am, most fervent. While I can either sing or whissle, Your friend and servant. ISO TO THE SAME. April 21, 1785. While new ca'd kye rout at the stake. An' pownies reek in pleugh or braik, This hour on e'enin's edge 1 take, To own I'm debtor, To honest-heartecT, auld Lapraik, For his kind letter. Forjesket sair, with weary legs, Rattlin the corn out-.owre the rigs, Or dealing thro' amang the naigs Their ten hours bite, My awkward muse sair pleads and begs, I wou'd na writet The tapetless rarafeezl'd hizzie. She's saft at best, and something lazy. Quo' she, * Ye ken, we've been sae busy, 'This month an' mair, * That trouth my head is grown right dizzie, ' An' something sair.' Her dowfF excuses pat me mad; * Conscience,' says I, * ye thowless jad ! * I'll write, an' that a hearty blaud, * This vera night ; * So dinna ye affront your trade, ' But rhyme it right. * Shall bauld Lapraik, the king o' hearts, * Tho' mankind were a pack o' cartes, * Roose you sae weel for your deserts, * In terms sae friendly, * Yet ye'll neglect to shaw your parts, * An' thank him kindly I' Sae I gat paper in a blink, An' down gaed stumpie in the ink : Quoth I, ' Before I sleep a wink, ' I vow I'll close it;. ISl * An' if ye winna mak it clink, By Jove I'll prose it I' Sae I've begun to scrawl, but whether In rhyme, or prose, or baitli thegither. Or some hotch-potch that's rightly neitherj Let time mak proof; But I shall scribble down some blether Just clean att-loof. My worthy friend, ne'er grudge an' carp, Tho' fortune use you hard an* sharp ; Come, kittle up your moorland harp Wi' gleesome touch ! Ne'er mind how fortune xmft an' ivarp.; She's but a b-tch. She's gien me monie a jirt an' fleg. Sin' I could striddle owre a rig ; But, by the L d, tho' I should beg Wi' lyart pow, I'll laugh, an' sing, an' shake my leg. As lang's I dow ! Now comes the sax an' twentieth dimmer, I've seen the bud upo' the timmer, JStill persecuted by the limmer Frae year to year ; But yet, despite the kittle kimmer, /, Rob, 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 wamej In some bit brugh to represent A bailie's name ? Or is't the paughty, feudal thane, Wi' ruffl'd sark an' glancing cane, Wha thinks himsel nae sheep-shank banCj But lordly stalks. While caps and bonnets aft' are taen, As by he walks? 1S2 * O Thou wha gies us eacli guid gift! ' Gie me o' wit an' sense a lift, * Then turn me, if Thou please, adrift, * Thro' Scotland wide; * Wi' cits nor lairds I wadna shift, * In a' their pride !' Were this the charter of our state, * On pain o' hell be rich an' great,' -Damnation then would be our fate, Beyond remead; But, thanks to heav'n, that's no the gate We learn our creed. For thus the roj'al mandate ran, When first the human race began, * The social, friendly, honest man, ' Whate'er he be, * 'Tis he fulfils great Nature's plan, * An' noEC but he f O mandate glorious and divine ! The ragged followers of the Nine, Poor thoughtless devils ! yet may shine In glorious light, Whilg^Bordid sons of Mammon's line ' r> -, -, Are dark as night. Thb' here they scrape, an' squeeze, an' growl. Their worthless nievefu' of a soUl May in so cnejuture carcase howl. The forest's fright ; Or in some day-detesting owl May shun the light. Then may Lapraik and Burns rise, To reach their native, kindred skies, jVnd sing their pleasures, hopes, an' joys, In some mild sphere, JStill closer knit in friendship's ties Each passing yearJ 133 TO W. S*****N, OCHILTREi:. May, 1785. I GAT your letter, winsome Willie ; Wi* gratefu' heart I thank you brawlie ; Tho' I mauQ say't, I wad be silly. An' unco vain, Should I believe^ my coaxin billie. Your flatterin strain. But I'se believe ye kindly meant it, I sud be laith to think ye hinted Ironic satire, sidelins sklented On my poor musie ; Tho' in sic phraisin terms ye've penn'd it, I scarce excuse ye. My senses wad be in a creel, Should I but dare a ^ope to speel, Wi' Allan, or wi' Gilbertjielcl, 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 wimnstane hearts, Ye Enbrugh gentry ! The tythe o' what je waste at cartes Wad stow'd his pantry I) Yet when a tale comes i* my head. Or lasses gie my lieart a screed. As whyles they're like to be my dead, (O sad disease !) I kittle up my rustic reed ; It gies me ease. Auld Coila now may fidge fu' fain, She's gotten poets o' her ain, Chiels wha their chanters winna hain. But tune their lays. Till echoes a* resound again Her weel-sung^praise, M 134 Nae poet thought her worth his while. To set her name in measur'd style; She lay Hke some unkend-of isle Beside Neio-Hollan*, Or whare wild-meeting oceans boil Besouth Magellan. Ramsay an' famous Fergusson Gied Forth an' Tay a lift aboon ; Yarroiv an' Tweedy to monie a tune, Owre Scotland rings. While Irvoin, Lugar, Ayr^ an' Doon, Naebody sings. Th' Ilissus, Tiber, Thames, an' Seine, Glide sweet in monie a tunefu' line ! But, Willie, set your fit to mine, An' cock your crest. We'll gar our streams an' burnies shine Up wi' the best. We'll sing auld Coila's plains an' fells, Her moors red-brown wi' heather-bells, Her banks an' braes, her dens an' dells. Where glorious Wallace Aft bure the gree,, as story tells, Frae southron billies. At Wallace' name vihai Scottish blood But boils up in a spring tide flood ! Oft have our fearless fathers strode By Wallace' side, Still pressing onward, redwat shod, Or glorious died,. O sweet are Coila's haughs an' woods, When lintwhites chant among the buds. And jinkin hares, in amorous whids, Their loves enjoy. While thro' the braes the cushat croods With wailfu' cry ! Ev'n winter bleak has charms to me When winds rave tliro' the naked tree ; 165 Or frosts on hills of Ochiltree Are hoary gra"^ Or Winding drifts wild-furious flee, Darkening the day ! O Nntiire ! a* thy shews an' forms, To feeling, pensive hearts hae charms ! Whether the summer kindly warms, Wi' life an' light, Or winter howls, in gusty storms. The lang, dark night ! The muse, nae poet ever fand her, Till by himsel' he learn'd to wander, Adown some trotting burn's meander. An' no think lang ; sweet, to stray an' pensive ponder A heart-felt sang ! The warly race may drudge and drive, Hog-shoutber, jundie, stretch, an' strive; Let me fair Nature's face descriye, 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 an' taxes ! While moorlan' herds like guid fat braxies ; While Terra Firma on her axis Diurnal turns. Count on a friend, in faith an' practice, In Robert Burns. POSTSCRIPT. My memory's no worth a preen ; 1 had amaist foi-gotten clean, M2 16 Ye bade me write you what they mean By this nevo-light*, 'Bout which our herds sae aft hae beea Maist like to fight. In days when mankind were but callans At Grammar, Logic, an' sic talents, They took nae pains their speech to balance, Or rules to gie, But spak their thoughts in plain, braid Lallans, Like you or me. In thae auld times, they thought the Moon, Just like a sark, or pair o' shoon, Wore by degrees, till her last roon, Gaed past their viewing. An' shortly after she wa5=i done They gat a new one. This past for certain, undisputed; It ne'er cam i' their heads to doubt it, Till chiels gat up an' wad confute it, An' ca'd it wrang; An* muckle din there was about it, . Baith loud an' lang. Some herds, weel learn'd upo' the beuk. Wad threap auld folk the thing misteuk ; For 'twas the auld moon turn'd a neuk. An' out o' sight. An' backlins-comin, to> the leuk, She grew mair bright. This was denied, it was affirm'd ; The herds an' hissels were alarm'd : The rev'rend gray-beards rav'd an' storm'd. That beardless laddies Should think they better were inform'd Than their auld daddies. Frae less to mair it gaed to sticks ; Frae words an' aiths to clours an' nicks : Aa' monie a fallow gat his licks, Wi' hearty crunt ; See Note, p. 40, 137 An' some, to learn them for their tricks, Were hang'd an' burnt. This game was play'd in monie lands. An' auld-light caddies bure sic hands, That faith, the youngsters took the sands Wi' nimble shanks. Till lairds forbade, by strict commands. Sic bluidy pranks. But netV'light herds gat sic a cowe. Folk thought them ruin'^1 stick-an-stowe, Till now amaist on ev'ry knowe, Ye'll find ane plac'd ; An' some their nevi-light fair avow, Just quite barefac'd. Nae doubt the auld-light Jiocks are bleatin ; Their zealous herds are vex'd an' sweatin ; Mysel, I've even seen them greetin Wi' girnin spite, . To hear the Moon sae sadly lied on By word an' write. But shortly they will cowe the louns ? Some auld-light herds in fteebor. towns Are mind't, in things tliey ca' balloons^ - To tak a flight. An' stay ae month amang the Moons, And see them right. Guid observation they will gie them : An' when the auld Moon's gaun to lea'e them. The hindmost shaird, they'll fetch it wi' them, Just i* their pouch. An' when the newlighthWlies see them, I think they'll crouch ! Sae, ye observe that a' this clatter Is naething but a ' moonshine matter;* But tho* dull prose-folk Latin splatter In logic tulzie, 1 hope, we bardies ken some better Than mind sic bruizie. M 3 138: EPISTLE TO J. R******, INCLOSING SOME POEMS. O Rough, rude, ready-witted R******,. The wale o* cocks for fun and drinkin ! There's raonie godly folks are thinkin, Your dreams* an' tricks Will send you, Korah-like, a-sinkin, Straught to auld Nick's.. Ye hae sae monie cracks an' cants,. And in your wicked, drucken rants, Ye mak a devil o' the saunts. An' fill them fou; And then their failings, flaws, an' wants, Are a' seen thro'. Hypocrisy, ii\ mercy spare it ! : That holy robe, O dinna tear it ! Spare't for their sakes wha aften wear it,, The lads in hiack ; But your curst wit, when it comes near it, Rives't aft" their back. Think, wicked sinner, wha yeVe skaithing, It's just tbe Blue-gown badge an' claithing O saunts ; tak that, ye lea'e them naithing To ken thera by, Frae ony unregenerate heathen Like you or L I've sent you here some rhyming ware, A* that I bargain'd for an' mair; Sae, when ye hae an hour to spare, . I wilLexpect, Yon sang\ ye'll sen't wi' cannie care. And no neglect. Tho' faith, sma heart hae I to sing ! My muse dow scarcely spread her wing ! I've play'd mysel a bonnie spring, An' danc'd my fill; '' A certain humorous dnam of his was then making a noise in t\.t country side. f -^ ^^'"K ^'^ had premised the AutJigr. 139 Fd better gaen an' sair'd the king, At Bunker's Hill, 'Tvvas ae night lately in my fun, I gaed a roving wi' the gun. And brought apaitrick to the grun' A bonnie hen. And, as the tvvilight was begun, Thought nane wad ken. The poor, wee thing was little hurt ; I straikit it a wee for sport. Ne'er thinkin they wad fash me for't; But, deil-ma-care ! Somebody lells the poacher-court The hale affair. Some auld, us'd hands had taen a note. That sic a hen had got a shot; I was suspected for the plot: I scorn'd to lie ; . So gat the whissle o' my groat, An' pay't the^c. But, by my gun, o' guns the wale, An' by my pouther an' ray hail, An' by my hen, an' by her tail, I vow an' swear ! The game shall pay, o'er moor an' dale. For this, niest year. As soon's the clockin-time is by, An' the wee pouts begun to cry, L d, I'se hae sportin by an' by. For my gowd guinea :. Tlio' I should herd the buckskin kye For't, in Virginia. Trowth, they had rauckle for to blame ! 'Tvvas neither broken wing nor limb. But twa-three draps about the wame Scarce thro' the feathers ; An' baith a yellow George to claim. An' thole their blethers ! no It pits me ay as mad's a hare ; So I can rhyme nor write nae mair; "But penni/tvorths again is fair. When time's expedient ; Meanwhile I am, respected Sir, Your most obedient. JOHN BARLEYCORN*,^ BALLAD. I. There was three kings into the east. Three kings both great and high. An' they hue sworn a solemn oath- John Barleycorn should di^. II. 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. III. But the cheerful spring came kindly on, And show'rs began to fall ; John Barleycorn got up again,. And sore surpris'd them all. IV. The sultry suns of summer came, And he grew thick and strong, His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears. That no one should him wrong. V. The sober autumn enter'd mild. When he grew wan and pale ; His bending joints and drooping head Shew'd he began to fail. VI. His colour sicken'd more and more. He faded into age ; This was partly composed on the plan of an old song knowa ty the Sainc iiaaiv-. 141 And then his enemies began To shew their deadly rage. VII. They've taen a weapon, long and sharp^, And cut him by the knee ; Then ty'd him fast upon a cart. Like a rogue for forgerie. VIII. They laid him down upon his back, And cudgell'd him full sore ; They hung him up before the storm. And turn'd him o'er and o'er. IX. They filled up a darksome pit With water to the brim, They heaved in John Barleycorn,. There let him sink or swim. X. They laid him out upon the floor, To work him farther woe, And still, as signs of life appear'd. They toss'd- him to and fro. XI. They wasted, o'er a scorching flame, The marrow of his bones ; But a miller us'd him worst of all, For he crush'd him between two stones. XII. And they hae taen his very heart's blood. And drank it round and round ; And still the more and more they drank, Their joy did more abound. XIII. John Barleycorn was a hero bold. Of noble enterprise. For if you do but taste his blood, 'Twill make your courage riscv 142 XIV. *Twill make a man forget his woe ; 'Twill heighten all his joy; *Twill make the widow's heart to sing, Tho' the tear were in her eye. XV. Then let us toast John Barleycorn, Each man a glass in hand ; And may his great posterity Ne'er fail in old Scotland. A FRAGMENT, tune killicrankie, I. When Guilford good our pilot stood, An' did our hellim thraw, man; Ae night, at tea, began a plea, Within America, man : Then up they gat the maskin-pat, And in the sea did jaw, man ; An' did nae less, in full Congress, Than quite refuse our law, man. ir. Then thro' the lakes Montgomery takes, - I wat he was na slaw man ; Down Lotvrie^s burn 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. III. Poor Tammy Gage within a cage Was kept at Boston ha*, man ; Till Willie Home took o'er the knowe For Philadelphia, man : Wi' sword an' gun he thought a sin Guid Christian blood to draw, man ;_ 143 But at Neiv-YorJc, wl' knife an' fork, Sir Loin he hacked sma', man. IV.. Burgot/ne gaed up, like spur an' whip, Till Fraser brave did fa', man ; Then lost his way, ae misty day. In Saratoga shaw, man. Cornuiallis fought as lang's he dought. An' did the Buckskins claw, man ; But Clinton's glaive frae rust to save He hung it to the wa', man. V. Then Mvntague, an' Guilford too. Began to fear a fa', man ; And Sackville doure, wha stood the stoure. The German chief to thraw, man : For Paddy Burke, like ony Turk, Nae mercy had at a', man; An' Charlie Fox threw by the box, An' lows'd his tinkler jaw, man. VI. Then Rockingham took up the game ; Till death did on him ca', man ; When Shelbtirne meek held up his cheelq. Conform to gospel law, mail : Saint Stephen's boys, wi' jarring noise, They did his measures thravv', man ; For North an' Fox united stocks, An' bore him to the wa', man. VII. Then clubs an* hearts were Charlie s cartes. He swept the stakes awa', man, Till the diamond's ace, of Indian race, Led him a sd\v faux pas, man : The Saxon lads, wi' loud placads. On Chatharns boy did ca', man ; An' Scotland drew her pipe an' blew, * Up, Willije waur them a', manj' U4> Behind the throne tbpn Grenville's gone, A secret word or twa, man ; While slee Dundns arous'd the class Be-north the Roman vva', man : An' Chathani's wraith, in heavenly graith, f Inspired bardies saw, man] Wi kindling eyes cry'd, ' Willie^ rise ! * Would I hae fear'd them a', man ! IX. But, word an' blow, North, Fox, and Co. GowfF'd Willie like a ba', man, Till Southron raise, and coost their claise Behind him in a raw, man : An' Caledon threw by the drone, An' did her whittle draw, man : An' swoor fu' rude, thro' dirt an' blood To mak it guid in law, man. ******* WRITTEN IN FRIARS-CARSE HERMITAGE, ON NIT H- SIDE. Thou whom chance may hither lead, Be thou clad in russet weed. Be thou deckt in silken stole, Grave these counsels on thy soul. Life is but a day at most. Sprung from night, in darkness lost; Hope not sunshine ev'ry hour. Fear not clouds will always lour. 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 raptur'd sTp, and sip it up* 145 As thy day grows warm and high, Ijfe's meridian flaming nigh, Dost thou spurn the humble vale ? Life's pi'oud summits wouldst thou scale ? Check thy climbing step, elate, Evils lurk in felon wait; Dangers, eagle-pinioned, bold, Soar around each cliify hold. While chearful peace, with linnet soqg, Chants the lowly dells among. As the shades-ofev'ning 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. Say, man's true, genuine estimate, The grand criterion of his fate, Is not, art thou high or low ? Did thy fortune ebb or flow ? Did many talents gild thy span? Or frugal nature grudge thee one? Tell them, and press it on their mind. As thou thyself must shortly find. The smile or frown of awful heav'n. To virtue or to vice is giv'n. . Say, to be -just, and kind, and wise. There solid self-enjoyment lies ; That foolish, selfish, faithless ways, Lead to be wretched, vile, and base. Thus resign'd and quiet, creep To the bed of lasting sleep; Sleep, wheflce thou shall 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 1 I 146 Stranger, go ! lieav'n be thy guide ! Quod the beadsman of Nith-side. ODE, SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF Mrs OF DwBLLER in yon dungeon dark. Hangman of creation, mark ! Who in widow weeds appears. Laden with unhonoured years. Noosing with care a bursting purse. Baited with many a deadly curse ? STROPHE. View the wither'd beldam's face Can thy keen inspection trace Aught of humanity's sweet melting grace? Note that eye, *tis rheum o'erflows, Pity's iiood there never rose. See those hands, ne'er stretch'd to save, Hands that took but never gave ! Keeper of Mammon's iron chesr, Lo, there she goes, unpitied and unblest She goes, but not to realms of everlasting rest i JVNT1.STROPIIE. PI und'rer of armies, lift thine eyes ! (A while forbear, ye tort'ring fiends), Seest thou whose step, unwilling, hither bends ? No fallen angel, hurl'd from upper skies ; 'Tis thy trusty quondam matet Doom'd to share thy fiery fate. She, tardy, hell-ward plies. EPODE. And are they of no more avail, Ten thousand gJitt'rinj^ pounds a-year? In other worlds can Manamon fail, Ouini{>otent as he is here ? O, bitter mock'ry of the pompous bier^ While down the wretched vital part is driv'n ! The cave-lodg'd beggar, with a conscience clear^ Expires m rag, uuknovij), and goes to heav'n. 147 ELEGY ON CAPTAIN MATT HE IV HENDERSON, A" GEKTLEMAK WHO HELD THE PATENT FOR JHIS HONOURS IMMEDIATELY FROM ALMIGHTY GOD ! But now his radiant course is run, For Matthew's course was bright ; His soul was hke the glorious sun, A matchless Heav'niy Light ! O Death ! thou tyrant fell and bloody ! The meikle devil wi' a woodie Haurl thee hame to his black smiddie. O'er hurcheon hides, And like stock -fish come o'er his studdie Wi' thy auld sides 1 He's gane, he's gane ! he's frae us torn. The ae best fellow e'er was born ! Thee, Matthew, nature's sel' shall mourn By wood and wild. Where, haply, pity strays forlorn, Frae man exil'd. Ye hills, ceer neebors o' the starns, That proudly cock your cresting cairns ! Ye cliffs, the haunts of sailisg yearns, Where echo slumbers! Come join, ye nature's sturdiest bairns. My wailing numbers ! Mourn, ilka grove the cushat kens ! Ye hazly shaws and briery dens ! Ye burnies, wimplin down your glens, * Wi' toddlia din, Or foaming Strang, wi' hasty stens, Frae linn to linn. Mourn, little harebells o'er the lee ; Ye stately foxgloves fair to see ; Ye woodbines hanging bonnilie, In scented bow'rs ; N 2 148 Ye roses on your thorny tree, The first o' flow'rs. At dawn, when ev'ry grassy blade Droops with a diamond at his head. At ev'n, when beans their fragrance shed, r th' rustling gale. Ye maukins whiddin thro' the glade. Come join my wail. Mourn, ye wee songsters o' the wood ; Ye grouse that crap the heather bud ; Ye curlews calling thro' a clud ; Ye whistling plover ; And mourn, ye wJiirring 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. Mourn, clam'ring craiks at close o' day, 'Mang fields o' flow'ring clover gay ; And when ye wing your annual way Frae our cauld. shore, Tell thae far warlds, wha lies in clay, "Wham we deplore. Ye houlets, frae your ivy bow'r. In some- auld tree, or eldritch tow'r, What time the moon, wi' silent glow'r. Sets up her horn, "Wail thro' the dreary midnight hour Till waukrife 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. 149 Mourn, spring, thou darling of the year i Ilk cowslip cup shall kep a tear : Thou, simmer, while each corny spear Shoots up its head, Thy gay, green, flow'ry tresses shear, For him that's dead ! Thou, autumn, wi' thy yellow hair. In grief thy sallow mantle tear ! Thou, winter, hurling thro' the air The roaring blast. Wide o'er the naked world declare The worth we've lost ? Mourn him, thou sun, great source of Hght ! Mourn, empress of the silent night ! ' And you, ye twinkling starnies bright. My Matthew mourn ! For through your orbs he's taen his flight. Ne'er to return. O, Henderson ! the man ! the brother ! And art thou gone, and gone for ever ; And hast thou crost that unknown river. Life's dreary bound ! Like thee, where shall I find another. The world around ! Go to your sculptur'd tombs, fe great. In a' the tinsel trash o' state ! But by thy honest turf I'll wait, Thou man of worth ! And weep the ae best fellow's fate E'er lay in earth. THE EPITAPH. Stop, passenger ! my story's brief. And truth I shall relate, man ; I tell nae common tale o' grief, For Matthew was a great cna,a. N S 150 If thou uncommon merit hast, Yet spurn'd at fortune's door, man ; A look of pity hither cast, For Matthew was a poor man. If thou a noble sodger art, That passest by this grave, man, There moulders here a gallant heart ; For Matthew was a brave man. If thou on men, their works and ways. Canst throw uncommon light, man ; Here lies wha weel had won thy praise, For Matthew was a bright man. If thou at friendship's sacred ca'. Wad life itself resign, man ; Thy sympathetic tear maun fa'. For Matthew was a kind man. If thou art staunch without a stain. Like the unchanging blue, man; This was a kinsman o' thy ain. For Matthew was a true man. If thou hast wit, and fun and fire. And ne'er 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. LAMENT OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS', ON THE APPROACH OF SPRING. Now nature hangs her mantle green On every blooming tree, And spreads her sheets o' daisies white Out o'er the grassy lea : 151 Now Pheebus cheats the crystal streams, And glads the azure skies ; But nought can glad the weary wight That fast in durance h'es. Now lav'i-ocks wake the merry morn, Aloft on dewy wing; The merle, in his noontide bovv'r, Makes woodland echoes ring; The mavis mild, wi' many a note, Sings drowsy day to rest : In love and freedom they rejoice, Wi' care nor thrall opprest. Now blooms the lily by the bank. The primrose down the brae ; The hawthorn's budding in the glen, And milk-white is the slae : The meanest hind in fair Scotland May rove their sweets amang ; But I the Queen of a' Scotland, Maun lie in prison Strang. I was the Queen o' bonnie France, Where happy I hae been ; Fu' lightly rase I in the morn, As blythe lay down at e'en : And Fm the sov'reign of Scotland, And monie a traitor there; Yet here I lie in foreign bands. And never-ending care. But as for thee, thou fals woman. My sister and my fae, Grim vengeance yet shall whet a sword That thro' thy soul shall gae ; The weeping blood in woman's breast. Was never known to thee ; Nor th' balm that draps on wounds of woe, Frae woman's pitying e'e. My son I my son ! may kinder stars Upon thy fortune shine ; 152 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 ! O ! soon, to me, may summer suns Nae mair light up the morn ! Nae mair, to me, the autumn winds Wave o'er the yellow corn ! And in the narrow house o' death Let winter round me rave ; And the next flow'rs that deck the spring Bloom on my peaceful grave. TO ROBERT GRAHAM, Esq. of Fintry. Late crippl'd of an arm, and now a leg, About to beg a pass for leave to beg ; Dull, listless, teas'd, dejected, and deprest. (Nature is adverse to a cripple's rest) ; . Will gen'rous Graham list to his poet's wail ? (It soothes poor misery hearkening to her tale,) And hear him curse the light he first survey'd. And doubly curse the luckless rhyming trade. Thou nature, partial nature, I arraign ; Of thy caprice maternal I complain. The lion and the bull thy care have found, One shakes the 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, controul, devour, In all th' omnipotence of rule and pow'r Foxes and statesmen, subtile wiles ensure ; 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. Ev'n silly woman has her -warlike arts, Her tongue and eyes, her dreaded spear and dart*. rss Btit Oh ! thou bitter step-mother and hard, To thy poor, fenceless, naked child the Bard ] A thing unteachable in world's skill, And half an idiot too, more helpless still. No heels to bear him from the op'ning dun ; No claws to dig, his hated sight to shun ; No horns, but those by luckless Hymen worn, And those, alas ! not Amalthaea's horn : No nerves, olfact'ry, Mammon's trusty cur, Clad in rich Dulness' comfortable fur. In naked feeling, and in aching pride, He bears th' unbroken blast from ev'ry side : Vampyre 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 sprig must wear> Foil'd, bleeding, tortur'd, in th' unequal strife, The hapless poet flounders on thro' life. Till fled each hope that once his bosom fir'd. And fled each muse that glorious once inspir'd. Low sunk in squalid, unprotected age, Dead, even resentment, for his injur'd page. He heeds or feels no more the ruthless critic's rage ! So, by some hedge, the gen'rous steed deceas'd. For half-starv'd snarling curs a dainty feast; By toil and famine wore 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 : "* ] 1S4. Conscious die bounteous meed they well deserve^ They only wonder " some folks" do not starve. The grave sage hern thus easy picks his frog, And thinks the mallard a sad worthless dog. When disappointment snaps the clue of hope, And thro' 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 shocki?, Strong on the sign-post stands the stupid ox. 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 heav'n or vaulted hell. I dread thee, fate, relentless and severe. With all a poet's, husband's, father's, fear ! Already one strong hold of hope is lost, Glencairn, the truly noble, lies in dust ! (Fled, like the sun eclips'd as noon appears, And left us darkling in a world of tears : ) O I hear my ardent, grateful, selfish pray'r ! Fintry, my other stay, long bless and spare! Thro' a long life his hopes and wishes crown ; And bright in cloudless skies his sun go down ! May bliss domestic smooth his private path ; Give energy to life ; and smooth his latest breath, With many a filial tear circling the bed of death ! LAMENT For JAMES, EARL of GLENCAIRN, The wind blew hollow frae the hills, By fits the sun's departing beam Look'd on the fadini; yellow woods That vvav'd o'er Lugar's winding stream : Beneath a craigy steep, a bard, Laden with years and meikle pain, In loud lament bewaii'd his lord, Whom death had all untimely taen. 155 Fie leari'd him to a antient aik, Whose trunk was niovild'ring down with years; His locks were bleaclied white with time, His hoary cheek was wet wi' tears ; And as he touch'd his trembling harp. And as he tun'd his doleful sang, The winds, lamenting thro' their caves, To echo bore the notes alang. " Ye scatter'd birds tliat faintly sing, ** The reliques of the vernal quire ! *' Ye woods that shed on a' the winds * The honours of the aged year ! " A few short months, and glad and gay, *' Again ye'll charm the ear and e'e ; " But nocht in all revolving time ** Can gladness bring again to me. "I am a bending aged tree, ** That long has stood the wind and rain ; " But now has come a cruel blast, " And my last hold of earth is gane; " Nae leaf o' mine shall greet tiic spring., " Nao simmer sun exalt my bloom ; " But I maun lie before the storm, " And ithers plant them in nvy room. '" I've seen sae mony changefn' years, " On earth I am a stranger grown ; " I wander in the ways of men, " Alike unknowing and unknown : " Unheard, unpitied, unreliev'd, " I bear alane my lade o' care, * For silent, low, on beds of dust, *' Lie a' that would ray sorrows sliare. " And last, (the sum of a' my griefs!) " My noble master iies in clay : " The riow'r amang our barons bold, " His country's pride, his country's Stay : ** In weary being now I pine, " For a' the life of life is dead, " And hope has left my aged kcp, " On forward wing for ever fled. 156 *' 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 fiUest an untimely tomb, " Accept this tribute from the bard ^ " Thou brought from fortune's mirkest ^loom. * In poverty's low barren vale, * Thick mists, obscure, involv'd me round ; * Though oft I turn'd the wistful eye, " Nae ray of fame was to be found : " Thou foxmd'st me, like the morning sun *' That melts the fogs in limpid air, " The friendless bard and rustic song, " Became alike thy fost'ring care. " O ! why has worth so short a date ? ** While villains ripen grey with time ! ** Must thou, the noble, gen'rous, great, " Fall in bold manhood's liardy prime ! " Why dixl I live to see that day ? " A day to me so full of woe ? *' O ! had I met the mortal shaft Which laid my benefactor low ! " The bridegroom may forget the bride, " Was 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, " And a' that thou hast doae for me 1'' LINES SENT TO SIR JOHN WIIITEFORD OF WHITEFORD, BA*T. WITH THE FOREGOING POJtM. Thou, who thy honour as thy God rever'st, Who, save thy mind*s rcpoach, nought earthly fear'st, 157 To thee this votive ofF'ring I impart. The tearful tribute of a broken heart. The friend thou valued'st, I the patron lov'd;- His wortli, l)is honour, all the world approv'd. We'll mourn till we too go as he has gone. And tread the dreary path to that dark world unknown. ON SEEING A WOUNDED HARE LIMP BY ME WHICH A FELLOW HAD JUST SHOT AT. 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 pleasure glad thy cruel heart ! <5o live, poor wand'rer of the wood and field. The bitter little that of life remains: No more the thick'ning brakes and verdant plains To thee shall home, or food, or pastime yield. Seek, mangled wretch, some place of wonted rest. No more of rest, but now thy dying bed ! 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 chearful dawn, I'll miss thee sporting o'er the dewy lawn. And curse the ruffian's aim, and mourn thy hapless fate. ADDRESS TO THE SHADE OF THOMSON ON CROWNING HIS BUST AT EDNAM, ROXBURGH- SHIRE, WITH BAYS. While virgin fpring, by Eden's flood, Unfolds her tender mantle green, Or pranks the sod in frolic mood. Or tunes Eolian strains between. O 158 While summer with a matron gracfe Retreats to Dryhurgh's cooling shade. Yet oft, delighted, stops to trace The progress of the spiky blade. While autumn, benefactor kind, By Tweed erects his aged head, And sees, with self-approving mind. Each creature on his bounty fed. While maniac winter rages o'er The hills whence classic Yarrow flows, Rousing the turbid torrent's roar. Or sweeping, wild, a waste of snows. ^o 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. EPITAPHS. ON A CELEBRATED RULING ELDER, Here sowter **** in death does sleep ; To h-11, if he's gane tWther, Satan, gie him thy gear to keep. He'll baud it weel thegither. ON A NOISY POLEMIC. Below thir stanes lie Jamie's banes : O Death, it's my opinion. Thou ne'er took such a bleth'rin bitch Into thy dark dominion ! 159 ON WEE JOHNNIE. Hie jacct wee Johnnie. Whoe'er thou art, O reader, know, That death has raurder'd Johnnie ! An' here his body lies fu' low For smd he ne'er had ony. FOR THE AUTHOR'S FATHER. O YE whose cheek the tear of pity stains, Draw near with pious rev'rence, and attend ! Here lie the loving husband's dear remains. The tender father, and the gen'rous friend. The pitying heart that felt for human woq ; The dauntless heart that fear'd no human pride ; The friend of man, to vice alone a foe ; " For ev'n bis failings iean'd to virtue's side*.'' FOR R. A. Esq. Know thou, O stranger to the fame Of this much lov'd, much honour'd name ! (For none that knew him need be told) A warmer heart death ne'er made cold. FOR G. H. Esq. The poor man weeps here G n sleeps, Whom canting wretches blam'd : But with such as he, where'er he be. May I be sav'd or d d ! A BARD'S EPITAPH. Is there a whim-inspired fool, Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule^ O 2 J 60 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, O, 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 couise to steer. Yet runs, himself, life's mad career. Wild as the wave ; Here pause and, through the starting tear. Survey this grave. The poor inhabitant blow Was quick to learn and wise to know. And keenly felt the friendly glow, And softer Jlnme ; But thoughtless follies laid him low. And stain'd his name ! Reader, attend whether thy soul Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole,. Or darkling grubs this earthly hole. In low pursuit ; Know, prudent, cautious, self-controulf Is wisdom's root. ON THE LATE CAPTAIN GROSE'S Peregrinations through Scotland, COLLECTING THE ANTIQUITIES OF THAT KINGDOM. Hear, land o' Cakes, and brither Scots, Frae Maidenkirk to Johnny Groats ; If there's a bole in a' your coats, I rede you tent it : 161 A chleld's araang you, taking notes," And, faith ! he'll prent it If in your bounds ye chance to light Upon a fine, fat, fodgel wight, C stature short, but genius bright. That's he, mark weel And wow ! he has an unco slight O' cauk and keel. By some auld, houlet-haunted, biggin*. Or kirk deserted by its riggin, It's ten to ane ye'U find him snug in Some eldritch part, Wi' deils, they say, L d safe's! colleaguia-" At some black art. Ilk ghaist that haunts auld ha' or chamer, ' Ye gipsey-gang that deal in glamor. And you deep-read in hell's black grammar. Warlocks and witches ; Ye'll quake at his conjuring hammer. Ye midnight b es. It's tauld he was a sodger bred. And ane wad rather fa'n then fled; But now he's quat the spurtle-blade, And dog-skin wallet. And ta'en the Antiquarian trade, I think they call it. He has a fouth o' auld nick-nackets : Rusty airn caps and jinglin jacketsf, Wad haud the Lothians three in tackets, A tovvmont guid ; And parritch-pats, and auld saut-backets, Before 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 ; 03 Vide his Antiquities of Scotland. } Vide his Treatise en Ancient Armour and Weapont, 162 A broom-stict o' the witch of Endor, Weel shod wi' brass. Forbye, he'll shape you afF, fu' gleg. The cut of Adam's philibeg ; The knife that nicket Abel's craig He'll prove you fully, It was a faulding jocteleg, Or lang kail-gullie. But wad ye see him in his glee. For meikle glee and fun has he. Then set him down, and twa or three Guid fellows wi' him ; And porti port ! shine thou a wee, And then ye'll see him! Now, by the pow'rs o' verse and prose ! Thou art a dainty chield, O Grose ! Whae'er o' thee shall ill suppose, They sair misca' thee ; I'd take the rascal by the nose. Wad say, shame fa' thee^ TAM O' SHANTER, J TALE, Of Brownyis and of BogiJis full is this Buke." Gawin Douglas. When chapman billies leave the street, And drouthy neebors, neebors meet, As market-days are wearing late, An' folk begin to tak the gate t While we sit bousing at the nappy, An' getting fou and unco happy^ We think na on the lang Scots miles, The mosses, waters, slaps, and styles, That lie between us and our hame, Whare sits our sulky sullen dame, Gath'ring her brows like gath'ring storm. Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. . 163 This truth fand honest Tarn d Shantery As he frae Ay^r ae night did canter, ( Auld Ayr wham ne'er a town surpasses, For honest men and bonny lasses.) O Tarn ! hadst thou but been sae wise, As ta'en thy ain wife Kates advice ! She tauld thee weel thou wast a skellum, A blethering,^ blustering, drunken blellura; That frae November till October, Ae market-da}' thou was nae sober; That ilka melder, wi' the miller Thou sat as lang as thou had siller ; That ev'ry naig was ca'd a shoe on, The smith and thee gat roaring fou on ; That at the L d's house, ev'ii 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' v/arlocks in the mirk, By Alloimys auld haunted kirk. Ah, gentle dames ! it gars me greet. To think how mony counsels sweet. How mony leBgthen'd sage advices, The husband frae the wife despises ! But to our tale : Ae market-nighty Tarn had got planted unco right ; Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, Wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely ; And at his elbow, souter Johnny, His antient, trusty, drouthy crony ; Tarn lo'ed him like a vera brither ; They had been fou for weeks thegither. The night drave on wi' sangs an' clatter; And ay the ale T.as growing better : The landlady and Tarn grew gracious, Wi' favours, se^cret, sweet and precious : The souter tauld his queerest stories ; The landlord's laugh was ready chorus : The storm without might rair and rustle, Tam did na mind the storm a whistle. 1641 Care, mad to see a man sac happy, E'en drown'd himself amang the nappy; As bees flee bame wi' lades o' treasure, The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure : Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious^ O'er a' the ills o' life victorious ! But pleasures are like poppies spread. You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed; Or like the snow falls in the river, A moment white, then melts 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 teiher time or tide ; The hour approaches Tmn maun ride ; That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane^ That dreary hour he mounts his beast in ; And sic a night he taks the road in, As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last ; The rattling show'rs rose on the blast ; The speed)' gleams the darkness svvallow'd ; l-ioud, deep, and lang, the thunder bellow'd : That night, a child might understand, The deil had business on his hand. Weel mounted on his grey mare, Megy A better never lifted leg, Tam skelpit on thro' dub and mire. Despising wind, and rain, and fire; Whiles holding fast his gude blue bonnet; Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet : Wliiles glow'ring round wi' prudent cares. Lest bogles catch him unawares: Kirk-AUowny was drawing nigh, Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry. By this time he was cross the ford, Whare in the snaw the chapman smoor'd ; And past the birks and meikle stane, Whare drunken CJiarlie brak's neck-bane ; 165 And thro* the whins, and by the cairn, Whare hunters fand the murder'd bairn; And near the thorn, aboon the well, Whare Mungo's mitlier hang'd hersel. Before him Doon pours all his floods ; The doubling storm roars thro' the woods ; The lightnings flash from pole to pole ; Near and niore near the thunders roll: When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees, Kirk- Allovoay seem'd in a bleeze ; Thro' ilka bore tlic beams were glancing ; And loud resounded mirth and dancing Inspiring bold John Barlesjcorn ! What dangers thou canst make us scorn ! Wi' tippeny, we fear nae evil; Wi' usquabae, we'll face the devil ! The swats sae ream'd in Tammie'% noddle. Fair play, he car'd na deils a boddle. But Maggie stood right sair astonish'd. Till, by the heel and hand admonish'd, She ventur'd forward on the light ; And, vow ! Tam saw an luico sight !. Warlocks and witches in a dance ; Nae cotillion brent new frae France^ But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels^ Put life and mettle in their heels. A winnock bunker in the east, There sat auld Nick, in shape o' beast ; A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large. To gie them music was his charge : He screw'd the pipes, and gart the.ii skirl. Till roof an' rafters a' did dirl, Coffins stood round, like open presses, That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses; And by some devilish cantrip slight. Each in its cauld hand held a light. By which, heroic Tmn was able To note upon the haly table, A murd'rer's banes in gibbet aims ; Twa span-lang, wee, unchvisten'd bairu*;; 16^ A thief, new-cutted frae a rape, Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape ; 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 and awfu' Which ev'n to name wad be unlawfu'. As Tatnmie glowr'd, amaz'd, 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 crossed, they cleekit,. Till ilka carlin swat and reekit. And coost her duddies to the wark. And linket at it in her sark ! Now Tarn, O Tarn ! had thae been queans, A' plump iand strapping in their teens. Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen, Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linnen ! Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair, That ance were plush, ,o' gude blue hair, I wad hae gi'en them off my hurdies. For ae blink- o' the bonnie burdies ! But wither'd beldams, auld and droll, Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal, Lowping an' flinging on a crununock, I wonder didna turn thy stomach. But Tarn kend what was what fu* brawHe^ There was ae winsome wench and wawlie^ That night enlisted in the core, (Lang after kend on Cnrrick shore; For raony a beast to dead she shot. And perish'd mon}' a bonnie boat. And shook baitli meikle corn and bear. And kept the country-side ii> fear) ; Her cutty sark, o' Paisley harn, That while a lassie slie haJ worn,. 167 In longitude tho' sorely scanty, It was her best, and she was vauntie. Ah! little kend ;^;v reverend grannie, That sark she co-ft ior her wee Nannie, \\"i twa pund Scots, ('twas a' her riches). Wad ever grac'd a dance o' witches ! But here my muse her wing maun cour ; Sic flights'are far beyond her pow'r; To sing how Nannie lap and flang, (A souple jade she was and Strang), And how Tarn stood, like ane bewitch'd. And thought his very een enrich'd ; Even Satan glowr'd, and fidg'd fu' fain. And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main : Till first ae caper, syne anither. Tarn tint his reason a thegither, And roars out, " Weel done, ciitty-eark !" And in an instant all was dark : And scarcely had he Maggie rallied. When out the hellish legion sallied. As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke, W^hen plundering herds assail llieir byke ; n 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 skreech and hollow. Ah, Tarn ! Ah, Tarn ! thou'll get thy fairin \ In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin ! In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin ! Kate soon will be a vvoefu' woman! Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, ^nd win the Jiey-stane* of the brig ; * It is a well known fact that witches, or any evil spirits, have HO power to follow a poor wight any farther than the middle of the next running stream. It may be proper likewise to mention to the benighted traveller, jliat when he falls in with bogles, what- ever danger may be in his going forward, there is much more hazard in turning back. t68 There at them thou thy tail may toss, A running stream they dare na cross. But ere the key-stane she could make, The fient -a tail she had to shake ! For Nannie, far before the rest, Hard upon noble Maggie prest, And flew at Tarn wi' furious ettle ; But little wist she Maggie's mettle- Ae spring brought oft' her master hale. But left behind her ain gre}' tail : The carlin claught her by the rump, And left poor Maggie scarce a stump. Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read. Ilk man and mother's son, take heed : Whene'er to drink you are inclin'd. Or cutty-sarks run in your mind, Think, ye may buy the joys o'er dear. Remember Tarn o Shunter & mare. TO MISS CRUICKSHANKS, A VERY YOUNG LADY : WHITTEN ON THE BLANK LEAF OF A BOOK, PRE- SENTED TO HER BY THE AUTHOR. Beauteous rose-bud, young and gay, Blooming on thy early May, Never may'st thou, lovely Flow'r, Chilly shrink in sleety show'r ! Never Boreas' hoary path. Never Eurus' pois'nous breath, Never baleful stellar lights, Taint thee with untimely blights ! Never, never, reptile thief Riot on thy virgin leaf! Nor even Sol too fiercely vievv Thy bosom blushing still with dew ! Mayst thou long, sweet crimson gem. Richly deck thy native stem j 169 Till some ev'ning, sober, calm, Dropping dews, and breathing balm. While all around the woodland rings. And ev'ry bird thy requiem sings ; Thou, amid the dirgeful sound, Shed thy dying honours round. And resign to parent earth The loveliest form she e'^r gave birth. ON READING IN A NEWSPAPER, THE DEATH OF JOHN MCLEOD, ESQ, BROTHER TO A YOUNG LADY, A PARTICULAR FRlEtlD OF THE AUTHOR*S. Sad thy tale, thou idle page. And rueful thy alarms: Death tears the brother of her love From Isabella's arms. 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 smil'd ; But, long ere noon, succeeding cloads Succeeding hopes beguiPd. Fate oft tears the bosom chords That nature finest strung : So Isabella's heart -was form'd. And so that heart was wrung. Dread Omnipotence, alone. Can heal the wound He gave ; Can point the brimful grief-worn eya* To scenes beyond the grave. Virtue's blossoms there shall blow. And fear no withering blast; P 170 There Isabella's spotless worth Shall happy be at last. THE Humble petition of BRUAR WATER*, TO THE NOBLE BUKE OF ATHOLE. My Lord, I know your noble ear Woe ne'er assails in vain ; Embolden'd thus, I beg you'll hear Your humble slave complain, How saucy Phoebus' scorching beams, In flaming summer-pride, Dry-withering, waste my foaming- streams, And drink my crystal tide. The lightly jumping, glowrin trouts, That thro' my waters play. If, in their random, wanton ppouts. 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. Last day I grat wi' spite and teen, As Poet Burns came by. That, to a bard, I should be seen >^ Wi' half my channel dry : A panegyric rhyme, I ween. Even as I was he shor'd me ; But had I in my glory been, j. He, kneeling, wad ador'd rae. .i^ Here, foaming down the shelvy rocks, :^ In twisting strength I rin : There, high my boiling torrent smokes, Wild-roarhig o'er a linn : * Bruar Falls, in Athole, are exceedingly picturesque and beautiful ; but their eiFcct is much impaired by the want of trees and shrubs. ITt Enjoying large each spring and well As nature gave them me, I am, altho' I say't raysel. Worth gaun a mile to see. Would then my noble master please To grant my highest wishes. He'll shade my banks wi' tow'ring trees, And bonnie spreading bushes. Delighted doubly then, my lord, You'll wander on my banks, And listen mony a grateful bird Return you tuneful thanks. The sober lav'rock, warbling wild, Shall to the skies aspire ; The gowdspink, music's gayest child. Shall sweetly join the choir ; The black-bird strong, the lintwhite clear. The mavis mild and mellow ; The robin pensive autumn chear, In all her locks of yellow : This too, a covert shall ensure. To shield them from the storm ; And coward maukin sleep secure. Low in her grassy form : Here shall the shepherd make his seat, To weave his crown of flow*rs ; Gr find a shelt'ring safe retreat. From prone descending show'rs. And here, by sweet endearing stealth. Shall meet the loving pair. Despising worlds with all their wealth As empty idle care : , The flow'rs shall vie in all their charms The hour of heav'n to grace, And birks extend their fragrant arms To screen the dear embrace. Here haply too, at vernal dawn. Some musing bard may stray. And eye the smoking dewy-lawn, And misty mountain, grey j 172 Or, by the reaper*^ nightly beam. Mild-chequering thro' the trees, Have to my darkly dashing stream, Hoarse-swelling on the breeze. Let lofty firs, and ashes cool. My lowly banks o'erspread. And view, deep-bending in the pool, Their shadows* wat'ry bed: Let fragrant birks, in woodbines drest, My craggy cliffe adorn ; And, for the little songster's nest, The close embow'ring thorn. So may old Scotia's darling hope, Your little angel band Spring, like their fathers, up to prop Their honouc'd native land ! So may thro' Albion's farthest ken, To social flowing glasses, The grace he ** Athole's honest raen^ " And Athole's bonnie lasses !'' ON SCARING SOME WATER-FOWL IN LOCH-TV RIT, A WILD SCENE AMONG THE HILLS OF OCHTEBTTCRE. Why, ye tenants of the lake. For me your wat'ry haunt forsake ? Tell me, fellow-creatures, why At my presence thus you fly ? Why disturb your social joys. Parent, filial, kindred ties ? Common friend to you and me. Nature's gifts to all are free : Peaceful keep your dimpling wave^ Busy feed, or wanton lave ; Or, beneath the sheltering rock. Bide the surging billow's shock. 173 'Conscious, blushing for our race, Soon, too soon, your tears I trace. Man, your proud usurping foe, Would be lord of all below : Plumes himself in Freedom's pride^ Tyrant stern to all beside. The eagle, from the cliffy brow, Marking you his prey below. In his breast no pity dvrells, Strong necessity compels. But, man, to whom alone is given A ray direct from pitying Heav'n, Glories in his heart humane And creatures for his pleasure slain. In these savage, liquid plains. Only known to wand'ring swains. Where the mossy riv'let strays. Far fi-am human haunts and ways ; . All on nature you depend, And life's poor season peaceful spendv Or, if man's superior might Dare invade your native right. On the lofty ether borne, Man with all his pow'rs 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. WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL OVER THE CHIMNEY-PIECE,- IN THE PARLOUR OF The INN at KEN MORE, TAYMOUTH. Admiring nature in her wildest grace, These northern scenes with weary feet I trace ; O^r many a winding dale and painful steep, Th' abodes of covey'd grouse and timid sheep, My savage journey, curious, I pursue, Till fara'd Breadalijaae opens to my view. > P3 174* The meeting cliffs each deep-sunk glen divides. The woods, wild scatter'd, clothe their ample sides, Th' outstretching lake, embosom'd 'mong the hills/ The eye with wonder and amazement fills ; The Tay meandering sweet in infant pride, Th^ palace rising on his verdant side ; The lawns wood-fring*d in nature's native taste; The hillocks dropt in nature's careless haste ; The arches striding o'er the new-born stream; The village glitt'ring in the noontide beam ******* Poetic ardours in my bosom swell, Lone wand'ring by the hermit's mossy cell : The sweeping theatre of hanging woods ! Th' incessant roar of headlong tumbling floods ******* Here poesy might wake her heav'n-taught lyre, And look ihrough nature with creative fire ; Here, to tjbe wrongs of fate half reconcil'd, 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 heav'n-vvard stretch her scan, And injuv'd worth forget and pardon man. WRITTEN VWITH A PENCIL, STANDINO BY THE FALL OF FYERS, NEAR LOCH NESS. Among the heathy hills and ra^r^cd woods The roaring Fyers pours his mossy floods ; Till full he dashes on the rocky mounds, Where, through a shapeless breach, his stream re- sounds. As high in air the bursting torrents flow. As deep recoiiing surges foam below. 175 Prone down the rock the whitening sheet ctescends^ And viewless echo*s ear, astonished, rends. Dim-seen, thro' risin;^ mists and ceaseless show'rs^ The hoary cavern, wide-surrwnuling, low'rs. Still thro* the gap the struggling river toils, And still, below, the horrid cauldron boil s ON THE BIRTH OF A POSTHUMOUS CHILD^ BORN IN PECULIAR CIRCUMSTANCES OF FAMILY DISTRESS, Sweet flbw'ret, pledge o* meikle love. And ward o* mony a prayer, What heart o' stane wad thou na move,. Sae helpless, sweet, and fair. November hirples o'er the lea. Chill, on thy lovely form ; And gane, alas ! the shelt'ring tree, Should shield thee frae the storm. May He who gives the rain to pour, And wings the blast to blaw. Protect thee frae the driving sliow'r, The bitter frost and snaw. May He, the Friend of woe and want. Who heals life's various stounds. Protect and guaud the mother plant, And heal her cruel wounds, "But late she flourish'd, rooted fast, Fair on the summer morn : Now, feebly bends she, in the blast, Uiishelter'd and forlorn. Blest he thy bloom, thou lovely gem, Unskaith'd by ruffian hand ! And from thee many a parent stem Arise to deck our land. 176 THE WHISTLE^ BALLAD. As the authentic Prose history of the Whistle is curious, t 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 gigantic stature and great prowess, and a matchless champion of Bacchus- He had a little ebony whistle, which, at the commencement of the orgies, he laid on the table : and whoever was last able to blow it, every body else being disabled by the potency of the bottle, was to carry off the whistle as a trophy of victory. The Dane produced cre- dentials 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 Bac- chanalians to the alternative of trying his prowess, or else of acknowledging their inferiority. After many overthrows on the part of the Scots, the Dane was encountered by Sir Robert Lawrie of .Maxweltown, ancestor to tlie present worthy baron- et 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 shriU." Sir Walter, son to Sir Robert before-mentioned, afterwards lost the vi'histle to Walter Riddel of Glenriddel, who had married a sister of Sir Walter's. On Friday, the 16th October. 1790, at Friars-Carse, the whistle was once more contended for, as re- lated in the Ballad, by the present Sir Robert Lawrie of Max- weltown ; Robert Riddel, Esq of Glenriddel, lineal descendant and representative of Walter Riddel, who won the whistle and jn whose family it had continued ; and Alexander Ferguson, Esq of Craigdarroch, likewise descended of the great Sir Robert; which last gentleman carried off the hard-won honours of the field. 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 vihistle 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'ei" see aie more !'' Vol. II. E *Se Ossiao's C^rric-Tkiirji. 177 Old poets have sung, and old chronicles tell, What champions ventur'd, what champions fell ; The son of great Locla was conqueror still. And blew on the whistle his requiem shrill. Till Robert, the lord of the Cairn and the Scaur, Unmatch'd at the bottle, unconquer'd in war. He drank his poor god-ship as deep as the sea. No tide of the Baltic e'er drunker than he. Thus Robert, victorious, the trophy has gain'd, Wljich now in his house has for ages remain'd; Till three noble chieftains, and all of his blood, The jovial contest again have renew'd. Three joyous good fellows, with hearts clear of flaw i Craigdarroch, so famous for wit, worth, and law ; And trusty Glemiddcl, so skill'd in old coins ; And gallant Sir Robert^ deep-read in old wines. Craigdarroch began, with a tongue smooth as oil. Desiring Glenriddel to yield up the spoil ; Or else he would muster the heads of the clan. And once more, in claret, try which was the man. " By the gods of the antients!" Glenriddel replies, ** Before I surrender so glorious a prize, " I'll conjure the ghost of the grOat Rorie More*, " And bumper his horn with him 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 or he'd yield. To the board of Glenriddel our heroes repair, So noted for drowning of sorrow and care ; But for wine and for welcome not more known to fame. Than the sense, wit, and ttnte, 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 vyish'd that Parnassus a vineyard had been. * See Jahasors's-Tour tath^ HcWides. 17S The dinner being over, the claret they ply, And ev'ry 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 witnessed so joyous a core. And vow'd that to leave them he was quite forlorn, Till Cynthia hinted he'd see them next morn. Six bottles a-piece had well wore out the night, When gallant Sir Robert, to finish the fight, Turn'd o'er in one bumper a bottle of red, And swore 'twas the way that their ancestor 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 should perish in light ; So up rose bright Phoebus and down fell the knight Next 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 }on bright god of day !'* SECOND EPISTLE TO DAVIE, A BROTHER POET*. AULD NlBOR, I'm three times, doubly, o'er your debtor, For your auld-farrent, frien'ly letter; This is jwefixed to the Pow'ms of Davii Jjillar, published at .Kiimirnock, 1789. 119 Tho' I maun say't, I doubt ye flatter. Ye speak sae fair, For my poor, silly, rhymin' clatter Some less maun sair. Hale be your heart, hale be your fiddle; Lang may your elbuck jink an' diddle, To cheer you thro' the weary widdle O' warly cares. Till bairns' bairns kindly cuddle Your auld gray hairs. But Davie, lad, I'm red ye're glaikit;. I'm tauld the muse ye hae negleckit; An' gif it's sae, ye sud be lickit Until ye fyke ; Sic hauns as you sud ne'er be faikit, Be hain't wha like. Forme, I'm on Parnassus' brink, Rivan the words to gar them clink ; Whyles daez't wi' love, whyles dae^'t wi' drink, \Vi' jads or masons ; An' whyles, but ay owre late, 1 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, that I sud ban. They ever think. Nae thought, nae view, nae scheme o' livin'^ Hae cares to gie us joy or grievin' : But just the pouchie put the neive in. An' while ought's there. Then, hiltie, skiltie, we gae scrivin'. An' fash nae mair. Xieeze me on rhyme ! it's ay a treasure," My chief, amaist my only pleasure, At hame, a-fiel*, at wark or leisure, The muse, poor hizzie ! ISO Tho' rough an* raploch be her measure, She's seldom lazy. Haud to the muse, my dainty Davie : The warl' may play you monie a shavie; But for the muse, she'll never leave ye, Tho' e'er sae poor, Na, even tho' limpin wi' the spavie Frae door to door. SONGS. SONG I. IT V>^AS UPON A LAMMAS NIGHT. AIR. " CGKN RIGS ARE BONNIE." I. It was upon a Lammas night, When corn rigs arc bonnie. Beneath -the moon's unclouded light, I held awa to Annie : The time flew by, wi' tentless heed, Till 'tween the late and early ; Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed. To see me thro' the barley. II. 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 ken't her heart was a* my ain ; I lov'd her most sincerely ; I kiss'd her owre and owre again Amang the rigs o' barley. III. I lock'd her in my fond embrace ; Her heart was J^eaiing rarely ; J SI 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 ay shall bless that happy night, Amang the rigs o' barley. IV. I hae been blythe wi' comrades dear ; I hae been merry drinkin; I hae been joyfu' gath'rin gear; I hae been happy thinking : But a' the pleasures e'er I saw, Tho' three times doubl'd fairly. That happy night was worth thera a% Amang the rigs o' barley. CHORUS. Corn rigs, an' barley rigs, An' corn rigs are bonnie: I'll ne'er forget that happy night, Amang the rigs wi' Annie. SONG II. eOMPOSED IN THE MONTH OF AUGUST. NOW WESTLIN WINDS, &c. AIR. "I HAD A HORSE, &C.'' I. Now westlin winds, and slaught'ring guns Bring autumn's pleasant weather; The moorcock springs, on whirring wiogs^ 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 Di'ght^ To muse upon my charmer. Q 182 TI. The partridge loves the fruitful fells ; The plover loves the mountains ; The woodcock haunts the lonely dells ; The soaring hern the fountains : Thro' lofty groves the cushat roves The path of man to shun it ; The hazel bush o'erhangs the thrush, The spreading thorn the linnet. III. Thus ev'ry kind their pleasure find, The savage and the tender ; Some social join, and leagues combine;; Some solitary wander : Avaunt, away ! the cruel sway. Tyrannic man's dominion ; The sportsman's joy, the murd'ring cry, The flutt'ring, gory pinion ! IV. But Peggy de*-, the ev'ning's clear, Thick flies the skimming swallow ; The sky is blue, the fields in view, All fading-green and yellow : Come let us stray our gladsome way. And view the charms of nature ; The rustling corn, the fruited thorn. And ev'ry happy creature. V. We'll gently walk, and sweetly talk, Till the silent moon shine clearly ; I'll grasp thy waist, and fondly press't^ Swear how I love thee dearly ; Not vernal show'rs to budding flow'rs^ Not autumn to the farmer. So dear. can be as thou to me. My fair, my lovely charmer. 185 SONG III. BEHIND YON HILLS, &c AIR. " MY NANNIE, O." I Behind yon hills where Stinchar flows, 'Mang moors an' mosses many, O, The wintry sun the day has clos'd, And I'll awa to Nannie, O. II. The westlin wind blawe loud and shill; The night's baith mirk and rainy, O; But I'll get my plaid an' out I'll steal. An' owre the hills to Nannie, O. III. My Nannie's charming, sweet an' young, Nae art.'u' wiles to win ye, O : May ill befa' the flatt'ring tongue That wad beguile my Nannie, O IV. Her face is fair, her heart is true. As spotless as she's bonnie, O ; The op'ning gowan, wet wi' dew, Nae purer is than Nannie, O. V. A country lad is my degree. An' few there be that ken me, O ; But what care I how few they be, I'm welcome ay to Nannie, O. VL My riches a's my penny- fee, An' I maun guide it cannie, O ; But warl's gear ne'er troubles me. My thoughts are a', my Nanie, O. VII. Our auld guidman delights to view His sheep an' kye thrive bonnie. O ; Q2 But Fm as blythe tliat bauds his pleugh. An* has nae care but Nannie, O. VIII. Come weel, come woe, I care na by, I'll tak what beav'n will sen' me, O. Nae ither care in life have I, But live, and love my Nannie, O. SONG IV. GHEEN GROW THE RASHES, A FRAGMENT. CHORUS. Green groiv the rashes, O, Gfeen groto the rashes, ; The sweetest hours that e'er I spent. Are spent amang the lasses, O. I. There's nought but care on ev*ry ban*. In ev'ry hour that passes, O : What signifies the life o' man, An't were na for the lasses, O? Green grow, S^c. II. The warly race may riches chase, An' riches still may fly them, O; An' tho' at last they catch them fast, Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O^ Green grow, Sfc. III. But gie me a canny hour at e'en. My arms about my deary, O; An' warly cares, an' warly men. May a' gae tapsalteerie, O. Green grow, Sfc^ 16 IV. For you sae douse, ye sneer at this, Ye're nought but senseless asses, O': The wisest man the warl' e'er save, He dearly lov'd the lasses, O. Green grotv, SfC. V. Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears- Her noblest work she classes, O : Her prentice han* she try'd on man, An* then she made the lasses, O. Green groio, 8^c. SONG V. AGAIN REJOICING NATURE SEES. AIR. -johnny's grey BRKS. I. 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 Meme\ doat. And bear the scorn thaVs in her e*e ! For it^sjet. Jet black, an' it's like a haxmlcy. An' it winna let a body be ! II. In vain to me the cowslips blaw, In vain to me the vi'lets spring; In vain to me, in glen or shaw. The mavis and the lint white sing. And mau7i I still, S^e, * This choru* is part of a sonp composed by a gentlcmaa in Edinburgh, a particular friend of the Author's. f Mtnich the common abbreviatioa o{ Marian. Q:3 III. The merry ploughboy cheers his teamj Wi' joy the tentie seedsman stalks ; But life to me's a weary dream, A dream of ane that never wauks, A7td maun I still, S^c. IV. The wanton coot the water skims, Aniang the reeds the ducklings cry. The stately swan majestic swims, And ev*ry thing is blest but I. And maun I still, SfC. . V. The sheep-herd steeks his faulding slap, And owre the moorlands whistles shill, Wi' wild, unequal, waml'ring step I meet him on the dewy hill. And maun I still, S^c. VI. And when the lark, 'tween light and darls^ Blythe waukens by the daisy's side. And mounts and sings on flittering wings, A woe- worn ghaistl hameward glide. And maun I still, SfC. VII. Come winter, with thine angry ho'.vl, And raging bend the naked tree ; Thy gloom will soothe my cheerless soul,. When nature all is sad like me ! And maun I still on Menie doat. And bear the scorn thaVs hi her e''e ! For it' 'i jet, jet Mack, an* it's like a hatvi, An* it luinna let a body be*. We dannot presume to alter any of the poems of our bard, and more especially those printed under his own direction ; yet it i to be rep^retted that this chorus, which is not of his own connpo- gition, should be attached to these fine stanzas, as it pcrpetuaHy ijKtjpis the train of sentiment which they enite. rsr SONG vr. THE GLOOMY NIGHT, &c. AIR. ROSLIN CASTLE. I. The gloomy night is gath'ring fast, Loud roars the wild inconstant blast,. Yon murky cloud is foul with rain, I see it driving o'er the plain; The hunter now has left the moor. The scatter'd coveys meet secure. While here I wander prest wi' care,. Along the lonely banks of Ayr. H. The autumn mourns her rip'ning corn: By early winter's ravage torn ; Across her placid, azure sky. She sees the scowling tempest fly; Chill runs my blood to hear it rave, I think upon the stormy wave, Where many a danger I must dare, . Far from the bonnie banks of Ayr. III. 'Tis not the surging billow's roar, *Tis not that fatal, deadly shore; Though death in ev'ry shape appear. The wretched have no more to fear: But round my heart the ties are bound, That heart transpierc'd with many a wound ; These bleed afresh, those ties I tear, To leave the boiinie banks of Ayr. IV. 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 188 The bursting tears my heart declare. Farewell, the bonnie bunks of A^r! SONG vir. FROM THEE, ELIZA, I MUST GO; AIR G1I.DB.R0Y. I. 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 nevep, never can divide My heart and soul from thee :- If. Farewell, farewell, Eliza dear, The maid that I adore ! A boding voice is in mine ear. We part to meet no more ! But the last throb that leaves my heart,. While death stands victor by, That throb, Eliza, is thy part, And thine that latest sigh ! SONG VIII. THE FAREWELL TO THE BRETHREN of St JAMES'S LODGE, TARBOLTON. AIR. GOOD NIGHT AND JOY BE Wl' YOU A*. I. AniEU ! a heart-warm, fond adieu ! Dear brothers of the mij[stic it^e ! 189 Ye favour'd, ye enlighten'd 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'll mind you still, tho' far awa*. IL 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 mem'ry on my heart shall write Those happy scenes when far awa'. III. May freedom, harmony, and love, Unite you in the grand design, ' Beneath th' omniscient eye above,^ The glorious ^rc/f/^ec* divine ! That yoamay keep th' unerring line. Still rising by the plummet*^ laiv, Till order bright completely shine. Shall be my prayer when far awa'. ; IV. And 1/out farewell ; whose merits claim. Justly, that highest badge to wear ! Heav'n 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 tJuxt^sJar a'uis^^ ISO SONG IX. NO CHURCHMAN AM I, &c. AIB. PREPARE, MY DEAR BRETHREN, &C. I. 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-belly'd bottle's the whole of my care. II. The peer I don't envy, I give him his bow; I scorn not the peasant, tho' ever so low ; But a club of good fellows, like those that are here^ And a bottle like this, are my glory and care. III. Here passes the squire on his brother ^his horse; There centum per centum, the cit with his purse ; But see you the crown how it waves in the air There a big belly'd bottle still eases my care, IV. The wife of my bosom, alas ! she did die; For sweet consolation to church I did fly ; I found that old Solomon proved it fair. That a big-belly 'd bottle's a cure for all care. V. 1 once was persuaded a venture to make ; A letter inform'd me that all was to wreck ; But the pursy old landlord just waddled up stairs, "With a glorious bottle that ended my cares, VI. ** 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 th' old prig to a hair ; For a big-belly'd bottle's a heav'n of care. Young's Night Thoughts. 191 Stanza added in a Mason Lodge. Then fill up a bumper and make it o'erflovr, And honours masonic prepare for to throw; May every true brother of th' compass and square Have a big-belly'd bottle when harass'd with care. ONG X. ANNA, THY CHARMS, &c. I Anna., thy charms my bosom fire. And waste my soul with care; But ah ! how bootless to admire, When fated to despair ! n. Yet in thy presence, lovely fair. To hope may be forgiven ; For sure 'twere impious to despair So much in sight of heaven. SONG XI. HERE AWA' THERE AW A*. AIR, HER AWA THERE AWA*. I. Here awa', there awa', wandering Willie, Here awa', there awa', baud awa' hame ; Come to my bosom, my ain only deary, Tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same. H. Winter winds blew, loud and cauld, at our parting, Fears for my Willie brought tears in my e'e ; W^elcome now simmer, and welcome my Willie ; The simmer to nature, my Willie to me. 192 III. 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. IV. But oh, if he's faithless, and minds na his Nannie, Flow still between us, thou wide roaring main : Ma)' I never see it, may I never trow it, But, dying, believe that my Willie's my ain ! SONG XII. BRAW LADS ON YARROW BRAES, AIR. GAI.LA WATER. I. Braw braw lads on Yarrow braes, Yi' wander thro' the blooming heather; But Yarrow braes, nor Ettrick shaws. Can match the lads o' Galla water. But there 1s ane, a secret ane, Aboon them a' I loo him better; And I'll be his, ai)d he'll be mine, Thg bonnie lad o' Galla water. III. Altho' his daddie was nae laird, And tho' I hae na meiki;- tocher. Yet rich in kindest, truest love, We'll tent our flocks by Galla water. IV. It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth. That coft contentment, peace, or pleasure; The bands atid bliss o' mutual lov:', O that's the chiefcst warld's treasured 193 SONG XIII. THERE'S AULD ROB MORRIS. AIR AULD ROB MORRIS. I. There's auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen, He's the king of gude fellows, and wale of auld men ; He has gowd in his coffers, he has sheep, he has kine. And ae bonnie lassie, his darling and mine. II. She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May, She's sweet as the ev'ning amang the new hay ; As blythe and as artless as the lambs on the lea, And dear to my heart as the light to my e'e. III. 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 maun hide which will soon be my dead. IV. 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. V, had she but been of a lower degree, 1 then might hae hop'd she wad smil'd upon me ! O, how past descriving had then been my bliss. As now my distraction no words can express ! SONG XIV. OH, OPEN THE DOOR. AIR. OPEN THE DOOR. I. Oh, open the door, some pity to shew, Oh, open the door to me, Oh ; R 194* Tho' thou hast been false, I'll ever prove true. Oh, open the door to me, Oh ! II. Oh, cold is the blast upon my pale cheek, But colder thy love for me, Oh ! The frost that freezes the life at my breast. Is nought to my pains from thee, Oh ! III. The wan moon is setting behind the white wave. And time is setting with me, Oh ! False friends, false Love, ferewell ! for more I'll ne'er trouble them, nor thee, Oh ! IV. She has open'd the door, she has open'd it wide, She sees his pale corse on the plain, Oh ! " My true love !" she cried, and sunk down by his side, Never to rise again. Oh! SONG XV. WHEN WILD WAR'S DEADLY BLAST, &c. AIR.- THE MILL MILL O. L 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 fields. Where lang I'd been a lodger. My humble knapsack a' my wealth, A poor and honest soJdier. * In Mr Thomson's Musical work, instead of the Sd and 4th. linA, as here printed, the following were substituted : And eyes again with pleasure beam'd, That had been blear'd with mourning. But in the propriety of this alteration Burns did not acquiesce 1^5- II. A leal, light heart was in my breast, My hand unstain'd wi' plunder ; And for fair Scotia, hame again, I cheery on did wander. I thought upon the banks of Coil, I thought upon my Nancy, I thought upon the witching smile That c*ught my youthful fancy. III. At length I reach'd the bonny glen. Where early life I sported ; I pass'd the mill and trysting thorn, Where 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. IV. Wl' alter'd voice,- quoth Ij sweet lass, Sweet as yon hawthorn's blossom, O ! happy, happy may he be. That's dearest to thy bosom : My purse is light, I've far to gang. And fain wad be thy lodger ; I've serv'd my king and country lang, Take pity on a soldier ! r. Sae wistfully she gaz'd on me. And lovelier was than ever ; Quo' she, a soldier ance I lo'ed, Forget him shall I never : Our hifmble cot, and hamely fare, Ye freely shall partake it, _ That gallant badge, the dear cockade, E Ye're welcome for the sake o't. VI. She gaz'd she redden'd like a rose- Syne pale like ony lily, R-2 196 She sank within my arms, and crieJ, Art thou ray 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 ! VII. The wars are o'er, and I'm come hame. And find thee still true-hearted ; * Tho' poor in gear, we're rich in love. And mair we'se ne'er be parted I Quo' she, my grandsire left me gowd, A mailin plenish'd fairly ; And come, my faithful soldier lad, Thou'rt welcome te it dearly ! VIII. For gold the merchant ploughs the main^ The farmer ploughs the manor ; But glory is the soldier's prize. The soldier's wealth is honour ; The brave poor soldier ne'er despise^ Nor count him as a stranger ; Remember, he's his country's stay In day and hour of danger. SONG XVI. O STAY, SWEET WARBLING WOODLARK. AIR. LOCH-ERROCH SIDE. I. O STAY, sweet warbling wood-lark, stay, Nor quit for me the trembling spray, A hapless lover courts thy lay. Thy soothing fond complaining. Again, again that tender part. That I may catch thy melting art ; 197 For surely that would touch her heart Wha kills me wi' disdaining. 11. Say, was thy little mate unkind, And heard thee as the careless wind ? Oh, nought but love and sorrow join'd. Sic notes of woe could wauken ! Thou tells of never ending care, Of speechless grief, and dark despair :- For pity's sake, sweet bird, nae mair, Or my poor heart is broken i SONG XVII. HERE IS THE GLEN, &c. AIR. THE FLOWERS OF EDINBURGH. / I. Here is the glen, and here the bow'r. All underneath the birchen shade ; The village bell has told the hour, O what can stay my lovely maid ? 'Tis not Maria*s whispering call ; 'Tis but the balmy, breathing gale, Mixt with some warbler's dying fall. The dewy star of eve to hail. H. It is. Ma^ria's voice I hear 1 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 ! O welcome dear to love and me ! And let us all our vows renew. Along the flowery banks of Cree. R 3 19S SONG XVIII. THE DAY RETURNS, MY BOSOM BURNS. AIR. THE SEVENTH OF NOVEMBER. I. The day returns, my bosom burns. The blissful day we twa did meet, Tho' winter wild in tempest toil'd. Ne'er summer sun was half sae sweet. Than a' the pride that loads the tide, And crosses o'er the sultry line ; Than kingly robes, than crowns and globes, Heav'n gave me more ; it made thee mine. II. 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 bid us part ; The iron hand that breaks our band. It breaks my bliss it breaks my heart f SONG XIX. O WERE I ON*PARNASSUS' HILL. AIR. O JEAN I LOVE THEE. I. O WERE I on Parnassus' hill, Or had of Helicon my fill. That I might catch poetic skill. To sing how d^ar I love tliee. But Nith maun be my muse's well. My muse maun be thy bonnie sell ; On Corsincon* I'll glowr and spell. And write how dear I love thee. II. Then come, sweet muse, inspire my lay ! For a' the lee-lang sTnmier's day, I cou'dna sing, "'I cou'dna 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 glancing e'en By heaven and earth I love thee ! III. By night, by day, a field, at hame, The thoughts o' thee my breast inflame ; And ay I muse and sing thy name I only live to love thee. Tho' I were doom'd to wander on Beyond the sea, beyond the sun, Till my last weary sand was run, 'TUl then and then I love thee I SONG XX. HOW LANG AND DREARY, &c. AIR. CAULD KAIL IN ABERDEEN. I. How lang and dreary is the night. When I am frae my dearie ; I restless lie frae e'en to morn, Tho' I were ne'er sae weary^ For oh, her lanely nights are lang , And oh, her dreams are eerie ; And oh, her widoio'd heart is' sair. That's absent frae her dearie ! * A high hili near the source of the river Nith. 200: II. When I think on the lightsome days I spent wi' thee my dearie ; And now what seas between us roar, How can I be but eerie. For oh, 8fC. III. How slow ye move, ye dreary hours, The joyless day how dreary ; It was na sae ye glinted by When I was wi' my dearie. For ohy Sfc. SONG XXI. NOW. SIMMER BLINKS, &c. AIR. BIRKS OF ABERFELDY. I. Bonny lassie, will ye go, mil ye go, tvill ye go, Bonny lassie, tvill ye ga to the Birks of Aberfeldy ? Now simmer blinks on flow'ry braes. And o'er the crystal streamlet plays, Come let us spend the lightsome days In the birks of Aberfeldy. Bonny lassie, 8^c. VL While o'er their heads the hazels hing, The little birdies blythely sing, Or lightly flit on wanton wing In the birks of Aberfeldy. Bonny lassie, S^-c. 201 III. The braes ascend like lofty wa's, The foaming stream deep-roaring fa^s. O'erhung wi' fragrant spreading shaws, The birks of Aberfeldy, Bonny lassie, 8^c. IV. The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi* flow'TS, White o'er the linns the burnie pours. And rising weets wi' misty show'rs The birks o? Aberfeldy. Bonny lassie, 8^c. Let fortune's gifVs at random flee, They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me^ Supremely blest wi' love and thee In the birks of Aberfeldy. Bonny lassie, S^c*. XXII. STAY, MY CHARMER, &c. AIR. AN GILLE DUBII CIAR DHUBH. I. Stay, my charmer, can you leave me ? Cruel, cruel to deceive me ! Well you know how much you grieve me ; Cruel charmer, can you go 1 Cruel charmer, can you go ! II. 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 ! * This is written in the same measure as the Bhh of Alergtt- i'te, an old Scottish song, from which nothing is borrowed but the chorus. SONG XXIII. THICKEST NIGHT O'ERHANG, &c. AIR. STRATHALLAN's LAMENT. I. Thickest night o'erhang my dwelling : Howling tempests o'er me rave ! Turbid torrents, wintry swelling, Still surround my lonely cave ! II. Crystal streamlets gently flowing. Busy haunts of base mankind, Western breezes softly blowing, Suit not my distracted mind. III. In the cause of right engaged. Wrongs injurious to redress, Honour's war we strongly waged. But the heavens denied success^ IV. 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 !* SONG XXIV. LOUD BLAW THE FROSTY BREEZES. AIR. MORAG. I. Loud blaw the frosty breezes, The snaws the mountains cover; * Strathallan, it is presumed, was one of the followers of the young Chevalier, and is supposed to be lying concealed in some cave of the Highlands, after the battle of CuUodcn* 20S Xike winter on me seizes, Since my young Highland rover Far wanders nations over. Where'er he go, where'er he stray. May heaven be his warden : Return him safe to fair Strathspey, And bonnie Castle-Gordon ! II. The trees now naked groaning. Shall soon wi' leaves be hinging, The birdies dowie moaning, Shall a be blythely singing. And every flower be springing. Sae I'll rejoice the lee-lang day, When by his mighty .warden My youth's return'd to fair Strathspey, And bonnie Castle-Gordon *. SONG XXV. GRAVING WINDS AROUND HER BLOWING. AIR. M'GREGOR of RUARA's LAMENT. I. Raving winds around her blowing. Yellow leaves the woodlands strowing, By a river hoarsely roaring, Isabella stray'd deploring. " Farewell, hours that late did measure " Sunshine days of joy and pleasure ; " Hail, thou gloomy night of sorrow, " Cheerless night that knows no morrow. II. " O'er the past too fondly wandering, " On the hopeless future pondering ; The young Highland rover, is supposed to be the young tiChevalier, Prince Charles Edward. 20* *' Chilly grief my life-blood freezes, *' Fell despair my fancy seizes. " Life, thou soul of every blessing, " Load to misery most distressing, *' O how gladly I'd resign thee, ** And to dark oblivion join thee ! SONG XXVL MUSING ON THE ROARING OCEAN, AIR DKUIMION DUBH. I. Musing on the roaring ocean, Which divides my love and me ; Wearying heaven in warm devotion, For his vyeal where'er he be. II. Hope and fear's alternate billow Yielding late to nature's law, Whisp'ring spirits round my pillow Talk of him that's far awa. III. Ye whom sorrow never wounded, Y"e who never shed a tear. Care-untroubled, joy-surrounded, Gaudy day to you is dear. IV. Gentle night, do thou befriend me ; Downy sleep, the curtain draw ; Spirits kind, again attend me, Talk of him that's far awa 1 205 SONG XXVII. BLtTHE, BLYTHE AND MERRY, &c, AIR. BLYTHE WAS SHE. ^lythe, hlythe and merry xms she, Blythe tvas she but and ben ; Blythe by the banks of Ern^ And blytlie In Glenturit glen. I. By Ochtertyre grows the aik, On Yarrow banks the birken shaw ; But Phemie was a bonnier lass Than braes o' Yarrow ever saw. Blythe, Sfc, 11. Her looks were like a flow'r in May, Her smile was like a simmer morn ; She tripped by the banks of Ern, As light's a bird upon a thorn. Blythe, S^c. III. Her bonnie face it was as meek As ony lamb upon a lee ; The evening sun was ne'er sae sweet As was the blink o' Phemie's e'e. Blythe, iSfc. IV. The Highland hills I've wander'd Avide, And o'er the Lowlands I hae been; But Phemie was the blythest lass That ever trode the dewy green. Blythe, ^c, S 206 SONG XXVIII. A ROSE-BUD BY MY EARLY WALK. AIR. THE SHEPHEBd's WIFE, i. A ROSE-BUD by my early walk, Adown a corn-inclosed bawk, Sae gently bent its thorny stalk. All on a dewy morning. IL 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. in. Within the bush, her covert nest A little linnet fondly. prest, The dew at. chilly on- her breast Sae early in the morning. IV. She soon shall see her tender brood. The pride, the pleasure o' the wood, Amang the fresh green leaves bedew'd, Awake the early morning. V. So thou, dear bird, young Jeany fair, On trembling string or vocal air. Shall sweetly pay the tender care That tents thy early morning. VI. m So thou, sweet rose-bud, young and gay Shalt beautecHis blaze upon the day, And bless the parent's evening ray l^at watch'd thy early morning*. Miss J. C. daughter of a friend of the Bard, is supposed f b e the heroiae of this song. ^01 SONG XXIX. WHERE BRAVING ANGRY WINTER'S, &c. AIR. N. GOW'S LAMENTATION FOR ABERCAIRNY. I. Where braving angry winter*s storms. The lofty Ochills rise. Far in their shade my Peggy's charms First blest my wondering eyes. As one who by some savage stream, A lonely gem surveys, Astonish'd doubly marks it beam With art's most polish'd blaze. n. 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 pow'r ! The tyrant death with grim controul May seize my fleeting breath ; But tearing Peggy from my soul: > Must be a stronger death. SONG XXX. i; TIBBIE, I BAE SEEN THE DAY; Ais. ^invercauld's reel, I. O Tibbie, I hae seen the day., Ye iKould na been sue shy ; For laik d gear ye lightly mCf But trotuth, I care na by. Yestreen I met you on the moor. Ye spak na, but gaed by hke stoure; Ye geek at me because I'm poor, S 2 20& But fient a hair care I. O Tibbie, I hae, Sfc, II. I doubt na, lass, but ye may thinks Because ye hae the name o' clink. That ye can please me at a wink, "Whene'er ye like to try. Tibbie, I hae, S^c. III. But sorrow tak him that's sae mean,, Altho' his pouch o' coin were clean^ Wha follows ony saucy quean That looks se proud and high. Tibbie, I hae, 8fc. IV. Altho* a lad were e'er sae smart. If that he wants the yellow dirt, y^'ll cast your head anither airt. And answer him fu' dry. O Tibbie, I hae, Sfc. V. But if he hae the name o' gear, Ye'll fasten to him like a brier, ^^ Tho* hardly he, for sense or lear, '^ Be better than the kye. O Tibbie, I hae, Sfc, VI. But, Tibbie, lass, tak my advice, Your daddie's gear maks you sae nice j The deil a ane wad spier your price, Were ye as poor as I. O Tibbie, I hae, SfC, VII. There lives a lass in yonder park, I would na gie her in her sark For thee wi' a' thy thousan' mark, Ye need na look sae high, O Tibbie, I hae, S^c. 209 SONG XXXI. CLARINDA, MISTRESS OF MY SOUL. I. Clarinda, mistress of my soul, The measur'd time is run ! The wretch beneath the dreary pole, So marks his latest sun. II. To what dark cave of frozen night Shall poor Sylvander hie ; Depriv'd of thee, his life and light^^' The sun of all his jay.- ~ III. We part but by these precious drops That fill thy lovely eyes ! No other light shall guide my steps. Till thy bright beams arise. IV. She, the fair sun of all her sex, Plas blest my glorious day : Aij4 shall a glimmering planet fix My worship to its ray ? SONG XXXII. THE LAZY MIST HANGS, &c. AIR. here's a health TO MY TRUE LOVE. I. The lazy mist hangs from the brow of the hill, Concealitig 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 fopp'ry of summer is fiowa : S3 210 Apart let me wander, apart let me muse. How quick time is flying, how keen fate pursues r How long I have liv'd but how much liv'd in. vain; How little of life*s scanty span may remain : "What aspects old time, in his progress, has worn j "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. SONG xxxni. OF A' THE AIRTS THE WIND CAN BLAW. AIR MISS ADMIRAL GORDON'S STRATHSPEY. I. Of a' the airts the wind can blaw, I dearly like the west, For there the bonnie lassie lives, The lassie 1 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. IL I see her in the dewy flowers, I see her sweet and fair ; I hear her in the tunefu' birds, 1 hesr her charm the air ; There's not a bonnie flower that springs By fountain, shaw, or green, * There's not a bonnie bird that sings. But minds me o' my Jean. 211 SONG XXXIV. THE CATRINE WOODS, erson my jo, John, When we were first acquent ; Your locks were like the raven, Your bonnie brow was brent ; But now your brow is bald, John, Your locks are like the snaw ; But blessings on your frosty pow^ John Anderson my jo. II. John Anderson my jo, John, We clamb the hill thegither ; And mony a canty day, John, We've had wi' ane anither. Now we maun totter down, John, But hand in hand we'll go ; And sleep thegither at the foot, , ' John Anderson my jo*. ^ * In the first volume of a collection entitled, Poetrt Origi- nal AND Selectep, printed by Brash and Reid of Glasgow, this song is given as follows : JOHN ANDERSON MY JO, IMPROVED BT ROBERT BORNS. I John Andkhscv, my io, John, I wonder what you mean, To rise so soon in the morning, and sit up so late at e'en, Ye'll blear out a* your e'en, John, and -ivhy should ye do to, Gang sooner to your bed at e'en, John Anderson, my jo. II. John Anderson, my jo, John, whan nature first began To try her canny hand, John, her master-work was man/ And you amang them a' John, sae trig frae tap to toe, She proved to be nae journey-work^ John Anderson, my je. 215 SONG XXXIX. MY HEART IS A BREAKING, ^c. AIR. TAM GLEN. I. 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 ? III. John Anderson, my jo, John, yc were my first conceit, And ye need ua think it strange, John, tho' I ca' you trim and neat; Tho* some folk say ye're auld, John, I never think ye so, But I think ye're ay the same to me, John Andcrsoa, my jo. IV. John Anderson, my jo, John, we've seen our bairns' bairns. And yet, my dear John Anderson, I'm liappy in your arms. Ana sae are ye in mine, JohnI'm sure ye'll ne'er say no, Tho' the days are gane that we have setn, John Anderson my jo. V. John Anderson, my jo, John, what pleasure does it gie. To see sae many sprouts, John, spring up 'tween you aud mc, And ilka lad and lass, John, in our footstep* to go. Makes perfect heaven here on earth, John Anderson, my jo, VI John Anderson, my jo, John, when we were first acyuaini. Tour locks were like the raven, your bonnte brow was brent. But now your head's turn'd bald, John, your locks are like the snott, Yet blessings on ymir frosty pow, John Anderson, my jo. VII. John Anderson, my jo, John, frae year to year we've past, And soon that year maun come, John, will bring us to our last ; But let na' that affright us, John, our hearts wtre ne'er our foe, While in iimocent delight we lived, John Anderson, my jo. VIII. John Anderson, my jo, John, we clamb the hill thegither. And mony a canty day, John, we've had wi' ane anither ; Now we maun teller down, John, but hand in hand we'll gOy ^ni we'll sleep thegilher at thefmt, John Anderson, myj. 216 II. I'm thinking, wi' sic a braw fellow. In poortith I might mak a fen' ; What care I in riches to wallow. If I mauna marry Tarn Glen. III. There's Lowrie the laird o' Dumeller, " Gude day to you, brute," he comes ben; He brags and he blaws o' his siller. But when will he dance like Tarn Glen ? IV. My minnie does constantly deave me, And bids me beware o' young men ; They flatter, she says, to deceive me. But wha can think sae o' Tam Glen? V. My daddie says, gin I'll forsake him, He'll gie me gude hunder marks ten: But, if its ordain'd I maun take him, O wha will I get but Tam Glen. The ingenious Dr Currie, Editor of the worts of Burns, is decidedly of opinion that this song is by an inferior hand to that of Burns. ' The stanza with which this song begins, (says " he) is the chorus of the old song under this title ; and though " perfectly suitable to that wicked but witty ballad, it has no ac- " cordance with the strain of delicate and tender sentiment of " this improved song. In regard to the five other additional " stanzas, though they are in the spirit of the two stanzas that " are unquestionably our bard's, yet every reader of discernment " will see they are by an inferior hand ; and the real author of " them ought neither to have given them, nor suffered them to " be given, to the world, as the production of Burns. If there " were no other mark of their spurious origin, the latter half of " the third line in the seventh stanza, our hearts -were ne'er cur fee, " would be proof sufficient. Many are the instances in which " our bard has adoptfcd defective rhymes, but a single instance " cannot be produced, in which to preserve the rhyme, he has " given a feeble thought, in false grammar. These additional " stanzas are not however without merit, and they may serve to " prolong the pleasure which every person of taste must feel, " from listening to a most happy unioii of beautiful music, wivfa " moral sentiments that are singularly interesting." 21Y VI. Yestreen at the Valentine's dealing. My heart to my mou gied a sten'; For thrice I drew ane without failing, And thrice it was written Tam Glen. VII. The last Halloween I was waukin My droukit sark-sleeve, as ye ken ; His likeness came up the house staukin. And the very grey breeks o' Tam Glen. VIII. Come counsel, dear Tittie, don*t tarry ; I'll gie you my bonnie black hen, Gif ye will advise me to marry The lad I lo'e dearly, Tam Glen. SONG XL. O MEIKLE THINKS MY LUVE, &c AIR. MY tocher's THE JEWEL. I. O MEIKLE thinks my luve o* my beauty. And meikie 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'll nourish the tree ; It's a' for the hiney he'll cherish the bee : My laddie's sae meikie in luve wi' the siller. He can na hae luve to spare for me. II. 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 tiinmer o' yon rotten wood, Ye're like to the bark o' yon rotten tree, Ye'll slip frae me like a knotless thread. And ye'ii crack your credit wi' mae nor me* T 218 * SONG XLI. GANE IS THE DAY, &c. AIR. GUIDWIFE COUNT THE LAWIN. I. Gane is the day and mirk's the night, But we'll ne'er stray for faute o' light, For ale and brandy's stars and moon. And blude red wine's the rysin sun. Then guidwife count the lawin, the laxvin, the laivia, Then guidioife count the laxvin, and bring a coggie mair. U. There's wealth and ease for gentlemen. And semple-folk maun fecht and fen' ; But here we're a' in ae accord, For ilka man that's drunk's a lord. Then guidxvife count, S^c. in. My coggie is a haly pool. That heals the wounds o' care and dool; And pleasure is a wanton trout, An' ye drink it a' ye'll find him out. Then guidivife count, S^c. SONG XLIL WHAT CAN A YOUNG LASSIE, &c. AIR. WHAT CAN A YOUNG LASSIE DO Wl' AN AULD MAN. I. What can a young lassie, what shall a young lassie, What can a young lassie do wi' an auld man ? Bad luck on the pennie that tempted my minnie To sell her poor Jenny for -siller an* Ian' 1 Bad luck on the pennie, 8^c. 219^ II. He's always compleenin frae mornin to e'enin, He hosts and he hirples the weary day lang ; He's doyl't and he's dozen, his blude it is frozen, O, dreary's the night wi' a crazy auld man ! III. 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, O, dool on the day I met wi' an auld man ! IV. My auld auntie Katie upon me takes pity, I'll do my endeavour to follow her plan ; I'll cross him, and wrack him until I heart-break him, And then his auld brass will buy me a new pan. SONG XLin. BONNIE WEE THING, &c. I. Bonnie wee thing, camiie wee thing. Lovely wee thing was thou mine ; I wad wear thee in my bosom, Lest my jewel I should tine. II. Wishfully I look and languish. In that -bonnie face of thine : And my heart it stounds wi' anguish, Lest my wee thing be na mine. III. Wit, and grace, and love, and beauty. In ae constellation shine ; To adore thee is my duty. Goddess o' this soul o' miae! Bonnie toee, S^c. T 2. 220 SONG XLIV. O FOR ANE AND TWENTY, TAM! AIR. THE MOUDIEv^ORT. I. An* O, for ane and txventy. Tarn ! An* hey, sweet ane and tioenty. Tarn ! I'll learn my kin a rattlin sang. An I satv ane and twenty. Tarn. They snool me sair, and baud me down, And gar me look like bluntie, Tam ; But three short years will soon wheel roun'. And then comes ane and twenty, Tam. An.' 0, for ane, 8yc. 11. A gleib o' Ian', a claut o' gear, Was left me by my auntie, Tam ; At kith or kin I need oa spier. An I saw ane and twenty, Tarn. An* O, for ane, Sfc. III. They'll hae me wed a wealthy coof, The' I mysel hae plenty, Tam ; But hear'st thou, laddie, there's my loof, I'm thine at ane and twenty, Tara ! An* Ofoor ane, S^c. SONG XLV. O LEEZE ME ON MY SPINNIN WHEEL. AIR DAINTIE DAVIE. O LEEZE me on my spinnin wheel, O leeze me on my rock and reel ; Frae tap to tae that deeds me bien, And haps me fiel and warm at e'en I 22t I'll set me dotvn and sing and spin; While laigh descends the simmer sun, Blest wi' content, and milk and meal O leeze me on my spinnin wheel. II. On ilka hand the burnies trot, And meet below my theekit cot ; The scented birk and hawthorn white* Across the pool their arras unite. Alike to screen the birdie's nest, And little fishes' caller rest : The sun blinks kindly in the bieK, Where, blythe I turn my spinnin wheel. III. On lofty aiks the cushats wail. And echo cons the dolefu' tale ; The lintwhites in the hazel braes. Delighted, rival ither's lays : The craik amang the claver hay. The paitrick whirrin o'er the ley. The swallow jinkin round myshiel. Amuse me at ray spinnin wheel. IV. Wi',sma' to sell, and less to buy, Aboon distress, below envy, O wha would leave this humble state,. For a' the pride of a' tlie great ? Amid their flairing, idle toys. Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys, Can they the peace and pleasure feel Of Bessy at her spinnin wheel ? SONG XL VI. IN SIMMER WHEN THE HAY, Ac- air. JOHN, COME KISS ME NOW. I. Tjj simmer when the hay was mawn. And corn wav'd green in ilka field j- T3 222 While claver blooms white o'er the lea^, And roses blaw in ilka bield ; Blythe Bessie in the milking shiel. Says, I'll be wed come o't what will ; Out spak a dame in wrinkled eild, O' gude advisement comes nae ill. II. Its ye hae wooers mony ane, And lassie ye're but young, ye ken : Then wait a wee, and canie wale, A routhie butt, a routhie ben ; There's Johnie o' the Buskie-glen, Fu' is his barn, fu' is his byre ; Tak this frae me, my bonnie hen. It's plenty beets the luver's fire, III. For Johnie o' the Buskie-glen,. I dinna care a single flee ; He lo'es sae weel his craps and kye,. He has nae luve to spare for me : But blythe's the blink o' Robie's e'e,. And weel I wat he lo'es me dear : Ae blink o' him I wad na gie For Buskie-glen and a' his gear., IV. O thoughtless lassie, life's a faught,. The caniest gate, the strife is sair ;: But ay fu' han't is fechtin best, A hungry care's an unco care : But some will spend, and some will spare. An' wilfu' folk maun hae their will ; Syne as ye brew, my maiden fair. Keep mind that ye maun drink the yill. V. O gear will buy me rigs o' land. And gear will buy me sheep and kye ; But the tender heart o' leesome luve The gowd and siller canna-buy. We may be poor llobie and I, Light is the burden luve lays on; 225 VIT. I'll tie the posle round wi' the silken band o' luve, And I'll place it in her breast, and I'll swear by a^ above, That to my latest draught o' life the band shall ne'er remove, And this will be a posie to my ain dear May. SONG XLIX. YE BANKS AND BRAES, &c. AIR. THE CALEDONIAN HUNX'S DELIGHT. I. Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon, How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair ; How can ye chant, ye little birds. And I sae weary fu' o' care ! Thou'll break my heart thou warbling bird. That wantons thro* the flowering thorn: Thou minds me o' departed joys. Departed never to return. n. Oft hae I rov'd by bonnie Doon, To see the rose and woodbine twiae; And ilka bird sang o' its luve. And fondly sae: did L o' mine. Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree ; And my fause lover stole my rose. But, ah ! he left the thorn wi' me. SONG L. WILLIE WASTLE DWALT ON TWEED. AIR. jenny's bawbee. I. Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed, The spot they ca'd it Linkumdoddie, 226 Willie was a wabster gude, Cou'd stown a clue wi' ony body ; He had a wife was doure and din, Tinkler Madgie was her mither ; Sic a wife as Willie had, 1 wad na gie a button for her. II. She has an e'e, she has but ane. The cat had twa the very colour; Five rusty teeth forbye a stump, A clapper tongue wad deave a miller ; A whiskin beard about her mou, Her nose and chin they threaten ither; Sic a wijcy S^c. III. 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, S^c. IV. Aufd baudrans by the ingle sits. An' wi' her loof her face a-washin ; But Willie's wife is nae sae trig. She dights her grunzie wi' a hushion ; Her waiie nieves like midden-creels. Her face wad fyle the Logan- water ; Sic a wife, S^c. SONG LI. ANCE MAIR I HAIL THEE, &Ci- AIR. GLOOMY DECEMBER. I. Ance mair I hail thee, thou gloomy December ! Ance mair I hail thee wi' sorrow aad care ; 227 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, O Jarewell j'or ever ! Is anguish unmingled and agony pure. II. 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 a^ 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. SONG LII. WILT THOU BE MY DEARIE. AIB. THE SAME. I. Wilt thou be my dearie ? When sorrow wrings thy gentle heart, O wilt thou let me cheer thee ? By the treasure of my soul, And that's the love I bear thee ! I swear and vow, that only thou Shall ever be my dearie. Only thou, 1 swear and vow. Shall ever be my dearie. II. 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'es me. "228 Lassie, let me quickly die. Trusting that thou lo'es rae. SONG LIII. SHE'S FAIR AND FAUSE. AIR. she's fair and FAUSE. I. 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' rowth o' gear. And I hae tint my dearest dear. But woman is but warld's gear, Sae let the bonnie lass gang. II. Wha e'er ye be that woman love, To this be never blind, Nae ferlie 'tis tho' fickle she prove, A woman has't by kind : O woman lovely, woman fair! An angel form's faun to thy share, *Twad been o'er meikle to gi'en thee mair, I mean an angel mind. SONG LIV. FLOW GENTLY, SWEET AFTON, &c. AIR AFTON WATER. L Fr,o"w gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise; My Mary's asleep by thy raunr.uring fetream, Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. 29 II. Thou stock-dove whose echo resounds thro' the glen, Ye wild whistling blackbird, in yon thorny den, Thou green crested lapwing thy screaming forbear, I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair. III. 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. IV. How pleasant thy banks and green vallies 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. V. 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 gath'ring sweet flow'rets she stems thy clear wave. VI. 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. SONG LV. WHERE CART RINS ROWIN, &c. AIR. THB GALLANT WEAVER. I. Where Cart rins rowin to the sea, By mony a flow'r and spreading tree, There lives a lad, the lad for me. He is a gallant weaver. U 230 II. Gh I had wooers aught or nine, They gied me rings and ribbons fine ; And I was fear'd my heart would tine^ And I gied it to the weaver. III. My daddie signed my tocher-band. To gie the lad that has the land, But to my heart I'll add my hand. And give it to the weaver. IV. While birds rejoice in leafy bowers ; "While bees delight in op'ning flowers; While corn grows green in simmer showers, 111 love my gallant weaver*. SONG LVI. MY HEART JS SAIR, I DARE NA TELL. AIR. SOMEBODY. I. . My heart is sair, J dare na tell, My heart is sair for somebody; I could wake a winter night For the sake of somebody. Oh-hon ! for somebody ! Oh-hey ! for somebody 1 I could range the world around,, For the sake o' somebody. IL Ye powers that smile on virtuous love, O sweetly smile on somebody 1 Frae ilka danger keep him free. And send me safe my somebody. Oh-hoQ ! for somebody ! Oh-hey ! for somebody ! I wad do what wad I not, For the sake o' somebody ? la some Editions sailor is substituted for -weaver. 231 SONG LVII. THE LOVELY LASS O' INVERNESS. AIR. THE LASS O* INVERNESS. L The lovely lass o' Inverness, Nae joy nor pleasure can she see ; For e'en and morn she cries, alas ! And ay the saut tear blins her e'e: Druraossie moor, Drumossie day, A waef u' day it was to me ; For there I lost my father dear, My father dear, and brethren three. IL 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 e'e ! Now 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 wrong to thine or thee. SONG Lvin. A MOTHER'S LAMENT FOR THE DEATH OF HER SON. AIR. FINLAYSTON HOUSE. I. Fate gave the word, the arrow sped. And pierc'd ray 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 hopeff, My age's future shade. U % 232 II. The mother-linnet in the brake Bewails her ravish'd young ; So I, for my lost darling's sake. Lament the live-day long. Death, oft I've fear'd thy fatal blow. Now, fond I bare my breast, O, do thou kindly lay me low With him I love, at rest. SONG LIX. O MAY, THY MORN WAS NE'ER SAE SWEET, AJR. O MAY, THY MORN. I. O May, thy morn was ne'er so sweet, As the mirk night o' December ; For sparkling was the rosy wine, And private was the chamber : And dear was she I dare na name, But I will ay remember. And dear, Sfc. II. Arid 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 ! And here's to them, we dare na tell. The dearest o' the quorum. And here's to, SfC. SONG LX. O WAT YE WHA'S IN YON TOWN. AIB WAT YE WHA's IN YON TOWN? I. WAT ye wha's in yon town, Ye see the e'euin suu upon i 233 fhe fairest dame's in yon town. That e'enin sun is shining on. II. Now haply down yon gay green shaw. She wanders by yon spreading tree : How blest ye flow'rs that round her blaw, Ye catch the glances o' her e'e. III. How blest ye birds that round her sing,^ And welcome in the blooming year. And doubly welcome be the spring. The season to my Lucy dear. IV. The sun blinks blythe on yon town. And on yon bonnie braes of Ayr ; But my delight in yon town, And dearest bliss, is Lucy fair. V. 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^ VL My cave would be a lover's bower, Tho' raging winter rent the air; And she a lovely little flower. That I wad tent and shelter there. VII. sweet is she in yon town, Yon sinkin sun's gane down upon ; A fairer than's in yon town. His setting beam ne'er shone upon. VIII. If angry fate is sworn my foe, And suflPering I am doom'd to bear ; 1 careless quit aught else below, But spare me, spare me Lucy dear. U 3 2S4 IX. For while life's dearest blood is warm, Ae thought frae her shcill ne'er depart,. And she as fairest is her form ! She ha$ the truest, kindest heart*. SONG LXI. O MY LUVE'S LIKE A RED RED ROSE, AIR. RED REB ROSE. I. O Mv luve's like a red red rose^ That's newly spi;ung in June : my luve's like the melodie That's sweetly play'd in tune.. 11. As fair art thou, my bonnie lass* So deep in luve am I : And I will love thee still, my dear,. Till a' the seas gang dry. III. Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear^. And the rocks melt wi' the sun : 1 will love thee still, my dear. While the sands o' life shall run. IV. And fare thee weel, my only luve ! And fare thee weel a-while 1 And I will come again, my luve, Tho' it were ten thousand mile. " The heroine of this song, Mrs O. (formerly Miss^L. J.) died lately at Lisbon. This most accomplished and most lovely woman was worthy of this beautiful strain of sensibility, which will convey some impression of her attractions to other genera- tionsr This song is written in the character of her husband." CuRRit's Edit. Vol. IV. p. 243,, SONG LXIL DUNCAN GRAY. AIR. DUNCAN GRAY, L Duncan Gray came here to woo, Ha, ha, the wooing o*t,. On blythe yule night when we were fu', 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,. n. Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd : Ha, ha, &jC. Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig, Ha, ha, 8^c. Duncan sighed baith out and in, Grat his e'en baith bleert and blin*,, Spak o' lowpin o'er a linn j Ha, ha, 8fc, III. Time and chance are but a tide, Ha, ha, S^c. Slighted love is sair to bide. Ha, ha, Sfc. Shall I, like a fool, quoth he. For a haughty hizzie die ? She may gae to France for me 1 Ha, ha, Sfc IV. How it comes let Doctors tell. Ha, ha, 8^c, Meg grew sick as he grew heal, Ha, ha, (^c. Something in her bosom wrings, For relief a sigh she brings ; ^ And O, her e*en they spak sic things t Ha, ha, 8fc. V. Duncan was a lad o* grace, Ha, ha, SfC. Maggie's was a piteous case, Ha, ha, Sfc. Duncan could na be her death. Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath ; Now they're crouse and canty baith. Ha^ ha, Sfc. SONG LXIII. POORTITH CAULD, &c. AIR. 1 HAD A HORSE. I. O POORTITH cauld and restless love, Ye wreck my peace between ye : Yet poortith a' I could forgive, An 'twere na for my Jeanie. CHORUS. "why should fate sic pleasure have, Lif^s dearest bands untwining? Or tvhy sae svoeet a Jlow^r as love. Depend on Fortune's shining ? II. 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. O xvhy, Sfc. III. Iler een, sae bonny blue, betray How she repays my passion ; 237 But prudence is her o'erword ay, She talks of rank and fashion. O tuhy, SfC. IV. O jvha can prudence think upon, An' sic a lassie by him ! O wha can prudence think upon, And sae in love as I am ? O why, SfC. V. How blest the humble cotter's fate ! He wooes his simple dearie ; The sillie bogles wealth and state. Can never make them eerie. O xvhi/y S^c. SONG LXIV. O MIRK, MIRK, IS, &c. AIR. LORD GREGORY. I. O MIRK, mirk is this midnight hour,, And loud the tempest's roar ; A waefu' wand'rer seeks thy tow'r, Lord Gregory ope thy door. II. An exile frae her father's ha*. And a' for loving thee ; At least some pitij on me shaw. If love it may na be. III. Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the grove,' By bonny Irwine side. Where first I own'd th if virgin-love, I lang, lang had denied ? IV. How aften did'st thou pledge and voWf. Thou wad for ay be niine ! 238 And ray fond heart, itsel sae true. It ne'er mistrusted thine. V. Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory, And flinty is thy breast : Thou dart of heav'n that flashest by, O wilt thou give me rest ! VI. Ye mustering thunders from above, Your willing victim see ! But spare, and pardon my fause love. His wrangs to heaven and me* ! LXV. O KEN YE WHAT MEG, &c. AIR. BONNIE LASS WILL TOU LIE IN A BARRACK. L O KEN ye what Meg o* the Mill hag gotten. An' ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten ? She has gotten a coof wi' a claute o' siller, And broken the heart o' the barley Miller. IL The Miller was strappin, the Miller was ruddy; A heart 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. in. The Miller he hecht her, a heart heal and loving ; The laird did address her wi' matter mair moving, A fine pacing horse wi' a clear chained bridle, A whip by her side, and a bonnie side saddle. IV. O wae on the siller, it is sae prevailing ; And wae on the love that is fixed on a mailen ! * The idea of this song was taken from a beautiful ballad on the same subject by Dr Walcott 239 A tocher's nae word in a true lover's parle. But, gie me my love, and a fig for the warl! SONG LXVI. O LOGAN SWEETLY DID'ST THOU GLIDE. AIR. LOGAN WATER. I. O Logan sweetly did'st thou glide. That day I was my Willie's bride ; And years sinsyne hae o'er us run. Like Logan to the simmer sun- But now thy flovv'ry banks appear, Like drumlie winter, dark and drear. While my dear lad maun face his faes, Far, far frae me and Logan braes. IL Again the merry month o' May Has made our hills and vallies gay; The birds rejoice in leafy bowers, The bees hum round the breathing flowers: Blythe morning lifts his rosy eye. And evening's tears are tears of joy : My soul, delightless, a' surveys, W^hile Willie's far frae Logan braes. HL Within yon milk-white hawthorn bush, Amang her nestlings sits the thrush ; Her faithfu' mate will share her toil, Or wi' his song her cares beguile : But I wi' my sweet nurslings here, Nae mate to help, nae mate to cheer. Pass widow'd nights and joyless days. While Willie's far frae Logan braes. IV. O wae upon you, men o' state. That brethren rouse to deadly hatei 240 As ye make mony a fond heart mouro, Sae may it on your heads return ! How can your flinty hearts enjoy The widow's tears, the orphan's cry ? But soon may peace bring happy days, And Willie hame to Logan braes. SONG LXVII. THERE WAS A LASS, &c. I. There was a lass, and she was fair, At kirk and market to be seen ; When a' the fairest maids were met, The fairest maid was bonnie Jean. II. And ay she wrought her mammie's wark, And ay she sang sae merrily : The blythest bird upon the biish Had ne'er a lighter heart than she. in. But hawks will rob the tender jo3fS That bless the little lint-white's nest ; And frost will blight the fairest flow'rs. And love will break the soundest rest. IV. Young Robie was the brawest lad, The flow'r and pride of a' the glen ; And he had owsen, sheep, and kye, And wanton naigies nine or ten. V. He gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryste, He danc'd wi* Jeanie on the down; And lang ere witless Jeanie wist. Her heart was tint, her peace was stown. 241 VI. As in the bosom o* the stream, The moon-beam dwells at dewy e*en ; So trembling, pure, was tender love Within the breast o' bonny Jean. VII. And now she works her mammie's wark, And ay she sighs wi' care and pain ; Yet wist na what her ail might be. Or what wad mak her weel again. VIII. But did na Jeanie's heart loup light, An' did na joy blink in her ee, As Robie tauld a tale o' love Ae e'enin on the lily lea ? IX. 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. X. O Jeanie fair, I lo'e thee dear, O canst thou think to fancy me ! Or wilt thou leave thy mamraie's cot. And learn to tent the farms wi' me? XI. At barn or byre thou shalt na drudge^ Or naething else to trouble thee : But stray amang the heather bells. And tent the waving corns wi' me. XII. 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 ay between them twa. 342 SONG LXVIII. HAD I A CAVE, &c. AIR. ROBIN ADAIR. I. Had I a cave on some wild distant shore. Where the winds howl to the waves' dashing roar: There would I weep niy woes. There seek my lost repose, Till grief my eyes should close. Ne'er to wake more. II. Falsest of womankind, canst thou declare, AH thy fond-plighted vows fleeting as air; To thy new lover hie, Laugh o'er thy perjury, Then in thy bosom try, What peace is there ! 60NG ^XIX. SHOULD AULD ACQUAINTANCE, &c AIR. AULD J-ANG SYNE. I. Should auld acquaintance be forgot. And never brought to min' ? Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And days o' lang syne ? CHORUS. For auld lang syne, my deary For auld lang syne. Well tak a cup d kindness yet. For auld lang syne. IL We twa hae run about the braes. And put the gowans fine ; 243^ But we've wander'd raony a weary foot, Sin auld lang syne. For auldf S^c. III. We twa hae paidl't i' the burn, Frae mornin sun till dine ; But seas between as braid hae roar'd. Sin auld lang syne. For auld, 8fC, IV. And here's a hand, my trusty fiere, And gie's a hand o* thine ; And we'll tak^a right guid-willie waught, For auld lang syne. For auld, Sfc. V. And surely ye'll be your pmt stoup, And surely I'll be mine. And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,. For auld lang syne. For auld, S^c. SONG LXX. SCOTS WHA HAE WF WALLACE BLED, AIR. HEY TUTIE TATIE. T. Scots, wha hae wi* Wallace bled, Scots, wham Bruce has aften led ; Welcome to your gory bed, Or to glorious victorie. IL Now's the day, and now's the hour ; See the front o' battle lour ; See approach proud Edward's power- Edward ! chains and slaverie. X2 ^4# III. Wha win be a traitor knave ? Wha can fill a coward's grave ? Wha sae base as be a slave ? Traitor I coward! turn and flee. IV. Wha for Scotland's king and law Freedom's sword will strongly draw^ Free-man stand, or free-man fa', Caledonian ! on wi' me ! V. By oppression's woes and pains ! By your sons in servile chains ; We will drain our dearest veins. But they shall be shall be free- VI. Lay the proud usurpers low ! Tyrants fall in every foe ; Liberty's in every blow ! Forward ! let us do, or die 1 SONG LXXI. HUSBAND^ HUSBAND CEASE, &c, AIR. JO JANET. I. Husband, husband cease your strife^ Nor longer idly rave, sir ; Tho' I am your wedded wife. Yet I ara not your slave, sir. " One of two must still obey, Nancy, Nancy, Is it man or woman, say. My spouse, Nancy ?" II. If 'tis still the lordly word. Service and obedience ; SiS I'll desert my sov'reign lord, And so good b'ye allegiance ! ** Sad will I be, so bereft Nancy, Nancy, Yet I'll 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.'' IV. Well, sir, from the silent dead. Still I'll try to daunt you ; Ever round your midnight bed Horrid sprites shall haunt you. * I'll wed another like my dear Nancy, Nancy; Then all hell will fly for fear, My spouse, Nancy." SONG LXXII. CA' THE YOWES TO THE KNOWES, AIR. CA' the yOWB, &C. CHORUS. Ga* the yonves to the knowes, Ca them whare the heather grotueSf Ca them vohare the hurnie rotvesy My bonnie dearie. I. Hark, the mavis' evening sang;, Sounding Clouden's woods amang ; X 3 246 Then a faulding let us gan^, My bonnie dearie. Ca* the, Sfc. II- We'll gae down by Clouden side> Thro' the hazels spreading wide. O'er the waves that sweetly glide To the moon sae clearly. Ca they Sfc. III. Yonder Clouden's silent towers, Where at moonshine midnight hours, O'er the dewy bending flowers, Fairies dance sae cheery. Ca' the, S^c. IV. Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear ; Thou'rt to love and heaven sae dear, Nocht of ill may come thee near My bonnie dearie. Ca* the, Sfc. V. Fair and lovely as thou art, Thou has stown my very heart; I can die but caima part, My boonie dearie. Ca? the, ^c. SONG LXXIIL LET NOT WOMAN, &c. AIR. DUNCA GKAY. I. Let not woman e'er complain Of inconstancy in love; Let not woman e'er complain Fickle man is apt to rove : m Look abroad through nature's range^ Nature's mighty law is change ; Ladies would it not be strange Man should then a monster prove ? II. Mark the winds, and mark the skies ; Ocean's ebb and ocean's flow : Sun and moon but set to rise, Round and round the seasons go r Why then ask of silly man To oppose great nature's plan ? We'll be constant while we can You can be no more, you know. SONG LXXIV. MY CHLORIS, MARK, &c. AIR. MY LODGING IS ON THE COLD GROUND* I. My Chloris, mark how green the groves. The primrose banks how fair ; The balmy gales awake the flowers, And wave thy flaxen hair. II. The lav'rock shuns the palace gay, And o'er the cottage sings ; For nature smiles as sweet I ween. To shepherds as to kings. IIL Let minstrels sweep the skilfu* string. In lordly hghted ha* : The shepherd stops his simple reed, Blythe in the birken shaw. IV. The princely revel may survey Our rustic dance wi' scorn ; But are their hearts as light as oars Beneath the milk-white thorn i 24,9 V. The shepherd, in the flowery glen^ In shepherd's phrase will woo; The courtier tells a fairer tale. But is his heart as true ? VI. These wild woodrflowers I've pu'd, to deck That spotless breast of thine ; The courtier's gems raay witness love- But 'tis na love like mine. SONG LXXV. WHERE- ARE THE JOYS &c. AlRi SAW YE MY FATHER. I. Where are the joys I hae met in the morning, That danc'd to the lark's early song ? Where is the peace that awaited my wand'ring, At evening the wild woods among t II. No more a-winding the course of yon river. And marking sweet flow'retsso fair : No more I trace the light footsteps of pleasure,- But sorrow and sad sighing care. III. Is it that summer's forsakeivour vallies. And grim surly winter is near? No, no, the bees humming round the gay roses, Proclaim it the pride of the year. IV. 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 bosoua^ Is Jenny, fair Jenny alone. Mr V. Time cannot aid me, my griefs are immortal. Nor hope dare a comfort bestow : Come then, enamour'd and fond of my anguish, Enjoyment I'll seek in my woe. SONG LXXVI. CONTENTED WP LITTLE &c. AIR LUMPS O' PUDDING. I. CoKTENTED wi' little afid cantie wi' mair, Whenever I forgather wi' sorrow and care, I gi'e them a skelp, as they're creepin alang, Wi' a cog o' gude swats, and an auld Scottish sang. II. I whyles claw the elbow o' troublesome thought ; But man is a soger, and life is a faught : My mirth and gude numour are coin in my pouch, And my freedom's my lairdship nae monarch dare touch. IIL A towmond o* trouble, should that be my fa*, A night o' gude fellowship sowthers it a' : "When at the blythe end o' our journey at last, Wha the deil ever thinks o' the road he has past ? IV. Blind chance, let her snapper and stoy te 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 V 2S0* SONG LXXVII. NOW IN HER GREEN MANTLE See. AIR. there'll never BE PEACE TILLJAMIK COME HAME. I. Now in her green mantle blythe nature arraj^s. And listens the lambkins that bleat o'er the braes. While birds warble welcome in ilka green shaw ; But to me it's delighlless my Nannie's awa. II. 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 blavv ; They mind me o' Nannie and Nannie's awa. IIL Thou lav'rock that springs frae the dews of the lawn The shepherd to warn o' the grey-breaking dawn, And thou mellow mavis that hails the night fa', Give over for pity my Nannie's awa. IV. Come autumn, sae pensive, in yellow and grey, And soothe me wi' tidings o' nature's decay: The dark dreary winter, and wild-driving snaw, Alane can delight me now Nannie's awa. SONG LXXVIIL THEIR GROVES OF SWEET MYRTLE &c. AIR. HUMOURS OF THE GLEN. L Their groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon. Where bright beaming summers exalt the perfume. Far dearer to me yon lone glen o' green breckan, Wi' the burn stealing under the Tang yellow broom.. . 251 II. Tar dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers, Where the blue-bell and govvan lurk lowly unseen; For there lightly tripping amang the wild flowers, A-list'ning the linnet, aft wanders my Jean. III. Tho' rich is the breeze in their gay sunny vallies, And cauld Caledonia's blast on the wave ; Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud palace, What are they ? The haunts o' the tyrant and slave ! IV. The slave's spicy forests, and gold bubbling fountains. The brave Caledonian views wi' disdain ; Tie wanders as free as the winds of his mountains, Save love's willins fetters the chains o' his Jean. SONG LXXIX. 'TWAS NA HER BONNIE &c AIR. LADDIE LIE NEAR ME. I. *TwAS na her bonnie blue ee was my ruin ; Fair tho' she be, that was ne'er my undoing: '*Twas the dear smile when naebody did mind us, 'Twas the bewitching, sweet, stown glance o' kindness. II. Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me, Sair do I fear that despair maun abide me ; But tho' fell fortune should fate us to sever, Queen shall she be in my hosom for ever. III. Mary, I'm thine wi' a passion sincerest, And thou hast plighted me love the dearest ! And thou'rt the angel that never can alter, Sooner the sun in his motion would falter. SONG LXXX. KOW SPRING HAS CLAD THE GROVE *Cc AIR. FOR A* THAT, AND a' THAT. I. Now spring has clad the grove in green, And strew'd the lea wi' flowers : The furrow'd waving corn is seen Rejoice in fost'ring showers ; While ilka thing in nature join Their sorrows to forego, O why. thus all alone are mine The weary steps of woe ! II. 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. III. The little flow'ret*s peaceful lot, In yonder cliff that grows. Which, save the linnet's flight, I wot, Nae ruder visit knows. Was mine ; till love has o'er me past, And blighted a* my bloom. And now beneath the with'ring blast My youth and joy consume. IV. The waken'd lav'rock warbling springs. And climbs the early sky. Winnowing bly the "her dewy wings. In morning's rosy eye ; As little reckt I sorrow's pow'-r Until the flow'ry snare 255 O' witching love, in luckless hour. Made rae the thrall o' care. V. O had my fate been Greenland snows. Or Afric's burning zone, Wi* man and nature leagu'd 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 bosotn, save despair, Nae kinder spirits dwell. SONG LXXXI. LAST MAY A DRAW WOOER, &c. AIR. THE LOTHIAN LASSIE. I. Xa3T May a braw wooer cam down the lang glen. And sair wi' his love he did deave me ; I said there was naething I hated like men. The deuce gae wi'm, to believe me, believe rae, The deuce gae wi'm, to believe me. II. He spak o' the darts in my bonnie black e*en, And vow'd for my love he was dying; I said he might die when'he liked, for Jean, The Lord forgie me for lying, for lying. The Lord forgie me for lying ! HI. A weel-stocked mailen, himsel for the laird. And marriage alF-hand, were his proffers ; J never loot on that I kenn'd it, or car'd. But I thought I might hae waur offers, waur offers. But 1 thought I might hae wa^ur offers. IV. -But -what wad ye think ? in a fortnight or less. The deil tak his taste to gae near her ! Y 254 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. V. But a' the niest week as I fretted wi' care, I gaed to the tryste o' Dalgarnock, And wha but my fine fickle lover was there, I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock, a warlock, I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock. VI. But owre my left shoother I gae him a blink. Least neebors might say I was saucy ; My wooer he caper'd as he'd been in drink. And vow'd I was his dear lassie, dear lassie. And vow'd I was his dear lassie. VII. I spier'd for my cousin fu' couthy and sweet. Gin she had recover'd her hearin. And how her new shoon fit her auid shachl't feet. But, heavens ! how he fell a sweario, a swearin. But, heavens ! how he fell a swearin. VIII. He begged, for Gudesake ! I wad be his wife. Or else I wad kill him wi' sorrow : So e'en to preserve the poor body in life, I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morrow, I think I maun wed him to-morrow. SONG LXXXII. AWA Wr YOUR WITCHCRAFT, &c. AIR. BALINAMONA ORA, I. AwA wi' your witchcraft o' beauty's alarms. The slender bit beauty you grasp in your arras ; 2o3 O, gie me the lass that has acres o* charms, O, gie nae the lass wi* the weel-stockit farms, CHOHUS. Then hey for a lass tvi' a tocher, then hey for a lass toi" a tocher, Then hey for a lass m' a tocher, the nice yelloiv guineas for me. II. Your beauty's a flow'r, 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. Then hey, S^c. III. And e'en when this beauty your bosom has blest. The brightest o' beauty may cloy, when possest ; But the sweet yellow darlings wi' Geordie imprest, The langer ye hae them the mair they're carest. Then hey, Sfc. A VISION. As I stood by yon roofless tower, Where the wa'-flower scents the dewy air, Where th* howlet mourns iu her ivy bower, And tells the midnight moon her care. The winds were laid, the air was still, The stars they shot alang the sky ; The fox was howling on the hill, And the distant- echoing glens reply. The stream adown its hazelly path, Was rushing by the ruin'd wa's. Hasting to join the sweeping Nith, Whase distant roaring swells an' fa's. The cauld blue north was streaming forth Her lights, wi' hissing eerie din ; Athort the lift they start and shift. Like fortune's favours, tint as win. Y- 2. ^56 Bj heedless chance I turn'd mine eyes, And by the moon-beam, shook, to see= A stern and stalwart ghaist arise, Attir'd as minstrels wont to be. Had I a statue been o* stane, His darin look had daunted me : And on his bonnet grav'd was plain, The sacred posy Liberty ! And frae his harp sic strains did flow. Might rous'd the slumb'ring dead to hear ; But oh ! it was a tale of woe, As ever met a Briton's ear. He sang wi' joy the former day, He weeping wail'd his latter times : But what he said it was nae play, I winna ventur't in my rhymes. ADDRESS TO THE TOOTH-ACHE. My curse upon your venom'd stang. That shoots ray tortur'd gums alang.; And thro' my lugs gies mony a twang, Wi' gnawing vengeance;. Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang. Like racking engines ! When fevers burn, or ague freezes, Kheumatics gnaw, or cholic squeezes ; Our neighbour's sympathy may ease us, Wi' pitying moan ; But thee thoa hell o' a' diseases. Ay mocks our groan ! Adown my beard the slavers trickle ! I- throw the wee stools o'er the mickle. As round the fire the giglets keckle. To see me loup ; While raving raad, I wish a heckle Were in their doup. 257" O' a' the num'rous human dools, 111 har'sts, daft bargains, cutti^ stools, Or worthy friends rak'd i' the inools, Sad sight to see ! The tricks o' knaves, or tash 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 TOOTH-ACHE, surely bear'st the bell, Amang them a* 1 O thou grim mischief-making chieJ, 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 towraond's tooth-ache! THE JOLLY BEGGARS: .4 CANTATA, RECITATIVO. When lyart leaves bestrow the yird. Or wavering like the Bauckie-bird*, / Bedim cauld Boreas' bla.-.t ; 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'si held the splore, To drink their orra duddies: Wi' quaffing and laughing, They ranted and they sang; Wi' jumping and thumping. The very girdle rang. First, neist the fire, in auld red rags, - Ane sat ; weel brac'd wi' mealybags, . And knapsack a' in order ; Y 3 The old Scotch name for the Bat. 25a His doxy lay within his arm, Wi' usquebae an' blankets warm. She blinket on her sodger : An' ay he gies the tozie drab The tither skelpin' kiss, While she held up her greedy gab Just like an auraos dish. Ilk smack still, did crack still, Just like a cadger's whip, Then staggering and swaggering He roar'd this ditty up AIR. soldier's joy. I. I ;am a son of Mars who have been in many wars, , And shew my. cuts and scars wherever I come ; This here was for a wench, and that other in a trenchj When welcoming the French at the sound of the drum. Lai de daudlf, 4'C* II, My prenticeship I past where ray leader breath'd liis 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 low was laid at the sound of the drum, Lai de daudlCf (^t.. HI. 1 lastly/was with Curtis, among the floating batt'ries. And there I left for witness an arm and a limb ; Yet let my country need me, wiih Eliiot to head me, I'd clatter on my stumps at the sound of a drum. Lai de daudle, S^c. ly.. And now tbo' I must beg with a woocfEn arm and leg, And many a tatter'd rag hanging over my bum, I'm as happy with%y wallet, my bottle and my callet, As when 1 us'd in scarlet to follow a drum. Lai de dandle ^ S^c, 259 V. What tho' with hoary lodes, I must stand the winter . shocks, f Beneath the woods and rocks oftentimes for a home, When the tother bag I sell, and the tother bottle tell,. I could meet a troop of hell, at the sound of the drum. Lai de daudle, S^c. RECITATIVO. He ended ; and the kebars sheuk, Aboon the chorus roar ; While frighted rations backward leuk, . And seek the benmost bore ; A fairy fiddler frae the neuk, He skirl'd out encore ! But up arose the martial chuck. And laid the loud uproar. AIB. SOLDIER LADDI2. . I. I once was a maid, tho' I cannot tell when, And still my delight is in proper young men ; Some one of a troop of dragoons was my daddie. No wonder I'm fond of a sodger laddie. Singi Lai de daudle, Sfc. U. 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 soJger laddie. Sing, Lai de daudle, S^c, 111. But the godly old chaplain left him in the lurch. The sword I foresook for the sake of the church. He ventur'd the soul, and 1 risked the bodi/, 'Twas then I pjov'd false to my sodger laddie. Sing, Lai de daudle, S^a IV. Full soon I grew sick of my sanctified sot, Xiie regiment at large for a husband I got; 260 From the gilded spontoon to the fife I was ready, I asked no more but a sodger laddie. Sing, Lai de dandle, S^c. V. But the peace it reduc'd me to beg in despair, Till I met my old boy at a Cunningham fair; His rags regimental they flutter'd so gaudy, My heart it rejoic'd at my sodger laddie. Sing, Lai de dandle, Sfc. VI. And now I have liv'd 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, Lai de daitdlc, SfC. RECITATIVO. Then neist outspak a raucle carlin, Wha kent fu' weel to cleek the sterling. For mony a pursie she had hooked, And had in mony a well been ducked. Her dove had been a Highland laddie, , But weary fu' the waefu' woodie ! Wi' sighs and sobs she thus began To wail her braw John Highlandman. AIR. O AN YE WERE DEAD, GUDEMAN. I. 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 hravi John. Highlandman I Sing, ho my braw John Highlandman ! There*s not a lad in a' the Inn* Was match for my John Highlandman. H. With his philibeg an' tartan plaid. An' gude claymore down by his side, 261 The ladies' hearts he did trepan, My gallant braw John Highlandmauo Sing, hey^ 8^c. III. We ranged a' from Tweed to Spey, An' liv'd like lords and ladies gay ; For a Lawland face he feared nane, My gallant braw John Highlandman* Sing, hey, SfC. IV. 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, Sjc. V. But, oh ! they catch'd him at the last. And bound him in a dungeon fast ; My curse upon them every one, They've hang'd my braw John Highlandman Sing, hey, Sfc. VI. And now a widow, I must mourn The pleasures that will ne'er return ; No comfort but a hearty can, When I think on John Highlandman, Sing, hey, S^c. RECITATIVO. A pigmy scraper wi' his fiddle, Wha us'd to trysts and fairs to driddle, Her strappan limb and-gausy middle, He reach'd nae higher,. Had hoi'd his beartie like a riddle, An' blawn't on fire. Wi' hand on haunch, an' upward e'e. He croon'd his gamut, one, two, three, Then in an Arioso key, TJie wee Apollo. 26^ Set off \vi' Allegretto glee, His giga solo. AIR. WHISTLE OWRE THE LAVE O'X. I. Let me ryke up to dight that tear, An' go wi' me to be my dear. An' then your every care and fear May whistle owre the lave o't. CHORUS. / am ajiddler to my trade, An' a' the tunes that e'er I plai/d. The sxKeeteat still to wife or maid. Was whistle o'er the lave o't. II. At kirns an' weddings we'se be there, An' O ! sae nicely's we will fair ; We'll bouse about till Daddie Care Sing, whistle owre the lave o't. / am, Sfc, UL Sae merrlly's the banes we'll pyke, An' sun oursels about the dyke. An' at our leisure when ye like. We'll whistle owre the lave o't. J am, 8fc. VI. But bless me wi' your heav'n o' charms, And while I kittle hair on thairms, Hunger, cauld, an' a' sic harms, May whistle owre the lave o't. / am, Sfc. RECITATIVO. Her charms had struck a sturdy Caird, As weel as poor Gutscraper; He takes the Hddler by the beard. And draws a roosty rapier He swoor by a' was swearing worthy. To speet him like a pliver, 263 Unless'Tie would from that time forth. Relinquish her for ever. Wi' ghastly e'e, poor tweedle-dee Upon his hunkers bended, And pray'd for grace wi' ruefu' face, An' so the quarrel ended. But tho' his little heart did grieve, When round the tinker prest her, He feign'd to snirtle in his sleeve, When thus the Caird address'd her. AIR. CLOUT THE CAUDKON. I. My bonny lass I work in brass, A tinker is my station ; ^'ve travell'd round all Christian ground 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 an' clout the caudron. I\)e ta'en the gold, 4"C II. Despise that shrimp, that weather'd irap, Wi' a' his nois^e an' scrapin'. An' tak' a share wi' those that bear The budget an' the apron. An' bi^ that stowp ! my faith and lioupe, An' by that dear Keilbaigie*, If e'er ye want, or meet wi' scant, May I ne'er weet my craigie. An' by that stoxvp, 8^c, BECITATIVO. The Caird prevail'd th' unblushing fair In his embraces sunk. Partly wi' love o'ercome sae sair, An' partly she was drunk. * A peculiar sort of whisky so called ; a great favourite witii JPoosie-Nansie's clube. 264- Sir Violino with an air, That shew'd a man of spunk, W'sh'd unison between the pair, An' made the bottle clunk To their health that night. But hurchin Cupid shot a shaft That play'd a dame a shavie, The fiddler rak'd her fore and aft, Behint the chicken cavie- Her lord, a wight o' Homer's craft*, Tho' limping wi' the spavie. He hirpl'd up, and lap like daft, An' shor'd them Dainty Davie O boot that night. He was a care-defying blade As ever Bacchus listed, Tho' fortune sair upon him laid , His heart she ever miss'd it. He had no wish but to be glad, Nor want but when he thirsted; He hated nought but to be sad. And thus the Muse suggested His sang that night. AIR. FOR a' that AN' a' THAT- I. I am a bard of no regard, Wi' gentle folks, an' a' that ; But Homer-like, the glowran byke, Frae town to town I draw that. CHORUS. For a* that, an a* that. An' twice as muckle's a' that f Tve lost but ane, Pve ttva behin*, Tve wife enough^r a' that. ir. I never drank the Muses' stank, Castalia's burn, an' a' that ; Homer is allowed to be the oldest ballad singer on record. 265 But there it streams, and richly reams, My Helicon I ca' that. For a that, Sfc, III. Great love I bear to a' the fair, Their humble slave, an' a' that; But lordly will, I hold it still A mortal sin to thraw that. For a' that, Sfc. IV. In raptares sweet, this hour we meet, Wi' mutual love an' a' that; But for how lang the Jiie may stang. Let inclination law that. For a that, Sfc V, Their tricks and crft have put me daft. They've ta'en me in, an' a' that ; . But clear your decks, an' here's the sex! 1 like thejads for a' that. For a' that, an a' that. An* twice as mucMe's ' that. My dearest bluid, to do them guid. They're voelcome tilVtJor a' that. RECITATIVO. So sung the bard and 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' found them Impatient for the chorus. Z 266- AIR. JOLLY MORTALS FILL YOUR CLASSES, I. See ! the smoking bowl before us, Mark our jovial ragged ring ! Round and round take up the chorus. And in raptures let us sing. CHORUS. Afigjbr those hy laxv protected ! Liberty's a glorious Jeast ! Courts for coivards voere erected. Churches built to please the priest. II. What is title ? what is treasure? What is reputation's care ? If we lead a life of pleasure, 'Tis no matter how or tohere J A Jig, Sfc. III. With the ready trick and fable. Round we wander all the day ; And at night, in barn or stable. Hug our doxies on the hay. AJlg/Sfc, IV- Does the train-attended carriage Through the country lighter rove ? Does the sober bed of marriage Witness brighter scenes of love ? Afg, Sfc. V. Life is all a variorum, We regard not how it goes ; Let them cant about decorum Who have characters to lose. A Jig, Sfc. VI. Here*s to budgets, bags and wallets I Here's to all the wandering train I Here's our ragged brats and collets ! One and all cry out, Araen ! A Jig, S^c. HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER. THOU, wha in the heav'ns dost dwell, Wha, as it pleases best thysel', Sends ane to heaven and ten to hell, A' for thy glory. And no for ony guid or ill They've done afore thee I 1 bless and praise thy matchless might. Whan thousands thou hast left in night. That I am here afore thy sight. For gifts an' grace, A burnin' an' a shinin' light. To a* this place. What was I, or my generation. That I should get such exaltation ? I wha deserve sic just damnation, For broken laws. Five thousand years *fore my creation. Thro* Adam's cause. When frae my mither's womb I fell. Thou might ha'e plunged me in hell. To gnash my gums, to weep and wail. In burnin' lake, Whar damned devils roar and yell, Chain'd to a stake. Yet I am here a chosen sample, To show thy grace is great and ample ; I'm here a pillar in thy tenaple. Strong as a rock, A guide, a buckler, an' example To a' thy flock. Z2 ^ 28 But yet, O L d f confess I must. At times I'm fash'd wi' fleshly lust An' sometimes too, wi' warldly trust,. Vile self gets in ; But thou remembers we are dust, Defil'd in sin. Besides, I farther maun allow, Wi Lizie's lass, three times I trow; But, L d, that Friday I was few. When 1 came near her, Or else, thou kens, thy servant true Wad ne'er ha'e steer'd her* Maybe thou lets this Jleshly tJiorn, Beset thy servant e'en and morn. Lest he owre high and proud shou'd turn, 'Cause he's sae gifted i If sae, thy han* maun e'en be born, Until thou lift it. L d bless thy chosen in this place, For here thou hast a chosen race ; But G d confound their stubborn face. And blast their name, Wha bring thy elders to disgrace, An' public shame. L d mind G***n H******n's deserts. He drinks, an' swears, an' plays at carts, Yet has sae naony takin' arts, Wi' grit an' sma*, Frae G d an' priest the people's hearts He steals awa'. An' whan 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 and his store, Kail an' potatoes. ^9 X, A, hear ray earnest cry an' pray'r, Against that presbyt'ry o' Ayr; Thy strong right hand, L J, make it bare, Upo' their heads, L d, weigh it down, and dinna spare. For their misdeeds. O L d my G d, that glib-tongu'd A g My very heart an* saul are quakin', To think how we stood sweatin', shakin'. An' p d wi' dread,. While he, wi' hingin' lips and snakin'. Held up his head. L d, in the day of vengeance try hinr,, L d, visit them wha did employ him, An' pass not in thy mercy by 'era, Nor hear their pray'r; But for thy people's sake destroy 'em. And dinna spare. But, L d, remember me and mine Wi' mercies terap'ral and divine. That I for gear and grace may shine, Excell'd by nane. An' 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 grun. Observe wha's standing wi' him. Your brunstane devilship, I see. Has got him there before ye ; Z 3 270 But ha'd your nine-tail cat a-wee. Till ance you've heard my story. Your pity I will not implore, For pity ye have nane ; Justice, alas ! has gi'en him o'er, And mercy's day is gaen. But hear me, Sir, de'il as ye are. Look something to your credit; A coof like him wou'd stain your name. If it were kent ye did it. THE KIRK'S ALARM*. yi SATIRE. 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 no sense must be nonsense. Dr Macf , Dr Mac, you should stretch on a rack, To strike evil doers wi* terror ; To join faith and sense upon ony pretence. Is heretic, damnable error. 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 RobJ is its ruin. Drymple mild^, Drymple mild, tho' 3'^our heart's like a child. And your life like the new driven snaw, Yet that winna save ye, au:d 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 ; * This Poem was written a shcrt time after the publication of Br M'Gill's Essay. fDrM'G 11. ^R tA n. Dr D c jj Mr R 11. 271 Then lug out your ladle, deal brimstone like adle, And roar every note of the damn'd. Simper James*, Simper James, leave the fair Killie dames. There's a holier chace in your view; I'll lay on your head, that the pack ye'll soon lead, For puppies like you there's but fevr. Singet Sawneyf , Singet Sawney, are ye herding the penny. Unconscious what evils await, Wi' a jump, j'ell, and howl, alarm every soul, For the foul thief is just at your gate. Daddy Auld:j:, Daddy Auld, there's a tod in the fauld, A tod meikle waur than the Clerk ; Tho' ye can do little skaith, ye'll be in at the death, And gif ye canna bite, ye may bark. Davie Bluster^, Davie Bluster, if for a saint ye do muster, The corps is no nice of recruits; Yet to worth let's be just, royal blood ye might boast. If the ass was the king of the brutes. Jamie Goose||, Jamie Goose, ye ha'e made but toom roose. In hunting the wicked Lieutenant ; But the Doctor's your mark, for the Lord's holy ark He has cooper'd and cawd a wrang pin in't. Poet Willief , Poet Willie, gi' 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 sh t. Andro Gouk**, Andro Gouk, ye may slander the book, And the book not the war, let me tell ye ; Ye are rich, and look big, but lay by hat and wig. And ye'll hae a calf's head o' sma' value. Mr M' y. f Mr M y. ^ Mr A d. Mr G , O e. || Mr Y g, C k. \ Mr P s, A r. Dr A. M IL 272 Barr Steennie*, Barr Steennie, what mean ye ? what mean ye ? If ye'll meddle nae mair wi' the matter, Ye may ha'e some pretence to havin's and sense, Wi* people wha ken ye nae better. Irvine sidef , Irvine side, wi' your turkey-cock pride, Of manhood but sma' is your share ; Ye've the figure, 'tis true, ev'n your faes will allow, And.your friends they dare grant you nae mair. Muirland Jock J, Muirland Jock, when the L d 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 WilliJ, Holy Will, there was wit i' your skull, When ye pilfer'd the alms of the poor ; The. timmer is scant, when ye're ta'en for a saint, Wha should swing in a rape for an hour. / Calvin's sons, Calvin's sons, seize your sp'ritual guns, Ammunition you never can need ;. Your hearts are the stuff, will be powther enough. And your skulls are storehouses o' lead. Poet Burns, Poet Burns, wi' your priest-skelping turns, Why desert ye your auld native shire ; Your muse is a gipsie, e'en tho' she were tipsie. She cou'd ca' us nae waur than we are. THE TWA HERDS 11 . a' ye pious godly flocks. Well fed on pastures orthodox, * Mr S n Y , B r. f Mr S h, G . ^ Mr S- d. An E r in M e. 1 This piece was among the first of our Author's productions which he submitted to the public, and was occasioned by a dis- pute between two Clergymen, near Kilmarnock. 275 Wha now will keep you f'rae the fox. Or worrying tykes, Or wha will tent the waifs and crocks. About the dykes I The twa best herds in a' the wast. That e'er ga'e gospel horn a blast. These five and twenty summers past, O ! dool to tell, Ha'e had a bitter black out-cast I Atween themsel. O, M y, man, and wordy R II, How could you raise so vile a bustle, Yie'll see how new-light herds will whistle. And think it fine ! The Lord's cause ne'er gat sic a twistle. Sin* I ha'e min'. O ! Sirs I whae'er wad ba'e expekit, Your duty ye wad sae neglekit. Ye wha were ne'er by lairds respekit. To wear the plaid. But by the brutes themselves elekit. To be their guide. What flock wi' M y's flock could rank, Sae hale and hearty every shank, Nae poison'd sour Arminian stank, He let them taste, Frae Calvin's well, ay clear they drank, O' sic a feast ! The thummart, willcat, brock and tod, Weel kenn'd his voice thro' a' the wood, He smell'd their ilka hole and road, Baitii out and in. And weel he lik'd to shed their bluid, And sell their skin. What herd like R 11 tell'd his tale, His voice was heard thro' muir and dale He keod the Lord's sheep, ilka tail, O'er a' the height, 27* And saw girt they were sick or hale. At the first sight. He fine a mangy sheep could scrub, Or nobly fling the gospel club, And new-light herds could nicely drub, Or pay their skin. Could shake them o'er the burning dub. Or heave them in. Sic twa, O! do I live to see't, Sic famous twa should disagreet. And names, like villain, hypocrite ! Ilk ither gi'en. While new-light herds wi' laughin' spite. Say neither's liein*. A' ye wha tent the gospel fauld, There's D n deep, and P s shaul, But chiefly thou, apostle A d. We trust in thee. That thou wilt work them, hot and cauld, Till they agree. Consider, Sirs, how we're beset, There's scarce a new herd that we get. But comes frae *mang that cursed set; I winna name, I hope frae heav'n to see them yet In fiery flame. D e has been lang our fae, M* 11 has wrought us meikle wae. And that curs'd rascal ca'd M* e. And baith the S s, That aft ha'e made us black and blae, Wi' vengefu' paws. Auld W w lang has hatch'd mischief. We thought ay death wad bring relief. But he has gotten, to our grief, Ane to succeed him, A chield wha'll soundly buff our beef; 1 meikle dread him. 275 And raony a ane that I could tell, Wha fain would openly rebel, Forby turn-coats amang oursel. There's S h for ane, I_ doubt he's but a grey nick quill. And that ye'll fin'. O ! a' ye flocks, o'er a' the hills, By mosses, meadows, moors, and fells. Come join your counsel and your skills. To cow the lairds, And get the "brutes the power themsels. To choose their herds, Then orthodoxy yet may prance. And learning in a wood}"^ 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 Dalrymple's eloquence, M' U's close nervous excellence, M*Q e's pathetic manly sense, And guid M' h, Wl' S th wha thro' the heart can glance. May a' pack aff. LETTER To JOHN GOUDIE, KILMARNOCK: ON THE PUBLICATION OF HIS ESSAYS. O GouDiE ! terror of the Whigs, Dread of black coats and rev'rend wigs. Sour Bigotry, on her last legs, Girnin' looks back, Wishin* the ten Egyptian plagues Wad seize you quick. 276 Poor gapin', glowrin* Superstition, / Waes me ! she's in a sad condition ; Fy, bring Black Jock, her state physician. To see her w-t-er ; Alas ! there's ground o' great suspicion She'll ne'er get better. Auld Orthodoxy lang did grappl^ But now she's got an unco ripple. Haste, gie her name up i' the chapel. Nigh unto death ; See how she fetches at the thrapple, An' gasps for breath. Enthusiasm's past redemption, 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* are the chief, Wha are to blame for this mischief; But gin the Lord's ain focks gat leave, A toom tar barrel. An' twa red peats wad send relief. An' end the quarrel. THE INVENTORY; IN ANSWER TO A MANDATE BY THE SURVEYOR OF THE TAXES. [The lines printed in Italics are omitted in the Liverpool Edition.] Sir, as your mandate did request, I send you here a faithfu' list O' gudes and gear, an* a' my graith, To which I'm clear to gie my aith. Dr Taylor of Norwich, ^77 Imprimisy then, for carriage cattle, I have four brutes o' gallant mettle. As ever drew afore a pettle. My *Lan'-(ifores a gude auld has-heen^ An' wight an' wilfu' a' his days been. My fLan^-aliin's a weel gaun fillie, That aft has borne me hame frae KillieJ, An' your auld burrough mony a time. In days when riding was nae crime But aiice whan in my wooing pride I like a blockhead boost to ride The wilfu* creature sae I pat to, (L_ d pardon a* mij sins an* that to !) I play d mijjillie sic a shavie, She*s fl' bedeviled ivi' the spavie. My Furr-ahins a wordy beast, As e'er in tug or tow was trac'd. The fourth's a Highland Donald hastie, A d n'd red wud Kilburnie blastie ; Foreby a Cotvt o' Cowt's the wale, As ever ran afore a tail. If he be spar'd to be a beast, He'll draw me fifteen pun' at least. Wheel carriages I ha'e but few, Three carts, an' twa are feckly new; Ae auld wheelbarrow, mair for token, Ae leg an' balth the trams are broken ; 1 made a poker o' the spin'le. An' my auld mother brunt the trin'le. For men, I've three mischievous boys. Run de'ils for ra^tin' an' for noise ; A gaudsman ane, a thrasher t'other, Wee Davock bauds the nowt in fother. I rule them as I ought, discreetly. An' aften labour them completely ; A a * The fore horse on the left-hand in the plough. t The hindmost on the left-hand in the plough. 4 Kilmarnock. The bindmost on the right-hand in the plough. } 2Y8 Ah' ay on Sundays duly nightly, I on the questions targe them tightly ; Till faith, wee Davock's turn'd sae gleg, Tho' scarcely langer than your leg, He'll screed you aff Effectual Calling, As fast as ony in the dwalling. I've nane in female servan' station, (L d keep me ay frae a' temptation!) I ha'e nae wife ; and that my bliss is, An' ye have laid nae tax on misses ; An' then if kirk folks dinna clutch me, I ken the devils t ae honest man, ** To grace this damn'd infernal clan.'* Mr Grose was excetdingly corpulent, and ued to rally him- self, with the greatest good humour, on the singular retunditjr of hit figure. 2K By Adamliill a glance he threw * L d, G d !'' quoth he, " I have it now, ** There's just the man I want, in faith," And quickly stoppit Ilanken's breath. EPITAPH N A COCNTRT LAIRD, NOT quiTE SO WISE AS SOLOUOH. Bless Jesus Chrfst, O C********, With grateful lifted eyes. Who said that not the soul alone, But bod^ too must rise. For had he said, " the soul alone " From death I will deliver,'* Alas, alas! O C********, Then thou Iiadst slept for ever T PROLOGUE, SPOKEN BY MR WOODS, ON HIS BENEFIT NIGHT, Monday y \6th April, 1787. When by a generous public'^s kind acclaim, That dearest meed is granted honest fame ; When here your favour is the actor's lot, Nor even the man in private life forgot ; AVhat breast so dead to heav'nly Virtue's glow. But heaves impassioned with the grateful throe. Poor is the task to please a barb'rous throng. It needs no Siddons' powers in Southern's song ; But here an antient nation fam'd afar. For genius, learning high, as great in war- Hail, Caledonia, name for ever dear ! Before whose sons I'm honoured 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. A a 3 282 Philosophy, no idle pedant dream, Here holds her search by heav'n-taught Reason'*- beam; Here History paints, with elegance and force. The tide of Empire's fluctuating course ; Here Douglas forms wild Shakespeare into olan, And Harley* rouses-all the god in man. When well-form'd taste, and sparkling wit unite, With manly lore, or female beauty bright, (Beauty, where faultless symmetry and grace, Can 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 ; ^or 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 1 Strong may she glow with all her antient fire ; May every son be worthy of his sire ; Firm may she rise with generous disdain At Tyranny's, or direr Pleasure's chain; . Still self-dependent in her native shore, 1 Bold may she brave grim Danger's loudest roar, > Till Fate the curtain drop on worlds to be no more.j SGNG. THE DE'IL CAM' FIDDLING, &c. "WRITTEN AND SUNG AT A GENERAL MEETING OF THE EXCISE-OFFICERS IN SCOTLAND. I. The de'il cam' fiddling thro' the town,: And danc'd awa' wi' the Exciseman ; * The Man of feeling, written by Mr M'Kcmle. 283' And ilk auld wife cry'd " Auld Mahoun ! * We wish you luck o' the prize, man ! CHORUS. " We'll male' our maut, and bretv our drink, " We'll dance and sing and rejoice, man ; *' And mony thanks to the muckle black de^il, ** That danc'd avca' iki' the Exciseman. II. "^ There's threesome reels, and foursome reels, " There's hornpipes and strathspeys, man, " But the ae best danee e'er cam' to our Ian', " Was the de'il's awa wi' the Exciseman ! ," We'll mak* our maut, ^c." SONG. ON A BANK OF FLOWERS, &c. I. On a bank of flowers, one summer's day, For summer lightly dress'd The youthful blooming Nelly lay. With love and sleep oppress'd. When Willie wander'd thro' the wood, Who for her favour oft had su'd. He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'dj And trembl'd where he stood ! II. Her closed eyes, like weapons sheath'd. Were seal'd in soft repose ; Her lips still as they fragrant breath'd, . It richer dy'd the rose. The springing lilies sweetly press'd. Wild wanton kiss'd her rival breast; He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush 'd. His bosom ill at rest ! III. Her robes, light waving in the breezej Her tender limbs embrace, 284 Her lovely form, her native ease. All harmony and grace. Tumultuous tides his pulses roll, A flutt'ring ardent kiss he stole ; He gazM, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd, And sigh'd his very soul ! IV. As flies the partridge from the brake. On fear inspired wings ; So Nelly startling half awake, Away affrighted springs. But Willie follow'd as l.e should, He overtook her in the wood, He vow'd, he pray'd, he found the maid Forgiving all and good ! GLOSSARY. The ch and gh have always the guttural sound. The s und of the English diphthong oo, is connmonly spelled on. The French a, a sound which often occurs in the Scottish language, is marked oo, or a/. The a in genuine Scottish words, except when forming a diphthong, or fol- lowed by an e mute after a single consonant, sounds ge- nerally like the broad English a in days of other years Auldfarran, or auld farrantf sagacious, cunning, pru- dent A-vcC, at all Aiva', away Awfu', awful Aivn, the beard of barley, oats, &c. Aivnie, bearded Ayonti beyond B Ba', ball Backlins comin', coming back, returning Bad, did bid Bade, endured, did atay Baggie, the belly Bainie having large bones, stout Bairn, a child Bairntime, the time in whick a woman bears children 2 Saith, both Bane, bone Bang, an effort Bardie, dimint4tlve of bard Barest, barefooted Barket, barked Bark'm, barking Barm'ie, of, or like barm Bashfu*, bashful Batch, a crew, a gang Battj, botts Batidronj, a cat Bauk, a cross beam ; Bauk- en', the end of a beam Bauld. bold; Bauldly, boldly Baivk, bank Baivj'nt, having a white stripe down the face Be, to let be, to give over, to cease Beastie, dimin. of beast Beet, to add fuel to fire Be/a*, to befall Be/lint, or behin*, behind Belly fu* belly full Belyve, by and by Ben, into the spence or par- lour Btnlomond, a noted moun- tain in Dunbartonshire Be't' be it Bethankit, the grace after meat, also, praised Beuk, a book Bicker, a kind of wooden dish, a short race Biel, orbield, shelter Bien, wealthy, plentiful Big, to build ; Bigget, built Biggin, building, a house Bill, a bull Billie, a brother, a young fellow Bing, a heap of grainy pota> toes* dec. Blrkie, a clever fellow Birring, the noise of part- ridges, &c. when they spring Bit, crisis, nick of time Bizz, a bustle, to buzz Blajtie, a shrivelled dwarf, a term of contempt Blastit, blasted Blate, bashful, sheepish Blather, bladder Blaud, a flat piece of any thing ; to slap Blaiu, to blow, boast Bkezing, blazing Bleert and blin*, blecred and blind Bleerit, bleared, sore witlv rheum Bltllum, idle talking fellow Blejsin, blessing Blether, to talk idlyj non-^ sense Bleth'rin, talking idly Blink, a little while, a smil- ing look; to look kindly,, to shine by fits Blinker, a term of contempt Blinkin, smirking Bluegoiun, one of those beg- gers who get annually, on the King's birth-day, a blue cloak or gown with a badge Blutd, blood; Blmdy, bloody Bluntie, snivelling Blt/pe, a shred, a large piece Bock, to vomit, to gush in- termittently Backed, gushed, vomited Bodle, a small old coin Bogles, spirits, hobgoblins Bonnie, or bonny^ handsome^ beautiful ^oi/zV, handsomely, beauti- fully Bonnoci, or bannock, a kind of thick cake of bread Board, a board Booriree, the shrub elder, planted much of old in hedges of barn-yards, &c. Boost, behoved, must needs Botch, an angry tumour Bother, to pother Bouk, vomiting, rushing out .Bow-kail, cabbage Bow't, bended, crooked Brackens, fern Brae, a declivity, a precipice, the slope of a hill Braid, broad Braik, a kind of harrow Braindge, to run rashly for- ward Braind'gt, reeled forward Brak, bioke, made insolvent Branks, a kind of wooden curb for horses Brash, a sudden illness Brats, coarse cloaths, rags, children Brattle, a short race, hurry, fury Braiv, fine, handsome Branuly, or braivlie, very well, finely, heartily Braivnie, stout, brawny Braxie. a mark in sheep, Sec. Breakin, breaking Breastie, dimin. of breast Breastit, did spring up or forward Breathin, breathing Breckurt, fern Bretf, an invulnerable or ir- resistable spell Breeks, breeches Brent, smooth Breivin, brewing Brie, juice, liquid Brig, a bridge Brunstane, brimstone Lrisket, the breast, or bosom Brither, a brother Brogue, a hum, a trick Broo, broth, liquid, water Broose, a race at country weddings, who shall first reach the bridegroom's house, on returning from church Brugh, a burgh Brui/siie, a broil, a combus- tion Brunt, did burn Brust, to burst Blight, a pen Bughtin-time, the time of col- lecting the sheep in the pens to be milked Buckskin, an inhabitant of Virginia Buirdiy, stout made, broad- built Bum clock, a humming beetle that flies in the summer evenings Bummin, humming as bees Butnmler, a blunderer Bummlin, blundering Bure, did bear Burn, water, a rivulet hurneavin, i. e. burn the wind, a blacksmith Burnie, diminutive of burn , Buikit, dressed Buss, bush, shelter Eussle, a bustle; to bustle But, without But an' ben, the country kit- ci en and parlour By hi jt-//", lunatic, distracted Byre, a cow-house 'Ca*, to call, to name, to drive Cadger, a carrier Cadie, or Caddie, a person, .1 young fellow CaJ, chaff Caird, a tinker Cairn, a loose heap of stones Calf-ivard, a small inclosure for caives Callan, a boy Caller, fresh, sound Cam, did come Canna, cannot Connie, gentle, mild, dex- trous Cannilie, dexterously, gently Cantharidian, made of can- tharides Caniie, or canty, cheerful merry Cantraip, a charm, a spell Cap-stane, cop-stone, key- stone Careerin, cheerfully Caresiin, caressing Carlin, a stout old woman Carryin, carrying Cartes, cards Ca\t, or ca'd, called, driven, c'alved Caald, cold Caup, a wooden drinking vessel jCesses, taxes Chanter, a part of a bag-pipe C/iantin, chanting C/iap, a person, a fellow, a blow Chearft^ , cheerfully Cheekit, cheeked Cheep, a chirp ; to chirp Chiel, a young fellow Chimla, or chimlie, a firegrate Chimlo'lug, the fire-side Chitiering, shivering, tremb- ling Chocking, choaking Choiv, to chew ; c/ieei for chonu, side by side Chuffie, fat-faced Clachan, a small village about a church, a hamlet CJaise, or claes, cloaths Cla^ih, cloth, claithing, cloth- ing Clap, clapper of a mill Clarket, wrote Clash, an idle tale, the story of the day Clatter, to tell little idle sto- ries; an idle story Claut, to clean, to scrape Clauted, scraped Claiv, to scratch deed, to clothe Clinkin, jerking, clinking Clinkumbell, who rings the church bell Clips, sheers Clishmaclaver, idle conversa- tion Clock, to hatch ; a beetle Clockin, hatching Cloet, the hoof of a cow, sheep, &c. Clootie, an old name for the devil Clour, a bump or swelling after a blow Cluds, clouds Coaxin, wheedling Coble, a fishing boat Cockernony, a lock of hair tied up on a girl's head, a cap Cog, a wooden dish Coggie, diminutive of cog CoiLA, from Kyle, a district ot Ayrshire, so called, saith tradition, from Coi! or Coilus, a Pictish monarch Collie, a general, and some- times a particular name for country curs Collies hangie, quarrelling Commaun, command Cood, the cud Coof, or Cuif, a blockhead, a ninny Cookit, appeared and disap- peared by fits Coast, did cast Cootie, a wooden kitchen dish, also, those fowls, whose legs are clad with feathers, are said to be sootie Corbie, a species of crow Core, corps, party, clan Corn't, fed with oats Cotter, the inhabitant of a cot-house or cottage Couthie, kind, lovij)g Cove, a cave Cowe, to terrify, to keep un- der, to lop ; a fright, a branch of furze, broom, &c. Coqvp, to barter ; to tumble over ; a gang Cowpit, tumbled Coivrin', cowering Coivte, a colt Cozie, snug; cozily, snugly Crabbit, crabbed, fretful Crack, conversation ; to con- verse Crackin, conversing Craft, or crojft, a field near a house, in old husbandry Craik, name of a bird Crambo clink, or crambo jingle, rhymes, doggrel verses Crank, the noise of an un- greased wheel B Crankous, fretful, captious Cranreuch, tlie hoar-frost Crap, a crop ; to top Crarui, a crow of a cock, a .rook Creel, a basket ; to have one's ivit in a creel, to be craz- ed, to be fascinated Crees/iie, greasy Cronie, or crony, an old ac- quaintance Crood, or croud, to coo as a dove Croon, 3L hollow continued moan ; to make a noise like the continued roar of a bull, to hum a tune Crooning, humming Crouchie, crook-backed Crousc, cheerful, courageous Crousely, cheerfully, couir- ageously Croivdie, a dish made of oat- meal Croivdie-time, breakfast- time Crawling crawling Crump, hard and brittle, spo- ken of bread Crunt, a blow on the head witli a cudgel Cummock, a short staff with a crooked head Curchie, a courtesy Curler, a player on ice Curlie, curled, whose hair tails naturally in ringlets Curling, a well known game on ice Curmurring, murmuring, a slight rumbling noise Curpin, the crupper Cushat, the dove or wood- pigeon Cuttyy short 6 D. BADDiEi a father Dqffin, merriment, foolish- ness Daft, merry, giddy, foolish Daimen, rare, now and therf ; daimenicker, an ear of corn, now an then Dainty, pleasant, good-hu- moured, agreeable Dappl't, dappled Darklins, darkling Daud, to thrash, to abuse Daur, to dare ; daur't, dared Baur^, or dauri, a day's la- bour jbavoc, David Daiudf a large piece Daivtit, or dautit, fondled, carressed Dearies, diminutive of dears Dearth/u', dear Deave, to deafen Deil-macare! no matter for all that 1 Deleeret, delirious Describe, to describe Devk, a stunning blow Dig/it, to wipe, to clean corn from chaff; cleaned from chaff Dimpl't, dimpled Ding, to worst, to push Dinna, do not Dirl, a slight tremulous stroke or pain Disres-pecket, disrespected Dtzen, or diz'n, a dozen Dizzie, dizzy, giddy Doited, stupified, hebetated Dolefii, doleful Dolt, crazed, a stupid fellow Dtnsie, unlucky Dool, sorrow; to sing dool, to lament, to mouru Dorty, saucy, nice ^ Douce, or douse, sober, wise, prudent Doucely, soberly, prudently Dought, was or were able Doup, backside Dour and din, sullen and sal- low Doure, stout, durable, stub- born, sullen ' Do!w, am or are able, can Doivff', pithless, wanting spi- rit Dowie, wprn with grief, fa- tigue, &c. Downa, am or are not able, cannot Doylt, stupid Dranting, drawling Drop, a drop, to drop Drappin\ dropping Dreadfu\ dreadful Dreep, to ooze, to drop DreepirC, oozing, dropping Dribble, drizzling, slaver Driegh. slov^ Drift, a drove Drinkin, drinking Droddum, the breech Drone, part of a bagpipe Droop-rumpft, that droops at the crupper Drouket, wiet Drouth, thirst, drought Drucken, drunken Drumly, muddy Drummock, meal and water mixed raw Drfint, pet, spur humour Dryin, drying Dub, a small pond Duddie, ragged Duds, rags, clothes Dung, worsted, pushed, driv- en Duritedi box$d Dush, to push as a ram, &c. Dusht, pushed by a ram, ox, &c. E Ee, the eye ; Een, the eyes JS'fK or E'enin, evening Eerie, frighted, dreaded spi- rits iW, oldage El buck, the elbow Eldritch, ghasty, frightful' ', end Enbrugh, Edinburgh Eneugh, enough Especial, especially Ettle, to try, attempt Eydentt diligent F f ^% fall, lot ; to fall Fac'ti faced Faddorri't, fathomed Fae, a foe Faem, foam Fairtn, a fairing, a present Faithfu\ faithful Fallow, fellow Fand, did find Fareweel, farewel Farl, a cake of bread Fash, trouble, care ; to trou- ble, to care for FashU, troubled Fastern-e'en, Fastens Even Fathrals, fati'rils, ribbon ends, &c Fauld, a fold ; to fold Faulding, folding Faute, fault Faiusont, decent, seemly Fearfu\ frightful Fear't, frighted Feat, neat, spruce Fecht^ to fight ; fechtirti fight- ing B Fecket, waistcoat Feckfu, large, brawny, st tie, sense Smiddy, smithy Smoor, to smother ; smoor'dt smothered Smoutie, smutty, obscene, ug- ly Smytrie, a numerous collec- tion of small individuals Snapper, stumble Snash, abuse. Billingsgate Snavj, snow ; to snow Snaiv-broo, melted snow Snaivie, snowy Sned, to lop, to cut off Sneeshin, snuff; sneej/iin milij snuff-box Snell, bitter, biting Snick-dra