ii! 
 
PR 
 
 CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 FROM 
 
 Mr. and Mrs J'lin.F.E.Gurley 
 
Ut\'it DUE 
 
 Cornell University Library 
 PR 4300 1908.L8 
 
 The poems and songs of Robert Burns. 
 
 3 1924 013 446 566 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tinis book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013446566 
 
THE PEOPLE'S LIBRARY 
 
 POETICAL WORKS 
 
 ROBERT BURNS 
 
EDITOR'S NOTE 
 
 ** He begs his readers, particularly the 
 Learned and Polite, who may honour him 
 with a perusal, that they will make every 
 allowance for education and circumstances 
 of life." This note from Burns* Preface 
 to the Kilmarnock edition of his poems 
 ap,;eals to us with pathetic force. There 
 is no need now for any " allowance " to be 
 claimed. The " circumstances of life " of 
 Robert Burns, the ploughman, draw but 
 increased admiration for Burns, Scotland's 
 National Poet, and one of the world's 
 greatest singers. 
 
 The thirty-seven years ( 1 759- 1 796) which 
 spanned his life from the " clay-bigging " at 
 AUoway to the gauger's cottage at Dumfries 
 contain but one illuminating event^the visit 
 to Edinburgh in 1786, with its recognition 
 of his genius. For the rest there is, on the 
 one hand, the hard farm labour, the failures, 
 the dashing of hopes, the dreary dullness of 
 poverty, the darkness of dissipation. On 
 the other we have the promptings of genius, 
 the sweet communing with Nature, the great- 
 ness of heart, the unbounding patriotism, the 
 Joy of the poet who moves a nation to song 
 — is it not all reflected in his verse ? 
 
 It Is, indeed. In his poems that the life of 
 Burns should be studied. The '* circum- 
 stances " can be ignored — the man is absorbed 
 in the poet. Had he written nothing but 
 " The Cottar's Saturday Night " and " Tam 
 o' Shanter," Burns would have revealed 
 his genius, but there is so much else to 
 emphasise it that his right to the laurel is 
 beyond all question. 
 
THE POEMS 
 
 AND 
 
 SONGS 
 
 OF 
 
 ROBERT BURNS 
 
 CASSELL AND COMPANY, LTD. 
 
 LONDON, PARIS, NEW YORK, 
 
 TORONTO & MELBOURNE 
 
 MCMVIII 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 TO THE FIRST, OR 
 KILMARNOCK EDITION 
 
 The following trifles are not the production of the poet, 
 who, with aU the advantages of learned art, and, perhaps, 
 amid, the «legancies and idlenesses of upper life, looks down 
 for a rural theme, with an eye to Theocritus or Virgil. 
 To the author of this, these and other celebrated names 
 (their countrymen), are, at least in their original language, 
 ' a fountain shut up, and a book sealed.' Unacquainted 
 with the necessary requisites for commencing poet by rule, 
 he sings the sentirhents and manners he felt. and saw in 
 himself-' and his rustic compeers around him, in his and 
 their native language. Though a rhymer from his earliest 
 years, at least from- the earliest impulses of the softer 
 passions, it was not till .very lately ;that the applause, 
 perhaps the partiality, of Friendship, wakened his vanity 
 so far as to make him think any thing of his was worth 
 showing : and none of the following works were composed 
 with a view to the press. To amuse himself with the little 
 creations of his own fancy, amid the toU and fatigues of a 
 laborious life ; to transcribe the various feelings, the loves, 
 the griefs, the hopes, the fears, in his own breast ; to find 
 some kind of counterpoise to the struggles of a world, 
 always an alien scene, a task uncouth to the poetical mind ; 
 these were his motives for courting the Muses, and in these 
 he found Poetry to be its own reward. 
 
 Now that he appears in the public character of an author, 
 he does it with fear and trembling. So dear is fame to 
 the rhyming tribe, that even he, an obscure, nameless 
 bard, shrinks aghast at the thought of being branded as 
 ' An impertinent blockhead, obtruding his nonsense on 
 the world ; and, because he can make shift to jingle a few 
 doggerel Scotch rhymes together, looks upon himself as a 
 poet of no small consequence forsooth.' 
 
 It is an observation of that celebrated poet,* whose 
 
 • Shenstone. 
 
 7 
 
8 PREFACE TO FIRST EDITION 
 
 divine elegies do honour to our language, our nation, and 
 our species — that ' humility has depressed many a genius 
 to a hermit, but never raised one to fame.' If any critic 
 catches at the word genius, the author tells him, once for 
 all, that he certainly looks upon himself as possest of some 
 poetic abilities, otherwise his publishing in the manner he 
 has done, would be a manoeuvre below the worst character 
 which, he hopes, his worst enemy will ever give him. But 
 to the genius of a Ramsay, or the glorious dawnings of the 
 poor, unfortunate Fergusson, he, with equal unaffected 
 sincerity, declares that, even in his highest pulse of vanity, 
 he has not the most distant pretensions. These two justly 
 admired Scotch poets he has often had in his eye in the 
 following pieces ; but rather with a view to kindle at their 
 flame, than for servile imitation. 
 
 To his subscribers, the author returns his most sincere 
 thanks. Not the mercenary bow over a counter, but the 
 heart-throbbing gratitude of the bard, conscious how much 
 he is indebted to Benevolence and Friendship for gratifying 
 him, if he deserves it, in that dearest wish of every poetic 
 bosom — ^to be distinguished. He begs his readers, par- 
 ticularly the Learned and the Polite, who may honour him 
 with a perusal, that they will make every allowance for 
 education and circumstances of life ; but if, after a fair; 
 candid, and impartial criticism, he shall stand convicted 
 of dulness and nonsense, let him be done by as he would, 
 in that case do by others — let him be condemned without 
 mercy, to contempt and oblivion. 
 
 1786. 
 
DEDICATION ;. 
 
 TO THE SECOND, OR 
 EDINBURGH EDITION 
 
 TO THE NOBLEMEN Alifb GENTLEMEN OF THE 
 
 CALEDONIAN HUNT '' 
 
 My Lords and Gentlemen : 
 
 A Scottish Bard, proud of the name, and whose, highest 
 ambition is to sing in his country's service — where shall 
 he so properly look lor patronage as to the illustrious 
 Names of his native Land ; those who bear the honours and 
 inherit the virtues of their ancestors ? The Poetic Genius 
 of my Country found me, as the prophetic bard Elijah 
 did Elisha — at the plough ; and threw her inspiring mantle 
 over me. She bade me sing the loves, the joys, the rural 
 scenes and rural pleasures of my native Soil, in my native 
 tongue : I tuned my wUd, artless notes, as she inspired. 
 She whispered me to come to this ancient Metropolis of 
 Caledonia, and lay my Songs under your honoured pro- 
 tection : 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 honest 
 Rusticity is ashamed of it. Nor do I present this address 
 with the venal soul of a servile author, looking for a con- 
 tinuation of those favours : 1 was bred to the plough, and 
 am independent. I come to claim the common Scottish 
 name with you, my illustrious countrymen ; and to tell 
 the world that I glory in the title. I come to congratulate 
 my Country, that the blood of her ancient heroes still runs 
 uncontaminated ; and that from your courage, knowledge, 
 and public spirit, she may expect protection, wealth, and 
 liberty. In the last place, I come to proffer my warmest 
 wishes to the Great Fountain of Honour, the Monarch 
 of the Universe, for your welfare and happiness. 
 
 9 
 
10 DEDICATION TO SECOND EDITION 
 
 When you go forth to waken the echoes, in the ancient 
 and favourite amusement of your forefathers, may Pleasure 
 ever be of your party : and may Social-joy await your 
 return 1 When harassed in courts or camps with the 
 jostlings of bad men and bad measures, may the honest 
 consciousness of injured worth attend your return to your 
 native Seats ; and may Domestic Happiness, with a smiling 
 welcome, meet you at your gates! May Corruption shrink 
 at your kindling, indignant glance ; and may tyranny In 
 the Ruler, and licentiousness in the People, equally find 
 you an inexorable foe 1 
 
 I have the honour to be, with the sincerest gratitude 
 and highest respect. 
 
 My Lords, and Gejritl^men, 
 
 Your most devoted humble Servant, 
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 
 
 Edinburgh, April 4, 1787. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 POEMS 
 
 PAGB 
 
 A Bard's Epitaph . . .198 
 A Dedication to Gavin 
 
 Hamilton, Esq. .... 140 
 Addressed to a Gentleman 
 
 at Table . . . . , 409 
 Address, spoken by Miss 
 FonteneUe on her Bene- 
 flt-night . , . . . 285 
 Address to Edinburgh . 144 
 Address to Mr. Wm. 
 
 Tytler ....*, 308 
 Address to the De'il . . 61 
 Address to the Shade of 
 
 Thomson ..... 196 
 Address to the Toothache 330 
 Address to the Unco Guid, 
 or the Rigidly Righteous , .88 
 
 A Dream . . - 74 
 
 An Extemporaneous Ef- 
 fusion on being ap- 
 pointed to the Excise . 361 
 Answer to a Poetical 
 Epistle sent to the 
 Author by a Tailor . . 388 
 Answer to Verses ad- 
 dressed to the Poet by 
 the Guidwife of Wau- 
 chope-house . . . . 394 
 A Prayer in the Prospect 
 
 of Death 128 
 
 A Prayer under the 
 Pressure of Violent 
 
 Anguish 131 
 
 A Toast . . . . . .406 
 
 A Verse, Composed and 
 Repeated: by Burns to 
 the Master of a House 
 In the Highlands . . 334 
 
 Brigs of Ayr ..... 50 
 
 Death and Dr. Hornbook 
 
 Delia . 
 
 Despondency 
 
 i>At>E 
 
 43 
 439 
 117 
 
 Elegy on CaptiaiU Mat- 
 thew Henderson . . . 175 
 Elegy oh the Death of 
 
 Robert Ruisseaux . . . 391 
 Etegy oh the late Miss- 
 
 Burnet of Monboddo " . 295 
 Elegy on the Year 1788 '-. 361 
 Epigram oh a Henpeckeid 
 ^ .Country Squire . . . 415 
 Epigram on a Henpecked 
 
 Country Squire . . . 416 
 Epigram on Andrew 
 
 Turner 415 
 
 EptgraI^ on an" Imaginary 
 
 Slight at the Inn . . 415 
 Epigram on Captain Fran- 
 cis Grose, the celebrated 
 Antiquarian .... 416 
 
 Epigram on Elphinstone's 
 Translation of' Martial's 
 Epigrams . . . . . 416 
 
 Epigram on Miss J. Scott, 
 Ayr ....... 416 
 
 Epistle from a Tailor . . 387 
 Epistle from Esopus to 
 
 Maria 318 
 
 Epistle to a Young Friend 135 
 Epistle to Davie ... . . Ill 
 Epistle to Hugh Parker . 391 
 Epistle to J. Lapraik, an 
 
 old Scottish Bard . . 146 
 Epistle to Major W. Logan 338 
 Epistle to J. Rankine . . 159 
 Epistle to John Taylor . 511 
 Epistle to William Creech 353 
 
 11 
 
12 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Epitaph for Gavin Hamil- 
 ton, Esq 198 
 
 Epitaph for Robert Aiken, 
 
 Esq 198 
 
 Epitaph for the Author's 
 
 Father 198 
 
 Epitaph on a celebrated 
 
 Ruling Elder .... 197 
 Epitaph on a Friend . . 336 
 Epitaph on a Henpecked 
 
 Country Squire . . . 417 
 Epitaph on a Noisy Pole- 
 mic . . 197 
 
 Epitaph on a Person Nick- 
 named the Marquis, who 
 desired Burns to write an 
 Epitaph for him . . . 418 
 Epitaph on a Schoolmaster 
 in Cleish Parish, Fife- 
 shire 418 
 
 Epitaph on a Suicide . . 420 
 Epitaph on a Wag in 
 
 Mauchline 417 
 
 Epitaph on Gabriel Rich- 
 ardson, Brewer, Dum- 
 fries 419 
 
 Epitaph on Grizel Grim . 418 
 Epitaph on Holy Willie . 347 
 Epitaph on Mr. Burton ,1 509 
 Epitaph on Mr. W. Cruick- 
 shanks ...... 417 
 
 Epitaph on John Busliby, 
 Writer, Dumfries. ... 418 
 
 Epitaph on John Dove, 
 
 Innkeeper, Mauchline . 417 
 Epitaph on Sir David Max- 
 well of Cardoness . . 420 
 Epitaph on the Death of a 
 
 Lapdog named ^cho . . 419 
 Epitaph on tlie Poet's 
 
 Daughter 419 
 
 Epitaph on Walter S 418 
 
 Epitaph on Wee Johnny . 197 
 Epitaph on WiUiam Nicol 418 
 
 Epitaph on W — . 419 
 
 Epitaph on W . 419 
 
 Extempore in the Court of 
 
 Session ,376 
 
 Extempore, on the late Mr. 
 
 William Smellie . . , 316 
 Extempore to Mr. Syme . 326 
 
 Farewell to Ayrshire . . 334 
 
 First Epistle to Mr. Graham 
 of Fintry 180 
 
 Fourth Epistle to Mr. 
 Graham of Fintry . . 188 
 
 Fragment, Inscribed to the 
 Bight Hon. C. J. Fox . 282 
 
 Fragment of an Ode on 
 Prince Charles Edward's 
 Birthday 335 
 
 From Dr. Blacldock to 
 Burns 287 
 
 Grace after Meat ... 337 
 
 Grace before Meat . . . 337 
 Grace spoken at the Table 
 
 of the Earl of Selkirk . 337 
 
 Hallowe'en 94 
 
 Holy Willie's PrayeT . . 344 
 
 Impromptu, on Mrs. Rid- 
 del's Birthday .... 324 
 Inscription on a Goblet . 415 
 Inscription on the Tomb 
 of Ferguson . . . . 282 
 
 Jessy Lewars 
 
 406 
 
 Lament for James, Earl of 
 Glencairn 188 
 
 Lament of Mary, Queen of 
 Scots 179 
 
 Lament, written at a Time 
 when the Poet was about 
 to leave Scotland . . 395 
 
 Letter to James Tait, Glen- 
 connar ...... 398 
 
 Letter to John Goudie, Kil- 
 marnock 320 
 
 Liberty : a Fragment . . 390 
 
 Lines on a Ploughman . . 475 
 
 Lines on Meeting with 
 Basil, Lord Daer . . . 293 
 
 Lines on Stirling . . . 412 
 
 Lines sent to a Gentleman 
 whom he had Offended . 328 
 
 Lines sent to Sir John 
 Whitefoord, of White- 
 foord, Bart 190 
 
 Lines written and pre- 
 sented to Mrs. Kemble . 413 
 
 Lines written by Burns 
 while on his Death-bed . 413 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 13 
 
 Lines written* Extempore 
 in a Lady's Pocltet^book 413 
 
 Lines written en a Bank 
 Note 409 
 
 tines written on a Copy 
 of Thomson's Songs . . 238 
 
 Lines written on a Pane of 
 Glass 411 
 
 Lines written on a Pew in 
 tlie Kirk of Lamlngton, 
 in aydesdale . . . . 409 
 
 Lines writteii on a Win- 
 <iow, at the King's Arms 
 Tavern, Dumfries . . 412 
 
 Lines written on a Win- ■ 
 dow of the Globe Tavern, 
 ■Dumfries 410 
 
 Lines written under the 
 Portrait of the cele- 
 brated Miss Bums . . 409 
 
 Man was Made to Mourn 125 
 Monody on a Lady famed 
 for her Caprice . . . 317 
 
 New Year's Day . 
 
 314 
 
 Ode, Sacred to the Memory 
 of Mrs. Oswald of Auchen- 
 cruive , . . . ■ . . 174 
 Oft an Evening View of 
 the Ruins of Lincluden 
 
 Abbey .506 
 
 On a Scotch Bard ... 137 
 On being asked why God 
 had made Miss Davies so 
 
 Little and Mrs so 
 
 Large . . . . . . 411 
 
 On Hearing that there was 
 Falsehood in the Rev. 
 Dr. Blair's very Looks . 373 
 On Jessy Lewars' Sickness 405 
 On Reading, in a News- 
 paper, the -Death of 
 John M'Leod, Esq. . . 202 
 On Robert Riddel, Esq. . 414 
 On Scaring some Water- 
 fowl in Loch-Turit . . 205 
 On seeing a Wounded Hare 
 limp by .... 1. . 196 
 
 On seeing Miss Fontenelle 
 'in a Favourite Char- 
 acter 501 
 
 On seeing tlie Beautiful 
 Seat of Lord Galloway . 
 
 On the Same 
 
 On the Same ..... 
 
 On Tarn the Chapman 
 
 On the Birth of a Posthu- 
 mous Child 
 
 On the Death of a Fav- 
 ourite Child . . . , 
 
 On the Death of Sir James 
 Hunter Blair .... 
 
 On the Death of the Late 
 Lord President . . . 
 
 On the Late Captain 
 Grose's Peregrinations 
 through" Scotland . . 
 
 On the Recovery of Jessy 
 Lewars 
 
 4Q6 
 407 
 407 
 
 ■207 
 400 
 502 
 402 
 
 199 
 405 
 
 ^eg Nicholson 404 
 
 Poem, Addressed to Mr. 
 Mitchell, Collector of 
 Excise, Dumfries . . . 327 
 Poem on Life ..... 328 
 Poem on Pastoral Poetry . 31 1 
 Poem, written to a Gentle- 
 man who had sent him a 
 
 Newspaper 310 
 
 Poetical Inscription for an 
 
 Altar to Independence . 316 
 Prologue for Mr. Suther- 
 land's Benefit - night, 
 
 Dumfries 374 
 
 Prologue spoken at the 
 
 Theatre, Dumfries . . 284 
 Prologue spoken by Mr. 
 Woods on his Beneflt- 
 night 396 
 
 Remorse 336 
 
 Reply to a Gentleman who 
 asked if he would not 
 like to be a Soldier . . 411 
 Reply to a Clergyman who 
 wrote a Poetical Philip- 
 pic against the lines on 
 StlrUng 412 
 
 Scotch Drink 27 
 
 Second Epistle to Davie, 
 
 a Brother Poet . . . 211 
 Second Epistle to J. Lapraik 150 
 Second Epistle to Mr. 
 
 Graham of Fintry . . 182 
 
14 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 Sketch { W.Creech) ... 360 
 
 Sonnet on the Death ol 
 Robert Riddel . ^ . 316 
 
 Sonnet written on Hearing 
 a Thrush sing in a Morn- 
 ing Wallc 325 
 
 Stanzas on the Duke of 
 Queensberry .... 493 
 
 Stanzas in the prospect ol 
 Death 128 
 
 Tam o' Shantcr .... 190 
 Tarn Samson's Elegy . . 90 
 The Auld Farmer's New- 
 Year Morning Saluta- 
 tion .103 
 
 The Author's earnest Cry i^ 
 and Prayer to the Scotch 
 Representatives in the 
 House of Commons . . 31 
 The Black-Headed Eagle : 
 
 A Fragment .... 502 
 The Book-worms . . . 413 
 
 The Calf 60 
 
 The Cottar's Saturday 
 
 Night , . 120 
 
 The Creed ol Poverty . . 411 
 The Death and Dying 
 Words of poor Mailie, 
 the Author's only Pet 
 
 Yowe 65 
 
 The First Psalm . . . . 130 
 
 The First Six Verses of the 
 
 Ninetieth Psalm ... 131 
 The Guidwife of Wiwchope- 
 
 house to Robert Burns . 392 
 The Henpecked Husband . 405 
 The Holy Fair .... 36 
 
 The Holy Tulzie, or Twa 
 Herds ...... 350 
 
 The Humble Petition of 
 Bruar Water .... 203 
 
 The Inventory .... 321 
 
 The Jolly Beggars : a 
 
 Cantata 362 
 
 The Kirk's Alarm ... 348 
 
 The Lament 115 
 
 The Ordination .... 56 
 The Poet's Welcome to his 
 
 Illegitimate Child . . 397 
 The Rights of Woman . 286 
 
 PAGtl 
 
 The Solemn League and 
 
 Covenant 414 
 
 The Toast .... . . . 405 
 
 The Tree of Liberty . . 490 
 
 The True Loyal Natives . 414 
 
 The Twa Dogs 21 
 
 The Vision ...... 78 
 
 The Vowels: a Tale . . 359 
 
 The WhisUe . . ... 208 
 
 Third Epistle to Mr. Gra- 
 ham of Fintry . . . .185 
 
 Third Epistle to J. Lapraik 340 
 
 To a Haggis 138 
 
 To a Kiss 493 
 
 To a Lady, with a present 
 ol a Pair of Drinking 
 
 Glasses ;. . 358 
 
 To a Louse ,. . . ... . , 143 
 
 To a Medical Gentleman, 
 inviting him to attend a 
 Masonic Anniversary 
 
 Meeting. . . . . . 410 
 
 To a Mountain Daisy . . 132 
 
 To a Mouse 107 
 
 To a Young Lady ... 325 
 To Captain Riddel, Glen- 
 riddel 357 
 
 To Chloris 259 
 
 To Dr. Blacklock ... 288 
 To Dr. JIaxwell, on Miss 
 
 Jessy Staig's Recovery-. 242 
 To Gavin Hamilton, Esq., 
 
 Mauchline 355 
 
 To James Smith .... 68 
 
 To John M'Murdo, Esq. . 404 
 To Lord Galloway, on the 
 Author being threatened: 
 
 with his Resentment . 407 
 
 To Miss Cruickshanks . . 201 
 
 To Miss Logan ... . 134 
 
 To Mr. John Kennedy . . 496 
 To Mr; M' Adam, of Craigen- 
 
 Gillan 356 
 
 To Mr. Syme, with a Pre- 
 sent of a Dozen of,. 
 
 Porter ...... 326 
 
 To Mrs. C , on receiv- 
 ing a Work of Hannah 
 
 More's 504 
 
 T6 Ruin 133 
 
 To Terraughty, on his 
 
 Birthdav 357 
 
 To the Owl ..... 500 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 15 
 
 To the Reverend John i 
 
 M'Math . „:,> ,..n. . 341 
 To the Right Honourable , 
 
 the Earl ol Breadalbane 401 
 To W. Simpson, OchUtiee * i,,ia4 
 Tragic Fragment ,4 . . ,359 
 
 Verses . . .;:,■,!,:■. . .429 
 Verses addressed to , Ji 
 
 Rajikine . tiy. , ,, * 4tlj4 
 Verses addressed to ^le ;; 
 
 Landlady, of t)w Inn at j , ; 
 ■ iRoslin . . :, . . . 408 
 Verses on the Destruction ■. ; 
 
 of the Woods xi^r r 
 
 Drumlanrig ... i;. ,4^7 
 Verses to J. Rankine , , . , 3i7^ 
 Verses to myi Bed . ,, .603 
 Verses written on a Win- i ■ 
 
 dow of the Inn at Carion ,4Q8 
 
 Verses ^itten, . on , . the 
 , , Blank Leaf of a Copy, of 
 • his Pqenis . . .. „ . .. 
 Verses, written.., uii,der the 
 . Portrait of Ferguson, the 
 i iPoet .1 .,,;'. , . . ... 
 
 Willie Ch^jners .,, ,■ • -v 
 
 Winter '., ,>■, .,,„• .„,;i ■- 
 ; Winter Night . . ._, . 
 
 Written , j^ . Er)ars-Carse I 
 ■Hermitage'. . . . '., 
 
 Written wjfch a Pencil over 
 ithe Chiijnney-piece in' the, 
 Parlour of l3ie Inn at 
 Kenmore, Taymouth ■ c 
 
 Written witii , a PencU, 
 standing by the Fall of 
 Fyers . . ., , . . ., 
 
 408 
 
 407 
 
 371 
 119 
 108 
 
 173 
 
 206 
 
 207 
 
 SONGS 
 
 A Bottle and an Honest 
 
 Friend • , ., • .' ■ • 474 
 Address to General Du- 
 
 .mourier . . . . . . , 377 
 
 Address to the Wood-Lark 253 
 ' Adown winding Nith I did 
 
 Wander . ..... 230 
 
 Ae Fond Kiss . . . . 451 
 
 A Fig for those by I^aw 
 
 protected . . ... . 371 
 
 A Fragment 163 
 
 A Fragment 472 
 
 Alton Water 300 
 
 Again rejoicing Nature sees 168 
 
 Ah,Chloris 508 
 
 A Highland Lad my love 
 
 was born ..... 366 
 
 . Amang the Trees . . . 443 
 A Mother's Lament for the 
 
 Death of her Son ... 438 
 
 Anna, thy Charms ... 201 
 
 A Red, Red Rose . . . 306 
 A Rose-bud by my Early 
 
 Walk . . . .... . 268 
 
 As Down the Bum . . .' 508 
 
 As I was a-wandering . . 424 
 
 Aiild Lang Sjme . 
 Auldjiob Morris 
 A Vision. . . . 
 
 PA.GB 
 
 234 
 216 
 307 
 
 Bannocks 0' Bailey . . . 484 
 
 Behold the Hour ''.' . . 233 
 Bess and her Spinning 
 
 Wheel 279 
 
 Beware o' Bonnie Ann . .. 486 
 Blithe hae I been on yon 
 
 HiU . . . . . . ; 224 
 
 Blithe was She . . .' . 267 
 
 Bonnie Jean . ., . . . 226 
 
 Bonnie Lesley .... 214 
 
 Bonnie Peg . . . . . 485 
 
 Bonnie Peggy Alison . . 463 
 Braving angry Winter's 
 
 Storms 269 
 
 Braw Lads of Gala Water 489 
 By Allan Stream I clianced 
 
 to Rove ...... 228 
 
 Caledonia,' " Their groves 
 
 ,- o' sweet; myrtle," etc. . 255 
 
 Caledonia, " There was 
 
 . once a day," etc. . . . 309 
 
16 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 Canst thou leave me thus,' ■ 
 , my Katy ? . ' . . ' . . ' 250 
 Castle-Gordon . . . . 294 
 Ca' the Yowes to the 
 
 Knowes . .'.■'.". . 240 
 Cauld is the E'ening Blast 435 
 
 Chloris 245 
 
 Clout the Caudron ., . .368 
 Cock up your Beaver . ' '. 467 
 Come Boat me q'er to =' ' 
 
 Charlie . . .... 456 
 
 Come, let me take thee' to 
 - my Breast . . .- . • . '231 
 Come Rede me. Dame .' ; 489 
 Coming- through the Rye . 457 
 Contented wi' Little . 1*^4249 
 Could Aught of Song . , 431 
 Cralgie-burn Wood . . ;- 252 
 
 Dainty Davie .... 231 
 Damon and Sylvia . . . 508 
 Deluded Swain, the Plea- 
 sure 235 
 
 Duncan Gray 216 
 
 Election Ballads — 
 
 I. The Five Carlines . 377 
 II. Written in 1795 . 380 
 
 III. The Election. . . 381 
 
 IV. An Excellent New 
 
 Song .383 
 
 V. John Bushby's La- 
 mentation . ' . 385 
 Eppie Adair . ' . . . . 457 
 
 Fair Eliza 296 
 
 Fairest Maid on Devon 
 Banks . . . . . .263 
 
 Fair Jenny . . . . . 234 
 
 Farewell, thou Stream 
 
 that winding flows . . 247 
 
 Farewell to Clarinda . . 270 
 First when Maggy was my 
 
 Care 459 
 
 For a' That, and a* That . 251 
 Forlorn, my Love, no Com- 
 fort near ..... 260 
 Frae the Friends and Land 
 
 I Love 426 
 
 Fragment .262 
 
 From thee, Eliza, I must go 170 
 
 Gala Water 218 
 
 ■ ■ PAGE 
 
 GaneistheDay . . . .' 277 
 GUbomy December . . '. 299 
 Green grovr the Rashes .' 168 
 
 Had I a Cave . i' ■- . . 228 
 Had I the Wyle? , ; . 458 
 Handsome Nell .... 498 
 Hiappy Friendship . . . 492 
 HeeBalom-I ..... 484 
 Her Daddie Forbade 'j . 476 
 Her Floiwinjg Locks •■'■. .' 460 
 Here's a'' HeiilKh to Them 
 ■ that's Avf a' -. ■. i 'vU50 
 Here 's '■■ his Health "in 
 
 Wate* ."^i' . .••:. . '481 
 Here 's to thy Health^v ;i'' 431 
 Hey for a Lass wi' a Tocher^ 262 
 Hey, the Dusty MiUer .- -; -477 
 Highland Mary '. . . . 2Y5 
 How can I be Blithe and 
 
 Glad 452 
 
 How cruel are the Parents 256 
 How lang and dreary is 
 
 i the Night 242 
 
 Hunting Song .... 461 
 
 I am a Bard of no Regard 369 
 I am a Son of Mars . . •'. '363 
 T am my Mammy's ae' 
 
 Bairn "..... . -468 
 
 I Dream'd I Lay . ■. . 494 
 I Gaed a Waefu' Gate' 
 
 Yestreen . .''.'. . 274 
 I once was- a Maid . . . '364 
 I '11 aye Ca' in by Yon ' 
 
 Town . . ' . . . . 445 
 It is na, Jean, thy Bonnie 
 , Face 425 
 
 Jamie, come Try Me . . 429 
 
 Jessie . 221 
 
 Jessy 263 
 
 Jockey 's ta'en the Parting 
 
 Kiss 331 
 
 John Anderson, my Jo . 275 
 
 John Barleyconi . . . 161 
 
 Ken ye aught o' Captain 
 Grose ? . . .... 333 
 
 Lady Mary Ann .... 430 
 Lady Onlie . . . . . 454 
 Landlady, Count the Lawin' 469 
 
PQNTENTS 
 
 A7 
 
 ,, Lassie vri' the Lii$^r:«vhite 
 
 Lo^s yj . . . . . 246 
 
 Last May, a Braw Wooer ,, ;261 , 
 
 iLet not Wqman e'ef comr 
 
 ( ■ plain . p«, . '. . , i 243 
 
 Log^W^ter. ,,. .,,.". 224 
 
 Lord Gregory; -, . ■,.„:• 219 
 
 Louis, 'wha[t Rpclfi I by t\ipe . 302 
 
 ;,Lovely Davies . . .,.- . 423 
 
 ; t^jvely PoUy Stewart; . ■ . 421 
 
 ^i^uckless Fortune ,. . . 499 
 
 Macpherson's Farewell . . ,442 
 : Mark yonder tomp , ,. . 256 
 Mary .,",. ...... ,,463 
 
 .MaryMorison .... ,,219 
 
 , Meg o' the Mill . >. . . 223 
 t'Meikle Thinks my Love . ,277 
 Merrv hae I been Teetliin' r 
 
 a Heckle 426 
 
 ; Mpntgomery's Peggy . . 486 
 
 Musing oh the Roaring 
 
 .Ocean . , . . . , 267 
 
 !.i»^ Bonnip Mary ;, . . : ;.2§1 
 
 My Collii^F Laddie . . . ,,453 
 
 oh^ Father was a Farmer- , ,-495 
 
 "iMy Harry was a Gallant 
 
 Gay . . ( 445 
 
 : l^y Heart 's in the High- 
 lands .'.,.. . . 468 
 
 , My Heart was Ancc . . 1440 
 My Hoggie . ..... . 448 
 
 My Je^n /. . . ■. . . 444 
 My Lady's GoWn, there 's , 
 Gairs upon,'t .... -437 
 
 My Love , she 's but a 
 
 Lassie yet , . , . . 449 
 My Nannie's Awa' . . . 250 
 My Nannie, O I. . . . . 167 
 
 My Peggy's Face . . ■. 332 
 My Spouse, Nancy . . . ,236 
 My Wife 's a Winsome Wee 
 Thing 213 
 
 Naebody 291 
 
 Nancy ... ... ... . 236 
 
 Nithsdale's Welcome Hame 424 
 No Churchman am I .. , 172 
 
 Of a' the Airts 273 
 
 Oh, Ane-an-Twenty, Tam 279 
 Oh, aye my Wife she Dang 
 
 me 461 
 
 PAGE 
 
 .0^, Bonnie was yon Rosy 
 
 Brier .i , . ... . , 259 
 Oh, gin my Love were yon 
 
 Red Rose 225 
 
 Oh, Gude AJe comes „.■ . . 428 
 
 Oh, Kenmure 's on and 
 
 ■ awa' ......... 497 
 
 Oh, lay thy Loof in- mine, 
 
 Lass . . . ... , ,433 
 
 Oh, leave Novels . i. . 474 
 Qh, Leeze me on my ASfee • 
 
 Thing . ,. ., , . ^ 510 
 ■Oh, Lnve will venture, in,. . i297 
 Oh, Mally 's xnieelc, M^Ttyfsi ,,:r 
 
 sweet. . . . , . . <r .430 
 Qh, saw ye my Peariei? „ /. 421 
 Oh, Steer her. up . . ,-j. ..i:432 
 Oh, that ,1 had.pe'er,l^en - 
 
 Married . . . ... ^430 
 
 Oh, wat ye wha's in, yon 
 
 Town". . . ... ... 305 
 
 Oh, iwere I on Parnassus' 
 t-HUl . . ... . .,. .272 
 
 Oh, werti,,Thou -ill' the, ;, 
 
 Cauld Blast i . , . ,. . 324 
 Oh, wha is she that Lpes,., ,-. 
 
 me? . . . . . . . ,331 
 
 Oh, whare did ye Get? .; i.r. 470 
 , Oh, wha wm tQ Sqint 
 
 .Stephen's House? . . 433 
 Oh Whistle, and I'll come 
 
 to you, niy Lad . . . 229 
 Oh, why the Deuce should , 
 
 I Repine ? . . . . . 500 
 O Lassie, art thou sleeping 
 
 yet . . . . .. . J . . 252 
 
 O May, thy, Morn . . . SQS 
 On a Young Lady ... ,294 
 On^^— ,. ,. 1 ... 505 
 On Cessnock Banks , . . 464 
 On Chloris being ill . . . 254 
 On Sensibility .... 334 
 
 On the Battle of Sherifl- 
 
 Muir 313 
 
 On the Seas and Far Awaiy 239 
 Open the Door to me, 1 ; 221 
 O Poortith Cauld . . . ,217 
 Our Thrissles Flourish'd . 427 
 Out over the Forth . , . 453 
 
 Phillis the Fair 
 Philly and WiUy 
 
 \ 
 
 227 
 247 
 
18 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 RattlinVRoarin' WilUe . 480 
 Raving Winds around her' 
 Blowing . . . . ' . .266 
 
 Robin . •. . . . . . '473 
 
 Robin Shure in Hairst . . 429 
 
 •Sae Far A-wa' . . . . '478 
 
 Saw ye My Pliely 7 . . : 242 
 
 Scots wha hae .... 232 
 
 Shelah O'Neil . . . . . 511 
 
 She 's Fair and Pause . .i 300 
 
 She says she Lo'es me best ' 
 
 ' i^of a'^L ■ . ■ . . '; .- . :241 
 
 Sic a Wife as Wfflie had . 298 
 ' Simmer 's a Pleasant Time '"428 
 
 Sir Wisdom's a Fool . .'' '365 
 
 Somebody-. . . J . . 303 
 Song, altered from an old 
 
 English one . . ' . . 245 
 
 SongCdiniMsed id August 165 
 
 Song of Death . . ;• ■; 291 
 Stay, My Charmer, can yoii 
 
 leave me ? 264 
 
 Strathallan's Lament . . 265 
 
 Sweet closes the Evening 439 
 
 Sweetest May. .... 501 
 
 Tiam Glen ...... 276 
 
 The Bairns Gat Out . . 459 
 
 The Banks of Cree . . . 238 
 
 The Banks o' Doon . ' ." . 298 
 The Banks o' Doon . . .505 
 
 The Banks of NIth . . . 275 
 
 The Birks of Aberfeldy . 264 
 The Biude-Red Rose at 
 
 Yule may Blaw . . . 455 
 The Bonnie Blink o' 
 
 Mary's E'e . . . '. ' .• 451 
 The Bonnie Lass o' Bal- 
 
 ■ -lochmyle "' . . .•- . . 303 
 
 The Bonnie Wee Thing ' . 278 
 
 The Braes o' BallochlAyle 273 
 
 The Captain's Lady . . . 510 
 
 The Cardin' o't . . . . 478 
 The Carle of Kellyburn 
 
 Braes . . . . . . 4'81 
 
 The Carles of Dysart . . 449 
 
 The Chevalier's Lament . 290 
 
 The Country Lassie . . 280 
 
 The Day Returns ... 271 
 
 The Dean of Faculty . . 375 
 The Discreet Hint .■ . .'494 
 
 The Dumfries Volunteers . 326 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Exciseman .-' . . . 446 
 The Farewell to the 
 
 Brethren of St. James's ' 
 
 Lodge, Tarboltoii' . . 171 
 The Gallant Weaver . .-302 
 
 ■The Gloomy Night is '' ' 
 
 gathering fast . ''.- ^-'■' . 169 
 "Tlie Gowden Locks ' of 
 
 Anna- • . . 446 
 
 The Highland Laddife . . 422 
 
 ■rtie Highland Lassie . . 323 
 The Highland Widow's 
 
 Lament . . , . : . 509 
 
 The Joyful Widower V . 477 
 The Laddies by the Banks 
 
 -o'Nith . . .';'".■' . 455 
 The Lass of Ecdefechan '. ' '425 
 the Lazy Mist ; '.» ; . 271 
 The Lea-Rig . . .' . . 212 
 the Lovely Lass of Inver- 
 ness . '.'. . .- . ; .■ 304 
 The Lover's" Mtol^ing 
 
 ' Salute to his Mistress .■ 243 
 
 The Mauchline Belles" . . 474 
 
 theniel MenzieS'' Bonnie ' ' 
 
 Mar^ . . . . . .' . 442 
 
 The Ploughman . 466 
 
 The Rantin' Dog the ' 
 
 Daddieo't.. . . ; 472 
 There 's a Youth in this 
 
 City . . .' .... 479 
 
 There was a Bonnie Lass .' 435 
 There 's News, Lasses, 
 
 News . . . •"; . . . 430 
 
 There was a Lass . ' . .' 441 
 
 There '11 Never be Peace . 290 
 
 The Rigs o' Barley^ . . . 164 
 
 The Smiling SpMng . ' . 301 
 
 The Sons of Old Killie : 299 
 
 The Tailor ...... 444 
 
 The Tither Morn ' . . . 420 
 
 The Weary Pund o' Tow . 469 
 
 The Winter of Life . .. . ■ 244 
 
 The Young Highland 
 
 Rover 265 
 
 This is no my ain Lassie . 257 
 Thou h^t left me ever, 
 
 - Jamie ' . . . . ■ . .- 233 
 
 Tibbie Dunbar .... 499 
 
 Tibbie, I hae seen the Day 269 
 
 To Clarinda ... . . 488 
 
 To Mary iii Heaven . . 292 
 
 To Mr. Cunningham . . 258 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 19 
 
 PAGE 
 
 To thee, Loved Nith . . 467 
 'Twas na her Bonnie Blue 
 
 E'e 255 
 
 Up in the Morning Early . 448 
 
 Wae is my Heart . . . 465 
 
 Wandering WiUic ... 220 
 Weary fa' you, Duncan 
 
 Gray 447 
 
 Wee Wilhe Gray .... 485 
 Wha is that at my Bower 
 
 Door? 471 
 
 What can a Young Lassie . 278 
 When first I came to 
 
 Stewart Kyle .... 504 
 When I think on tlie 
 
 Happy Days .... 511 
 
 When Rosy May ... 483 
 
 PAGE 
 
 When wild War's deadly 
 
 Blast was Blawn . . . 222 
 
 Where hae ye been 7 . . 427 
 
 Whistle o'er the Lave o 't . 367 
 Willie Brew'd a Peck o' 
 
 Maut 274 
 
 Will ye Go to the Indies, 
 
 my Mary ? 213 
 
 Wilt thou be my Dearie 7 . 237 
 
 Ye hae Lien a' Wrang, 
 
 Lassie 506 
 
 Ye Jacobites by Name . '483 
 You Wild Mosay Moun- 
 tains 475 
 
 Young Jamie, pride ol a' 
 
 the Plain 479 
 
 Young Jockey .... 460 
 
 Young Peggy 462 
 
THE 
 
 POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 OF ' 
 
 ROBERT BURNS 
 
 THE TWA DOGS: 
 
 A TALE 
 
 'TwAS in that place o' Scotland's isle 
 That bears the name o' Auld King Coil,* 
 Upon a bonnie day in June, 
 When wearing through the afternoon, 
 Twa dogs that were na thrang at hame, 
 Forgather'd ance upon a time. 
 
 The first I '11 name, they ca'd him Caesar, 
 Was keepit for his honour's pleasure ; 
 His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs, 
 Shbw'd he was nane o' Scotland's dogs. 
 But whalpit some place far abroad, 
 Where saUors gang to fish for cod. 
 
 His locked, letter'd, braw brass collar 
 Show'd him the gentleman and scholar ; 
 But though he was o' high degree. 
 The flent a pride — na pride had he ; 
 But wad hae spent an hour caressin', 
 Ev'n wi' a tiiJcler-gypsy's messan. 
 At kirk or market, mill or smiddie, 
 Nae tawted tyke, though e'er sae duddic, 
 But he wad stan't, as glad to see him. 
 And stroan't on stanes an' hillocks wi' him. 
 
 The tither was a ploughman's collie, 
 A rhyming, ranting, roving billie, 
 
 • ' Auld King Coil : ' tlie ancient King of ttie Picl.s. 
 21 
 
22 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 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' faithful tyke, 
 As ever lap a sheugh or dyke., ' 
 His honest, sonsie, baws'nt face, 
 Aye gat him friends in Uka place. 
 His breast was white, his touzie back 
 Weel clad wl' coat o' glossy black ; 
 His gauciie tail,' wl' upward curl. 
 Hung o'er his hurdles wl' a swirl. 
 
 Nae doubt but they were fain o' ither, 
 
 And unco pack ah^ thick thegither ; 
 
 Wi' social nose whyles snufl'd and snowkit, 
 
 Whyles mice and moudieworts they howkit ; 
 
 Whyles scour'd awa' in lang excursion, 
 
 An' worried ither in diversion ; 
 
 Until wi' dafiin' weary grown, . 
 
 Upon a knowe they sat them down, 
 
 And there began a lang: digression. 
 
 About the lords o' the creation.; ■ 
 
 C/ESAR 
 
 I 've afteit wonder'dj honest Luath, 
 What sort o' life poor dogs like you have. 5 
 An' when the gentry's life I saw. 
 What way poor bodies lived ava. 
 
 Our Laird gets in his racked rents, 
 
 His coals,' his kain, and a' his stents ; 
 
 He rises when he likes himsel' ; 
 
 His flunkies answer at the bell ; 
 
 He ca's his coach, he ca's his horse ; 
 
 He draws a bonnie silken purse 
 
 As Jang's my tail, whare, through the steeks. 
 
 The yellow letter'd Geordie keeks, 
 
 Frae morn to e'en it 's naught but toiling. 
 At baking, roasting, frying, boiling ; 
 An' though the gentry first are stechin, 
 Yet ev'n the ha' folk fill their pechan 
 
 • ' Dog : ' Cuclmlliu's dog in Ossian's ' Fingal." — B. 
 
THE TWA DOGS 23 
 
 Wi' sauce, ragouts, and sic like trashtrie, 
 That 's little short o' downright wastrie. 
 
 Our whipper-in, wee blastit wonner, 
 
 Poor worthless elf, it eats a dinner, 
 
 Better than ony tenant man 
 
 His honour has in a' the Ian' : 
 
 An' what poor cot-folk pit their painch in, 
 
 I own it 's past niy tomprehension. 
 
 LUATH 
 
 Troth,' Caesar, whyles they 're fash't enerugh ; 
 
 A cottar howkin' in a sheugh, 
 
 Wi' dirty stanes Mggin' a dyke, 
 
 Baring a quarry, and sic like : 
 
 Himself, a wife, be thus sustains, 
 
 A smytrie o' wee duddie weans. 
 
 An' naught but his han' daf g, to keep 
 
 Them right and tight in thack an' rape. 
 
 An' when they meet wi' sair disasters. 
 Like loss o' health, or want o' masters. 
 Ye maist wad think, a wee touch langer. 
 An' they maun starve o' cauld and hunger ; 
 But, how it comes, I never kenn'd it. 
 They 're maistly wonderfu' contented ; 
 An' buirdly chiels, an' clever hizzies. 
 Are bred in sic a way as this is. 
 
 C<ESAR 
 
 But then to see how ye 're negleckit. 
 How huff'd, and cuff'd, and disrespeckit I 
 Lord, man, our gentry care as little 
 For delvers, ditchers, an' sic cattle ; 
 They gang as saucy by puir folk 
 As I wad by a stinkin' brock. 
 
 I 've noticed, on our Laird's court-day. 
 An' mony a time my heart's been wae, 
 Puir tenant bodies, scant o' cash. 
 How they maun thole a factor's snash ; 
 He'll stamp ah' threaten, curse an' swear, 
 He '11 apprehend them, poind their gear ; 
 While they maun stan', wi' aspect humble. 
 An' hear it a', an' fear and tremble I 
 
24 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 I see how folk live that hae riches ; 
 But surely poor folk .maun be wretches I' 
 
 LUATH 
 
 They 're nae sae wretched 's ane, wad think ; 
 Though, constantly 'on paortith's brink : 
 They 're sae accustom'd wi' the. sight,. 
 The view o 't gies them little fright. 
 
 Then chance and fortune are sae guided. 
 They 're aye in less, or mair provided ; 
 An' though fatiguedi?yi' close employment, 
 A blink o' rest 's^a sw^t enjoyment. 
 
 The deauest comfort o' their lives. 
 Their grushie weans aild'feithfu' wives ; 
 The prattling things are just their pride. 
 That sweetens a' their fireside. 
 An' whyles twalpenny worth o' nappy 
 Can mak' the bodies ufaco- happy ; 
 They lay aside their private cares. 
 To mind the Kirk and State affairs : 
 They'll talk o' patronage and priesis, 
 Wi' kindliiig fury in theiir breasts. 
 Or teU what new taxation 's comin'. 
 An' f erlie at the folk in Lon'on. 
 
 As bleak-faced Hallowmas returns. 
 They get the jovial, ranting kirns. 
 When rural life, o' every station. 
 Unite in common recreation ; 
 Love blinks, "Wit slaps, an' social Mirth 
 Forgets there 's Care upo' the earth. 
 
 That merry day the year begins. 
 
 They bar the door on frosty win's ; 
 
 The nappy reeks wi' mantling ream. 
 
 An' sheds a he^rt-inspiring steam ; 
 
 The luntin' pipe,, an' sneeshin mill, 
 
 Are handed round wi' rig]b,t guid will ; 
 
 The canty auld folks crackin' crpuse, 
 
 The young anes rantin' through the house, — 
 
 My heart has been sae fain to see them, 
 
 That I for joy hae barkit wi' them. 
 
tHE TWA DOGS 25 
 
 Still it 's ower 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 ■wl'some gentle master, 
 Wha, aiblins, thrang a parliamentin', 
 For Britain's guid his saul Indentin'^— 
 
 C^SAR 
 
 Haith, lad, ye little ken about it : 
 
 For Brltaij^'s guid 1 — guid faith, J doubt it 1 
 
 Say rather, gauh as Premiers lead him. 
 
 An' saying Aye or No 's they bid him : 
 
 At operas an' plays parading, 
 
 Mortgaging, ganiibling, masquerading ; 
 
 Or may be, in a frolic daft. 
 
 To Hague or Calais takes a waft, 
 
 To make a tour, and tak a whirl, 
 
 To learn ban ton, an' see the worl'. 
 
 There, at Vienna or yersailles, 
 
 He rives bis father's auld entails ; 
 
 Or by Madrid he takes the route, 
 
 To thrum guitars, and fecht wi' nowle ; 
 
 Or down Italian vista startles, 
 
 Whore hunting amang groves b' myrtles ; 
 
 Then bouses drumly German water, 
 
 To mak himsel' look fair and fatter,: 
 
 An' clear the consequential sorrows. 
 
 Love-gifts of Carnival signoras. ■ 
 
 For Bi;itauL's guid ! — for her destruction I 
 
 Wi' dissipation, feud, an' faction. 
 
 LUATH 
 
 Hech man I dear sirs 1 is that the gate 
 They waste sae mony a braw estate ? 
 Are we sae foughten an' har^ss'd 
 For gear to gang that gate at last ? 
 
 Oh would they stay aback frae courts, 
 An' please themselves wi''kintra sports, 
 
26 BURNS' POEMS' ANP, SONGS 
 
 It wad for every ane be better, , , ; ^ , 
 
 The Laird, Uie T.enant, an' the Cottar J 
 For thae frank, rantin', rg^riblin' billies, 
 Fient haet o' them 's ill-be^rteiL fellows ; 
 Except for breakin';0' their, timmer. 
 Or speakin' lightly o' their litnnier. 
 Or shootin' o' a hare or muircoc^. 
 The ne'er a bit they 'ne ill to pdpr folk. 
 
 But will ye. tell ime,, Master Caesar, ,^ ' 
 Sure great folk's Hie 's a life d'gleasiire ? 
 Nae cauld or hunger e'er can steer them, 
 The vera thought o 't needna fear them. 
 
 CSSA.R 
 
 Lord, man, were ye biirt whyles wh4re I am 
 The gentles ye wad ne'er env^ 'em; 
 It 's true, they rieedna starve or sweat, 
 Through winter's fcauld, 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 Jools, ^ '"-'- 
 For a' their colleges and schools, 
 That when riae real ills perplex them, 
 They make enow themsels to vex them ; 
 An' aye the less they hae to stiirt them; 
 In like proportion less will hurtthem. 
 
 A countra fellow at the pleugh. 
 
 His acre 's till'd, he 's right eneugh ; 
 
 A country girl at her wheeU 
 
 Her dizzen's done, she 's unco weeL: 
 
 But gentlemen, an' ladies warst, 
 
 Wi' even-down want o' wark are curst. 
 
 They loiter, lounging, lank,' an' lazy ; 
 
 Though deil haet alls them, yet uneasy ; 
 
 Their days insipid, dull, an' tasteless ;, 
 
 Their nights unquiet, lang, an' restless. 
 
 An' e'en their sports, their balls an' races. 
 Their galloping through public places, 
 There 's sic parade, sic pomp, an' art, 
 The joy can scarcely reach the heart. 
 
 The men cdst out in party matches, 
 Then sowther a' in deep debauches ; 
 Ae night they 're maij wi' drink ^n' whoring, 
 Neist day their life is- past enduring. 
 
THE TWA Cogs 
 
 The ladies arm-in-arm in dusters, 
 As great and gracious a' as sisters ; 
 But hear their absent thoughts o' ither, 
 They 're a* run deils an' j ads thegither. 
 Whyles, o'er the wee bit cup'&n" platie, 
 They sip the scandal potion pretty ; 
 Or lee-lang nights, wi' crabbit leuks 
 Pore owre the devil's picture-beuks ; 
 Stake on a chance a farmer's stacky^d, 
 An' cheat like ony uhhahg'd l^ackguard. 
 
 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 gloamin' 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, 
 Rejoiced they were na men, but dogs ; 
 An' each took all his several way. 
 Resolved to meet some ither day. 
 
 SCOTCH DRINK 
 
 ' Gie him strong drink, until he -wink. 
 
 That 's sinking in despair ; 
 An' liquor gijid to Are his bluld, 
 
 That 's prest wi' griet an' care ; 
 There let him bouse, an' deep carouse, 
 
 Wi' bumpers flowing o'er, 
 Till he lorgets his loves or debts, , 
 
 An' minds his griefs no more.' 
 
 Solomon's Proverbs, xxxi. 6, 7. 
 
 Let other; poets raise a fracas 
 
 'Bout vines, an' wiiies, an' drunkeii Bacchus, 
 
 An' crabtit names an' stories wrack us. 
 
 An' grate our lug, 
 I sing the juice Scotch beare can mak us. 
 
 In glass or jug. 
 
 O thou, my Muse I guid auld Scotch drink ; 
 Whether through 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 1 
 
28 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Let husky wheat the haughs adorn, 
 An' aits set up their awnie horn. 
 An' pease and beans, at e'en or morn. 
 
 Perfume the plain, 
 Leeze me on thee, John Barleycorn, 
 
 Thou king o' grain I 
 
 On thee aft Scotland chows her cood. 
 In souple scones, the wale o' food 1 
 Or tumblin' in the boiliii' flood, 
 
 y Wi' kail an' beef ; 
 But wherfuiou pours thy strong heart's blood, 
 There thou shines chief. 
 
 Food fills the wame, an' keeps us livin' ; 
 Though life 's a gift no worth recelvin'. 
 When heavy dragg'd wi' pine an' grievin' ; 
 
 But, oil'd by thee. 
 The wheels o' life gae downhill, scrievin', 
 
 Wi' rattlin' glee. 
 
 Thou clears the head o' doited Lear ; 
 Thou cheers the heart o' drooping Care ; 
 Thou strings the nerves o' Labour sair 
 
 At 's weary toil ; 
 Thou even brightens dark Despair 
 
 Wi' gloomy smile. 
 
 Aft, clad in massy silver weed, 
 Wi' gentles thou erects thy head ; 
 Yet humbly kind in time o' need. 
 
 The poor man's wine, 
 His wee drap parritch, or his bread, 
 
 Thou kitchens fine. 
 
 Thou art the life o' public haunts ; 
 
 But thee, what were our fairs and rants ? 
 
 Elven godly meetings o' the saunts. 
 
 By thee inspired, 
 When gaping they besiege the tents. 
 
 Are doubly fired. 
 
 That merry night we get the corn in, 
 O sweetly then thou reams the horn in I 
 Or reekin' on a New-year mornin'. 
 
 In cog or bicker, 
 An' just a wee drap sp'ritual burn in. 
 
 An' gusty sucker I 
 
SCOTCH DRINK 29 
 
 Wlien Vulcan gies his bellows breath, 
 An' ploughmen gather wi' their graith. 
 Oh rare ! to see thee flzz an' freath 
 
 I' th' lugget cap I 
 Then Bnrnewin comes on like death 
 
 At ev'ry chap. 
 
 Nae mercy then for aim or steel, 
 The braymie, bainie, ploughman chlel 
 Brings hard owrehip, wi' sturdy wheel, 
 
 The strong forehammer, 
 Till block and studdie ring and 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 ^ets a social night. 
 
 Or plack frae them. 
 
 When neebours anger at a plea, 
 An' just as wud as wud can be. 
 How easy can the barley bree 
 
 Cement the quarrel I 
 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 mony daily weet their weason 
 
 Wi' liquors, nice, 
 An' hardly, in a winter's season, 
 
 E'er spier her price. . 
 
 Wae worth that brandy, burning trash 1 
 Fell source o' mony a pain an' brash 1 
 T\vins mony a poor doylt, drunken hash,^ ' 
 
 O' half his days I 
 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 devUs like mysel', 
 
 It sets you ill, 
 Wi' bitter, dearthfu' wines to mell, 
 
 Or foreign gill. 
 
30 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 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' honest men. 
 
 Whisky, soul 6' plays an' pranks I 
 Accept a Bardie's gratefu' thanks ; 
 When wantin' thee, what tuneless cranks 
 
 Are my poor verses 1 
 Thou comes — they rattle 1' their ranks 
 
 At ither's arses I 
 
 Thee, Ferintosh I oh sadly lost I 
 Scotland lainent frae coast to coast I 
 Now colic grips, an' barkin' hoast. 
 
 May kill us a' ; 
 For loyal Forbes'* charter'd boast 
 
 Is ta'en awa I 
 
 Thae curst horse-leeches o' th' Excise, 
 Wha mak the whisky stells their prize I 
 Haud up thy ban', Deil I ance, twice, thrice ! 
 
 There, seize the blinkers ! 
 An' bake them up in brunstane pies 
 
 For poor damn'd drinkers. 
 
 Fortune 1 If thou'U but gie me stDl 
 Hale breeks, a scone, an' whisky gill, 
 An' rowth o' rhyme to rave at will, 
 
 Tak' a' the rest, ' 
 An' deal 't about as thy blind skill 
 
 Pirects thee best. 
 
 • ' Forbes ' ol CuUoden, who first, by an Act of Parliament, was em- 
 powered to distil whisky at his batony of Ferintosh, free of duty. In 
 1785 this privilege was abolished, but a handsotue compensation was 
 made to the Forbes family, , i 
 
EARNEST CRY AND PRAYER 31 
 
 THE AUTHOR'S EARNEST CRY AND 
 PRAYER * 
 
 TO THE SCOTCH REPRESENTATIVES IN 
 THE HOUSE OF COMMONS 
 
 ' Dearest ol distillation I last and Jiest I 
 How art thou lost 1 ' 
 
 Parody on Milton 
 
 Ye Irish lords, ye knights an' squires, 
 Wha represent our brughs an' shires. 
 An' doucely manage our affairs ■ 
 
 In Parliament, 
 To you a simple Bardie's prayers 
 
 Are humbly sent. 
 
 Alas ! my roopit Muse is hearse I 
 
 Your honours' hearts wi' grief 'twad pierce, 
 
 To see her sittin' on hei' arse 
 
 Low i' the dust, 
 An' screechin' out prosaic verse, 
 
 An' like to brust I 
 
 TeU them wha hae the chief direction, 
 Scotland an' me 's in great affliction, 
 E'er sin' they laid that curst restriction 
 
 On aqua vitae ; 
 An' rouse them up to strong conviction, 
 
 An' move their pity. 
 
 Stand forth, an' tell' yon Premier youth, f 
 
 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 I 
 
 Does ony great man glunch an' gloom 
 Speak out, an' never fash your thoom 1 
 
 ? 
 
 * ' Prayer : ' this was written belore the Act anent the Scotch Distilleries, 
 of session 1786 ; for which Scotland and the author return their most 
 grateful thanks. — B. Previous to that the excise laws were enforced 
 with the utmost rigour. 
 
 t ' Premier youth : ' Pitt. 
 
32 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Let posts an' pensions sink or soom 
 
 Wi' them wha grant 'em : 
 
 If honestly they canna come, 
 
 Far better want 'em. 
 
 In gath'rin' votes you were na slack ; 
 Now stand as tightly by your lack ; 
 Ne'er claw your lug, an' fldge your Ijack, 
 
 » An' hum an' haw ; 
 
 But raise your arm, an' tell your crack 
 Before them a'. 
 
 Paint Scotland greetin' owre her thrissle ; 
 Her mutchkin stoup as toom's a whistle ; 
 An' damn'd excisemen in a bussle. 
 
 Seizin' a steU, 
 Triumphant crushin 't like a mussel. 
 
 Or lampit shell. 
 
 Tlien on the tither hand present her, 
 A blackguard smuggler right behint her. 
 An' cheek-for-chow, a chuffle vintner, 
 
 CoUeaguing join, 
 Picking her pouch as bare as winter 
 
 Of a' kind coin. 
 
 Is there, that bears the name o' Scot, 
 But feels his heart's bluid rising hot. 
 To sec his poor auld mither's pot 
 
 Thus dung in staves. 
 An' plunder'd o' her hindmost groat 
 
 By gallows knaves ? 
 
 Alas I I'm but a nameless wight. 
 
 Trod i' the mire out o' sight ! 
 
 But could I nice Montgomeries * fight. 
 
 Or gab like Boswell,-f 
 There's some sark-necks I wad draw tight. 
 
 An' tie some hose well. 
 
 God bless your honours, can ye see't, 
 The kind, auld, cantie carlin greet. 
 An' no get warmly to your feet. 
 
 An' gar them hear it. 
 An' tell them wi' a patriot heat 
 
 Ye winna bear it ? 
 
 * ' Montgomeries : ' attenvards the twelfth Lord Eglinlon. 
 ■f ' Boswell : ' Johnson's Bozzy. 
 
EARNEST CRY AND PRAYER 33 
 
 Some o' you nicely ken the laws, 
 To round the period and pause, 
 An' Nvi' rhetoric clause on clause 
 
 To mak harangues ; 
 Then echo through Saint Stephen's wa's 
 
 Auld Scotland's wrangs. 
 
 Dempster,* a true-blue Scot I 'se warran' ; 
 Thee, aith-detesting, chaste Kilkerran ; f 
 An' tha;t gHb-gabbet Highland baron, 
 
 The Laird o' Graham ; t 
 An' ane, a chap that 's damn'd auldfarran, 
 
 Dundas § his name. 
 
 Erskine,|| a spunkic Norland billie ; 
 True Campliells, Frederick an' Hay ; ^ 
 An' Livingstone, the bauld Sir Willie : 
 
 An' mony ilhers. 
 Whom auld Demosthenes or Tully 
 
 Might own for brithers. 
 
 Arouse, my boys I exert your mettle 
 To get auld Scotland back her kettle ; 
 Or faith 1 I '11 wad my new pleugh-pettle, 
 
 Ye '11 see 't or lang, 
 She '11 teach you, wi' a reekin' whittle, 
 
 Anither sang. 
 
 This while she 's been in crankous mood, 
 Her lost militia *"■ fired her bluid ; 
 (Deil na they never mair do guid, 
 
 Play'd her that pliskie 1) 
 An' now she 's like to rin red-wud 
 
 About her whisky. 
 
 An' Lord, if ance they pit her till 't, 
 Her tartan petticoat she '11 kilt. 
 An' durk an' pistol at her belt, 
 
 She '11 tak the streets. 
 An' rin her whittle to the hilt, 
 
 I' th' first she meets I 
 
 ♦ ' Dempster : ' ol Duiinichen, Angusshirc. 
 
 t ' Kilkerran : ' Sir Adam Ferguson. 
 
 i ' The Laird o' Graham : ' nuke of Montrose. 
 
 ^ ' Dundas : ' afterwards Lord Meh ille. 
 
 '; ' Erskine : ' Thomas, afterwards Lord Erskinc. 
 
 'i ' Frederick and Islay : ' one Lord Register, and the other Lord Ad- 
 vocate, for Scotland. 
 
 ♦*' Militia : ■ a Militia Bill in 1782, when the country was threatened 
 with invasion, was mangled by Rockingham, and lost. 
 40— B 
 
34 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 For God's sake, sirs 1 then speak her fair, 
 An' straik her cannie wi' tlie hair, 
 An' to the muckle house repair, 
 
 \Vi' instant speed. 
 An' strive wi' a' your wit and lear 
 
 To get remead. 
 
 Yon ill-tongued tiiikler Charlie Fox, 
 May taupt you Ayi' his jeers a^' mocks : 
 But gie tiini 't het, my hearty cocks I 
 
 E'en cowe the cadie 1 
 An' send him to liis dicing box 
 
 An' sportin' lady. 
 
 Tell yon guid bluid p' auld Boconnock's * 
 
 I '11 be his debt twa mashlurrj bannocks, 
 
 An' drink his health in auld Nanse Tinnock's t 
 
 Nine times a- week,. 
 If he some scheme, like tea an' winnockSiJ 
 
 Wad kindly seek. 
 
 Could he some comrhutation broach, 
 I '11 pledge my aith in guid braid Scotch, 
 He need na fear their foul reproach. 
 
 Nor erudition^ 
 Yon mixtle-maxtie queer hotch-potch. 
 
 The Coalition.§ 
 
 Auld Scotland has a raucle tongue ;' 
 She 's just a devil wi' a rung ; 
 An' if she prolnise auld or young 
 
 To tak their part, 
 Though by the neck she should be strung, 
 
 She '11 no desert. 
 
 An' now, ye chosen fiVe-and-forty, 
 
 May still your mither's heart support ye ; 
 
 Then, tliOugh a minister grow dorty. 
 
 An' kick 5'our place. 
 Ye '11 snap your fingers, poor an' heartj', 
 
 Before his face. 
 
 * ' Boconnock : ' the Earl of Chatham was the son of Robert I?itt ot 
 Boconuock, in Cornwall. 
 
 t ' Nanse Ti-nnock : ' a worthy old hostess of Uie author's in Mau'chlinp, 
 wlierc he somethnes studies politics oyer a glass of giiid auld Scotch drmk. — 
 B. 
 
 t ' Tea an' winnoeks : ' Pitt reduced the tax qq tea, and' laid on? on 
 v,-indows, in 1781. 
 
 § ' Coalition : ' Ijetween Fox, North, and Qurlce, 
 
EARNEST CRY AND PRAYER 35 
 
 God bless your honours a' your days, , 
 \Vi' sowps o' kail and brals o' clalse, 
 In spite g' a' the thievish kaes, 
 
 ,,.,1 ■ -1 That haunt St. Jamie's I 
 Your humble poet sings an' prays 
 
 While Rab his name is. 
 
 POSTSCRIPT 
 
 Let half-starved slaves, in warmer skies. 
 See future wines, rich clustering, rise ; 
 Their lot auld Scotland ne'er envies, 
 
 But blithe and frisky. 
 She eyes her freeborn, martial boys, 
 
 Tak aff their whisky. 
 
 What though their Phoebus kinder warms, 
 ^^^lile fragrance bloomjS^nd beauty cliai'ms 1 
 When ■wretches range, in famish' d swarms. 
 
 The scented groves, 
 Or hounded forth, dishonour arms 
 
 In hungry droves. 
 
 Their ^un 's a burdieri on their shbuther ; 
 They downa bide the stinlc o' powther ; 
 Their bauldest tliought 's a hankering swithcr 
 
 To Stan' or rin. 
 Till skelp — a shot — they 're af£, a' throwther, 
 
 To save their skin. 
 
 But bring a Scotsman frae ,hjs. hill, 
 Clap in his cheek a Highlanjl gill. 
 Say, such is royal George's, will, 
 
 .; An' there 's the loe,: 
 
 He has nae thought but how to Hill 
 Tvva at a blow. 
 
 Nae cauld, faint-hearted doubtings tease him ; 
 Death comes, — wi' fearless eye he sees him ; 
 Wi' bluidy hand a welcome gies him ; 
 
 An' when he fa's. 
 His latest draught o' breathin' lea'es him 
 
 In faint huzzas 1 
 
 Sages their solemn e'en may steek, 
 An' raise a philosophic reek, 
 
36 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 An' physically causes seek, 
 
 In clime and season. 
 
 But tell me whisky's name in Greek, 
 I '11 tell the reason. 
 
 Scotland, my auld, respected mither ! 
 Though whiles ye moistify your leather, 
 Till whare ye sit, on craps o' heather, 
 
 Ye tine your dam ; 
 — Freedom and whisky gang thegither 1 — 
 
 Tak art your dram 1 
 
 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 ia mode. 
 
 I 
 
 Upon a simmer Sunday morn. 
 
 When Nature's face is fair, 
 I walked forth to view the corn. 
 
 An' snuff the caller air. 
 The risin' sun owre Galston muirs, 
 
 Wi' glorious light was glintin' ; 
 The hares were hirplin' down the furs. 
 
 The lav'rocks they were chantin' 
 
 Fu' sweet that day. 
 
 As lightsomcly I glowr'd abroad. 
 
 To see a scene sae gay, 
 Three hizzies, early at the road, 
 
 Gam skelpin' up the way ; 
 
 * ' Holy Fair ' is a common phrase in the West ol Scotland lor a 
 sacramental occasion. — 13. 
 
THE HOLY FAIR 37 
 
 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. 
 
 Ill 
 
 The twa appear'd Hke sisters twin. 
 
 In feature, form, an' claes ; 
 Their visage, wither'd, lang, an' thin, 
 
 An' sour as ony slaes : 
 The third cam up, hap-step-an'-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 afl, quoth I, ' Sweet lass, 
 
 I think you seem to ken me ; 
 I 'm sure I 've seen that bonnie face. 
 
 But yet I canna name ye.' 
 Quo' she, an' laughin' as she spak. 
 
 An' taks me by the hands, 
 ' Ye, for my sake, hae gi'en the feck 
 
 Of a' the ten commands 
 
 A screed some dav. 
 
 ' My name is Fun— your cronie dear, 
 
 The nearest friend ye hae ; 
 An' this is Superstition here, 
 
 An' that 's Hypocrisy. 
 I 'm gaun to Mauchline Holy Fair, 
 
 To spend an hour in daffin' : 
 Gin ye '11 go there, yon runkled pair. 
 
 We will get famous laughin' 
 
 At them this day. 
 
 Quoth I, ' With a' my heart, I'll do 't : 
 I 'II get my Sunday's sark on. 
 
 An' meet you on the holy spot — 
 Faith, we 'se hae fine remarkin' 1 ' 
 
38 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Then I gaedhame at crowdie-time, 
 An' soon I made me ready ; 
 
 For roads were clad, frae side to side, 
 Wi' mony a wearie body, 
 
 In droves that day. 
 
 Here farmers gash, in ridin' graith, 
 
 Gaed hoddin by their cottars ; 
 There, swankies young, in braw braid-claith 
 
 Are springin' o'er the gutters ; 
 The lasses, skelpin' barefit, thrang, 
 
 In silks an' scarlets glitter ; 
 Wi' sweet-milk cheese, in mony a whang, 
 
 An' farls baked wi' butter, 
 
 Fu' crump that day. 
 
 When by the plate we set our nose, 
 
 Weel heaped up wi' ha'pence, 
 A greedy glowr Black-bonnet * throws, ' 
 
 An' we maun draw our tippence. 
 Then in we go to see the show, 
 
 On every side they re gath'rin'. 
 Some carrying deals, some chairs an' stools, 
 
 An' some are busy blethrin' 
 
 Right loud that day. 
 
 Here stands a shed to fend the showers, 
 
 An' screen our countra gentry. 
 There, racer Jess,t an' twa-three whores. 
 
 Are blinkin' at the entry. 
 Here sits a raw of tittlin' jads, 
 
 Wi' heaving breast and bare neck, 
 An' there a batch of wabster lads. 
 
 Blackguarding frae Kilmarnock, 
 
 For fun this day. 
 
 • ' Black-bonnet : ' the elder at the plate. 
 
 t ■ Racer Jess : ' a half-witted girl, ol remarkable pedestrian powers, 
 daughter ot Poosie Nancy. 
 
THE HOLY FAIR 39 
 
 Here, some are thinkin' on their sins, 
 
 An' some upo' their claes ; 
 Ane curses feet that fyled his shins, 
 
 Anither sighs and prays : 
 On this hand sits a chosen swatch, 
 
 Wi' screw'd-up, grace-proud faces ; 
 On that a set o' chaps at watch, 
 
 Thrang winkin' on the lasses 
 
 To chairs that day. 
 
 O happy is that' man an' blest ! 
 
 Nae wonder that it pride him I 
 Wha 's ain dear lass, that he likes best, 
 
 Comes clinkin' down beside him I 
 Wi' arm reposed on the chair-back, 
 
 He sweetly does compose him ; 
 Which, by degrees, slips round her neck, 
 
 An 's loof upon her bosom, 
 
 Unkenn'd that day. 
 
 Now a' the congregation o'er 
 
 Is silent expectation : 
 For Moodie * speels the holy door, 
 
 Wi' tidings o' damnation. 
 Should Hornie, as in ancient days, 
 
 'IVfang sons o' God present him. 
 The vera sight o' Moodie's face 
 
 To 's ain het hame had sent him 
 
 Wi' fright that dav. 
 
 Hear how he clears the points o' Faith 
 
 Wi' rattlin' an' wi' thumpin' 1 
 Now meekly calm, now wild in wrath, 
 
 He 's stampin' an' he 's jumpin' I 
 His lengthen'd chin, his turn'd-up suoul. 
 
 His eldrich squeel and gestures, 
 Oh ! how they Are the heart de^ltout, 
 
 Like cantharidian plast;ers. 
 
 On sic a day I 
 
 ' Moodie ; ' minister ol Riccarlon, a great preaclier ol terror. 
 
40 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 XIV 
 
 But hark ! the tent has changed its voice ; 
 
 There 's peace an' rest nae langer ; 
 For a' the real judges rise, 
 
 They canna sit for anger. 
 Smith * opens out his cauld harangues 
 
 On practice and on morals ; 
 An' afi the godly pour in thrangs. 
 
 To gie the jars an' barrels 
 
 A lift that day. 
 
 XV 
 
 What signifies his barren shine 
 
 Of moral powers and reason ? 
 His English style, an' gesture fine. 
 
 Are a' clean out o' season. 
 Like Socrates or Antonine, 
 
 Or some auld pagan heathen, 
 The moral man he does define. 
 
 But ne'er a word o' faith in 
 
 That 's right that day. 
 
 In guid time comes an antidote 
 
 Against sic poison'd nostrum ; 
 For Peebles, t frae the Water-fit, 
 
 Ascends the holy rostrum : 
 See, up he 's got the Word o' God, 
 
 An' meek an' mim has view'd it, 
 While Common-Sense J has ta'en the road, 
 
 An' afl, an' up the Cowgate,§ 
 
 Fast, fast, that day. 
 
 Wee Miller p neist the guard relieves, 
 
 An' Orthodoxy raibles. 
 Though in his heart he weel believes 
 
 An' thinks it auld wives' fables : 
 
 • * Smith : ' minister of Galston. 
 
 t ' Peebles : ' minister of Newton-on-Ayr, called the ' Water-foot ; " 
 an Evangelical preacher. 
 
 t ' Common-Sense : ' one Macltenzie, doctor in the village, who had 
 written on some controversial topic under that sobriquet. 
 
 § ' Cowgate : ' a street so called which faces the tent in Mauchline. B. 
 
 II ' Miller : ' afterwards minister of Kilmaurs, a man of low stature, but 
 great girth, ' 
 
THE HOLY FAIR 41 
 
 But, faith I the birkic wants a manse, 
 
 So, cannily he hums them ; 
 Although his carnal wit an' sense 
 
 Like hafilins-ways o'ercomes him 
 
 At times that day. 
 
 XVIII 
 
 Now butt an' ben, the cliange-house fills, 
 
 Wi' yill-caup commentators : 
 Here 's crying out for bakes and gills. 
 
 An' there the pint-stoup clatters ; 
 While thick an' thrang, an' loud an' lang, 
 
 Wi' logic, an' wi' Scripture, 
 They raise a din, that in the end, 
 
 Is like to breed a rupture 
 
 O' wrath that day. 
 
 Leeze me on drink ! it gies us mair 
 
 Than either school or 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 deep. 
 
 To kittle up our notion 
 
 By night or day. 
 
 The lads an' lasses, blithely bent 
 
 To mind baith saul an' body, 
 Sit round the table, weel content, 
 
 An' steer about the toddy. 
 On this ane's dress, an' that ane's leuk, 
 
 They 're making observations ; 
 While some are cozy i' the neuk, 
 
 An' formin' assignations 
 
 To meet some day. 
 
 XXI 
 
 But now the Lord's ain trumpet tuuts. 
 
 Till a' the hills are rairin', 
 An' echoes back return the shouts — 
 
 Black Russell ■" is na sparin' : 
 
 * ' Black Russell : ' afterwards of Slirling. His son. who, like Llic 
 fatlier, was an excellent man, was minister of Mutliil, Pcrllisliirc. 
 
42 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 His piprcing words, like Highland swords. 
 Divide the joints an' marrow ; 
 
 His talk o' hell, where devils dwell, 
 Our vera sauls does harrow "'' 
 
 Wi' fright that day. 
 
 A vast, unbottom'd, boundless pit, 
 
 Fill'd fou o' lowin' brunstane, 
 AMia's ragin' flame, an' scorchin' heat, 
 
 Wad melt the hardest whun-stane 1 
 The half-asleep start up wi' fear, 
 
 An' think they hear it roarin', 
 \Yhen presently it does appear 
 
 'Twas but some neebour snorin' 
 
 Asleep that day. 
 
 XXIII 
 
 'Twad be owre lang a tale to tell 
 
 How mony stories past, 
 An' how they crowded to the yill, 
 
 ^Vhen they were a' dismist : 
 How drink gaed round, in cogs an' caups, 
 
 Amang the furms and benches : 
 An' cheese an' bread, frae \vomen's laps. 
 
 Was dealt about in lunches, 
 
 An' dauds that day. 
 
 XXIV 
 
 In comes a gaucie, gash guidwife. 
 
 An' sits down by the fire. 
 Sync draws her kebbuck an' her knife ; 
 
 The lasses they are shyer. 
 The auld guidmen, about the grace, 
 
 Frae side to side they bother. 
 Till some ane bye his bonnet lays. 
 
 An' gi'es them 't like a tether. 
 
 Fu' lang that day. 
 
 Waesucks 1 for him that gets nae lass, 
 Or lasses that hae naething 1 
 
 Snia' need has he to say a grace. 
 Or inelvie his braw claithing 1 
 
 • ' Sauls docs U«rrow : ' Slialispcare's Hainlcl. —B. 
 
THE HOLY FAIR 43 
 
 wives, be mindfu' ance yoursel' 
 
 How bonnie lads ye wanted, 
 An' dinna, for a kebbuck-heel. 
 
 Let lasses be affronted 
 
 On sic a day I 
 
 Now ClinkumbelJ, 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 : 
 Wl' faith an' hope, an' love an' drink, 
 
 They 're a' in famous tune. 
 
 For crack that day. 
 
 XXVII 
 
 How mony hearts this day converts 
 
 O' sinners and o' lasses I 
 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' mony jobs that day begin. 
 
 May end in houghmagandie 
 
 Some ither day. 
 
 DEATH AND DOCTOR HORNBOOK 
 
 A TRUE STORY 
 
 Some books arp lies frae enrl to end, 
 And some great lies were never peiln'd : 
 Ev'n ministers, they hae been kenn'd. 
 
 In holy rapture, 
 A rousing whid,* at times, to vend. 
 
 And nail't wi' Scripture. 
 
 * " A rousing whid : ' in Second Edition — 
 • Great lies and nonsense baith to vend,' 
 
44 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 II 
 
 But this that I am gaun to tell, 
 Which lately on a night befell, 
 Is just as true 's the deil 's in hell, 
 
 Or Dublin city : 
 That e'er he nearer comes oursei' 
 
 '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 aye 
 
 To free the ditches ; 
 An' hillocks, stanes, and bushes kenn'd aye 
 
 Frae ghaists an' witches. 
 
 The rising moon began to glowr 
 The distant Cumnock hills outowre : 
 To count her horns, wi' a' my power, 
 
 I set mysel' ; 
 But whether she had three or four, 
 
 I could na tell. 
 
 I was come round about the hill. 
 And todlin' down on WiUie's mil),* 
 Setting my staff wi' a' my skill, 
 
 To keep me sicker ; 
 Though 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, outowre ae shouther, 
 
 Clear-dangling, hang ; 
 A three-taed leister, on the ither 
 
 Lay, large an' lang. 
 
 • ' Willie's mill : ' a mill near JIauchline, on the river Fnile, occupied bv 
 William Muir, a crony ot Burns 
 
DEATH AND DOCTOR HORNBOOK 45 
 
 VII 
 
 Its stature seem'd lang Scotch ells twa, 
 The queerest shape that e'er I saw, 
 For flent a wame it had ava ; 
 
 And then, its shanks. 
 They were as thin, an' sharp, an' sma'. 
 
 As cheeks o' branks. 
 
 ' Guid-e'en', quo" I ; ' Friend, hae ye been mawin', 
 
 WTien ither folk are busy sawin' ? ' * 
 
 It seem'd to mak a kind o' stan', * 
 
 But naething spak ; 
 At length, says I, ' Friend, whare ye gaun ? — 
 
 Will ye go back ? ' 
 
 It spak right howe — ' My name is Death, 
 But be na fley'd.' Quoth I, ' Guid faith. 
 Ye 're maybe come to stap my breatli ; 
 
 But tent me, billie — 
 I red ye wcel, 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 
 
 Outowre my beard.' 
 
 XI 
 
 ' Weel, weel,' says I, ' a bargain be 't ; 
 Come, gie's your hand, an' sae we 're gree 't ; 
 We '11 ease our shanks an' tak a seat — 
 
 Come, gie 's your news ; 
 This while f ye hae been mony a gate, 
 
 At mony a house.' 
 
 * ' Busy sawin' : ' this rencounter happened in seed-time, ITSj. — B. 
 t ' This while : * an epidemical fe^ ei- was then raging in that county. — IS. 
 
46 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 XII 
 
 ' Ay, ay I ' quo' he, an' shook hjs head, 
 ' It 's e'en a laiig, lang time indeed 
 Sin' I began to nick tlie thread, ' 
 
 An' choice the breath : 
 Folk maun do something for their bread, 
 
 An' sae maun Death. 
 
 ' Sax thousand years are near hand fled, 
 
 Sin' 1 was to the hutching bred, 
 
 An' mony a scheme in vain 's been laid, ■ 
 
 To stap or scaiu- me ; 
 Till ane Hornbook * 'sita'en up the trade, 
 
 An' faith, he '11 waur me. 
 
 ' Ye ken Jock Hornbook f i' the clachan, 
 Deil mak his king's-hood in a spleuchan 1 
 He 's grown sae weel acquant wi' Buchan J 
 
 An' ither chaps. 
 The weans hand out their fijngers laughin' 
 
 And pouk my hips. 
 
 ' See, here 's a scythe, and there 's a dart, 
 They hae pierced mony a gallant heart ; 
 But Doctor Hornbook, wi' his art 
 
 And cursed skill. 
 Has made them baith no worth a : 
 
 Damn'd haet they 'Jl kill. 
 
 ' 'Twas but yestreen, nae farther gaen, 
 
 I threw a noble throw at ane ; 
 
 Wi' less, I 'm sure, I 've hundreds slain ; 
 
 But deil-rha-f;are. 
 It just play'd dirl on the bane, 
 
 But did nae mair. 
 
 • ' Hornbook : ' tliis si;iiUeman, Dr Honihook, is professionally a brother 
 of the Sovereign Order oj the Fenilii ; bul, by intuition and inspiration, 
 if* at once an npotliecary, surgeon, b'tid pliysician. — B. 
 
 f ' Jock Hornbook : ' John Wilson, a grocer, schoolmaster, ;nid would-be 
 apothecary in 't'.irbolton, afterwards a respectable inercbanl in Glasgow. 
 
 t ' Bnctian ; ' Buchan's ' Domestic Medicine.' — B. 
 
DEATH AND DOOTOR HORNBOOK 47 
 
 XV ir 
 
 ' Hornbook was by, wi' ready art. 
 And had sae fortified tlie part, 
 That when I looked to my dart, 
 
 Jt was sae blunt, 
 Fient haet o't wad hae pierced the heart 
 O' 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. 
 
 XIX 
 
 ' Ev'n them he canna get attended. 
 Although their |ace he ne'er had kenn'd it. 
 Just in a kaU-biade, and send it, 
 
 As soon he §mells 't, 
 Baith their disease, and what will mend it. 
 
 At once he tells' t. 
 
 XX 
 
 1 ■■ ' 
 
 ' And then a' doctor's saws and whittles, 
 Of a' dinlensioni, shapes, an' mettles, 
 A' kinds o' boxes, mugs, an' bottles, 
 ■ He's sure to hae ; 
 Their Latin names as fast he rattles 
 
 As A, B, C. 
 
 XXI 
 
 * Calces o' fossils, earths, and trees ; 
 True sal-marihum o' the seas. 
 The farina of beans and pease, 
 
 He' has't in plenty 
 Aqua-ifontis, what you please. 
 
 He can content ye. 
 
48 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 ' Forl)ye some new, uncommon ■weapons, 
 
 Urinus spiritus of capons ; 
 
 Or mite-horn shavings, filings, scrapings 
 
 Distill' d per se ; 
 Sal-allvali o' niidgc-tail clippings, 
 
 And mony mae.' 
 
 XXIII 
 
 ' 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 bomiic, 
 Nae doubt they '11 rive it wi' the pleugh ; 
 
 They '11 ruin Johnny I ' 
 
 The creature grinn'd an eldritch laugh. 
 And says, ' Ye need na yoke the pleugh, 
 Kirkyards will soon be till'd eneugh, 
 
 Tak ye nae fear : 
 Tlicy '11 a' be trencli'd wi' mony a sh^tigh 
 
 In twa-thrce year. 
 
 XXV 
 
 ' ^Vllare I kill'd ane a fair strae death, 
 By loss o' blood or want o' breath. 
 This night I 'm free to tak my aith. 
 
 That Hornbook's skill 
 Has clad a score i' their last claith. 
 
 By drap an' piU. 
 
 XXVI 
 
 ' An honest wabster to his trade, 
 
 Whase wife's twa nievcs were scarce weel-bred, 
 
 Gat tippence-worth to mend her head, 
 
 \\Tien it was sair ; 
 The wife slade cannie to her bed, 
 
 But ne'er spak mair. 
 
 • ' Johnny Ged's liule : ' the grave-diggcr. — B. 
 
DEATH AND DOCTOR HORNBOOK 49 
 
 XXVII 
 
 ' A countra laird had ta'cn the baits. 
 Or some curmurrlng in liis guts ; 
 His only son for Hornbook sets, 
 
 ' "An' Ipays him well^- 
 
 The lad, for twa guid gimmer pets, 
 Was laird himsel'. 
 
 XXVIII 
 
 ' A bonnle lass, ye kenn'd lier name, 
 Soriie ill-brewn drink had hoved her wame ; 
 She trusts teersel', to hide the shame, 
 
 -1 In Hornbook's care; 
 
 Horn bent her all to her Jang hame, 
 To hide it there. 
 
 XXPJt 
 
 ' That-'s just a swatch o' Hornbook's way ; 
 Thus goes he on from day to day. 
 Thus does he poison, kill, an' slay. 
 
 An 's Weel paid for 't ; 
 Yet stops mc o' my lawf u' prey, 
 
 Wi' .his damn'd dirt : 
 
 ' But, hark 1, I '11 tell you of a plot, 
 Though dinna ye be speaking o 't ; 
 I '11 nail the self-conceited sot, , 
 
 As dead 's a herrin' : 
 Nqjst time we meet, 1 '11 wad a groat. 
 
 He gets his fairin' 1 ' 
 
 ) XXXI 
 
 But just as he began to tell. 
 
 The. auld kirk-hammer strak the bell 
 
 Some wee short hour ayont the twal. 
 
 Which' raised us baith ; 
 I took the way that pleased mysel', 
 
 And sac did Death. 
 
5U BURNS', POEMS .AND SONGS 
 
 THE BRIGS OF AYR: A POEM 
 
 INSCRTBBt)' TO J. BAIJI-ANTYNE,'* ^ESQ., AYR 
 
 The simple Bard, rough atiihe rustic plough. 
 
 Learning his tuneful trade from every bough ; 
 
 The chanting linnet, or the mellow tjicush, 
 
 Hailing the setting sun,, sweet, in the green thorn bush ; 
 
 The soaring lark, the perching red-breast shrill, 
 
 Or deep-toned plovers, gray, wild- whistling o'er the hilL: 
 
 Shall he, nurst in the peasant's lowly shed. 
 
 To hardy independence bravely bred. 
 
 By early poverty to hardship steel'd, 
 
 And train'd to arms in stern misfortune's field — 
 
 Shall he be guilty of thek hireling crimes. 
 
 The servile, mercfenary Swiss' of rhymes ? 
 
 Or labour hard the panegyric clpse,. ! . , .; , 
 
 With all the venal soul of, dedicating prose ? 
 
 No ! though his artless strains he rudely sings, 
 
 And throws his hand uncouthly o'er the strings, 
 
 He glows with all the spirit of the Bard, 
 
 Fame, honest fame, his great, his dear reward 1 
 
 Still, if some patron's generous care he :traCe; ; 
 
 Skill'd in the secret tb bestow with grace ; 
 
 When BaUantyne befriends his humble name, 
 
 And hands the' rustic stranger up to fame, 
 
 With heartfelt throes his grateful bosom swells; 
 
 The godlike bliss, to give, alone excels. 
 
 'Twas when the stacks get on their winter hap, 
 And thack and rape secure the toil-won crap ; 
 Potatoe-bings are snugged up frae skaith 
 Of coming Wihier's biting, frosty breath ; 
 The bees, rejoicing o'er their Summer toils, 
 Unnumber'd buds and flowers' toicious spoils, 
 Seal'd up with frugal care in massive waxen piles. 
 Are doorrj'd by man, that tyrant o'er the weak. 
 The death o' devils, smbor'd "wi' brimstone reek : 
 The thund'ring guns are heard on every side, 
 The wounded coveys, reeling, scatter wide ; 
 The feather'd lield-matesj bound by Nature's tic. 
 Sires, mothers, children, in one carnage lie : 
 (What warm, poetic heart, but inly bleeds, ' ' 
 And execrates mart's savage, ruthless deeds ?) 
 Nae mair the flower in field or meadow springs : 
 Nae mair the grove with airy concert rings, 
 
 ■■■■-' i , i ■ ! 
 
 * ■ BDllaiUyne: ' an eai'ly .Irieiid and palroii of Burns. 
 
THE BRIGS OF AYFt' 51 
 
 Except, perhaps, the roBih's whistling glee. 
 Proud o' the height o' sorne bit halMang tree : 
 The hoary morns precedfe' the sunny diiys. 
 Mild, calm, serene, ■wide spreads the 'nboritide blaze,' 
 "While thick the gossamer waves wahton in the rkys. 
 
 'Twas in that season, when a simple Bard, 
 Unknown and poor, simplicity's reward, 
 Ae night, within the ancient brugh of Ayr, 
 By whim inspired, or haply press' d.wi' care, , 
 He left his bed) and: took' his wayward route, , 
 And down by Simpson's * Wheel'd, the. left abo^utj: 
 (Whether impell'd by iall-directing Fate, 
 To witness what I after shall narrate ; 
 Or whether, wrapt in meditation high. 
 He wander' d out he knew not where, nor why) 
 The drowsy Dungeon-clock t had number'd two. 
 And Wallace-tower f had sworn the fact was true : 
 The tide-swo.U'n Firth, with suUen sounding roar. 
 Through the still night dash'd hoarse; along the shore ; 
 All else was hush'd as Nature's closdid e'e ; 
 The silent moon shone hi^h o'er tower and tree : 
 The chilly frost, beneath the silver beam. 
 Crept, gently-crusting, o'er the glittering stream. 
 
 Wlien, lo 1 on either ha'nid' the listeriipg Bard, 
 The clangi^ng sugh of whistling wings' is hearci ; 
 Two dusky" forms dart through the midnight air; 
 Swift as the gos J 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 descried 
 The Sprites that owre the Brigs of Ayr preside. 
 (That Bards are Second-sighted isnae joke,. 
 And ken the lingoof the sp'ritual folk ; , ■ 
 Fays, Spunkies, Kelpies, a', they can explain them,i 
 And e'en the vera Doilsthey brawly ken thpin.) 
 Auld Brig ajipear'd of ancient Pictishirace, 
 The very wrinkles Gothic in l)is face : . ^ 
 He seem'd as he Svi' Time had warstledJang, 
 Yet, teughlyi rdourCj he bade an uncotbang. 
 New Brig was buskit in a braw new coat. 
 That ho, at il.oil'on, frae ane Adams, got ; 
 In 's hand iive taper staves as smooth 's ahead, 
 Wi' virls and whirlygigums at the head. 
 
 • ' Simpson's : ' a nbted tavern at the /\uld Brig end. — B. 
 
 t ' Duilgeon-clock and Wallace-tower : ' the two steeples.— B, 
 
 I ' Gos : ' the gos-hawk, or falcon. — B, 
 
52 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 The Goth was stalking round with anxious search, 
 Spying the time-worn flaws in every arch ; 
 It chanced his new-come neebour took his e'e, 
 And e'en a vex'd and angry heart had he ! 
 Wi' thieveless sneer to see his modish mien. 
 He down the water gies him this guide'en :- 
 
 AULD BRIG 
 
 I doubt na', Irien', ye '11 think ye 're nae sheepshank, i 
 
 Ance ye were streekit o'er frae bank to bank ! 
 
 But gin ye be a brig as auld as me — 
 
 Though, faith I that day I doubt ye '11 never see — 
 
 There '11 be, if that date come, I '11 wad a bodle, 
 
 Some fewer whigmaleeries in your noddle. 
 
 NEW BRIG 
 
 Auld Vandal, ye but show your little mense. 
 
 Just much about it wi' your scanty sense ; 
 
 Will your poor narrow footpath of a street — 
 
 Where twa wheelbai-rows tremble when they meet^ 
 
 Your ruin'd, formless bulk o' stane an' lime, 
 
 Compare wi' bonnie brigs o' modern time ? 
 
 There 's men o' taste would tak the Ducat-stream * 
 
 Though they should cast the very sark and swim, 
 
 Ere they wpuld grate their feelings wi' the view 
 
 Of sic an ugly Gothic hulk as you. 
 
 AULD BRIG 
 
 Conceited gowk I puff'd up wi' windy pride ! 
 
 Tliis mony a year I 've stood the flood an' tide ; 
 
 And though wi' crazy eild I 'm sair forfairn, 
 
 I '11 be a brig when ye 're a shapeless cairn ! 
 
 As yet ye little ken about the matter. 
 
 But twa-three winters will inform ye better. 
 
 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 f draws his feeble source, 
 
 • • Ducat-stream : * a noted ford, just above the Auld Brig. — B. 
 
 t * Garpal : * 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, — B. 
 
THE BRIGS OF AYR 53 
 
 Aroused by blustering winds and spotting thowes, 
 In mony a torrent down his sna'-broo rowes ; 
 While crashing ice, borne on the roaring speat. 
 Sweeps dams, an' mills, an' brigs a' to the gate ; 
 And from Glenbuck,* down to the Ratton-key.f 
 Auld Ayr is just one lengthen' d, tumbling sea — 
 Then down ye '11 hurl, deil nor ye never rise ! 
 And dash tlie gumlie jaups up to the pouring skies ; 
 A lesson sadly teaching, to your cost. 
 That Architecture's noble art is lost I 
 
 NEW BRIG 
 
 Fine Architecture, troth, I needs must say 't o 't ! 
 
 The Lord be thanldt that we 've tint the gate o 't I 
 
 Gaunt, ghastly, ghaist-aUuring edifices. 
 
 Hanging with threat'ning jut, like precipices ; 
 
 O'erarching, mouldy, gloom-inspiring coves. 
 
 Supporting roofs fantastic, stony groves : 
 
 Windows and doors, in nameless sculpture dress'd, 
 
 With order, symmetry, or taste unbless'd ; 
 
 Forms like some bedlam statuary's dream. 
 
 The crazed creations of misguided whim ; 
 
 Forms might be worshipp'd on the bended knee, 
 
 And still the second dread command be free, 
 
 Their likeness is not found on earth, in air, or y,oa.. 
 
 Mansions that would disgrace the building taste 
 
 Of any mason reptile, bird, or beast ; 
 
 Fit only for a doited monkish race. 
 
 Or frosty maids forsworn the dear embrace ; 
 
 Or cuifs of latter times, wha held the notion 
 
 That sullen gloom was sterling, true devotion ; 
 
 Fancies that our guid brugh denies protection. 
 
 And soon may they expire, unblest with resurrection ! 
 
 AULD BRIG 
 
 ye, my dear remember'd ancient yealings, 
 Were ye but liere to share my wounded feelings I 
 Ye worthy Proveses, an' mony a Bailie, 
 Wha in the paths o' righteousness did toil aye ; 
 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, 
 
 • ' Glenbuck : ' the source of the river Ayr. — B, 
 
 t ' Ratton-key : ' a small landing-place above the large key. — B. 
 
54 I BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Wha meekly gie your hurdles to the smiters ; 
 And (what would now be strange) ye 'godly writers : 
 A' ye douce folk I 've born aboon the broo. 
 Were ye but here, what would 'ye say or do 1 
 How would your spirits groan in deep vexation, 
 To see each melancholy alteration ; 
 And agonising, curse the time and place 
 When ye begat the base, degenerate race 1 
 Nae langer reverend men, their country's glory, 
 In plain braid Scots hold forth a plain braid story ; 
 Nae langer thrifty citizens, an' douce, 
 Meet owre a pint, or in the council-house ; 
 But staumrel, corky-headed, graceless gentry, 
 The herryment and ruin of the country ; 
 Men, three j)arts made by tailoi's and by barbers, 
 Wha waste your well-hain'd gear on , daran'd new brigs 
 and harbours I 
 
 NEW BBIG 
 
 Now baud you there 1 for, faith 1 ye 've said enough, 
 
 And muckle mair than ye can mak to througli ; 
 
 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 spared : 
 
 To liken them to your auld-warld squad, 
 
 I must needs say, comparisons are odd. 
 
 In Ayr, wag- wits nae mair can hae a handle 
 
 To mouth ' a citizen,' a term o' scandal ; 
 
 Nae mair the council waddles down the street. 
 
 In all the pomp of ignorant conceit ; 
 
 Men wha grew wise priggin' owre hops an' raisins. 
 
 Or gather'd lilseral views in bonds and seisins. 
 
 If haply Knowledge, on a random tramp, 
 
 Had shored them with a glimmer of his lamp. 
 
 And would to Common-sense for once betray'd them. 
 
 Plain, dull Stupidity stept kindly in to aid them. 
 
 ^^^lat farther clishmaclaver might been said. 
 What bloody wars, if Sprites had blood to sheO., 
 No man can tell : :but all before their sight, 
 A fairy train s^ppear'd in order bright ; 
 Adown the glittering stream they featly danced ; 
 Bright to the moon their various dresses glanced : 
 They footed o'er the watery glass so neat. 
 The infant ice scarce bent beneath their feet : 
 
THE BRIGS OF; AYF^ 5D 
 
 While arts of minstrelsy among them rung, 
 And soul-ennobling bards herojc ditties sung. 
 Oh had M'Lauchlan, * thairm-inspiring sage, 
 Been there to hear this heavenly band engage, 
 Wlaen through his dear strathspeys they Ijore with High- 
 land rage ; 
 Or when they struck old Scotia's melting airs, 
 The lover's raptured joys or bleeding cares ; 
 How would his Highland lug been nobler fired, 
 And even his matchless hand with finer touch inspired 1 
 No guess could tell what instrument appear'dl 
 But all the soul of Music's self was heard ; ' 
 Harmonious concert rung in every part. 
 While simple melody pour'd moving on the heart. 
 
 The Genius of the stream in front appears, 
 A venerable chief advanced in years ; 
 His hoary head with water-lilies crown'd, 
 His manly leg with garter tangle bound. 
 Next came the loveliest pair in all the ring. 
 Sweet Female Beauty hand inhandwith Spring ; 
 Then, crown'd with Jlowery, hay, came Rural Joy, 
 And Summer, with his fervid-beaming eye : 
 All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing hprn. 
 Led yellow Autumn wreath'd with nodding corn ; 
 Then Winter's time-bleach'd locks did hoary show, 
 By Hospitality with cloudless brow. 
 Next follow'd CouragCifWith his martial stride. 
 From where the Feal wild-woody coverts hide ; 
 Benevolence, with mOd benignant air, 
 A female form, came from the towers of Stair : f 
 Learning and "Worth in equal measures trode 
 From simple Catrine,f their long-loved abode : 
 Last, white-robed 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. 
 
 * ' M'Lauchlan : * a wcll-kjlown performer of Scotch music on the 
 violin. — B, He was fi"om Argyleshire; and patronised by the Earl of 
 Bglinton, himself a great musician, and alluded to in the next stanza as 
 ' Courage.' i 
 
 t ' Towers of Stair : ' the poet alludes here to Jlrs. Slcwaft of Slair, hi« 
 early patroness; 
 
 j ' Catrine : ' alluding to Dugald Stewart. , 
 
56 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 THE ORDINATION * 
 
 ' For sense they litDc owe to frugal Heaven — ■ 
 To please the mob they hide the little given.' 
 
 Kilmarnock wabsters, fidge an' claw, 
 
 An' pour your creeshie nations ; 
 An' ye wha leather rax an' draw, 
 
 O' a' denominations, 
 Swith to the Laigh Kirk, anc an' a'. 
 
 An' there tak up your stations ; 
 Then aff to Begbie's t in a raw. 
 
 An' pour divine libations 
 
 For joy this day. 
 
 II 
 
 Curst Common-sense, that imp o' hell, 
 
 Cam in wi' Maggie Lauder ; J 
 But Oliphant § aft made her yell, 
 
 An' Russell !| sair misca'd her ; 
 This day Mackinlay taks the flail. 
 
 An' he 's the boy will blaud her I 
 He '11 clap a shangan on her tail. 
 
 An' set the bairns to daud her 
 
 Wi' dirt this day. 
 
 Mak haste an' turn King David owre, 
 
 An' lilt wi' holy clangor ; 
 O' double verse come gie us four. 
 
 An' skirl up the Bangor : 
 This day the Kirk kicks up a stouro, 
 
 Nae mair the knaves shall wrang her, 
 For Heresy is in her power. 
 
 And gloriously she '11 whang her 
 Wi' pith this day. 
 
 • ' The ordination : ' ol Rev: James Mackinlay, in Kilniaruocli, whose 
 call and ordination gave the Iiighfliers a great triumph. 
 
 t ' Begbie's : ' a tavern near the cliurch. 
 
 J ' Maggie Lauder : ' alluding to a scoffing ballad which was made on 
 the admission ol the late reverend and worthy Mr Lindsay tn the Laigh 
 Kirk. — B. His wile, Margaret Lauder, liad been liouselieepcr to Lord 
 Glencairn ; and lie owed, it was said, his promotion to this. 
 
 g ■ Oliphant : ' an E\-angelical minister in Kilmarnock. 
 
 ]; ' I\ussell : ' sec toimer note on page 41. 
 
THE ORDINATION 57 
 
 Come, let a proper text he read, 
 
 An' touch it afF wi' vigour, 
 How graceless Ham * leugh at his dad. 
 
 Which made Canaan a nigger ; 
 Or Phinehas f drove the murdering blade, 
 
 Wi' whore-abhorring rigour ; 
 Or Zipporah.J the scauldin' jaud, 
 
 Was Uke a bluidy tiger 
 
 r th' inn that day. 
 
 There, try his mettle on the creed, 
 
 And bind him down wi' caution. 
 That stipend is a carnal weed 
 
 He taks but for the fashion ; 
 And gie him o'er the flock, to feed, 
 
 And punish each transgression ; 
 Especial, rams that cross the breed, 
 
 Gie them sufficient threshin'. 
 
 Spare them nae day. 
 
 Now, auld Kilmarnock, cock thy tail. 
 
 And toss thy horns fu' canty ; 
 Nae mair thou 'It rowte outowre 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 '11 weep, 
 
 To think upon our Zion ; 
 And hing our fiddles up to sleep, 
 
 Like baby-clouts a-dryin' ; 
 Come, screw the pegs wi' tunefu' cheep. 
 
 And o'er the thairms be tryin' ; 
 Oh, rare to see our elbucks wheep, 
 
 An' a' like lamb-tails flyin' 
 
 Fu' fast this day 1 
 
 * ' Ham : ' Genesis ix. 22. 
 
 t ' Phinehas : ' Numbers xxv. S. 
 
 X ' Zipporah : ' Exodus fv, 25, 
 
58 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Lang, Patronage, wi' rod o' aim, 
 
 Has shored the Kirk's undoin', 
 As lately Fenwick,* sair forfairn, 
 
 Has proven to its ruin : 
 Our patron, honest man 1 Glencairn, 
 
 He saw mischief was brewin' ; . 
 And like a godly elect bairn 
 
 He 's waled us out a true ane. 
 
 And sound this day. 
 
 Now, Robertson.t harangue nae mair, 
 
 But steek your gab for ever : , 
 Or try the wicked town of Ayr,, 
 
 For there they '11 think you, clever ; 
 Or, nae reflection on your lear, 
 
 Ye may commence a shaver ; 
 Or to the Neth'erton 1- repair. 
 
 And turn a carpet-weaver 
 
 Aff-hand this day. 
 
 Mutrie § and you were just a match, 
 
 We never had sic twa drones : 
 Auld Hornie did the Laigh Kirk watch. 
 
 Just like a winkin' baudrons : 
 And aye he catch'd the tither wretch. 
 
 To fry them in his caudrons : 
 But now his honour maun detach, 
 
 Wi' a' his brimstone squadrons. 
 
 Fast, fast this day. 
 
 See, see auld, Orthodoxy's faes 
 She 's swingein' through the city ; 
 
 Hark, how tlie nine^taird cat she plays I 
 I ^'ow it 's unco pretty : 
 
 * ' Fenwick : ' one Boj'd was forced upon the parish of Fcr.wick in 17 
 t ' Robertson : ' tiie colleague of Maekinlay, a 'moderate. 
 X ' Netherton : ' a pai L of Kilmarnock full of weavers, 
 5 ' Mutrie : ' Mackiulay's pre(5ecess6r, 
 
THE ORDINATION 59 
 
 There, Learning, wiLh his Greekish face, 
 
 Grunts out sonie Latin ditty ; 
 And Common Sense is gaun, she says, 
 
 To mak to Jamie Beattie * 
 
 Her plaint tliis day. 
 
 XII 
 
 But there 's Morality himscl' 
 
 Embracing all opinions ; 
 Hear, how he giei the tither yell. 
 
 Between his twa companions ; 
 See, how she peels the skin an' fell. 
 
 As ane were peelin' onions 1 
 Now there — they 're packed atl to hell, 
 
 And banish'd our dominions, 
 
 Henceiorth this day. 
 
 xin 
 
 O happy day ! rejoice, rejoice ! 
 
 Come bouse alDoilt the porter I 
 Morality's demure decoys 
 
 Shall here nae mair And quarter : 
 Mackinlay, Russell, are the- boys. 
 
 That Heresy can torture : 
 They '11 gie her on a rape a hoyse. 
 
 And cowe her measure shorter 
 
 By the head sonip day. 
 
 Come, bring the tither mutchkin in. 
 
 And here 's for a conclusion. 
 To every New Light t mother's son,' 
 
 From this time forth, Cpnfusion : 
 If mair they deave us with their din, 
 
 Or Patronage intrusion. 
 We '11 light a spunk, and every skin, 
 
 We '11 rin them aff in fusion. 
 
 Like oil, some day. 
 
 •'James Beattie' the author ol the Essay on Truth, and The 
 Minslrel. 
 
 t ' New Light : ■ is a cant phrase in the Wc-A of Scotland lor those 
 religious opinions which JJr. Taylor ol Norwich has delended ^o strenuously. 
 —B. 
 
60 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 THE CALF 
 
 TO THE REV. JIR. JAMES STEVE>i * 
 
 On his Text, Malachi iv. 2—' And they shall go lorth, and grow up, 
 like calves ol the stall.' 
 
 Right, Sir I your text I "11 prove it true. 
 
 Though heretics may laugh ; 
 For instance, there 's yoursel' just now, 
 
 God knows, an unco calf 1 
 
 And should some patron be so kind, 
 
 As bless you wi' a kirk, 
 I doubt na. Sir, but then we 'II find, 
 
 Ye 're still as great a stirk. 
 
 But, if the lover's raptured hour 
 
 Shall ever be your lot. 
 Forbid it, every heavenly power, 
 
 You e'er should be a stot ! 
 
 Though, when some kind, connubial dear. 
 
 Your but-and-ben adorns, 
 The like has been that you may wear 
 
 A noble head of horns. 
 
 And in your lug, most reverend James, 
 
 To hear you roar and rowte. 
 Few men o' sense will doubt your claims 
 
 To rank amang the nowte. 
 
 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 1 ' 
 
 ♦ ' Rev. Mr. James Steven : ' minister, afterwards, oX Kilwinning, Ayr- 
 shire. These verses were written lor a wager with Gavin Hamilton. 
 
ADDRESS TO THE DEIL 61 
 
 ADDRESS TO THE DEIL 
 
 ' b Prince ! O Chief of many throned powers ! 
 Tliat led th' embattled Seraphim to war.' 
 
 Milton 
 
 O THOU 1 whatever title suit thee, 
 Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie, 
 W'ha in yon cavern grim an' sootie. 
 
 Closed under hatches, 
 Spairges about the brunstane cootie. 
 
 To scaud poor wretches : 
 
 Hear me, auld Hgugie, for a wee, 
 An' let poor damned bodies be ; 
 I 'm sure sma' pleasure it can gie. 
 
 E'en to a deil. 
 To skelp an' scaud poor dogs like me, 
 
 An' hear us squeel I 
 
 III 
 
 Great is thy power, and great thy fame ; 
 
 Far kenn'd and noted is thy name ; 
 
 An' though yon lowin' heugh 's thy hame, 
 
 Thou travels far ; 
 An', faith ! thou 's neither lag nor lame. 
 
 Nor blate nor scaur. 
 
 IV 
 
 Whyles, ranging like a roarin' lion. 
 For prey a' holes an' corners tryin' ; 
 Wliyles on the strong-wing'd tempest llyin', 
 
 Tirlin' the kirks ; 
 Whyles in the human bosom pryin', 
 
 Unseen thou lurks. 
 
 I 've heard my reverend grannie say, 
 In lanely glens ye like to stray ; 
 Or where auld ruin'd castles, gray. 
 
 Nod to the moon, 
 Ye fright the nightly wanderer's way, 
 
 Wi' eldritch croon. 
 
62 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 When twilight did my granjiie sumnjon, 
 To say hei; prayers,, do]ice, honest vyoman ! 
 Aft yont the dyke she 's heard you bummin', 
 
 ^^^' eerie drone ; 
 Or, rustlin', through the boortries comin', 
 
 'Wi' heavy groan. 
 
 Ae dreai-y, windy winter night, 
 
 The stars shot down wi' sklentin' light, 
 
 Wi' you, mysel', I gat a friglit, 
 
 Ayont the lough ; 
 Ye, likc-a rash-hush stood in Sight, 
 
 Wi' waving sough. 
 
 The cudjLiel in mj' nieve did shake. 
 
 Each bristled hair stood like a stake. 
 
 When wi' an eldritch stour, ' quaick — quaick ' 
 
 Amang the springs, ! 
 Awa' ye squalter'd, like a drake, 
 
 ' On whistling wings. 
 
 Let warlocks grim, an' wither'd hags, 
 Tell how.wi' you, on ragweed nags. 
 They skiiji the muirs and dizzy crags, 
 ', (i , Wi' picked speed ; 
 
 And in kirkyards reneiw their leagues, 
 Owre howkit dead. 
 
 Thence coun,tra wives, wi' toil an' pain, 
 May plunge an' plunge the kirn in y^n ; 
 For, oh I the ytl low, treasure 's t^en 
 
 By witching skill ; 
 And dawtit, twal-pint ha^ivkie's gaen 
 
 As yeld 's the bill. 
 
ADDRESS TO tHE DEIL 
 
 Tlif-nc* mysiic knots' mak great ainisp. 
 On young guidmen, fond, keen, an' croii: 
 When the host wark-lume i' the house, 
 
 ' ' ''By cantrip wit. 
 
 Is instant made no worth a louse, 
 
 Just at the bit. 
 
 When thowes dissolve IJie snawy hoord. 
 And float the jinglin' icy-boord, 
 Then water- kelpies haunt the foord, 
 ,,, , By your direction, 
 And 'nighted travellers are allured 
 
 To their destruction. 
 
 An' aft your moss-traversing spvinkies 
 Decoy the -wight that' late an' drunk is : 
 The bleezin', cursed riiischievous monkeys 
 
 Delude his ieyesy 
 Trll in some mii-y slough he sunk is, 
 
 Ne'er mair to rise. 
 
 XIV 
 
 When masons' mystic word an' grip. 
 In storms an' tempests raise you up. 
 Som^ cock or cat your rage maun stop, 
 
 Or, strange to tell! 
 The youngest brother ye wad whip 
 
 Aff straught to hell ! 
 
 Lang syne, in Eden's bonriie yafd, 
 When youthfu' lover? first were pair'd. 
 And all the soul of love they shared, 
 
 , , ; The raptured hour. 
 Sweet on the fragrant, flowery swalrd, 
 In shady bower ; 
 
64 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Then you, ye aukl sneck-drawing dog 1 
 
 Ye came to Paradise incog.. 
 
 An' play'd on man a cursed brogue, 
 
 (Black be your fa !) 
 And gied the infant warld a shog, 
 
 'Maist ruin'd a'. 
 
 D'ye mind that day, when in a bizz, 
 Wi' reekit duds an' reestit gizz, 
 Ye did present your smootie phiz 
 
 'Mang better folk, 
 An' sklented on the man of Uz 
 
 Your spitefii' jdke ? 
 
 And how ye gat him i' your thrall. 
 And hrak him out o' house an' hall, 
 While scabs an' blotches did him gall, 
 
 AVi' bitter claw. , i 
 And lowsed his ill tongued, wicked scawl. 
 
 Was warst ava ? 
 
 XIX 
 
 But a' your doings to rehearse. 
 Your wily snares an' fechtin' fierce. 
 Sin' that day Michael * did you pierce, 
 
 Down to this time, 
 ^Vad ding a Lallan tongue, or Erse, 
 
 In prose or rl,\yme. 
 
 XX 
 
 And now, auld CJoots, I ken ye 're thinkin', 
 A certain Bardie 's rantin', drinkin'. 
 Some luckless hour will send him hnkin', 
 
 To your black pit ; 
 But, faith ! he '11 turn a corner jinkin'. 
 
 An' cheat you yet. 
 
 ♦ • Michael ; ' VWe Milton, book vi.— B. 
 
ADDRESS TO THE DEIL 65 
 
 XXI 
 
 But, fare you weel, auld Nickie-ben I 
 
 wad ye tak a thought and men' I 
 Ye aiblins might — 1 dinna ken — 
 
 Still hae a stake — 
 
 1 'm wae to think upo' yon den, 
 
 E'en for your sake 1 
 
 THE DEATH AND DYING WORDS OF POOR 
 MAILIE, 
 
 THE AUTHOR'S ONLY PET YOWE: 
 
 AN UNCO MOURNFU' TALE 
 
 As MaUie and her Iambs thegither, 
 Were ae day nibbling on the tether. 
 Upon her cloot she coost a hitch, 
 And owre she warsled in the ditch : 
 There, groaning, dying, she did lie. 
 When Hughoc * he cam doytin' by. 
 Wi' glowrin' e'en, and lifted ban's. 
 Poor Hughoc like a statue stan's ; 
 He saw her days were near-hand ended, 
 But, waes my heart 1 he couldna mend it t 
 He gap^d 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. 
 Oh, bid him never tie them mair 
 Wi' wicked strings o' hemp or hair I 
 But ca' them out to park or hill. 
 And let them wander at their will ; 
 So may his flock increase, and grow 
 To scores o' lambs, an' packs o' woo' I 
 
 • • Hughoc : ' a neighbour herd-callan. — JB. 
 46 — C 
 
66 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 ' Tell him, he was a master kin', 
 And aye was guid to me and mine ; 
 And now my dying charge I gie him — 
 My helpless lambs I trust them wi' him. 
 
 ' Oh, bid him save their harmless lives, 
 Frae dogs, an' tods, an' butchers' knives t 
 But gie them guid cow-mUk their fill. 
 Till they be fit to fend themsel' ; 
 And tent them duly, e'en an' morn, 
 Wi' teats o' hay, an' ripps o' corn. 
 
 ' And may they never learn the gates 
 Of other vile, wanrestfu' pets I 
 To sUnk through slaps, and reave an' steal. 
 At stacks o' pease, or stocks o' kail. 
 So may they, like their great forbears. 
 For mony a year come through the sheers : 
 So wives will gie them bits o' bread, 
 An' bairns greet for them when they 're dead. 
 
 ' My poor toop-lamb, my son an' heir. 
 Oh, bid him breed him up wi' care ! 
 And if he Uve to be a beast. 
 To pit some bavins in his breast I 
 And warn him, what I winna name. 
 To stay content wi' yowes at hame ; 
 And no to rin an' wear his cloots. 
 Like ither menseless, graceless brutes. 
 
 ' And neist my yowie, silly thing, 
 Gude keep thee frae a tether string 1 
 
 I may thou ne'er forgather up 
 Wi' ony blastit moorland toop ; 
 But aye keep mind to moop an' mell 
 Wi' sheep o' credit like thysel' I 
 
 ' And now, my bairns, wi' my last breath, 
 
 1 lea'e my blessin' wi' you baith : 
 And when you think upo' your mither. 
 Mind to be kin' to ane anither. 
 
 ' Now, honest Hughoc, dinna fail 
 To tell my maister a' my tale ; 
 And bid him burn this cursed tether. 
 And, for thy pains, thou 'se get my blether.' 
 
THE DEATH OF POOR MAILIE 67 
 
 This said, poor Mailie turn'd her head. 
 And closed her e'en amang the dead. 
 
 POOR MAILIE'S ELEGY 
 
 Lament in rhyme, lament in prose, 
 Wi' saut tears trickling down your nose ; 
 Our Bardie's fate is at a close. 
 
 Past a' remead ; 
 The last sad cap-stane o' his woes — 
 
 Poor Mailie 's dead I 
 
 It 's no the loss o' wari's gear. 
 That could sae bitter draw the tear, 
 Or make our Bardie, dowie, wear 
 
 The mourning weed : 
 He 's lost a friend and neebour dear. 
 
 In Mailie dead. 
 
 Through a' the toun she trotted by him ; 
 A long half-mile she could descry him ; 
 Wi' kindly bleat, when she did spy him. 
 
 She ran wi' speed : 
 A friend mair f aithfu' ne'er cam nigh him. 
 
 Than Mailie dead. 
 
 I wat she was a sheep o' sense. 
 
 And could behave hersel' wi' mense : 
 
 I '11 say 't, she never brak a fence. 
 
 Through thievish greed. 
 Our Bardie, lanely, keeps the spence 
 
 Sin' Mailie 's dead. 
 
 Or, if he wanders up the howe, 
 
 Her living image in her yowe 
 
 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 : 
 
 For her forbears were brought in ships 
 
 Frae yont the Tweed : 
 A bonnier fleesh ne'er cross'd the clips 
 
 Than Mailie dead. 
 
68 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Wae worth the man wha first did shape 
 That vile, wanchancie thing — a rape I 
 It maks guid fellows girn an' gape, 
 
 Wi' chokin' dread ; 
 And Robin's bonnet wave wi' crape. 
 
 For Mailie dead. 
 
 O a' ye bards on bonnie Doon ! 
 
 An' wha on Ayr your chanters tune . 
 
 Come join the melancholious croon 
 
 O' Robin's reed I 
 His heart will never get aboon 
 
 His MaiUe dead. 
 
 TO JAMES SMITH* 
 
 ' Friendship I mysterious cement of the soul I 
 Sweetener of life, and solder of society ! 
 I owe thee much I ' 
 
 Blaib 
 
 Dear Smith, the slee'est, paukie thief 
 That e'er attempted stealth or rief. 
 Ye surely hae some warlock-breef 
 
 Owre human hearts ; 
 For ne'er a bosom yet was prief 
 
 Against your arts. 
 
 For me, I swear by sun and moon. 
 And every star that blinks aboon. 
 Ye 've cost me twenty pair o' shoon. 
 
 Just gaun to see you : 
 And every itber pair that 's done, 
 
 Mair ta'en I 'm wi' you. 
 
 Ill 
 
 That auld, capricious carlin, Nature, 
 To mak amends fot scrimpit stature, 
 
 ■ Jnmes Smith : ' a calico-printer, who died in the West Indies. 
 
TO JAMES SMITH 69 
 
 She 's turn'd you aff, a human creature 
 
 On her first plan, 
 And, in her freaks, on every feature 
 
 ' She 's wrtite the Man. 
 
 Just now I 've ta'en the fit o' rhjTjie i 
 My barmie noddle 's, working prime, 
 My fancy yerkit up sublime 
 
 Wi' hasty summon' : 
 Hae ye a leisure moment's time 
 
 To hear what 's comin' ? 
 
 Some rhjmie a neebour's name to lash ; 
 Some rhyme (vain thought !) for needfu* cash. 
 Some rhyme to court the countra clash. 
 
 And raise a din ; 
 For me, an aim I never fash — 
 
 I rhyme for fun. 
 
 The star that rules my Ijckless lot. 
 
 Has fated me the russet coat. 
 
 And damn'd my fortune to the groat ; 
 
 But in requit. 
 Has blest me wi' a random shot 
 
 O' countra wit. 
 
 This while my notion 's ta'en a sklent. 
 To try my fate in guid black prent ; 
 But still the mair I 'm that way bent. 
 
 Something cries, ' Hoolie 1 
 I red you, honest man, tak tent ! 
 
 Ye '11 shaw your foUy. 
 
 VIII 
 
 ' There 's ither poets, much your betters, 
 Far seen in Greek, deep men o' letters, 
 Hae thought they had insured their debtors 
 
 A' future ages ; 
 Now moths deform, in shapeless tatters. 
 
 Their unknown pages.' 
 
70 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Then fareweel hopes o' laurel-boughs, 
 To garland my poetic brows I 
 Henceforth I '11 rove where busy ploughs 
 
 Are whistling thrang, 
 And teach the lanely heights an" howes 
 
 My rustic sang. 
 
 I '11 wander on, wi' tentless heed 
 How never-halting moments speed, 
 TiU Fate shall snap the brittle thread ; 
 
 Then, all unknown, 
 I '11 lay me with th' inglorious dead. 
 
 Forgot and gone 1 
 
 XI 
 
 But why o' death begin a tale ? 
 
 Just now we 're living sound and hale, 
 
 Then top and maintop crowd the saU, 
 
 Heave care o'er side I 
 And large, before enjoyment's gale, 
 
 Let 's tak the tide. 
 
 This life, sae far 's I understand, 
 
 Is a' enchanted fairy-land. 
 
 Where Pleasure is the magic wand, 
 
 That, wielded right, 
 Maks hours like minutes, hand in hand. 
 
 Dance by fu' light. 
 
 XIII 
 
 The magic wand, then, let us wield ; 
 For, ance that flve-an'-forty 's speel'd. 
 See crazy, weary, joyless eild, 
 
 Wi' wrinkled face. 
 Comes hostin', hirplin' owre the field, 
 
 W^i' creepin' pace. 
 
TO JAMES SMITH 71 
 
 When anice life's day draws near the gloamin'. 
 Then fareweel vacant careless roamin' ; 
 And fareweel cheerfu' tankards foamin'. 
 
 And social noise ; 
 And fareweel dear, deluding woman I 
 
 The joy of joys I 
 
 O Life I liow pleasant in thy morning. 
 Young Fancy's rays the hills adorning 1 
 Cold-pausing Caution's lesson scorning. 
 
 We frisk away. 
 Like schoolboys, at the expected warning. 
 
 To joy and play. 
 
 XVI 
 
 We wander there, we wander here. 
 We eye the rose upon the brier, 
 Unmindful that the thorn is near. 
 
 Among the leaves ; 
 And though the puny wound appear. 
 
 Short whUe it grieves. 
 
 XVII 
 
 Some, lucky, find a flowery spot. 
 For which they never toil'd nor swat. 
 They drink the sweet and eat the fat. 
 
 But care or pain ; 
 And, haply, eye the barren hut 
 
 With high disdain. 
 
 XVIII 
 
 With steady aim some Fortune chase ; 
 Keen Hope does every sinew brace ; 
 Through fair, through foul, they urge the race. 
 
 And seize the prey : 
 Then cannie, in some cozie place, 
 
 iThey close the day. 
 
72 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 And others, like your humble servan', 
 
 Poor wights 1 nae rules nor roads observin' ; 
 
 To right or left, eternal swervin', 
 
 They zig-zag on ; 
 Till curst with age, obscure and starvin'. 
 
 They aften groan. 
 
 XX 
 
 Alas 1 what bitter toil an' straining — 
 But truce with peevish, poor complaining I 
 Is Fortune's fickle Luna waning ? 
 
 E'en let her gang I 
 Beneath what light she has remaining. 
 
 Let 's sing our sang. 
 
 XXI 
 
 My pen I here fling to the door, 
 
 And kneel, ' Ye Powers ! ' and warm implore, 
 
 ' Though I should wander Terra o'er. 
 
 In all her climes. 
 Grant me but this, I ask no more. 
 
 Aye rowth o' rhymes. 
 
 * Gie dreeping roasts to countra lairds, 
 Till icicles hing frae their beards ; 
 Gie fine braw claes to fine life-guards. 
 
 And maids of honour I 
 And yUl and whisky gie to cairds, 
 
 Until they sconner. 
 
 ' A title — Dempster * merits it ; 
 
 A garter gie to Willie Pitt ; 
 
 Gie wealth to some be-ledger'd cit, 
 
 In cent, per cent. ; 
 But give me real, sterling wit. 
 
 And I 'm content. 
 
 * ' DempsteF : ' see a €ormer note. 
 
TO JAMES SMITH 73 
 
 ' "While ye are pleased to keep me hale, 
 I 'U sit down o'er my scanty nieal, 
 Be 't water-brose, or muslin-kail, 
 
 Wi' cheerfu' face, 
 As lang 's the Muses dinna fail 
 
 To say the grace.' 
 
 An anxious e'e I never throws 
 Behint my lug, or by my nose ; 
 I jouk beneath Misfortune's blows, 
 
 As weel 's I may ; 
 Sworn foe to sorrow, care, and prose, 
 
 I rhyme away. 
 
 O ye douce folk, that live by rule, 
 Grave, tideless-blooded, calm and cool, 
 Compared wi' you — O fool I fool ! fool I 
 
 How much unlike 1 
 Your hearts are just a standing pool. 
 
 Your lives, a dyke 1 
 
 XXVII 
 
 Nae halr-.brain'd sentimental traces 
 In your unletter'd, nameless faces 1 
 In arioso trills and graces 
 
 Ye never stray. 
 But gravissimo, solemn basses 
 
 Ye hum away. 
 
 Ye are sae grave, nae doubt your wise ; 
 
 Nae ferly though ye' do despise 
 
 The hairum-scairum, ram-stam boys. 
 
 The rattlin' squad : 
 I see you upward cast your eyes — 
 
 Ye ken the road. 
 
74 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 XXIX 
 
 Whilst I— but I shall haud me there — 
 Wi' you I '11 scarce gang ony where — 
 Then, Jamie, I shall say nae mair. 
 
 But quat my sang. 
 Content wi' you to mak a pair, 
 
 Whare'er I gang. 
 
 A DREAM 
 
 ' Thoughts, words, and deeds, the statute blames with reason ; 
 But surely dreams were ne'er indicted treason ? ' 
 
 On reading, in the public papers, the Laureate's Ode, with the 
 other parade of June 4, 1786, the author was no sooner dropped 
 asleep, than he imagined himself transported to the birth- 
 day levee ; and in his dreaming fancy made the following 
 Address. — B. 
 
 I 
 
 Guid-Mornin' to your Majesty ! 
 
 May Heaven augment your blisses. 
 On every new birthday ye see, 
 
 A humble poet wishes I 
 My hardship here, at your levee. 
 
 On sic a day as this is. 
 Is sure an uncouth sight to see, 
 
 Amang the birthday dresses 
 
 Sae fine this day. 
 
 I see ye 're complimented thrang. 
 
 By mony a lord and lady, 
 * God save the king I ' 's a cuckoo sang 
 
 That 's unco easy said aye ; 
 The poets, too, a venal gang, 
 
 Wi' rhymes weel-turn'd and ready. 
 Wad gar you trow ye ne'er do WTang, 
 
 But aye unerring steady. 
 On sic a day. 
 
 Ill 
 
 For me, before a monarch's face. 
 Even there I winna flatter ; 
 
 For neither pension, post, nor place. 
 Am I your humble debtor : 
 
A DREAM 75 
 
 So, nae reflection on your grace, 
 Your kingship to bespatter ; 
 
 There 's mony 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 chiels that winna ding. 
 
 And downa be disputed : 
 Your royal nest,* beneath your wing. 
 
 Is e'en right reft an' clouted, 
 And now the third part of the string. 
 
 And less, wUl gangabout it 
 
 Than did ae day. 
 
 Far be 't frae me that I aspire 
 
 To blame your legislation. 
 Or say ye wisdom want, or Are, 
 
 To rule this mighty nation I 
 But, faith 1 I muckle doubt, my Sire, 
 
 Ye 've trusted ministration 
 To chaps, wha in a barn or byre 
 
 Wad better flU'd their station 
 
 Than courts yon day. 
 
 And now ye 've gi'en auld Britain peace. 
 
 Her broken shins to plaister ; 
 Your sair taxation does her fleece. 
 
 Till she has scarce a tester ; 
 For me, thank God 1 my life 's a lease, 
 
 Nae bargain wearing faster, 
 Or, faith 1 I fear, that wi' the geese, 
 
 I shortly boost to pasture 
 
 r the craft some day. 
 
 VII 
 
 I 'm no mistrusting WiUie Pitt, 
 
 "When taxes he enlarges, 
 (And Will 's a true guid fallow's get, 
 
 A name not Envy spairges) 
 
 * ' Royal nest : ' alluding to the loss of America. 
 
76 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 That he intends to pay your debt. 
 And lessen a' your charges ; 
 
 But. God-sake 1 let nae saving fit 
 Abridge your bonnie barges * 
 
 And boats this day. 
 
 Adieu, my liege 1 may Freedom geek 
 
 Beneath your high protection ; 
 And may ye rax Corruption's neck. 
 
 And gie her for dissection 1 . 
 But since I 'm here, I '11 no neglect. 
 
 In loyal, true affection, 
 To pay your Queen, with due respect. 
 
 My fealty and subjection 
 
 This great birthday. 
 
 IX 
 
 Hail, Majesty Most Excellent I 
 
 While nobles strive to please ye. 
 Will ye accept a compliment 
 
 A simple poet gies ye ? 
 Thae bonnie bairntime. Heaven has lent. 
 
 Still higher may they heeze ye 
 In bliss, till fate some day is sent. 
 
 For ever to release ye 
 
 Frae care that day. 
 
 For you, young potentate o' Wales, 
 
 I tell your Highness fairly, 
 Down Pleasure's stream, wi' swelling sails, 
 
 I 'm tauld ye 're driving rarely ; 
 But some day ye may gnaw your nails. 
 
 And curse your folly sairly. 
 That e'er ye brak Diana's pales. 
 
 Or rattled dice wi' Charlie, 
 
 By night or day. 
 
 XI 
 
 Yet aft a ragged cowte 's been known 
 
 To mak a noble aiver ; 
 So, ye may doucely fill a throne. 
 
 For a' their clish-ma-claver : 
 
 • ' Barges : ' alluding to a proposition, in 1786, by Captain Macbiidc, 
 to give up 64 gun-stiips and make other reductions in the Navy. 
 
A DREAM 77 
 
 There, him * at Agincourt wha shone. 
 
 Few better were or braver ; 
 And yet, wi' funny, queer Su* John.f 
 
 He was an unco shaver. 
 
 For mony a day. 
 
 XII 
 
 For you, right reverend Osnaburg.J 
 
 Nane sets the lawn-sjeeve sweeter. 
 Although a ribbon at your lug 
 
 Wad been a dress completer : 
 As ye disown yon paughty dog 
 
 That bears the keys of Peter, 
 Then, swith 1 and get a wife to hug, 
 
 Or, troth I ye '11 stain the mitre 
 Some luckless day. 
 
 XIII 
 
 Young royal Tarry Breeks,§ I learn. 
 
 Ye 've lately come athwart her,— 
 A glorious galley,|| stem and stern, 
 
 Weel rigg'd for Venus' barter ; 
 But first hang out, that she '11 discern 
 
 Your hymeneal charter, 
 Then heave aboard your grapple aim. 
 
 And large upo' her quarter, 
 
 Come full that day. 
 
 xrv 
 
 Ye, lastly, bonnie blossoms a'. 
 
 Ye royal lasses dainty. 
 Heaven mak you guid as weel as braw. 
 
 And gie you lads a-plenty : 
 But sneer na British boys awa'. 
 
 For kings are unco scant aye ; 
 And German gentles are but sma'. 
 
 They 're better just than want aye. 
 On ony day. 
 
 • ' Him : * King Henry V. — B. 
 
 t ' Sir Jolin : ' Sir John Falstaff, vide Shakspeare. — B. 
 i ' Osnaburg : * afterwards the Duke of York. 
 5 ' Tarry Breeks : ' afterwards William IV. 
 
 U * Galley : ' alluding to the newspaper account ol a certain loyal sailor's 
 amour. — B. 
 
78 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 God bless you a' I consider now. 
 
 Ye 're unco muckle dautit ; 
 But, ere the course o' life be through. 
 
 It may be bitter sautit ; 
 And I hae seen their coggle fou. 
 
 That yet hae tarrow 't at it ; 
 But or the day was done, I trow. 
 
 The lagger they hae clautit 
 
 Fu' clean that day. 
 
 THE VISION 
 
 DUAN FIRST * 
 
 The sun had closed the winter day. 
 The curlers quat their roaring play, 
 And hunger'd maukin ta'en her way 
 
 To kail-yards green. 
 While faithless snaws ilk step betray 
 
 Whare she has been. 
 
 n 
 
 The thrasher's weary flingin'-tree 
 The lee-lang day had tired me ; 
 And whan the day had closed his e'e. 
 
 Far i' the west, 
 Ben i' the spence, right pensivelie, 
 
 I gaed to rest. 
 
 Ill 
 
 There, lanely, by the ingle-cheek 
 I sat and eyed the spewing reek. 
 That fill'd wi' hoast-provoking smeek 
 
 The auld clay biggin' ; 
 And heard the restless rattons squeak 
 
 About the riggin'. 
 
 * ' Duan : ' a term of Ossian's tor the diflerent divisions of a dl^essive 
 poem. See his Calh-Loda, vol. ii. of M'Pherson's translation. — b. 
 
THE VISION 79 
 
 IV 
 
 All in this motty, misty clime, 
 
 I baclcward mused on wasted time. 
 
 How I had spent my youthfu' prime. 
 
 And done nae thing. 
 But stringin' blethers up in rhyme^; 
 
 For fools to sing. 
 
 Had I to guid advice but harkit, 
 I might, by this, hae led a market. 
 Or strutted in a bank, and clarkit 
 
 My cash-account : 
 While here, half-mad, half-fed, half-sarkit. 
 
 Is a' the amount. 
 
 VI 
 
 I started, muttering, blockhead 1 coof ! 
 And heaved on high my waukit Ibof, 
 To swear by a' yon starry roof, 
 
 Or some rash aith. 
 That I, henceforth, would be rhyme-proof 
 
 Till my last breath — 
 
 VII 
 
 When, click I the string the sneck did draw ; 
 And, jee I the door gaed to the wa' ; 
 An' by my ingle-lowe I saw. 
 
 Now bleezin' bright, 
 A tight, outlandish hizzie, braw. 
 
 Come full in sight, 
 
 VIII 
 
 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 steppit ben. 
 
go BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Green, slender, leaf-clad holly-boughs 
 Were twisted, gracefu', round her brows ; 
 I took her for some Scottish Muse, 
 
 By that same tolcen. 
 And comc'to stop those reckless vows. 
 
 Wad soon been broken- 
 
 A ' hair-brain'd, sentimental trace,' 
 Was strongly marked in her face ; 
 A wildly-witty, rustic grace 
 
 Shone full upon her ; 
 Her eye, even turn'd on empty space, 
 
 Beam'd keen with honour. 
 
 XI 
 
 Down flow'd her robe, a tartan sheen, 
 Till half a leg was scrimply seen ; 
 And such a leg 1 my bonnie Jean 
 
 Could only peer it ; 
 Sae straught, sae taper, tight, and clean, 
 
 Nane else cam near it. 
 
 Fler mantle large, of greenish hue. 
 
 My gazing wonder chiefly drew ; 
 
 Deep lights and shades, bold-mingling, threw 
 
 A lustre grand ; 
 And seem'd, to my astonish'd view, 
 
 A well known land. 
 
 XIII 
 
 Here, rivers in the sea were lost ; 
 
 There, mountains to the skies were tost ; 
 
 Here, tumbling billows mark'd the coast 
 
 With surging foam ; 
 There, distant shone Art's lofty boast, 
 
 The lordly dome. 
 
THE VISION 81 
 
 xrv 
 
 Here, Doon pour'd down his far-fetched floods ; 
 There, well-fed Irwine stately thuds : 
 Auld hermit Ayr staw through his woods, 
 
 On to the shore ; 
 And many a lesser torrent scuds, 
 
 With seeming roar. 
 
 Low, in a sandy valley spread. 
 An ancient burgh rear'd her head ; 
 Still, as in Scottish story read, 
 
 She boasts a race. 
 To every nobler virtue bred, 
 
 And polish'd grace. 
 
 By stately tower or palace fair. 
 
 Or ruins pendent in the air. 
 
 Bold steins of heroes, here and there, 
 
 I could discern ; 
 Some seem'd to muse, some seem'd to dareK 
 
 With feature stern. 
 
 XVII 
 
 My heart did glowing transport feel. 
 
 To see a race * he*oic wheel. 
 
 And brandish round the deep-dyed steel 
 
 In sturdy blows ; 
 While back-recoiling seem'd to reel 
 
 Their southron foes. 
 
 His country's saviour.f mark him well ! 
 Bold Richardton's t heroic swell ; 
 
 • ' A race : ' the Wallaces. — B. 
 f ■ Country's saviour : ' William Wallace. — B. 
 
 i ' Richardton : ' Adam Wallace, ol Flicbardton, cousin to the Immortal 
 preserver ol Scottish independence. — B. 
 
82 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 The chief on Sark * who glorious fell. 
 
 In high command ; 
 
 And he whom ruthless fates expel 
 
 His native land. 
 
 XIX 
 
 There, where a sceptred Pictish shade t 
 Stalk'd round his ashes lowly laid, 
 I mark'd a martial race, portray'd 
 
 In colours strong ; 
 Bold, soldier-featured, undismay'd 
 
 They strode along. 
 
 Through many a wild romantic grove, J 
 Near many a hermit-fancied cove, 
 (Fit haunts for friendship or for love) 
 
 In musing mood. 
 An aged judge, I saw him rove, 
 
 Dispensing good. 
 
 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. 
 
 Brydone's brave ward JJ I well could spy. 
 Beneath old Scotia's smiling eye ; 
 
 ♦ ■ Sark : ' Wallace, Laird ol Craigie, who was second in command, 
 under Douglas, Earl of Ormond, at the famous battle on the banks of 
 Sark, fought anno 1448. That glorious victory was principally owing to 
 the judicious conduct and intrepid valour of the gallant Laird of Craigie, 
 who died of his wounds after the action. — B, 
 
 t ' Pictish shade : ' Coilus, king of the Picts, from whom the district of 
 Kyle is said to take its name, hes buried, as tradition says, near the family- 
 seat of the Montgomeries of Coilsfield, where his burial place is still shown. 
 — B. 
 
 i ' Romantic grove : ' Barskimming, the seat of the late Lord Justice 
 Clerk. — B. Sir T. Miller, afterwards President of the Court of Session. 
 
 § • Learned sire and son : * Catrine, the seat of the late Doctor, and 
 present Professor Stewart. — B. 
 
 II ' Brydone's brave ward : ' Colonel FuUarton. — B. Fullarton had 
 travelled with Patrick Brydone, the once celebrated traveller, as his ward. 
 
THE VISION 83 
 
 Who call'd on Fame, low-standing by, 
 
 To hand him on, 
 Where many a patriot name on high. 
 
 And hero shone. 
 
 DUAN SECOND 
 
 With musing-deep, astonish'd stare, 
 I view'd the heavenly-seeming lair ; 
 A whisp'ring throb did witness bear 
 
 01 Icindred sweet. 
 When with an elder sister's air 
 
 She did me greet. 
 
 ' All hail ! my own inspired bard ! 
 In me thy native Muse regard 1 
 Nor longer mourn thy fate is hard. 
 
 Thus poorly low I 
 I come to give thee such reward 
 
 As we bestow. 
 
 XXV 
 
 ' Know, the great Genius of this land. 
 Has many a light, aerial band. 
 Who, all beneath his high command. 
 
 Harmoniously, 
 As arts or arms they understand, 
 
 Their labours ply. 
 
 XXVI 
 
 ' They Scotia's race among them share i 
 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. 
 
 XXVII 
 
 ' 'Mong swelUng floods of reeking gore,^ 
 They, ardent, kindling spirits, pour ; 
 
81 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Or, 'mid the venal senate's roar. 
 
 They, sightless, stand, 
 
 To mend the honest patriot-lore. 
 
 And grace the hand. 
 
 XXVIII 
 
 * And when the bard, or hoary sage. 
 Charm or instruct the future age. 
 They bind the wild poetic rage 
 
 In energy. 
 Or point the inconclusive page 
 
 FuU on the eve. 
 
 ' Hence Fullarton, the brave and young ; 
 Hence Dempster's zeal-inspired tongue ; 
 Hence sweet harmonious Beattie sung 
 
 His ' Minstrel ' lays. 
 Or tore, with noble ardour stung. 
 
 The sceptic's bays. 
 
 XXX 
 
 ' To lower orders are assign' d 
 
 The humbler ranks of human-kind. 
 
 The rustic bard, the labouring hind. 
 
 The artisan ; 
 AU choose, as various they're inclined. 
 
 The various man. 
 
 XXXI 
 
 ' "When yellow waves the heavy grain. 
 The threat'ning storm some strongly rein ; 
 Some teach to meliorate the plain, 
 
 With tillage-skill ; 
 And some instruct the shepherd-train. 
 
 Blithe o'er the hill. 
 
 ' Some hint the lover's harmless wile ; 
 Some grace the maiden's artless smile ; 
 Some soothe the labourer's weary toil 
 
 For humble gains, 
 And make his cottage-scenes beguile 
 
 His cares and pains. 
 
THE VISION 85 
 
 ' Some, bounded tp a district-space 
 Explore at large man's infant race. 
 To mark the embryotic trace , 
 
 Of rustic bard ; 
 And careful note pach opening grace, 
 
 A, guide and guard. 
 
 • Of these am I — Coila my name ; 
 And this district as mine I claim, 
 Where once the Campbells,* chiefs of fame, 
 
 ' Held ruling power : 
 I mark'd thy embryo tuneful flame, 
 Thv natal hour. 
 
 XXXV 
 
 ' With future hope, I oft would gaze 
 Fond, on thy little early ways. 
 Thy rudely caroll'd, chiming phrase. 
 
 In uncouth rhymes. 
 Fired at the simple, artless lays 
 
 Of other times. 
 
 XXXVI 
 
 ' I saw thee seek the sounding shore. 
 Delighted with the dashing roar ; 
 Or, when the North his fleecy store 
 
 Drove through the sky, 
 1 saw grim Nature's 'i'isage hoar 
 
 Struck thy young eye. 
 
 • Or when the deep green-mantled earth 
 Warm cherish'd every floweret's birth 
 And joy and music pouring forth 
 
 In every grove, 
 I saw thee eye the general mirth 
 
 With boundless love. 
 
 * * Campbells : ' the Loudoun branch of that family ; Mosagell was the 
 Barl of Loudoun's property. 
 
86 BURNS* POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 xxxviir 
 
 ' When rlpen'd fields, and azure skies, 
 Call'd fortli the reaper's rustling noise, 
 I saw thee leave their evening joys. 
 
 And lonely stalk. 
 To vent thy bosom's swelling rise 
 
 In pensive walk. 
 
 XXXIX 
 
 ' When youthful love, warm-blushing, strong. 
 Keen-shivering shot thy nerves along. 
 Those accents, grateful to thy tongue. 
 
 The adored Name, 
 I taught thee how to pour in song, 
 
 To soothe thy flame. 
 
 XL 
 
 ' I saw thy pulse's madd'ning play. 
 Wild send thee Pleasure's devious way. 
 Misled by Fancy's meteor ray, 
 
 By passion driven ; 
 But yet the light that led astray 
 
 Was light from Heaven, 
 
 ' I taught thy manners-painting strains. 
 The loves, the ways of simple swains, 
 Till now, o'er all my wide domains 
 
 Thy fame extends ; 
 And some, the pride of Coila's plains. 
 
 Become thy friends. 
 
 ' Thou canst not learn, nor can I show. 
 To paint with Thomson's landscape glow ; 
 Or wake the bosom-melting throe, 
 
 With Shenstone's art ; 
 Or pour, with Gray, the moving flow 
 
 Warm on the heart. 
 
THE VISION 87 
 
 ' Yet, all beneath the unrivall'd rose. 
 
 The lowly daisy sweetly blows : 
 
 Though large the forest's monarch throws 
 
 His army shade. 
 Yet green the juicy hawthorn grows, 
 
 Adown the glade. 
 
 • Then never murmur nor repine ; 
 Strive in thy humble sphere to shine ; 
 And, trust me, not Potosi's mine, 
 
 Nor kings' regard. 
 Can give a bliss o'ermatching thine, 
 
 A rustic Bard. 
 
 XLV 
 
 ' 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 
 
 With 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. 
 
88 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 ADDRESS TO THE UNCO GUID, OR THE 
 RIGIDLY RIGHTEOUS 
 
 ' My son, these maxims make a rule. 
 And lump them aye thegither ; 
 The Rigid Righteous is a fool. 
 
 The Rigid Wise anither : 
 The cleanest corn that e'er was dight 
 
 May hae some pyles o' cad in ; 
 So ne'er a fellow-creature slight 
 For random fits o' daffln.' 
 
 Solomon. — Eccles. vii. 16 
 
 O YE wha are sae guid yoursel' 
 
 Sae pious and sae holy, 
 Ye 've naught to do but mark and tell 
 
 Your neebour's fauts and folly 1 
 ■^Tiase life is like a weel-gaun mill, 
 
 Supplied wi' store o' water. 
 The heapit happer's ebbing still. 
 
 And still the clap plays clattrsr. 
 
 II 
 
 Hear me, ye venerable core, 
 
 As counsel for poor mortals. 
 That frequent pass douce Wisdom's door 
 
 For glaiket Folly's portals ; 
 I, for their thoughtless, careless sakes. 
 
 Would here propone defences, 
 Their donsie tricks, their black mistakes. 
 
 Their failings and mischances. 
 
 Ye see your state vii' theirs compared, 
 
 And shudder at the niffer, 
 But cast a moment's fair regard 
 
 What maks the mighty differ ? 
 Discount what scant occasion gave 
 
 That purity ye pride in. 
 And (what 's aft mair than a' the lave) 
 
 Your better art o' hidin'. 
 
ADDRESS TO THE UNCO GUID 89 
 
 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 maks an unco lee-way. 
 
 See Social Life and Glee sit down, 
 
 All joyous and unthinking, 
 Till, quite transmugrifled, they 're grovm 
 
 Debauchery and Drinking : 
 Oh, would they stay to calculate 
 
 The eternal consequences ; 
 Or, your more dreaded hell to state, 
 
 Damnation of expenses I 
 
 VI 
 
 Ye high, exalted, virtuous dames. 
 
 Tied up in godly laces, 
 Before ye gie poor Frailty names, 
 ■ Suppose a change o' cases ; 
 A dear-loved lad, convenience snug, 
 
 A treacherous inclination — 
 But, let me whisper i' your lug. 
 
 Ye 're aiblins nae temptation. 
 
 Then gently scan your brother man. 
 
 Still gentler, sister woman ; 
 Though they' may gang a kennin' wrang, 
 
 To step aside is human : 
 One point must still be greatly dark. 
 
 The moving why they do it : 
 And just as lamely can ye mark. 
 
 How far perhaps they rue it. 
 
90 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 VIII 
 
 Who made the heart, 'tis He alone 
 
 Decidedly can try us. 
 He knows each chord — its various tone. 
 
 Each spring — its various bias : 
 Then at the balance let 's be mute, 
 
 "We never can adjust it ; 
 What 's done we partly may compute, 
 
 But know not what 's resisted. 
 
 TAM SAMSON'S ELEGY* 
 ' An honest man's the noblest work of God.' 
 
 POPB 
 
 Has auld Kilmarnock seen the DeO ? 
 Or great Mackinlay f thrawn his heel ? 
 Or Robertson J again grown weel, 
 
 To preach an' read ? 
 ' Na, waur than a' I ' cries ilka chiel — 
 
 ' Tam Samson 's dead I 
 
 II 
 
 Kilmarnock lang may grunt and grane, 
 And sigh, and sab, and greet her lane, 
 And deed her bairns, man, wife, an' wean, 
 
 In mourning weed ; 
 To death, she 's dearly paid the kane — 
 
 Tam Samson 's dead 1 
 
 III 
 
 The brethren o' the mystic level 
 May hing their head in woefu' bevel, 
 
 • ■ Tam Samson's Elegy : ' when this worthy old sportsman went out 
 last muirfowl season, he supposed it was to be, in Ossian's phrase, ' the 
 last of his fields ; ' and expressed an ardent wish to die and be buried in 
 the muiis. On this hint, the author composed his elegy and epitaph. — B. 
 Samson was a mttsery and seedsman, and a great sportsman. 
 
 t ' Mackinlay : ' a certain preacher, a great favourite with the million. 
 Vide ' The Ordination,' stanza 11. — B. 
 
 X ' Robertson : ' another preacher, an equal favourite with the few, 
 who was at that time ailing. For him see also ' The Ordination,' stanza 
 ix. — B. 
 
TAM SAMSON'S ELEGY 91 
 
 While by their nose the tears •will revel 
 
 Like ony bead ; 
 Death 's gien the lodge an unco devel — 
 
 Tam Samson 's dead I 
 
 IV 
 
 When Winter muffles up his cloak, 
 And binds the mire up like a rock ; 
 When to the lochs the curlers flock, 
 
 Wi' gleesome speed ; 
 Wha will they station at the cock ? — 
 
 Tam Samson 's dead I 
 
 He was the king o' a' the core. 
 To guard, or draw, or wick a bore, 
 Or up the rink like Jehu roar 
 
 In time of need ; 
 But now he lags on death's hog-score — 
 
 Tam Samson 's dead I 
 
 VI 
 
 Now safe the stately sawmont sail. 
 And trouts bedropp'd wl' crimson haO, 
 And eels weel kenn'd for souple tail, 
 
 And geds for greed. 
 Since dark in death's fish-creel we wail 
 
 Tam Samson dead I 
 
 VII 
 
 Rejoice, ye birring paitricks a' ; 
 Ye cootie muircocks, crousely craw ; 
 Ye maukins, cock your fud fu' braw, 
 
 Withouten dread ; 
 Your mortal fae is now awa' — 
 
 Tam Samson 's dead I 
 
 That woefu' morn be ever moum'd 
 Saw him in shootin' graith adorn'd. 
 While pointers round impatient burn'd, 
 
 Frae couples freed ; 
 But, och 1 he gaed and ne'er return' d — 
 
 Tam Samson 's dead 1 
 
92 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 In vain auld age. his body batters ; 
 
 In vain the gout his ancles fetters ; 
 
 In vain the burns cam' down like waters. 
 
 An acre braid 1 
 Now every auld wife, grectin', clatters. 
 
 Tarn Samson 's dead I 
 
 Owre mony a weary hag he linipit, 
 And aye 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 I 
 
 xr 
 
 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 ; 
 ' Lord, five 1 ' he cried, an' owre did stagger — 
 
 Tam Samson 's dead t 
 
 Ilk hoary hunter mourn'd a brither ; 
 Ilk sportsman youth bemoan'd a father ; 
 Yon auld grey stane, amang the heather, 
 
 Marks out his head, 
 VvTiare Burns has wrote, in rhyming blether, 
 
 Tam Samson 's dead 1 
 
 XIII 
 
 There low he lies, in lasting rest ; 
 Perhaps upon his mould'ring breast 
 Some spitefu' muirfowl bigs her nest. 
 
 To hatch and breed ; 
 Alas 1 nae mair he '11 them molest I — 
 
 Tam Samson 's dead 1 
 
TAM SAMSON'S ELEGY 93 
 
 xiv: : 
 
 When August winds the heather wave. 
 And sportsmen wander by yon grave, 
 Three volleys let his memory crave 
 
 O' pouther and lead, 
 TiU Echo answer frae her cave, 
 
 Tam Samson 's dead I 
 
 Heaven rest his saul, whare'er he be I 
 Is the wish o' mony mae than me : 
 He had twa faults, or maybe three, 
 
 Yet what remead ? 
 Ae social, honest man want we : 
 
 Tam Samson 's dead I 
 
 THE EPITAPH 
 
 Tam Samson's weel-worn clay here lies. 
 Ye canting zealots, spare him I 
 
 If honest worth in Heaven rise, 
 Ye '11 mend or ye win near him. 
 
 PER CONTRA 
 
 Go, Fame I and canter like a Ally, 
 Through a' the streets and neuks o' KUlie,' 
 TeU every social, honest bUIie 
 
 To cease his grievin', 
 For yet, unskaith'd by Death's gleg gullie, 
 
 ram Samson's leevin'. 
 
 * ' Killie : ' is a pbrase the country-Iolks sometimes use for Kilmarnock. 
 -B. 
 
94 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 HALLOWE'EN * 
 
 ' Yes I 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 
 
 The following poem will, by many readers, be well enough under- 
 stood ; but for the sake of those who are .unacquainted with 
 the manners and traditions of the country where the scene Is 
 cast, notes are added, to give some account of the principal 
 charms and spells of that night, so big with prophecy to the 
 peasantry in the west of Scotland. The passion of prying into 
 futurity makes a striking part of the history of human nature 
 in its rude state, in all ages and nations ; and it may be some 
 entertainment to a philosophic mind, if any such should honour 
 the author with the perusal, to see the remains of it among the 
 more unenlightened in our own. — B. 
 
 Upon that night, when fairies light, 
 
 On Cassilis Downans t dance, 
 Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze, 
 
 On sprightly coursers prance ; 
 Or for Colzean the route is ta'en, 
 
 Beneath the moon's pale beams ; 
 There, up the cove,{ to stray an' rove 
 
 Amang the rocks and streams 
 
 To sport that night. 
 
 II 
 
 Amang the bonnie winding banks. 
 
 Where Doon rins, wimplin, clear. 
 Where Bruce § ance ruled the martial ranks. 
 
 An' shook his Carrick spear, 
 
 * ' Hallowe'en : ' is thought to be a night when witches, devils, and 
 other mischief-making beings, are all abroad on their baneful midnight 
 errands ; particularly those aerial people, the Fairies, are said on that 
 night to hold a grand anniversary. — B. 
 
 t ' Cassilis Downans : ' certain little romantic rocky green hills, in the 
 neighbourhood of the ancient seat of the Earls of Cassilis. 
 
 t ' Cove : ' a noted cavern near Colzean-house, called The Cove of 
 Colzean ; which, as Cassilis Downans, is famed in country story for being 
 a favourite haunt of fairies. — B. 
 
 % ' Bruce : ' the famous family of that name, the ancestors of Robert, 
 the great deliverer of his country, were Earls of Carrick. — B. 
 
HALLOWE'EN 95 
 
 Some merry, friendly countra folks 
 
 Together did convene. 
 To burn their nits, an' pu' their stocks, 
 
 And haud their Hallowe'en, 
 
 Fu' blithe that night. 
 
 Ill 
 
 The lasses feat, and cleanly neat, 
 
 Mair braw than when they're fine ; 
 Their faces blithe, fu' sweetly kjrthe, 
 
 Hearts leal, and warm, and kin' : 
 The lads sae trig, wi' wooer-babs, 
 
 Weel knotted on their garten. 
 Some unco blate, and some wi' gabs, 
 
 Gar lasses' hearts gang startin' 
 
 Whiles fast at night. 
 
 Then first and foremost, through the kail. 
 
 Their stocks * maun a' be sought ance ; 
 They steek their e'en, and graip an' wale, 
 
 For muckle anes and straught anes. 
 Poor hav'rel Will feU aff the drift. 
 
 And wander'd through the bow-kail, 
 And pu't, for want o' better shift, 
 
 A runt was like a sow-tail, 
 
 Sae bow't that night. 
 
 Then, straught or crooked, yird or nana. 
 They roar and cry a' throu 'ther ; 
 
 The vera wee things, todlin', rin 
 Wi' stocks out-owre their shouther ; 
 
 * ' stocks : ' the first ceremony of HaUo\<«'en is pulling each a ttock, 
 or plant of kail. They must go out, hand in hand, with eyes shut, and 
 pull the first they meet with : its being big or little, straight or crooked, 
 is prophetic of the size and shape of the grand object of all their spells — 
 the husband or wife. If any yird, or earth, stick to the root, that is tocher, 
 or fortune ; and the state of the custoc, that is, the heart of the stem, is 
 indicative of the natural temper and disposition. Lastly, the stems, or to 
 give them their ordinary appellation, the runts, are placed somewhere 
 above the head of the door ; and the Christian names of the people whom 
 chance brings into the house, are according to the priority of placing the 
 runts, the names in question. — B. 
 
96 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 And gif the custoc's sweet or sour, 
 Wi' joktelegs 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 pu' their stalks o' corn ; * 
 But Rab slips out, an' jinks about, 
 
 Behint the muckle thorn : 
 He grippet Nelly hard an' fast : 
 
 Loud skirled a' the lasses ; 
 But her tap-pickle maist was lost. 
 
 When kittlin' in the fause-house t 
 Wi' him that night. 
 
 The auld guidwife's weel-hoordet nits J 
 
 Are round and round divided. 
 And mony lads' and lasses' fates 
 
 Are there that night decided : 
 Some kindle, couthie, side by side 
 
 And burn thegither trimly ; 
 Some start awa' wi' saucy pride. 
 
 And jump outowre the chimlie, 
 
 Fu' high that night. 
 
 VIII 
 
 Jean slips in twa wi' tentie e'e ; 
 
 Wha 'twas, she wadna tell ; 
 But this is Jock, an' this is me. 
 
 She says in to hersel' : 
 
 * ' stalks o' corn : ' they go to the barnyard and pull each, at three 
 several times, a stalk of oats. If the third stalk wants the top-pickk, 
 that is, the grain at the top of the stalk, the party in question will come 
 to the marriage-bed anything but a maid. — B. 
 
 f ' Fause-house : ' when the corn is in a doubtful state, by being too 
 green, or wet, the stack-builder, by means of old timber, etc., makes a 
 larg^ apartment in his stack, with an opening in the side which is fairest 
 exposed to the wind : this he calls a fause-house. — B. 
 
 t ' Nits : ' burning the nuts is a famous charm. They name the lad and 
 lass to each particular nut, as they lay them in the. fire, and accordingly 
 as they burn quietly together, or start from beside one another, the course 
 and issue of the courtship will be. — B. 
 
HALLOWE'EN 97 
 
 He bleezed owre her, and she owrc him, 
 
 As they wad never mair part ; 
 Till, fufi 1 he started up the lum, 
 
 An' Jean had e'en a sair heart 
 
 "To see 't that night. 
 
 Poor Willie, wi' his bow-kail runt, 
 
 Was brunt wi' prinisie Mallie ; 
 And Mary, nae doubt, took the drunt. 
 
 To be compared to Willie : 
 Mall's nit lap out wi' pridefu' fling, 
 
 An' her ain fit it brunt it.; 
 While Willie lap, and swoor, by jing, 
 
 'Twas just the way he wanted 
 
 To be that night. 
 
 Nell had the fause-house in her min'. 
 
 She pits hersel' an' Rob in ; 
 In loving bleeze they sweetly join. 
 
 Till white in ase they 're sobbin' : 
 Nell's heart was dancin' at the view. 
 
 She whisper'd Rob to look for 't : 
 Rob, stowlins, pried her bonnie 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' : 
 She through the yard the nearest taks. 
 
 And to the kiln she goes then. 
 And darklins grapit for the banks. 
 
 And in the blue-clue * throws then, 
 
 Right fear't that night. 
 
 • • Blue-clue : ' whoever would, with success, try this spell, must stiictly 
 observe these directions : — Steal out, all alone, to the Uiln, and, darkling, 
 throw into the pot a clue of blue yarn ; wind it in a new clue ot the old one : 
 and, towards the latter end, something will hold the thread ; demand, 
 Wha hauds ? i.e., who holds ? An answer will be returned from the kiln- 
 pot, by naming the Christian and surname of your future spouse. — B. 
 46— D 
 
98 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 And aye she win 't, and aye she swat,. 
 
 I wat she made nae jaukin' ; 
 Till something held within the pat, 
 
 Guid Lord 1 but she was quakin' I 
 But whether 'twas the Deil himsel', 
 
 Or whether 'twas a bauk-en' ; 
 Or whether it was Andrew Bell, 
 
 She did na' wait on talkin' 
 
 To spier that night. 
 
 XIII 
 
 "Wee Jenny to her grannie says, 
 
 ' Will ye go wi' me, grannie ? 
 I '11 eat the apple * at the glass, 
 
 I gat frae uncle Johnny : ' 
 She fuff't her pipe wi' sic a lunt, 
 
 In wrath she was sae vap'rin'. 
 She notice 't ria an ai2:Ie brunt 
 
 Her braw new worset apron 
 
 Out through that night. 
 
 ' Ye little skelpie-limmer's face I 
 
 How daur you try sic sportin'. 
 As seek the foul thief ony place. 
 
 For him to spae your fortune ? 
 Nae doubt but ye may get a sight 1 
 
 Great cause ye hae to fear it ; 
 For mony a ane has gotten a fright. 
 
 And lived and 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 : 
 
 • ' Eat the apple : ' take a candle, and go alone to a looking-glass ; eat 
 an apple before it, and some traditions say, you should comb your hair all 
 the time ; the lace of your conjugal companion, to be, will be seen in the 
 glass, as il peeping over your shoulder. — iB. 
 
HALLOWE'EN 99 
 
 The simmer had been cauld an' wat, 
 
 And stuff was unco green ; 
 And aye a rantin' kirn we gat. 
 
 And just on Hallowe'en 
 
 It fell that night. 
 
 ' Our stibble-rig was Rab M'Graen, 
 
 A clever, sturdy tallpvr ; . ' 
 His sin gat Eppie Sim wi.' we^ll. 
 
 That liyefi in Achmacall'a : 
 He gat hemp-seed,* I mind it weel, 
 
 And he made unco light o 't ; 
 But mony a day was by himsel'. 
 
 He was sae sairly frighted 
 
 That vera night.' 
 
 Then up gat fechtp' .Jamie Fleck, 
 
 And he swoor by his (conscience. 
 That he could saw henip-se'ed a peck ; 
 
 For it. was ^' but nonsense. 
 The auld giiidman raught down t]fie pock. 
 
 An' out a handfu' gied hirn ; ' 
 Syne bad him slip frae 'mang the folk 
 
 Sometime when nae ane see'd him, 
 
 And try 't that night. 
 
 XVIII 
 
 He marches through amang the stacks, 
 
 Though he was something .sturtin'. 
 The graip he for , a harrow taks. 
 
 And haurls at his curpin : 
 And every now an', then, he says, 
 
 ' Hemp-seed, I saw thee. 
 And her that is to he my lass. 
 
 Come after me, and draw thee, 
 
 As fast this night.' 
 
 • ' Hemp-seed : * steal out, ixnperceived, and sow a handful of hemp- 
 aeed j harrowing it with anythii^g you can cohveniently draw after you. 
 Repeat now and then, ' Hemp-seed, I saw thee ; hemp-seed, I saw thee ; 
 and him (or her) that is to be my true-love, come after me and pu' thee.' 
 Look over you left shoulder, a?id you lyill see the appearance of the person 
 invoked, in the attititde of pulling hemp. Some traditions say, 'Come 
 after me and shaw thee,* that is, show thyself : in which case it simply 
 appears. Others omit the harrowing, and say, ' Come after me, and 
 harrow thee.' 
 
100 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 He whistled up ' Lord Lennox' M^ch,* 
 
 To keep tois courage cheerie ; 
 Although his hair began to arch, 
 
 He was sae fley'dian' eerie : 
 TUl presently he hears a squeak. 
 
 An' then a ferane aii' gruhjle ; 
 He by his shouthej gae a keek, 
 
 And tumbled wi' a wintle 
 
 Oiit-owre that nigTit 
 
 He roar'd a horrid murder-shout, 
 
 In dreadfu' desperation ; 
 And young and auld cam rinnin' out. 
 
 And hear the sad narration : 
 He swoor 'twas hilchin' Jean M'Craw, 
 
 Or crouchie Merran Humphie, 
 Till, stop 1— she trotted through them a'- 
 
 And wha was it but grumphie, 
 Asteer that night I 
 
 XXI 
 
 Meg fain wad to the barn ha'e gaen. 
 
 To win thr^e wefchts o' naething ; * 
 But for to meet the deil her lane. 
 
 She pat but little faith in : 
 She gies the herd a pickle nits. 
 
 And twa red-cheekit apples. 
 To watch, while for the barn she sets, 
 
 In hopes to see Tam Kipples 
 
 That vera night. 
 
 ♦ ' Win three wechts o' naething : ' this charm must likewise be pcr- 
 toiTned unperceived, and alone. You go ^o the barn, and open both doors, 
 taking them oH the hinges, il possible ; for there is danger that the being 
 about to appear may shut the dpors, and do you some mischief. Then 
 take that instrument used jn, winnowing the com, which, in our country 
 dialect, we call a wecM ; 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 employment or station in life. — B. 
 
HALLOWE'EN 101 
 
 XXII 
 
 She turns the key \Vi' cannie thraw. 
 
 And owre the threshold venttoes ; ' 
 But first on Sawnie gies a ca'. 
 
 Syne bauldly in she enters ; 
 A ratton rattled up the wa', 
 
 And she cried, Lord preserve her 1 
 And rail' through middfeii-hole 'an' a', 
 
 And pray'd wi' zeal an' fervour, 
 '' " Fu' fast that night. 
 
 They hoy't but Will; wi' sair advic6 '; ' 
 
 They hecht him sortie fine braw ane ; 
 It chanced the stack he faddoin'd thrice,* 
 
 Was timmer'propt for thi'awin' ; 
 He taks a swiflie auld moss-^oak. 
 
 For some black, grpusome c'arlin' ; 
 And loot a winze, and drew a stroke. 
 
 Till skin in blypes came haurlin' 
 
 Afl 's nieves that night. 
 
 A wanton widow "Leezle was. 
 
 As cantie as a kittlin' ; 
 But, och 1 that night, amang the shaws, 
 
 She got a fearfu'' settUn' I 
 She through the whins, an' by the cairn. 
 
 An' owre the hm gaed scrievin', 
 Whare three lairds' lands met at a burn,t 
 
 To dip her left sark-sleeve in. 
 
 Was bent that night. 
 
 • ' Faddom'd thrice : ' take an opportunity of going unnoticed, to a bear- 
 stack, and fathom it tliree times round. The last fathom of the last time 
 you will catch in your arms the appearance of your future conjugal yoke- 
 feUow.-T-B. 
 
 t ' Met at a bum : ' you go out, one or more, for this is a social spell, 
 to a south running spring or rivulet, where ' three lairds' lands meet,' 
 and dip your left shirt sleeve. Go to bed in sight Qf a fire, and hang your 
 wet sleeve before it to dry. Lie ayrake ; and, some time near midnight, 
 an ^parition, having the exact figure of th^ grand object in question, will 
 come and turn the sleeve, as if to dry the othpr side of it. — B, 
 
102 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 XXV 
 
 Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays> 
 
 As through the glen it wimplet ; 
 Whyles round a rocky scaur it strays ; 
 
 Whyles in a wiel it dimplet ; 
 Whyles glitter'd to the nightly rays, 
 
 Wi' bickering, dancing dazzle ; 
 Whyles cookit underneath the braes. 
 
 Below the spreading hazel. 
 
 Unseen that night. 
 
 Amang the brackens, on the brae, 
 
 Between her and the moon. 
 The .deil, or else an cutler quey, 
 
 Gat up and gae a croon ; 
 Poor Leezie's heart maist lap the hool ; 
 
 Near lav'rock hieight she jumpit. 
 But mist a fit, an' in the pool 
 
 Out-pwre the, lugs she plumpit, 
 
 Wi' a pluhge that night. 
 
 XXVII 
 
 In order, on the clean hearth-stane. 
 
 The luggies three * are ranged. 
 And every time great care is ta'en 
 
 To see them duly changed ; 
 Auld uncle John, wha wedlock's joys 
 
 Sin' Mar's-year did desire, 
 Because he gat the toom dish thrice. 
 
 He heaved them on the Are 
 
 In wrath that nightw . 
 
 Wi' merry' sangs, and friendly cracks, 
 
 I wat they did na wearie ; 
 And unco tales, and funnie jokes. 
 
 Their sports were cheap and cheerie ; 
 
 • ' Luggies three : ' take three dishes ; put clean water in one, foul 
 water in another, leave the third empty ; blindfold a person, and lead him 
 to the hearth where the dishes are ranged ; he (or she) dips the left hand, 
 if by chance in the clean water, the future husband or wife will come to 
 the bar of matrimony a maid ; if in the foul, a widow ; if In the empty 
 dish, it foretells, with equal certainty, no marriage at all. It is repeated 
 three times, and every time the arrangement of the dishes is altered. — B. 
 
HALLOWE'EN 103 
 
 Till butter'd so'ns,* wi' fragrant lunt, 
 
 Set a' their gabs a-steerin' ; 
 Syne, wi' a social glass o' strunt. 
 
 They parted aff careerin' 
 
 'Fu' blithe that night. 
 
 THE AULD FARMER'S 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 I 
 Hae, there 's a ripp to thy auld baggie : 
 Though thou 's howe-backit now, and knaggie, 
 
 I 've seen the day 
 Thou could hae gaen like ony staggie 
 
 Out-owre the lay.. 
 
 II 
 
 Though now thou 's dowie, stiff, an' crazy, 
 And thy auld hide 's as white 's a daisy, 
 I 've seen thee dapplet, sleek, and glaizie, 
 
 A bonnie gray : 
 He should been tight that .daur't to raise thee, 
 
 Ance in a day. 
 
 in 
 
 Thou ance was i' the foremost rank, 
 A filly buirdly, steeve, an' swank. 
 And set weel down a shapely shank, 
 
 ■' As e'er tread yird ; 
 And could hae flown out-owre a stank. 
 Like ony bird. 
 
 • ' Butter'd so'ns' : ' sowens, with butter instead of milk to them, i» 
 always the Hallouie'en mpper. — B. 
 
104 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 IV 
 
 [t 's now some nineran'-twenty year. 
 Sin' thou was my guid father's meare ; 
 He gied me thee, o' tocher clear. 
 
 An' fifty mark ; 
 Thougli it was sma', 'twas weel-won gear. 
 
 An' thou was stark. 
 
 ■VSTien first I gaed to woo my Jenny, 
 Ye then was trottin' wi' your minny : 
 Though ye was trickie, slee, an' funnie. 
 
 Ye ne'er was donsie ; 
 But hamely, tawie, quiet, an' cannie. 
 
 And unco sonsie. 
 
 VI 
 
 That day ye pranced' wi' muckle pride, 
 When ye bure hame my bonnie bride': 
 And sweet an' gracefu' she did ride, 
 
 Wi' maiden air ! 
 Kyle Stewart I could bragged wide 
 
 For sic a pair. 
 
 VII 
 
 Though now ye dow but hoyte and hobble. 
 And wintle, like a saumont-coble. 
 That day ye was a jinker noble. 
 
 For heels an' win' 1 
 And ran them till they a' did wauble. 
 
 Far, far behin'. 
 
 VIII 
 
 Wlien thou an' I were young and skeigh. 
 
 And stable-meals at fairs were dreigh, 
 
 How thou wad psance, an' snore, an' skreigh. 
 
 And tak the road I 
 Town's bodies ran, and stood abeigh. 
 
 And ca't tbfee mad. 
 
NEW- YEAR SALUTATION 105 
 
 IX 
 
 When thou was corn't, an' I was mellow. 
 We took the road aye like a swallow : 
 At brooses * thou had ne'er a fellow 
 
 For pith and speed ; 
 But every .tail thou pay't them hollow, 
 
 Where'er thou gaed. 
 
 The sma', droopirumplet hunter cattl^^ / 
 Mighty ,aiJ)linswaur'1;J;l^ for a brattle ; 
 But sax Scotch mjles thou try't their mettle 
 
 ^nd gar't them whaizle : 
 Nae, \yhip nor spur, but jqst a wattle 
 
 O' saugh or hazel. 
 
 Thou was a noble flttie-lan', 
 Ase'ei- Jn tug or tow 'was drawn I 
 Aft thee an' I, in aught hours' gauii, 
 
 In.guid March weather, 
 Hae tum'd saX rodd feeside our han'. 
 
 For days thegither'. 
 
 Thou never braing't an' fetch't, an' fliskit 
 But .thy auld tail thou wad hae whiskit, 
 And spread abreed thy weel-fiU'd briskit, 
 
 Wi' pith and power, 
 Till spritty knowes wad rair't and risket, 
 
 An' slypet owre. 
 
 When frosts lay lang, and snaws were deep. 
 And threaten'd labour back to keep, 
 I gied thy cog a wee-bit heap 
 
 Aboon the. timmer ; 
 I kenn'd my Maggie wad na sleep 
 
 For that, or simmer. 
 
 ■ Broose : ' a race at a wedding, see ' Hogg's Tales,' passim. 
 
106 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 XIV 
 
 In cart or car thou never reestit ; ■ 
 The steyest brae thou wad -hae laced it ; ' 
 Thou n€ver lapj; and sten't, and breastit/ 
 
 'liThien stood to blaw ; 
 But just thy «tep a ■v^ec thing hastitji ■ 
 Thou siioov't awa'. 
 
 Myt^pieugh is now thy balrh-tlme a' j 
 Four "gallant bruteS-^s e'er 'did draw 
 Fdrbye skx ttae, I^^selt awa'"' 
 
 That thou has nurst : 
 They drew me thretteen piind an' twa, 
 
 The vera warst. 
 
 XVI 
 
 Mony a sair daurk we t^j^a hae wrought 
 And wi' the weary warl' fought 1 
 And mony an anxious day, I thought 
 
 We wa^ be beat I . 
 Yet here to crazy ag^ we 're brought, 
 
 Wi' something yet. 
 
 And think na, my auld trusty servan', 
 That now perhaps thou 's less deserviii', 
 And thy auld days may end in starvin'. 
 
 For my last low, 
 A heapit stimpart I '11 reserve ane. 
 
 Laid by for you. 
 
 xyiii 
 
 AA'e 'v6 worn ,16 crazy years thegither ; 
 We '11 toyte about wi' ane anither ; 
 Wi' tentie care I '11 flit thy tether, 
 , ' To some hain'd rig, 
 Whare ye may nobly rax your leather, 
 Wi' sma'i fatigue. 
 
TO A MOUSE 107 
 
 : TO A MOUSE 
 
 ON TURNING HER UP IN HER 'nEST WITH THE PLOUGH, 
 NOVEMBER 1785 ■ 
 
 Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie, 
 Oh, what, a panic 's in thy breastie t 
 Thou need na start awa sae hasty, 
 
 , Wi' bickering brattle 1 
 I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee, 
 
 Wi' murd'ring pattle 1 
 
 I 'm truly sorry man's dominion 
 Has broken Nature's social union, 
 And justifies that ill opinion 
 
 Which maks thee startle 
 At me, thy poor earth-born companion, 
 
 An' fellow-mpttal ! 
 
 , I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve ; 
 What then 1 poor beastie, thou maun live t 
 A daimen icker in a thrave 
 
 'S a sma' request : 
 I '11 get a blessin' wf the lave. 
 
 And never miss 't 1 
 
 Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin I 
 Its silly wa's the win's are strCwin' I 
 And naething, now,* to big a new ane, 
 
 O' foggage green I 
 And bleslli December's winds ensuin', 
 
 Baith snell and keen I 
 
 Thou saw the fields laid bare and waste. 
 And weary winter comin' fast, 
 And cOzie here, beneath the blast, 
 
 Tliou thought to dwell. 
 Till, crash I the cruel coulter pass'd 
 
 Out through thy cell. 
 
 That wee bit heap o' leaves and stibble. 
 Has cost thee mony a weary nibble ! 
 Now thou 's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble. 
 
 But house or hald, 
 To thole the winter's sleety dribble. 
 
 And cranreuch cauld I' 
 
108 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 But, Moiisie, thou art no thy lane, 
 In proving foresight may be vain : 
 The best laid schemes o' mice an' men, 
 
 Gang aft a-gley, 
 And lea'e us naught but grief and pain, 
 
 For promised joy. 
 
 Still thou art blest, compared wi' me ! 
 The present only toucheth thee : 
 But, och I I backward cast my e'e 
 
 On prospects drear I 
 And forward, though I canna see, 
 
 I guess an' fear. 
 
 A WINTER NIGHT 
 
 Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are. 
 That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm 1 
 How shall your houseless heads, and unfed sides, 
 Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you 
 From seasons such as these ? ' 
 
 Shakspeare 
 
 When biting Boreas, feU and doure. 
 Sharp shivers through the leafless bower ; 
 When Phoebus gies a short-lived glower 
 
 Far south the lift. 
 Dim-darkening through the flaky shower. 
 
 Or whirling drift : 
 
 Ae night the storm the steeples rock'd. 
 Poor Labour sweet in sleep was lock'd. 
 While burns, wi' snawy wreaths up-chok'd, 
 
 Wild-eddying swirl. 
 Or through the mining outlet bock'd, 
 
 Down headlong hurl. 
 
 Listening the doors and winnocks rattle, 
 I thought me on the ourie cattle, 
 Or silly sheep, wha bide this brattle 
 
 O' winter war. 
 And through the drift, deep-lairing sprattle. 
 
 Beneath a scaur. 
 
 Ilk happing bird, wee, helpless thing. 
 That, in the merry months o' spring, 
 
A WINTER NIGHT 109 
 
 Delighted me to hear thee sing, 
 
 What comes o' thee ? 
 Whare wilt thou cower thy chitt'ring wing, 
 < And close thy e'e ? 
 
 E'en you, on murdering errands toil'd. 
 
 Lone from your savage honics exiled, 
 
 The blood-stain'd roost, and sheep-cote spoil'd. 
 
 My heart forgets. 
 While pitiless the tempest wild 
 
 Sore on you beats. 
 
 Now Phoebe, in her midnight reign. 
 Dark muffled, view'd the dreary plain ; 
 Still crowding thoughts, a pensive train. 
 
 Rose in my soul, 
 When on my ear this plaintive strain 
 
 Slow, solemn, stole : — 
 
 ' Blow, blow, ye winds, with heavier gust ! 
 And freeze, thou bitter-biting frost I 
 Descend, ye chilly, smothering snows 1 
 Not all your rage, as now united, shows 
 More hard unkindness, unrelenting, 
 Vengeful malice unrepenting. 
 Than Heaven-illumined man on brother man bestows I 
 
 ' See stem Oppression's iron grip. 
 Or mad Ambition's gory hand. 
 Sending, like blood-hounds from the slip, 
 
 Woe, want, and murder o'er a land I 
 E'en in the peaceful rural vale, 
 Truth, weeping, tells the mournful tale, 
 How pamper'd Luxury, Flattery by her side. 
 The parasite empoisoning her ear, 
 With all the servile wretches in the rear, 
 Looks o'er proud Property, extended wide ; 
 And eyes the simple rustic hind. 
 
 Whose toil upholds the glittering show, 
 A creature of another kind, 
 Some coarser substance, unrefined. 
 Placed for her lordly use thus far, thus vile, below. 
 
 ' Where, where is Love's fond, tender throe. 
 With lordly Honour's lofty brow. 
 The powers you proudly own ? 
 
no BURNS' POEMS AND SON(;S 
 
 Is there, beneath Love's noble name. 
 Can harbour, dark, the selfish aim, 
 
 To bless himself alone ? 
 Mark maiden-innocence a prey ' 
 
 To love-pretending snares, 
 This boasted Honour turns away. 
 Shunning soft Pily's rising sway. 
 Regardless of the tears, and unavailing prayers ! 
 Perhaps, this hour, in Misery's squalid nest. 
 She strains your infant to her joyless breast, 
 And with a mother's fears shrinks at the rocking blast t 
 
 ' Oh ye who, sunk in beds of down. 
 Feel not a want but what yourselves create, 
 Thinli, for a moment, on his wretched fate. 
 Whom friend? and fortune quite disown ! 
 ni-satisfled keen Nature's clamorous call, 
 
 Stretch'd on his straw he lays himself to sleep. 
 While through the ragged roof and chinl;y wall, 
 Chill o'er his slumbers piles the drifty heap I 
 Think on the dungeon's grim confine, 
 Where Guilt and poor Misfortune pine ! 
 Guilt, erring man, relenting ^ icw ! 
 But shall thy legal rage pursue 
 The wretch already crushed low 
 By cruel Fortune's undeserved blow ? 
 Afniction's sons are brothers in distress, 
 A brother to relieve, how exquisite the bliss 1 ' 
 
 I heard nae mair, for chanticleer 
 
 Shook off the pouthery snaw. 
 And hail'd tbemorning with a cheer, 
 
 A cottage-rousing craw. 
 
 But deep this truth impress'd my mind — - 
 
 Through all His works abroad, 
 Tlic heart, benevolent and kind. 
 
 The most resembles God. 
 
EPISTLE TO DAVIE 111 
 
 EPISTLE TO DAVIE 
 
 A BROTHER POET * 
 
 January 1784. 
 I 
 
 While winds frae aff Ben-Lomond bla\\, 
 And bar the doors wi' driving snaw, 
 
 And hing us owre the ingle, 
 I set me down to pass the time, 
 And spin a verse or twa o' rhyme, 
 
 In hamely westlin' jingle. 
 While frosty winds blaw in the drift, 
 
 Ben to the chimla lug, 
 I grudge a wee the great follcs' gift, 
 That live sae bien an' snug : 
 I tent less, and want less 
 
 Their roomy fireside ; 
 But hanlcer and canlcer 
 To see their cursed pride. 
 
 It 's hardly in a body's power 
 To keep, at times, frae being sour. 
 
 To see how things are shared ; 
 How best o' chiels are whiles in want. 
 While coofs on countless thousands rant. 
 
 And ken na how to wair 't : 
 But, Davie, lad, ne'er fash your head. 
 
 Though we hae little gear. 
 We 're fit to win our daily bread, 
 As lang 's we 're hale and fier : 
 ' Mair spier na,'nor fear na,' + 
 Auld age ne'er mind a feg, 
 The last o 't, the warsL o 't, 
 Is only for to beg. 
 
 Ill 
 
 To lie in kilns and barns at e'en, 
 When banes are crazed, and bluid is thin, 
 Is, doubtless, great distress ! 
 
 • ' Brother poet : ' David Sillar, one of the club at Tarbolton, ;:iid 
 •author of a volume of poems m Lh'j Scottish dialect, 
 •f ' Fear na : ' Ramsay. — B. 
 
112 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Yet then content could malte us blest ; 
 Even then, sometimes, we 'd snatch a tasLe 
 
 Of truest happiness. 
 The honest heart that 's free frae a' 
 
 Intended fraud or guile, 
 However Fortune kick the ba', 
 Has aye some cause to smile : 
 And mind still, you '11 find still, 
 
 A comfort this nae sma' ; 
 Nae mair then, we 'II care then, 
 Nae farther can we fa'. 
 
 What though, like commoners of air, 
 We wander out, we know not where. 
 
 But either house or hall ? 
 Yet nature's charms, the hills and woods. 
 The sweeping vales, and foaming floods. 
 
 Are free alike to all. 
 In days when daisies deck the ground. 
 
 And blackbirds whistle clear, 
 With honest joy our hearts will bound. 
 To see the coming year : 
 
 On braes when we please, then, 
 
 We '11 sit an' sowth a tune ; 
 Syne rhyme till 't, we '11 time till 't. 
 And sing 't when we hae dune. 
 
 It 's no in titles nor in rank ; 
 
 It 's no in wealth like Lon'on bank. 
 
 To purchase peace and rest ; 
 It 's no in making muckle mair : 
 It 's no in books ; it's no in lear. 
 
 To make us truly blest : 
 If happiness hae not her seat 
 
 And centre in the breast. 
 We may be wise, or rich, or great. 
 But never can be blest : 
 
 Nae treasures, nor pleasures. 
 
 Could make us happy lang ; 
 The heart aye 's the part aye, 
 That makes us right or wrang. 
 
 Think ye, that sic as you and I, 
 Wha drudge and drive through wet an' dry, 
 Wi' never-ceasing toil ; 
 
EPISTLE TO DAVIE 113 
 
 Think ye, are we less blest than they, 
 Wha scarcely tent us in their way, 
 
 As hardly worth their while ? 
 Alas 1 how alt in haughty mood, 
 God's creatures they oppress I 
 Or else, neglecting a' that 's guid, 
 They riot in excess I 
 
 Baith careless, and fearless. 
 Of either heaven or hell 1 
 Esteeming, and deeming 
 It 's a' an idle tale 1 
 
 Then let us cheerfu' acquiesce ; 
 Nor make our scanty pleasures less. 
 
 By pining at our state ; 
 And, even should misfortunes come, 
 I, here wha sit, has met wi' some. 
 
 An 's thankfu' for them yet : 
 They gie the wit of age to youth ; 
 
 They let us ken oursel' ; 
 They make us see the naked truth. 
 The real guid and ill. 
 
 Though losses, and crosses 
 
 Be lessons right severe. 
 There 's wit there, ye '11 get there. 
 Ye 'U find nae other where. 
 
 But tent me, Davie, ace o' hearts I 
 
 (To say aught less wad wrang the cartes. 
 
 And flattery I detest) 
 This life has joys for you and I ; 
 And joys that riches ne'er could buy ; 
 
 And joys the very best. 
 There 's a' the pleasures o' the heart. 
 
 The lover an' the frien' ; 
 Ye hae your Meg,* your dearest part. 
 And I my darling Jean ! 
 It warms me, it charms me, 
 
 To mention but her name : 
 It heats me, it beets me. 
 And sets me a' on flame 1 
 
 • ' Meg : ' Margaret Oir, a servant of Mrs. Stewart of Stair„ 
 
114 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 IX 
 
 O all ye Powers who rule above I 
 O Thou, whose very self art Love 1 
 Thou know'st my words sincere 1 
 The life-blood streaming through my heart. 
 Or my more dear immortal part, 
 
 Is not more fondly dear 1 
 VvTien heart-corroding care and grief 
 
 Deprive my soul of rest, 
 Pier dear idea brings relief 
 And solace to my breast. 
 Thou Being, All-seeing, 
 
 Oh hear my fervent prayer ; 
 Still take her, and make her 
 Thy most peculiar care I 
 
 All hail, ye tender feelings dear ! 
 The smile of love, the friendly tear. 
 
 The sympathetic glow 1 
 Long since, this world's thorny ways 
 Had number'd out my weary days. 
 
 Had it not been for you I 
 Fate still has blest me with a friend, 
 
 In every care and ill ; 
 And oft a more endearing band, 
 A tie more tender still. 
 It lightens, it brightens 
 The tenebrific scene, 
 To meet with, and greet with 
 My Davie or my Jean ! 
 
 Oh, how that name inspires my style 1 
 The words come skelpin', rank and file, 
 
 Amaist before I ken I 
 The ready measure rins as fine, 
 As Phoebus and the famous Nine 
 
 Were glourin' owre my pen. 
 My spaviet Pegasus will limp. 
 
 Till ance he 's fairly het ; 
 And then he '11 hilch, and stilt, and jimp, 
 
 An' riri an unco fit ; 
 
EPISTLE TO DAVIE 115 
 
 But lest then, the beast then, 
 
 Should rue this hasty ride, 
 I '11 light now, and dight now 
 
 His sweaty wizen' d hide. 
 
 THE LA^!E^fT 
 
 occasioned by the unfortunate issue of a 
 friend's amour 
 
 ' Alas I how oft does Goodness wound itself ! 
 And sweet Affection prove trie spring ot woe 1 ' 
 
 Home 
 
 O THOU pale Orb, that silent shines'. 
 
 While care-untrouljled mortals sleep I 
 Thou seest a wretch that inly pines, , 
 
 And v.anders here to wail and weep I 
 With woe I nightly vigils keep 
 
 Beneath thy wan, unwarming beam ; 
 And mourn, in lamentation deep. 
 
 How life and love are all a dream. 
 
 I joyless view thy rays adorn 
 
 The faintly-marked distant hill : 
 I joyless view thy trembling horn, 
 
 Reflected in the gurgling rill : 
 My fondly-fluttering heart, be still ! 
 
 Thou busy power. Remembrance, cease ! 
 Ah 1 must the agonising thrill 
 
 For ever bar returning peace 1 
 
 III 
 
 No idly-feign'd poetic pains. 
 
 My sad, love-lorn lamentings claim ; 
 No shepherd's pipe — Arcadian strains ; 
 
 No fahled tortures, quaint and tame i 
 The plighted faith ; the mutual flame ; 
 
 The oft attested Powers above ; 
 The promised father's tender name — 
 
 These were the pledges of my love I 
 
416 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 IV 
 
 Encircled In her clasping arms, 
 
 How have the raptured moments flown 1 
 How have I wish'd for fortune's charms, 
 
 For her dear sake, and her's alone 1 
 And must I think it 1 — is she gone, 
 
 My secret heart's exulting boast ? 
 And does she heedless hear my groan ? 
 
 And is she ever, ever lost ? 
 
 Oh 1 can she bear so base a heart, 
 
 So lost to honour, lost to truth. 
 As from the fondest lover part. 
 
 The plighted husband of her youth ? 
 ,Alas 1 life's path may be unsmooth 1 
 
 Her way may lie through rough distress I 
 Then, who her pangs and pains will soothe, 
 
 Her sorrows share, and make them less ? 
 
 "Ye wingfed hours that o'er us pass'd, 
 
 Enraptured more, the more enjoy'd, 
 Tour dear remembrance in my breast. 
 
 My fondly-treasured thoughts employ'd. 
 That breast, how dreary now, and void, 
 
 For her too scanty once of room 1 
 tEven every ray of hope destroy'd. 
 
 And not a wish to gild the gloom I 
 
 The morn that warms the approaching day. 
 
 Awakes me up to toil and woe : 
 1 see the hours in long array. 
 
 That I must suffer, lingering, slow. 
 Full many a pang, and many a throe. 
 
 Keen recollection's direful train. 
 Must wring my soul, ere Phoebus, low, 
 
 Shall kiss the distant western main. 
 
 And when my nightly couch I try. 
 Sore harass'd out with care ahd grief, 
 
 "My toil-beat nerves, and tear-worn eye. 
 Keep watchings with the nightly thief : 
 
THE LAMENT 117 
 
 Or if I slumber, fancy, chief. 
 
 Reigns haggard-wild, in sore affright. : 
 
 E'en day, all-bitter, brings relief. 
 From such a horror-breathing night. 
 
 IX 
 
 O thou bright Queen 1 who o'er th' expanse 
 
 Now highest reign'st, with boundless sway ! 
 Oft has thy silent-marking glance 
 
 Observed us, fondly-wandering, stray I 
 The time, unheeded, sped away. 
 
 While love's luxurious pulse beat higli, 
 Beneath thy silver-gleaming ray, 
 
 To mark the mutual kindling eye. 
 
 Oh 1 scenes in strong remembrance set i 
 
 Scenes never, never to return 1 
 Scenes, if in stupor I forget. 
 
 Again I feel, again I burn ! 
 From every joy and pleasure torn. 
 
 Life's weary vale I '11 wander through 
 And hopeless, comfortless, I '11 mourn 
 
 A faithless woman's broken vow. 
 
 DESPONDENCY 
 
 Oppress'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 1 1 
 Dim backward as I cast my view, 
 What sick'ning scenes appear ! 
 What sorrows yet may pierce me through. 
 Too justly I may fear I 
 Still caring, despairing. 
 
 Must be my bitter doom ; 
 My woes here shall close ne'er, 
 But with the closing tomb ' 
 
118 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Happy, ye sons of busy life, 
 Who, equal to the bustling strife. 
 
 No other view regard I 
 Even when the wished end 's denied. 
 Yet while the busy means are pHed, 
 
 They bring their own reward : 
 Whilst I, a hope-abandon'd wight. 
 
 Unfitted with an aim. 
 Meet every sad returning night 
 And joyless morn the same ; 
 You, bustling, and justling. 
 
 Forget each grief and pain ; 
 1, listless, yet restless, 
 Find every prospect vain. 
 
 How blest the SoUtary's lot, 
 Who, all-forgetting, all-forgot, 
 
 "Within his humble cell, 
 The cavern wild with tangling roots. 
 Sits o'er his newly gather'd, fruits. 
 
 Beside his crystaJ well 1 
 Or, haply, to his evening thought. 
 
 By unfrequented stream. 
 The ways of men are distant brought, 
 A faint collected dream ; 
 While praising, and raising 
 
 His thoughts to heaven on high, 
 As wand'ring, meand'ring. 
 He views the solemn sky. 
 
 1"han I, no lonely hermit placed 
 Where never human footstep traced. 
 
 Less fit to play the part ; 
 The lucky moment to improve. 
 And just to stop, and just to move, 
 
 With self-respecting art : 
 But ah 1 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 I 
 
 Oh enviable, early days, 
 When dancing thoughtless Pleasure's maze, 
 To Care, to Guilt unknown 1 
 
DESPONDENCY 119 
 
 How ill-exchanged for riper times, 
 To feel the follies, or the crimes, 
 
 Of others, or my own 1 
 Ye tiny elves that guiltless sport, 
 
 Like linnets in the bush. 
 Ye little know the ills ye court, 
 When manhood is your wish ! 
 The losses, the crosses. 
 
 That active man engage 1 
 The fears all, the tears all, 
 Of dim declining age ! 
 
 WINTER 
 
 A DIRGE 
 
 The wintry west extends his blast. 
 
 And hail and rain does blaw ; 
 Or, the stormy north sends driving forth 
 
 The blinding sleet and snaw : 
 VvTiilc, tumbling brown, the burn comes down, 
 
 And roars frae bank to brae ; 
 And bird and beast in covert rest. 
 
 And pass the heartless day. 
 
 ' The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast,' * 
 
 The joyless winter-day, 
 Let others fear, to me more dear 
 
 Than aU the pride of May : 
 The tempest's howl, it soothes my soul, 
 
 My griefs it seems to join ; 
 The leafless trees my fancy please, 
 
 Their fate resembles mine ! 
 
 Thou Power Supreme, whose mighty sclieme 
 
 These woes of mine fvilfil. 
 Here, firm, I rest, they must be blest, 
 
 Because they are Thy will I 
 Then all I want (oh, do Thou grant 
 
 This one request of mine !) 
 Since to enjoy Thou dost deny, 
 
 Assist me to resign. 
 
 • ' O'ercast : ' Dr. Young. ^B. 
 
120 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 THE COTTAR'S SATURDAY NIGHT 
 
 INSCRIBED TO R. AIKEN,* ESQ. 
 
 ' Let not ambition mock their useful toil, 
 Tlleir homely joys, and destiny obscure ; 
 Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile, 
 The short but simple annals of the poor.' 
 
 Gray 
 
 My loved, my honour'd, much respected friend 1 
 
 No mercenary bard his homage pays ; 
 With honest pride, I scorn each selfish end ; 
 
 My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and praise : 
 To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays. 
 
 The lowly train in life's sequester'd scene ; 
 The native feelings strong, the guileless ways ; 
 
 What Aiken in a cottage would have been ; 
 Ah ! though his worth unknown, far happier there, I ween ! 
 
 November chill blaws loud wi' angry sough ; 
 
 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 cottar 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 rnoor, his course does hameward bend. 
 
 At length his lonely cot appears in view, 
 
 Heneath the shelter of an aged tree : 
 The expectant wee things, toddlin', stacher through 
 
 To meet their dad, wi' flichterin' noise an' glee. 
 His wee bit ingle, blinkin' bonnily. 
 
 His clean hearth-stane, his thriftie wifie's smUe, 
 The lisping infant prattling on his knee, 
 
 Does a' his weary carking cares beguile. 
 And makes him quite forget his labour an' his toil. 
 
 • * Aiken : ' a writor in Ayr and great friend of Burns. 
 
THE COTTAR'S SATURDAY NIGHT 121 
 
 IV 
 
 Bclyve, the elder bairns came drapping in, 
 
 At service out, among the farmers roun'. 
 Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, ^ome tentie rin 
 
 A cannie errand to a neibour town : 
 Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown, 
 
 In youthfu' bloom, love spai-kling in her e'e. 
 Comes hame, perhaps, to show a braw new gown, 
 
 Or deposit her sair-won penny-fee. 
 To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be. 
 
 Wi' joy unfeign'd, brothers and sisters meet. 
 
 And each for other's weelfare kindly spiers : 
 The social hours, swift-wing'd unnoticed fleet ; 
 
 Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears ; 
 The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years ; 
 
 Anticipation forward points the view. 
 The mother, wi' her needle an' her shears. 
 
 Gars auld claes look amaist as weel 's the new- 
 The father mixes a' wi' admonition due. 
 
 rheir master's and their mistress's command, 
 
 The younkers a' are warned to obey ; ■ 
 And mind their labours wi' an eydent hand. 
 
 And ne'er, though out o' sight, to jauk or play : 
 ' And oh I be sure to fear the Lord alway 1 
 
 And mind your duty, duly, mom 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 1 a rap comes gently to the door ; 
 
 Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same, 
 Tells how a neibour lad, cam o'er the moor, 
 
 To do some errands, and convoy her hame. 
 The wUy mother sees the conscious flame 
 
 Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek ; 
 "With heart-struck anxious care, inquires his name, 
 
 Wliile Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak ; 
 Weel pleased, the mother hears its nae wild, worthless rake. 
 
122 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 \Vi' kindly welcome, Jenny brings him ben ; 
 
 A strappin' youth ; he taks the mother's eye ; 
 Blithe Jenny sees the visit 's no ill ta'en ; 
 
 The father cracks of horses, pleughs, and kye. 
 The youngster's artless heart o'erfldws wi' joy, 
 
 But blate an' laithfu', scarce can weel behave ; 
 The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy 
 
 What makes the youth sae bashfu' and sae grave ; 
 Weel pleased to think her bairn 's respected like the lave. 
 
 happy love 1 — where love like this is found 1 
 O heart-felt raptures ! — bliss beyond compare 
 
 1 've pacdd much this weary mortal round, 
 And sage experience bids me this declare — 
 
 ■ If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare. 
 
 One cordial in this melancholy vale, 
 'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair. 
 
 In other's arms breathe out the tender tale, 
 Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale.' 
 
 Is there, in human form, that bears a heart — 
 
 A wretch 1 a villain ! lost to love and truth ! 
 That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art. 
 
 Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth ? 
 Curse on his perjured arts ! dissembling smooth I 
 
 Are honour, virtue, conscience, all exiled ? 
 Is there no pity, no relenting ruth. 
 
 Points to the parents fondling o'er their child ; 
 Then paints the ruin'd maid, and their distraction wild ' 
 
 But now ttie supper crowns their simple board, 
 
 Tlie halesome paiTitch, chief o' Scotia's food : 
 The soupe their only hawkie 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, 
 And aft he 's press'd, and aft he ca's it guid ; 
 
 The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell. 
 How 'twas a towmond auld, sin' lint was i' the bell. 
 
THE COTTAR'S SATURDAY NIGHT 123 
 
 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' -Bible, ancc his father's pride : 
 His bonnet reverently is laid aside. 
 
 His lyart haffets wearing thin an' bare ; 
 Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide. 
 
 He wales a portion with judicious care ; 
 And ' Let us worship God 1 ' he says, with solemn air. 
 
 XIII 
 
 They chant their artless notes in simple guise ; 
 
 They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim : 
 Perhaps ' Dundee's ' wild warbling measures rise. 
 
 Or plaintive ' Martyrs,' worthy of the name ; 
 Or noble ' Elgin ' beets the heavenward flame, 
 
 The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays : 
 Compared with these, Italian trills are tame ; 
 
 The tickled ears no heartfelt raptures raise ; 
 Nae unison hae they with our Creator's praise. 
 
 XIV 
 
 The priesL-like father reads the sacred page — 
 
 How Abram was the friend of God on high 1 
 Or Moses bade eternal warfare wage 
 
 "With Amalek's ungracious progeny ; 
 Or how the royal bard did groaning lie 
 
 Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ire ; 
 Or Job's pathetic plaint and wailing cry ; 
 
 Or rapt Isaiah's wild seraphic fire ; 
 Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre. 
 
 Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme — 
 
 How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed ; 
 How He, who bore in heaven the second name, 
 
 Had not on earth whereon to lay His head : 
 How His first followers and servants sped ; 
 
 The precepts sage they wrote to many a land : 
 How he, who lone in Patmos banished. 
 
 Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand , 
 And heard great Babylon's doom pronounced by Heaven's 
 command. 
 
124 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 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. 
 
 No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear, 
 Together hymning their Creator's praise. 
 
 In such society, yet still more dear ; 
 While circling time moves round in an eternal sphere. 
 
 Compared with this, how poor Religion's pride, 
 
 In all the pomp of method, and of art. 
 When men display to congregations wide. 
 
 Devotion's every grace, except the heart ! 
 The Power, incensed, the pageant will desert. 
 
 The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole ; 
 But haply, in some cottage far apart, 
 
 May hear, well-pleased, the language of the soul 
 And in His Book of Life the inmates poor enrol. 
 
 Then homeward all take oft their several way : 
 
 The youngling cottagers retire to rest : 
 The parent pair their secret homage pay. 
 
 And proffer up to Heaven the warm request 
 That He who stills the raven's clam'rous nest. 
 
 And decks the lily fair in flowery pride. 
 Would, in the way His wisdom sees the best. 
 
 For them and for their little ones provide ; 
 But, chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine preside. 
 
 From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs. 
 
 That makes her loved at home, revered abroad : 
 Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, 
 
 ' An honest man 's the noblest work of God ; ' 
 And certes, in fair virtue's heavenly road. 
 
 The cottage leaves the palace far behind ; 
 What is a lordling's pomp ? — a cumbrous load. 
 
 Disguising oft the wretch of human kind. 
 Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refined ! 
 
 * Pope's ' Windsor Forest.* — B. 
 
THE COTTAR'S SATURDAY NIGHT 12& 
 
 I XX 
 
 Scotia I my dear, my native soil ! 
 
 For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent 1 
 Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil 
 
 Be blest with headth, and peace, and sweet content I 
 And, oh ! may Heaven their simple lives prevent 
 
 From luxury's contagion, weak and vile I 
 Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent, 
 
 A virtuous populace may rise the while. 
 And stand a wall of fire around their much-loved isle. 
 
 xxi 
 
 O Thou 1 who pour'd the patriotic tide 
 
 That stream' d through Wallace's undaunted * heart ; 
 Who dared to nobly stem tyrannic pride, 
 
 Or nobly die, the second glorious part, 
 (The patriot's God peculiarly thou art. 
 
 His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward 1) 
 O never, never Scotia's realm desert ; 
 
 But stUl the patriot, and the patriot bard, 
 I:i bright succession raise, her ornament and guard I 
 
 MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN 
 
 A DIRGE 
 
 When chill November's surly blast 
 
 Made fields and forests bare, 
 One evening, as I wander' d forth 
 
 Along the banks of Ayr, 
 I spied a man, whose aged step 
 
 Seem'd weary, worn with care ; 
 His face was furrow'd o'er with years. 
 
 And hoary was his hair. 
 
 II 
 
 ' Young stranger, whither wanderest thou 7 ' 
 
 Began the reverend sage ; 
 ' Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain, 
 
 Or youthful pleasure's rage ? 
 
 • ■ Undaunted : ' it was originally ' great unhappy.' 
 
126 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Or haply, press'd with cares and woes. 
 Too soon thou hast began 
 
 To wander forth, with me, to mourn 
 The miseries of man I 
 
 ' The sun that overhangs yon moors. 
 
 Out-spreading far and wide, 
 Where hundreds labour to support 
 
 A haughty lordUng's pride : 
 I've seen yon weary winter-sun 
 
 Twice forty time? return ; 
 And every time ha's added proofs 
 
 That man was made to mourn. 
 
 ' O man 1 while in thy early years. 
 
 How prodigal of time 1 
 Mispending all thy precious hours ; 
 
 Thy glorious youthful prime I 
 Alternate follies take the sway ; 
 
 Licentious passions bum ; 
 Which tenfold force gives Nature's law 
 
 That man was made to mourn. 
 
 ' Look not alone on youthful prime. 
 
 Or manhood's active might ; 
 ]Man then is useful to his kind. 
 
 Supported is his ri^ht : 
 But see him on the edge of life. 
 
 With cares and sorrows wotn. 
 Then age and want — oh ! ill-match'd pair ; 
 
 Show man was made to motirn. 
 
 ' A few seem favourites of fate. 
 In pleasure's lap caress' d ; 
 
 Yet, think not all the rich and gi'eat 
 Are likewise truly blest. 
 
 But, oh ! what crowds in every land. 
 Are wretched and forlorn ; 
 
 Through weary life this lesson learn- 
 That man was made to mourn. 
 
MAN V/AS IMADE TO MOURN 127 
 
 ' Many and sharp the numerous ills 
 
 Inwoven with our frame ! 
 More pointed still we make ourselves, 
 
 Regret, remorse, and shame I 
 And man, whose heaven-erected face 
 
 The smiles of love adorn, 
 Man's inhumanity to man 
 
 Makes countless thousands mourn 1 
 
 ' See yonder poor, o'erlabour'd wight. 
 
 So abject, mean, and vile, 
 Wlio begs a brother of the earth 
 
 To give him leave to toil ; 
 And see his lordly fellow-wonh 
 
 The poor petition spurn. 
 Unmindful, though a weeping wife 
 
 And helpless offspring mourn. 
 
 ' If I 'm design'd yon lordling's slave— 
 
 By Nature's law design'd — 
 Why was an independent wish 
 
 E'er planted in ray mind ? 
 If not, v/hy am I subject to 
 
 His cruelty or scorn ? 
 Or why has man the will and power 
 
 To make his fellow mourn ? 
 
 ' Yet, let not this too much, my son, 
 
 Disturb thy youthful breast : 
 This partial view of human-kind 
 
 Is surely not the last ! 
 The poor, oppressed, honest man. 
 
 Had never, sure, been born. 
 Had there not been some recompence 
 
 To comfort those that mouta 1 
 
 • O Death 1 the poor man's dearest friend- 
 
 The kindest and the best 1 
 Welcome the hour, my aged limbs 
 
 Are laid with thee at rest 1 
 
128 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 The great, the wealthy, fear thy blow, 
 From pomp and pleasure torn ; 
 
 But, oh ! a blest relief to those 
 That weary-laden mourn 1 ' 
 
 A PRAYER IN THE PROSPECT OF DEATH 
 
 O Thou unknown, Almighty Cause 
 
 Of all my hope and fear I 
 In whose dread presence, ere an hour. 
 
 Perhaps I must appear 1 
 
 If I have wander'd in those paths 
 
 Of life I ought to shun — 
 As something, loudly, in my breast. 
 
 Remonstrates I have done — 
 
 Thou know'st that Thou has formed me 
 With passions wild and strong ; 
 
 And list'ning to their witching voice 
 Has often led me wrong. 
 
 NSTiere human weakness has come short. 
 
 Or frailty stept aside, 
 Do thou, All-good ! for such thou art, 
 
 In shades of darkness hide. 
 
 Where with intention I have err'd, 
 
 No other plea I have. 
 But, Thou art good ; and goodness still 
 
 Delighteth to forgive. 
 
 STANZAS ON THE SAME OCCASION 
 
 Why am I loth to leave this earthly scene ? 
 
 Have I so found it fuU of pleasing charms ? 
 Some drops of joy with draughts of ill between : 
 
 Some gleams of sunshine 'mid renewing storms ; 
 Is it departing pangs my soul alarms ? 
 
 Or death's unlovely, dreary, dark abode ? 
 For guilt, for guilt, my terrors are in arms ; 
 
 I tremble to approach an angry God, 
 And justly smart beneath his sin-avenging rod. 
 
STANZAS IN THE PROSPECT OF DEATH 129 
 
 Fain would I say, ' Forgive my foul offence 1 ' 
 
 Fain promise never more to disobey ; 
 But, should my Author health again dispense, 
 
 Again I might desert fair virtue's way : 
 Again in folly's path might go astray ; 
 
 Again exalt the brute, and sink the man ; 
 Then how should I for heavenly mercy pray, 
 
 \Vho act so counter heavenly mercy's plan 7 
 Who sin so oft have mourn'd, yet to temptation ran ? 
 
 O Thou, great Governor of all below I 
 If I may dare a lifted eye to Thee, 
 Thy nod can make the tempest cease to blow, 
 Or still the tumult of the raging sea : 
 
 With that controlling power assist even me. 
 Those headlong furious passions to confine ; 
 
 For all unfit I feel my powers to be, 
 
 To rule their torrent in th' allowed line ; 
 Oh, aid me with Thy help, Omnipotence Divine t 
 
 LYING AT A REVEREND FRIEND's * HOUSE ONE NIGHT, 
 THE AUTHOR LEFT THE FOLLOWING 
 
 VERSES 
 
 IN THE ROOM WHERE HE SLEPT 
 
 O Thou dread Power, who reign' st above 1 
 
 I know Thou wilt me hear : 
 When for this scene of peace and love 
 
 I make my prayer sincere. 
 
 The hoary sire — the mortal stroke. 
 
 Long, long, be pleased to spare I 
 To bless his little filial flock. 
 
 And show what good men are. 
 
 She, who her lovely offspring eyes 
 
 With tender hopes and fears, 
 Oh, bless her with a mother's joys, 
 
 But spare a mother's tears ! 
 
 • ' Reverend Friwd ; ' Mr I^aurie ot Loudoun. 
 46— B 
 
130 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Their hope, their stay, their darling youth, 
 In manhood's dawning blush — 
 
 Bless him, Thou God of love and truth, 
 Up to a parent's wish 1 
 
 * 
 The beauteous, seraph sister-band. 
 
 "With earnest tears I pray. 
 Thou know'st the snares on every hand — 
 
 Guide Thou their steps alway I 
 
 When soon or late they reach that coast. 
 O'er life's rough ocean driven. 
 
 May they rejoice, no wanderer lost, 
 A family in heaven 1 
 
 THE FIRST PSALM 
 
 The man, in life wherever placed. 
 
 Hath happiness in store. 
 Who walks not in the wicked's way, 
 
 Nor learns their guilty lore 1 
 
 Nor from the seat of scornful pride 
 Casts forth his eyes abroad, 
 
 But with humility and awe 
 StiU walks before his God. 
 
 That man shall flourish like the trees 
 Which by the streamlets grow ; 
 
 The fruitful top is spread on high, 
 And firm the root below. 
 
 But he whose blossom buds in guilt 
 Shall to the ground be cast. 
 
 And, like the rootless stubble, tost 
 Before the sweeping blast. 
 
 For why ? that God the good adore 
 Hath given them peace and rest, 
 
 But hath decreed that wicked men 
 Shall ne'er be truly blest, 
 
A PRAYER 131 
 
 A PRAYER 
 
 UNDER THE PRESSURE OF VIOLENT ANGUISH 
 
 O Thou Great Being 1 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, 
 
 AH wretched and distress'd. 
 Yet sure those ills that wring my soul 
 
 Obey Thy high behest. 
 
 Sure Thou, Almighty, canst not act 
 
 From cruelty or wrath 1 
 Oh free my weary eyes from tears. 
 
 Or close them fast in death I 
 
 But if I must afflicted be. 
 
 To suit some wise design ; 
 Then man my soul with firm resolves, 
 
 To bear and not repine I 
 
 THE FIRST SIX VERSES OF THE 
 NINETIETH PSALM 
 
 O Thou, the first, the greatest Friend 
 
 Of all the human race 1 
 Whose strong right hand has ever been 
 
 Their stay and dweUing-place 1 
 
 Before the mountains heaved their heads 
 
 Beneath Thy forming hand. 
 Before this ponderous globe itself 
 
 Arose at Thy command ; 
 
 That power which raised and stUI upholds 
 
 This universal frame, 
 From countless, unbeginning time 
 
 "Was ever still the same. 
 
 Those mighty periods of years 
 
 Which seem to us so vast, 
 Appear no more before Thy sight 
 
 Than yesterday that 's past. 
 
132 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Thou giv'st the word : Thy creature, man, 
 
 Is to existence brought : 
 Again Thou say'st, ' Ye sons of men, 
 
 Return ye into naught ! ' 
 
 Thou layfist them, with all their cares. 
 
 In everlasting sleep ; 
 As with a flood Thou tak'st them oft 
 
 With overwhelming sweep. 
 
 They flourish like the morning flower. 
 
 In beauty's pride array'd ; 
 But long ere night, cut down, it lies 
 
 All wither'd and decay'd. 
 
 TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY 
 
 ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH, 
 IN APRIL 1786 
 
 Wee, modest, crimson-tippfed flower, 
 Thou 's met me in an evil hour ; 
 For I maun crush amang the stoure 
 
 Thy slender stem ; 
 To spare thee now is past my power. 
 
 Thou bonnie gem 1 
 
 Alas I it 's no thy neibour sweet. 
 The bonnie lark, companion meet 1 
 Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet, 
 
 Wi' spreckled breast, 
 When upward-springing, blithe, to greet 
 
 The purpling east. 
 
 Cauld blew the bitter-biting north 
 Upon thy early, humble birth ; 
 Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth 
 
 Amid the storm, 
 Scarce rear'd above the parent earth 
 
 Thy tender form. 
 
 The flaunting flowers our gardens yield. 
 High sheltering woods and wa's maun shield ; 
 But thou beneath the random bield 
 
 O' clod or stane, 
 Adorns the histie stibble-fleld, 
 
 Unseen, alane. 
 
TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY 133 
 
 There, in thy scanty mantle clad, 
 Thy snawie bosom sunward spread, 
 Thou lifts thy unassuming head 
 
 In humble guise ; 
 But now the share uptears thy bed, 
 
 And low thou lies 1 , , 
 
 Such is the fate of artless maid. 
 Sweet floweret of the rural shade ! 
 By love's simplicity betray'd. 
 
 And guileless trust. 
 Till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid 
 
 Low i' the dust. 
 
 Such is the fate of simple bard, 
 
 On life's rough ocean luckless starr'd 1 
 
 Unskilful he to note the card 
 
 Of prudent lore, 
 TiU billows rage, and gales blow hard. 
 
 And whelm him o'er I 
 
 Such fate to suffering worth is given, 
 Who long with wants and woes has striven. 
 By human pride or cunning driven 
 
 To misery's brink, 
 Till wrench'd of every stay but Heaven, 
 
 He, ruin'd, sink I 
 
 Even thou who mourn'st the daisy's fate. 
 That fate is thine — no distant date ; 
 Stem Ruin's plough-share drives, elate, 
 
 FuU on thy bloom. 
 Till crush'd beneath the furrow's weight, 
 
 Shall be thy doom I 
 
 TO RUIN 
 
 All. hail I inexorable lord 1 
 
 At whose destruction-breathing word 
 
 The mightiest empires fall 1 
 Thy cruel, woe-delighted train, 
 The ministers of grief and pain, 
 
 A sullen welcome, all 1 
 With stern-resolved, despairing eye, 
 
 I see each aimdd dart ; 
 For one has cut n^ dearest tie, 
 
 And quivers in my heart. 
 
134 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Then lowering, and pouring, 
 The storm no more I dread ; 
 
 Though thick'ning and black'ning 
 Round my devoted head. 
 
 And thou grim Power, by life abhorr'd. 
 While life a pleasure can afford, 
 Oh 1 hear a wretch's prayer ! 
 No more I shrink appall'd, afraid ; 
 I court, I beg thy friendly aid, 
 To close this scene of care 1 
 When, shall my soul, in silent peace. 
 
 Resign life's joyless day ; 
 My weary heart its throbbings cease. 
 Cold mould'ring in the clay ? 
 No fear more, no tear more, 
 To stain my Ufeless face ; 
 Enclasped, and grasped 
 Within thy cold embrace. 
 
 TO MISS LOGAN* 
 
 WITH BEATTIE's poems AS A NEW YEAR'S GIFT, 
 JAN. 1, 1787 
 
 Again the silent wheels of Time 
 Their annual round have driven, 
 
 And you, though scarce in maiden prime, 
 Are so much nearer heaven. 
 
 No gilts have I from Indian coasts 
 The infant year to haU ; 
 
 I send you more than India boasts 
 In Edwin's simple tale. 
 
 Our sex with guile and faithless love 
 
 Is charged, perhaps, too true ; 
 But may, dear maid, each lover prove 
 
 An Edwin still to you 1 
 
 ' Miss Logan : ' sister ol Major Logan, a retired military ofBcer in Ayr. 
 
EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND 135 
 
 EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND * 
 
 I LANG hae thought, my youthfu' friend, 
 
 A something to have sent you. 
 Though it should serve nae other end 
 
 Than just a kind memento ; 
 But how the subject- theme may gang, 
 
 Let time and chance determine ; 
 Perhaps it may turn out a sang. 
 
 Perhaps turn out a sermon. 
 
 Ye '11 try the world fu' soon, my lad. 
 
 And, Andrew dear, believe me, 
 Ye 'U find mankind an unco squad. 
 
 And muckle they may grieve ye : 
 For care and trouble set your thought. 
 
 E'en when your end 's attain'd ; 
 And a' your views may come to naught, 
 
 "Where every nerve is strain' d. ^ 
 
 I 'U no say, men are villains a' ; 
 
 The resJ, harden'd wicked, 
 Wha hae nae check but human law. 
 
 Are to a few restricked ; 
 But, och 1 mankind are unco weak. 
 
 An' little to be trusted ; 
 If self the wavering balance shake, 
 
 It 's rarely right adjusted 1 
 
 Yet they wha fa' in fortune's strife, 
 
 Their fate we should na censure. 
 For stiU th' important end of life 
 
 They equally may answer : 
 A man may hae an honest heart. 
 
 Though poortith hourly stare him ; 
 A man may tak a neibour's part. 
 
 Yet hae nae cash to spare him. 
 
 Aye free, afl han' your story tell. 
 
 When wi' a bosom crony ; 
 But still keep something to yoursel' 
 
 Ye scarcely tell to ony. 
 
 • ' Young friend : ■ Andrew Aiken, son ol Robert Aiken. He became 
 British Consul in Riga. 
 
136 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Conceal yoursel' as weel 's ye can 
 
 Frae critical dissection ; 
 But keek through every other man, 
 
 Wi' sharpen'd, sly inspection. 
 
 The sacred lowe 6' weel-placed love, 
 
 Luxuriantly indulge it ; 
 But never tempt the illicit rove, 
 
 Though naething should divulge it : 
 I waive the quantum o' the sin, 
 
 The hazard of concealing ; 
 But, och I it hardens a' -within. 
 
 And petrifies the feeling I 
 
 To catch dame Fortune's golden smile, 
 
 Assiduous wait upon her ; 
 And gather gear by every wile 
 
 That 's justified by honour ; 
 Not for to hide it in a hedge. 
 
 Nor for a train- attendant ; 
 But for the glorious privilege 
 
 Of being independent. 
 
 The fear o' hell 's a hangman's whip 
 
 To haud the wretch in order ; 
 But where ye leel your honour grip. 
 
 Let that aye be your border ; 
 Its slightest touches, instant pause — 
 
 Debar a' side pretences ; 
 And resolutely keep its laws. 
 
 Uncaring consequences. 
 
 The great Creator to revere 
 
 Must sure become the creature ; 
 But stiU the preaching cant forbear, 
 
 And e'en the rigid feature ; 
 Yet ne'er with wits profane to range, 
 
 Be complaisance extended ; 
 An Atheist's laugh 's a poor exchange 
 
 For Deity offended. 
 
 When ranting round in pleasure's ring. 
 
 Religion may be blinded ; 
 Or if she gie a random sting. 
 
 It may be little minded ; 
 But when on life we 're tempest-driven, 
 
 A conscience but a canker, 
 A correspondence fix'd wi' Heaven, 
 
 Is sure a noble anchor I 
 
EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND 137 
 
 Adieu, dear, amiable youth ! 
 
 Your heart can ne'er be wanting ; 
 May prudence, fortitude, and truth. 
 
 Erect your brow undaunting 1 
 In ploughman phrase, ' God Send you speed,' 
 
 Still daily to grow wiser 1 
 And may you better reck the rede, 
 
 Than ever did the adviser 1 
 
 ON A SCOTCH BARD 
 
 GONE TO THE WEST INDIES 
 
 A' YE wha live by sowps o' drink, 
 A' ye wha live by crambo-clink, 
 A' ye wha live and never think. 
 
 Come mourn wi' me 1 
 Our billie 's gi'en us a' a jink. 
 
 And owre the sea. 
 
 Lament him, a' ye rantin' core, 
 Wha dearly like a random-splore, 
 Nae mair he '11 join the merry roar. 
 
 In social key ; 
 For now he 's ta'en anither shore. 
 
 And owre the sea 1 
 
 The bonnie lasses weel may wiss him. 
 And in their dear petitions place him : , 
 The widows, wives, and. a' may bless him, 
 
 Wi' tearfu' e'e ; 
 For weel I wat they '11 sairly miss him 
 
 That 's owre the sea. 
 
 O Fortune, they hae room to grumble t 
 Hadst thou ta'en afi some drowsy bummle, 
 Wha can do naught 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, 
 And stain them Wi' the saut, saut tear, 
 'Twill mak her poor auld heart, I fear, 
 
 In flinders flee ; 
 He was her laureate mony a year, 
 
 That 's owre the sea. 
 
138 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 He saw misfortune's cauld nor-wast 
 Lang must'ring up a bitter blast ; 
 A jillet brak his heart at last, 
 
 111 may she be I 
 So took a berth afore the mast, 
 
 And owre the sea. 
 
 To tremble under Fortune's cummock. 
 On scarce a bellyfu' o' drummock, 
 Wi' his proud, independent stomach 
 
 Could ill agree ; 
 So, row't his hurdies in a hammock, 
 
 An' owre the sea. 
 
 He ne'er was gi'en to great misguiding. 
 Yet coin his pouches wad na bide in ; 
 Wi' him it ne'er was under hiding — 
 
 He dealt it free : 
 The Muse was a' that he took pride in. 
 
 That 's owre the sea. 
 
 Jamaica bodies, use him weel, 
 And hap him in a cozie biel : 
 Ye'Il find him aye a dainty chiel, 
 , And f ou' o' glee ; 
 He wad na wrang'd the vera Deil, 
 
 That 's owre the sea. 
 
 Fareweel, my rhyme-composing billie 1 
 Your native soil was right Ul-wUlie ; 
 But may ye flourish like a lily. 
 
 Now bonriUie I 
 I'll toast ye in my hinmost gillie. 
 
 Though owre the sea. 
 
 TO A HAGGIS 
 
 Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face. 
 Great chieftain o' the puddin'-race I' 
 Aboon them a' ye tak your place, 
 
 Painch, tripe, or thairm ; 
 Weel are ye worthy of a, grace 
 
 As lang 's my arm. 
 
 The groaning trencher there ye fill, 
 Your hurdies like a distant hill, 
 
TO A HAGGIS 139 
 
 Your pin wad help to mend a mill 
 
 In time o' heed, ' ' 
 WhUe through your pores the dews distil 
 
 Like amber bead. 
 
 His knife see rustic labour dight, 
 And cut you up wi' ready slight, 
 Trenching your gushing entrails bHght, 
 
 Like ony ditch ; 
 And then, oh what a glorious sight, 
 
 Warm-reekip', rich 1 
 
 Then horn for horn they stretch and strive, 
 Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive. 
 Till, a' their weel-swaU'd kytes belyve 
 
 Are bent like drums ; 
 Then auld guidman, maist like to ryve, 
 
 ' Bethankit ' hums. 
 
 Is there that o'er his French ragout. 
 Or olio that wad staw a sow, 
 Or fricassee wad mak her spew 
 
 Wi' perfect scunner, 
 Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view, 
 
 On sic a dinner ? 
 
 Poor devil 1 see him owre his trash 
 
 As feckless as a wither'd rash. 
 
 His spindle shank a guid whip lash, 
 
 His nieve a nit ; 
 Through bloody flood or field to dash, 
 
 O how unfit ! 
 
 r 
 
 But mark the rustic, haggis-fed. 
 
 The trembling earth resounds his tread. 
 
 Clap in his walie nieve a blade, 
 
 He '11 mak it whissle ; 
 An' legs, an' arms, an' heads will sned. 
 
 Like taps o' thrissle. 
 
 Ye Powers, wha mak mankind your care. 
 And dish them out their bill o' fare, 
 Auld Scotland wants naeskinking ware 
 
 That jaups in liiggies ; 
 But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer, 
 
 Gie her a haggis 1 
 
140 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 A DEDICATION TO GAVIN HAMILTON, ESQ. 
 
 Expect na, Sir, in this nai^ation, 
 
 A fleechin', flethrin' dedication. 
 
 To roose you up, an' ca' you guid, 
 
 An' sprung o' great ah' noble bluid. 
 
 Because ye 're surnamed like his Grace,* 
 
 Perhaps related to the race ; 
 
 Then when I 'm tired, and sae are ye, 
 
 Wi' mony a fulsome, sinfu' lie. 
 
 Set up a face, how I stop short. 
 
 For fear your modesty be hurt. 
 
 This may do — rijaun do. Sir, wi' them wha 
 Maun please the great folk lor a waimefu' ; 
 For me, sae laigh I needna bow, 
 For, Lord be thankit, I can plough : 
 And when I downa yoke a naig, 
 Then, Lord be thankit, I can beg ; 
 Sae I shall say, an' that 's nae flatt'rin'j 
 It 's just sic poet, an' sic patron. 
 
 The Poet, some guid angel help him. 
 Or else, I fear some ill ane skelp him, 
 He may do weel for a' he 's done yet, 
 But only he 's no just begun yet. 
 
 The Patron, (Sir, ye maun lorgie me, 
 I winna lie, come what will o' me). 
 On every hand it will allow'd be, 
 He 's just — nae better than he should be. 
 
 I readily and freely grant. 
 He downa see a poor man want ■; 
 What 's no his ain he winna tak it, 
 What ance he says he winna brak it ; 
 Aught he can lend he 'U no refuse 't. 
 Till aft his guidness is abused ; 
 And rascals whyles that do him wrang, 
 Even that, he does na mind it lang : 
 As master, landlord, husband, father. 
 He does na fail his pkrt in either. 
 
 But then, nae thanks to him for a' that ; 
 Nae godly symptom ye can ca' that ; 
 
 • ' His Grace :.' the Duke of Hamilton. 
 
A DEDICATION TO GAVIN HAMILTON 141 
 
 It 's naething but a milder feature, 
 01 our poor, sinlu', corrupt nature : 
 Ye '11 get the best o' moral works, 
 'Mang black Gentoos and pagan Turks 
 Or hunters wild on Ponotaxi, 
 Wha never heard of Orthodoxy. 
 That he 's the poor man's friend in need, 
 The gentleman in word and deed. 
 It 's no through terror of damnation ; 
 It 's just a carnal inclination. 
 
 Morality, thou deadly bane. 
 Thy tens o' thousands thou hast slain I 
 Vain is his hope, whose stay and trust is 
 In moral mercy, truth, and justice 1 
 
 No — stretch a point to catch a plack ; 
 Abuse a brother to his back ; 
 Steal through a winnock frae a whore, 
 But point the rake that taks the door : 
 Be to the poor like ony whunstane. 
 And haud their noses to the grunstane ; 
 Ply every art o' legal thieving ; 
 No matter — stick to sound believing I 
 
 Learn three-mile prayers, an' half-mile graces, 
 Wi' weel-spread looves, and lang wry faces ; 
 Grunt up a solemn, lengthen'd grdan, 
 And damn a' parties but your own ; 
 I '11 warrant then, ye 're nae deceiver, 
 A steady, sturdy, staunch believer. 
 
 O ye wha leave the springs of Calvin, 
 For gumlie dubs of your ain delvin' ! 
 Ye sons of heresy and error, 
 Ye '11 some day squeel in quaking terror I 
 When Vengeance draws the sword in wrath, 
 And In the fire throws the sheath ; 
 When Ruin, with his sweeping besom, 
 Just frets till Heaven commission gies him : 
 While o'er the harp pale Misery moans. 
 And strikes the ever deepening tones, 
 StiU louder shrieks, and heavier groans I 
 
 Your pardon. Sir, for this digression, 
 I maist forgat my dedication ; 
 But when divinity comes 'cross me. 
 My readers still are sure to lose me. 
 
142 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 So, Sir, ye 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 skUl o 't ; 
 I 'm baith dead-sweer, an' wretched ill o 't ; 
 But I 'se repeat each poor man's prayer, 
 That kens or hears about you. Sir — 
 
 ' May ne'er misfortune's gowUng bark. 
 Howl through the dwelling o' the Clerk t 
 May ne'er his generous, honest heart. 
 For that same generous spirit smart 1 
 May Kennedy's far-honour' d name 
 Lang beet his hymeneal flame, 
 Till Hamiltons, 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 1 
 May health and peace, with mutual rays. 
 Shine on the evening o' his days ; 
 Till his wee curlie John 's ier-oe, 
 When ebbing life nae mair shall flow. 
 The last, sad, mournful rites bestow 1 ' 
 
 I will not wind a lang conclusion, 
 Wi' complimentary effusion : 
 But whilst your wishes and endeavours 
 Are blest with Fortune's smile? and favours 
 I am, dear Sir, with zeal most fervent. 
 Your much, indebted, humble servant. 
 
 But if (which Powers above prevent I) 
 That iron-hearted carl, Want, 
 Attended in his grim advances. 
 By sad mistakes and black mischances. 
 While hopes, and joys, and pleasures fly him. 
 Make you as poor a dog as I am. 
 
A DEDICATION TO GAVIN HAMILTON 143 
 
 Your humble servant then no more ; 
 
 For who would humbly serve the poor ? 
 
 But by a poor man's hopes in Heaven I . 
 
 While recollection's power is given, 
 
 If, in the vale of humble life, 
 
 The victim sad of fortune's strife, 
 
 I, through the tender, gushing tear. 
 
 Should recognise my master dear. 
 
 If friendless, low, we meet together, 
 
 Then, Sir, your hand — my Friend and Brother I 
 
 TO A LOUSE 
 
 ON SEEING ONE ON A LADY's BONNET, AT CHURCH 
 
 Ha ! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin' ferlie ? 
 Your impudence protects you sairly : 
 I canna say but ye strunt rarely, 
 
 Owre gauze and lace ; 
 Though, faith ! I fear ye dine but sparely 
 
 On sic a place. 
 
 Ye ugly, creepin', blastit wonner, 
 Detested, shunn'd by saunt an' sinner. 
 How daur ye set your fit upon her, 
 
 Sae fine a lady 1 
 Gae somewhere else and seek your dinner. 
 
 On some poor body. 
 
 Swith, in some beggar's liaflet sqpiattle. 
 There ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle 
 Wi' ither kindred, jumpin' cattle. 
 
 In shoals and nations ; 
 Whare horn or bane ne'er dare unsettle 
 
 Your thick plantations. 
 
 Now haud ye there, ye 're out o' sight. 
 Below the fatt'rels, snug an' tight ; 
 Na, faith ye yet 1 ye '11 no be right 
 
 Till ye 've got on it. 
 The vera tapmost tow'ring height 
 
 O' Miss's bonnet. 
 
 My sooth 1 right bauld ye set your nose out, 
 As plump and grey as ony grozet ; 
 
144 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Oh for some rank mercurial rozet, 
 
 Or feU red smeddum, 
 
 I 'd gie you sic a hearty doze o 't, 
 
 Wad dress your droddum I 
 
 I wad na been surprised to spy 
 You on an auld wife's flannen toy ; 
 Or aiblins some bit duddie boy, 
 
 On 's wyliecoat ; 
 But Miss's fine Lunardi 1 * fle 1 
 
 How daur ye do 't ? 
 
 Jenny, dinna toss your head. 
 An' set your beauties a' abread t 
 Ye little ken what cursed speed 
 
 The beastie's makin' 1 
 Thae winks and finger-ends, I dread. 
 
 Are notice takin' ! 
 
 Oh ! wad some power the giftie gie us 
 To see oursels as others see us 1 
 It wad frae mony a blunder free us 
 
 And foolish notion : 
 What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us. 
 
 And e 'en devotion I 
 
 ADDRESS TO EDINBURGH • 
 
 Edina 1 Scotia's darling seat 1 
 
 All hail thy palaces and towers, 
 Where once beneath a monarch's feet 
 
 Sat Legislation's sovereign powers, 1 
 From marking wUdly-scatter'd flowers, 
 
 As on the banks of Ajrr I stray'd, 
 And singing, lone, the lingering hours, 
 
 I shelter in thy honour' d shade. 
 
 Here wealth still swells the golden tide. 
 
 As busy Trade his labour plies ; 
 There Architecture's noble pride 
 
 Bids elegance and splendour rise ; 
 Here Justice from her native skies. 
 
 High wields her balance and her rod ; 
 There Learning, with hiS eagle eyes. 
 
 Seeks Science in her coy abode. 
 
 • • Lunardi : ' the lamous aeronauts-bonnets were called after him iu 
 1785. 
 
ADDRESS TO EDINBURGH 145 
 
 Thy sons, Edina 1 social, kind. 
 
 With open arms the stranger hail ; 
 Their views enlarged, their liberal mind, 
 
 Above the narrow, rural vale ; 
 Attentive still to sorrow's wail. 
 
 Or modest merit's silent claim ; 
 And never may their sources fail 1 
 
 And never envy blot their name ! 
 
 Thy daughters bright thy walks adorn, 
 
 Gay as the gilded summer sky. 
 Sweet as the dewy milk-white thorn, 
 
 Dear as the raptured thrill of joy ! 
 Fair Burnet * strikes the adoring eye, 
 
 Heaven's beauties on my fancy shine ; 
 I see the Sire of Love on high, 
 
 And own his work indeed divine 1 
 
 There, watching high the least alarms. 
 
 Thy rough, rude fortress gleams afar ; 
 Like some bold veteran, grey in arms. 
 
 And mark'd with many a seamy scar ; 
 The ponderous wall and massy bar, 
 
 Grim-rising o'er the rugged rock. 
 Have oft withstood assailing war. 
 
 And oft repell'd the invader's shock. 
 
 With awe-struck thought, and pitying tears, 
 
 I view that noble, stately dome. 
 Where Scotia's kings of other years, 
 
 Famed heroes 1 had their royal home : 
 Alas 1 how changed the times to come 1 
 
 Their royal name low in the dust 1 
 Their hapless race wild-wandering roam. 
 
 Though rigid law cries out, 'twas just 1 
 
 Wild beats my heart to trace your steps. 
 
 Whose ancestors, in days of yore. 
 Through hostile ranks and ruin'd gaps 
 
 Old Scotia's bloody Lion bore ; 
 E'en 1 who sing in rustic lore. 
 
 Haply, my sires have left their shed. 
 And faced grim Danger's loudest roar. 
 
 Bold-following where your fathers led 1 
 
 • • Bui-net : ' Eliza, daughter of Lord Monboddo. 
 
146 BURNS* POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Edina 1 Scotia's darling seat 1 
 
 All hail thy palaces and towers, 
 Where once beneath a monarch's teet 
 
 Sat Legislation's sovereign powers 1 
 From marking wUdly-scatter'd flowers, 
 
 As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd. 
 And singing, lone, the lingering hours, 
 
 I shclter'd in thy honour'd shade. 
 
 EPISTLE TO J. LAPRAIK * 
 
 an old scottish bard 
 
 April 1, 1785 
 
 While briars and woodbines budding green, 
 An' paitricks scraichin' loud at e'en. 
 An' morning poussie whiddin' seen, 
 
 Inspire my I\Iuse, 
 This freedom in an unknown frien' 
 
 I pray excuse. 
 
 II 
 
 On Fasten-e'en t 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, amang the rest, 
 Aboon them a' it pleased me best, 
 That some kind husband had address'd 
 
 To some sweet wife : 
 It thirled the heart-strings through the breast, 
 
 A' to the life. 
 
 * ' Lapraik : ' an old rhymster, residing in Muirldrk. Tlie song that 
 pleased Burns was borrowed from an old ditty. 
 
 t ' Fasten-e'en : ' Shrovetide, a festival that used to be religiously held 
 In Scotland. 
 
EPISTLE TO J. LAPRAIK 147 
 
 IV 
 
 I 've scarce heard aught described sae weel 
 What generous, manly bosoms feel ; 
 Thought I, ' Can this be Pope, or Steele, 
 
 Or Beattie's wark ? ' 
 They tauld me 'twas an odd kind chiel 
 
 About Muirkirk. 
 
 It pat me fidgin'-fain to hear 't, 
 And sae about him there I spier 't, 
 Then a' that ken't him round declared 
 
 He had ingine, 
 That nane exceU'd it, few cam near 't, 
 
 It was sae fine ; 
 
 That, set him to a pint of ale. 
 
 And either douce or merry tale. 
 
 Or rh3rmes an' sangs he 'd made himsel', 
 
 Or witty catches, 
 'Tween Inverness and Teviotdale, 
 
 He had few matches. 
 
 Then up I gat, and swore an aith. 
 
 Though I should pawn my pleugh and graith, 
 
 Or die a cadger pownie's death 
 
 At some dyke back, 
 A pint and gill I 'd gie them baith 
 
 To hear your crack. 
 
 But, first and foremost, I should tell, 
 Amaist as soon as I could spell, 
 I to the crambo-jingle fell. 
 
 Though rude and rough. 
 Yet crooning to a body's sel'. 
 
 Does weel eneugh. 
 
148 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 IX 
 
 I am na poet, in a sense, 
 
 But just a rhymer, like, by chaijce, 
 
 And hae to learning nae pretence, 
 
 Yet, what the matter ? 
 "Whene'er my Muse does on me glance, 
 
 I jingle at her. 
 
 Your critic-folk may cock their nose. 
 And say, ' How can you e'er propose. 
 You, wha ken hardly verse frae prose. 
 
 To mak a sang ? ' 
 But, by your leaves, my learned foes. 
 
 Ye 're maybe wrang. 
 
 What 's a' your jargon o' your schools. 
 Your Latin names for horns an' stools ; 
 If honest Nature made you fools. 
 
 What sairs your grammars ? 
 Ye 'd better ta'en up spades and shools. 
 
 Or knappin'-hammers. 
 
 XII 
 
 A set o' dull, conceited hashes. 
 Confuse their brains in college classes t 
 They gang in stirks, and come out asses, 
 
 Plain truth to speak ; 
 And syne they think to climb Parnassus 
 
 By dint o' Greek t 
 
 Gie me ae spark o' Nature's fire ! 
 
 That 's a' the learning I desire ; 
 
 Then though I trudge, through dub an' mire 
 
 i, At pleugh or cart. 
 
 My Muse, though hamely in attire. 
 
 May touch the heart. 
 
epistle; to., j. lapiiaip: 149 
 
 XIV 
 
 Oh 1 for a spunk o' Allan's glee, 
 Or Fergusson's, tt\e bauld and slee, 
 Or bright Lapraik's, my friend to be, 
 
 If I can hit it I 
 That would be lear eneughfoi: me, 
 
 If I could get it 1 
 
 XV 
 
 Now, Sir, if ye hae frien,ds enow, 
 Though real friends, I b'lieve, are few. 
 Yet, if your catalogue be fu', 
 
 , I 'se no insist. 
 But gif ye want ae friend that 's true, 
 I 'm on your list. 
 
 I winnablaw about mysel' ; 
 
 As ill I like my fauts to tell ; 
 
 But friends, and folk that wish me weel, 
 
 They sometimes roose me ; 
 Though I maun own, as mony still 
 
 As far abuse, me. 
 
 There 's ae wee faut they whyles lay to me, 
 
 I like the lasses — Gude forgie me 1 
 
 For mony a plack they wheedle frae me. 
 
 At dance or fair ; 
 Maybe some ither thing they gie me 
 
 They' weel can spare. 
 
 B^it Mauchline race, or Mauchline fair, 
 I 'Should be proud to meet you there' ; 
 'We'se gie ae night's discharge to care, 
 
 If we forgather, 
 And hae a swap o' rhymin'-ware 
 
 W ane anither. 
 
150 BURNS' POEMS AN6 SONGS 
 
 xrx 
 
 The four-gill chap, we'se gar him clatter;, 
 And ku'sen him- w' reekin' water ; ,, , 
 Syne we '11 grit dpwn arid tak o,ur -yyhitlef, . , 
 
 To. clieer our heart ; 
 And faith, we'se be acquainted l)e;tter 
 
 Before we part. 
 
 Awa', ye selfish, warly'race, 
 
 Wha think that havins, sense, and grace. 
 
 Even 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/,v ' 
 Come to my bowl, come to my arms, ' 
 
 My friends, my brothers I 
 
 But, to conclude my la!hg epistle. 
 
 As my auld pen 's worn to the grissle : 
 
 Twa lines frae you wad gar me flssle. 
 
 Who am, most fervent, 
 While I can either sing, or whissle, 
 
 YQur friend and servant. 
 
 SECOND EPISTLE TO J. LAPRAIK 
 April 21, 1785 
 
 While new-ca'd kye' rowte at the stake; 
 An' pownies reek in pleugh or braik; 
 This hour on e'enin'S edge I take, 
 
 . To, own I 'm debtor 
 To honest-hearted, auld Lapraik, 
 
 For his kind letter. 
 
EPISTLE TO J. LAPRAIK 151 
 
 II 
 
 Forjesket sair, 'wi' weary legs, 
 Rattlin' the corn outowre the rigs, 
 ,0r deling through am^ng the naigs 
 
 -■'-,., Their ten-hours' bite, 
 My awjkward.^use sair pleads and begs, 
 \ would na write'. 
 
 ,111 
 
 The. tapetless ramfeezled hizzle, 
 
 She 's saft at best, and sometjiing lazy, 
 
 Quo' she,/ "y^, ken, we 've.beei\ sae busy , 
 
 , ' , , This montli ah' mair; ' 
 That, trouth. 1 piy head is grown right 4izzie, 
 Ah' something sair.' 
 
 rv 
 
 Her dowff excuses pat me mad : 
 ' Conscience,' s^ys,I, ' ye thowless jad I 
 I '11 write^ and that a hearty blaud, 
 , .' , This vera night ; 
 So dinna ye aflront your tj-ade, , 
 
 But rhyme it right. 
 
 • Shall, bauld Lapraik, the king o' Ue^t?,, 
 Though manldnQ were ^ pack o' cartes, 
 Roose you sae weejl for your, deserts, , 
 
 In. terms sae friendly i 
 Yet ye 'U neglect to shaw.your parts,, , 
 
 An' rthank hini' kindly 7 ' 
 
 VI 
 
 Sae I gat paper in a blink, , . 
 And down gae4 stumpie in the ink : 
 Quoth J^ ' Eielore I sleep a wink,, , , . 
 \^ I yow I '11 close it ; 
 
 And if ye winha mak it clink, : 
 
 By Jove, I '11 prose it 1 
 
152 BURNS* POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 VII 
 
 Sae I 've begun to scrawl, but whether 
 In rhyme, or prose, or baith' thejgither. 
 Or some hotch-potch that 's rightly neither, 
 
 Let time mak proof ; 
 But I shall scribble down some blether 
 
 Just clean afl-loof. 
 
 VIII 
 
 My worthy friend, ne'er grudge an' carp. 
 Though fortune use you hard aii' sharp ; 
 Come, kittle up ybiir moorland harp 
 
 Wi' gleesome touch ! 
 Ne'er mind how fortune waft an' wnrp-— 
 
 She 's but a bitch. 
 
 TX 
 
 She 's gien me mony a jirt an' fleg. 
 
 Sin' I could striddle owre a rig ; 
 
 But, by the Lord, though,! should beg, 
 
 ' Wi' lyart pow, 
 I '11 lau^h, an' sing, an' shake nly leg. 
 As latig 's I dow 1 
 
 Now comes the sax-and-twentieth simmer, 
 I 've seen the bud upo' the timmer. 
 Still persecuted by the limmer 
 
 Frae year to year ; 
 But yet, despite the kittle kimmer, 
 
 I, Rob, am here. 
 
 XI 
 
 Do ye env^ the city gent, 
 Behint a kist to lie and sklent, 
 Or purse-prttuid, big wi' cent.' per cent. 
 ' '' ' Arid jiluckle wame, 
 In some bit bnigh to represent 
 
 A bailie's name ? 
 
EPISTLE TO J, LAPRAIK 153 
 
 XII 
 
 0!r is 't the paYighty, feudal Thane, 
 Wi' ruffled sark and gliahcing cane, 
 What thinks himsel'' nae she^p-shank bane. 
 
 But lordly stalks, 
 WhUe caps and bonnets aff are taen, 
 ' • As by he walks ? 
 
 XIII 
 
 O Thou, -wha gies us each guid gift 1 
 
 Gie me o' wit an' sense a lift. 
 
 Then turn me, if Thou please, adrift 
 
 Througlji Scotland wide ; 
 Wi' cits nor lairds. I wadna shift. 
 
 In a' their pride 1 
 
 xrv 
 
 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 Heaven I that 's' no the gate 
 
 ■^e learn oluf treed. 
 
 For thus the royal mandate ran. 
 When first the human race be^an, 
 • The social, friendly, honest man, 
 
 Whate'er he be, 
 'Tis he fulfils great Nature's plan, 
 
 An' none but he I ' 
 
 XVI 
 
 Oh mandate glorious and divine I 
 
 The ragged followers of the Nine, , 
 
 Poor, thoughtless deyils 1 yet may shine 
 
 In glorious light, 
 'WhUe sordid sons of Mammon's line 
 
 Are dark as night, 
 
154 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 XVII 
 
 Though here they scrape,, and squeeze, and growl 
 Their worthless, jiievefu' of a soul 
 JMay'in some future carcase howl , ; 
 
 . The forest's fright ; 
 Or in some day-detesting owl 
 
 May shun the light. 
 
 XVIII 
 
 Then may Lapraik and Burns arise. 
 To reach their native, kindred skies, 
 And sing their pleasures, hopes, and joys. 
 
 In Some mild sphere, 
 StUl closer knit ih friendship's ties. 
 
 Each passing year 1 
 
 TO W. SIMPSON,* OCHILTREE 
 
 May 1785 
 
 I GAT your letter, ^inSome Willie ; 
 Wi' gratefu' heart I thank you brawlie ; 
 Though I maun say *t, I wad be silly. 
 
 And unco vain. 
 Should I believe, my coaxin' bUlie, 
 
 Your flatt'rin' strain. 
 
 But I 'se believe ye kipdly meant it, 
 I sud be laith to think ye hinted 
 Ironic satire? sidelins sldented , , 
 
 On my poor Musie ; 
 Though in sic phraisin' terms ye 've penn'd it, 
 
 I scarce excuse ye. 
 
 My senses wad be in a creel. 
 Should I but dare a hope to speel, 
 Wi' Allan,, or wi' Gilbertfleld,f 
 
 The braes o' f ariie ; 
 Or Fergussoii, the writer-chiel, 
 
 A deathless name. ; 
 
 • ' Simpson : ' parish teacher in Cumnock ; a man ol considerable talent. 
 t ' Gilbertfleld : ' William Hamilton, a poet contemporary with Allan 
 Ramsay. 
 
TO W. SIMPSON 155 
 
 (O Fi^rgusson 1 thy glorious parts 
 111 suited La>y's dry, musty arts 1 
 My cursetiippn y9,iiir whunstane hearts, 
 . ,;,, , ,' Ye E'nbrugh gentry 1 
 The tithe o' what, ye waste at cajtes, . 
 
 :Wad,^t6w*d his p'ahtri^ !) 
 
 Yet when a, tale, comes i,' my hea,c(, 
 
 Or lasses gle iny lieart a screed, ' 
 
 As whyles th,ey 're like, to be my dead, 
 
 , . (Oh sad disease t)' 
 I kittle up my rustic reed ; 
 
 ItjgLes me ease. 
 
 Auld Coila, now, may ,fidge fu' fain, . , 
 She 's gotten poejbs o' her ain, 
 Chiels wha their chanters winna hain. 
 But tune their lays, 
 Till echoes a' resound again 
 
 , , Her weel-siing praise. 
 
 Nae poet thought her. -worth Ijis while, 
 To set her name in measured style ; 
 She lay like some urikenn'd-of isle . 
 
 , , Beside New Hollahd, ' 
 
 Or whare wild-meeting oceans boi^, ^ . . 
 ■ I , , Be-south Magellan." 
 
 Ramsay and famous Fergusson 
 Gied Forth an' Tay a lift aboon ; 
 Yarrow and Tweed, to mony a, tune, 
 
 •; Owre Scotland rings. 
 While Irwin, Lugar, Ayr, and T)oq}\., . 
 ^ , Naebody' sing's. ' 
 
 The Illissus, Tiber, Thames, an' Seine, 
 Glide -sweej; in mony a tunef u' line ; 
 But, "Willie, set your fit to piine, 
 
 I , An' cock your crests 
 We '11 gar our streams and bur|}fes shine 
 , Up wi' the best I 
 
 We Tl sing auld Coila's plaiij^ an' fells, , 
 Her moors red-brown wi' heal^her bells, 
 Her banks an', braes, her. dens /aii' dells, 
 
 ,, ■yVTiere glorious Wallace 
 Aft bure the gree, as story IjeUs, 
 
 , Frae southron billies. 
 
156 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 At Wallace' name what Scottish blobfl 
 But bqils up in a spring-tide flood 1 
 Oft have our fearless fathers strode' 
 
 By Wallace' side, 
 Still pressing onward; red-wat-shodi ' 
 
 Or glorious died 1 
 
 Oh 1 sweet are Colia's haughs an' woods. 
 When lintwhites chant amang the buds. 
 And jinkin' hares, in amorous whids, 
 
 Their loves enjoy, 
 While through the brae the cushat croods 
 ' With wailf u' cry 1 
 
 Even winter bleak has charms to me 
 When winds rave through the naked tree ; 
 Or frosts on hills of Ochiltree 
 
 Are hoary grey ; 
 Or blinding drifts, wild, furious flee, 
 
 Dark'ning the day 1 
 
 O Nature 1 a' thy shows an' forms 
 To feeling, pensive hearts hae charms !' 
 Whether the summer kindly warms 
 ' ' ' Wi' life and light, 
 
 Or winter howls, in gusty storms, 
 
 Tlie lang, dark night 1 
 
 The Muse, liae poet ever fand her. 
 Till by hirasel' he' I'eafn'd to wander, 
 Adown sopie Irottin' burn's meander, 
 ', , ' And no think lang ; 
 Oh sweet, to stray and pensive ponder 
 A heart-felt sang I 
 
 The war'ly race may drudge an' drive, 
 Hog-shouther, jundie, stretch, and strive ; 
 Let me fair Nature's face descrive, 
 
 And I, wi' pleasure, 
 Shall let the busy, grumbling hive 
 
 Bum owre their treasure. 
 
 Fareweel, " my rhyme-composing brither ! ' 
 We 've been owre lang unkenn'd to ither : 
 Now let us lay our heads thegither. 
 
 In love fraternal : 
 May. Envy wallop in a tether, 
 
 Black fiend, infernal I 
 
TO W. SIMPSON 157 
 
 While Highlandmen hate tolls and 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 ; 
 
 I had amaist forgotten clean, 
 
 You bade me write you what they mean 
 
 By this New-Light, 
 'Bout which our herds sae aft have been 
 
 Maist like to fight. 
 
 In days when mankind were but callans 
 
 At grammar, logic, an' sic talents. 
 
 They took nae pains their speefeh 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, tUl her last roon 
 
 Gaed past their viewing. 
 And shdrtly after she was 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, 
 
 Aiid ca'd it wrang ; 
 And muckle din there was about it, 
 
 Baith loud and lang. 
 
 Some herds, well learn'd upo' the beuk. 
 Wad threap auld folk the thing misteuk ; 
 For 'twas the auld moon tvuii'd a neuk. 
 
 An' out o' sight, 
 And backlins-comin', to the leuk. 
 
 She grew mair bright. 
 
158 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 This was denied — it was affirm' d ; 
 
 The herds an' hirsels were alarm'd : 
 
 The reverend gray-beards raved an' storm'd 
 
 That beardless laddies 
 Should think they better were inform'd 
 
 Than their auld daddies. 
 
 Frae less to mair it gaed to sticks 
 
 Frae words an' aiths to clours an' nicks ; 
 
 And mony a fallow gat his licks, 
 
 Wi' hearty crunt ; 
 And some, to learn them for their tricks, 
 
 Were hang'd an' brunt. 
 
 This game was play'd in mony lands, 
 And Auld-Light caddies bure sic hands. 
 That, faith 1 the youngsters took the sands, 
 
 "Wi' nimble shanks. 
 Till lairds forbade, by strict commands. 
 
 Sic bluidy pranks. 
 
 But New-Light herds gat sic a cowe. 
 Folk thought them ruin'd stick-an'-stowe, 
 Till now amaist on every knowe 
 
 Ye '11 find ane placed ; 
 And some their New-Light fair avow, 
 
 Just quite barefaced. 
 
 Nae doubt the Auld-Light flocks are bleatin' ; 
 Their zealous herds are vex'd an' sweatin' ; 
 Mysel' I 've even seen them greetin' 
 
 "Wi' gimin' spite. 
 To hear the moon sae sadly lied on 
 
 By word an' write. 
 
 But shortly, they will cowe the louns 1 
 Some Auld-Light herds in neibour towns 
 Are mind't, in things they ca' balloons, 
 
 To tak a flight, 
 And stay a month amang the moons, ' 
 
 An' see them right. 
 
 Guid observation they will gie them ; 
 
 And when the auld moon's gaun to lea'e them, 
 
 The hindmost shaird, they '11 fetch it wi' them, 
 
 Just i' their pouch. 
 And when the New-Light bUlies see them, 
 
 I think they '11 crouch 1 
 
.TO W. SIMPSON 159 
 
 Sae, ye observe that a' this clatter 
 
 Is naething but' a ' moonshine matter ; ' 
 
 But though dull prose-folk Latin splatter 
 
 In logic tulzie, 
 I hope, we bardies ken some better 
 
 Than mind sic brulzie. 
 
 EPISTLE TO J. RANKINE 
 
 ENCLOSING SOME POEMS 
 
 ROUGH, rude, ready-witted Rankine, 
 The wale o' cocks for fun and drinkin' ! 
 There 's mony godly folks are thinkin'. 
 
 Your dreams * an' tricks 
 Will send you, Korah-like, a-sinkin', 
 
 Straught to Auld Nick'>s; 
 
 Ye hae sae mony cracks and cants, 
 And in your wicked, drucken rants. 
 Ye mak a devil o' the saunts. 
 
 And fill them fu' : 
 And then their failings, flaws, an' wajits, 
 
 Are a' seen through. 
 
 Hypocrisy, in mercy spare it ! 
 
 That holy robe, oh dinna tear it I 
 
 Spare 't for their sakes wha aften wear it, 
 
 The lads in black 1 
 But your curst wit, :when it comes near it, 
 
 Rives 't aff their back. 
 
 Think, wicked sinner, wha ye 're skaithing. 
 It 's just the blue-gown t badge and claithing 
 O' sauntS'; tak that, ye lea'e them naithing 
 
 To ken them by, 
 Frae ony unregeijerate heathen 
 
 Like you or I. 
 
 1 've sent you here some rhyming ware, 
 A' that I bargain'd for, and mair ; 
 
 • ' Dreams : ' a certain humorous dream of his was then making a noise 
 in the countryside. — B. Rankine was a farmer in Adamhill, near Loohlea, 
 a boon companion of Burns. 
 
 f ' Blue-gown : ' see ' Antiquary.' 
 
160 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Sae, when ye hae an hour to spare, 
 
 I ■will expect 
 Yon sang,* ye '11 sen 't wi' carinie care. 
 
 And no neglect. 
 
 Though, faith I sma' heart hae I to sing. 
 My Muse dow scarcely spread her wing ; 
 I 've play'd mysel' a bonnie spring. 
 
 And danced my fill I 
 I 'd better gaen an' sair'd the king 
 
 At Bunker's. Hill. 
 
 'Twas ae night lately, in my fun, 
 
 I gaed a roving wl' the gun. 
 
 And brought a paitrick to the grun', 
 
 , A bonnie hen, 
 And, as the twilight 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, deU-ma-care ! 
 Somebody tells the poacher-court 
 
 Tlie hale affair. 
 
 Some auld used hands had ta'en a note. 
 That sic a hen had got 'a shot ; 
 I was suspected for the plot ; 
 
 I scorn' d to lie ; 
 So gat the whissle o' my groat, 
 
 An' pay't the fee. 
 
 But, by my gun, o' guns the wale. 
 And by my pouther an' my hail. 
 And by my hen, and by her tail, 
 
 r I vow an' swear I 
 The game shaU pay o'er moor an' dale. 
 For this, neist year. 
 
 As soon 's the clockin'-time is by. 
 And the wee pouts begun to cry, 
 Lord, I 'se hae sportin' by an' by. 
 
 For my gowd guinea : 
 Though I should herd the buckskin kye . 
 
 For 't, in Virginia. 
 
 ' • "Von sang : ' a song he had promised to the authot- — B, 
 
EPISTLE TO J. RANKINE 161 
 
 Trowth, they had muckle lor to blame 1 
 'Twas neither broken wing nor limb, 
 But twa-three draps about the wame 
 
 Scarce through the feathers ; 
 And baith a yellow George to claim. 
 
 And thole their blethers I 
 
 It pits me aye as mad 's a hare ; 
 So I can rhyme nor write nae mair ; 
 But pennyworths again is fair. 
 
 When time 's expedient. 
 Meanwhile I am, respected Sir, 
 
 Your most obedient. 
 
 JOHN BARLEYCORN* 
 
 A BALLAD 
 
 Therk were three kings into the east, 
 Three kings both great and high ; 
 
 And they hae sworn a solemn oath 
 John Barleycorn should die. 
 
 They took a plough and plough'd him down, 
 
 Put clods upon his head ; 
 And they hae sworn a solemn oath 
 
 John Barleycorn was dead. 
 
 But the cheerful spring came kindly on. 
 
 And showers began to fall ; 
 John Barleycorn got up again, 
 
 And sore surprised them all. 
 
 The sultry suns of summer came, 
 
 And he grew thick and strong. 
 His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears. 
 
 That no one should him wrong. 
 
 The sober autumn enter' d mild. 
 
 When he grew wan and pale ; 
 His bending joints and drooping head 
 
 Show'd he began to fail. 
 
 * * John Barleycorn : ' this is partly composed on the plan ol an old 
 song known by the same name. — B. 
 4G— F 
 
162 BURNS' .POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 His colour sicken'd more and more, 
 
 He faded into age ; 
 And then his enemies began 
 
 To show their deadly rage. 
 
 They 've taen a weapon, long and sharp, 
 
 And cut him by the knee ; 
 Then tied him fast upon a cart. 
 
 Like a rogue for forgerie. 
 
 They laid him down upon his back, 
 And cudgell'd him full sore ; 
 
 They hung him up befdre the storm. 
 And turn'd him o'er and o'er. 
 
 They filled up a darksome pit 
 
 "With water to the brim ; 
 They heaved in John Barleycorn, 
 
 There let him sink or swim. 
 
 They laid him out upon the floor. 
 
 To work him farther woe ; 
 And still, as signs of life appear' d. 
 
 They toss'd him to and fro. 
 
 They wasted, o'er a scorching flame. 
 
 The, marrow of his bones ; 
 But a miller used him worst of all. 
 
 For he crush'd him between two stones. 
 
 And they hae ta'en his very heart's blood. 
 And drank it round and round ; 
 
 And still the more and more they drank. 
 Their joy did more abound. 
 
 John Barleycorn was a hero bold, 
 
 Of noble enterprise ; 
 For if you do but taste his blood, 
 
 'Twill make your courage rise. 
 
 'TwUl make a man forget his woe ; 
 
 'Twill heighten all his joy : 
 'Twill make the widow's heart to sing, 
 
 Though the tear were in her eye. 
 
 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 163 
 
 A FRAGMENT 
 Tune — ' Killiecrankie ' 
 
 When Guildford good our pilot stood, 
 
 And did our helm thraw, man, 
 Ae night, at tea, began a plea, 
 
 "Within America, man : 
 Then up they gat the maskin'-pat. 
 
 And in the sea did jaw, man ; 
 And did nae l^ss, in full Congress, 
 
 Than quite refuse our law, man. , 
 
 Then through the lakes Montgomery takes, 
 
 I wat he was na slaw, man : 
 Down Lowrie's burn he took a turn, 
 
 And Carl^ton did ca', man : 
 But yet, what reck, he at Quebec, 
 
 Montgomery-like, did fa', man ; 
 Wi' sword in hand, before his band, 
 
 Amang his enemies a', man. 
 
 Poor Tammy Gage, within a cage 
 
 Was kept at Boston Ha', man ; 
 Till WUlie Howe took o'er the knowe 
 
 Fdr Philadelphia, man : 
 Wi' sword an' gun he thought a sin 
 
 Guid Christian blood to draw, man ; 
 But at New York, wi' knife an' fork, 
 
 Sirloin he hacked sma*, man. 
 
 Burgoyne gaed up, like spur an' whio. 
 
 Till Fraser brave did fa', man ; 
 Then lost his way, ae misty day. 
 
 In Saratoga shaw, man. , 
 
 Cornwallis fought as lang 's he dought, ^ 
 
 And did the buckskins claw, man ; 
 But Clinton's glaive frae rust to save. 
 
 He hung it to the wa', man. 
 
 Then Montague, an' Guildford too. 
 
 Began to fear a fa', man ; 
 And Sackville dour, wha stood the stoure. 
 
 The German Chief to thraw, man : 
 For Paddy Burke, like ony Turk, 
 
 Nae mercy had at a', man ; 
 And Charlie Fox threw by the box, 
 
 And lowsed his tinkler jaw, man. 
 
164 pURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Then Rockingham took up the game ; 
 
 Till death did on him ca', man ; 
 When Shelburne meek held up his cheek, 
 
 Conform to Gospel law, man. 
 Saint Stephen's boys, wi' jarring noise, 
 
 They did his measures thraw, man. 
 For North an' Fox united stocks, 
 
 And bore him to the wa', man. 
 
 Then clubs and hearts were Charlie's cartes, 
 
 He swept the stakes awa', man. 
 Till the diamond's ace, of Indian race* 
 
 Led him a sair faux pas, man : 
 The Saxon lads, wi' loud placads. 
 
 On Chatham's boy did ca', man ; 
 An' Scotland drew her pipe, an' blew 
 
 ' Up, Willie, waur them a', man 1 ' 
 
 Behind the throne then Grenville 's gone, 
 
 A secret word or twa, man ; 
 While slee Dundas aroused the class 
 
 Be-north the Roman wa', man : 
 And Chatham's wraith, in heavenly graith, 
 
 (Inspired Bardies saw, man) 
 Wi' kindling eyes cried, ' Willie, rise ! 
 
 Would I hae fear'd them a', man ? ' 
 
 But, word 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 ; 
 And Caledon threw by the drone. 
 
 And did her whittle draw, man ; 
 And swore fu' rude, through dirt an' blood, 
 
 To make it guid in law, man. 
 
 THE RIGS O' BARLEY 
 Tune — ' Corn rigs are bonnie ' 
 
 It was upon a Lammas night, 
 
 \yhen corn rigs are bonnie, 
 Beneath the moon's unclouded light, 
 
 I held awa to Annie : ♦ 
 
 • ' Annie : ■ Anne Mary, youngest daughter of Jdlin Rankine i she 
 became the keeper ol a hostelry at Cumnock. 
 
THE RIGS O' BARLEY 165 
 
 Tba time flew by wi' tentless heed, 
 
 Till 'tween the late and early, 
 "Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed. 
 
 To see me through the barley. 
 
 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 loved her most sincerely ; 
 I kiss'd her owre and owre again, 
 
 Amang the rigs o' barley. 
 
 I lock'd her in my fond embrace ; 
 
 Her heart was beating rarely : 
 My blessings on that happy place, 
 
 Amang the rigs o' barley I 
 But by the moon and stars so bright. 
 
 That shone that hour so clearly. 
 She aye shall bless that happy night, 
 
 Amang the rigs o' barley 1 
 
 I hae been blithe wi' comrades dear • 
 
 I hae been merry drinkin' ; 
 I hae been jojrfu' gath'rin' 'geat ; 
 
 I hae been happy thinkin' : 
 But a' the pleasures e'er I saw, 
 
 Though three times doubled fairly, 
 That happy night was worth them a', 
 
 Amang the rigs o' barley. 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 Corn rigs, an' barley rigs. 
 
 An' com rigs are bonnie : 
 I'll ne'er forget that happy night, 
 
 Amang the rigs wi' Annie. 
 
 SONG COMPOSED IN AUGUST 
 Tune — ' / had a horse, I had na mair ' 
 
 Now westlin' winds, and slaught'ring guns, 
 Bring autumn's pleasant weather ; 
 
 The moorcock springs on whirring wings, 
 Amang the blooming heather ; 
 
166 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Now waving grain, wide o'er the plain, 
 
 Delights the weary farmer ; 
 And the moon shines bright, when I rove at night. 
 
 To muse upon my charmer. 
 
 The partndge loves the fruitful fells ; 
 
 The plover loves the mountains ; 
 The woodcock haunts the lonely dells ; 
 
 The soaring hern the fountains : 
 Through lofty groves the cushat roves. 
 
 The path of man to shun it ; 
 The hazel bush o'erhangs the thrush. 
 
 The spreading thorn the linnet. 
 
 Thus every kind their pleasure find, 
 
 The savage and the tender ; 
 Some social join, and leagues combine ; 
 
 Some solitary wander ; 
 Avaunt, away I the cruel sway, 
 
 Tyrannic man's dominion ; 
 The sportsman's joy, the murd'ring cry. 
 
 The flutt'ring, gory pinion I 
 
 But Peggy,* dear, the evening 's clear. 
 
 Thick flies the skimming swallow ; 
 The sky is blue, the fields in view, 
 
 All fading-green and yellow : 
 Come let us stray our gladsome way. 
 
 And view the charms of nature ; 
 The rustling corn, the fruited thorn, 
 
 And every happy creature. 
 
 "We 'U gently walk, and sweetly talk, 
 
 Till the silent moon shine clearly ; 
 I '11 grasp thy waist, and, fondly press' d. 
 
 Swear how I love thee dearly : 
 Not vernal showers to budding flowers. 
 
 Not autumn to the farmer. 
 So dear can be as thou to me. 
 
 My fair, my lovely charmer I 
 
 • ■ Peggy : ' Margaret Thomson, Burns' flame at Kirkoswald. 
 
SONG 167 
 
 SONG 
 TuNB— ' My Nannie O ! ' 
 
 Behind yon hills where Lugar * flows, 
 'Mang moors an' mosses many, O I 
 
 The wintry sun the day has closed, 
 And I 'U awa' to Nannie, O 1 
 
 The westlin' wind blaws loud an' shrill : 
 The night 's baith mirk and rainy, O 1 
 
 But I '11 get my plaid, an' out I '11 steal. 
 And owre the hills to Nannie, O I 
 
 My Nannie 's charming, sweet, an' young ; 
 
 Nae artfu' wiles to win ye, O 1 
 May ill beta' the flattering tongue 
 
 That wad beguile my Nannie, O 1 
 
 Her face is fair, her heart is true, 
 As spotless as she 's bonnie, O I 
 
 The opening gowan, wet wi' dew, 
 Nae purer is than Nannie, O ! 
 
 A country lad is my degree. 
 
 And few there be that ken me, O 1 
 
 But what care I how few th#y be ? 
 I 'm welcome aye to Nannie, O 1 
 
 My riches a 's my penny-fee, 
 And I maun guide it cannie, O 1 
 
 But warl's gear ne'er troubles me, 
 My thoughts are a'— my Nannie, O I 
 
 Our auld guidman delights to view 
 His sheep an' kye thrive bonnie, O I 
 
 But I 'm as bUthe that bauds his pleugh. 
 And has nae care but Nannie, O I 
 
 Come weel, come woe, I care na by, 
 I '11 tak what Heaven will sen' me, O I 
 
 Nae ither care in life have I, 
 But live, an' love my Nannie, O I 
 
 • ' Lugar : ' originaUy Stinchar. 
 
168 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 GREEN GROW THE RASHES * 
 
 A FRAGMENT 
 
 There's naught but care on every ban', 
 In every hour that passes, O I 
 
 Wliat signifies tlie life o' man, 
 An' 'twere ria for the lasses, O 1 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 Green grow the rashes, O 1 , 
 Green grow the rashes, O 1 
 
 The sweetest hours that e'er I spend. 
 Axe spent amang the lasses, O 1 
 
 The warly race may riches chase, 
 And riches stiU may fly them, O I 
 
 And tliough at last they catch them fast, 
 Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O 1 
 
 But gie me a canny hour at e'en, . 
 
 My arms about my dearie, O ! 
 And warly cares, an' warly men. 
 
 May a' gae tapsalteerie, O 1 
 
 For you sae douse, ye sneer at this, 
 Ye 're naught but senseless asses, O 1 
 
 The wisest man the warl' e'er saw. 
 He dearly loved the lasses, O 1 
 
 Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears 
 Her noblest work she classes, O 1 
 
 Her 'prentice han' she tried on man, 
 And then she made the lasses, 1 
 
 SONG 
 Tune — ' Jockey's Gray Breeks ' 
 
 Again rejoicing Natiu-e sees 
 
 Her robe assume its vernal hues, 
 
 Her leafy locks wave in the breeze. 
 All freshly steep'd in morning dews. 
 
 • Note. — Tills is an improvement on an old song. — B. 
 
SONG 169 
 
 CHORUS * 
 
 And maun I still on Menie t doat, 
 And bear the scorn that 's in her e'e ? 
 
 For it 's jet, jet black, an' it 's like a hawk, 
 An' it winna let a body be 1 
 
 In vain to me the cowslips blaw, 
 
 In vain to me the violets spring ; 
 In vain to me, in glen or shaw, 
 
 The mavis and the lintwhite sing. 
 
 The merry ploughboy cheers his team, 
 
 Wi' joy the tentie seedsman stalks. 
 But life to me 's a weary dream, 
 
 A dream of ane that never wauks. 
 
 The wanton coot the water skims, 
 Amang the reeds the ducklings cry. 
 
 The stately swan majestic swims. 
 And everything is blest but I. 
 
 The shepherd steeks bis faulding slap, 
 And owre the moorlands whistles shrill ; 
 
 Wi' wild, unequal, wand'ring step, 
 I meet him on the dewy hill. 
 
 And when the lark, 'tween light and dark, 
 
 Blithe wauk;ens by the daisy's side. 
 And mounts and sings on flitt'ring wings, 
 
 A woeworn ghaist I hameward glide. 
 
 Come, Winter, vjith thine angry howl, 
 
 ' And raging bend the naked tree ; 
 Thy gloom will soothe my cheerless soul, 
 When Nature all is sad like me I 
 
 SONG 
 
 Tune-—' Raslin Castle ' 
 
 The gloomy night is gathering fast. 
 Loud roars the wild inconstant bla3t ; 
 Yon murky cloud is foul with rain, 
 I see it driving o'er the plain ; 
 
 * This chorus is part of a song composed by a gentleman in Edinburgh, 
 1 particular friend of the author's. — B. . 
 t 'Menie: ' is the common abbreviation of MaTlanne. , , 
 
170 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 The hunter now has left the moor. 
 The scatter'd coveys meet secure ; 
 While here I wander, press' d with care. 
 Along the lonely banks of Ayr. 
 
 The Autumn mourns her ripening corn 
 By early Winter's ravage torn ; 
 Across her placid, azure sky. 
 She sees the scowling tempest fly ; 
 ChiU runs my blood to hear it rave, — 
 I think upon the stormy wave. 
 Where many a danger I must dare. 
 Far from the bonnie banks of Ayr. 
 
 'Tis not the surging billow's roar, 
 'Tis not that fatal deadly shore ; 
 Though death in every shape appear. 
 The wretched have no more to fear ! 
 But round my heart the ties are bound. 
 That heart transpierced with many a wound ; 
 These bleed afresh, those ties I tear. 
 To leave the bonnie banks of Ajrr. 
 
 FareweU, old CoUa's hUls and dales. 
 Her heathy moors and winding vales ; 
 The scenes where wretched fancy roves. 
 Pursuing past, unhappy loves I 
 FareweU, my friends I Farewell, my foes ! 
 My peace with these, my love with those — 
 The bursting tears my heart declare ; 
 Farewell, the bonnie banks of Ayr I 
 
 SONG 
 Tune — ' Gilderoy ' 
 
 From thee, Eliza,* I must go. 
 
 And from my native shore : 
 The cruel fates between us throw 
 
 A boundless ocean's roar ; 
 But boundless oceans, roaring wide. 
 
 Between my love and me. 
 They never, never can divide 
 
 My heart and soul from thee 1 
 
 * ' Eliza : ' one of the ' six belles ' of Maucbline — Betty Miller, afterwards 
 Mrs. Templeton. 
 
SONG 171 
 
 Farewell, farewell, Eliza dear, 
 
 The maid that I adore 1 
 A boding voice is in mine ear, 
 
 We part to meet no more 1 
 But the last throb that leaves my heart. 
 
 While death stands victor by. 
 That throb, Eliza, is thy part. 
 
 And thine that latest sigh I 
 
 THE FAREWELL TO THE BRETHREN OF 
 ST. JAMES'S LODGE, TARBOLTON 
 
 Tunis — ' Good night an' joy be wi' you a' J ' 
 
 Adiet; I a heart-warm, fond adieu 1 
 
 Dear brothers of the mystic tie I» 
 Ye favour'd, ye enlighten'd few, , , 
 
 Companions of my social joy I 
 Though I to foreign lands must hie. 
 
 Pursuing Fortune's sliddery ba'. 
 With melting heart, and brimful eye, 
 
 I '11 mind you stilly though far awa'. 
 
 Oft have i met your social banc. 
 
 And spent the cheerful, festive night ; 
 Oft, honour'd with supreme command. 
 
 Presided o'er the Sons of Light : 
 And by that Hieroglyphic Bright, 
 
 Which none but Craftsmen ever saw, 
 Strong Memory on my heart shall write 
 
 Those happy scenes when far awa' ! 
 
 May Freedom, Harmony, and Love, 
 
 Unite you in the grand design. 
 Beneath th' Omniscient Eye above, 
 
 The glorious Architect Divine I 
 That you may keep th' uiierring line. 
 
 Still rising by the plummet's law. 
 Till Order bright completely shine. 
 
 Shall be my prayer when far awa'. 
 
 And you, farewell 1 whose merits claim, 
 Justly, that highest badge to wear 1 
 
 Heaven bless your honour'd, noble name, 
 To Masonry and Scotia dear 1 
 
172 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 A last request pennit me here, 
 When yearly ye assemble a', 
 , One round — I ask it with a tear — 
 To him, the Bard that 's lar awa' 
 
 SONG 
 
 Tune — ' Prepare, my dear brethren, to the 
 tavern let's fly' 
 
 No churchman am I for to rail and to write, 
 No statesman nor soldier to plot or to fight, 
 No sly man of business contriving a snare, — 
 For a big-bellied bottle 's the whole ol my care. 
 
 The peer I don't envy, I give him his bow ; 
 I scorn not the peasant, though ever so low ; 
 But a club of ^ood fellows, like those that are here, 
 And a bottle like this, are my glory and care. 
 
 Here passes the squire on his brother — his horse ; 
 There centum per centum, the cit with his purse ; 
 But see you The Crown, how it waves in the air ! 
 •There a big-bellied bottle still eases my care. 
 
 The wife of my bosom, alas I she did die ; 
 For sweet consolation to church I did fly ; 
 I found that old Solomon proved it fair. 
 That a big-bellied bottle 's a cure for all care. 
 
 I once was persuaded a venture to make ; 
 A letter inform'd me that all was to wreck ; 
 But the pursy old landlord just waddled up stairs. 
 With a glorious bottle that ended my cares. 
 
 ' Life's cares thiey are comforts ' * — a maxim laid down 
 By the bard, what d' ye call him, that wore the black gown ; 
 And, faith 1 I agree with th' old prig to a hair ; 
 For a big-bellied bottle 's a heaven of care 
 
 ADDED IN A MASON LODGE 
 
 Then fill up a bumper, and make it o'erflow, 
 And honours masonic prepare for to throw ; 
 May every true brother of the compass and square 
 Have a big-bellied bottle when harass'd with care 1 
 
 • ' Comforts : ' Young's ' Night Thoughts,' — B. 
 
IN FRIARS-CARSE HERMITAGE 173 
 
 WRITTEN IN FRIARS-CARSE HERMITAGE* 
 
 ON THE BANKS OF NITH 
 
 Thou whom chance may hither lead, 
 Be thou clad in russet weed, 
 Be thou deck'd in silken stole, 
 Grave these counsels on thy soul : — 
 Life is but a day at most, 
 Sprung from night, in darkness lost ; 
 Hope not sunshine every hour. 
 Fear not clouds wiU always lower. 
 
 As youth and love with sprightly dance, 
 Beneath thy morning star advance;, 
 Pleasure with her siren air 
 May delude the thoughtless pair ; 
 Let Prudence bless Enjoyment's cup. 
 Then raptured sip, and sip it up. 
 
 As thy day grows warm and high. 
 
 Life's meridian flaming uigh 
 
 Dost thou spurn the humble vale ? 
 
 Life's proud summits wouldst thou scale ? 
 
 Check thy climbing step, elate. 
 
 Evils lurk in felon wait : 
 
 Dangers, eagle-pinion'd, bold. 
 
 Soar around each cliffy hold. 
 
 While cheerful peace, with linnet song. 
 
 Chants the lowly dells among. , 
 
 As the shades of evening close. 
 
 Beckoning thee to long repose ; 
 
 As life itself becomes disease. 
 
 Seek the chimney-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 ? 
 
 • ' Friars-Caise : ' an estate near Ellislaad, belonging to Mr. liiddell. 
 
174 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Tell them, and press it on their mind, 
 As thou thyself must shortly And, 
 The smile or frown of awful Heaven, 
 To virtue or to vice is given. 
 Say, to be just, and kind, and wise. 
 There solid self -enjoyment lies : 
 That foolish, selfish, faithless ways, 
 Lead to the wretched, vile, and base. 
 
 Thus resign'd and quiet, creep 
 
 To the bed of lasting sleep ; 
 
 Sleep, whence thou shalt ne'er awake. 
 
 Night, where dawn shall never break. 
 
 Till future life, future no more. 
 
 To light and joy the good restore. 
 
 To light and joy unknown before. 
 
 Stranger, go I Heaven be thy guide I 
 Quod the beadsman of Nithside. 
 
 ODE,* SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF 
 MRS. OSWALD OF AUCHENCRUIVE 
 
 Dweller in yon dungeon dark. 
 Hangman of creation I mark 
 Who in widow-weeds appears, 
 Laden with unhonour'd years, 
 Noosing with care a bursting purse, 
 Bafted with many a deadly curse 1 
 
 STROPHE 
 
 View the wither'd beldame's face — 
 
 Can thy keen inspection trace 
 
 Aught of humanity's sweet, melting grace ? 
 
 Note that eye, 'tis rheum o'erflows. 
 
 Pity's flood there never rose. 
 
 See those hands, ne'er stretch'd to save. 
 
 Hands that took — ^but never gave. 
 
 Keeper of Mammon's iron chest, 
 
 Lo, there she goes, unpitied and unblest ; 
 
 She goes, but not to realms of everlasting rest I 
 
 • ' Ode ; • every reader of Burns lemembers the circumstances under 
 which this saVage ode was composed. 
 
ODE TO THE MEMORY OF MRS. OSWALD 175 
 
 ANTISTROPHE 
 
 Plunderer of armies, lilt thine eyes, 
 
 (A while forbear, ye torturing fiends 1) 
 
 Seest thou whose step unwilling hither bends ? 
 
 No fall'n angel, hurl'd from upper skies ; 
 
 'Tis thy trusty quondam mate, 
 
 Doom'd to share thy fiery fate, 
 
 She, tardy, hellward plies. 
 
 EPODE 
 
 And are they of no more avail. 
 
 Ten thousand glitt'ring pounds a-year ? 
 
 In other worlds can Mammon fail. 
 
 Omnipotent as he is here ? 
 
 Oh, bitter mockery of the pompous bier, 
 
 WhUe down tne wretched vital part is driven 1 
 
 The cave-lodged beggar, with a conscience clear. 
 
 Expires in rags, unknown, and goes to heaven. 
 
 ELEGY ON CAPTAIN MATTHEW HENDERSON* 
 
 A. GENTLEMAN WHO HELD THE PATENT FOR HIS HONOURS 
 IMMEDIATELY FROM ALMIGHTY GOD I 
 
 • But now his radiant course is run, 
 For Matthew's course was bright ; 
 His soul was like the glorious sun, 
 A matchless, Heavenly light 1 ' 
 
 O Death I thou tyrant fell and bloody ! 
 
 The meikle devil wi' a woodie 
 
 Haurl thee hame to his black smiddie, 
 
 O'er hurcheon hides, 
 And like stockfish come o'er his studdie 
 
 Wi' thy auld sides 1 
 
 He 's gane 1 he 's gane 1 he 's frae us torn. 
 The ae best fellow e'er was bom 1 
 Thee, Matthew, Nature's sel' shall mourn 
 
 By wood and wild. 
 Where, haply, Pity strays forlorn, 
 
 Frae man exiled. 
 
 • ' Captain M. Henderson : ' a harmless old Edinburgh bon-vivant, who 
 oad once been in the army. 
 
176 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Ye hills, near neibours o' the sterns, 
 That proudly cock your cresting cairns ! 
 Ye cliffs, the haunts of sailing yearns, 
 
 "Where Echo slumbers I 
 Come join, ye Nature's sturdiest bairns. 
 
 My walling numbers ! 
 
 Mourn, ilka grove the cushat kens I 
 Ye hazelly shaws and briery dens 1 
 Ye burnies, wimplin' down your glens, 
 
 Wi' toddlin' din. 
 Or foaming Strang, wi' hasty stens, 
 
 Frae linn to linn. 
 
 Mourn, little harebells o'er the lea ; 
 Ye stately foxgloves, fair to see ; 
 Ye woodbines, hanging bonnUie 
 
 In scented bowers ; 
 Ye roses on your thorny tree. 
 
 The first o' flowers. 
 
 At dawn, when every grassy blade 
 
 Droops with a diamond at its head. 
 
 At even, when beans their fragrance shed, - 
 
 I' the rustling gale, 
 Ye maukins, whiddin' through the glade. 
 
 Come join my wail 1 
 
 Mourn, ye wee songsters o' the wood ; 
 Ye grovise, that crap the heather bud ; 
 Ye curlews, calling through a clud ; 
 
 Ye whistling plover ; 
 And mourn, ye whirring paitrick brood — 
 
 He 's gane for ever 1 
 
 Mourn, sooty coots, and speckled teals ; 
 Ye flsher herons, watching eels ; 
 Ye duck and drake, wi' airy wheels 
 
 Circling the lake ; 
 Ye bitterns, till the quagmire reels, 
 
 Rair for his sake 1 
 
 Mourn, clam'ring craiks at close o' day, 
 'Mang fields o' flowering clover gay ; 
 And when ye wing your annual way 
 
 Frae our cauld shore. 
 Tell thae far warlds, wha lies in clay. 
 
 Wham we deplore. 
 
ELEGY ON CAPTAIN HENDERSON 177 
 
 Ye houlets, frae your ivy bower, 
 In some auld tree, or eldritch tower, 
 What time the moon, wi' silent glower, 
 
 Setk up her horn, 
 Wail through the dreary midnight hour 
 
 Till waukrife morn 1 
 
 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 e'en the drapping rains 
 
 Maun ever flow. 
 
 Mourn, Spiing, thou darling of the year 1 
 Ilk cowslip cup shall kep a tear : 
 Thou Simmer, while each corny spear 
 
 Shoots up its head, 
 Thy gay, green, flowery tresses shear 
 
 For him that 's dead I 
 
 Thou, Autumn, wi' thy yellow hair. 
 In grief thy sallow mantle tear I 
 Thou, Winter, hurling through the air 
 
 The roaring blast. 
 Wide o'er the naked world declare 
 
 The worth we 've lost I 
 
 Mourn him, thou Sun, great source of lighf 1 
 Mourn, Empress of the silent night 1 
 And you, ye twinkling Stemies bright. 
 
 My Matthew mourn 1 
 For through your orbs he 's ta'en his flight. 
 
 Ne'er to return. 
 
 O Henderson I the man I — the brother I 
 And art thou gone, and gone for ever ? 
 And hast thou cross'd that unknown river, 
 
 Life's dreary bound ? 
 Like thee, where shall I find another. 
 
 The world around ? 
 
 Go to your sculptured tombs, ye great, 
 In a' the tinsel trash o' state ! 
 But by thy honest turf I '11 wait, 
 
 Thou man of worth I 
 And weep the ae best fellow's fate 
 
 E'er lay in earth. 
 
178 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 THE EPITAPH 
 
 Stop, passenger I — my story 's brief ; 
 
 And truth I shall relate, man ; 
 I tell nae common tale o' grief — 
 
 For Matthew was a great man. 
 
 If thou uncommon merit hast, 
 Yet spurn'd at fortune?s door, man ; 
 
 A look of pity hither cast — 
 For Matthew was a poor man. 
 
 If thou a noble sodger * art. 
 That paissest 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. 
 
 * ' Sodger : ' R. Chambers says that the name ' Captain ' was a mere 
 pet name conferred on Henderson. The allusion here, however, to his 
 gallantry conlutes the supposition. He was probably an oOlceT retired on 
 hall-pay 
 
LAMENT OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS 179 
 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 : 
 Now Phoebus cheers the crystal streams, 
 
 And glads the azure ^kies ; 
 But naught can glad the weary wight 
 
 That fast in durance lies. 
 
 Now lav'rocks wake the merry mom. 
 
 Aloft on dewy wing ; 
 The merle, in his noontide bower. 
 
 Makes woodland echoes ring ; 
 The mavis mUd wi' mony a note, 
 
 Sings drowsy day to rest : 
 In love and freedom they rejoice, 
 
 Wi' care nor thrall oppress'd. 
 
 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 
 
 I was the Queen o' bonnie France, 
 
 Where happy I hae been ; 
 Fu' lightly rase I in the mom, 
 
 As blithe lay down at e'en : 
 And I 'm the sovereign of Scotland, 
 
 And mony a traitor there ; 
 Yet here I lie in foreign bands. 
 
 And never-ending care. 
 
 But as for thee, thou false woman I 
 
 My sister and my fae. 
 Grim vengeance yet shall whet a sword 
 
 That through thy soul shall gae ! 
 The Weeping blood in woman's breast 
 
 Was never known to thee : 
 Nor the balm that draps on wounds of woe 
 
 Frae woman's pitying e'e. 
 
180 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 My son I my son I may kinder stars 
 
 Upon thy fortune shine 1 
 And may those pleasures gild thy reign. 
 
 That ne'er wad blink on mine I 
 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 I 
 
 Oh I soon, to me, may summer suns 
 
 Nae mair hght up the mom 1 
 Nae mair, to me, the autumn winds 
 
 Wave o'er the yellow com 1 
 And in the narrow house o' death 
 
 Let winter round me rave ; 
 And the next flowers that deck the spring, 
 
 Bloom on my peaceful grave 1 
 
 FIRST EPISTLE 
 TO MR. GRAHAM OF FINTRY 
 
 When Nature her great masterpiece design' d. 
 And framed her last, best work, the human mind. 
 Her eye intent on all the mazy plan. 
 She form'd of v.^rious parts the various man. 
 
 Then first she calls the useful many forth ; 
 
 Plain plodding industry, and sober worth 
 
 Thence peasants, farmers, native sons of earth, 
 
 And merchandise' whole genus take their birth ; 
 
 Each prudent cit a warm existence finds. 
 
 And sdl mechanics' many-apron'd kinds. 
 
 Some other rarer sorts are wanted yet, 
 
 The lead and buoy are needful to the net ; 
 
 The caput mortuum of gross desires 
 
 Makes a material for mere knights and squires ; 
 
 The martial phosphorus is taught to flow ; 
 
 She kneads the lumpish philosophic dough. 
 
 Then marks the unyielding mass with grave designs. 
 
 Law, physic, politics, and deep divines ; 
 
 Last, she sublimes the Aurora of the poles. 
 
 The flashing elements of female souls. 
 
 The order'd system fair before her stood. 
 
 Nature, well-pleased, pronounced it very good ; 
 
 But ere she gave creating labour o'er. 
 
 Half-jest, she tried one curious labour more. 
 
FIRST EPISTLE TO MR. GRAHAM 181 
 
 Some spumy, fieiry, ignis fatuus matter, 
 
 Such as the slightest breath of air iliight scatter ; 
 
 With arch alacrity and conscious glee 
 
 (Nature may have her whim as well as we, 
 
 Her Hogarth-art perhaps she meant to show it) 
 
 She forms the thing, and christens it— a poet ; 
 
 Creature, though oft the prey of care and sorrow, 
 
 When blest to-day, unmindful of to-morrow. 
 
 A being form'd to amuse his graver friends. 
 
 Admired and praised — and there the homage ends : 
 
 A mortal quite unfit for fortune's strife, 
 
 Yet oft the sport of all the ills of life ; 
 
 Prone to enjoy each pleasure riches give. 
 
 Yet haply wanting wherewithal to live ; 
 
 Longing to wipe each tear, to heal each groan, 
 
 Yet frequent all unheeded in his own. 
 
 But honest nature is not quite a Turk, 
 
 She laugh'd at first, then felt lor her poor work. 
 
 Pitying the propless climber of mankind, 
 
 She cast about a standard tree to find ; 
 
 And, to support his helpless woodbine state, 
 
 Attach'd him to the generous, truly great, 
 
 A titlei, and the only one I claim, 
 
 To lay sti'ong hold for help on bounteous Graham. 
 
 Pity the tuneful Muses' hapless train. 
 Weak, timid landsmen on life's stormy main ! 
 Their hearts no selfish stem absorbent stuff, 
 That never gives — though humbly takes enough ; 
 The little fate allows, they share as soon, 
 Unlike sage proverb'd wisdom's hard-Wrung boon. 
 The world were bless'd did bliss on them depend. 
 Ah, that ' the friendly e'er should want a friend 1 ' 
 Let prudence number o'er each sturdy son, 
 Who life and wisdom at one race begun. 
 Who feel by reason and who give by rule 
 (Instinct 's a brute, and sentiment 's a fool I) — 
 Who make poor ' will do ' wait upon ' I should ' — : 
 We own they 're prudent, but who feels they 're good ? 
 Ye wise ones, hence 1 ye hurt the social eye 1 
 God's image rudely etch'd on base alloy I 
 But come, ye who the godlike pleasure know. 
 Heaven's attribute distinguish'd — ^to bestow I 
 Whose arms of love would grasp the human race : 
 Come thou who giv'st with all a courtier's grace ; 
 Friend of ray life, true patron of my rhymes, 
 Prop of my dearest hopes for future times 1 
 
182 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Why shrinks my soul, half-blushing, half-afraid, 
 
 BackwMd, abash'd, to ask thy friendly aid ? 
 
 I know my need, I know thy giving hand, 
 
 I crave thy friendship at thy kind command ; 
 
 But there are such who court the tuneful Nine — 
 
 Heavens 1 should the branded character be mine 1 
 
 Whose verse in manhood's pride sublimely flows. 
 
 Yet vUest reptiles in their begging prose. 
 
 Mark, how their lofty independent spirit 
 
 Soars on the spurning wing of injured merit I 
 
 Seek not the proofs in private life to find ; 
 
 Pity the best of words should be but wind I 
 
 So to Heaven's gate the lark's shrill song ascends. 
 
 But grovelling on the earth the carol ends. 
 
 In all the clamorous cry of starving want. 
 
 They dun benevolence with shameless front ; 
 
 Oblige them, patronise their tinsel lays, 
 
 They persecute you all your future days I 
 
 Ere my poor soul such deep damnation stain. 
 
 My homy flst assume the plough again ; 
 
 The piebald jacket let me patch once more ; 
 
 On eighteenpence a-week I 've lived brfore. 
 
 Though, thanks to Heaven, I dare even that last shift ; 
 
 I trust, meantime, my boon is in thy gift : 
 
 That, placed by thee upon the wished-for height. 
 
 Where, man and nature fairer in her sight. 
 
 My Muse may imp her wing for some subUmer flight. 
 
 SECOND EPISTLE 
 TO MR. GRAHAM OF FINTRY* 
 
 FiNTRY, my stay in worldly strife, , 
 Friend b' my Muse, friend o' my, life I 
 
 Are ye as idle 's I am ? ' 
 
 Come, then, wi' uncouth, kintra fleg. 
 O'er Pegasus I 'U fling my leg, 
 
 And ye shall see me try him. 
 
 I 'U sing the zeal Drumlanrig bears. 
 Who left the all-important cares 
 
 Of princes and their darlings ; 
 And, bent on winning borough towns. 
 Came shaking hands wi' wabster loons. 
 
 And kissing barefit carlins. 
 
 • Note. — This second epistle refers to a contested election between Sir 
 J. Johnstone and Captain Miller lor |he Dumfries burghs. 
 
SECOND EPISTLE TO MR. GRAHAM 183 
 
 Combustion through our boroughs rode, 
 Whistling his roaring pack abroad, 
 
 Of mad, unmuzzled lions ; 
 As Queensbeiry buff and blue unfurl'd, 
 And Westerha' and Hopetoun hurl'd 
 
 To every Whig defiance. 
 
 But Queensberry, cautious, left the war, 
 The unmanner'd dust might soil his star, 
 
 Besides, he hated bleeding ; 
 But left behind him heroes bright, 
 Heroes in Ceesarean fight 
 
 Or Ciceronian pleading. 
 
 Oh for a throat like huge Mons-Meg, 
 To muster o'er each ardent Whig 
 
 Beneath Drumlanrig's banners ; 
 Heroes and heroines commix 
 All in the field of politics. 
 
 To -win immortal honours. 
 
 M'Murdo and his lovely spouse 
 
 (The enamour'd laurels kiss her brows) 
 
 Led on the loves and graces ; 
 She won each gaping burgess' heart, 
 WhUe he, all-conquering, play'd his part. 
 
 Among their wives and lasses. 
 
 Graigdarroch led a light-arm'd corps ; 
 Troops, metaphors, and figures pour. 
 
 Like Hecla streaming thunder ; 
 Glenriddel, skUl'd in rusty coins. 
 Blew up each Tory's dark designs, 
 
 And bared the treason under. 
 
 In either wing two champions fought. 
 Redoubted Staig, who set at nau^t 
 
 The wildest savage Tory, 
 And Welsh, who ne'er yet flinch'd his ground. 
 High waved his magnum bonum round 
 
 With Cyclopean fury. 
 
 Miller brought up the artillery ranks, 
 The many-pounders of the Banks, 
 
 Resistless desolation ; 
 While Maxwelton, that baron bold, 
 'Mid Lawson's port entrench'd his hold, 
 
 And threaten'd worse damnation. 
 
184 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 To these, what Tory hosts opposed ; 
 With these, what Tory warriors closed. 
 
 Surpasses my, descriving : 
 Squadrons extended long and large, 
 "With furious speed rush'd to the charge, 
 
 Like raging devils driving. 
 
 AlVhat verse can sing, what prose narrate 
 The butcher deeds of bloody fate 
 
 Amid this mighty tulzie ? 
 Grim Horror grinn'd ; pale Terror roar'd. 
 As Murther at his thrapple shored ; 
 • And heU mix'd in the bruilzie I 
 
 As Highland crags, by thunder cleft. 
 When lightnings Are the stormy lift. 
 
 Hurl down wi' crashing rattle ; 
 As flames amang a hundred woods ; 
 As headlong foam a hundred floods — 
 
 Such is the rage of battle. 
 
 The stubborn Tories dare to die ; 
 As soon the rooted oaks would fly. 
 
 Before the approaching fellers ; 
 The Whigs come on like Ocean's roar. 
 When all his wintry bUlows pour 
 
 Against the Buchan BuUers. 
 
 Lo, from the shades of Death's deep night, 
 Departed Whigs enjoy the fight. 
 
 And think on former daring I 
 The muffled murtherer of Charles 
 The Magna-Charta flag unfurls, 
 
 All deadly gules its bearing. 
 
 Nor wanting ghosts of Tory fame ; 
 
 Bold Scrimgeour follows gallant Grahame — 
 
 Auld Covenanters shiver — 
 (Forgive, forgive, much-wrong'd Montrose ! 
 WhUe death and hell engulf thy foes. 
 
 Thou liv'st on high for ever 1) 
 
 Still o'er the field the combat bums ; 
 The Tories, Whigs, give way by turns ; 
 
 But Fate the word has spoken — 
 For woman's wit, or strength of man, 
 Alas I can do but what they can — 
 
 The Tory ranks are broken. 
 
SECOND EPISTLE TO IVfR. GRAHAM 185 
 
 Oh that my e'en were flovring burns t 
 My voice a lioness that mourns 
 
 Her darling cub's undoing ! 
 That I might greet, that I might cry, 
 While Tories fall, while Tories fly, 
 
 And furious Whigs pursuing 1 
 
 What Whig but wails the good Sir James ; 
 Dear to his country by the names, 
 
 Friend, Patron, Benefactor 1 
 Not Pulteney's wealth can Pulteney save I 
 And Hopetoun falls, the generous, brave ! 
 
 And Stuart, bold as Hector I 
 
 Thou, Pitt, shall rue this overthrow, 
 And Thurlow growl a curse of woe. 
 
 And Melvflle melt in wailing 1 
 Now Fox and Sheridan, rejoice 1 
 And Burke shall sing : ' O Prince, arise 1 
 
 Thy power is all-prevailing I ' 
 
 For your poor friend, the Bard, afar 
 He hears, and only hears the war, 
 
 A cool spectator purely ; 
 So when the storm the forest rends. 
 The robin in the hedge descends, 
 
 And sober chirps securely. 
 
 Now, for my friends' and brethren's sakes. 
 And for my dear-lov'd Land o' Cakes, 
 
 I pray with holy fire : 
 Lord, send a rough-shod troop o' Hell 
 O'er a' wad Scotland buy or sell. 
 
 To grind them in the mire 1 
 
 THIRD EPISTLE 
 TO MR. GRAHAM OF FINTRY 
 
 Late crippled of an arm, and now a leg, 
 About to beg a pass for leave to beg ; 
 Dull, listless, teased, dejected, and depress'd, 
 (Nature is adverse to a cripple's rest ;) 
 Will generous 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 1 
 
186 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Thou, Nature 1 partial Nature 1 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. 
 
 The envenom'd wasp, victorious, guards his cell. 
 
 Thy minions, kings, defend, control, devour. 
 
 In all the omnipotence of rule and power ; 
 
 Foxes and statesmen, subtUe wiles insure, 
 
 The cit and polecat stink, and are secure. 
 
 Toads, with their poison, doctors with their drug. 
 
 The priest and hedgehog in their robes are snug ; 
 
 Even silly woman has her warlike arts, 
 
 Her tongue and eyes, her dreaded spear and darts. 
 
 But, oh 1 thou bitter stepmother and hard. 
 To thy poor, fenceless, naked child, the Bard I 
 A thing unteachable in world's skill. 
 And half an idiot, too, more helpless stUl ; 
 No heels to bear him from the opening dun ; 
 No claws to dig, his hated sight to shun ; 
 No horns, but tliose by luckless Hymen worn. 
 And those, alas 1 not Amalthea's horn : 
 No nerves olfactory. Mammon's trusty cur. 
 Clad in rich dulness' comfortable fur I^ — 
 In naked feeling, and in aching pride. 
 He bears the unbroken blast from every side : 
 Vampyre booksellers drain him to the heart. 
 And scorpion critics cureless venom dart. 
 
 Critics I — appall'd I venture on the name, 
 Those cut-throat bandits in the paths of fame . 
 Bloody dissectors, worse than ten Monroes 1 * 
 He hacks to teach, they mangle to expose. 
 
 His heart by causeless wanton malice wrung, 
 
 By blockheads' daring into madness stung ; 
 
 His weU-won bays, than life itself more dear. 
 
 By miscreants torn, who ne'er one sprig must wear : 
 
 Foil'd, bleeding, tortured, in the unequal strife. 
 
 The hapless poet flounders on through life ; 
 
 TUl, fled each hope that once his bosom fired. 
 
 And fled each Muse that glorious once inspired, 
 
 Low sunk in squalid, unprotected age. 
 
 Dead even resentment, for his injured page 
 
 He heeds or feels no more the ruthless critic's rage 1 
 
 • ■ Mouroc : ' Alexander, Professor of Anatomy, Edinburgh. 
 
THIRD EPISTLE TO MR. GRAHAM 187 
 
 So, by some hedge, the generous steed deceased, 
 For half-starved snarling curs a dainty least ; 
 By toil and famine worn to skin and bone, 
 Lies senseless of each tugging bitch's son. 
 
 Dulness I portion of the truly blest 1 
 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 fOls the golden cup. 
 
 With sober selfish ease they sip it up : 
 
 Conscious the bounteous meed they well deserve, 
 
 They only wonder, ' some folks ' do not starve. 
 
 The grave, sage hern thus easy picks his frog, 
 
 And thinks the mallard a sad worthless dog. 
 
 "When disappointment snaps the clue of hope. 
 
 And through disastrous night they darkling grope, 
 
 "With deal endurance sluggishly they bear. 
 
 And just conclude that ' fools are fortune's care.' 
 
 So, heavy, passive to the tempest's shocks. 
 
 Strong on the sign-post stands the 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 heaven, or vaulted hell. 
 
 1 dread thee. Fate, relentless and severe, 
 "With all a poet's, husband's, father's fear 1 
 Already one stronghold of hope is lost, 
 Glencaim, the truly noble, lies in dust ; 
 (Fled, like the sun eclipsed as noon appears. 
 And left us darkling in a world of tears ;) 
 
 Oh 1 hear my ardent, grateful, selfish prayer 1 — 
 Fintry, my other stay, long bless and spare 1 
 Through a long life his hopes and wishes crown, 
 And bright in cloudless sides his sun go down 1 
 May bliss domestic smooth his private path. 
 Give energy to life, and soothe his latest breath. 
 With many a filial tear circling the bed of death I 
 
188 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 FOURTH EPISTLE 
 TO MR. GRAHAM OF FINTRY 
 
 I CALL, no goddess to inspire my strains, 
 A fabled Muse may suit a bard that feigns ; 
 Friend of my life I my ardent spirit bums, 
 And all the tribute of my heart returns. 
 For boons accorded, goodness ever new, 
 The gift still dearer, as the giver, 'you. 
 
 Thou orb of day 1 thou other paler light I 
 And all ye many sparkling stars of night I 
 If aught that giver from ray mind efface, 
 If I that giver's bounty e'er disgrace ; 
 Then roll to me, along your wandering spheres, 
 Only to number out a villain's years 1 
 
 LAMENT FOR JAMES, EARL OF GLENCAIRN 
 
 The wind blew hollow frae the hills. 
 
 By fits the sun's departing beam 
 Looic'd on the fading yellow woods 
 
 That waved o'er Lugar's winding stream : 
 Beneath a craigy steep, a Bard, 
 
 Laden with years and meikle pain. 
 In loud lament bewaii'd his lord, 
 
 Whom death had aU untimely ta'en. 
 
 He lean'd him to an ancient aik, 
 
 Whose trunk was mould'ring down with years ; 
 His locks were bleached white with time. 
 
 His hoary cheek was wet wi' tears ; 
 And as he touch'd his trembling harp, 
 
 And as he tuned his doleful sang. 
 The winds lamenting through their caves, 
 
 "To Echo bore the notes alang : 
 
 ' Ye scatter'd birds, that faintly sing, 
 
 The reliques of the vernal quire I 
 Ye woods, that shed on a' the winds 
 
 The honours of the aged year 1 
 A few short months, and glad and gay, 
 
 Again ye '11 charm the ear and e'e ; 
 But nocht in all revolving time 
 
 Can gladness bring again to m^. 
 
LAMENT FOR EARL OF GLENCAIRN 189 
 
 ' I am a bending, aged tree, 
 
 That long has stood the wind and rain ; 
 But now has come a cruel blast, 
 
 And my last hald of earth is gane : 
 Nae leaf o' mine shall greet the spring, 
 
 Nae simmer sun exalt my bloom ; 
 But I maun lie before the storm. 
 
 And ithers plant them in my room. 
 
 ' I 've seen sae mony changefu' years. 
 
 On earth I am a stranger grown ; 
 I wander in the ways of men. 
 
 Alike unknowing and unknown : 
 Unheard, unpitied, unrelieved, 
 
 I bear alane my lade o' care, 
 For silent, low, on beds of dust, 
 
 Lie a' that would ray sorrows share. 
 
 ' And last, (the sum of a' my griefs I) 
 
 My noble master lies in clay ; 
 The flower amang our barons bold. 
 
 His country's pride, his country's stay — 
 In weary being now I pine. 
 
 For a' the life of life is dead ; 
 And hope has left my aged ken, 
 
 On forward wing for ever fled. 
 
 ' Awake thy last sad voice, my harp 1 
 
 The voice of woe and wild despair I 
 Awake ! resound thy latest lay — 
 
 Then sleep in silence evermair 1 
 And thou, my last, best, only friend, 
 
 That fiUest an untimely tomb. 
 Accept this tribute from the Bard 
 
 Thou brought from fortune's mirkest gloom. 
 
 ' In poverty's low barren vale. 
 
 Thick mists, obscure, involved me round ; 
 Though oft I tum'd the wistful eye, 
 
 Nae ray of fame was to be found : 
 Thou fbund'st me, like the morning sun 
 
 That melts the fogs in limpid air, 
 The friendless Bard and rustic song. 
 
 Became alike thy fostering care. 
 
 • Oh ! why has worth so short a date ? 
 While villains ripen gray with time I 
 
190 BURNS' POEMS AND SONUS 
 
 Must thou, the noble, generous, great. 
 Fall in bold manhood's hardy prime 1 
 
 Why did I live to see that day ? 
 A day to me so full of woe I — 
 
 Oh 1 had I met th,e mortal shaft 
 Which laid my benefactor low ! 
 
 ' The bridegroom may forget the bride 
 
 Was made his wedded wife yestreen ; 
 The monarch may forget the crown 
 
 That on his head an hour has been ; 
 The mother may forget the child 
 
 That smiles sae sweetly on her knee ; 
 But I '11 remember thee, Glencaim, 
 
 And a' that thou hast done for me I ' 
 
 LINES 
 SENT TO SIR JOHN WHITEFOORD, BART., 
 
 WITH THE FOBEGOING POEM 
 
 Thou, who thy honour as thy God rever'st, 
 Who, save thy mind's reproach, naught earthly fear'st, 
 To thee tliis votive offering I impart, 
 The tearful tribute of a broken heart. 
 The friend thou valued'st, I the patron loved ; 
 His worth, his honour, all the world approved. 
 We '11 mourn till we, too, go as he has gone, 
 And tread the dreary path to that dark world unkEpwn. 
 
 TAM O' SHANTER 
 
 A TALE 
 
 ' Of brownyis and of bogilis full is this buke.' 
 
 Gawin Douglas 
 
 When chapman billies leave the street, 
 And drouthy neibours, neibours meet. 
 As market-days are wearing late, 
 And folk begin to tak the gate ; 
 While we sit bousing at the nappy. 
 And gettin' fu' and unco happy, 
 
TAM O' SHANTER 191 
 
 We think na on the lang Scots miles, 
 The mosses, waters, slaps, and stiles. 
 That lie between us and our hame, 
 Whare sits our sulky, sullen dame, 
 Gath'ring her brows like gath'ring storm. 
 Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. 
 
 This truth land honest Tam o' Shanter 
 As he frae Ayr ae night did canter, 
 (Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses, 
 For honest men and bonny lasses.) 
 
 O Tam 1 had'st thou but been sae wise. 
 As ta'en thy ain wile Kate's advice 1 
 She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum, 
 A bleth'ring? blustering, drunken bleUum ; 
 That Irae November till October, 
 Ae market day thou was nae sober ; 
 That Uka melder, wi' the miller, 
 Thou sat as lang as thou had siUer ; 
 That every naig was ca'd a shoe on. 
 The smith and thee gat roaring lu' on ; 
 That at the Lord's house, e'en on Sunday, 
 Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean * till Monday. 
 She prophesied, that late or soon. 
 Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doon , 
 Or catch'd wi' warlocks in the mirk. 
 By Alloway's auld haunted kirk. 
 
 Ah, gentle dames I it gars me greet. 
 To think how mony counsels sweet, 
 How mony lengthen'd sage advices, 
 The husband Irae the wile despises 1 
 
 But to our tale : — Ae market night, 
 Tam had got planted, unco right ; 
 Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, 
 Wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely ; 
 And at his elbow, Souter Johnny, 
 His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony ; 
 Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither — 
 They had been lu' lor weeks thegither 1 
 The night drave on wi' sangs an' clatter. 
 And aye the ale was growing better : 
 The landlady and Tam grew gracious ; 
 Wi' lavours, secret, sweet, and precious : 
 
 • ' Kirkton Jean : ' Jean Kennedy, an alehouse-keeper in Kirkoswald. 
 
192 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 The Souter tauld his queerest stories ; 
 The landlord's laugh was ready chorus : 
 The storm without might rair and rustle — 
 Tarn did na mind the storm a whistle. 
 
 Care, mad to see a man Sae happy, 
 E'en drown'd himself amang the nappy I 
 As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure. 
 The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure : 
 Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious, 
 O'er a' the ills o' life victorious 1 
 
 But pleasures are like poppies spread. 
 You seize the flower, its bloom is shed 1 
 Or like the snow-fall in the river, 
 A moment white — ^then melts for ever ; 
 Or like the borealis race. 
 That flit ere you can point their place ; 
 Or like the rainbow's lovely form 
 Evanishing amid the storm. 
 Nae man can tether time or tide ; 
 The hour approaches Tam maun ride ; 
 That hour, o' nights black arch the keystane. 
 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 rattlin' showers rose on the blast : 
 The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd ; 
 Loud, deep, and lang, the thunder bellow'd : 
 That night a child might understand, 
 The Deil had business on his hand. 
 
 WecJ mounted on his gray mare, Meg — 
 A better never lifted leg- 
 Tarn skelpit on through dub and mire. 
 Despising wind, and rain, and flre ; 
 Whiles holding fast his guid blue bonnet ; 
 Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet ; 
 Whiles glowering round, wi' prudent cares. 
 Lest bogles catch .him unawares ; 
 Kirk-AUoway 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 ; 
 
' TAM O' SHANTER 193 
 
 And past the birks and meikle stane, 
 Whare drucken Charlie brak 's neck-bane ; 
 And through the whins, and by the cairn, 
 Whare hunters f and the murder'd bairn ; 
 And near the thorn, aboon the well, 
 Whare Mungo's mither hang'd herself 
 Before him Doon pours all his floods ; 
 The doubling storm roars through the woods ; 
 The lightnings flash from pole to pole ; 
 Near and more near the thunders roll ; 
 When, glimmering through the groaning trees, 
 Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze ; 
 Through ilka bore the beams were glancing ; 
 And loud resounded mirth and dancing. 
 
 Inspiring bold John Barleycorn 1 
 What dangers thou canst make us scorn 1 
 Wi' tippenny, we fear nae evil ; 
 Wi' usquabae we '11 face the devil I— 
 The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle. 
 Fair play, he cared na deils a bodle. 
 But Maggie stood right sair astonish'd. 
 Till, by the heel and hand admonish'd. 
 She ventured forward on the light ; 
 And, wow I Tam saw an unco sight 1 
 Warlocks and witches in a dance ; 
 Nae cotillon brent new frae France, 
 But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels. 
 Put life and metal in their heels. 
 A winnock-bunker in the east. 
 There sat Auld Nick, in shape o' beast ; 
 A towsie tyke, black, grim, and large. 
 To gie them music was his charge ; 
 He screw'd the pipes and gart them skirl, 
 Till roof and rafters a' did dirl. 
 Coffins stood round, like open presses, 
 That shawed the dead in their last dresses ; 
 And by some dev'lish cantrip slight. 
 Each in its cauld hand held a light, — 
 By which heroic Tam was able 
 To note upon the haly table, 
 A murderer's banes in gibbet aims ; 
 Twa span-lang, wee unchristen'd bairns ; 
 A thief new cutted frae a rape, 
 Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape-: 
 Five tomahawk^, wi' bluid red-rusted ; 
 Five scimitars, wi' murder Cf usted ; 
 •46—0 
 
194 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS * 
 
 A garter, which a babe had strangled ; 
 A knife, a father's throat had mangled. 
 Whom his ain son o' life bereft. 
 The gray hairs yet stack to the heft : 
 Wi' mair o' horrible and awtu'. 
 Which e'en to name wad be unlawfu'. 
 
 As Tammie glowr'd, amaz'd and curious. 
 The mirth an' fun grew fast and furious : 
 The piper loud and louder blew ; 
 The dancers quick and quicker flew ; 
 They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they cleekit, 
 TiU Uka carline swat and reekit. 
 And coost her duddies to the wark 
 And linkit at it in her sark I 
 
 Now Tam, O Tam I had thej' been queans , 
 A' plump and strapping, in their teens ; 
 Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen, 
 Been snaw-white seventeen-hunder linen : 
 Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair. 
 That ance were plush, o' guid blue hair, 
 I wad hae gi'en them oft my hurdles. 
 For ae bUnk o' the bonnie burdies I 
 
 But wither'd beldams, auld and droU, 
 Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal, 
 Lowping and flinging on a crummock, 
 I wonder didna turn thy stomach. 
 
 But Tam kenn'd what was what fu' brawlie ; 
 There was ae winsome wench and walie. 
 That night inlisted in the core, 
 (Lang after kenn'd on Carrick shore : 
 For mony a beast to dead she shot, 
 And perish'd mony a bonnie boat. 
 And shook baith meikle corn and bear. 
 And kept the countryside in fear) 
 Her cutty sark, o' Paisley harn. 
 That while a lassie she had worn. 
 In longitude though sorely scanty. 
 It was her best, and she was vauntie,- 
 
 Ah I little kenn'd thy rev'rend grannie. 
 That sark she coft for her wee Nannie, 
 Wi' twa pund Scots ('twas a' her riches). 
 Wad ever graced a dance of witches J 
 
TAM O' SHANTER 195 
 
 But here my Muse her wing maun cour ; 
 Sic flights are far beyond her power 1 
 To sing how Nannie lap and flang, 
 (A souple jaud she was and Strang) 
 And how Tam stood like ane bewitch'd, 
 And thought Ms very e'en enrich'd ; 
 Even Satan glowred, and fldged fu' fain, 
 And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main ; 
 Till first ae caper, syne anither, 
 Tam tint, his reason a' thegither. 
 And roars out, ' Weel done, Cutty-sark 1 ' 
 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. 
 
 When plund'ring herds assail their byke ; 
 
 As open pussie's mortal foes, 
 
 When, pop ! she starts before their nose ; 
 
 As eager runs the market-crowd, 
 
 When ' Catch the thief 1 ' resounds aloud ; 
 
 So Maggie runs, the witches follow, 
 
 Wi' mony an eldritch skreech and hoUbw. 
 
 Ah, Tam I ah, Tam ! thou '11 get thy fairin' 1 
 In hell they '11 roast thee like a herrin' 1 
 In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin' 1 
 Kate soon wUl be a woefu' woman 1 
 Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, 
 And win the keystane * o' the brig ; 
 There at them thou thy taU may toss, 
 A running stream they dare na cross 1 
 But ere the keystane she could make. 
 The flent a taU she had to shake 1 
 For Nannie, far before the rest. 
 Hard upon noble Maggie press' d, 
 And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle ; 
 But little wist she Maggie's mettle — 
 Ae spring brought off her master hale. 
 But left behind her ain gray tail : 
 The carline claught her by the rump. 
 And left poor Maggie scarce a stump. 
 
 • ' Keystane : ' it is a well-known fact, that witches, or any evil spirits, 
 have no power to follow a poor wight any farther than the middle of the 
 next running stream. It may be proper likewise to mention to the be- 
 nighted traveller, that when he falls in with bogles, whatever danger may 
 be in his going forward, there is much more hazard in turning back. — B. 
 
1^96 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Now, wha this tale o' truth shall reari. 
 Ilk man and mother's son, take heed : 
 Whene'er to drink you are inclined, 
 Or cutty-sarks run in your mind, 
 Think, ye may buy the joys owre dear — 
 Remember Tam o' Shanter's mare. 
 
 ON SEEING A WOUNDED HARE LIMP BY ME 
 
 WHICH A FELLOW HAD JUST SHOT AT 
 
 Inhdman man I curse on thy barbarous art, 
 
 And blasted be thy murder-aiming eye : 
 
 May never pity soothe thee with a sigh,- 
 Nor ever pleasure glad thy cruel heart I 
 
 'Go, live, poor wanderer of the wood and field ! 
 The bitter little that of life remains : 
 No more the thick'ning brakes and verdant plains 
 To thee shall home, or food, or pastime yield. 
 
 Seek, mangled wretch ! some place of wonted rest. 
 No mor,e of rest,' but now thy dying bed 1 
 The shelt'ring rushes whistling o'er thy head, 
 
 The cold earth with thy bloody bosom press'd. 
 
 Oft as by winding Nith, I,' musing, wait 
 The sober eve, or hail the cheerful dawn, 
 I 'U miss thee sporting o'er the dewy lawn, 
 
 And curse the rufiian's aim, and mourn thy hapless fate. 
 
 ADDRESS TO THE SHADE OF THOMSON 
 
 ON CROWNING HIS BUST * AT EDNAM, ROXBURGHSHIRE,- 
 WITH BAYS 
 
 While virgin Spring, by Eden's flood, 
 
 Unfolds her tender mantle green. 
 Or pranks the sod in frolic mood. 
 
 Or tunes ^Eolian strains between : 
 
 • ' Crowning his bust : ' this was in iSeptember 1790, under the auspice* 
 of the Earl ol Buchan. 
 
ADDRESS TO THE SHADE OF THOMSON 197 
 
 "While Summer with a matron grace 
 Retreats to Dryburgh's cooling shade, 
 
 Yet oft, delighted, stop? to trace 
 The progress of the spiky blade : « 
 
 While Autumn, b ejief actor Tripd, 
 
 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 : 
 
 So long, sweet Poet of the year 1 
 
 Shall bloom that wreath thou well hast won : 
 WhUe Scotia, with exulting tear, 
 
 Proclaims that Thomson was her son. 
 
 EPITAPHS 
 
 ON A CELEBRATED RULING ELDER 
 
 Here souter Hood in death does sleep — 
 
 To hell, if he 's gane thither, 
 Satan, gie him thy gear, to keep, 
 
 He 'U baud it weel thegither. 
 
 •--I 
 
 ON A NOISY POLEMIC 
 
 ' ' '.nij ' '' ' ' 
 
 Below thjr stanes lie Jamie's * banes : 
 
 O Death, it 's my opinion. 
 Thou ne'er took such a bleth'rin' bitcli 
 
 Into thy dark dominion 1 
 
 ON WEE JOHNNY f 
 
 • Hie facet wee Johnnie.' 
 
 Whoe'er thou art, O reader 1 know. 
 That death has mur^er'd Johnnie 1 
 
 And here his body lies, fu' low — 
 For soul h& ne'er had ony. 
 
 • ' Jamie : ' Humphrey, a west comitry mason, fond of controversy, 
 t ' Wee Johnny : ' Wilson, the printer of Burns' Kilmarnock edition. 
 
198 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 FOR THE ATJTHOR S FATHER 
 
 O YE whose cheek the tear of pity Stains, 
 
 Draw near with pious reverence and attend I 
 
 Here lie the loving husband's dear remains. 
 The tender father, and the generous friend. 
 
 The pitying heart that felt for human woe ; 
 
 The dauntless heart that f ear'd no human pride ; 
 The friend of man, to vice alone a foe ; 
 
 ' For e'en his failings lean'd to virtue's side.' 
 
 FOR ROBERT AIKEN, ESQ. 
 
 Know thou, O stranger to the fame 
 Of this much loved, much honour'd name 
 (For none 'that knew him need be told) 
 A warmer heart death ne'er made cold. 
 
 FOR GAVIN HAMILTON, ESQ. 
 
 The poor man weeps — ^here Gavin sleeps. 
 Whom canting wretches blamed ; 
 
 But with such as he — where'er he be. 
 May I be saved or damn'd I 
 
 A bard's epitaph 
 
 Is there a whim-inspirSd fool, 
 
 Owre fast for thought, owre hot tor rule, 
 
 Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool^ 
 
 Let him draw near ; 
 And owre this grassy heap sing dool. 
 
 And drap a tear. 
 
 Is there a bard of rustic song, 
 
 "Who, noteless, steals the crowds among. 
 
 That weekly this area throng. 
 
 Oh, pass not by I 
 But, with a frater-f eeUng strong. 
 
 Here heave a sigh. 
 
 Is there a man, whose judgment clear, 
 Can others teach the course to steer. 
 Yet runs, himsfell, life's mad career. 
 
 Wild as the wave ; 
 
 • • Virtue's side : ' Goldsmith's '.Deserted Village.' 
 
EPITAPHS 199 
 
 Here pause — and, through the starting tear, 
 Survey this grave. 
 
 The poor inhabitant below 
 
 Was quick to learn, and wise to know, 
 
 And keenly felt the friendly glow, 
 
 And softer flame ; 
 But thoughtless follies laid him low, 
 
 And stain'd his name ! 
 
 Reader, attend — ^whether thy soul 
 Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole, 
 Or darkling grubs this earthly hole. 
 
 In low pursuit ; 
 Know, prudent, cautious, self-control. 
 
 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 Groat's ; 
 If there 's a hole in a' your coats, 
 
 I rede you tent ;it : 
 A chiel 's amang you taking notes. 
 
 And, faith 1 he '11 prent it. 
 
 If in your bounds ye chance to light 
 
 Upon a fine, fat, fodgel wight, 
 
 O' stature short, but genius bright, 
 
 That 's he, mark weel — 
 And wow 1 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 '11 find him snug in 
 
 Some eldritch part, 
 Wi' deils, they say. Lord save 's 1 colleaguin' 
 
 At some black art. 
 
 * ' Captain Grose : ' a fat and tunny Englishman, author of many works 
 on Antiquities, in one of which ' Tarn o' Shanter ' first appeared. 
 
200 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Hk ghaist that haunts auld ha' or chaumer, 
 
 Ye gipsy-gang that deal in glamour, 
 
 And you deep-read m hell's black grammar, 
 
 Warlocks and witches'; 
 Ye 'U quake at his conjuring hammer, 
 
 Ye midnight bitches. 
 
 It 's tauld he was a sodger bred, 
 And ane wad rather f a'n than fled ; 
 But now he 's quat the spurtle blade. 
 
 And dog-skin waUet 
 And ta'en the — Antiquarian trade, 
 
 I think they call it. 
 
 He has a fouth o' auld nick-nackets : 
 Rusty airn caps and jinglin' jackets, 
 Wad haud the Lothians three in tackets, 
 
 A towmont 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 ; 
 A broom-stick o' the witch o' Endor, 
 
 Weel shod wl' brass. 
 
 Forbye, he '11 shape you aff, fu' gleg, 
 The cut of Adam's philabeg ; 
 The knife that nicket Abel's craig. 
 
 He 'U prove you fuUy, 
 It was a faulding jokteleg. 
 
 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 port, O port 1 shine thou a wee. 
 
 And then ye '11 see him I 
 
 Now, by the powers o' verse and prose. 
 Thou art a^ dainty chiel, O Grose 1 , 
 Whae'er o' thee shall iU suppose, ' 
 
 They sairmisca' thee ; 
 I 'd take the rascal by the nose. 
 
 Wad say, Shame fa' thee I 
 
TO MISS CRUICKSHANKS 201 
 
 TO MISS CRUICKSHANKS * 
 
 A VERY YOUNG LADY 
 
 WEITTEN ON THE BLANK LEAF OF A BOOK PRESENTED TO ^ 
 HER BY THE AUTHOR 
 
 Beauteous rose-bud, young and gay 
 Blooming in thy early May, 
 Never may'st thou, lovely flower, 
 Chilly shrink in sleety shower 1 
 Never Boreas' hoary path, 
 Never Eurus' poisonous breath. 
 Never baleful stellar lights, 
 Taint thee with untimely blights I 
 Never, never reptile thief 
 Riot on thy virgin leaf I 
 Nor even Sol too fiercely view 
 Thy bosom blushing still with dew 1 
 
 Mayst thou long, sweet crimson gem. 
 Richly deck thy native stem ; 
 Till some evening, sober, calm. 
 Dropping dews, and breathing balm. 
 While all around the woodland rings. 
 And every bird thy requiem sings ; 
 Thou, amid the dirgeful sound, 
 Shed thy dying honours round. 
 And resign to parent earth 
 The loveliest form she e'er gave birth. 
 
 SONG 
 
 Anna, thy charms my bosom fire. 
 
 And waste my soul with care ; 
 But ah 1 how bootless to admire. 
 
 When fated to despair 1 
 
 Yet in thy presence, lovely fair I 
 
 To hope may be forgiven ; 
 For sure 'twere impious to despair, 
 
 So much in sight of heaven. 
 
 • ' Miss Cruickshanks : ' daughter oJ William Cruickshanks, a teacher In 
 The High School, Edinburgh 
 
202 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 ON READING* IN A NEWSPAPER, 
 
 THE DEATH OF JOHN M'LEOD,* Esq. 
 
 BROTHER TO A YOUNG LADY, A PARTICULAR FRIEND 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 deck'd with pearly dew 
 
 The morning rose may blow ; 
 But cold successive noontide blasts 
 
 May lay its beauties low. 
 
 Fair on Isabella's morn 
 
 The sun propitious smiled ; 
 But, long ere noon, succeeding clouds 
 
 Succeeding hopes beguiled. 
 
 Fate oft tears the bosom chords 
 
 That nature finest strung : 
 So Isabella's heart was form'd. 
 
 And so that heart was wrung. 
 
 "Were it in the poet's power. 
 
 Strong as he shares the grief 
 That pierces Isabella's heart. 
 
 To give that heart relief I 
 
 Dread Omn,ipotence, alone, 
 
 Can heal the wound he gave ; 
 Can point the brimful grief-worn eyes 
 
 To scenes l)eyond the grave. 
 
 Virtue's blossoms there shall blow. 
 
 And fear no withering blast ; 
 There Isabella's spotless worth 
 
 Shall happy be at last.' 
 
 • * M'Leod : ' ol Raasay. His sister Isabella- was a favourite ol Burns, 
 who composed on her his song, ' Raving winds around her blowing.' 
 
THE PETITION OF BRUAR WATER 203 
 THE HUMBLE PETITION • OF BRUAR WATER * 
 
 TO THE NOBLE DUKE OF ATHOLE 
 
 My Lord, I know your noble ear 
 
 Woe ne'er assails in vain : 
 Embolden'd thus, I beg you 'H hear 
 
 Your humble slave complain, 
 -How saucy Phoebus' scorching beams. 
 
 In flaming summer-pride. 
 Dry-withering, waste my foamy streams, 
 
 And drink my crystal tide. 
 
 The lightly-jumping glowrin' trouts 
 
 That through my waters play. 
 If, in their random, wanton §pouts. 
 
 They near the margin stray ; 
 If, hapless chance I 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 Bums came by. 
 That to a bard I should be seen 
 
 Wi' half my channel dry : 
 A panegyric rhyme, I ween. 
 
 E'en as I was he shored me ; 
 But had I in my glpry been. 
 
 He, kneeling, wAd adored me. 
 
 Here, foaming down the shelvy rocks. 
 
 In twisting strength I rin ; 
 There, high my boiling torrent smokes, 
 
 WUd-roaring o'er a Unn : 
 Enjoying large each spring and well 
 
 As Nature gave them me, 
 I am, although I say't mysel', 
 
 Worth gaun a mile to see. 
 
 Would, then, my noble master please 
 
 To grant my highest wishes. 
 He '11 shade my banks \v^i' towering trees, 
 
 And bonnie spreading bushes ; 
 
 • ' Bruar Water : ' Bruar Falls, in Alhple, are exceedingly picturesque 
 and beautiful ; but their eftect is much impaired by the want of trees and 
 shrubs. — B. This defect has long ago been supplied. 
 
204 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Delighted doubly then, my lord, 
 You '11, wander on my banks. 
 
 And listen mony a grateful bird 
 Return you tuneful thanks. 
 
 The sober laverock, warbling wild. 
 
 Shall to the skies aspire ; 
 The gowdspink, music's gayest child. 
 
 Shall sweetly join the choir : , 
 The blackbird strong, the lintwhite dear. 
 
 The mavis mild and mellow ; 
 The robin pensive autumn cheer. 
 
 In all her locks of yeUow : 
 
 This too, a covert shall insure. 
 
 To shield them from the storm ; 
 And coward maukin sleep secure. 
 
 Low in her grassy form : 
 Here shall the shepherd make his seat. 
 
 To weave his crown of flowers ; 
 Or find a sheltering safe retreat. 
 
 From prone descending showers. 
 
 And here, by sweet endearing stealth. 
 
 Shall meet the loving pair. 
 Despising worlds, with ^ their wealth, 
 
 As empty idle care : 
 The flowers shall vie in all their charms 
 
 The hour of heaven to grace. 
 And birks extend their fragrant arms. 
 
 To screen the dear embrace. 
 
 Here haply too, at vernal dawn. 
 
 Some rriusing bard may stray, 
 And eye the smoldng, dewy lawn. 
 
 And misty mountain, gray ; 
 Or, by the reaper's nightly beam. 
 
 Mild-chequering through the trees. 
 Rave to my darkly dashing stream, 
 
 Hoarse-swelling on the breeze. 
 
 Let lofty flrs, and ashes cool. 
 
 My lowly banks o'erspread. 
 And view, deep-bending in the pool. 
 
 Their shadows' watery bed 1 
 Let fragrant birks in woodbines dress'd 
 
 My craggy cliffs adorn ; 
 And, for the little songster's nest. 
 
 The close embowering thorn. 
 
THE PETITION OF BRUAR WATER 205 
 
 So may old S(Sotia's darling hope, 
 
 Your little angel band, 
 Spring, like their fathers, up to prop 
 
 Their honour'd native land 1 
 So may through Albion's farthest kenj 
 
 To social-flowing glasses, 
 The grace be — ' Athole's honest men. 
 
 And Athole's bonnie lasses I ' 
 
 ON SCARING SOME WATERFOWL IN 
 LOGH-TURIT 
 
 A WILD SCENE AMONG THE HILLS OF OCHTERTYRE • 
 
 Why, ye tenants of the lake. 
 For me your watery. haunt forsake? 
 TeU me, fellow-creatures, why 
 At my presence thus you lly ? 
 Why disturb your social joys. 
 Parent, filial, kindred ties ? 
 Common friend to you and me. 
 Nature's gifts to aU are free : 
 Peaceful keep your dimpling wave, 
 Busy feed, or wanton lave : 
 Or, beneath the sheltering rock, 
 Bide the surging billow's shock. 
 
 Conscious, blushing for our race, 
 Soon, too soon, your fears I trace. 
 Man, your proud usurping foe, 
 Would be lord of all below : 
 Plumes himself in Freedom's pride, 
 Tyrant stern to all beside. 
 
 The eagle, from the cliffy brow. 
 Marking you his prey below, 
 In his breast no pity dwells, 
 Strong necessity compels : 
 But man, to whom alone is given 
 A ray direct from pitying Heaven, 
 Glories in his heart humane — 
 And creatures for his pleasure slain. 
 
 • ' Ochtertyre : ' near Crieff, Perthshire, a place of exquisite beauty, as 
 Loch-Turit is of wild and savage grandeur. 
 
206 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 In these savage, liquid plains. 
 Only known to wandering swains, 
 Where the mossy riv'let strays. 
 Far from' human haunts and ways, 
 All on Nature you depend, 
 And life's poor season peaceful spend. 
 
 Or, if man's superior might. 
 Dare invade your native right. 
 On the lofty ether borne, 
 Man with all his powers you scorn ; 
 Swiftly seek, on clanging wings. 
 Other lakes and other springs ; 
 And the foe you cannot brave. 
 Scorn at least to be his slave. 
 
 WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL 
 
 OVER THE CHIMNEY-PIECE IN THE PARLOUR OF THE INN 
 AT KENMORE, TAYMOUTH 
 
 Admiring Nature in her wildest grace, 
 
 These northern scenes with weary feet I trace ; 
 
 O'er many a winding dale and painful steep, 
 
 The abodes of covled grouse and timid sheep. 
 
 My savage journey, curious, I pursue. 
 
 Till famed Breadalbane opens to my view. 
 
 The meeting cliffs each deep-sunk glen divides, ' 
 
 The woods, wUd-scatter'd, clothe their ample sides'; 
 
 The outstretching lake, embosom'd 'mong the hiUs, 
 
 The eye with wonder and amazement fiUs ; 
 
 The Tay meandering sweet in infant pride, 
 
 The palace rising on its verdant side ; 
 
 The lawns wood-fringed in Nature's native taste ; 
 
 The hillocks dropt in Nature's careless, haste ; 
 
 The arches striding o'er tlnie new-born stream ; 
 
 The village, glittering in the noontide beam — 
 
 Poetic ardours in my bosom swell. 
 
 Lone wandering by the hermit's mossy ceU : 
 
 The sweeping theatre of hanging woods ; 
 
 The incessant roar of headlong tumbling floods — 
 
 ■ ••••• 
 
 Here Poesy might wake her heaven-taught lyre, 
 And look through nature with creative Are ; 
 
LINES ON THE FALL OF FYERS 207 
 
 Here, to the 'wrongs of Fate half reconciled, 
 
 Misfortune's lighten'd steps might wander mid ; 
 
 And Disappointment, in these lonely bounds. 
 
 Find balm to soothe her bitter rankling woui^ds ; 
 
 Here heart-struck Grief might heavenward -stretch her scan, 
 
 And injured Worth forget and pardon man. 
 
 ■WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL 
 
 STANDING BY THE FALL OF FYERS,* NEAR LOCH-NESS 
 
 Among the heathy hills and ragged woods 
 
 The roaring Fyers pours his mossy floods ; 
 
 Till fuU he dashes on the rocky mounds. 
 
 Where, through a shapeless breach, his stream resounds. 
 
 As high in air the bursting torrents flow. 
 
 As deep recoiling surges foam below ; 
 
 Prone down the rock the whitening sheet descends. 
 
 And viewless Echo's ear, astonish'd, rends. 
 
 Dim-seen, through rising mists, and ceaseless showers. 
 
 The hoary cavern, wide-surrounding, lowers. 
 
 Still through the gap the struggling river toils. 
 
 And still below, the horrid cauldron boils — 
 
 ON THE BIRTH OF A POSTHUMOUS CHILD, t 
 
 BORN IN PECULIAR CIRCUMSTANCES OF FAMILY DISTRESS 
 
 Sweet flow'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 1 the sheltering tree. 
 
 Should shield thee frae the storm. 
 
 • • Fyers : ' more frequently now printed Foyers. 
 
 t ' Posthumous child : ' grand-child of Mrs. Dunlop, whose daughter had 
 married M. Henri, a Frenchman. This son, after many vicissitudes, 
 lucceeded to bis paternal estates. The father had died ere the birth. 
 
208 "BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 May He who gives the rain to pour. 
 And wings the blast to blaw. 
 
 Protect thee frae the driving shower, 
 The bitter frost and snaw 1 
 
 May He, the friend of woe and want. 
 Who heals life's various stounds, 
 
 Protect and guard the mother-plant. 
 And heal her cruel wounds 1 
 
 But late she flourish'd, rooted fast. 
 Fair on the summer morn : 
 
 Now feebly bends she in the blast, 
 Unshelter'd and forlorn : 
 
 Blest be thy bloom, thou lovely gem 
 Unscathed by rufTian hand 1 
 
 And from thee many a parent stem 
 Arise to deck our land I 
 
 THE WHISTLE 
 
 A BALLAD 
 
 AS the authentic prose history ol the whistle is curious, I shall here 
 give it. In tlie 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, everybody 
 else being disabled by the potency of the bottle, was to carry 
 off the whistle as a trophy of victory. The Dane produced 
 credentials of his victories, without a single defeat, at the 
 courts of Copenhagen, Stoclcholm, Moscow, Warsaw, and 
 several of the petty courts in Germany ; and challenged the- 
 Scots bacchanalians to the alternative of trying his prowess, 
 or else of acknowledging their inferiority. After many over- 
 throws on the part of the Scots, the Dane was encountered by 
 Sir Robert Lawrie of Maxwelton, ancestor of the present 
 worthy baronet ol that name : who, alter three days and three 
 aights' hard contest, left the Scandinavian under the table, 
 
 • And blew on the whistle his requiem shrill.' 
 
 Sir Walter, son to Sir Robert before-mentioned, afterwards lost the 
 whistle to Walter Riddel of Glenriddel, who had married a 
 sister of Sir Walter's. On Friday, the 16th of October 1790, 
 at Friars-Carse, the whistle was once more contended for, as 
 related in the ballad, by the present Sir Robert Lawrie of 
 
THE WHISTLE 209 
 
 Maxwelton ; Robert Riddel, Esq. ol Glenriddel, lineal de- 
 scendant and representative ol Walter Riddel, who won the 
 whistle, and in whose family it had continued ; and Alexander 
 Ferguson, Esq. of Craigdarroch, likewise descended of the 
 great Sir Robert ; which last gentleman carried oil the hard- 
 won honours of the field. — B. 
 
 I SING of a whistle,* a whistle of worth, 
 
 I sing of a whistle, the pride of the North, 
 
 Was brought to the court of our good Scottish king, 
 
 And long with this whistle all Scotland shall ring. 
 
 Old Loda, t 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 heU, Sir, or ne'er see me more 1 ' 
 
 Old poets have sung, and old chronicles tell, 
 What champions ventured, what champions fell ; 
 The son of great Loda was conqueror stUl, 
 And blew on the whistle his requiem shrill. 
 
 Till Robert, the lord of the Cairn and the Skarr,J 
 Unmatch'd at the bottle, unconquer'd in war, 
 He drank his poor godship as deep as the sea — 
 No tide of the Baltic e'er drunker than he. 
 
 Thus Robert, victorious, the trophy has gain'd. 
 Which now in his house has for ages remain'd ; 
 TiU three noble chieftains, and all of his blood. 
 The jovial contest again have renew' d. 
 
 Three joyous good fellows, with hearts clear of flaw : 
 Craigdarroch, so famous for wit, worth, and law ; 
 And trusty Glenriddel, so skill'd in old coins ; 
 And gallant Sir Robert, deep read in old wines. 
 
 Craigdarroch began, with a tongue smooth as oil. 
 Desiring Glenriddel to yield up the spoil ; 
 Or else he would muster the heads of the clan. 
 And once more, in claret, try which was the man. 
 
 ' By the gods of the ancients,' Glenriddel replies, 
 'Before I surrender so glorious a prize, 
 
 • • Whistle : ' Bumc was present at this bacchanalian eucouuter, and 
 wrote the poem in the room. 
 
 t ' Old Loda : ' See Ossian's Caric-thura. — B. 
 t ' Cairn and Skarr : ' tributaries to the Nith. 
 
210 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 I '11 conjure the ghost of the great Rorie More,* 
 And bumper his horn with him twenty times o'er.' 
 
 Sir Rpfiert, a soldier, no speech would pretend, 
 But he ne'er tum'd his back on his ioe, 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, aod taste of a sweet lovely dame. 
 
 A Bard was elected to witness the fray. 
 And teU future ages the feats of the day ; 
 A Bard who detested aU sadness and spleen. 
 And wish'd that Parnassus a vineyard had been. 
 
 The dinner being over, the claret they ply. 
 
 And every new cork is a new spring of joy ; 
 
 In the bands of old friendship and kindred so set. 
 
 And the bands grew the tighter the more they were wet. 
 
 Gay pleasure ran riot as bumpers ran o'er ; 
 Bright Phoebus ne'er witness'd so joyous a core, 
 And vow'd that to leave them he was quite forlorn, 
 Till Cynthia hinted he 'd see them next mom. 
 
 Six bottles a-piece had well wore out the night. 
 When gallant Sir Robert, to finish the fight, 
 Tum'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 1 
 He left the foul business to folks less divine. 
 
 The gallant Sir Robert fought hard to the end ; 
 But who can with fate and quart bumpers contend ? 
 Though Fate said — a hero should perish in light ; 
 So uprose bright Phoebus — and down fell the knight. 
 
 Next uprose our Bard, like a prophet in drink : — 
 ' Craigdarroch, thou 'It soar when creation shall sink I 
 But if thou would flourish immortal in rhyme. 
 Come — one bottle more — and have at the sublime I 
 
 • ' Rorie More : ' See Johnson's ' Tour to the Hebrides." — B. 
 
. THE WHISTLE 211 
 
 ' Thy line, that have struggled for freedom with Bruce, 
 Shall heroes and patriots ever produce ; 
 So thine be the laurel, and mine be the bay ; . '• 
 The field thou hast won, by yon bright god of day 1 ' 
 
 SECOND EPISTLE TO DAVIE 
 
 A BROTHER POET* 
 
 AuLD Neibour, 
 
 I 'm three times doubly owxe your debtor, 
 For your auld-f arrant, frien'ly letter ; 
 Though I maun say 't, I doubt you flatter. 
 
 Ye speak sae lair. 
 For my puir, silly, rhymin' clatter 
 
 Some less maun sair. 
 
 Hale be your heart, hale be your fiddle ; 
 Lang may yourelbuck jink an' diddle. 
 To cheer you through the weary widdle 
 
 O' war'ly cares. 
 Till bairns' bairns kindly cuddle 
 
 Your auld gray hairs. 
 
 But, Davie lad, I 'm red ye 're glaikit ; 
 I 'm tauld the Muse ye hae negleckit ; 
 And gif it '» sae, ye sud be licket 
 
 Until ye fyke ; 
 Sic hauns as you sud ne'er be faiket. 
 
 Be hain't wha like. 
 
 For me, I 'm on Parnassus' brink, 
 
 Rivin' the words to gar them clink ; 
 
 Whyles daez't wi' love, whyles daez't wi' drink, 
 
 Wi' jauds or masons ; 
 And whyles, but aye owre late, I think 
 
 Braw sober lessons. 
 
 Of a' the thoughtless sons o' man, 
 Commen' me to the bardie clan ; 
 Except it be some idle plan 
 
 O' rhymin' clink, 
 The devil-hae't, that I sud ban, 
 
 . "They ever think; 
 
 • • Brother poet : ' this was prefixed to the poems ol David Sillar, 
 published at Kihuarnock, 1789. 
 
212 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Nae thought, nae View, nae scheme o' livin', 
 Nae cares to gie us joy or grievin' : 
 But just the pouchie put the nieve in. 
 
 And while aught 's there, 
 Then, hiltie skiltie, we gae scrievin' 
 
 And fash nae mair. 
 
 Leeze me on rhyme I it 's aye & treasure. 
 My chief, amaist my only pleasure. 
 At hame, a-fiel', at wark, or leisure. 
 
 The Muse, poor hizzie I 
 Though rough an' raploch be her measure 
 
 She 's seldom lazy. 
 
 Haud to the Muse, my dainty Davie : 
 The warl' may play you mony a shavie ; 
 But for the Muse, she 'U never leave ye. 
 
 Though e'er sae puir, 
 Na, even though limpin' wi' the spavie 
 
 Frae door to door. 
 
 THE LEA-RIG 
 Tune — ' The Lea-rig ' 
 
 When o'er the hill the eastern star. 
 
 Tells bugh tin- time is near, my jo ; 
 And owsen frae the furrow'd field 
 
 Return sae dowf and weary O 1 
 Down by the burn where scented birks 
 
 Wi' dew are hanging clear, my jo, 
 I 'II meet thee on the lea-rig. 
 
 My ain kind dearie O 1 
 
 In mirkest glen, at midnight hour, 
 
 I 'd rove and ne'er be eerie O 1 
 If through that glen I gaed to thee, 
 
 My ain kind dearie O I 
 Although the night were ne'er sae wild, 
 
 And I were ne'er sae weary O 1 
 I 'd meet thee on the lea-rig, 
 
 My ain kind dearie O 1 
 
THE LEA-RIG 213 
 
 The hunter lo'es the morning sun. 
 
 To rouse the mountain deer, my jo ; 
 At noon the fisher seeks the glen. 
 
 Along the burn to steer, my jo ; 
 Gie me the hour o' gloamin' gray, 
 
 It males my heart sae cheerie O 1 
 To meet thee on the lea-rig, 
 
 My ain kind dearie O I 
 
 SONG 
 Tune — ' Ewe-bughts ' 
 
 Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, 
 
 And leave auld Scotia's shore ? 
 Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, 
 
 Across the Atlantic's roar ? 
 
 Oh I sweet grow the lime and the orange, 
 
 And the apple on the pine ; 
 But a' the charms o' the Indies 
 
 Can never equ^ thine. 
 
 I hae sworn by the Heavens to my Mary, 
 I hae sworn by the Heavens to be true ; 
 
 And sae may the Heavens forget nle. 
 When I forget my vow 1 
 
 Oh ! plight me your faith, my Mary, 
 And plight me your lily-white hand ; 
 
 Oh plight me "your faith, my Mary, 
 Before I leave Scotia's strand. 
 
 We hae plighted our troth, my Mary, 
 
 In mutual affection to join ; 
 And cursed be the cause that shall part us I 
 
 The hour and the moment o' time 1 
 
 MY WIFE'S A WINSOME WEE THING 
 
 She is a winsome wee thing, 
 She is a handsome wee thing, 
 She is a bonny wee thing, 
 This sweet wee wife o' mine. 
 
214 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 I never saw a fairer, 
 
 I never lo'ed a dearer, 
 
 And neist my heart I '11 wear her, 
 
 For fear my jewel tine. 
 
 She is a winsome wee thing. 
 She is a handsome wee thing, 
 She is a bonnie wee thing, 
 This sweet w6e wife o' mine. 
 
 The warld's wrack we share o't. 
 The warstle andAhe care o't ; 
 Wi' her I '11 blithely bear it, 
 And think my lot divine. 
 
 BONNIE LESLEY* 
 
 Oh saw ye bonnie Lesley, 
 
 As she gaed o'er the Border ? 
 She 's gane, like Alexander, 
 
 To spread her conquests farther. 
 
 To see her is to love her. 
 
 And love but her for ever ; ' 
 For Nature made her what she is. 
 
 And never made anither I 
 
 Thou art a queen, fair Lesley, 
 
 Thy subjects we, before thee : 
 Thou art divine, fair Lesley, 
 
 The hearts o' men adore thee. 
 
 The Deil he could na scaith thee. 
 Or aught that wad belang thee ; 
 
 He 'd look into thy bonnie face, 
 And say, ' I canna wrang thee 1 ' 
 
 The Powers aboon will tent thee. 
 
 Misfortune sha' na steer thee ; 
 Thou 'rt like themselves sae lovely, 
 
 That ill they '11 ne'er let near thee. 
 
 • ' Lesley : ' an Ayrshire girl. Miss Lesley Baiffie, afterwards Mrs, 
 Cmnming of Logie, 
 
BONNIE LESLEY 215 
 
 Return again, fair Lesley, 
 
 Return to Caledonie 1 
 That we may brag, we hae a lass 
 ' There 's nane again sae bonnie. 
 
 HIGHLAND MARY 
 Tune — ' Katharine Ogie ' 
 
 Ye banks, and braes, and streams around 
 
 The castle o' Montgomery, 
 Green 1^ your woods, and fair your flowers. 
 
 Your waters never drumlie 1 
 There simmer first unfald her robes, 
 
 And there the langest tarry : 
 For there I took the last f areweel 
 
 O' my sweet Highland Mary ! 
 
 How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk. 
 
 How rich the hawthorn's blossom. 
 As underneath their fragrant shade, 
 
 I clasp'd her to my bosom 1 
 The golden hours, on angel wings. 
 
 Flew o'er me and my dearie ; 
 For dear to me as light and life. 
 
 Was my sweet Highland Mary. 
 
 Wi' mony a vow, and lock'd embrace. 
 
 Our parting was fu' tender ; 
 And, pledging aft to meet again, 
 
 We tore oursels asunder ; 
 But oh 1 feU Death's untimely frost, 
 
 That nipt my flower sae early 1 
 Now green 's the sod, and cauld 's the clay. 
 
 That wraps my Highland Mary 1 
 
 Oh pale, pale now, those rosy lips, 
 
 I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly 1 
 And closed for aye, the sparkling glance. 
 
 That dwelt on me sae kindly I 
 And mo'uldefing now in silent dust 
 
 That heart that lo'ed me dearly • 
 But still within my bosom's core,: 
 
 Shall live my Highland Mary. 
 
216 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 AULD ROB MORRIS 
 
 There's auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen, 
 He 's the king o' guid fellows and wale of auld men ; 
 He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kine. 
 And ae bonnie lassie, his darling and mine. 
 
 She 's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May ; 
 She 's sweet as the evening amang the new hay ; 
 As blithe and as artless as the lambs on the lea. 
 And dear to my heart as the light to my e'e. 
 
 But oh 1 she 's an heiress, auld Robin 's a laird. 
 And my daddie has naught but a eot-house and yard ; 
 A wooer like me maunna hope to come speed. 
 The wounds I must hide that will soon be my dead. 
 
 The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane ; 
 The night comes to me, but my rest it is gane : 
 I wander my lane like a night-troubled ghaist. 
 And I sigh as my heart it wad burst in my breast. 
 
 Oh had she but been of a lower degree, 
 I then might hae hoped she wad smiled upon me 1 
 Oh, how past descriving had then been my bUss, 
 As now my distraction no words can express I 
 
 DUNCAN GRAY 
 
 Duncan Gray cam here to woo. 
 Ha, ha, the wooing o 't. 
 On blithe 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. 
 
 Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd : 
 
 Ha, ha, etc. ; 
 Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig, 
 
 Ha, ha, etc. 
 Duncan sigh'd baith out and in, 
 Grat his e'en baith bleert and bUn', 
 Spak' o' loupin' o'er a linn ; 
 
 Ha, ha, etc. 
 
DUNCAN GRAY 217 
 
 Time and chance are but a tide, 
 
 Ha, ha, etc. ; 
 Slighted love is sair to bide. 
 
 Ha, ha, etc. 
 Shall I, like a fool, qpaoth he, 
 For a haughty hizzie die ? 
 She may gae to France lor me 1 
 
 Ha, ha, etc. 
 
 Hovr it comes let doctors tell. 
 
 Ha, ha, etc. ; 
 Meg grew sick — as he grew heal, 
 
 Ha, ha, etc. 
 Something in her bosom wrings. 
 For reUef a sigh she brings ; 
 And oh, her e'en, they spak sic things I 
 
 Ha, ha, etc. 
 
 Duncan was a lad o' grace. 
 
 Ha, ha, etc. ; 
 Maggie's was a piteous case. 
 
 Ha, ha, etc. 
 Duncan couldna be her death. 
 Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath ; 
 Now they 're crouse and canty baith. 
 
 Ha, ha, the wooing o 't. 
 
 SONG 
 
 Tune — ' I had a horse ' 
 
 O pooRTiTH cauld, and restless love. 
 Ye wreck my peace between ye ; 
 Yet poortith a' I could forgive. 
 An' 'twere na for my Jeanie. 
 
 Oh why should Fate sic pleasure have. 
 
 Life's dearest bands untwining ? 
 Or why sae sweet a flower as love, 
 Depend on Fortune's shining ? 
 
 This warld's wealth when I think on, 
 Its pride, and a' the lave o 't ; 
 
 Fie, fie on silly coward man, 
 TCbat he should be the slave o 't. 
 Oh why, etc. 
 
218 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Her e'en sae bOnny blue betray 
 How she repays my passion ; 
 
 But prudence is her o'erword aye. 
 She talks of rank and fashion. 
 Oh why, etc. 
 
 Oh wha can prudence think upon, 
 
 And sic a lassie by him ? 
 Oh wha can prudence think upon, 
 
 And sae in love as I am ? 
 Oh why, etc.. 
 
 How blest the humble cottar's fate I 
 
 He woos his simple dearie ; 
 The silly bogles, wealth and state. 
 Can never make them eerie. 
 
 Oh why should fate sic pleasure have, 
 
 Life's dearest bands untwining ? 
 Or why sae sweet a flower as love, 
 Depend on Fortune's shining 1 
 
 GALA WATER 
 t 
 There's braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes. 
 
 That wander through the blooming heather ; 
 But Yarrow braes, nor Ettrick shaws, 
 Can match the lads o' Gala water. 
 
 But there is ane, a secret ane, 
 Aboon them a' I lo'e him better ; 
 
 And I 'U be his, and he 'U be mine. 
 The bonnie lad o' Gala water. 
 
 Although his daddie was nae laird. 
 And though I hae nae meikle tocher ; 
 
 Yet, rich in kindest, truest love, 
 "We 'U tent our flocks by Gala water. 
 
 It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth. 
 That coft contentment, peace, or pleasure ; 
 
 The bands and bliss o' mutual love. 
 
 Oh that 's the chiefest warld's treasure J 
 
LORD GREGORY 219 
 
 LORD GREGORY 
 
 Oh mirk, mirk is this midnight hour, 
 
 ■ And loud the tempest's roar ; 
 A waefu' wand'rer seeks thy tower, 
 Lord -Gregory, ope thy doorw 
 
 An exile frae her father's ha', 
 
 And a' for loving thee ; 
 At least some pity on me shaw, 
 
 If love it may na be. 
 
 Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the grove, 
 
 By bonnie Irwin side. 
 Where first I owri'd that virgin-love 
 
 I laug, lang bad denied ? 
 
 How aften didst thou pledge and vow 
 
 Thou wad for aye be mine ; 
 And my fond heart, itsel' sae true, 
 
 It ne'er mistrusted thine. - 
 
 Hard is thy hearj;. Lord Gregory, 
 
 And flinty is thy breast — 
 Thou dart of heaven that flashest by. 
 
 Oh wilt thou give me rest 1 
 
 Ye must'ring thunders from above 
 
 Your willing victim see ! 
 Biit sparie, and pardon my fause love 
 
 His wrangs to Heaven and me 1 
 
 'MARY MORISON 
 Tune — ' Bide ye yet ' 
 
 O Mary, at thy window be. 
 
 It is the wish'd, the trysted hour I 
 Those smiles and glances let me see, 
 
 That make the miser's treasure poor ; 
 How blithely wad I bide the stoure, 
 
 A weary slave frae sun to sun ; 
 Could I the rich reward secure, 
 
 The lovely Mary Morison. 
 
220 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Yestreen, when, to the trembling string. 
 
 The dance gaed through the lighted ba,' 
 To thee my fancy took its wing, 
 
 I sat, but neither heard nor saw : 
 Though this was fair, and that was braw. 
 
 And yon the toast of a' the town, 
 I sigh'd, and said amang them a', 
 
 ' Ye are na Mary Morison.' 
 
 Oh, Mary, canst thou wreck his peace, 
 
 "Wha for thy sake wad gladly die ? 
 Or canst thou break that heart of his, 
 
 Whase only faut is loving thee ? 
 If love for love thou wilt na gife. 
 
 At least be pity to me shown ; 
 A thought ungentle canna be ' 
 
 The thought o' Mary Morison. 
 
 WANDERING WILLIE 
 
 Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie, 
 Now tired wi' wandering, baud awa hame I 
 
 Come to my bosom my ae only dearie, 
 
 And tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same. 
 
 Loud blew tile cauld winter winds at our parting ; 
 
 It was na.e the blast brought the tear in my e'e : 
 Now welcome the sipimer, and welcome iny Willie, 
 
 The simmer to Naiture, my WiUie to me. 
 
 Ye hurricanes, rest in the cave o' your slumbers I 
 Oh, how your wild horrors a lover alarms 1 
 
 Awaken, ye breezes, row gently ye biUows, 
 
 And waft my dear laddie ance maiir to my arms. 
 
 But if he 's forgotten his faithfuUest Nanny, 
 
 Oh, still flow between us, thou wide roaring main ; 
 
 May I never see it, may I never trow it. 
 
 But, dying, believe that my Willie 's my ain 1 
 
OPEN THE DOOR TO ME, 01 221 
 OPEN THE DOOR TO ME, 1 
 
 WITH ALTERATIONS 
 
 ' Oh open the door, some pity to show. 
 
 Oh, open the door to me, O ! 
 Though thou hast been false, I '11 ever prove true. 
 
 Oh, open the door to me, O I 
 
 ' Cauld is the blast upon iriy pale cheek. 
 
 But caulder thy love for me, I 
 The frost that freezes the life at my heart, 
 
 Is naught to my pains frae thee,-0 ! 
 
 ' The wan moon is setting behind the white wave. 
 
 And time is setting with me, 1, 
 False friends, false love, fareweil 1 . for mair • 
 
 I '11 ne'er trouble them, nor thee; O ! ' 
 
 She has open'd the door, she has open'd it wide ; 
 
 She sees his pale corse on the plain, O t f 
 ' My true love 1 ' she cried, and sank down by his side. 
 
 Never to rise again, O 1 
 
 JESSIE 
 
 1 
 
 Tune — ' Bonnie Dundee ' 
 
 True hearted was he, the sad swain o' the Yarrow, 
 
 And fair are the maids on the banks o' the Ayr, 
 But by the sweet side of the Nith's winding river. 
 
 Are lovers as faithful, and maidens as lair ; 
 To equal young Jessie seek Scotland all over ; 
 
 To equal young Jessie you seek it in vain ; 
 Grace, beauty, arid elegdrice, fetter her lover. 
 
 And maidenly modesty fixes the chain. 
 
 Oh, fresh is the rose in the gay, dewy morning. 
 
 And sweet is the lily at evening close ; 
 But in the fair presence o' lovely young Jessie, 
 
 Unseen is the lily, unheeded the rose. 
 Love sits in her smile, a wizard ensnaring ; 
 
 Enthroned in her e!en he delivers his law : 
 And still to her charms she alone is a stranger I — 
 
 Her modest demeanour 's the jewel of a'. 
 
222 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 WHEN WILD WAR'S DEADLY BLAST WAS 
 BLAWN 
 
 Am—' The mill, mill O ! ' 
 
 When wild war's deadly blast was blawn. 
 
 And gentle peace returning, 
 Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless. 
 
 And mony a widow mourning : 
 I left the lines and tented field, 
 
 Where lang I 'd been a lodger. 
 My humble knapsack a' my wealth, 
 
 A poor and honest sodger. 
 
 A leal, light heart was in my breast. 
 
 My hand unstain'd wi' plunder : 
 And for fair Scotia, hame again, 
 
 I cheerie on did wander. 
 I thought upon the banks o' CoU, 
 
 I thought upon my Nancy, 
 I thought upon the witching smile 
 
 That caught my youthful fancy. 
 
 At length I reach'd the bonnie glen. 
 
 Where early life I sported ; 
 I pass'd the miU, and trysting thorn, 
 
 Where Nancy aft I courted : 
 Wha spied I but my ain dear maid, 
 
 Down by her mother's dwelling 1 
 And tum'd me round to hide the flood 
 
 That in my e'en was swelling. 
 
 Wi' alter' d voice, quoth I, ' Sweet lass. 
 
 Sweet as yon hawthorn's blossom, 
 Oh I happy, happy may hp be. 
 
 That '5 dearest to thy bosom ! 
 My purse is light, I 've far to gang, 
 
 And fain would be thy lodger ; 
 I 've served my king and country lang, — 
 
 Take pity on a sodger.' 
 
 Sae wistfully she gazed on me. 
 
 And lovelier was than ever ; 
 Quo' she, ' A sodger ance I lo'ed. 
 
 Forget him shall I never: 
 
WHEN WILD WAR'S BLAST WAS BLAWN 223 
 
 Our humble cot and hamely fare. 
 
 Ye freely shall partake o 't ; 
 That gallant badge, the dear cockade, 
 
 Ye 're welcome for the sake o 't.' 
 
 She gazed — she redden'd like a rose — 
 
 Syne pale like ony lily ; 
 She-^ank within my arms, and cried, 
 
 ' Art thou my ain dear Willie ? ' 
 ' By Him who made yon sun and sky — > 
 
 By whom true love 's regarded, 
 I am the man : and thus may still 
 
 True lovers be rewarded. 
 
 ' The wars are o'er, and I 'm come hame. 
 
 And find thee still true-hearted 1 
 Though poor in gear, we 're rich in love, 
 
 And mair we 'se ne'er be parted.' 
 Quo' she, ' My grandsire left me gowd, 
 
 A mailen plenish'd fairly ; 
 And come, my faithfu' sodger lad. 
 
 Thou 'rt welcome to it dearly.' 
 
 For gold the merchant ploughs the main. 
 
 The farmer ploughs the manor ; 
 But glory is the sodger's prize. 
 
 The sodger's wealth is honour ; 
 The brave poor sodger ne'er despise, 
 
 Nor count him as a stranger t 
 Remember he 's his country's stay. 
 
 In day and hour of danger. 
 
 MEG O' THE MILL 
 
 Air — ' O bonnie lass, will you lie in a barrack ? ' 
 
 Oh, ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten. 
 An' ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten ? 
 She has gotten a coof wi' a claut o' sUler, 
 And broken the heart o' the barley miller. 
 
 The miUer 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. 
 
224 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 The miller he hecht her a heart leal and loving : 
 The laird did address her wi' matter mair moving, 
 A fine pacing-horse wi" a clear-chained briddle, 
 A whip by her side, and a bonnie side-saddle. 
 
 Oh wae on the siller, it is sae prevailing ; 
 And wae on the love that is flx'd on a mailen 1 
 A tocher's nae word in a true lover's parle, 
 But, gie me my love, and a fig lor the warl' 1 
 
 SONG 
 Tune — ' Liggeram Cosh ' 
 
 Blithe hae I been on yon hill, 
 
 As the lambs before me ; ■ 
 Careless ilka thought and free. 
 
 As the breeze flew o'er me ; 
 Now nae langer sport and play,' 
 
 Mirth or sang can please me ; 
 Lesley is sae fair and coy, 
 
 Care and anguish seize me. 
 
 Heavy, heavy, is the task. 
 
 Hopeless love declaring : 
 Trembling, I dow nocht but glower, 
 
 Sighing, dumb, despairing I 
 If she winna ease the thraws 
 
 In my bosom swelling ; 
 Underneath the grass-green sod. 
 
 Soon maun be my dwelling. 
 
 LOGAN "WATER 
 
 Tune — ' Logan Water ' 
 
 Oh, Logan, sweetly didst thou glide 
 That day I was my Willie's bride 1 
 And years sinsyne hae o'er us run. 
 Like Logan to the simmer sun. 
 But now thy flowery banks appear 
 Like drumlie winter, dark and drear. 
 While my dear lad maun face his faes. 
 Far, far frae me and Logan braes. 
 
LOGAN WATER 225 
 
 Again the merry month o' May 
 
 Has made our hills and vaUeys gay ; 
 
 The birds rejoice in leafy bowers, 
 
 The bees hum round the breathing flowers : 
 
 Blithe Morning lifts his rosy eye, 
 
 And Evening's tears are tears of joy : 
 
 My soul, delightless, a' surveys. 
 
 While Willie's far frae Logan braes. 
 
 Within yon milk-white hawthorn bush, 
 Amang her nestlings sits the thrush ; 
 Her faithfu' mate will share her toil. 
 Or wi' his song her cares begmle: 
 But I wi' my sweet nurslings here, 
 Nae mate to help, nae mate to cheer, 
 Pass widow' d nights, and joyless days. 
 While Willie's far frae Logan braes. 
 
 O wae upon you, men o' sta.te. 
 That brethren rouse to deadly hate I 
 As ye make mony a fond heart mourn, 
 Sae may it on your heads return 1 
 How can your flinty hearts enjoy 
 The widow's tears, the orphan's cry ? 
 But soon may peace bring happy days, 
 And WUlie hame to Logan braes 1 
 
 SONG 
 AiH — ' Hughle Graham ' 
 
 Oh, gin my love were yon red rose, 
 "That grows upon the castle wa', 
 
 And I mysel' a drap o' dew. 
 Into her bonnie breast to fa' t 
 
 Oh, there beyond expression blest, 
 I'd feast on beauty a' the night : 
 
 Seal'd on her siUc-saft faulds to rest, 
 Till fley'd awa' by Phcebys' light. 
 
 Oh, were my love yon lilac fair, 
 
 Wi' purple blossoms to the spring ; 
 And I, a bird to shelter there, 
 Whei^i^earied on my little wing I 
 46 — H 
 
226 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 How I wad mourn, when it was torn 
 By autumn wild, and winter rude I 
 
 But I wad sing on wanton wing, 
 When youthfu' May its bloom renew' d.* 
 
 BONNIE JEAN 
 
 There was a lass, and she was fair, 
 At kirk and market to be seen ; 
 
 When a' the fairest maids were met. 
 The fairest maid was bonnie Jean. 
 
 And aye she wrought her rnammie's, wark. 
 And aye she Sang sae merrilie : 
 
 The blithest bird upon the, ^jush 
 Had ne'er a lighter heart than she. 
 
 But hawks will rob the tender joys 
 That bless the little lintwhite's nest ; 
 
 And frost will blight the fairest flowersj 
 AfTid love iwill break the soundest rest. 
 
 Young Robie was the brawest lad, 
 The flower and pride of a' the glen ; 
 
 And he had owsen, sheep, and kye, 
 And wanton naigies nine or ten. 
 
 He gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryste. 
 He danced wi' Jeanie on the down ; 
 
 And lang ere witless Jeanie wist, 
 
 Her heart was tint, her peace was stown. 
 
 As in the bosom o' the stream. 
 
 The moonbeam dwells at dewy e'en. 
 
 So, trembling, pure, was tender love 
 Within the breast o' bonnie Jean. 
 
 And now she works her mammie's wark, 
 And aye she sighs wi' c.are and pain ; 
 
 Yet wist na what her ail might be. 
 Or what wad mak her weel again, 
 
 • The two last stanzas ol this song only are Burns'. 
 
BONNIE JEAN 227 
 
 But did na Jeanie's heart loup light. 
 
 And did na joy blink in her e'e, 
 As Robie tauld a tale o' love 
 
 Ae e'enin' on the lily lea ? 
 
 The sun was sinking in the west, 
 The birds sang sweet in iUca grove ; 
 
 His cheek to hers he fondly press'd. 
 And whisper' d thus his tale o' love : 
 
 ' O Jeanie fair, I lo'e thee dear ; 
 
 Oh canst thou think, to fancy me ? 
 Or wUt thou leave thy mammie's cot, 
 
 And learn to tent the farms wi' me ? 
 
 ' At barn or byre thou shalt na tji-udge, 
 
 Or naething else to trouble thee ; 
 But stray amang the heather-bells. 
 
 And tent the wavijig corn wi' me.' 
 
 Now what coiild 9:^tless Jeanie do ? 
 
 ;She had nae will 'i?o say him na : 
 At length' she blush' d a sweet consent, 
 
 And love was aye between them twa. 
 
 PHILLIS THE FAIR 
 Tune — ' Robin Adair ' 
 
 While larks with little wing, 
 
 Fann'd the pure air. 
 Tasting the ^breathing spring. 
 
 Forth I did fare : 
 Gay the sun's golden eye, 
 Peep'd o'er the mountains high ; 
 Such thy mom 1 did I cry, 
 
 Phillis the fair. 
 
 In each bird's careless song. 
 
 Glad did 1 share ; 
 While yon wild flowers among. 
 
 Chance led me there : 
 Sweet to the opening day, 
 Rosebuds bent the dewy sjpray ; 
 Such thy bloom 1 did I say, 
 
 Phillis the fair. 
 
228 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Down in a shady walk. 
 
 Doves cooing were ; 
 I mark'd the cruel hawk 
 
 Caught in a snare ; 
 So kind may fortune be. 
 Such make his destiny. 
 He who would injure thee, 
 Phillis the fair I 
 
 HAD I A CAVE 
 
 Had I a cave on some wild, distant shore, 
 
 "Where the winds howl to the waves' dashing roar ; 
 
 There would I weep my woes, 
 
 There seek my lost repose. 
 
 Till grief my eyes should close. 
 Ne'er to wake more I 
 
 Falsest of womankind ! canst thou declare. 
 All thy fond-plighted vows — ^fleeting as air ? 
 
 To thy new lover hie. 
 
 Laugh o'er thy perjury, 
 
 Then in thy bosom try 
 What peace is there I 
 
 SONG 
 Tune—' Allan Water ' 
 
 By Allan-stream I chanced to rove. 
 
 While Phoebus sank beyond Benledi ; * 
 The winds were whisp'ring through the grove, 
 
 The yellow corn was waving ready : 
 I listen'd to a lover's sang. 
 
 And thought on youthfu' pleasures many ; 
 And aye the wildrwood echoes rang — 
 
 Oh dearly do I love thee, Annie 1 
 
 Oh happy be the woodbirie bower, 
 
 Nae nightly bogle malie it eerie ; 
 Nor ever sorrow stain the hour. 
 
 The place and time I met my dearie ! 
 
 ' Benledi : ' a mountain, west of Strath- Allan, 3009 feet high. — B. 
 
WHISTLE, AND I'LL COME TO ^OU 229 
 
 Her head upon my throbbing breast, 
 She, sinking, said, ' I 'm thine for ever 1 ' 
 
 WhUe mony a kiss the seal impress'd, 
 The sacred vow, we ne'er should sever. 
 
 The haunt o' spring 's the primrose brae, 
 
 The simmer joys the flocks to follow ; 
 How cheerie through her short'ning day 
 
 Is autumn in tier weeds o' yellow 1 
 But can they melt the glowing heart, 
 
 Or chaii* the soul in speechless pleasure. 
 Or through each nerve the rapture dart, 
 
 Like meeting her, our bosom's treasure ? 
 
 SONG 
 
 Tune — ' Whistle, and I 'II come to you, my lad ' 
 
 Oh whistle, and I '11 come to you, my lad. 
 Oh whistle, and I 'U come to you, my lad. 
 Though father and mither and a' should gae mad, 
 Oh whistle, and I 'U come to you, ray lad. 
 
 But warily tent, when you come to court me. 
 And come na unless the back-yett be ajee ; 
 Syne up the back-stUe, and let naebody see, 
 And come as ye were na comin' to me. 
 
 At kirk, or at market, whene'er ye meet me. 
 Gang by me as though that ye cared na a flie ; 
 But steal me a blink o' your bonnie black e'e. 
 Yet look as ye were na lookin' at me. 
 
 Aye vow and protest that ye care na for me. 
 And whyles ye may lightly my beauty a wee ; 
 But court nae anither, though jokin' ye be. 
 For fear that she wyle your fancy frae me. 
 
230 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 ADOWN WINDING NITH I DID WANDER 
 
 Tune — ' The Muckin' o' Geordie's Byre ' 
 
 Adown ■winding Nith I did wander. 
 To mark the sweet flowers as they spring ; 
 
 Adown winding Nith I did wander. 
 Of Phillis to muse and to sing. 
 
 Awa' wi' your belles and your beauties. 
 They never wi' her can compare : 
 
 Whaever has met wi' my Phillis, 
 Has met wi' the queen o' the fair. 
 
 The daisy amused my fond fancy. 
 
 So artless, so simple, so wiM; 
 Thou emblem, said I, o' my Phillis 1 
 
 For she is simplicity's child. ' 
 
 The rose-bud 's the blush o' my charmer, 
 Her sweet balmy lip when 'tis press'd : 
 
 How fair and how pure is the lily. 
 But fairer and purer her breast. 
 
 Yon knot of gay flowers in the arbour, 
 
 They ne'er wi' my Phillis can vie : 
 Her, breath is the breath o' the woodbine. 
 
 Its dew-drop o' diamond, her eye. 
 
 Her voice is the song of ihe morning, 
 
 That wakes through the green-spreading grove, 
 When Phoebus peeps over the mountains. 
 
 On music, and pleasure, and love. ' - 
 
 But beauty how frail and how fleeting — 
 The bloom of a fine' sumnier's day ! 
 
 While worth in the mind o' my PhUlis 
 Will flourish without a decay. 
 
DAINTY' DAVIE 231 
 
 SONG 
 Am—' Cauld Kail ' 
 
 Come, let me take thee to my breast, 
 
 And pledge we ne'er shall sunder ; 
 And I shall spurn as vilest dust 
 
 The warld's wealth and grandeur : 
 And do I hear my Jeanie own 
 
 That equal transports move her ? 
 I ask for dearest life alone 
 
 That I may live to love her. 
 
 Thus in my arms, wi' a' thy charms, 
 
 I clasp my countless treasure ; 
 I '11 seek nae mair o' heaven to share, 
 
 Than sic a moment's pleasure : 
 And by thy e'en, sae bonnie blue, 
 
 I swear 1,'m thine for ever 1 
 And on thy lips I seal my vow. 
 
 And break it shall I never I 
 
 DAINTY DAVIE* 
 
 Tune — ' Dainty Davie ' 
 
 Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers. 
 To deck her gay, green spreading bowers ; 
 And now cortie in my happy hours. 
 To wander wi' my Davie. 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 Meet me on the warlock knowe. 
 
 Dainty Davie, dainty Davie, 
 There I '11 spend the day wi' you. 
 
 My ain dear dainty Davie. 
 
 The crystal waters round us fa'. 
 The merry birds are lovers a'. 
 The scented breezes round us blaw, 
 A-wandering wi' my Davie. 
 
 • ' Daintie Davie : ' is the title of an old Scotch song, from which Burns 
 has taken nothing but the title and the measure. 
 
232 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 When purple morning starts the hare. 
 To steal upon her early fare. 
 Then through the dews I will repair. 
 To meet my faithfu' Davie. 
 
 When day, expiring in the west, 
 The curtain draws o' Nature's rest, 
 I flee to his arms I lo'e best. 
 
 And that 's my ain dear Davie. 
 
 BRUCE TO HIS TROOPS ON THE EVE OF 
 THE BATTLE OF BANNOCKBURN 
 
 TO ITS AIN TUNE 
 
 Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, 
 Scots, wham Bruce has alten led ; 
 Welcome to your gory bed, 
 Or to victory 1 
 
 Now 's the day and now 's the hour : 
 See the front o' battle lower : 
 See approach proud Edward's nower — 
 Chains and slavery I 
 
 Wha will be a traitor-knave ? 
 Wha can fill a coward's grave ? 
 Wha sae base as be a slave ? 
 Let him turn and flee 1 
 
 Wha for Scotland's king and law 
 Freedom's sword will strongly draw, 
 Freeman stand, or freeman fa'. 
 Let him follow me I 
 
 By Oppression's woes and pains 1 
 By your sons in servile chains ! 
 We will drain our dearest veins 
 But they shall be free I 
 
 Lay the proud usurpers low t 
 Tyrants fall in every foe 1 
 Liberty's in every blow 1 — 
 Let us DO or die ! 
 
BEHOLD THE HOUR 233 
 
 BEHOLD THE HOUR* 
 Tune — ' Oran-gaoil ' 
 
 Behold the hour, the boat arrive ; 
 
 Thou go'st, thou dailing of my heart 1 
 Sever'd from thee can I survive ? 
 
 But fate has will'd, and we must part. 
 I '11 often greet this surging swell, 
 
 Yon distant isle will often hail : 
 ' E'en here I took the last farewell ; , 
 
 There latest mark'd her vanish'd sail.' 
 
 < ■ - 
 Along the solitary shore. 
 
 While flitting sea-fowl round me cry, 
 Across the roUing, dashing roar, 
 
 I '11 westward turn my wistful eye : 
 Happy, thou Indian grove, I '11 say, 
 
 where now my Nancy's path may be 1 
 While through thy sweets she loves to stray, 
 
 Oh tell me, does she muse on me ? 
 
 SONG 
 Tune — ' Fee him, father ' 
 
 Thou hast left me ever, Jamie 1 
 
 Thou hast left me ever ; 
 Thou hast left me ever, Jamie I 
 
 Thou hast left me ever. 
 Aften hast thou vow'd that death 
 
 Only should us sever ; 
 Now tiiou 'st left thy lass for aye — 
 
 I maun see thee never, Jamie, , 
 
 I '11 see thee never 1 
 
 Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie I 
 
 Thou hast me forsaken ; 
 Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie I 
 
 Thou hast me forsaken. 
 Thou canst love anither jo, 
 
 WhUe my heart is breaking : 
 Soon my weary e'en I '11 close — 
 
 Never mair to waken, Jamie, 
 
 Ne'er mair to waken. 
 
 • JVofe. — A song referring to Clarinda's departure to the West Indies. 
 
234 BURNS' POEMS AISD SONGS 
 
 AULD LANG SYNE 
 
 Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 
 And never brought to min' ? 
 
 Should auld acquaintance be forgot,- 
 And days o' lang syne ? 
 
 For auld larig syne, my dear. 
 
 For auld lang syne ; 
 We '11 tak a cup o' kindness yet, 
 
 For auld lang syne. 
 
 We twa hae run about the braes, 
 
 And pu'd the gowatis fine ; 
 But we 've waiider'd riiony a weary fit. 
 
 Sin' auld lang syne. 
 
 We twa hae paidl't i' the burn, 
 
 Frae mornin' sun till dine ; 
 But seas between us braid hae roar'd. 
 
 Sin' auld lang syne. 
 
 And here 's a hand my trusty flere, 
 
 And gie 's a haud o' thine ; 
 And we '11 tak a right guid willie-waught. 
 
 For auld lang syne. 
 
 And surely ye '11 be your pint-stoup. 
 
 And surely I '11 be mine ; 
 Arid we '11 tak a cup o' kindness yet 
 
 For auld lang syne. 
 
 FAIR JENNY 
 Tune — ' Saw ye my father ? ' 
 
 Where are the joys I have met in the morning. 
 That danced to the larji's early song ? 
 
 Where is the peace that awaited my wand'ring. 
 At evening the wild woods among ? , 
 
FAIR JENNY ,, 235 
 
 No more a-winding the course of yon river. 
 
 And marking swfeet flow'rets so fair : 
 No more I trace the light footsteps of pleasure, 
 
 But sorrow and sad sighing care. 
 
 Is it that summer's forsakrai our valleys, 
 
 And grim surly winter is near ? 
 No, no 1 the bees humming round the gay roses, 
 
 Proclaim it the pride of the year. 
 
 Fain would I hide what I fear to discover. 
 Yet long, long too well havie I known, 
 
 All that has caused this wreck in my bosom, ^ 
 Is Jenny, fair Jenny alone. 
 
 Time cannpt aid me, my griefs are immortal, 
 
 Not hope dare a comfort bestow : 
 Come then, enamour'd and fond of my anguish. 
 
 Enjoyment I 'U seek in my woe. 
 
 SONG 
 
 Tune — ' The collier's bonnie lassie ' 
 
 Deluded swain, the pleasure 
 The fickle fair can give thee. 
 
 Is but a fairy treasure — 
 Thy hopes will soon deceive thee. 
 
 The billows on the ocean. 
 The breezes idly roaming,-,. 
 
 The clouds' uncertain motion — 
 They are but types of woman. 
 
 Oh I art thou not ashamed. 
 To doat upon a feature ? 
 
 If man thou would'st be named. 
 Despise the sUly creature. 
 
 Go, find an honest fellow ; 
 
 Good claret set before thee : 
 Hold on tUl thou art mellow. 
 
 And then to bed in glory. 
 
236 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 NANCY 
 Tune — ' Quaker's Wife ' 
 
 Thine am I, my faithful fair. 
 Thine, my lovely Nancy ; 
 
 Every pulse along my veins. 
 Every roving fancy. 
 
 To thy bosom lay my heart, 
 There to throb and languish : 
 
 Though despair had wrung its core. 
 That wovild heal its anguish. 
 
 Take away these rosy lips. 
 Rich with balmy treasure : 
 
 Turn away thine eyes of love. 
 Lest I die with pleasure. 
 
 What is life when wanting love ? 
 
 Night without a morning : 
 Love 's the cloudless summer sun. 
 
 Nature gay adorning. 
 
 MY SPOUSE, NANCY 
 Tune — ' My jo, Janet ' 
 
 ' Husband, husband, cease your strife. 
 
 Nor longer idly rave, sir ; 
 Though I am your wedded wife, 
 
 Yet I am not your slave, sir.' 
 
 ' One of two must still obey, 
 
 Nancy, Nancy ; 
 Is it man, or woman, say. 
 
 My spouse, Nancy ? ' 
 
 ' If 'tis still the lordly word, 
 
 Service and obedience ; 
 I '11 desert my sovereign lord. 
 
 And so good-by allegiance 1 ' 
 
MY SPOUSE, NANCY 237 
 
 ' Sad will I be, so bereft, 
 
 Nancy, Nancy ; 
 Yet I '11 try to make a shift. 
 
 My spouse, Nancy.' 
 
 ' My poor heart then break it must. 
 
 My last hour I 'm near it : 
 When you lay me in the dust. 
 
 Think, think hoiiv you will bear it.' 
 
 ' I will hope, and trust in Heaven, 
 
 Nancy, Nancy ; 
 Strength to bear it will be given. 
 
 My spouse, Nancy.' 
 
 ' Well, sir, from the silent dead. 
 
 Still I '11 try to daunt you ; 
 Ever round your midnight bed 
 
 Horrid sprites shall haunt you.' 
 
 ' I '11 wed another, Uke my dear 
 
 Nancy, Nancy ; 
 Then all hell will fly for fear. 
 
 My spouse, Nancy.' 
 
 WILT THOU BE MY DEARIE? 
 
 Air — ' The Suior's Doehter ' 
 
 Wilt thou be my dearie ? 
 
 When sorrow wrings thy gentle heart. 
 
 Wilt thou let me cheer thee ? 
 
 By the treasure of my soul. 
 
 That 's the love I bear thee 1 
 
 I swear and vow that only thou 
 
 Shall ever be my dearie. 
 
 Only thou, I swear and vow. 
 
 Shall 6Ver be my dearie. 
 
 Lassie, say thou lo'es me ; 
 Or if thou wilt na be my ain. 
 Say na thou 'It refuse me : 
 If it, winna, canna be. 
 Thou for thine may choose me. 
 Let me, lassie, quickly die. 
 Trusting that thou lo'es me. 
 Lassie, let me quickly die. 
 Trusting that thou lo'es me. 
 
238 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 THE BANKS OF CREE 
 Tune — ' The Banks of Cree' 
 
 Here is the glen, atid here the hower, 
 All underneath the birchen shade ; 
 
 The village-bell has told the hour, 
 Oh, what can stay my lovely maid ? 
 
 'Tis iiot Maria's whisp'ring call ; 
 
 'Tis but the balmy-breathing gale, ■ 
 Mix'd with some warbler's dying fall, 
 
 The dewy star of eve to hail. 
 
 It is Maria's voice I hear ! — 
 So calls the woodlark in the grove. 
 
 His little faithful mate to cheer, 
 At once 'tis music — and 'tis love. 
 
 And art thou come 1 — arid art thou true 
 O welcome dear to love and me I 
 
 And let us all our vows renew, 
 Along the flowery banks of Cree. 
 
 LINES WRITTEN ON A COPY OF THOMSON'S 
 SONGS 
 
 PRESENTED TO MISS GRAHAM OF FINTRY 
 
 Here, where the Scottish Muse immortal lives. 
 In sacred strains and tuneful numbers join'd. 
 
 Accept the gift, though humble he who gives ; 
 Rich is the tribute of the grateful mind. 
 
 So may no ruffian-feeling in thy breast, 
 Discordant jar thy bosom-chords among ; 
 
 But Peace attune thy gentle soul to rest, 
 Or Love ecstatic wake his seraph song : 
 
 Or Pity's notes, in luxury of tears, 
 
 As modest Want the tale of woe reveals, 
 
 While conscious Virtue all the strain endears. 
 And heaven-born Piety her sanction seals 
 
ON THE SEAS AND FAR AWA\ 239 
 
 ON THE SEAS AND FAR AWAY 
 
 Tune—' O'er the hills, etc' 
 
 How can my poor heart be glad, 
 When absent from my saUor lad ? 
 How can I the thought forego, 
 He 's on the seas to meet the foe ? 
 Let me wander, let me rove, 
 StiU my heart is with my love ; 
 Nightly dreams, and thoughts by day. 
 Are with him that 's far away. 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 On the seas and far away. 
 On stormy seas and far away ; 
 Nightly dreams, and thoughts by day. 
 Are aye with him that 's far away. 
 
 When in summer's noon I faint. 
 As weary flocks around me pant. 
 Haply in this scorching sun 
 My sailor's thund'ring at his gun : 
 Bullets,, spare my only joy 1 
 Bullets, spare my darling boy I 
 Fate, do with me what you may. 
 Spare but him that 's far away I 
 
 At the starless midnight hour, 
 
 WTien winter rules with boundless power ; 
 
 As the storms the forest tear. 
 
 And thunders rend the howling air. 
 
 Listening to the doubling roar, 
 
 Surging on the rocky shore, 
 
 All I can — I weep and pray. 
 
 For his weal that 's far away. 
 
 Peace, thy olive wand extend. 
 
 And bid wUd War his ravage end, 
 
 Man with brother man to meet. 
 
 And as a brother kindly greet ; 
 
 Then may Heaven with prosp'rous gales, 
 
 FUl my sailor's welcome sails. 
 
 To my arms their charge convey — 
 
 My dear lad that 's far away. 
 
240 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 CA' THE YOWES TO THE KNOWES 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 Ca' the yowes to the knowes, 
 Ca' them whare the heather grows, 
 Ca'.them whare the bumie rowes. 
 My bonnie dearie. 
 
 Hark the mavis' evening sang 
 Sounding Cluden's * woods amang ; 
 Then a-faulding let us gang, 
 My bonnie dearie. 
 
 We 'II gae down by Cluden side, 
 Through the hazels spreading wide. 
 O'er the waves that sweetly glide 
 To the moon sae clearly. 
 
 Yonder Cluden's silent towers.t 
 "Where at moonshine midnight hours. 
 O'er the dewy bending flowers. 
 Fairies dance sae cheerie. 
 
 Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear ; 
 Thou 'rt to Love and Heaven sae dear, 
 Nocht of ill may come thee near. 
 My bonnie dearie. 
 
 Fair and lovely as thou art, 
 Thou hast stown my very heart ; 
 I can die — but canna part. 
 My bonnie dearie. 
 
 While waters wimple to the sea ; 
 While day blinks in the lift sae hie ; 
 Till clay-cauld death shall blin' my e'e, 
 Ye shall be my dearie 
 
 • • Cluden : ' the river Cluden, a trU)utary stream to the Nith. 
 t ' Cluden's silent towers : ' Lincluden Abbey. 
 
SHE SAYS SHE LO'ES ME BEST OF A' 241 
 
 SHE SAYS SHE LO'ES ME BEST OF A' 
 Tune — ' Onagh's Waterfall ' 
 
 Sae flaxen were her ringlets, 
 
 Her eyebrows of a darker hue, 
 Bewitchingly o'erarching 
 
 Twa laughing e'en o' bonnie blue. 
 Her smiling sae wiling, 
 
 "Wad make a wretch forget his woe ; 
 What pleasure, what treasure* 
 
 Unto these rosy lips to grow : 
 Such was my Chloris' bonnie face, 
 
 "When first her bonnie face I saw. 
 And aye my Chloris' dearest charm, 
 
 She says she lo'es me best of a'. 
 
 Like harmony her motion ; 
 
 Her pretty ancle is a spy, 
 Betraying fair proportion, 
 
 "Wad make a saint forget the sky. 
 Sae warming, sae charming. 
 
 Her faultless form, and gracefu' air ; 
 nk feature — auld Nature 
 
 Declared that she could do nae mair : 
 Her's are the willing chains o' love^ 
 
 By conquering beauty's sovereign law ; 
 And aye my Chloris' dearest charm, 
 
 She says she lo'es me best of a'. 
 
 Let others love the city. 
 
 And gaudy show at sunny noon ; 
 Gie me the lonely valley. 
 
 The dewy eve, and rising moon 
 Fair beaming, and streaming. 
 
 Her silver light the boughs amang ; 
 AATiile falling, recalling. 
 
 The amorous thrush concludes his sang : 
 There, dearest Chloris, wilt thou rove 
 
 By wimpling bum and leafy shaw. 
 And hear my vows o' truth and love, 
 
 And say thou lo'es me best of a'. 
 
242 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 TO DR. MAXWELL 
 
 ON MISS JESSY STAIG'S RECOVERY 
 
 Maxwell, if merit here you crave. 
 
 That merit I deny : 
 You save fair Jessy from the grave I 
 
 An angel could not die. 
 
 SAW YE MY PHELY? 
 
 (Quasi dicat PhiUis.) 
 
 Tune — ' When she cam ben she bobbW 
 
 Oh, saw ye my dear, my Phely ? 
 Oh, saw ye my dear, my Phely ? 
 She 's down i' the grove, she 's wi' a new love. 
 She winna come hame to her Willie. 
 
 What says she, my dearest, my Phely ? 
 What says she, my dearest, my Phely ? 
 She lets thee to wit that she has thee forgot, 
 And for ever disowns thee, her Willie. 
 
 Oh, had I ne'er seen thee, my Phely 1 
 Oh, had I ne'er seen thee, my Phely I 
 As light as the, air, and fause as thou 's fair. 
 Thou 's broken the heart o' thy WUlie. 
 
 HOW LANG AND DREARY IS THE NIGHT 
 
 Tune — ' Cauld kail in Aberdeen ' 
 
 How lang and dreary is the night, 
 
 When. I am frae my dearie ! 
 I restless lie, frae e'en to mom. 
 
 Though I were ne'er sae weary. 
 
 For oh, her lanely nights are lang ; 
 
 And oh, her dreams are eerie ; 
 And oh, her widow'd heart is sair. 
 
 That 's absent frae her dearie. 
 
HOW LANG' AND DREARY IS THE NIGHT 243 
 
 When I think 6n the lightsome days 
 
 I spent wi' thee, my dearie ; 
 And now what seas between Us roar, 
 
 How can I be but eerie ? 
 
 How slow ye move, ye heavy hours ; 
 
 The joyless day how dreary 1 
 It was nae sae ye glinted by. 
 
 When I was.wl' my dearie I 
 
 LET NOT WOMAN E'ER COMPLAIN 
 Tune—' Duncan Gray ' 
 
 Let not woman e'er complain 
 
 Of inconstancy in love ; 
 Let not woman e'er complain 
 
 Fickle man is apt to rove : 
 Look abroad through Nature's range. 
 Nature's mighty law is change ; 
 Ladies, would it not be strange, 
 
 Man should then a monster prove ? 
 
 Mark the winds, and mark the skies ; 
 
 Ocean's ebb, and ocean's flow : 
 Sun and moon but set to rise. 
 
 Round and round the seasons go. 
 Why then ask of silly man, 
 To oppose great Nature's plan ? 
 We '11 be constant whUe we can — • 
 
 You can be no more, you know. 
 
 THE LOVER'S MORNING SALUTE TO HIS 
 MISTRESS 
 
 Tune — ' Deil tak the Wars ' 
 
 Sleep'st thou, or wak'st thou, fairest creature ? 
 
 Rosy Morn now lifts his eye. 
 Numbering ilka bud which Nature 
 
 Waters wi' the tears o' joy : 
 
 Now through the leafy woods, 
 
 And by the reeking floods, 
 
244 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Wild Nature's tenants freely, gladly stray ; 
 
 The lintwhite in his bower 
 
 Chants o'er the breathing flower ; 
 
 The laverock to the sky 
 
 Ascends wi' sangs o' joy, 
 While the sun and thou arise to bless the day, 
 
 Phoebus gilding the brow o' morning, 
 
 Banishes ilk darksome shade, 
 Nature gladd'ning and adorning ; 
 
 Such to me my lovely maid. 
 
 When absent frae my fair. 
 
 The murky shades o' care 
 With starless gloom o'ercast my sullen sky ; 
 
 But when in beauty's light. 
 
 She meets my ravish'd sight. 
 
 When through my very heart 
 
 Her beaming glories dart — 
 'Tis then I wake to life, to light, and joy. 
 
 THE WINTER OF LIFE 
 Tune—' Gil Morice ' 
 
 But lately seen In gladsome green. 
 
 The woods rejoiced the day. 
 Through gentle showers the laughing flowers 
 
 In double pride were gay : 
 But now our joys are fled, 
 
 On winter blasts awa' I 
 Yet maiden May, in rich array. 
 
 Again shaU bring them a'. 
 
 But my white pow, nae kindly thowe 
 
 Shall melt the snaws of age ; 
 My trunk of eild, but buss or bield. 
 
 Sinks in Time's wintry rage. 
 Oh, age has weary days. 
 
 And nights o' sleepless pain I 
 Thou golden time o' youthfu' prime. 
 
 Why com'st thou not again! 
 
CHLORIS 245 
 
 CHLORIS 
 Tune — ' My lodging is on the cold ground ' 
 
 My Chloris, mark how green the groves. 
 
 The primrose banks how fair ; 
 The balmy gales awake the flowers, 
 
 And wave thy flaxen hair. 
 
 The laverock shuns the palace gay. 
 
 And o'er the cottage sings : 
 For Nature smiles as sweet, I ween, 
 
 To shepherds as to kings. 
 
 Let minstrels sweep the skilfu' string 
 
 In lordly lighted ha' : 
 The shepherd stops his simple reed, 
 
 Blithe, in the birken shaw. 
 
 The princely revel may survey 
 
 Our rustic dance wi' scorn ; 
 But are their hearts as light as ours 
 
 Beneath the milk-white thorn ? 
 
 The shepherd, in the flowery glen. 
 
 In shepherd's phrase will woo : 
 The courtier tells a finer tale, 
 
 But is his heart as true ? 
 
 These wild-wood flowers I 've pu'd, to deck 
 
 That spotless breast o' thine : 
 The courtier's gems may witness love — 
 
 But 'tis na love like mine. 
 
 SONG 
 
 ALTERED FROM AN OLD ENGLISH ONE 
 
 Tune — ' Dainty Davie ' 
 
 It was the charming month of May, 
 When all the flowers were fresh and gay 
 One morning, by the break of day. 
 The youthful, charming Chloe ; 
 
246 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 From peaceful slumber she arose, 
 Girt on her mantle and her hose. 
 And o'er the flowery mead she goes, 
 The youthful, charming Ch'loe. 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 Lovely was she by the dawn. 
 Youthful Chloe, charming Chloe, 
 
 Tripping o'er the pearly lawn, 
 The youthful', charming Chloe. 
 
 The feather'd people, you might see 
 Perch' d all around on every tree. 
 In notes of sweetest melody. 
 
 They hail the charming Chloe ; 
 Till, painting gay theveastern skies,, 
 The glorious sun began to rise, 
 Out-rivall'd by the radiant eyes 
 
 Of youthful, charming Chloe. 
 
 LASSIE Wr THE LINT-WHITE LOCKS 
 Tune — ' Rothiemurchie' s Ratit ' 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 Lassie wi' the lint-white locks, 
 
 Bonnie lassie, artless lassie, 
 "Wilt thou Wi' me tent the flocks, ■ 
 
 Wilt thou be my dearie O ? 
 
 Now Nature deeds the flowery lea, 
 And a' is young and sweet like thee ; 
 Oil, wilt thou share its joys wi' me. 
 And say thou 'It be my dearie O ? 
 
 And when the welcome simmer shower 
 Has cheer'd ilk drooping little flower. 
 We '11 to the breathing woodbine bower 
 At sultry noon, my dearie O 1 
 
 ' When Cynthia lights, wi' silver ray. 
 The weary shearer's hameward way ; 
 Through yellow waving fields we 'U stray. 
 And talk o' love, my dearie: O 1 
 
LASSIE Wr THE LTNT- WHITE LOCKS 247 
 
 And ■when the howling wintry blast 
 Disturbs my lassie's midnight rest, 
 Enclasped to my faithful breast, 
 I '11 comfort thee, my dearie O ! 
 
 SONG 
 
 Tune — ' Nancy's to the Greenwood,' etc. 
 
 Farewell, thou stream that winding flows 
 Around Eliza's dwelling ! 
 
 Memory I spare the. cruel throes 
 "Within my bosom swelling : 
 
 Condemn' d to drag a hopeless chain 
 
 And yet in secret languish. 
 To feel a fire in every vein, 
 
 Nor dare disclose my anguish. 
 
 Love's veriest wretch, unseen, unknown, 
 
 I fain my griefs would cover : 
 The bursting sigh, the unweeting groan. 
 
 Betray the hapless lover. 
 
 1 know thou dpom'st.me to despair. 
 Nor wiltf nor canst r,elieve me ; 
 
 But, oh 1 Eliza, hear one prayer, 
 For pity's sake forgive me 1 
 
 The music of thy voice I heard. 
 
 Nor wist while it enslaved me ; 
 I saw thine eyes, yet np^thing fear'd. 
 
 Till fears no more had saved me : 
 The unwary sailor thus, aghast. 
 
 The whefeliAg torrent viewing ; 
 'Mid circling horrors sinks at last 
 
 In overwhelming ruin. 
 
 PHILLY AND WILLY 
 Tune—' The Sow's Tail' 
 
 HE 
 
 O Philly, happy be that day, 
 When roving through the gather'd hay,. 
 My youthfu' heart was stown away, 
 And by thy charms, my Philly. 
 
248 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 SHE 
 
 O "Willy, aye I bless the grove 
 Where first I own'd my maiden love, ' 
 Whilst thou didst pledge the Powers above 
 To be my ain dear WUly. 
 
 HE , 
 
 As songsters of the early year 
 Are ilka day mair sweet to hear. 
 So illca day to me mair dear 
 And charming is my PhiUy. 
 
 As on the brier the budding rose 
 Still richer'breathes and fairer blows, 
 So in my tender bosom grows 
 The love I bear my WiUy. 
 
 HE 
 
 The milder sun and bluer sky. 
 That crown my harvest cares wi' joy, 
 Were ne'er sae welcome to my eye 
 As is a sight o' Philly. 
 
 The little swallow's wanton wing. 
 Though wafting o'er the flowery spring. 
 Did ne'er to me sic tidings bring, 
 As meeting o' my Willy. 
 
 HE 
 
 The bee that through the sunny hour 
 Sips nectar in the opening flower. 
 Compared wi' my delight is poor, 
 Upon the lips o' Philly. 
 
 SHE 
 
 The woodbine in the dewy weet 
 When evening shades in silence meet, 
 Is nocht sae fragrant or sae sweet 
 As is a kiss o' Willy. 
 
PHILLY AND WILLY 249 
 
 Let fortune's wheel at random rin, 
 And fools may tyne, and knaves may win ; 
 My thoughts are a' bound up in ane, 
 And that 's my ain dear Philly. 
 
 SHE 
 
 What 's a' the joys that gowd can gie I 
 I care nae wealth a single flie ; 
 The lad I love 's the lad for me, 
 And that 's my ain dear Willy. 
 
 CONTENTED WI' LITTLE 
 
 Tune — 'Lumps o' Pudding' 
 
 Contented wi' little, and cantie wi' mair. 
 Whene'er I. forgather wi' sorrow and care, 
 I gie them a skelp, as they 're creepin' alang, 
 Wi' a cog o' guid swats, and an auld Scottish sang. 
 
 I whiles claw the elbow o' troublesome thought ; 
 
 But man is a spdger, and life is a f aught : 
 
 My mirth and guid-humour are coin in my pouch, 
 
 And my freedom 's my lairdship nae monarch dare touch. 
 
 A towmond o' trouble, should that be my fa', 
 A night o' guid fellowship sowthers it a' : 
 When at the blythe end o' our journey at last, 
 Wha the deU ever thinks o' the road, he has past ? , , 
 
 Blind Chance, let her snapper and stoyte on her way j 
 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 1 ' 
 
250 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 CANST THOU LEAVE ME THUS, MY KATY ? 
 Tune — 'Roy's Wife' 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy ? 
 
 Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy ? 
 Well thou know'st my aching heart, • 
 
 And canst thou leave ihe thus for pity ? 
 
 Is this thy jjlighted, fond regard, . 
 
 Thus cruelly to part, my Katy ? 
 Is this thy faithful swain's reward — 
 
 An aching, broken heart, my Katy ? 
 
 Farewell 1 and ne'er such sorrows tear 
 That fickle heart of thine, my Katy 1 
 
 Thou may'st find- those will loye thee dear-^ 
 But not a love like mine, my Katy. 
 
 MY, NANNIE'S AW A' 
 
 Tune — ' There'll nevpr be peace,' etc. 
 
 Now in her green mantle blithe Nature arrays. 
 And listens the lambkins that bleait o'er the braes. 
 While birds warble welcome in ilka green shaw ; 
 But to me it 's delightless— my Nannie's awa' ! 
 
 The snaw-drap and primrose our woodlands adorn, 
 And violets bathe in the weet o' the mom ; 
 They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw, 
 They mind me o' Nannie — and Nannie's awa' ! 
 
 Thou laverock that springs frae the dews of the lawn. 
 The shepherd to warn o' the gray-breaking dawn. 
 And thou mellow mavis, that hails the night fa'. 
 Give over for pity — my Nannie's awa' ' 
 
 Come, autumn, sae pensive, in yellow and gray, 
 And soothe me wi' tidings o' Nature's decay : 
 The dark, dreary winter, and wild-driving snaw, 
 Alane can delight me — now Nannie's awa' 1 
 
FOR A'. .THAT, AND A' THAT 251 
 
 FOR A' THAT, AND A' THAT 
 
 Tune—' For a' that, an' a' that ' 
 
 Is there, for honest poverty, 
 
 That'hangs his head, and a' that 1 ' 
 The coward slave, Aye pass him by, 
 
 We dare be poor ifor a' that ! ' 
 For a' that, and a' that. 
 
 Our toils obscure, and a' that ; 
 The rank is but the guinea's stamp, 
 
 The man 's the gowd for a' that 1 : 
 
 What thougl^ on hamely fare we dine. 
 
 Wear hoddin gray, and a' that ; 
 Gie foojs. their silks, and knaves, their wine : 
 
 A nian 's a man for a' that I 
 For ^' that, and a' that. 
 
 Their tinsel' show, and a' that ; 
 The honest man,' though e'er sae poor. 
 
 Is king o' men for a' that ! 
 
 Ye see yon birkie ca'd a lofd, 
 
 • Wha struts, and stares, and a' that ; 
 
 Though hundreds worship at. his word. 
 
 He 's but a coof for a' that ; 
 For a' that, and a' that. 
 
 His riband, star, and a' that. 
 The man of independent mind. 
 
 He looks and laughs at a' that. 
 
 A prince, can mak a belted knight,- 
 
 A marquis, duke, and a' that ; 
 But an honest man 's aboon his might, 
 
 Guid faith h'e maunna fa' that 1 
 For a' that, and a' that, 
 
 Theit dignities, and a' that, : 
 The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth. 
 
 Are higher rank than a' that. 
 
 Then let us pray that come it may — 
 
 As come it will for a' that — 
 That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, 
 
 May bear the gree, and a' that. 
 For a' that, and a' that. 
 
 It 's coming yet, for a' that, 
 That man to man, the warld o'er, 
 
 Shall brothers be for a' that I 
 
252 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 CRAIGIE-BURN WOOD* 
 Tune — ' Craigie-burn Wood ' 
 
 Sweet fa's the eve on Craigie-bum, 
 And blithe awakes the morrow ; 
 
 But a' the pride o' spring's return 
 Can yield me nocht but sorrow. 
 
 I see the flowers and spreading trees, 
 I hear the wild birds singing ; 
 
 But what a weary wight can please, 
 And care his bosom wringing ? 
 
 Fain, fain would I my griefs impart, 
 Yet dare na for your anger ; 
 
 But secret love will break my heart. 
 If I conceal it langer. 
 
 If thou refuse to pity me, 
 
 If thou shalt love anither, 
 When yon green leaves fade frae the tree. 
 
 Around my grave they '11 wither. 
 
 O LASSIE, ART THOU SLEEPING YET?' 
 
 Tune — ' Let me in this ae night ' 
 
 O Lassie, art thou sleeping yet ? 
 Or art thou wakin' I would wit ? 
 For love has bound me hand and foot. 
 And I would fain be in, jo. 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 Oh let me in tlys ae night, 
 
 This ae, ae, ae night ; 
 For pity's sake this ae night, 
 
 Oh rise and let me in, jo. 
 
 • ' Cralgie-burn wood : " is situated on the badks ol the river Moffat. It 
 was there the Poet met the ' Lassie wi' the lint-wliite locks," Mrs. Whelpdale 
 and there he conceived several ol his beautiful lyrics, i ■ ' 
 
O LASSIE, ART THOU SLEEPING YET? 253 
 
 Thou hear'st the winter wind and weet, 
 Nae star blinks through the driving sleet ; 
 Tak pity on my weary feet, 
 
 And shield me frae the rain, jo. 
 
 The bitter blast that round me blaws 
 Unheeded howls, unheeded fa's ; 
 The cauldness o' thy heart 's the cause 
 Of a' my grief and pain, jo, 
 
 HER ANSWER 
 
 Oh teU na me o' wind and raih, 
 Upbraid na me wi' cauld disdain ; 
 Gae back the gate ye cam again, — 
 I winna let you in, jo I 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 I tell ye now this ae night, 
 
 This ae, ae, ae night. 
 And ance for a' this ae night, 
 
 I winna let you in, jo I 
 
 The snellest blast, at mirkest hours. 
 That round the pathless wanderer pours. 
 Is nocht to what poor she endures. 
 That 's trusted faithless man, jo 1 
 
 The sweetest flower that deck'd the mead. 
 Now trodden like the vilest weed ; 
 Let simple maid the lesson read. 
 The weird may be her ain, jo 1 
 
 The bird that charm'd his summer-day, 
 Is now the cruel fowler's prey ; 
 Let witless, trusting woman say. 
 How aft her fate 's the same, jo I 
 
 ADDRESS TO THE WOOD-LARK 
 
 Tune — ' Where 'II bonnie Ann lie ? ' or — ' Loch-Eroch 
 Side ' 
 
 Oh stay, sweet warbling wood-lark, stay I 
 Nor quit for me the tremJaling spray ; 
 A hapless lover courts thy lay. 
 Thy soothing, fond complaining. 
 
254 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Again, again. that tender part, 
 That I may catch thy melting art : 
 For surely that wad touch her heart, 
 Wha' kills me wi' disdaining. 
 
 Say, was thy little mate unkind. 
 And heard thee as the careless wind ? 
 Oh 1 nOcht but love and sorrow join'd. 
 Sic notes o' woe could waukeh. 
 
 Thou tells o' never-ending care ; 
 O' speechless grief, and dark despair ; 
 For pity's sake, sweet bird, nae mair,,. 
 Or my poor heart is broken 1 
 
 ON CHLORIS BEING ILL 
 
 Tune — ' Aye Walcin' Q ! ' 
 
 Can I cease to care. 
 
 Can I cease to lariguish. 
 
 While my darling fair 
 
 Is on the couQh of anguish ? 
 
 Long, long the night. 
 
 Heavy comes the morrow, 
 
 WhUe my, soul's delight. 
 Is on her bed of sorrow. 
 
 Every hope is fled. 
 
 Every fear is terror ; 
 Slumber even I dread ; 
 
 Every dream is horror. 
 
 Hear me. Powers divine 1 
 
 Oh, in pity hear me I 
 Take aught else of mine, 
 
 But my Chloris spare me I 
 
CALEDONIA 255 
 
 CALEDONIA 
 Tune — ' Humours of Glen ' 
 
 Their groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon, 
 Where bright-beaming summers exalt the perfume ; 
 
 Far dearer to me yon lone glen o' green breoKan, 
 Wi' the burn stealing under the lang yellow broom. 
 
 Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers. 
 Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk lowly unseen ; 
 
 For there, lightly tripping aman'g the wild flowers, 
 A-list'ning the linnet, aft wanders rtiy Jean. 
 
 Though rich is the breeze in their gay sunny valleys. 
 And cauld Caledonia's blast on the wave ; 
 
 Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud palace, 
 What are they ?r-the haunt of the tyrant and slave 1 
 
 The slave's spicy forests, and gold-bubbling fountains. 
 
 The brave Caledonian views wi' disdain ; 
 He wanders as free as the winds of his mountains, 
 
 Save love's willing fetters — ^the chains o' his Jean I 
 
 SONG 
 Tune — ' Laddie, lie near me ' 
 
 'TwAS na her bonnie blue e'e was my ruin ; 
 Fair though she be, that was ne'er my undoing : 
 'Twas the dear smile when naebody did mind us, 
 "Twas the bewitching, sweet, stown glance 6' kindness. 
 
 Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me, 
 Sair do I fear that despair maun abide me ; , 
 But though fell fortune should fate us to sever. 
 Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever I 
 
 Mary, I 'm thine wi' a passion sincerest,. 
 And thou hast plighted me love o' the dearest I 
 And thou 'rt the angel that never can alter. 
 Sooner the sun in his motion would falter. 
 
256 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 HOW CRUEL ARE THE PARENTS f 
 
 ALTERED FROM AN OLD ENGLISH SONG 
 
 Tune — ' John Anderson, my jo ' 
 
 How cruel are the parents 
 
 Who riches only prize ; 
 And to the wealthy booby. 
 
 Poor woman sacrifice 1 
 Meanwhile the hapless daughter 
 
 Has but a choice of strife ; — 
 To shun a tyrant father's hate. 
 
 Become a wretched wife. 
 
 The ravening hawk pursuing. 
 
 The trembling dove thus flies. 
 To shun impelling ruin 
 
 Awhile her pinions tries ; 
 Till of escape despairing. 
 
 No shelter or retreat, 
 She trusts the ruthless falconer. 
 
 And drops beneath his feet. 
 J 
 
 MARK YONDER POMP 
 Tune — ' Deil tak the Wars ' 
 
 Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion, 
 Round the wealthy, titled bride : 
 
 But when compared with real passion. 
 Poor is all that princely pride 1 
 What are the showy treasures ? 
 What are the noisy pleasures ? 
 
 The gay, gaudy glare of vanity and art : 
 The polish'd jewel's blaze 
 May draw the wondering gaze, 
 And courtly grandeur bright 
 The fancy may delight. 
 
 But never, never can come near the heart. 
 
 But did you see my dearest Chloris, 
 
 In Simplicity's array; 
 Lovely as yonder sweet opening flower is. 
 
 Shrinking from the gaze of day. 
 
MARK YONDER POMP 257 
 
 * 
 
 Oh then, the heart alarming, 
 
 And all resistless charming. 
 In Love's delightful fetters she chains the willing soul 1 
 
 Ambition would disown 
 
 The world's imperial crown. 
 
 Even Avarice would deny 
 
 His worshipp'd Deity, 
 Andjeel through every vein Love's raptures roll. 
 
 THIS IS NO MY AIN LASSIE 
 Tune — ' This is no my ain House ' 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 Oh this is no my ain lassie. 
 
 Fair though the lassie be ; 
 Oh weel ken I my ain lassie, 
 
 Kind love is in her e'e I 
 
 I see a form, I see a face, 
 Ye weel may wi' the fairest place : 
 It wants, to me, the witching grace. 
 The kind love that 's in her e'e. 
 
 She 's bonnie, blooming, straight, and tall. 
 And lang has had my heart in thrall ; 
 And aye it charms my very saul. 
 The kind love that 's in her e'e. 
 
 A thief sae pawkie is my Jean, 
 To steal a blink, by a' unseen ; 
 But gleg as light are lovers' e'en, 
 When kind love is in the e'e. 
 
 It may escape the courtly sparks, 
 It may escape the leamdd clerks ; 
 But weel the watching lover marks 
 The kind love that 's in her e'e. 
 
 46—1 
 
258 BURNS' POEMS AND' SONGS 
 
 TO MR. CUNNINGHAM 
 
 SCOTTISH SONG 
 
 Now spring has clad the g^o'ye in green, 
 
 And strew'd the lea wi' flo-wers ; 
 The furrow' d, waving com is seen 
 
 Rejoice in fostering showers ; 
 While ilka thing in nature join 
 
 Their sorrows to forego, 
 Oh, why thus all alone are mine 
 
 The weary steps of woe I 
 
 The trout within yon wimpling bum , 
 
 Glides swift— a silver dart ; 
 And safe beneath the shady thom 
 
 Defies the angler's art : 
 My life was ance that careless stream, 
 
 That wanton trout was I ; 
 But love, wi' unrelenting beam, , 
 
 Has scorch'd my fountains dry. 
 
 The little floweret's peaceful lot, 
 
 In yonder cliff that grows, ■ 
 Which, save the linnet's flight, I wo,t, 
 
 Nae ruder visit knows. 
 Was mine ; till love has o'er me past. 
 
 And blighted a' my bloom, 
 , And now beneath the withering blast 
 
 My youth and joy consume. 
 
 The waken'd laverock' warbling splririgs. 
 
 And climbs the early sky, 
 Winnowing blithe her dewy wings 
 
 In morning's rosy eye : 
 As little reck'd I sorrow's power. 
 
 Until the flowery snare 
 O' witching love, in luckless hour, • 
 
 Made me the thrall o' care. 
 
 Oh, had my fate been iCreenland snows. 
 
 Or Afric's burning zone, 
 Wi' man and nature l,eagued my foes. 
 
 So Peggy ne'er I 'd known 1 
 The wretch whase doom is, ' Hope nae mair,' 
 
 What tongue his woes can tell 1 
 Within whase bosom, save despair, 
 
 Nae kinder spirits dwell. 
 
OH, BONNIE WAS YON ROSY BRIER 259 
 
 OH, BONNIE WAS YON ROSY BRIER 
 
 Oh, bonilie was yon rosy brier, • 
 That blooms sae far frae haunt o' man ; 
 
 Andbppni^ she, and ah I ,how dear I 
 It shaded lra,e the e'enln' sun. 
 
 Yon rosebuds in the morning dew. 
 How pure amang the leaves sae green 1 
 
 But purer was the lover's vow 
 
 They witness'd in their shade yestieen. 
 
 All in Its rude and prickly bower. 
 
 That crimson rose, how sweet and fair 1 
 
 But love is far a sweeter flower 
 Amid life's thorny path o' care. 
 
 The pathless wild and wimpling burn, 
 Wi' Chloris in my arms, be mine ; 
 
 And I the wbrld, nor wish, nor scorn. 
 Its joys and griefs alike resign. 
 
 TO CHLORIS 
 
 'Tis Friendship's pledge, my young, fair friend. 
 
 Nor thou the gift refuse. 
 Nor with unwilling i ear attend 
 
 The moraUsing Muse. 
 
 Since thou, in all thy youth arid charms. 
 
 Must bid the world adieu, 
 (A .world 'gainst peace in constant arms) 
 
 "To join the friendly few : 
 
 Since, thy gay morn of life o'ercast, 
 
 ChUl came the tempest's lower ; 
 (And ne'er misfortune's eastern blast 
 
 Did nip a fairer flower :) , 
 
 Since life's gay scenes must charm no more. 
 
 Still much is left behind ; 
 Still nobler wealth hast thou in store — = 
 
 Xb,e comforts of the mind i; 
 
260 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Thine is the self-approving glow, 
 On conscious honour's part ; 
 
 And, dearest gilt of Heaven below. 
 Thine Friendship's truest heart. 
 
 The joys refined of sense and taste, 
 With every Muse to rove : 
 
 And doubly were the poet blest 
 These joys could he improve. 
 
 FORLORN, MY LOVE, NO COMFORT NEAR 
 
 Tune — ' Let me in this ae Night ' 
 
 Forlorn, my love, no comfort near, 
 Far, far from thee, I wander here ; 
 Far, far from thee, the fate severe 
 At which I most repine, love. 
 
 Oh, wert thou, love, but near me ; 
 But near, near, near me ; 
 How kindly thou wouldst cheer me. 
 And mingle sighs with mine, love. 
 
 Around me scowls a wintry sky. 
 That blasts each bud of hope and joy ; 
 And shelter, shade, nor home have I, 
 Save in those arms of thine, love. 
 
 Cold, alter'd friendship's cruel part. 
 
 To poison fortune's ruthless dart — 
 
 Let me not break thy faithful heart, 
 
 And say that fate is mine, Igve. 
 
 But dreary though the moments fleet. 
 Oh, let me think we yet shall meet 1 
 That only ray of solace sweet 
 Can on thy Chloris shine, love. 
 
LAST MAY A BRAW WOOER 261 
 
 LAST MAY A BRAW WOOER 
 
 .. Tune — ' The Lothian Lassie' 
 
 Last May a braw wooer cam down the lang glen, 
 
 And sair wi' his love he did deave me ; 
 I said there was naething I hated like men — 
 
 The deuce gae wl 'm, to believe me, believe me ; 
 
 The deuce gae wi 'm, to believe me 1 
 
 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 lik^d, for Jean — 
 
 The Lord forgie^me for lying, for lying ; 
 
 The Lord forgie me for lying 1 
 
 A weel-stocked maileh — ^himsel' for the laird — 
 And marriage afl-hand, were his proffers': 
 
 I never loot on that I kenn'd it, or .cared. 
 But thought I might hae waur offers, waur offers ; 
 But thought I might hae waur offers. 
 
 But what wad ye think ? — in a fortnight or less. 
 
 The deil tak his taste to gae near her I 
 He up the lang loan to my black cousin Bess, 
 
 Guess ye how, the jaud I I could bear her, could bear her; 
 
 Guess ye how, the jaud ! I could bear her. 
 
 But a' the neist week as I fretted wi' care, 
 
 I gaed to the tryste o' Dalgarnock,* 
 And wha but my fine fickle lover was there I 
 
 I glower'd as I 'd seen a warlock, a warlock ; 
 
 I glower'd as I 'd seen a warlock. 
 
 But owre my left shouther I gae him a blink. 
 
 Lest neibours might say I was saucy ; 
 My wooer he caper'd as he 'd been in drink, 
 
 And vow'd I was his dear lassie, dear lassie ; 
 
 And vow'd I was his dear lassie. 
 
 I spier'd for my cousin, fu' couthy and sweet. 
 
 Gin she had recover'd her hearin'. 
 And how my auld shoon fitted her shachl't feet. 
 
 But, Heavens 1 how he fell a swearin', a swearin' ; 
 
 But, Heavens ! how he fell a swearin' ! 
 
 * ' Dalgarnock : ' a romantic spot with a ruined (hurch, on the banks 
 pttJjeNitlt. 
 
262 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 He begged, for Gudesake I 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. 
 
 FRAGMENT 
 Tune — ' The Caledonian Hunt's Delight ' 
 
 Why, why tell thy lover, 
 
 Bliss he never must enjoy ? 
 "Why, why undeceive him. 
 
 And give all his hopes the lie ? 
 
 Oh why, while fancy, raptured, slumbers, 
 Chloris, Chloris all the theme — 
 
 V/hy, vrhy wouldst thou, cruel, 
 Wake thy lover from his dream ? 
 
 HEY FOR A LASS WF A TOCHER 
 
 Tune — ' Balinamona ora ' 
 
 Awa' wi' your witchcaft o' beauty's alarms. 
 The slender bit beauty you grasp in your arms 1 
 Oh, gie me the lass that has acres o' charms. 
 Oh, gie me the lass wi' the weel-stockit farms. 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher. 
 Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher ; 
 Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher — 
 The nice yellow guineas for me 1 
 
 Your beauty 's a flower, in the morning that blows, 
 And withers the faster, the faster it grows ; 
 But the rapturous charm o' the bonnie green knowes, 
 Ek spring they 're new decked wi' bonnie white yowes. 
 
 And e'en when this beauty your bosom has bless'd. 
 The brightest o' beauty may cloy, when possess'd ; 
 But the sweet yellow darlings wi' Geordie impress'd. 
 The langer ye hae them — the mair they 're caress'd. 
 
JESSY 263 
 
 JESSY 
 Tune—' Here 's a health to them that 's awa' ' 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 Here 's a health to ane I lo'e dear 1 
 
 Here 's a health to ane I lo'e dear I , 
 
 Thou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers meet. 
 
 And soft as l^heir parting tear, Jessy 1 
 
 Although thou maun never be mine, 
 
 Although even hope is denied ; 
 'Tis sweeter for thee despairing, 
 
 Than aught in the world. beside, Je$sy 1 
 
 I mourn through the gay, gaudy day, 
 
 As, hopeless, I muse,on,thy charms ; 
 But welcome the dream o' sweet slumber, 
 
 For then I am lock'd in thy arms, Jessy I . 
 
 I guess by the dear angel, pmile, 
 
 I guess by the love-rolling e'ie ; 
 But why urge the tender confession, 
 
 'Gainst fortune's fell cruel decree, Jessy I 
 
 FAIREST MAID ON DEVON BANKS 
 Tune — ' Rothemurehie ' 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 Fairest maid on Devon banks, 
 Crystal Devon, winding Devon, 
 
 Wilt thou lay that frown aside, 
 
 And smile as thou were wont to do ? 
 
 Full well thou know's't I love thee dear, 
 Couldst thou to malice lend an ear ? 
 Oh, did riot loVe exclaim, ' Forbear, 
 Nor use a faithful lover so I ' 
 
 Then come, thou fairest of the fair. 
 Those wonted smiles,' oh, let me share 1 
 And by thy beauteous self I swear, 
 
 No love but thine my heart shall know ! 
 
264 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 THE BIRKS* OF ABERFELDY 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 Bonnie lassie, will ye go, 
 Will ye go, will ye go ; 
 Bonnie lassie, wUl ye go. 
 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. 
 
 While o'er their heads the hazels hing, ■ 
 The little birdies blithely sing. 
 Or lightly flit on wanton wing 
 In the birks of Aberfeldy. 
 
 The braes ascend like lofty wa's, 
 The foaming stream deep-roaring fa's, 
 O'erhung wi' fragrant spreading shaws. 
 The birks of Aberfeldy. 
 
 The hoary clifEs are crown'd wi' flowers. 
 White o'er the linns the burnie pours. 
 And rising, weets wi' misty showers 
 The birks of Aberfeldy. 
 
 Let Fortune's gifts at random flee. 
 They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me, 
 Supremely blest wi' love and thee. 
 In the birks of Aberfeldy. 
 
 STAY, MY CHARMER, CAN YOU LEAVE ME? 
 
 Tune — ' An Gille dubh ciar-dhubh ' 
 
 Stay, my charmer, can you leave me ? 
 
 Cruel, cruel to deceive me 1 
 
 Well you know how much you grieve me ; 
 
 Cruel charmer, can you go ? 
 
 Cruel charmer, can you go ? 
 
 • ' Birks : ' relerriag to the well-known beautiful falls of Monese, near 
 Aberfeldy. 
 
STAY, MY CHARMER, CAN YOU LEAVE ME ? 265 
 
 By my love so Ul requited. 
 
 By the laith you fondly plighted, 
 
 By the pangs of lovers slighted. 
 
 Do not, do not leave me so I 
 
 Do not, do not leave me so 1 
 
 STRATHALLAN'S LAMENT* 
 
 Thickbst night, o'erhang my dwelling 1 
 Howling tempests, o'er me rave 1 
 
 Turbid torrents, wintry swelling, 
 Still surround my lonely cave 1 
 
 Crystal streamlets, gently flowing, 
 Busy haunts of base mankind, 
 
 Western breezes, softly blowing. 
 Suit not my distracted mind. 
 
 In the cause of right engaged. 
 Wrongs injurious to redress. 
 
 Honour's war we strongly waged. 
 But the Heavens denied success. 
 
 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 I 
 
 THE YOUNG HIGHLAND ROVER f 
 Tune — ' Morag ' 
 
 Loud blaw the frosty breezes, 
 The snaws the mountains cover ; 
 
 Like winter on me seizes, 
 
 Since my young Highland rover 
 Far wanders nations over. 
 
 • ' Strathallan : ' was one of the followers of the young Chevaliei, and Is 
 supposed in the song to be lying concealed in some cave of the Highlands, 
 after the battle of Culloden. 
 
 t ' The young Highland Rover : ' is supposed to be the young Chevalier, 
 Prince Charles Edward. 
 
266 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Where'er he go, where'er he stray, 
 May. Heaven be his warden : 
 
 Return him safe to fair Strathspey, 
 And bonnie Castle-Gordon 1 
 
 The trees now naked groaning, 
 Shall soon wi' leaves be hinging. 
 
 The birdies dowie moaning. 
 Shall a' be blithely singing, 
 And every flower be springing. 
 
 Sae I '11 rejoice the lee-lang day. 
 When by his mighty warden , 
 
 My youth 's return'd to fair Strathspey, 
 And bonnie Castle-Gordon 1 
 
 RAVING WINDS AROUND HER BLOWING* 
 
 Tune — ' M'Gregor of Ruara's Lament ' 
 
 Raving winds around her Mowing, 
 Yellow leaves the woodlands strewing, 
 By a river hoarsely roaring, 
 Isabella stray'd deploring — 
 ' Farewell, hours that late did measure 
 Sunshine ddys of joy and pleasure ; 
 Hail, thou gloomy night of sorrow. 
 Cheerless night that knows no morrow I 
 
 ' O'er the past too fondly wandering. 
 On the hopeless future pondering ; 
 Chilly grief my life-blood freezes, 
 Fell despair my fancy seizes. 
 Life, thou soul of every blessing. 
 Load to misery most distressing. 
 Oh, how gladly I 'd resign thpe, ,; , , 
 And to dark oblivion join thee ! ' 
 
 • This was written in compliment to Miss Macleod, afterwards Mrs. Ross, 
 a very great friend of tlie poet. It alluc^ed to Jlie death of iier sister and 
 her sister's husband. 
 
MUSING ON THE ROARING OCEAN 267 
 
 MUSING ON THE ROARING OCEAN 
 Tune — ' DTuimion Dubh ' 
 
 Musing on the roaring oce^n, 
 
 Which, diviies my love an,a me ; 
 Wearying Heaven in warm devotion. 
 
 For his weal where'er he be. 
 
 Hope and fear's alternate billow 
 
 Yielding late to Nature's law, 
 Whisp'ring spirits round my pillow 
 
 Talk of him that 's far awa'. 
 
 Ye whom sorrow never wounded, 
 
 Ye who never shed a tear, 
 Care-untroubled, joy-surrounded. 
 
 Gaudy day to you is dear. 
 
 Gentle night, do thou befriend me ; 
 
 Downy sleep, the curtain draw ; 
 Spirits kind, again attend me, 
 
 Talk of him that 's far awa' 1 
 
 BLITHE WAS SHE 
 
 TuNE-^' Andrew and his Cutty Gun' 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 Blithe, blithe and merry was she, 
 Blithe was she but and ben : 
 
 Blithe by the banks of Earn, 
 And blithe in Glenturit glen. 
 
 By Ochtertyre grows thp ^k. 
 
 On Yajrow banks, the birken shaw ; 
 
 But Phemie * was a bonnier lass 
 Than braes o' Yarrow ever saw. 
 
 * ' Phemie ; * Miss Murray Of LiHtrose, cailed the Flower o£ Stratlimbre, 
 who met ti>e poet at Ocbtcrtyre. 
 
268 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Her looks were like a flower in May, 
 Her smile was like a simmer morn ; 
 
 She tripp6d by the banks of Earn, 
 As light 's a bird upon a thorn. 
 
 Her bonnie face it was as meek 
 
 As ony lamb upon a lea ; 
 The evening sun was ne'er sae isweet 
 
 As was the blink o' Phemie's e'e. 
 
 The Highland hills I 've wander'd wide, 
 And o'er the Lowlands I hae been ; 
 
 But Phemie was the blithest lass 
 That ever trod the dewy green. 
 
 A ROSE-BUD BY MY EARLY WALK* 
 
 Tune — ' The Shepherd's Wife ' 
 
 A ROSE-BUD by my early walk, 
 Adown a corn-enclosed bawk, 
 Sae gently bent its thorny stalk, 
 All on a dewy morning. 
 
 Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fled, 
 In a' its crimson glory spread. 
 And drooping rich the dewy head, 
 It scents the early morning. 
 
 Within the bush, her covert nest 
 A little linnet fondly press' d. 
 The dew sat chUly on her breast 
 Sae early in the morning. 
 
 She soon shall see her tender brood 
 The pride, the pleasure o' the wood, 
 Amang the fresh green leaves bedew' d. 
 Awake the early morning. 
 
 So thou, dear bird, young Jeanie fair 1 
 On trembling string or vocal air. 
 Shall sweetly pay the tender care 
 That tents thy early morning. 
 
 • This song was written on Miss Cruickshanks; daugliter ol W. Crulck- 
 shanks, of the High School, a great friend of Burns. Our readers will 
 remember another poem on the same lady. She became wife to Mr. 
 Henderson, Jedburgh. 
 
A ROSE-BUD BY MY EARLY WALK 269 
 
 So thou, sweet rose-bud, young and gay, 
 Shalt beauteous blaze upon the day, 
 And bless the parent's evening ray 
 That watch'd thy early morning. 
 
 BRAVING ANGRY WINTER'S STORMS 
 Tune — ' Neil Gow's Lamentation for Abercairny ' 
 
 Where, braving angry winter's storms, 
 
 The lofty Ochils rise. 
 Far in their shade my Peggy's * charms 
 
 First blest my wond'ring eyes ; 
 As one who by some savage stream, 
 
 A lonely gem surveys, 
 Astonish'd doubly, marks its beam 
 
 With art's most polish'd blaze. 
 
 Blest be the wild, sequester'd shade. 
 
 And blest the day and hour, 
 Where Peggy's charms I first survey' d. 
 
 When first I felt their power 1 
 The tyrant Death, with grim control, 
 
 May seize my fleeting breath : 
 But tearing Peggy from my soul 
 
 Must be a stronger death. 
 
 TIBBIE, I HAE SEEN THE DAY 
 Tune — ' Invercauld's Reel ' 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 O Tibbie, I hae seen the day 
 
 Ye wad na been sae shy ; 
 For laik o' gear ye lightly me, 
 
 But, trowth, I care na by. 
 
 Yestreen I met you on the moor. 
 Ye spak na, but gaed by like stoure : 
 Ye geek at me because I 'm podr. 
 But fient a hair care I. 
 
 ' Peggy : ' Margaret Chalmers, afterwards Mrs. Lewis Hay. 
 
270 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 ,1 doubt na, lass, but ye may think. 
 Because ye hae the name o' clink. 
 That ye, can please me at a wink, 
 Whene'er, ye like to try. 
 
 But sorrow tak him that 's sae mean. 
 Although his pouch o' coin were clean, 
 Wha follows ony saiucy quean 
 That looks sae proud and high. 
 
 Although a lad were e'er sae smart, 
 If that he want the yellow' dirt. 
 Ye '11 cast your head anither airt, 
 And answer him fu' dry. 
 
 But if he hae the name ,o' gear, 
 Ye 'U fasten to him like a brier. 
 Though hardly he, for sense or lear. 
 Be better than the kye. 
 
 But, Tibbie, lass, tak my advice, ■ 
 Your daddie's gear maks you sae nice ; 
 The deil a ane.wad spier your price, 
 "Were ye as poor as I. 
 
 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. 
 
 FAREWELL TO CLARINDA 
 
 ON LEAVING EDINBURGH 
 
 Clarinda, mistress of my soul. 
 The measured time is run 1 
 
 The wretch beneath the dreary pole, 
 So marks his latest sun. 
 
 To what dark cave of frozen night ' 
 Shall poor Sylyander hie ? 
 
 Deprived of thee, his life and light, 
 The sun of all his joy 1 
 
FAREWELL TO CLARINDA 271 
 
 We part — buti by these precious drops 
 
 That fll] thy lovely eyes 1 
 No other light shall guide my steps 
 
 Till thy bright beams arise. 
 
 She, the fair sun of all her sex, 
 
 Has blest my glorious day : 
 And shall a glimm'ring planet fix 
 
 My worship to its ray ? 
 
 THE DAY RETURNS 
 Tune — ' Seventh of November ' 
 
 The day returns, my bosom burn's,' ' 
 
 The blissful day we twa did meet ; 
 Though winter Wild in tempest tbil'd. 
 
 Ne'er summer-sun was half sae sweet. 
 Than a' the pride that loads the tide, 
 
 And crosses o'er the sultry line ; 
 Than kingly robes, than crowns and globes, 
 
 Heaven gave me more — it made thee mine ! 
 
 While day and night can bring delight. 
 
 Or nature aught of pleasure give ; 
 AWTiUe joys above, my mind can move. 
 
 For thee,- and thee alone, I live I ' 
 When that grim foe of liffc below ' 
 
 Comes in between to make us part ; 
 The iron hand that breaks our band, 
 
 It breaks my bliss-^-it breaks my heart. 
 
 THE LAZY MIST 
 
 The lazy mist hangs from the brow of the hUl, 
 Concealing the course of the dark-winding rill ; 
 How languid the scenes, late so sprightly, appear. 
 As Autumn to Winter resigns the pale year 1 
 The forests are leafless, the meadows are brown. 
 And aU the gay foppery of Summer is flown : 
 Apart let me wander, apart let me muse. 
 How quick Time is flying, how keen Fate pursues ; 
 
272 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 How long I have lived — ^but how much lived in vain : 
 
 How little of life's scanty span may remain : 
 
 "What aspects old Time, in his progress, has worn ; 
 
 What ties cruel fate in my bosom has torn 1 
 
 How foolish, or worse, till our summit is gain'd I 
 
 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. 
 
 OH, WERE I ON PARNASSUS' HILL I 
 
 Tune — ' My Love is lost to Me ' 
 
 Oh, were I on Parnassus' hill I 
 Or had of Helicon my fill ; 
 That I might catch poetic skill. 
 
 To sing how dear I love thee. 
 But Nith maun be my Muse's well. 
 My Muse maun be thy bonnie sel' ; 
 On Corsincon * I '11 glower and spell, 
 
 And write how dear I love thee. 
 
 Then come, sweet Muse, inspire my lay 1 
 For a' the lee-lang simmer's day, 
 I couldna sing, I couldna say. 
 
 How much, how dear I love thee. 
 I see thee dancing o'er the green. 
 Thy waist sae jimp, thy limbs sae clean. 
 Thy tempting lips, thy roguish e'en — 
 
 By heaven and earth I love thee 1 
 
 By night, by day, a-field, at hame, 
 
 The thoughts o' thee my breast inflame ; 
 
 And aye I muse and sing thy name — 
 
 I oriy live to love thee. 
 Though I were doom'd to wander on, 
 Beyond the sea, beyond the sun, 
 Till my last weary sand was run ; 
 
 Till then — and then I love thee. 
 
 * ' Coisincoa : ' a bill near Ellisland. 
 
OF A' THE AIRTS 273 
 
 OF A' THE AIRTS 
 Tune — ' Miss Admiral Gordon's Strathspey ' 
 
 Of a' the airts the wind can blaw, 
 
 I dearly like the west. 
 For there the bonnie lassie lives. 
 
 The lassie I lo'e best : 
 There wild-woods grow, and rivers row, 
 
 And mony a hill between ; 
 But day and night my fa,ncy's flight 
 
 Is ever wi' my Jean. 
 
 I see her in the dewy flowers, 
 
 I see her sweet and fair : 
 I hear her in the tunefu' birds, 
 
 I hear her 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. 
 
 THE BRAES O' BALLOCHMYLE 
 Tune — ' The Braes o' Ballochmyle ' 
 
 The Catrine woods were yellow seen, 
 
 The flowers decay'd on Catrine lee, 
 Nae laverock sang on hillock green, 
 
 But nature sicken'd on the e'e. 
 Through faded groves Maria * sang, 
 
 Hersel' in beauty's bloom the whfle. 
 And aye the wild-wood echoes rang, 
 
 Fareweel, the Braes o' Ballochmyle t 
 
 Low in your wintry beds, ye flowers. 
 
 Again ye '11 flourish fresh and fair ; 
 Ye birdies dumb, in with'ring bowers. 
 
 Again ye '11 charm the vocal air. 
 But here, alas I for me nae mair. 
 
 Shall birdie charm, or flow'ret smUe ; 
 Fareweel the bonnie banks of Ayr, 
 
 Fareweel, fareweel, sweet Ballochmyle I 
 
 * * Maria : ' eldest daughter ol Sir John Whltefoord of Ballochmyle. 
 
274 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 WILLIE* BREWD A PECK O' MADT 
 Tune — ' Willie breufd a peck o' Maut ' 
 
 Oh, Willie brew'd a peck o' maut, 
 And Rob and Allan cam to pree : 
 
 Three blither hearts, that lee-lang night, 
 Ye wad na find in Christendie. 
 
 CHORUS . 
 
 We aire na fou, we 're nae that f ou, 
 But just a drappie in our e'e ; 
 'I The cock may cf aw, the day may daw, 
 
 And aye we 'll taste the barley bree. 
 
 Here are we met, three merry boys. 
 Three merry boys, I trow, are we ; 
 
 And rn(!>ny a night we 've merry been, 
 And rnony mae we hope to bel 
 
 It is the moon, I ken her horn, ■ 
 That 's blinkin' in the lift sae hie ; 
 
 She shines sae bright to wile us hame, 
 But, by my sooth, she 'U wait a wee 1 
 
 Wha first Shall rise to gang awa', 
 A cjickold coward loon is he I 
 
 Wha last beside his chair shall fa', 
 He is the king among us three I 
 
 I GAED A WAEFU' GATE YESTREEN 
 Tune — ' The , blue-eyed La^s ' 
 
 I GAED a waefu' gate yestreen, 
 
 A gate, I fear, I '11 dearly rue ; 
 I gat my, death frae twa sweet e'en,, 
 
 Twa lovely, p' en o' bonnie blue. 
 'Twas not her golden ringlets bright ; 
 
 Her lips like roses wat wi' dew. 
 Her heaving bosom, lily-white^ — 
 
 It was her e'en sae bonnie blue. 
 
 • ' Willie : ' who ' breVd a peels o' maijt,' wks William Nicol ; and Rob 
 and Allan were our poet and his Mend, Allan Mastertori, a writing-master 
 in Edinburgh. This meeting took place at Laggan, a larm purchased by 
 Mr. Nlcol, in Nlthsdale, ou the recommendation of our bard. 
 
I GAED A WAEFU' GATE YESTREEN 275 
 
 She talli'd, she .smiled, my heart she wiled ; 
 
 She charm'd my soul, I wist na how ; 
 And aye the stound, the deadly wound, 
 
 Cam frae her e'en sae bonnie blue. 
 But, spare to speak, and spare to speed ; 
 
 She 'U aiblins listen to my vow : 
 Should she refuse, I '11 lay my dead 
 
 To her twa e'en sae bonnie blue.* 
 
 THE BANKS OF NITH 
 Tune—' Rgbie donna gprach ' 
 
 The Thames flows proudly to the sea, 
 
 Where royal cities stately st^nd ; 
 But sweeter flows the Nith, to me. 
 
 Where jCummins ance.had high, command ; 
 When shall I see that honour'd land. 
 
 That winding stream.! love so d&ar 1 
 Must wayward Fortune's adverse hand; 
 
 For ever, ever keep me here ? 
 
 How lovely, Nith, thy fruitful vales. 
 
 Where spreading hawthorns gslUy bloom ; 
 How sweetly wind thy sloping dales. 
 
 Where lambkins wanton through the broom I 
 Though wanderings now, must be my doom, 
 
 Far from thy bonnie banks and braes, 
 May there my latest hours consume, 
 
 Amang the friends of early days 1 
 
 JOHN ANDERSON,. MY JO 
 Tune — ' John Anderson; my jo ' 
 
 John Anderson, my jo, John,^ ,.^ 
 
 When we were first acquent,' 
 Your locks were like the raven,' 
 
 Your bonnie brow was brent ; 
 ' But now your brow is held, John, 
 
 Your locks ai;e like tihe snaw ; 
 But, blessings on your frosty ppw, 
 
 John Anderson, jny jo. . 
 
 ' ' Blue-eyed lass': ' daughter of Rev. Mr. Jeffrey 6t Loehmaben. 
 
276 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 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 'U go ; 
 And sleep thegither at the foot, 
 
 John Anderson, my jo. 
 
 TAM GLEN 
 Tune—' Tom Glen ' 
 
 My heart is a-breaking, dear tittie, 
 Some counsel unto me come len'. 
 
 To anger them a' is a pity. 
 
 But what will I do wi' Tam Glen ' 
 
 I 'm thinking, wi' sic a braw fellow. 
 In poortith I might mak a fen' : 
 
 What care I in riches to wallow. 
 If I maunna marry Tam Glen ? 
 
 There 's Lowrie, the laird o' Drumeller, 
 ' Guid day to you, brute I ' he comes ben ; 
 
 He brags and he blaws o' his siller. 
 
 But when will he dance like Tam Glen ? 
 
 My minnie does constantly deave me, 
 And bids me beware o' young men ; 
 
 They flatter, she says, to deceive me. 
 But wha can think sae o' Tam Glen ? 
 
 My daddie says, gin I '11 forsake him. 
 He '11 gie me guid hunder marks ten : 
 
 But, if it 's ordain'd I maun take him. 
 Oh, wha wiU I get but Tam Glen ? 
 
 Yestreen at the valentines' dealing. 
 My heart to my mou' gied a sten ; 
 
 For thrice I drew ane without failing, 
 And thrice it was written — Tam Glen I 
 
 The last Hallowe'en I was waukin' 
 My droukit sark-sleeve, as ye ken ; 
 
 His likeness cam up the house staukin', 
 And the very gray breeks o' Tam Glen I 
 
TAM GLEN 277 
 
 Come, counsel, dear tittle I don't tarry ; 
 
 I '11 gie ye my bonnie black lien, 
 Gif ye will advise me to marry 
 
 The lad I lo'e dearly — Tam Glen 1 
 
 MEIKLE THINKS MY LOVE 
 Tune — ' My Tocher s the Jewel ' 
 
 Oh, meikle thinks my love o' my beauty, 
 
 And meikle thinks my love o' my kin ; 
 But little thinks my love, I ken brawlie. 
 
 My tocher 's the jewel has charms for him. 
 It 's a' for the apple he 'U nourish the tree ; 
 
 It 's a' lor the hinny he '11 cherish the bee ; 
 My laddie 's sae meikle in love wi' the siller. 
 
 He canna hae love to spare for me. 
 
 Your proffer o' love 's an airl-penny. 
 
 My tocher 's the bargain ye wad buy ; 
 But an ye be crafty, I am cunnin', 
 
 Sae ye wi' anither your fortune maun try. 
 Ye 're like to the timmer o' yon rotten wood. 
 
 Ye 're Hke to the bark o' yon rotten tree, 
 Ye '11 slip frae me like a knotless thread, 
 
 And ye '11 crack your credit wi' mae nor me. 
 
 GANE IS THE DAY 
 
 Tune — ' Then, Guidwife, count the Lawin' 
 
 Gane is the day, and mirk 's the night. 
 But we '11 ne'er stray for fau't o' light. 
 For ale and brandy 's stars and moon, 
 And bluid-red wine 's the risin' sun. 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 Then, guidwife, count the lawin', 
 The lawin', the lawin'. 
 Then, guidwife, count the lawin'> 
 And bring a coggie mair. 
 
278 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 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 dnink 's a lord. 
 
 My coggie is a haly pool, 
 
 That heals the wounds o' care and dool ; 
 
 And pleasure is a wanton trout, 
 
 An' ye drink but deep ye '11 find him out. 
 
 WHAT CAN A YOUNG LASSIE.?, 
 Tune — ' What can a young Lassie do wi' an auld Man?' 
 
 What can a young lassie, what shall a young lassie. 
 What can a young lassie do wi' an auld man ? 
 
 Bad luck on the pennie that tempted my minnie 
 To sell her poor Jenny for siller an' Ian' 1 
 
 He 's always compleenin' frae mornin' to e'enin'. 
 He hosts and he hirples the weary day lang ; 
 
 He 's doylt and he 's dozin', his bluid it is frozen. 
 Oh, dreary's the night wi' a crazy auld man ! 
 
 He hums and he hankers, he frets and he cankers, 
 I never can please him, do a' that I can ; 
 
 He 's peevish and jealous of a' the young fellows. 
 Oh, dool on the day I met wi' an auld man I 
 
 My auld Auntie Katie upon me takes pity, 
 I '11 do my endeavour to follow her plan ; 
 
 I 'U cross him, and wrack him/, until I heart-break him. 
 And then his auld brass will buy me a new pan. 
 
 THE BONNIE WEE THING 
 Tune — ' Bonnie Wee Thing ' 
 
 BoNNils wee thing, cannie wee thing. 
 Lovely wee thing, w.ert thou, mine, 
 
 I wad:wear thee in my bosom. 
 Lest my jewel, I should tine 1 
 
THE BONNIE WEE' THINS 279 
 
 Wishlully I look and languish . 
 
 In that bonnie' face o' thine ; 
 And my; heart it stounds wi'' anguish, 
 
 Lest my wee thing be na mine- 
 
 "Wit and grace, ;^nd love and benuty, 
 
 In ae constellation shine ; 
 To adore thee is my duty, 
 
 Goddess o' this soul o' mine 1 
 
 OH, FOR ANE-AND-TWENTY, TAM ! 
 Tune— '^ The Moudiewort ' 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 An' oh, for ane-and-twenty, Tam ! 
 
 An' hey, sweet ane-and-twenty, Tam 1 
 I '11 learn my kin a rattlin' sang, ■ 
 
 An' I saw ane-and-twenty, Tam 1 
 
 They snool me sair, and hand me down, 
 And gar me look like bluntie, Tam ! 
 
 But three short years .will soon wheel roun' — 
 And then comes ane-and-twenty, Tam 1 
 
 A gleib o' Ian', a claut o' gear. 
 Was left me by my auntie, Tam ; 
 
 At kith or kin I need na spier. 
 An I saw ane-and-twenty, Tam I 
 
 They '11 hae me wed a wealthy cool. 
 Though I mysel' hae plenty, Tam ; 
 
 But hear'st thou, laddie — there 's my loof — 
 I 'm thine at ane-and-twenty, Tam I \ 
 
 BESS AND HER SPINNING WHEEL 
 
 Tune — ' The sweet Lass thatlo'es me' 
 
 Oh, leeze me on my spinning wheel, 
 Oh, leeze me on my rock and reel ; 
 Frae tap to tae that deeds me bien, , 
 And haps me fieLand warm at e'en 1 
 
280 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 I '11 set me down and sing and spin, 
 A^ile laigh descends the simmer sun, 
 Blest we content, and milk and meal— 
 Oh, leeze me on my spinning wheel. 
 
 On ilka hand the burnies trot, 
 And meet below my theekit cot ; 
 The scented birk and hawthorn white 
 Across the pool their arms unite, 
 Alike to screen the birdie's nest. 
 And little fishes' caller rest : 
 The sun blinks kindly in the biel', 
 Where blithe I turn my spinning wheel. 
 
 On lofty aiks the cushats wail, 
 And echo cons the doolfu' tale ; 
 The lintwhites in the hazel braes, 
 Delighted, rival ither's lays : 
 The craik among the clover hay. 
 The paitrick whirrin' o'er the ley. 
 The swallow jinkin' round my shiel. 
 Amuse me at my spinning wheel. 
 
 Wi' sma' to sell, and less to buy, 
 Aboon distress, below envy, 
 Oh, wha wad leave this humble state, 
 For a' the pride of a' the great ? 
 Amid their flaring, idlei toys. 
 Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys. 
 Can they the peace and pleasure feel 
 Of Bessy at her spinning wheel ? 
 
 THE COUNTRY LASSIE 
 Tune — ' The Country Lassie ' 
 
 In simmer, when the hay was mawn, 
 
 And corn waved green in ilka field. 
 While clover blooms white o'er the lea, 
 
 And roses blaw in ilka bield ; 
 Blithe Bessie in the milking shiel. 
 
 Says, ' I '11 he wed, come o't what will.' 
 Out spak a dame in wrinkled eild : 
 
 ' guid advisement comes nae ill. 
 
THE COUNTRY LASSIE 281 
 
 ' It 's ye hae wooers mony ane, 
 
 And, lassie, ye 're but young, ye ken ; 
 Then wait a wee, and cannie wale 
 
 A routhie but, a routhie ben : 
 There 's Johnnie o' the Buskie-glen, 
 
 Fu' is his barn, fu' his byre ; 
 Tak this frae me, my bonnle hen. 
 
 It 's plenty beets the lover's Are.' 
 
 ' For Johnnie o' the Buskie-glen, 
 
 I dinna care a single flie ; 
 He lo'es sae weel his craps and kye. 
 
 He has nae love to spare for me ; 
 But blithe 's the blink o' Robie's e'e. 
 
 And, weel I wat, he lo'es me dear : 
 Ae blink o' him I wad nae gie 
 
 For Buskie-glen and a' bis gear.' 
 
 ' O thoughtless lassie 1 life 's a faught ; 
 
 The canniest gate, the strife is sair ; 
 But aye fu' ban '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.' 
 
 • Oh, gear wiU buy me rigs o' land. 
 
 And gear will buy me sheep and kye ; 
 But the tender heart o' leesome love. 
 
 The gowd and sUler canna buy ; 
 We may be poor — ^Robie and I, 
 
 Light is the burden love lays on ; 
 Content and love bring peace and joy — 
 
 What mair hae queens upon a throne ? ' 
 
 MY BONNIE MARY 
 Tune — ' Go fetch to me a pint o' wine ' 
 
 Go fetch to me a pint o' wine, 
 An' fill it in a silver tassie ; 
 
 That I may drink before I go, 
 A service to my bonnie lassie. 
 
282 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 The boat rocks at ithe pier o' Leith ; 
 
 Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the ferry ; 
 The ship rides by the Berwick-law, 
 
 And I maun leave my bonnie Mary. 
 
 The trumpets sound, the banners fly, 
 
 The glimmering spears are ranked ready ; 
 The shouts o' war are heard alar. 
 
 The battle closes thick and bloody ; 
 But it 's not the roar o' sea or shore 
 
 "Wad make me langer wish to tarry ; 
 Nor shouts o' ,\vax that 's heard afar — 
 
 It 's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary. 
 
 INSCRIPTION ON THE TOMB OF FERGUSON 
 
 HERE LIES ROBERT FERGUSON, POET 
 
 Born, September 5, 1751— Died, 16th October 1774 
 
 No sculptured marble here, nor pompous lay, 
 ' No storied urn nor animated bust ; ' 
 
 This simple istone direfets pale Scotia's way 
 To pour her sorrows o'er her poet's dust. 
 
 On the other side of the Stone is as follows : — 
 
 ' By special grant of the Managers to Robert Burns, 
 who erected this stone, this burial-place is to remain for 
 ever sacred to the memory of Robert Ferguson.' 
 
 FRAGMENT 
 
 INSCRIBED TO THE RIGHT HON. C. J. FOX 
 
 How wisdom and folly meet, mix, and unite ; 
 How virtue and vice blend their black and their white ; 
 How genius, th' illustrious father of fiction. 
 Confounds rule and law, reconciles contradiction — 
 I sing : If these mortals, the critics, should bustle, 
 I care not, not I — let the critics go whistle. 
 
 But now for a Patron, whose name and whose glory 
 At once may iEustrate and honour my story. 
 
FRAGMENT 283 
 
 Thou first of our orators, first of our wits ; 
 Yet -whose parts and acquirements seem mere lucky hits ; 
 With knowledge so vast, and with judgment so strong, 
 No man with the half of 'em e'er went far wrong ; > 
 With passions so potent, and fancies so bright. 
 No man with the half of 'em e'er went quite right : 
 A sorry, poor misbegot son of the Muses, 
 For using thy name offers fifty excuses. 
 
 Good Lord, what is man 1 for as simple he looks. 
 Do but try to develop his hooks and his crooks ; 
 With his depths and his shallows^; his good and his evil. 
 All in all he 's a problem must puzzle the devil 
 
 On his one ruling passion Sir Pope hugely labours. 
 
 That, like th' old Hebrew-waUdng switch, eats up its 
 
 neighbours : 
 Mankind are his show-box — a friend. Would you know him ? 
 PuU the string, ruling passion the picture will show him. 
 What pity, in rearing so beauteous a system. 
 One trifling particular — truth — should have nriss'd him ; 
 For, in spite of his fine theoretic positions, 
 Mankind is a science defies definitionsi 
 
 Some sort all our qualities each to its tribe. 
 
 And think human nature they truly describe ; 
 
 Have you found this, or t' other ? there 's more in the wind. 
 
 As by one drunken fellow his comrades you '11 find; 
 
 But such is the flaw, or the depth of the plan. 
 
 In the make of that wonderful creature, call'd Man, 
 
 No two virtues, whateVer relation they claim. 
 
 Nor even two different shades of the same. 
 
 Though like as was ever twin-brother to brother. 
 
 Possessing the one shall imply ypu 've the other. 
 
 But truce with abstraction, and truce with the Muse, 
 Whose rhymes you '11 perhaps, sir,, ne'er deign to peruse , 
 Will you leave your joustings, your jars, and your quarrels, 
 Contending with Billy for proud-nodding laurels ? 
 My much-honour'd Patron, believe your poor Poet, 
 Your courage much more than your prudence you show it ; 
 In vain with Squire BiUy for laurels you struggle. 
 He '11 have them by fair trade, if not, he will smuggle ; 
 Not cabinets even of kings would conceal 'em. 
 He 'd up the back-stairs, and by God he would steal 'em 1 
 Then feats like Squire BUly's you ne'er can achieve 'em, 
 It is not, out-do him, the task is, out-thieve him I 
 
284 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 PROLOGUE 
 
 SPOKEN AT THE THEATRE, DUMFRIES, 
 
 ON NEW year's evening, 1790 
 
 No song nor dance I bring from yon great city 
 
 That queens it o'er our taste — the more 's the pity : 
 
 Though, by the by, abroad why wUI ye roam ? 
 
 Good sense and taste are natives here at home : 
 
 But not for panegyric I appear, 
 
 I come to wish you all a good new-year I 
 
 Old Father Time deputes me here before ye. 
 
 Not for to preach, but tell his simple story : 
 
 The sage grave ancient cough'd, and bade me say — 
 
 ' You 're one year older this important day ; ' 
 
 If wiser, too — ^he hinted some suggestion. 
 
 But 'twould be rude, you know, to ask the question ; 
 
 And with a would-be roguish leer and wink. 
 
 He bade me on you press this one word — ' Think ! ' 
 
 Ye sprightly youths, quite flush with hope and spirit. 
 
 Who think to storm the world by dint of merit 1 
 
 To you the dotard has a deal to say, 
 
 In his sly, dry, sententious, proverb way : 
 
 He bids you mind, amid your thoughtless rattle, 
 
 That the first blow is ever half the battle ; 
 
 That though some by the skirt may try to snatch him. 
 
 Yet by the forelock is the hold to catch him ; 
 
 That whether doing, suffering, or forbearing. 
 
 You may do miracles by persevering. 
 
 Last, though not least in love, ye youthful fair, 
 Angelic forms, high Heaven's peculiar care I 
 To you old Bald-pate smooths his wrinkled brow, 
 And humbly begs you '11 mind the important now ! 
 To crown your happiness he asks your leave. 
 And offers bliss to give and to refceive. 
 
 For our sincere, though haply weak endeavours. 
 With grateful pride we own your many favours ; 
 And howsoe'er our tongues may ill reveal it, 
 Believe our glowing bosoms truly feel it. 
 
ADDRESS 285 
 
 ADDRESS 
 
 SPOKEN BY MISS FONTKNELLK ON HER BENEFIT-NIGHT, 
 DEC. 4, 1795, AT THE THEATRE, DUMFRIES 
 
 Still anxious to secure your partial favour. 
 And not less anxious, sure, this night than ever, 
 A Prologue, Epilogue, or some such matter, 
 'Twpuld vamp my bill, said I, if nothing better ; 
 So sought a Poet, roosted near the skies. 
 Told him I came to feast my curious eyes ; 
 Said, nothing like his works was ever printed ; 
 And last my Prologue-business slily hinted. 
 
 ' Ma'am, let me tell you,' quoth my man of rhymes, 
 ' I know your bent — these are no laughing times : 
 Can you — ^but. Miss, I own I have my fears — 
 Dissolve in pause — and sentimental tears — 
 With laden sighs, and solemn-rounded sentence, 
 Rouse from his sluggish slumbers fell Repentance ; 
 Paint Vengeance as he takes his horrid stand, 
 Waving on high the desolating brand. 
 Calling the storms to bear him o'er a guilty land ? ' , 
 
 I could no more — askance the creature eyeing, 
 ' D'ye think,' said I, ' this face was made for crying ? 
 I'll laugh, that 's poz — nay more, the world shall know it ; 
 And so, your servant, gloomy Master Poet ! ' 
 
 Finn as my creed, sirs, 'tis my fix'd belief. 
 That Misery 's another word for Grief ; 
 I also think— so may I be a bride I — 
 That so much laughter 's so much life enjoy' d. 
 
 Thou man of crazy care and ceaseless sigh. 
 Still under bleak Misfortune's blasting eye ; 
 Doom'd to that sorest task of man alive — 
 To make three guineas do the work of five : 
 Laugh in Misfortune's face — ^the beldam witch I — 
 Say, you '11 be merry, though you gan't be rich. 
 
 Thou other man of care, the wretch in love. 
 Who long with jiltish arts and airs hast strove ; 
 Who, as the boughs all temptingly project, 
 Measurest in desperate thought — a rope — thy neck— 
 Or, where the beetling cliff o'erhangs the deep, 
 Peerest to meditate the healing leap ; 
 
286 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Wouldst thou be cured, thou silly, moping elf ? 
 Laugh at her follies — ^laugh e'en at thyself : 
 Learn to despise those frowns now so terrific, 
 And love ai kinder^^-that 's your' grand specific. 
 
 To sum up all, be merry, I advise ; 
 And as we 're merry, may we stUl be wise. 
 
 THE RIGHTS OF WOMAN 
 
 AN OCCASIONAL, ADDRESS SPOKEN BY MISS FONTENELLE 
 ON HER BENEFIT-NIQHT 
 
 While Europe's eye is flx'd on mighty things, 
 The fate of empires and the fall of kings ; 
 While quacks of state must each produce his plan, 
 And even children lisp the Rights of Man ; 
 Amid this mighty fuss, just let me mention, 
 The Rights of Woman merit some attention. 
 
 Fjrst, in the sexes' intermix'd connexion. 
 One sacred Right of Woman is — Protection. 
 The tender flower that lifts its head, elate. 
 Helpless,, must fall before the blasts of fate. 
 Sunk on the earth, defaced its lovely form. 
 Unless your shelter ward th' impending storm. 
 
 Our second Right — ^but needless here is caution. 
 To keep that rightinviolate 's the fashion. 
 Each man of sense has it so full before him, 
 He 'd die before he 'd wrong it — 'tis Decorum. 
 There was, indeed, in far less polish'd days, 
 A time when rough, rude man had naughty ways ; 
 Would swaggerj swear, get drunk, kick up a riot. 
 Nay, even thus invade a lady's quiet ; * 
 
 Now, thank our stars ! tltiese Gothic times are fled ; 
 Now, well-bred men^— and you are all well-bred — 
 Most justly think (and we are much the gainers) 
 Such conduct peither spirit, wit, nor manners. 
 
 For Right the third, our last, our best, our dearest. 
 That right to flutt'ring female hearts the nearest, 
 
 • Ironical allusion to the Saturnalia ol the Caledonian Hunt. 
 
THE RIGHTS OF WOMAN 287 
 
 Which e'en the rights of. Kings, in low prostration, 
 Most humbly own — 'tis dear;' dear admiration 1 
 In that blest sphere we live and move ; 
 There taste that life of life-^immortal love. 
 SmileSj glances, sighs, tears, fits, flirtations, airs, 
 'Gainst such an host what flinty savage dares — 
 When awful Beauty joins with all her charms, 
 Who is so rash as rise in rebel arms ? 
 
 But truce v/ifh Jcings, and truce with constitutions, 
 With bloody armaments and revolutions ; 
 Let Majesty your first attention summon, 
 Ah ! gd ird ! thIe Majesty of Woman. 
 
 FROM DR. BLACKLOCK 
 
 Edinburgh, 2Hh August 1789. 
 
 Dear Bums, thou brother of my heart. 
 Both for thy virtues and thy art ; 
 If art it may be call'd in thee, 
 Which Nature's bounty, large anil free. 
 With pleasure in thy breast diffuses, ' \ 
 And warms thy soill' with all the Muses. ' 
 Whether to laugh with easy grace. 
 Thy numbers move the sage's face. 
 Or bid the softer passions rise. 
 And ruthless souls with grief surprise, 
 'Tis Nature's voice distinctly felt. 
 Through thee, her organ, thus to melt. 
 
 Most aiixiously I wish to know 
 With thee of late how matters go ; ' 
 How keeps thy much-loVed Jean her health ? 
 What promises thy farm of wealth ? 
 Whether the Muse persists to smile. 
 And all thy anxious cares beguile ? 
 Whether bright fancy keeps aJiVe ? 
 And how thy darling infants thrive ? 
 
 For m'e, with grief arid sickness spent. 
 Since I my journey homeward bent. 
 Spirits depress'd no more I mourn, 
 But vigour, life, and health return. 
 No more to gloomy thou^ts a prey, 
 I sleep all night, and live all day ; 
 
288 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 By turns my book and friend enjoy. 
 And thus my circling hours employ : 
 Happy while yet these hours remain. 
 If Bums could join the cheerful train. 
 With wonted zeal, sincere and fervent, 
 Salute once more his humble servant, 
 
 Tho. Blacklock 
 
 TO DR. BLACKLOCK 
 
 IN ANSWER TO THE ABOVE EPISTLE 
 
 Ellisland, 21s/ October 1789. 
 
 Wow, but your letter made me vauntie 1 
 And are ye hale, and weel, and cantie ? 
 I kenn'd it stiU your wee bit jauntie 
 
 Wad bring ye to : 
 Lord send you aye as weel 's I want ye, 
 
 And then ye '11 do. 
 
 The ill-thief blaw the Heron south I 
 And never drink be near his drouth I 
 He tald mysel' by word o' mouth. 
 
 He'd tak my letter ; 
 I lippen'd to the chiel in trouth, 
 
 And bade nae better. 
 
 But aiblins, honest Master Heron * 
 Had at the time some dainty fair one. 
 To ware his theologic care on, 
 
 And holy study ; 
 And tired o' sauls to waste his lear on. 
 
 E'en tried the body. 
 
 But what d' ye think, my trusty fier, 
 I 'm tum'd a gauger — Peace be here 1 
 Parnassian queans, I fear, I fear, 
 
 Ye '11 now disdain me ; 
 And then my fifty pounds a-year 
 
 Will little gain me. 
 
 Ye glaiket, gleesome, dainty damjies, 
 Wha, by Castalia's wimplin' streamies, 
 
 • ■ Heron : ' a poor unfortunate, but rather able bookseller's hack- 
 author of a ' Life of Burns.' 
 
TO DR. BLACKLOCK 289 
 
 Loup, sing, and lave your pretty limbies, 
 
 Ye ken, ye ken. 
 That Strang necessity supreme is 
 
 'Mang sons o' men. 
 
 I hae a wife and twa wee laddies, 
 
 ■They maun hae brose and brats o' duddies ; 
 
 Ye ken yoursels my heart right proud is — 
 
 I need na vaunt. 
 But I '11 sned besoms — thraw saugh woodies, 
 
 Before they want. 
 
 Lord, help me through this warld o' care I 
 I 'm weary sick o 't late and air I 
 Not but I hae a richer share 
 
 Than mony ithers ; 
 But why should ae man better fare, 
 
 And a' men brithers ? 
 
 Come, firm Resolve 1 take thou the van, 
 Thou stalk o' carl-hemp in man 1 
 And let us mind, faint heart ne'er wan 
 
 A lady fair ; 
 Wlia does the utmost that he can, 
 
 Will whiles do mair. 
 
 But to conclude my silly rhyme, 
 
 (I 'm scant o' verse, and scant o' time). 
 
 To make a happy fireside clime 
 
 To weans and wife ; 
 That 's the true pathos and sublime 
 
 Of human life. 
 
 My compliments to sister Beckie ; 
 And eke the same to honeSt Lucky ; 
 I wat she is a dainty chuckle, 
 
 As e'er tread clay ! 
 And gratefully, my.guid auJd cockle, 
 
 I 'ro yours for aye. 
 
 Robert Burns 
 
 46— J 
 
290 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 THERE'LL NEVER BE PEACE 
 
 Am — ' There 'tl never be peace till Jamie comes hame 
 
 By yon castle wa', at the close of the day, 
 1 heard a man sing, though his head it was gray ; 
 And as he was singing the tears fast down came — 
 There '11 never be peace till Jamie comes hame. 
 
 The Church is in ruins, the State is in jars : 
 Delusions, oppressions, and murderous wars ; 
 "We dare na' weel say 't, but we ken wha 's to blame — 
 There '11 never be peace till Jamie comes hame. 
 
 My seven braw sons for Jamie drew sword. 
 And now I greet round their green beds in the yird : 
 It brak the sweet heart o' my faithfu' auld dame — 
 There 'II never be peace till Jamie comes hame. 
 
 Now life is a burden that bows me down. 
 Sin' I tint my bairns, and he tint his crown ; 
 But till my last moment my words are the same — 
 There '11 never be peace till Jamie comes hame. 
 
 THE CHEVALIER'S LAMENT 
 Air—' Captain O'Kean ' 
 
 The small birds rejoice in the green leaves returning, 
 The murmuring streamlet winds clear through the vale ; 
 
 The hawthorn trees blow in the dew of the morning, 
 And wild scatter'd cowslips bedeck the green ;dale. 
 
 But what can give pleasure, or what can seem fair. 
 While the lingering moments are number'd by care ? 
 
 No flowers gaily springing, nor birds sweetly singing. 
 Can soothe the sad bosom of joyless despair. 
 
 The deed that I dared, could it merit their malice, 
 A king and a father to place on his throne ? 
 
 His right are these hills, and his right are these valleys. 
 Where the wild beasts find shelter, but I can find none. 
 
THE CHEVALIER'S LAMENT 29t 
 
 But 'tis not my sufferings, thus wretched, forlorn ; 
 
 My brave gallant friends, 'tis your ruin I mourn ; 
 Your deeds proved so loyal in hot bloody trial-— 
 
 Alas I can I make you no sweeter return 1 
 
 SONG OF DEATH 
 
 Air—' bran an Aoig ' 
 
 Scene — A field of battle — Time of the day, evening — The wounded 
 and dying of the victorious army are supposed to join in the 
 foUowing song : — 
 
 Farewell, thou fair day, thou greeii earth, and ye skies. 
 
 Now gay with the bright setting sun ; 
 Farewell, loves and friendships, ye dear tender ties — 
 
 Our race of existeilce is run I 
 
 Thou grim King of Terrors, thou life's gloomy foe. 
 
 Go, frighten the coward and slave ; 
 Go, teach them to tremble, fell tyrant I but know. 
 
 No terrors hast thou to the brave I 
 
 Thou strik'st the dull peasant — ^he sinks in the' dark, 
 
 Nor saves e'en the wreck of a name ; 
 Thou strik'st the young hero — a glorious mark 1 
 
 He falls in the blaze of his fame I 
 
 In the field of proud honour^our swords in our Jiands, 
 
 Our king and our country to save — 
 While victory shines on life's last ebbing sands, 
 
 Oh 1 who would not rest with the brave I 
 
 NAEBODY 
 Tune — ' Naebody ' 
 
 I HAE a wife o' my ain, 
 I '11 partake wi' naebody ; 
 
 I 'U tak cuckold frae nane, 
 I 'U gie cuckold to naebody. 
 
 I hae a penny to spend, , 
 There — thanks to naebody ; 
 
 I hae naething to lend, 
 I 'U borrow frae naebody. 
 
292 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 I am naebody's lord, 
 
 I '11 be slave to naebody ; 
 
 I hae a guid braid sword, 
 I '11 tak dunts frae naebody. 
 
 I '11 be merry and free, 
 I '11 be sad for naebody ; 
 
 If naebody care for me, 
 I '11 care for naebody. 
 
 TO MARY IN HEAVEN 
 
 Thou lingering star, with less'ning ray. 
 
 That lov'st to greet the early mom, 
 Again thou usher'st in the day 
 
 My Mary from my soul was torn. 
 O Mary I dear departed shade I 
 
 Where is thy place of blissful rest ? 
 See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ? 
 
 Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast ? 
 
 That sacred hour can I forget. 
 
 Can I forget the hallow'd grove, 
 Where by the winding Ayr we met. 
 
 To live one day of parting love ! 
 Eternity will not efface 
 
 Those records dear of transports past ; 
 Thy image at our last embrace ; 
 
 Ah I little thought we 'twas our last I 
 
 Ayr, gurgling, kiss'd his pebbled shore, 
 
 O'erhung with wild woods, thickening green ; 
 The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar. 
 
 Twined amorous round the raptured scene ; 
 The flowers sprang wanton to be press'd. 
 
 The birds sang love on every spray — 
 Till too, too soon the glowing west 
 
 Proclaim'd the speed of wingdd day. 
 
 Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes. 
 
 And fondly broods with miser care [ 
 Time but the impression stronger makes. 
 
 As streams their channels .deeper wear. 
 My Mary I dear departed shade I 
 
 Where is thy place of blissful rest 1 
 See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ? 
 
 Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast ? 
 
MEETING WITH BASIL, LORD DAER 293 
 
 LINES ON MEETING WITH BASIL, 
 LORD DAER* 
 
 This wot ye all whom it poncerns, 
 I, Rhymer Robin, alias Burns, 
 
 October twenty- third, 
 A ne'er to be forgotten day, 
 Sae far I sprachled up the brae, 
 
 I dinner'd wi' a Lord. 
 
 I 've been at driicken writers' feasts, , , > , 
 Nay, been bitch-fou' 'mang godly priests, , 
 
 Wi' reverence be it spoken ; 
 I 've even join'd the honour'd jorum. 
 When mighty Squireships of the quorum. 
 
 Their hydra drouth did sloken. 
 
 But wi' a Lord — stand out my shin 1 
 A Lord — a Peer — an Earl's son 1 
 
 Up higher yet my bonnet 1 
 An' sic a Lord 1 — ^lang Scotch eUs twa, . i ' 
 
 Our Peerage he o'erlooks them a'. 
 
 As I look o'er my sonnet. 
 
 But oh for Hogarth's magic power I 
 To show Sir Bardie's willyart glower, 
 
 And how he stared and stammer' d. 
 When goavan, as if led wi' branks, 
 .1 ,An' stumpin' on his ploughman shanks. 
 He in the parlour hammer'd. 
 
 I sidling shelter'd in a nook, 
 An' at his Lordship steal't a look, 
 
 Like some portentous omen ; 
 Except good sense and social glee, 
 An' (what surprised me) modesty, 
 
 I marked naught uncommon. 
 
 I watch'd the symptoms o' the Great, 
 The gentle pride, the lordly state. 
 
 The arrogant assuming ; 
 The feint a pride, nae pride had he, 
 Nor sauce, nor state, that I could see, 
 
 Mair than an honest ploughman. > 
 
 • ■ I-orcJ Daer ; ' so^ of the EarJ of Selkirk, 
 
294 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Then from his Lordship I shall leam, 
 Henceforth to meet with unconcern, 
 
 One rank as weel 's another ; 
 Nae honest worthy man need care 
 To meet with noble, youthful Daer, 
 
 For he but meets a brother. 
 
 ON A YOUNG LADY* 
 
 RESIDING ON THE BANKS OF THE SMALL RIVER DEVON, IN 
 CLACKMANNANSHIRE, BUT WHOSE INFANT YEARS WERE 
 SPENT IN AYRSHIRE 
 
 Air—' The Pretty Milkmaid ' 
 
 How pleasant the banks of the clear-winding Devon, 
 With green-spreading bushes, and flowers blooming fan-, 
 
 But the boniiiest flower on the banks of the Devon 
 Was once a sweet bud on the braes of the Ayr. 
 
 Mild be the sun on this sweet Mushing flower. 
 In the gay rosy morn as it bathes in the dew ! 
 
 And gentle the fall of the soft vernal shower. 
 That steals on the evening each leaf to renew. 
 
 Oh, spare the dear blossom, ye orient breezes. 
 With chill hoary wing as ye usher the dawn ! 
 
 And far be thou distant, thou reptfle that seizes 
 The verdure and pride of the garden and lawn ! 
 
 Let Bourbon exult in his gay gilded lilies, 
 And England triumphant display her proud rose ; 
 
 A fairer than either adorns the green valleys 
 Where Devon, sweet Devon, meandering flows. 
 
 CASTLE-GORDON 
 
 Tune — ' Morag ' 
 
 Streams that glide in orient plains 
 Never bound by winter's chains ; 
 Glowing here on golden sands. 
 There commix'd with foulest stains 
 
 • • Young la(Jv ; ' Charlotte Hamilton, 
 
CASTLE-GORDON 2«5 
 
 From Tyranny's empurpled bands : 
 These, their richly^gleaming waves, 
 I leave to tyrants and thek slaves ; 
 Give me the stream that sweetly laves 
 The banks by Castle-Gordon. 
 
 Spicy forests, eyer gay, 
 Shaiding from the burning ray 
 Hapless wretches sold to toU, 
 Or the ruthless native's way. 
 Bent on slaughter, blood, and spoil : 
 Woods that ever verdant wave, 
 I leave the tyrant and the slave ; 
 Give me the groves that lofty brave 
 The storms, by Castle- Gordon. 
 
 Wildly here, without control. 
 Nature reigns and rules the whole ; 
 In that sober, pensive mood, 
 Dearest to the feeling soul. 
 She plants the forest, pours the flood ; 
 Life's poor day I '11 musing rave, 
 And find at night a sheltering cave, 
 Where waters, flow and wild woods wave, 
 By bonnie Castle-Gordon. 
 
 ELEGY 
 
 ON THE LATE MISS BURNET OF MONBODDO 
 
 Life ne'er exulted in so rich a prize 
 
 As Burnet, lovely from her native skies ; 
 
 Nor envious Death so triumph'd in a blow, 
 
 As that which laid th' accomplish'd Burnet low. 
 
 Thy form and mind, sweet maid, can I forget ? 
 In richest ore the brightest jewel, set I 
 In thee, high Heaven above was truest shown. 
 As by His noblest work the Godhead best is known. 
 
 In vain ye flaunt in summer's pride, ye groves ; 
 
 Thou crystal streamlet with thy flowery shore, 
 Ye woodland choir that chant your idle loves, 
 
 Ye cease to charm-^— Eliza is no more 1 
 
296 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Ye heathy wastes immix'd with reedy fens ; 
 
 Ye mossy streams, with Sedge and rushes stored ; 
 Ye rugged clifls, o'erhanging dreary glens; 
 
 To you I fly, ye with my soul accord 1 
 
 Princes, whose cumbrous pride was all their worth, 
 Shall venal lays their pompous exit hail ? 
 
 And thou, sweet excellence 1 forsake our earth. 
 And not a Muse in honest grief bewail ? 
 
 We saw thee shine in youth and beauty's pride. 
 
 And virtue's light, that beams beyond the spheres ; 
 
 But like the sun eclipsed at morning tide. 
 Thou left'st us darkling in a world of tears. 
 
 The parent's heart that nestled fond in thee, 
 That heart how sunk, a prey to grief and care t 
 
 So deck'd the woodbine sweet yon aged tree ; 
 So from it ravish'd, leaves it bleak and bare. 
 
 FAIR ELIZA 
 
 A GAELIC AIR 
 
 Turn again, thou fair Eliza, 
 
 Ae kind blink before we part I 
 Rue on thy despairing lover 1 
 
 Canst thou break his f aithfu' heart ? 
 Turn again, thou fair Eliza ; 
 
 If to love thy heart denies. 
 For pity hide the cruel sentence 
 
 Under friendship's kind disguise 1 
 
 Thee, dear maid, hae I offended 1 
 . The offence is loving thee : 
 Canst thou wreck his peace for ever, 
 
 Wha for thine wad gladly die ? 
 While the life beats in my bosom. 
 
 Thou Shalt mix in ilka throe : 
 Turn again, thou lovely maiden, 
 
 Ae sweet smile on me bestow. 
 
 Not the bee upon the blossom, 
 In the pride o' sunny noon ; 
 
 Not the little sporting fairy. 
 All beneath the simmer moon : 
 
FAIR ELIZA 297 
 
 Not the poet in the moment 
 
 Fancy lightens on his e'e, 
 Kens the pleasure, feels the rapture 
 
 That thy presence gies to me. 
 
 OH, LUVE WILL VENTURE IN 
 
 Tune — ' The Posie ' 
 
 Oh, luve will venture in where it daur na weelbe seen, 
 Oh, luve wiU venture in where wisdom ance has been ; 
 But I will down yon river rove, amang the wood sae 
 green — 
 And a' to pu' a posie to my ain dear May. 
 
 The primrose I wUl pu', the firstling o' the year, 
 And I will pu' the pink, the emblem o' my dear, 
 For she 's the pink o' womankind, and blooms without a 
 peer — 
 And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 
 
 I 'II pu' the budding rose, when Phoebus peeps in view. 
 For it 's like a balmy kiss o' her sweet bonnie mou' ; 
 The hyacinth 's for constancy, wi' its unchanging blue — 
 And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 
 
 The lily it is pure, and the lily it is fair, 
 And in her lovely bosom I 'U place the lily there ; 
 The daisy 's for simplicity and unaffected air — 
 And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 
 
 The hawthorn I wiU pu', wi' its locks o' siller gray. 
 Where, like an aged man, it stands at break o' day. 
 But the songster's nest within the bush I winna tak away — 
 And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 
 
 The woodbine I will pu' when the e'enin' star is near. 
 And the diamond-draps o' dew shall be her e'en sae clear ; 
 The violet 's for modesty, which weel she fa's to wear — 
 And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 
 
 I '11 tie the posie round wi' the silken band o' luve. 
 And I '11 place it in her breast, and I '11 swear by a' above, 
 That to my latest draught o' life the band shall ne'er 
 remove — 
 And this will be a posie to my ain dear May. 
 
298 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 THE BANKS O' DOON 
 Tune — ' Caledonian Hunt's Delight ' 
 
 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 I 
 Thou 'It break my heart, thou warbling bird. 
 
 That wantons through the flowering thorn ; 
 Thou minds me o' departed joys. 
 
 Departed — never to return. 
 
 Oft hae I roved by bonnie Doon, 
 
 To see the rose and woodbine twine ; 
 And ilka bird sang o' its luve. 
 
 And fondly sae did I o' mine. 
 Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, 
 
 Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree ; 
 And niy fause luver stole my rose. 
 
 But ah ! he left the thorn wi' me. 
 
 SIC A WIFE AS WILLIE HAD 
 
 Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed, 
 
 The spot they ca'd it Linkumdoddie ; 
 Willie was a wabster guid. 
 
 Could stown a clue wi' ony bodie ; 
 He had a wife was dour and din, 
 Oh, tinkler Madgie was her mither — 
 Sic a wife as Willie had, 
 I wad na gie a button for her. 
 
 She has an e'e^ — she has but ane. 
 The cat has twa the very colour ; 
 
 Five rusty teeth, forbye a stump, 
 A clapper tongue wad deave a miller ; 
 
 A whiskin' beard about her raou'. 
 
 Her nose and chin they threaten ither. 
 
 She 's bow-hough'd, she 's heinshinn'd, 
 Ae linipin' leg a hand-breed shorter ; 
 
 She 's twisted right, she 's twisted left, 
 To balance fair in ilka quarter : 
 
 She has a hump upon her breast, 
 The twin o' that upon her shouther. 
 
SIC A WIFE AS WILLIE HAD 299 
 
 AHild baudrons by the ingle sits, 
 
 An' wi' her loot her face a-washin' ; 
 But Willie's wife is nae sae trig. 
 
 She dights her gninzie wl' a Inislilon ; 
 Her walie nieves like midden-cteels, 
 Her face wad fyle the Logan Water — 
 Sic a wife as Willie had, 
 I wad na gie a button for her. 
 
 #LOOMY DECEMBER 
 
 Tune — ' Wandering' Willie * 
 
 Ance mair I hail thee, thou gloomy December ! 
 
 Ance mair I hail thee wi' sorrow and care ; 
 Sad was the parting thou mak'st me remember. 
 
 Parting wi' Nancy, oh ! ne'er to meet mair 1 
 Fond lovers' parting is sweet, painful pleasure, 
 
 Hope beaming mild on the soft parting hour ; 
 But the dire feeling, oh ! farewell for ever, 
 
 Is anguish unmingled, and agony pure. 
 
 Wild as the winter now tearing the forest, 
 
 Till the last leaf o' the summer is flown, 
 Such is the tempest has shaken my bosojn, 
 
 Since my last hope and last comfort is gone 1 
 Still as I hail thee, thou gloomy December, 
 
 Still shall I hail thee wi' sorrow and care ; 
 For sad was the parting thou mak'st me remember. 
 
 Parting wi' Nancy,* oh 1 ne'er to meet mair. 
 
 THE SONS OF OLD KILLIE 
 Tune — ' Shawntoij ' 
 
 Ye sons of old Killie, assembled by Willie, 
 
 To follow the noble vocation ; 
 Your thrifty old mother has scarce such another 
 
 To sit in that honoured station. 
 I 've little to say, but only to pray, 
 
 As praying 's the ton of your fashion ; 
 A prayer from the Muse you well may excuse, 
 
 'Tis seldom her favourite passion. 
 
 • ■ Nancy : ' Clarin la. 
 
300 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Ye Powers who preside o'er the wind and the tide, 
 
 Who marked each element's border ; 
 Who formed this frame with beneficent aim, 
 
 Whose sovereign statute is order ; 
 Within this dear mansion, may wayward contention 
 
 Or withered envy ne'er enter ; 
 May secrecy round be the mystical bound, 
 
 And brotherly love be the centre ! 
 
 SHE'S FAIR AND PAUSE 
 
 Tune — ' She 's fair and fause ' 
 
 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 came in wi' routho' gear. 
 And I hae tint my dearest dear. 
 But woman is but warld's gear, 
 
 Sae let the bonnje lass gang. 
 
 Whae'er ye be that woman love. 
 
 To this be never blind — 
 Nae ferUe 'tis though fickle she prove, 
 
 A woman has 't by kind : 
 Oh, woman lovely, woman fair ! 
 An angel form 's fa'n to thy share, 
 'Twad been o'er meikle to gien thee mair — • 
 
 I mean an angel mind. 
 
 AFTON WATER 
 
 Tune — ' The Yellow-hair' d Laddie ' 
 
 Flow gently, sweet Afton, among tliy green braes. 
 Flow gently, I '11 sing thee a song in thy praise ; 
 My Mary 's asleep by thy murmuring stream, 
 Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. 
 
 Thou stock-dove, whose echo resounds through the glen. 
 Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den, 
 Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear, 
 I charge you disturb not mv slumbering fair. 
 
. , AFTON WATER 301 
 
 How lofty, sweet Alton, thy neighbouring hills. 
 Far mark'd with the coAirses of clear winding rills ; 
 There daily I wander as noon rises high. 
 My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye- 
 How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below, 
 Where wild in ,the woodlands the primroses blow I 
 There oft as mild eyenirig weeps over the lea. 
 The sweet-scented birk shades mj? Mary and me. 
 
 Thy crystal stieam, Alton, how lovely it glides, 
 And winds by the cot where my Mary resides ;' ♦ 
 How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave, 
 As, gathering sweet flowerets, she stems thy clear wave. 
 
 Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, 
 Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays : 
 My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, 
 Flow gently, sweet: Afton, disturb not her dream. 
 
 THE SMILING SPRING 
 Tune — ' Bonnie Bell ' 
 
 The smiling Spring comes in rejoicing, 
 
 And surly Winter grimly flies : 
 Now crystal clear are the falling waters, 
 
 And bbnnie blue are the sunny skies : 
 Fresh o'er the mountains breaks forth the morning. 
 
 The evening gilds the ocean's swell ; 
 All creatures joy in the sun's returning. 
 
 And I rejoice in my bonnic Bell. 
 
 The flowery Spring leads sunny Summer, 
 
 And yellow Autumn presses near, 
 Then in his turn comes gloomy Winter, 
 
 Till smiling Spring again appear. 
 Thus seasons dancirig, life advancing, 
 
 Old Time and Nature their changes tell. 
 But never i:anging, still unchanging 
 
 I adore my bonhie Bell. 
 
 * Dr. Carrie says, ' Afton Water is tlie stream on wlilch stands Afton 
 I^odge : to wMclj Mrs. Stewart removed from Stair. Afton Lodge was Mrs. 
 Stewart's property from Iier father. The song was presented to her in 
 return for her notice, the first he ever received from any person in her 
 rank of life.' 
 
302 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 THE GALLANT WEAVER 
 
 Tune — ' The Weavers' March' 
 
 Where Cart * rins rowip' to the sea, 
 By mony a flo>yer and Spreading tree, 
 There lives a lad, the lad for rn,e, 
 He is a gaUaiit weaver. 
 
 Oh, I had wooers aiicht or nine, 
 They gied me rings and ribbons fine ; 
 And I was fear'd my heart would tine, 
 And 1 gied it to the weaver. 
 
 My daddie sign'd my totsher-^band, 
 To gie the lad tliat has the land ; 
 But to my heart I '11 add my hand, 
 And gie it to the weaver. 
 
 While birds rejoice in leafy bowers ; 
 While bees delight in opening flowers ; 
 "N^niile corn grows green in simmer showers. 
 I '11 love my gallant weaver. 
 
 LOUIS, WHAT RECK I BY THEE? 
 Tune — ' Louis, what reck I by thee ? ' 
 
 Louis, what reck I by thee. 
 
 Or Geordie on his ocean ? 
 Dyvour, beggar louns to me — 
 
 I reign in Jeanie's bosom. 
 
 Let her croWxi my love her law, 
 ^ And in her breast enthrone me : 
 'Kings and nations — :swith, awa' 1 
 Rief randies, I disown ye I 
 
 •'Cart:' a river near Paisley, sung by Campbell, and celebrated by 
 WUsoH, as well as by Burns. 
 
SOMEBODY ; 303 
 
 SOMEBODY , 
 
 Tune — ' For the sake o' Somebody ' 
 
 My heart is sair — I dare na toll — 
 My heart is sair for somebody ; 
 I could wake a winter night 
 For the sake o' somebody. 
 Ob-hpn 1 for somebody 1 
 Oh-hey I for somebody I 
 I could range the world around, 
 For the sake o' somebody I 
 
 Ye Powers, that smile on virtuous love ! 
 
 Oh, sweetly smile on somebody ! 
 Frae ilka danger keep him free. 
 And send me safe my somebody ! 
 Oh-hon ! for somebody ! 
 Oh-hey 1 for somebody 1 
 I wad do^— what wad I not ? 
 For the sake o' somebody 1 
 
 THE BONNIE LASS O' BALLOCHMYLE * 
 Tune — ' Miss Forbes' Farewell to Banff ' 
 
 'TwAS even — the dewy fields were green. 
 
 On every blade the pearls hang ; 
 The zephyr wanton'd round the bean. 
 
 And bore its fragrant sweets alang ; 
 In every glen the mavis sang, 
 
 AH nature list'ning seem'd the while. 
 Except where greenwood echoes rang, 
 
 Amang the braes o' Ballochmyle, 
 
 With careless step I onward stray'd, 
 
 My heart rejoiced in Nature's joy, 
 When, musing in a lonely glade 
 
 A maiden fair I chanced to spy ; 
 Her look was like the morning's eye, 
 
 Hfer air like Nature's vernal smUe, 
 Perfection whisper'd passing by. 
 
 Behold the lass o' Ballochmyle I 
 
 • Every reader of Burns remembers the circmnstances which led to this 
 poem. Its heroine. Miss Alexander, died unmarried in 1843. 
 
304 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Fair is the morn in flowery May, 
 
 And sweet is night in Autumn mild ; 
 When roving through the garden gay, 
 
 Or wandering in the lonely wild : 
 But woman, Nature's darling child I 
 
 There all her charms she does compile ; 
 Even there her other works are foil'd 
 
 By the bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle. 
 
 Oh, had she been a country maid. 
 
 And I the happy country swain I 
 Though shelter'd in the lowest shed 
 
 That ever rose on Scotland's plain. 
 Through weary winter's wind and rain, 
 
 With joy, with rapture, I would toil ; 
 And nightly to my bosom strain 
 
 The bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle. 
 
 Then pride might climb the slippery steep. 
 
 Where fame and honours lofty shine ) 
 And thirst of gold might tempt the deep. 
 
 Or downward seek the Indian mine ; 
 Give me the cot below the pine. 
 
 To tend the flocks, or tiU the soil. 
 And every day have joys divine. 
 
 With the bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle. 
 
 THE LOVELY LASS OF INVERNESS 
 TuNE^ — ' Lass of Inverness ' 
 
 The lovely lass o' Inverness, 
 
 Nae joy nor pleasure can she see ; 
 For e'en and morn she cries, alas 1 
 
 And aye the saut tear blin's her e'e : 
 Drumossie moor, Drumossie day, 
 
 A waefu' day it was to me ; 
 For there I lost my father dear — 
 
 My father dear, and brethren three. 
 
 Their winding-sheet the bluidy clay. 
 Their graves are growing green to see ; 
 
 And by them lies the dearest lad 
 That ever bless'd a woman's e'e I 
 
THE LOVELY LASS OF INVERNESS 305 
 
 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. 
 
 O MAY, THY MORN 
 
 Tune — ' O May, thy morn ' 
 
 O May, thy morn was ne'er sae sweet 
 
 As the mirk night 6' December ; 
 For sparkling was the rosy wine. 
 
 And private was the chamber : 
 And dear was she I dare na name, 
 
 Bvft I will aye remember : 
 And dear was she I dare na name, 
 
 But I wUl aye. remember I 
 
 And here 's to them, that, Uke oursel', 
 
 Can push about the joruni ; 
 And here 's to them that wish us weel. 
 
 May a' that 's guid watch o'er 'em I 
 And here 's to them, we dare na tell. 
 
 The dearest o' the quorum : 
 And here 's to them, we dare na tell. 
 
 The dearest o' the quorum 1 
 
 OH, WAT YE WHA'S IN YON TOWN? 
 Tune — ' I 'II gang nae mair to yon Town ' 
 
 Oh, wat ye wha 's in yon town. 
 
 Ye see the e'enin' sun upon 1 
 The fairest dame 's in yon town, 
 
 That e'enin' sun is shining on. 
 
 Now haply down yon gay green shaw. 
 She wanders by yon spreading tree : 
 
 How blest, ye flowers that round her blaw. 
 Ye catch the glances o' her e'e 1 
 
 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 I 
 
306 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 The sun blinks blithe on yon town, 
 And on yon bonnie. braes of Ayr ; 
 
 But my delight in yon town, 
 And dearest bliss, is Lucy fair. 
 
 Without my love, not a' the charms 
 O' Paradise could yield me joy ; 
 
 But gie me Lucy in mj^ arms, 
 And welcome Lapland's dreary sky I 
 
 My cave wad be a lover's bower, 
 Though raging. winter rent the air. 
 
 And she a lovely little flower, 
 
 That I wad tent and shelter there. 
 
 Oh, 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. 
 
 If angry fate is sworn my foe, 
 And sulfering I am doom'd to bear ; 
 
 I careless quit aught else below. 
 But spare me— spare me Lucy dear ! 
 
 For while life's dearest blood is; warm, 
 Ae thought frae hershall ne'er depart, 
 
 And she — as fairest is her form, 
 She has the truest, kindest heart.* 
 
 A RED, RED ROSE 
 
 Tune—' Grahain's Strathspey' 
 
 Oh, my luve 's like a red, red rose. 
 
 That 's newly sprung in June : 
 Oh, my luve 's like the melody. 
 
 That 's sweetly play'd in tune. 
 As fair art thou, my bonnie lass. 
 
 So deep in luve am I : 
 And I will luve thee still, my dear, 
 
 Till a' the seas gang dry. 
 
 • The heroine of this song was Lucy Johnston — married to Mr. Oswald of 
 Auchcucruive, Ayrshire. Slie died of consumption at Lisbon, a year after 
 the composition of the above song, in the prime of life. Slie is said to hn\ e 
 been a most accomphshed and beautiful woman. 
 
A RED, RED ROSE 307 
 
 Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear. 
 
 And the rocks melt wi' the sun : 
 I will luve thee still, my dear, 
 
 While the sands o' life shall run. 
 And fare thee weel, my only luve I 
 
 And fare thee weel awhile 1 
 And I will come again, my luve. 
 
 Though it were ten thousand mile. 
 
 A VISION 
 
 As I stood by yon roofless tower,* 
 
 Where the wa'-flower scents the dewy air, 
 
 Where th' howlet mourns in her ivy bower, 
 And tells the midnight moon her care ; 
 
 The v.'inds 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 rcplJ^ 
 
 The stream, adown its hazelly path, 
 Was rushing by the ruin'd wa's, 
 
 Hasting to join the sweeping Nith, 
 '\Vhase distant roaring swells and fa's. 
 
 The cauld blue north was streaming forth 
 Her lights, wl' hissing eerie din, 
 
 Athort the lift they start and shift. 
 Like fortune's favours, tint as win . 
 
 By heedless chance I turn'd mine eyes, 
 And by the moonbeam^ shook to see 
 
 A stern and stalwarL ghaist arise. 
 Attired as minstrels wont to be. 
 
 Had I a statue been o' stane. 
 
 His daring look had daunted rae ; 
 
 And on his bonnet graved Avas plain, 
 The sacred posy — ' Liberty 1 ' 
 
 And frae his harp sic strains did flow, 
 
 Might roused the slumbering dead to hear ; 
 
 But oh I it was a tale of woe, 
 As ever met a Briton's ear 1 
 
 • ' Tower : ' Lincluden Abbey. 
 
308 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 He sang wi' joy the former day. 
 He weeping wail'd his latter times ; 
 
 But what he said it was nae play — 
 I winna venture 't in my rhymes. 
 
 ADDRESS TO MR. ^VM. TYTLER 
 
 WITH THE PRESENT OF THE BARD's PICTURE 
 
 Revered defender of beauteous Stuart, 
 
 Of Stuart, a name once respected — 
 A name, which to love was the mark of a true heart, 
 
 But now 'tis despised and neglected. 
 
 Though something like moisture conglobes in my eye, 
 
 Let no one misdeeih me disloyal ; 
 A poor friendless wanderer may well claim a sigh, 
 
 StiU more, if that wanderer were royal. 
 
 My fathers that name have revered on a throne ; 
 
 My fathers have fallen to right it ; 
 Those fathers would spurn their degenerate son, 
 
 That name should he scofflngly slight it. 
 
 Still in prayers for King George I most heartily join, 
 The Queen and the rest of the gentry ; 
 
 Be they wise, be they foolish, is nothing of mine- 
 Their title 's avow'd by my country. 
 
 But why of that epocha make such a fuss, 
 
 That gave us the Hanover stem ; 
 II bringing them over was lucky for us, 
 
 I 'm bure 'twas as lucky for them. 
 
 Bu t loyalty, truce ! we 're on dangerous ground. 
 Who knows how the fashions may alter ? 
 
 The doctrine, to-day, that is loyalty sound, 
 To-morrow may bring us a halter 1 
 
 I send you a triile, a head of a bard, 
 
 A triile scarce worthy your care ; 
 But accept it, good sir, as a mark of regard. 
 
 Sincere as a saint's dying prayer. 
 
ADDRESS TO MR. WM. TYTLER 309 
 
 Now life's chilly evening dim shades on your eye, 
 
 And ushers the long dreary night ; 
 But you, like the star that athwart gilds the sky, 
 
 Your course to the latest is bright. 
 
 CALEDONIA 
 Tune — ' Caledonian Hunt's Deligld ' 
 
 There was once a day — but old Time then was young — 
 
 That brave Caledonia, the chief of her line. 
 From some of your northern deities sprung, 
 
 ("Wlio knows not that brave Caledonia 's divine ?) 
 From Tweed to the Orcades was her domain. 
 
 To hunt, or to pasture, or do what she would : 
 Her heavenly relations there fixed her reign. 
 
 And pledged her their godheads to warrant it good. 
 
 A lambkin in peace, but a lion in war, 
 
 The pride of her kindred, the heroine grew : 
 Her grandsire, old Odin, triumphantly swore, 
 
 ' Whoe'er shall provoke thee, th' encounter shall rue 1 ' 
 With tUlage or pasture at times she would sport. 
 
 To feed her fair flocks by her green rustling corn ; 
 But chiefly the woods were her favourite resort, 
 
 Her darling amusement, the hounds and the horn. 
 
 Long quiet she reign'd ; till thitherward steers 
 
 A flight of bold eagles * from Adria's strand ; 
 Repeated, successive, for many long years, 
 
 They darken'd the air, and they plunderd the land ; 
 Their pounces were murder, and terror their cry, 
 
 They conquer'd and ruin'd a world beside ; 
 She took to her hills, and her arrows let fly— 
 
 The daring invaders they fled or they died. 
 
 The fell harpy-raven took wing from the north. 
 The scourge of the seas, and the dread of tlie shore ; j- 
 
 The wild Scandinavian boar J issued forth 
 To wanton in carnage and wallow in gore : 
 
 • * Bold eagles : * the Romans. 
 
 t * Dread of the shore : ' the Saxons. 
 
 t ' Scandinavian boar : ' the Danes, 
 
310 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 O'er countries and kingdoms their lury prevail'd, 
 No arts could appease them, no arms could repel ; 
 
 But brave Caledonia in vain they assail'd, 
 As Largs well can witness, and Loncartie teU.* 
 
 The chameleon-savage disturb'd her repose. 
 
 With tumult, disquiet, rebellion, and strife ; 
 Provoked beyond bearing, at last she arose. 
 
 And robb'd him at once of his hopes and his life : t 
 The Anglian lion, the terror of France, 
 
 Oft prowling, ensanguined the Tweed's silver flood ; 
 But, taught by the bright Caledonian lance. 
 
 He learned to fear in his own native wood. 
 
 Thus bold, independent, unconquer'd, and free, 
 
 Her bright course of glory for ever shall run : 
 For brave Caledonia immortal must be ; 
 
 I Tl prove it from EucUd as clear as the sun : 
 Rectangle-triangle the figure we '11 choose. 
 
 The upright is Chance, and old Time is the base : 
 But brave Caledonia 's the hypothenuse ; 
 
 Then ergo, she '11 match them, and match them always. 
 
 POEM 
 
 Written to a gentleman who mad sent him a news 
 paper, and offered to continue it free of expense 
 
 Kind Sir, I 've read your paper through. 
 
 And, faith, to me 'twas really new ! 
 
 How guess'd ye. Sir, what maist I wanted ? 
 
 This mony a day I 've grain'd and gaunted. 
 
 To ken what French mischief was brewhi' ; 
 
 Or what the drumlie Dutch were doin' ; 
 
 That vile doup-skelper. Emperor .Joseph, 
 
 If Venus yet had got his nose oil ; 
 
 Or how the coUicshangie works 
 
 Atween the Russians and the Turks ; 
 
 Or if the Swede, before he halt, 
 
 Would play anither Charles the Twalt : 
 
 If Denmark, any body spak o 't ; 
 
 Or Poland, wha had now the tack o 't ; 
 
 * ■ Largs and Loncartie : ' two {anions battles ia which the Danes or 
 Norwegians were deleated. 
 t The Picts. 
 
POEM 311 
 
 How cut-lhroat Prussian blades were hingin' ; 
 
 How libbet Italy was slngin' ; 
 
 If Spaniard, Portuguese, or Swiss, 
 
 Were sayin' or takin' aught amiss : 
 
 Or how our merry lads at hame, 
 
 In Britain's court, kept up the game : 
 
 How royal George — the Lord leuk o'er him 1— 
 
 Was managing St. Stephen's quorum ; 
 
 If sleekit Chatham Will was livin'. 
 
 Or glaikit Charlie got his nieve in ; 
 
 How daddie Burke the plea was cookin'. 
 
 If Warren Hastings' neck was yeukin'. 
 
 How cesses, stents, and fears were raxd, 
 
 Or if bare arses yet were tax'd ; 
 
 The news o' princes, dukes, and earls. 
 
 Pimps, sharpers, bawds, and opera-girls ; 
 
 If that daft buckle, Geordie Wales, 
 
 Was threshin' still at hizzies' tails. 
 
 Or if he was grown oughtlins doucer, 
 
 And no a perfect kintry cooser. 
 
 A' this and mair I never heard of ; 
 
 And, but for you, I might despair'd of ; 
 
 So gratefu', back your news I send you. 
 
 And pray, a' guid things may attend you ! ; 
 
 NOTE, COMPLAINING THAT THE PAPER ABOVE MENTIONED 
 DID NOT COME REGULARLY 
 
 Dear Peter, dear Peter, 
 
 We poor sons of metre 
 Are often negleckit, ye ken ; 
 
 For instance, your sheet, man, 
 
 (Though glad I 'm to see 't, man), 
 I get it no ae day in ten. 
 
 POEM ON PASTORAL POETRY 
 
 Hail, Poesie I thou nymph reserved ! 
 
 In chase o' thee, what crowds hae swerved 
 
 Frae common sense, or sunk enerved 
 
 'Mang heaps o' clavers ; 
 And, och 1 owre aft thy joes hae starved, 
 
 'Mid a' thy favours ! 
 
312 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Say, lassie, why thy train amang, 
 While loud the trump's heroic clang, 
 And sock or buskin skelp alang 
 
 To death or marriage. 
 Scarce ane has tried the Shepherd-sang 
 
 But wi' miscarriage ? 
 
 In Homer's craft Jock Milton thrives ; 
 Eschylus' pen "Will Shakspeare drives ; 
 Wee Pope, the knurlin', till him rives 
 
 Horatian fame ; 
 In thy sweet sang, Barbauld, survives 
 
 E'en Sappho's ilame. 
 
 But thee, Theocritus, wha matches ? 
 They 're no herd's ballats, Maro's catches ; 
 Squire Pope but busks his skinklin' patches 
 
 O' heathen tatters : 
 I pass by hunders, nameless wretches, 
 
 That ape their betters. 
 
 In this braw age o' wit and lear, 
 
 WiU nane the Shepherd's whistle mair 
 
 Blaw sweetly, in its native air 
 
 And rural grace ; 
 And wi' the far-famed Grecian share 
 
 A rival place ? 
 
 Yes 1 there is ane — a Scottish callan 1 
 There 's ane ; come forrit, honest Allan I 
 Thou need na jouk behint the hallan, 
 
 A chiel sae clever ; 
 The teeth o' Time may gnaw Tamtallan, 
 
 But thou 's for ever. 
 
 Thou paints auld Nature to the nines, 
 
 In thy sweet Caledonian lines ; 
 
 Nae gowden stream through myrtles twines, 
 
 Where Philomel, ♦' 
 
 MTiile nightly breezes sweep the vines. 
 
 Her griefs will tell t 
 
 In gowany glens thy burnie strays. 
 Where bonriie lasses bleach their claes : 
 Or trots by hazelly shaws and braes, 
 
 Wi' hawthorns gray. 
 Where blackbirds join the shepherd's lays. 
 
 At close o' day. 
 
POEM ON PASTORAL POETRY 313 
 
 Thy rural loves are nature's sel' ; 
 Nae bombast spates o' nonsense swell ; 
 Nae snap conceits, but that sweet spell 
 
 O' witchin' love. 
 That charm that can the strongest quell, 
 
 The sternest move. 
 
 ON THE BATTLE OF SHERIFF-MUIR * 
 
 BETWEEN THE DUKE OF ARGYLE AND THE EARL OF MAR 
 
 Tune — ' Cameronian Rant ' 
 
 ' Oh, cam ye here the fight to shun, 
 Or herd the sheep wl' me, man ? 
 
 Or were ye at the Sherra-muir, 
 And did the battle see, man ? ' 
 ' I saw the battle, sair and teugh, 
 And reekin'-red ran mony a sheugh. 
 My heart for fear gaed sough for sough. 
 To hear the thuds, and see the dudsi 
 O' clans frae woods, in tartan duds, 
 
 Wha glaum'd at kingdoms three, man. 
 
 ' The red-coat lads, wi' black cockades, 
 To meet them were nae slaw, man ; 
 They rush'd and push'd, and bluid outgush'd. 
 And mony a bouk did fa, man : 
 The great Argyle led on his files, 
 I wat they glanced twenty miles : '' 
 
 They hack'd and hash'd, while broadswords clash'd, 
 And through they dash'd, and hew'd and smash'd. 
 Till fey men died awa', man. 
 
 ' But had you seen the philabegs. 
 And skyrin tartan trews, man, 
 
 When in the teeth they dared our Whigs, 
 And Covenant true-blues, man ; 
 In lines extended lang and large. 
 When bayonets opposed the targe. 
 And thousands hasten'd to the charge, 
 Wi' Highland wrath they frae the sheath 
 Drew blades o' death, till, out o' breath, 
 
 They fled like frighted doos, man.' 
 
 • This is founded on an old song by Barclay the Berean. 
 
314 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 ' Oh how deil, Tarn, can that be! true ? 
 The chase gaed frae the north, man ; 
 
 I saw mysel', they did pursue 
 The horsemen back to Forth, man ; 
 And at Dumblane, iii my ain sight, 
 They took the brig wi' a' their might, 
 And straught to Stirling wing'd their flight, 
 But, cursed lot 1 the gates were shut. 
 And mony a huntit, poor red-coat, 
 
 For fear amaist did swarf, man.' 
 
 ' My sister Kate cam up the gate 
 Wi' crowdie unto me, man ; 
 
 She swore, she saw some rebels run 
 Frae Perth unto Dundee, man : 
 Their left-hand geijerdl' had nae skUI, 
 The Angus lads had nae good-will 
 That day their neibours' blood to spill ; 
 For fear, by foes, that they should lose 
 Their cogs o' brose^ — all crying woes ; 
 
 And so it goes you see, man. 
 
 ' They 've lost some gallant gentlemen 
 Amang the Highland clans, man ; 
 
 I fear my Lord Panmure is slain. 
 Or fallen in Whiggish hands, man : 
 Now wad ye sing this double fight. 
 Some fell for wrang and some for right ; 
 But mony bade the world guid-night ; 
 Then ye may tell, how peU and mell, 
 By red claymores, and muskets' knell, 
 Wi' dying yell, the Tories fell. 
 
 And, Whigs to hell did flee, man.' 
 
 NEW-YEAR'S DAY (1790) 
 , A Sketch 
 
 TO MRS. DUNI,0P 
 
 This day, Tinj.e winds th' exhausted, chain, 
 To run the twelvemonth's length again : 
 I see the pld, bald-pated fellow 1 
 With ardent eyes, /complexion sallow, 
 Adjust the unimpair'd machine. 
 To wheel the equal, dull routine. 
 
NEW-YEAR'S DAY 315 
 
 The absent lover, minor heir, 
 In vain assail him with their prayer, 
 Deaf as my friend, he sees them press, 
 Nor makes the hour one moment less. 
 Will you (the Major 's with the hounds, , , 
 The happy tenants share his rounds ; 
 Coila 's fair Rachel's '•' care to-day. 
 And blooming Keith 's engaged with Gray) 
 From housewife cares a minute borrow — 
 That grandchild's cap will do to-morrow— 
 And join with me a moralising, 
 This day's propitious to be wise in. 
 
 First, what did yesternight deliver ? 
 ' Another year is gone for ever 1 ' 
 And what is this day's strong suggestion ? 
 ' The passing moment 's all we rest on 1 ' 
 Rest on — for what ? what do we here ? 
 Or why regard the passing year ? 
 Will Time, amused with proverb'd lore. 
 Add to our date one minute more ? 
 A few days may- — a few years must- 
 Repose us in the sUent dust. 
 Then is it wise to damp our bliss ? 
 Yes — all such reasonings are amiss ! 
 The voice of Nature loudly tries. 
 And many a message from the skies. 
 That something in us never dies : 
 That on this frail, uncertain state. 
 Hang matters of eternal weight : 
 That future life in worlds unknown 
 Must take its hue from this alone ; 
 Whether as Heavenly glory bright, 
 Or dark as Misery's woful night. 
 
 Since then, my honour'd, first of friends. 
 On this poor being all depends ; 
 Let us th' important now Employ, 
 And live as those who never die. 
 Though you, with days and honours crown'd. 
 Witness that filial ch-cle round, 
 (A sight life's sorrows to repulse, 
 A sight pale Envy to convulse) 
 Others now claim your chief regard ; 
 Yourself, you wait your bright reward. 
 
 • ' Rachel : ' this young ladj was drawing a picture of Coila from ' The 
 Vision." 
 
316 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 EXTEMPORE ON THE LATE MR. WILLIAM 
 SMELLIE 
 
 AUTHOR OF THE PHILOSOPHY OF NATURAL HISTORY, AND 
 MEMBER OF THE ANTIQUARIAN AND ROYAL SOCIETIES 
 OF EDINBURGH 
 
 Shrewd Willie Smellie to Crochallan * came, 
 The old coclc'd hat, the gray surtout, the sarnie, 
 His bristling beard just rising in its might ; 
 'Twas four long nights and days to shaving-night ; 
 His uncomb'd grizzly locks wild staring, thatch'd 
 A head for thought profound and clear unmatch'd ; 
 Yet though his caustic wit was biting rude, 
 His heart was warm, benevolent, and good. 
 
 POETICAL INSCRIPTION FOR AN ALTAR 
 TO INDEPENDENCE 
 
 AT KERROUGHTREE, THE SEAT OF MR. HERON 
 
 Written in Summer, 1795 
 
 Thou of an independent mind. 
 
 With soul resolved, with soul resign'd j 
 
 Prepared Power's proudest frown to brave, 
 
 Who wilt not be, nor have a slave ; 
 
 Virtue alone who dost revere, 
 
 Thy own reproach alone dost fear. 
 
 Approach this shrine, and worship here. 
 
 SONNET 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF ROBERT RIDDEL, t ESQ. OF GLENRIDDEL, 
 APRIL 1794 
 
 No more, ye warblers of the wood, no more ; 
 Nor pour your descant, grating on my soul : 
 Thou young-eyed Spring, gay in thy verdant stole — 
 
 More welcome were to me grim Winter's wildest roar. 
 
 • ' Crochallan : ' Mr. Smellie and our poet were both members ol a club 
 in Edinburgh, Under the name of ' Crochallan Fencibles." 
 ■f • Robert Riddel, Esq, : ' of Friars' Carse, 
 
DEATH OF ROBERT RIDDEL 317 
 
 How can ye charm, ye flowers, with all your dyes ? 
 
 Ye blow upon the sod that wraps my friend ; 
 
 How can I to the tuneful strain attend ? 
 That strain flows round the untimely tomb where ftiddel 
 lies 1 
 
 Yes, pour, ye warblers, pour the notes of wo6. 
 And soothe the Virtues weeping on his bier ; 
 The Man of Worth, and has not left his peer. 
 
 Is in his narrow house for ever darkly low. 
 
 Thee, Spring, again with joy shall others greet ; 
 Me, memory of my loss wiU only meet 1 
 
 MONODY 
 
 ON A I.ADY FAMED FOP. HER CAPRICE * 
 
 How cold is that bosom which folly once fired 1 
 
 How pale is that cheek where the rouge lately glisten'd ! 
 
 How silent that tongue which the echoes oft tired ! 
 How dull is that ear which to flattery so listen'd 1 
 
 If sorrow and anguish their exit await, 
 From friendship and dearest afiection removed ; 
 
 How doubly severer, Eliza, thy fate. 
 Thou diedst unwept, as thou livedst unloved 1 
 
 Loves, Graces, and Virtues, I call not on you ; 
 
 So shy, grave, and distant, ye shed not a tear : 
 But come, all ye offspring of Folly so true. 
 
 And flowers let us cull for Eliza's cold bier. 
 
 We '11 search through the garden for each silly flower. 
 We '11 roam through the forest for each idle weed ; 
 
 But chiefly the nettle, so typical, shower. 
 
 For none e'er approach'd her but rued the rash deed. 
 
 We '11 sculpture the marble, we '11 measure the lay, , 
 
 Here Vanity strums on her idiot lyre ; 
 There keen Indignation shall dart on her prey, 
 
 Which spurning Contempt shall redeem from his ire. 
 
 • Written on Mrs. Riddel. 
 
318 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 THE EPITAPH 
 
 Here lies, now a prey to insulting neglect, 
 
 What once was a butterfly, gay in life's beam ; 
 
 Want only of wisdom denied her respect, 
 Want only of goodness denied her esteem. 
 
 EPISTLE FROM ESOPUS TO MARIA 
 
 From those drear solitudes and frowsy cells. 
 Where infamy with sad repentance dwells ; 
 Where turnkeys make the jealous portal fast, 
 And deal from iron hands the spare repast, 
 Where truant 'prentices, yet young in sin. 
 Blush at the curious stranger peeping in ; 
 Where strumpets, relics of the drunken roar. 
 Resolve to drink, nay, half to whore no more ; 
 Where tiny thieves not destined yet to swing. 
 Beat hemp for others, riper for the string : 
 From these dire scenes my wretched lines I dale, 
 To tell Maria her Esopus' fate. 
 
 ' Alas ! I feel I am no actor here ! ' 
 'Tis real hangmen, real scourges liear ! 
 Prepare, Maria, for a horrid tale, 
 Will turn thy very rouge to deadly pale ; 
 Will make thy hair, though erst from gipsy poll'd 
 By barber woven, and by barber sold, 
 Though twisted smooth with Harry's nicest care, 
 Like hoary bristles to erect and stare. 
 The hero of the mimic scene, iio more 
 I start in Hamlet, in Othello roar ; 
 Or haughty chieftain, 'mid the din of arms. 
 In Highland bonnet woo .Malvina's charms ; 
 While sans-culottes stoop up the mountain high. 
 And steal from me Maria's prying eye. 
 Blest Highland bonnet ! once my proudest dress, 
 Now prouder still, Maria's temples press, 
 I see her wave thy towering plumes afar. 
 And call each coxcomb to the wordy war ; 
 I see her face the first of Ireland's sons,* 
 And even out-Irish his Hibernian bronze ; 
 
 ♦ ■ First ol Ireland's sons : ' Gillespie, 
 
EPISTLE FROM ESOPUS TO MARIA 319 
 
 The crafty colonel * leaves the tartan'd lines 
 
 For other wars, where he a herb shines ; 
 
 The hopeful youth, in Scottish senate bred, 
 
 Who owns a Bushby's heart without the head, 
 
 Comes 'mid a string of coxcombs to display, 
 
 That Veni, vidi, vici, is his way ; 
 
 The shrinking bard adown an alley skulks, 
 
 And dreads a meeting worse than Woolwich hulks ; 
 
 Though there, his heresies in Church and State 
 
 Might well award him Muir and Palmer's fate ; 
 
 Still she undaunted reels and rattles on. 
 
 And dares the public like a noontide sun. 
 
 (What scandal call'd Mai'ia's jaunty stagger, 
 
 The ricket reeling of a crooked swagger ; 
 
 Whose spleen e'en worse than Bums's venom, when 
 
 He dips in gall unmix'd his eager pen. 
 
 And pours his vengeance in the burning line. 
 
 Who christen'd thus Maria's lyre divine ; 
 
 The idiot strum of vanity bemused. 
 
 And even the abuse of poesy abused ; 
 
 Wlio call'd her verse a parish workhouse, made 
 
 For motley, foundling fancies, stolen or stray' d ?) 
 
 A workhouse 1 ah, that sound awakes my woes. 
 And pillows on the thorn my rack'd repose t 
 In durance vile here must I wake and weep, ■ 
 And all my frowsy couch in sorrow steep 1 
 That straw where many a rogue has lain of yore. 
 And vermin'd gipsies litter'd heretofore. 
 
 Why, Lonsdale, thus thy wrath on vagrants pour ? 
 
 Must earth no rascal save thyself endure ? 
 
 Must thou alone in guilt immortal swell. 
 
 And make a vast monopoly of hell ? 
 
 Thou know'st the Virtues cannot hate thee worse ; 
 
 The Vices also, must they club their curse ? 
 
 Or must no tiny sin to others fall. 
 
 Because thy guilt 's supreme enough for all ? 
 
 Maria, send me, too, thy griefs and cares ; 
 In all of thee sure thy Esopus shares. 
 As thou at all mankind the flag unfurls, 
 Who on my fair one Satire's vengeance hurls ? 
 Who calls thee pert, affected, vain coquette, 
 A wit in folly, and a fool in wit 1 
 
 * ' Cafly colonel : ' Colonel M'Dowal. 
 
320 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Who says that fool alone is not thy due, 
 
 And quotes thy treacheries to prove it true ? 
 
 Our force united on thy foes we '11 turn, 
 
 And dare the war with all of woman born : 
 
 For who can write and speak as thou and I ? 
 
 My periods that decyphering defy, 
 
 And thy still matchless tongue that conquers aU reply.* 
 
 LETTER TO JOHN GOUDIE, KILMARNOCK, 
 
 ON THE PUBLICATION OF HIS ESSAYS 
 
 O GouDiE 1 terror o' the Whigs, 
 Dread o' black coats and reverend wigs. 
 Sour Bigotry, on her last legs, 
 
 Girnin', looks back, 
 Wishin' the ten Egyptian plagues 
 
 Wad seize you quick. 
 
 Poor gapin', glowrin' Superstition, 
 
 Waes me, she 's in a sad condition ; 
 
 Fie 1 bring Black Jock, her state-physician, 
 
 To see her water ; 
 Alas 1 there 's ground o' great suspicion 
 
 She '11 ne'er get better. 
 
 Auld Orthodoxy lang did grapple; 
 But now she's got an unco ripple ; 
 Haste, gie her name up i' the chapel. 
 
 Nigh unto death ; 
 See how she fetches at the thrapple. 
 
 And gasps for breath t 
 
 Enthusiasm 's past redemption, 
 
 Gane in a gallopin' consumption, 
 
 Not a' the quacks, wi' a' their gumption, 
 
 Will ever mend her, 
 Her feeble pulse gie's strong presumption 
 
 Death soon will end her. 
 
 'Tis you and Taylor t are the chief 
 Wha are to blame for this mischief ; 
 
 ■ The Esopus of this satire was Williamson, an actor, and the Maria to 
 whom it is addressed was Mrs. Riddel, 
 t ' Taylor : ' Dr. Taylor of Norwicli. 
 
LETTER TO JOHN GOUDIE 321 
 
 But gin the Lord's ain folks gat leave, 
 
 A toom tar barrel 
 And twa red peats wad send relief, 
 
 And end the quarrel. 
 
 THE INVENTORY 
 
 IN ANSWER TO A MANDATE SENT BY THE SURVEYOR OF 
 
 TAXES 
 
 Sir, as your mandate did request, 
 I send you here a faithfu' list, 
 My horses, servants, carts, and graith. 
 To which I 'm free to tak my aith. 
 
 Imprimis, then, for carriage cattle, 
 I hae four brutes o' gallant mettle. 
 As ever drew before a pettle ; 
 My han'-afore 's * a guid auld has been, 
 And wight and wilfu' a' his days been ; 
 My han'-ahin,t a weel gaun filly, 
 Wha aft has borne me safe frae Killie,t 
 And your auld borough mony a time. 
 In days when riding was nae crime — 
 But ance, when in my wooing pride, 
 I, like a blockhead, boost to ride. 
 The wilfu' creature sae I pat to, 
 (Lord, pardon a' my sins, and that too !) 
 I play'd my filly sic a shavie. 
 She 's a' bedevill'd wi' the spavie. 
 My fur-ahin',§ a wordy beast. 
 As e'er in tug or tow was traced : 
 T^e fourth 's a Highland Donald hastie, 
 A damn'd red-wud Kilbumie blastie I 
 Forby a cowte, of cowtes the wale. 
 As ever ran afore a tail ; 
 An' he be spared to be a beast. 
 He '11 draw me fifteen pund at least. 
 
 "Wheel carriages I hae but few — 
 Three carts, and twa are feckly new ; 
 An auld wheel-barrow, mair for token, 
 Ae leg and baith the trams are broken : 
 
 * ■ Han'-afore : ' the lore-horse on the left-hand In the plough. 
 f ' Han'-ahin : ' the hindmost on the left-hand in the plough. 
 t ' Killie : ' Kilmarnock, 
 g ' Fur-ahin' : ' the same on the right-hand in the plough. 
 
 46— K 
 
322 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 I made a pftker o' the spin'le, 
 
 And my auld mither brunt the trin'le. 
 
 For men, I 've three mischievous boys, 
 Run-deils for rantin' and for noise ; 
 A gadsman ane, a thresher t' other, 
 Wee Davoc hands the nowte in fother. 
 I rule them, as I ought, discreetly. 
 And often labour them completely ; , 
 And aye on Sundays, 4uly> nightly, 
 I on the questions targe them tightly, 
 Till, faith, wee Davoc 's grown sae gleg. 
 Though scarcely langer than my leg. 
 He 'II screed you aff Effectual Calling, 
 As fast as ony in the dwalling. 
 
 I 've nane in female servant station, 
 (Lord, keep me aye frae a' temptation I) 
 I hae nae wife, and that my bliss is. 
 And ye hae laid nae tax on misses ; 
 Wi' weans I 'm mair than weel contented. 
 Heaven sent me ane mair than I wanted ; 
 My sonsie, smirking, dear-bought Bess, 
 She stares the daddie in her face. 
 Enough of ought ye like but grace ; 
 But her, my bonnie, sweet, wee lady, 
 I 've said enough for her already. 
 And if ye tax her or her mither. 
 By the Lord 1 ye 'se get them a' thegither. 
 
 And now, remember, Mr. Aikerf, 
 Nae kind of licence out I 'm takin' ; 
 Through dirt and dub for life I '11 paidle, 
 Ere I sae dear pay for a saddle ; 
 I 've sturdy bearers, Gude be thankit 1 
 My travel a' on foot I '11 shank it. 
 
 The kirk an' you may tak you that, 
 It puts but little in your pat ; 
 Sae dinna put me in your book. 
 Nor for my ten white shiUings look. 
 
 This list wi' my ain hand I 've wrote it, 
 , The day and date as under notit ; 
 
 Then know, all ye whom it concerns, 
 Subscripsi haic, Robert Burns 
 
 MossQiBL, Februca-y 22, 1786 
 
THE HIGHLAND LASSIE 323 
 
 THE HIGHLAND LASSIE 
 
 Tune — ' The Deuk 's dung o'er my Daddy ' 
 
 Nae gentle dames, though e'er sae fair. 
 Shall ever be my Muse's care ; 
 Their titles a' are empty show ; 
 Gie me my Highland lassie, O 1 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 "Within the glen sae bushy, O ! 
 Aboon the plain sae rushy, O I 
 I set me doWn wi' right good will - 
 To sing my Highland lassie, 1 
 
 Oh, were yon' hills and valleys mine. 
 Yon palace and yon gardens fine 1 
 The world then the love should know 
 I bear my Highland lassie, O I 
 
 But fickle fortune frowns on me. 
 And I maun cross the raging sea ; 
 But while my crimson currents flow, 
 I '11 love my Highland lassie, O I 
 
 Although through foreign climes I range, 
 I know her heart wUl never change. 
 For her bosom bums with honour's glow. 
 My faithful Highland lassie, O I 
 
 For her I '11, dare the biUows' roar. 
 For her I '11 trace a distant shore. 
 That Indian wealth may lustre throw. 
 Around my Highland lassie, O I 
 
 She has my he^t, she has my hand, 
 By sacred truth and honour's band ! 
 Till the mortal stroke shall lay me low, 
 I 'm thine, my Highland lassie, O ! 
 
 Farewell, the glen sae bushy, O I 
 Farewell, the plain sae rushy, O I 
 To other lands I now must go. 
 To sing my Highland lassie, O 1 * 
 
 ' This seems to have been written on Highland Mary. 
 
324 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 IMPROMPTU 
 
 ON MRS. riddel's BIRTHDAY, 4tH NOVEMBER 1793 
 
 Old "Winterj with his frosty beard, 
 Thus once to Jove his prayer pref err'd : — 
 What have I done of all the year. 
 To bear this hated doom severe ? 
 My cheerless suns no pleasure know : 
 Night's horrid car drags dreary, slow : 
 My dismal months no joys are crowning. 
 But spleeny English, hanging, drowning. 
 
 Now, Jove, for once be mighty civil. 
 
 To counterbalance all this evil ; 
 
 Give me, and I 've no more to say. 
 
 Give me Maria's natal day ! 
 
 That brUliant gift will so enrich me^ 
 
 Spring, summer, autumn, cannot match me. 
 
 "Tis done 1 says Jove ; so ends my story. 
 
 And Winter once rejoiced in glory. 
 
 OH, WERT THOU IN THE CAULD BLAST 1 
 Tune — ' The Lass o' Livingstone ' 
 
 Oh, wert thou in the cauld blast, • 
 
 On yonder, lea, on yonder lea ; 
 My plaidie to ' the angry airt, 
 
 I 'd shelter thee, I 'd shelter thee : 
 Or did misfbrtdne's bitter storms 
 
 Around thee blaw, around thee blaw. 
 Thy bield should be my bosom. 
 
 To share it a', to share it a'. 
 
 Or were I in the wildest waste, 
 
 Sae black and bare, sae black and bare. 
 The desert were a paradise. 
 
 If thou wert there, if thou wert there : 
 Or were I monarch o' the globe, 
 
 Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign-^- 
 The brightest jewel in my crown. 
 
 Wad be my queen, wad be my queen. 
 
TO A YOUNG LADY 32S 
 
 TO A YOUNG' LADY * 
 
 WITH BOOKS WHICH THE BARD PRESENTED HER 
 
 Thine be the volumes, Jessy fair, 
 And with them take the poet's prayer ; 
 That Fate may in her fairest page, 
 "With every Icindliest, best presage 
 Of future bliss enrol thy name : 
 With native worth, and spotless fame, 
 And wakeful caution still aware 
 Of ill — ^but chief, man's felon snare ; 
 All blameless joys on earth we And, 
 And aU the treasures of the mind — 
 These be thy guardian and reward ; 
 So prays thy faithful friend, the Bard. 
 
 SONNET 
 
 WRITTEN ON THE 25tH JANTTARY 1793, THE BIRTHDAY OF 
 THE AUTHOR, ON HEARING A THRUSH SING IN A MORNING 
 WALK 
 
 Sing on, sweet thrush, upon the leafless bough. 
 Sing on, sweet bird, I listen to thy strain ; 
 See aged Winter, 'mid his surly reign, 
 
 At thy blithe carol clears his furrow'd brow. 
 
 So in lone Poverty's dominion drear. 
 
 Sits meek Content, with light unanxious heart, 
 Welcomes the rapid moments, bids them part. 
 
 Nor asks if they bring ought to hope or fear. 
 
 I thank thee. Author of this opening day I 
 Thou whose bright sun now gilds yon orient skies 1 
 Riches denied, thy boon was purer joys. 
 
 What wealth could never give nor take away I 
 
 Yet come, thou child of poverty arid care. 
 The mite high Heaven bestow' d, that mjte with thee 
 I 'II share. 
 
 • ' Yourg lady : 'Miss Jessy Lewars, Dumrries. 
 
326 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 EXTEMPORE TO MR. SYME 
 
 ON REFUSING TO DINE WITH HIM, AFTER HAVING BEEN 
 PROMISED THE FIRST OF COMPANY, AND THE FIRST OF 
 COOKERY, 17TH DECEMBER 1795 
 
 No more of your guests, be they titled or not. 
 And cookery the first in the nation ; 
 
 "Who is proof to thy personal converse and wit. 
 Is proof to all other temptation. 
 
 TO MR. SYME 
 
 WITH A PRESENT OF A DOZEN OF PORTER 
 
 Oh, had the malt thy strength of mind. 
 Or hops the flavour of thy wit ; 
 
 'Twere drink for first of human kind, 
 A gift that e'en for Syme were fit. 
 
 THE DUMFRIES VOLUNTEERS 
 
 Tune — ' Push about the Jorum ' 
 
 April 1795 
 
 Does haughty Gaul invasion threat ? 
 
 Then let the loons beware, sir ; 
 There 's wooden walls upon our seas. 
 
 And volunteers on shore, sir. 
 The Nith shall run to Corsincon, 
 
 And CrifEel sink in Solway, 
 Ere we permit a foreign foe 
 
 On British ground to rally I 
 
 Oh, let us not, like snarling tytes, 
 
 In wrangling be divided ; 
 Till, slap, come in an unco loon 
 
 And wi' a rung decjde it. 
 Be Britain still to Britain true, 
 
 Amang ouTsel's united' ; 
 For never but by British hands 
 
 Maun British wrangs be righted. 
 
THE DUMFRIES VOLUNTEERS 327 
 
 The kettle o' the Kirk and State 
 
 Perhaps a clout may fail in 't ; 
 But deil a foreign tinkler loun 
 
 Shall ever ca' a nail in 't. 
 Our fathers' blood the kettle bought, 
 
 And wha wad dare to spoil it> 
 By heaven, the sacrilegious dog 
 
 Shall fuel be to boil it 1 
 
 The wretch that wad a tyrant own. 
 
 And the wretch, his true-bom brother, 
 "Who 'd set the mob aboon the throne 
 
 May they be damn'd together 1 
 "Who will not sing, ' God save the King,' 
 
 Shall hang as. high 's the steeple ; 
 But while we sing ' God save the King,' 
 
 We Tl ne'er forget the People. 
 
 POEM, ADDRESSED TO MR. MITCHELL, 
 
 COLLECTOR OF EXCISE, DUMFRIES, 1796 
 
 Friend of the Poet, tried and leal, 
 "Wha, wanting thee, might beg or steal ; 
 Alake,. alake, the meikle deil, 
 
 Wi' a' his witches, 
 Are at it skelpin' jig and reel. 
 
 In my poor pouches. 
 
 I modestly fu' fain wad hint it. 
 That one-pound-one I sairly want it : 
 If wi' the hizzie down ye sent it. 
 
 It would be kind ; 
 And while my heart wi' life-blood dunted, 
 
 I 'd bear 't in mind. 
 
 So may the old year gang out moanin'. 
 To see the new come laden, groanin', 
 Wi' double plenty o'er the loanin'. 
 
 To thee and thine ; 
 Domestic peace and comforts crownin' 
 
 The hale design. 
 
328 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 POSTSCRIPT 
 
 Ye've heard this while how I 've been licket, 
 And by fell Death was nearly nicket : 
 Grim loun I he gat me by the fecket, 
 
 And sair me sheuk ; 
 But by guid luck I lap a wicket, 
 
 And turn'd a neuk. 
 
 But by that health, I 've got a share o 't, , 
 And by that life, I 'm promised mair o 't, 
 My hale and weel I 'U take a care o 't 
 
 A tentier way : 
 Then farewell, Folly, hide and hair o 't, 
 
 For ance and aye I 
 
 LINES 
 
 SENT TO A GENTLEMAN (MR. KIDDEL) 'WHOM HE 
 HAD OFFENDED 
 
 The friend whom, wild from wisdom's way. 
 The fumes of wine infuriate send ; 
 
 (Not moony madness more astray) 
 
 Who but deplores that hapless friend ? 
 
 Mine was th' insensate frenzied part. 
 Ah 1 why should I such scenes outlive ? 
 
 Scenes so abhorrent to my heart, , 
 'Tis thine to pity and forgive 1 
 
 POEM ON LIFE 
 
 ADDRESSED TO COLONEL DE PfiYSTER, DUMFRIES 1796 
 
 My honour'd colonel, deep I feel 
 Your interest in the Poet's weal ; 
 Ah 1 now sma' heart hae I to speel 
 
 The steep Parnassus, 
 Surrounded thus by bolus pUl, 
 
 And potion glasses. 
 
 Oh, what a canty w&rld were it. 
 
 Would pain, and care, tihd sickness spare it ; 
 
POEM ON LIFE 329 
 
 And fortune favour worth and merit, 
 
 As they deserve : 
 And aye a rowth roast beef and claret ; 
 
 Syne, wha wad starve ? 
 
 Dame Life, though fiction out may trick' her, 
 And in paste gems and frippery deck her ; 
 Oh I flickering, feeble, and unsicker, 
 
 I 've found her still, 
 Aye wavering like the willow wicker, 
 
 'Tween good and HI. 
 
 Then that curst carmagnole,* auld Satan, 
 Watches, like baudrons by a rattan, 
 Our sinfu' saul to get a claut on, 
 
 Wi' felon ire ; 
 Syne, whip 1 his tail ye '11 ne'er cast saut on — 
 
 He 's off like fire. 
 
 Ah, Nick ! ah, Nick I it is na fair, 
 First showing us the tempting ware. 
 Bright wines and bonnie lasses rare. 
 
 To put us daft ; 
 Syne weave, unseen, thy spider snare 
 
 O' hell's damn'd waft. 
 
 Poor man, the fly, aft bizzes by. 
 
 And aft, as chance he comes thee nigh. 
 
 Thy auld damn'd elbow yeuks wi' joy, 
 
 And hellish pleasure ; 
 Already in thy fancy's eye. 
 
 Thy sicker treasure I 
 
 Soon, heels owre gowdy, in he gangs. 
 And like a sheep-head on a tangs, 
 Thy girning laugh enjoys his pangs 
 
 And murdering wrestle. 
 As, dangling in the wind, he hangs 
 
 A gibbet's tassel. 
 
 But lest you think I am uncivil. 
 
 To plague you with this draunting drivel. 
 
 Abjuring a' intentions evU, 
 
 I quat my pen : 
 The Lord preserve us frae the devU 1 
 
 Amen 1 Amen 1 
 
 • ' Carmagnole : ' a French Revolutionary nickname. 
 
330 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 ADDRESS TO THE TOOTHACHE 
 
 My curse upon thy venom'd stang, 
 That shoots my tortured gums alang ; 
 And through my lugs gies mony a twang, 
 
 Wi' gnawing vengeance ; 
 Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang, 
 
 Like racking engines I 
 
 When fevers burn, or ague freezes, 
 Rheumatics gnaw, or cholic squeezes. 
 Our neighbour's sympathy may ease us, 
 
 Wi' pitying moan ; 
 But thee, thou hell o' a' diseases, 
 
 Aye mocks our groan 1 
 
 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 mad, I wish a heckle 
 
 Were in their doup. 
 
 O' a' the numerous human dools, 
 111 har'sts, daft bargains, cutty-stools, 
 Or worthy friends raked i' the mools, 
 
 Sad sight to see I 
 The tricks o' knaves, or fash o' fools— 
 
 Thou bear'st the gree. 
 
 Where'er that place be priests ca' hell. 
 Whence a' the tones o' misery yell. 
 And ranked plagues their numbers tell, 
 
 In dreadfu' raw, 
 Thou, Toothache, surely bear'st the bell 
 
 Amang them a' 1 
 
 O thou grim mischief-making chiel. 
 That gars the notes of discord squecl. 
 Till daft mankind aft dance a reel 
 
 In gore a shoe-thick I 
 Gie a' the faes o' Scotland's weal 
 
 A towmond's toothache i 
 
OH, WHA IS SHE THAT LO'ES ME? 331 
 
 OH, WHA IS SHE THAT LO^ES ME? 
 Tune — ' Morag ' 
 
 Oh, wha is she that lo'es me, 
 
 And has my heart a-keeping ? 
 Oh, sweet is she that lo'es me, 
 
 As dews o' simmer weeping. 
 
 In tears the rosebuds steeping. 
 
 Oh, that 's the lassie o' my heart. 
 
 My lassie ever dearer ; 
 Oh, that 's the queen o' woman kind, 
 
 And ne'er a ane to peer her. 
 
 If thou shalt meet a lassie 
 
 In grace and beauty charming. 
 
 That e'en thy chosen lassie, 
 
 Erewhile thy breast sae warming. 
 Had ne'er sic powers alarming : 
 
 If thou hadst heard her talking. 
 And thy' attention 's plighted. 
 
 That ilka body talking, 
 
 But her by thee is slighted ; 
 And thou art aU delighted : 
 
 If thou hast met this fair one, 
 When frae her thou hast parted, 
 
 If every other fair one^ 
 
 But her, thou hast deserted. 
 And thou art broken-hearted : 
 
 Oh, that 's the lassie o' my heart, etc. 
 
 JOCKEY'S TA'EN THE PARTING KISS 
 Tune — ' Jockey 's ta'tn the parting kiss ' 
 
 Jockey 's ta'en the parting kiss. 
 O'er the mountains he is gane ; 
 
 And with him is a' my bliss, 
 
 Naught but griefs with me remain. 
 
332 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Spare my luve, ye winds that blaw, 
 Plashy sleets and heating rain 1 
 
 Spare my luve, thou feathery snaw. 
 Drifting o'er the frozen plain 1 
 
 "When the shades of evening creep. 
 O'er the day's fair, gladsome e'e, 
 
 Sound and safely may he sleep, 
 Sweetly blithe his waukening be I 
 
 He will think on her he loves. 
 Fondly he '11 repeat her name ; 
 
 For where'er he distant roves, 
 Jockey's heart is stUl at bame. 
 
 MY PEGGY'S FACE 
 
 Tune — ' My Peggy's face ' 
 
 My Peggy's face, my Peggy's form. 
 The frost of hermit age might warm ; 
 My Peggy's worth, my Peggy's mind. 
 Might charm the first of human kind. 
 I love my Peggy's angel air. 
 Her face so truly, heavenly fair. 
 Her native grace so void of art, 
 But I adore my Peggy's heart. 
 
 The lily's hue, the rose's dye, 
 The kindling lustre of an eye ; 
 Who but owns their magic swajr 1 
 Who but knows they all decay I 
 The tender thrill, the pitying tear, 
 The generous purpose, nobly dear, 
 The gentle look, that rage disarms — 
 These are all immortal charms. 
 
KEN YE AUGHT Q'^ CAPTAIN GROSE? 333 
 KEN YE AUGHT O' CAPTAIN GROSE? 
 
 ■WRITTEN IN A -WRAPPER ENCLOSING A LETTER TO CAPTAIN 
 GROSE, TO BE LEFT WITH MRi, CARDONNEL, ANTIQUARIAN 
 
 Tune — ' Sir John Malcolm ' 
 
 Ken ye aught o' Captain Grose ? 
 
 Igo and ago. 
 If he 's amang his friends or foes ? 
 . 'Irani, coram, dago. 
 
 Is he South, or is he North 7 
 
 Igo and ago, 
 Or drowned in the river Fortli ? 
 
 Iram, coram, dago. 
 
 Is he slain by Highland bodies ? 
 
 Igo and ago. 
 And eaten like a wether haggis ? 
 
 Iram, coram, dago. 
 
 Is he to Abram's bosom gane ? 
 
 Igo and ago. 
 Or haudin' Sarah by the wame ? 
 
 Iram, coram, dago. 
 
 Where'er he be, the Lord be near him 1 
 
 Igo aiid ago. 
 As for the Deil, he daur na steer him, 
 
 Iram, coram, dago. 
 
 But please transmit th' enclosdd letter, 
 
 Igo and ago, 
 "Which will oblige your humble debtor, 
 
 Iram, coram, dago. , 
 
 So may ye hae auld stanes in store, 
 
 Igo and ago, 
 The very stanes that Adam bore, 
 
 Iram, coram, dago. 
 
 So may ye get in glad possession, 
 
 Igo and ago. 
 The coins o' Satan's coronation 1 
 
 Iram, coram, .dago. 
 
334 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 ON SENSIBILITY 
 
 TO MY DEAR AND MUCH-HONOURED FRIEND, MRS. DUNLOP 
 OF DUNLOP 
 
 Sensibility, how chatiiiiag t 
 Thou, my friend, canst truly tell : 
 
 But distress, with horrors arming. 
 Thou hast also known too well 1 
 
 Fairest flower, behold the Uly, 
 
 Blooming in the sunny ray : 
 Let the blast sweep o'er the valley. 
 
 See it prostrate on the clay. 
 
 Hear the wood-lark charm the forest. 
 
 Telling o'er his little joys : 
 Hapless bird 1 a prey the su;:est, 
 
 To each pirate of the skies. 
 
 Dearly bought the hidden treasure. 
 
 Finer feelings can bestow ; 
 Chords that vibrate sweetest pleasure, 
 
 ThriU the deepest notes of woe. . 
 
 A VERSE 
 
 COMPOSED AND REPEATED BY BURNS, TO THE MASTER OF 
 THE HOUSE, ON TAKING LEAVE AT A PLACE IN THE 
 HIGHLANDS WHERE HE HAD BEEN HOSPITABLY ENTER- 
 TAINED 
 
 When Death's dark stream I ferry o'er, 
 A time that surely shall come ; 
 
 In Heaven itself, I '11 ask no more. 
 Than just a Highland welcome. 
 
 FAREWELL TO AYRSHIRE 
 
 Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure, 
 Scenes that former thoughts renew. 
 
 Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure. 
 Now a sad and last adieu I 
 
FAREWELL TO AYRSHIRE 336 
 
 Bonnie Doon, sae swBet at gloamin', 
 
 Fare thee weel, before I gang 1 
 Bonnie Doon, whare, early roamin', 
 
 First I weaved the rustic sang ! 
 
 Bowers, adieu ! whare love, decoying, 
 First enthrall'd this heart o' mine ; 
 
 There the saftest sweets enjoying — 
 Sweets that mem'ry ne'er shall tyne 1 
 
 Friends, so near my bosom ever,' 
 
 Ye hae render' d moments dear, 
 But, alas 1 when forced to sever, 
 
 Then the stroke, oh, how severe 1 
 
 Friends 1 that parting tear reserve It, 
 
 Though 'tis doubly dear to me 1 
 Could I think I did deserve it. 
 
 How much happier would I be 1 
 
 Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure, 
 Scenes that former thoughts renew, 
 
 Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure, 
 Now a sad and last adieu t 
 
 FRAGMENT OF AN ODE ON PRINCE CHARLES 
 EDWARD'S BIRTHDAY 
 
 False flatterer, Hope, away 1 
 Nor think to lure us as in days of yore ; 
 
 We solemnise this sorrowing natal day. 
 To prove our loyal truth — we can no more ; 
 
 And owning Heaven's mysterious sway. 
 Submissive, low, adore. 
 
 Ye honour'd mighty dead 1 
 Who nobly perish'd in the glorious cause. 
 Your King, your Country, and her Laws 1 
 
 From great Dundee who, smiling. Victory led, 
 And fell a martyr in her arms, 
 (What breast of northern ice but warms !) 
 
 To bold Balmerino's undying name. 
 
 Whose soul of fire, lighted at Heaven's higl> flarae, 
 Deserves the proudest wreath departed heroes claim. 
 
336 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Not unrevenged your fate shall be. 
 
 It only lags the fatal hour ; . 
 Your blood shall with Incessant cry ; 
 Awalte at last th' unsparing ptower ; 
 As from the cliff, with thundering course,. 
 
 The snowy ruin smokes along, 
 With doubling speed and gathering force, 
 Till deep it crashing whelms the cottage in the vale. 
 So vengeance; 1., t • • . 
 
 REMORSE 
 
 Ifrom the poet's commonplace-book] 
 
 Of all the numerous ills that hurt our peace. 
 
 That press the soul, or wring the mind with anguish, 
 
 Beyond comt)arison the worst are those 
 
 That to our folly or our guilt we owe. 
 
 In every other circumstance, the mind 
 
 Has this to say — ' It was no deed of mine I ' 
 
 But when to ^1 the evil of misfortune 
 
 This sting is added—' Blame thy foolish self I ' 
 
 Or worser far, the pangs of keen remorse ; 
 
 The torturing, gnawing consciousness of guilt — 
 
 Of gviUt, perhaps, where we 've involved others ; 
 
 The young, the innocent, who fondly lov^d us, 
 
 Nay, more, that very love their cause of ruin I 
 
 Oh, burning hell 1 in aU tl\y store of torments. 
 
 There 's not a keener lash 1 
 
 Lives there a man so firm, who, while his heart 
 
 Feels all the bitter ho;rrors of his crime. 
 
 Can reason down its agonising, throbs ; 
 
 And, after proper pu^ose of amendment, 
 
 Can firmly force his jarring thoughts to peace ? 
 
 Oh, happy 1 happy 1 enviable man I 
 
 Oh, glorious magnanimity of soul I 
 
 EPITAPH ON A FRIEND 
 
 An honest man here lies at rest. 
 As e'er God with his image blest ; 
 "The friend of man, the friend of truth. 
 The friend of age, and guide of youth ; 
 
EPITAPH ON A FRIEND 337 
 
 Few hearts like his, with virtue warm'd, 
 Few heads \<rith knowl6dg6 so infortn'd : 
 If there 's another world, he lives in bliss ; 
 If there is none, he made the best of this. 
 
 GRACE BEFORE MEAT 
 
 O Thou, who kindly dost provide • 
 
 For every creature's want 1 
 We bless thee, God of Nature wide,' ■ - 
 
 For all thy' goodness lent : 
 And, if it. please thee.Heaveply Guide, 
 
 May never worse be sent ; 
 But whether granted, or denied. 
 
 Lord, bless us. with content I 
 , I ,, Amen I 
 
 GRACE AFTER MEAT 
 
 O Thou,, in whom we live^and miove. 
 Who mad' st the sea. and shore I,, 
 
 Thy g90d)iess constantly we prove. 
 And, grateful, would' adore, . i; 
 
 And if it please thee. Power above, 
 Still grant us, with such store, ■ '' 
 
 The friend we trust, the fair we love ; 
 And we desire no more. '--.■'■ 
 
 GRACE SPOKEN AT THE TABLE OF' THE 
 EARL OF SELKIRK 
 
 Some hae meat thatcanna eat,. 
 And some would eat that want it ; 
 
 But we hae meat, and we can eat, 
 Sae.let the Lord be thankit. 
 
338 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 EPISTLE TO MAJOR W. LOGAN * 
 
 Hail, thaimi-inspirin', rattlin' Willie I 
 Though Fortune's road be rough and hilly 
 To every fiddling, rhyming billie, 
 
 We never heed. 
 But tak it like the unback'd filly. 
 
 Proud o' her speed. 
 
 When idly goavan whiles we saunter, 
 Yirr I Fancy barks, awa' we canter, 
 Up-hiU, down-brae, till some tnishanter. 
 
 Some black bog-hole. 
 Arrests us ; then the scathe and banter 
 
 We 're forced to thole. 
 
 Hale be your heart 1 — ^hale be your fiddle 1 
 Lang may your elbuck jink and diddle, 
 To cheer you through the weary widdle 
 
 O' this vile warl' ; 
 Until ye on a cummock driddle, 
 
 A gray -hair' d carl. 
 
 Come wealth, come poortith, late or soon. 
 Heaven send your heart-strings -aye in tune I 
 And sorew your temper-pins aboo«n, 
 
 A filth or rnair. 
 The melancholious', lazy crown 
 
 O' cankrie care I 
 
 May still yojur life, from day to day, 
 Nae ' lente largo ' in the play. 
 But ' allegretto forte,' gay, 
 
 'Harmonious flow : 
 A sweeping, kindling, bauld strathspey — 
 Encore 1 bravo 1 
 
 A' blessin's on the cheerie gang, 
 Wha dearly like a jig or s^ng. 
 And never think o' right and wrang 
 
 By square and rule ; 
 But as the clegs o' feeling stang. 
 
 Are wise or fool 1 
 
 * The above epistle was addressed by Burns to the late Major Wm. 
 Logan of Camlarg, (whilst residing at Park House, near Ayr,) brother ol the 
 Miss Logan, to whom the poet presented a copy ol Beattie's ' Minstrel.' 
 Major Logon was esteemed one oJ the first violin-players ol his day. 
 
EPISTLE TO MAJOR W. LOGAN 339 
 
 My hand-waled curse keep hard in chase, , 
 The harpy, hoodock, purse-proud race, 
 "Wha coulnt on poortith as dis;graice-^ 
 
 .1 Their tuneless hearts I 
 
 May fireside discords jar a base {• 
 
 To a' their parts 1 
 
 But come — ^your hand, njy careless brithcr, 
 r th' tither warl', if there 's anither — 
 And that there is, I 've little swither 
 
 About the matter — 
 We, cheek for chow, shall jog thegither ; 
 
 I 'se ne'er bid better. 
 
 "We 've faults and failings — granted clearly ; 
 "We 're frail, backsliding mortals merely ; 
 Eve's bonnie , squad, priests wyte thiem sheerly 
 
 For our grand fa' ; 
 But still — ^but stiller like them dearlj; 1 
 
 God bless them a'' i 
 
 Ochon I for poor Castalian drinkers. 
 When they fa' foul o' earthly jinkers I 
 The witching, curst, delicious blinkers 
 
 Hae put me hyte, 
 And gart me weet my waukrif e winkers 
 
 Wi' gimin' spite. 
 
 But, by yon moon ! — and that 's high swearin' — 
 And every star within my hearin' 1 
 And by her e'en, wha was a dqar ane 1 
 
 I '11 ne'er forget t 
 I hope to gie the jauds a clearin' 
 
 In ^air play yet 
 
 My loss I mourn, but not repent it, 
 I '11 seek my pursie whare I tint it : 
 Ance to the Indies I were wonted. 
 
 Some cantrip hour. 
 By some sweet elf I '11 yet be dinted. 
 
 Then, Vive I'amour ! 
 
 Faites mes baisemaini respectueusi 
 
 To sentimental sister Susie, 
 
 And honest Luckie ; no to roose you. 
 
 Ye may be proud, 
 That sic a couple Fate allows ye 
 
 To grace your blood. 
 
340 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 tiafi. mair at present can I measure, 
 And, troth, my rhymin'ware 's nae treasure ; 
 But when in Ayr, some half-hour's leisure, 
 . ' y Be 't light, be 't dark. 
 
 Sir Bard will do himsel' the pleasure 
 To (tall at Park. 
 
 Robert I^urns 
 MossGiEL, 30ih October 1786 ' 
 
 THIRD EPISTLE TO J. LAPRAIK 
 
 September 13, 1785 
 
 GuiD speed and furrier to you, Johnnie, 
 Guid health, hale han's, and weather bqnhie, ; 
 Now when ye 're nickan down fu' canny 
 
 The staff o' bread. 
 May ye ne'er want a stoup o' bran'y 
 
 To clear your head 1 
 
 May Boreas never thrash your rigs. 
 Nor kick your rickles aff their legs, 
 Sendin' the stuff o'er muirs and haggs. 
 
 Like drivin' wrack ; 
 But may the tapmast grain that wags 
 
 Come to the sack I 
 
 I 'm bizzie too, and skelpin' at it. 
 
 But bitter, daudin' showers hae wat it, 
 
 Sae my auld stumpie pen I gat it, 
 
 Wi' muckle wark. 
 And took my jokteleg and whatt it. 
 
 Like ony dark. 
 
 It 's now twa month that I 'm. your debtor. 
 For your braw, nameless, dateless letter, 
 Abusin' me for harsh ill nature 
 
 On holy men. 
 While deU a hair yoursel' ye 're better. 
 
 But mair profane. 
 
 But let the kirk-folk ring their bells. 
 
 Let 's sing about our noble sel's ; 
 
 We '11 cry nae jauds frae heathen hills, ' 
 
 To help, or roose us. 
 But browster wives and whisky stills, 
 , They are the Muses. 
 
THIRD EPISTLE TO J. LAPBAIK 341 
 
 Your friendship, sir, I winna quat it, 
 
 And, if ye mak objections at it. 
 
 Then han' in nieve some day we '11 knot it, 
 
 . And witness take, 
 And when wi' usquebae we 've wat it. 
 It winna break. 
 
 But if the beast and branks be spar'd 
 Till kye be gaiun without the herd, 
 And a' the vittel in the' "yard, 
 
 An' theekit right. 
 I mean your ingle-side to guard 
 
 Ae winter night. 
 
 Then Muse-inspirin' aqua-vitse 
 
 Shall make us baith sae blithe and witty. 
 
 Till ye forget ye 're auld and gatty. 
 
 And be as canty. 
 As ye were nine year less than thretty, 
 
 Sweet ane an' twenty I 
 
 But stooks are coupit wi' the blast, 
 -And now the sin keeks in the west. 
 Then I maun rin amang the rest 
 
 And quat my chanter ; 
 Sae I subscribe mysel' in haste. 
 
 Yours, Rab the Ranter. 
 
 TO THE REVEREND JOHN M'MATH * 
 
 INCLOSING A COPY OF ' HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER,' WHICH 
 HE HAD REQUESTED 
 
 September 17, 1785. 
 
 While at the stook the shearers cower 
 To shun the bitter blaudin' shower, 
 Or in gulravage rinnin' scower. 
 
 To pass the time. 
 To you I dedicate the hour 
 
 In idle rhyme. 
 
 • ' Rev. John M'Math : ' assistant to tUe Rev. Peter Woodi'ow of Tar- 
 bolton. He fell into dissipated habits, and either resigned his charge or 
 was deposed. He afterwards enlisted as a common soldier in the anny. 
 
342 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 My Musie, tired wi' mony a sonnet. 
 
 On gown, and ban', and douce black bonnet. 
 
 Is gro"wn right eerie now she 's done it. 
 
 Lest they should blame her. 
 And rouse their holy thunder on it, 
 
 And anathem her. 
 
 I own 'twas rash, and rather hardy. 
 That I, a simple, cpuntry bardie, 
 Should meddle wi' a pack; sae sturdy, 
 
 Wha, if they ken me. 
 Can easy, wi' a single, wordie, 
 
 Loose heU upon me. 
 
 But I gae mad at their grimaces, 
 Their sighin', cantin', grace-proud faces, 
 Their three-mUe prayers, and hauf-mile graces. 
 
 Their raxin' conscience, 
 Whase greed, revenge, and pride disgraces 
 
 Waur nor their nonsense. 
 
 There 's Gawn,* misca't waur than a beast, 
 Wha has mair honour in his breast 
 Than mony scores as guid 's the priest 
 
 Wha sae abused him. 
 And may a bard no crack his jest 
 
 What way they 've used him ? 
 
 See him, the poor man's friend in need. 
 The gentleman in word and deed. 
 And shall his fame and honour bleed 
 
 By worthless skeUums, 
 And not a Muse erect her head 
 
 To cowe the blellums ? 
 
 Pope I had I thy satire's darts. 
 To gie the rascals their deserts, 
 
 1 'd rip their rotten, hoUow hearts, 
 
 And tell aloud, 
 Their jugglin', hocus-pocus arts. 
 
 To cheat the crowd. 
 
 God knows, I 'm no the thing I should be, 
 Nor am I e'en the thing I could be, 
 But twenty times I rather would be 
 
 An atheist clean. 
 Than under gospel colours hid be. 
 
 Just for a screen. 
 
 • ' Gawn : ' Gavin Hamilton, Esq. 
 
TO THE REVEREND JOHN M'MATH 34a 
 
 An honest man may like a glass, 
 An honest man may liloe a lass, 
 But mean revenge and malice fause. 
 
 He '11 still disdain, 
 And then cry zeal for gospel lavys. 
 
 Like some we ken. 
 
 They take religion in their mouth ; 
 They talk o' mercy, grace, and truth ; 
 For wl^at ?— to gie their malice skoutli 
 
 On some puir wight. 
 And hunt him down, o'er right and ru th, 
 
 To ruin straight. 
 
 All hail, Religion ! maid divine ! 
 Pardon a Muse sae mean as mine. 
 Who in her rough' imperfect line 
 
 Thus daurs to name thee ; 
 To stigmatise false friends of thine. 
 
 Can ne'er defame thee. 
 
 Though blotch't and foul wi' mony a stain. 
 And far unworthy of thy train, ■ 
 With trembling voice I tune my strain 
 
 To join with those, 
 Who boldly dare thy cause maintain 
 
 In spite of foes : 
 
 In spite o' crowds, in spite o' mobs, 
 In spite of undermining jobs. 
 In spite of dark banditti stabs 
 
 At worth and merit. 
 By scoundrels, e'en wi' holy robes. 
 
 But hellish spk-it 
 
 O Ayr I my dear, my native groiind ' 
 Within thy presbyterial bound 
 A candid, liberal band is found 
 
 Of public teachers. 
 As men, as Christians too, renown'd, 
 
 And manly preachers. 
 
 Sir, in that circle you are named ; 
 Sir, in that circle you are famed ; 
 And some, by whom your doctrine 's blamed, 
 
 (Which gies you honour) 
 Even, sir, by them your heart 's esteem'd. 
 
 And winning manner. 
 
344 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Pardon this freedom I have ta'en. 
 And if impertinent I 've been. 
 Impute it not, good sir, in ane 
 
 Whase heart ne'er wrang'd ye ; 
 But to his utmost would befriend 
 
 . Aught that belang'd ye. 
 
 HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER* 
 
 I 
 
 O Thou, wha in the heavens dost dweU, 
 Wha, as it pleases best thysel', 
 Sends ane toheaven, and ten to hell, 
 
 A' for thy glory, 
 And no for ony guid or Ul 
 
 Thev 've ' done afore thee I 
 
 II 
 
 I bless and praise thy matchless might, 
 Whan thousands thou hast left in night. 
 That I am heriei afore thy sight. 
 
 For gifts and grace, 
 A burnin' and 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, 
 
 Through Adam's cause 1 
 
 When frae my mither's womb I fell. 
 Thou might hae plunged me in hell, 
 To gnash my gums, to weep and wail. 
 
 In burnin' lake, 
 Whare damned devils roar and yell, 
 
 Chain'd to a stake. 
 
 ' Holy Willie : ■ William Fisher, a hypocritical elder in Mauchline. 
 
HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER 
 
 Yet I am here, a chosen sample, 
 
 To show thy 'grace is great and ample ; 
 
 I 'm here a pillar in thy temple, > 
 
 Strong as a rock, 
 A guide, a budder, and example 
 
 To a' thy flock. 
 
 O Lord 1 thou kens what zeal I bear. 
 When drinkers drinfc, and swearers swear^ 
 And singin' there, and dancin' here, 
 
 Wi' great an' sma' ; 
 For I am keepit by thy fear, 
 
 Free frae them a'. 
 
 VII 
 
 But yet, O Lord 1 confess I must. 
 At times I 'm lash'd wi' fle(shly lust, 
 And sometimes, too, wi' warldly trust 
 
 "Vile self gets in ; 
 But thou remembers we are dust, '• 
 
 Defiled in sin. 
 
 VIII 
 
 O Lord I yestr€en, thou kens, wi' Meg — ■ 
 
 Thy pardon I sincerely beg,- 
 
 Oh I may 't ne'er be a livin' plague, 
 
 To my dishonour. 
 And I '11 ne'er lift a lawless leg 
 
 Again upon her. 
 
 IX 
 
 Besides^J, farther maun avow, 
 
 Wi' Leezie's lass, three, times, I trow ; 
 
 But^Lord 1 that Friday; I was fou, 
 
 •J \ r. When I came hear her. 
 Or else,- thoui kens, thy servant true 
 
 '. Wad ne'er bae steer'd her. 
 
346 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Maybe thou lets this fleshly thorn 
 Beset thy servant e'en and morn, . 
 Lest he owre high and proud should turn, 
 
 'Cause he 's sae gifted ; 
 If sae, thy han' maun e'en be borne. 
 
 Until thou lift it. 
 
 XI 
 
 Lord, bless thy chosen in this place. 
 For here thou hast a chosen race ; 
 But God confound their stubborn face. 
 
 And blast their name, 
 Wha bring thy elders to disgrace, 
 
 And public shame. 
 
 Lord 1 mind Gawn Hamilton's deserts, 
 He drinks, and swears, and plays at cartes. 
 Yet has sae mony takin' arts, 
 
 Wi' grit and sma', 
 ■Frae God's ain priests the people's hearts 
 
 He steals awa'. 
 
 And when we chasten'd him therefor, 
 "Thou kens how he bred sic a splore. 
 As set the warld in a roar 
 
 O' laughin' at us : — • 
 'Curse thou his basket and his store. 
 
 Kail and potatoes. 
 
 XIV 
 
 Lord, hear my earnest bry and prayer, 
 
 Against that Presbyt'ry of Ayr ; 
 
 Thy strong right hand, Lord, make it bare, 
 
 Upo' their heads ; 
 Lord, weigh it dowii, and dihna spare. 
 
 For their misdeeds. 
 
HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER 347 
 
 XV 
 
 O Lord my Gad I that glib-tongued Aiken, 
 My very heart and saul are qualiin', 
 To think how I sat sweatin', shakin', 
 
 Arid p^d wi' dread, 
 While Auld wi' hingin' lip gaed snakin'. 
 
 And hid his h€ad. 
 
 XVI 
 
 Lord, in the day of vengeance try him. 
 Lord, visit them wha did employ him. 
 And pass not in thy mercy by 'em. 
 
 Nor hear their prayer ; 
 But for thy people's sake destroy 'em, 
 ■ And dinna spare. 
 
 XVII 
 
 But, Lord, remember me and mine 
 Wi' mercies temporal and divine, 
 That I for gear and grace may sh'ine,. 
 
 Excell'd by nane. 
 And a' the glory shall be thine, 
 
 Amen 1 Amen 1 
 
 EPITAPH ON HOLY WILLIE 
 
 Here Holy Willie's sair-worn clay 
 
 Taks up its last abode ; 
 His saul has td'en some other way, 
 
 I fear the left-hand road. 
 
 Stop I there he is, as sure 's a gun. 
 
 Poor silly body, see him ; 
 Nae wonder he 's as black 's the grim,. 
 
 Observe wha 's standing wi' him. 
 
 Your brunstane devilship, I see, 
 Has got him there before ye ; 
 
 But baud your nine-tail cat a wee, 
 TiU ance ye 've heard my story. 
 
348 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Your pity I will not implore, 
 
 For pity ye hae nane ! 
 Justice, alas 1 has gi'en him o'ei;. 
 
 And Mercy's day is gane. 
 
 But hear me, sir, deil as ye are, 
 Look something to your credit ; 
 
 A coof like him would stain your name. 
 If it were kent ye did it. 
 
 THE KIRK'S ALARM* 
 
 A 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. Mac.t Dr. Mac, you should stjetch on a rack. 
 
 To strike evil-doers wi' terror ; 
 To join faith and sense upon ony pretence. 
 
 Is heretic, damnable errorl . 
 
 Town of Ayr, town of Ayr, it was mad, I declare. 
 
 To meddle wi' mischief a-brewin' ; 
 Provost John is still deaf to the Church's relief. 
 
 And orator Bob % is its ruin. . 
 
 D'rymple mild,§ D'rymple mild, thpugh your heart 's like 
 a child, 
 
 And your life like the new-driyen snaw ; 
 Yet that winna save ye, auld Satan must have ye. 
 
 For preaching that three 's ane and twa. 
 
 Rumble John,|| Rumble Johiji, mount the steps wi' a groan. 
 
 Cry, the book is wi' heresy cramm'd ; 
 Then lug out your ladle, deal brimstone like adle. 
 
 And roar every note of the damn'd. 
 
 • ' The Kirk's Alarm : ' this poem was written a short time after the 
 publication ol Dr. M'Gill's Essay, and has reterence to the polemical war- 
 fare which it excited, 
 
 t ' Dr. Mac : ' Dr. M'Gill. J " Orator Bob : ' Robert Aiken. 
 
 § ' D'rymple mild : ' Dr. Dalrymple. ' || " Rumble John : ' Mr. Russell. 
 
THE KIRK'S ALARM 349 
 
 Simper James,* Simper James; leave the fair Killie dames. 
 
 There 's a holier chase in. your view ; 
 I 'U lay on your head, that the pack ye 'U soon lead. 
 
 For puppies like you there 's but few. 
 
 Singet Sawney,t Singet Sawney, are ye hoording the penny. 
 
 Unconscious what evils await ? 
 Wi' a jump, yell, and howl, alarm every soul, 
 
 For the foul thief is just at your gate. 
 
 Daddy Auld,J Daddy AUld, there 's a tod in the fauld, 
 
 A tod meikle waur than the Clerk ; § ■ 
 Though ye downa do skaith, ye 'U be in at the death. 
 
 And gif ye canna bite, ye may bark. 
 
 Davie Bluster, j] Davie Bluster,, if for a saint ye do niuster. 
 
 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,1f Jamie Goose, ye ha'e made but toom roose, 
 
 In hunting the wicked Lieutenant; 
 But the Doctor 's your mark, for the Lord's haly ark, 
 
 He has cooper'd and ca 't a wrang pin in 't. 
 
 Poet "Willie,** Poet Willie, gie the Doctor a volley, 
 Wi' your ' liberty's chain ' and your wit ; - 
 
 O'er Pegasus' side ye ne'er laid a stride, 
 
 Ye but smelt, man, the place where he sh — t. 
 
 Andro Goukrtt Andro Gouk, ye may slander the book. 
 And the book not the waur, let me tell ye ; 
 
 Ye are rich and look big, hut lay by hat and wig 
 And ye 'U hae a calf's ihqad p' sma' value. 
 
 Barr Steenie, JJ Barr Steenie, what mean ye 1 what mean ye ? 
 
 If ye '11 meddle nae mair wi' the matter. 
 Ye may hae some pretence to havins and sense, 
 
 Wi' people wha ken ye nae better. 
 
 • ' Simper James : ' Mr. M'Kinlay. 
 
 t ' Singet Sawney : ' Mr. Moody. 
 
 X ' Daddy Auld : ' Mr. Auld, Mauchline. 
 
 § ' Glerk : ' Mr. Gavin Hamilton. 
 
 )1 ' Davie Bluster : ' Mr. Grant, Ochiltree. 
 
 i ' Jamie Goose : ' Mr. Young, Cuinmock. 
 •• ' Poet Willie : ' Mr. Peebles, Ayr. 
 ft • Andro Gouk : ' Dr. A. Mitchell. 
 Xt ' Barr Steenie : ' Mr. Stephen Young, Barr. 
 
350 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Ij*vine-side,* Irvine-side, wi' your tuikey-cock pride, 
 
 Of manhood but sma' is your share ; 
 Ye 've the figure, 'tis true, even your faes will allow. 
 
 And your friends they dare grant you nae mair. 
 
 Muirland Jock,-)- Muirland Jock, when the Lord makes a rock 
 
 To crush Common Sense for her sins. 
 If ill-manners \vere wit, there 's no mortal so fit 
 
 To confound the poor Doctor at ance. 
 
 Holy Will,t Hojly Will, there was wit i' your skull. 
 
 When ye pilfer' d the alms o' 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 50ns, seize your spiritual guns. 
 Ammunition you never can need ; ' 
 
 Your hearts are the stuff, will be powther enough. 
 And your skulls are storehouses o' lead. 
 
 Poet Burns, Poet Burns, wi' your priest-skelping turns, 
 
 Why desert ye your auld native shire ? 
 Your Muse is a gipsy, e'en though she were tipsy^ 
 
 She cou'd ca' us nae waur than we are. 
 
 THE HOLY TULZIE, OR TWA HERDS § 
 
 Oh, a' ye pious godly flocks, 
 Weel fed on pastures orthodox, 
 Wha now will keep you frae the fox, 
 
 Or worrying tykes. 
 Or wha will tent the waifs and crocks. 
 
 About the dykes ? 
 
 The twa best herds in a' the wast. 
 That e'er gae gospel horn a blast. 
 These flve-and-twenty simmers past, 
 
 Oh ! dool to tell, 
 Hae had a bitter black outcast 
 
 Atween themsel'. 
 
 • ■ Irvlne-side : ' Mr. Smith, Galston. 
 
 t • Muirland Jock : ' Mr. Shepherii. 
 
 t ' Holy Will : ' Holy Willie. 
 
 I " Twa herds : ' Hie two herds or pastors were Mr. Moody, minister ol 
 RIccartoun, and that favourite victim of Burns, John Russell, then minister 
 at Kilmarnock, and afterwards of Stirling. This was the first of Bums' 
 productions that saw the light ; it was founded on a dispute — subject 
 uncertain — between the two divines. 
 
THE HOLY TULZIE, OR TWA HERDS 351 
 
 gh, Moody, man,, and wordy Russell, 
 !ow could you raise so vile a bustle ? - 
 Ye '11 see how New-Light herds will whistle, 
 
 And think it fine I 
 The Lord's cause ne'er gat Sic a twistle, 
 Sin' I hae min'. 
 
 Oh, sirs 1 wha e'er Wad hae expeckit, 
 
 Your duty ye wad sae hegleckit, 
 
 Ye wha were ne'er by lairds respeckit. 
 
 To wear the plaid. 
 But by the brutes themselves eleckit. 
 
 To be their guide. 
 
 What flock wi' Moody's flock could rank, 
 Sae hale and hearty every shank I 
 Nae poison'd sour Arminian stank 
 
 He let them taste, 
 Frae Calvin's well aye clear they draiik — 
 
 Oh sic a feast 1 
 
 The thummart, wil'Tcat, brock, and tod, 
 Weel kenn'd his voice through a' the wood. 
 He smelt their ilka hole and road, 
 
 Baith out and jn ; 
 And weel he liked to shed their bluid. 
 
 And sell their skin. 
 
 What herd like Russell tell'd his tale ? 
 
 His voice was heard through muir and dale. 
 
 He kenn'd the Lord's'Sheep, ilka tail, 
 
 O'er a' the height. 
 And saw gin they were sick or hale. 
 
 At the first sight. 
 
 He fine a mangy sheep could scrub, 
 
 Or nobly fling the gospel dub. 
 
 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^oh I do I live to see 't ! — 
 Sic famous twa should disagree 't. 
 And names like ' villain,' ' hypocrite,' 
 
 Ilk ither gi'en, 
 While New-Light herds, wi' laughin' spite, 
 . Say neither 's liein' 1 
 
352 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 A' ye wha tend the gospel fauld, 
 
 There 's Duncan, deep, and Peebles, shaul, 
 
 But chiefly thou. Apostle Auld, 
 
 ■ We trust in thee. 
 That thou wilt work them, hot and cduld, 
 Till they agree. 
 
 Consider, sirs, how we 're beset, 
 There 's scarce a new herd that we get. 
 But comes frae 'mang that cursed set 
 
 I winna name ; 
 I hope frae heaven to see thern yet 
 
 In fiery flame 1 
 
 Dalrymple has been lang our fae, 
 M'Gill has wrought us meikle wae. 
 And that cursed rascal ca'd M'Quhae, 
 
 And baith the Shaws, 
 That aft hae made us black and blae, 
 
 Wi' vengefu' paws. 
 
 Auld "Wodrow lang has hatch'd mischief. 
 We thought aye death would bring relief. 
 But he has gotten, to our grief, 
 
 Ane to succeed him, 
 A chiel wha '11 soundly bufi our beef ; 
 
 I meikle dread him.* 
 
 Arid mony a ane that I could tell, 
 Wha fain would openly rebel, 
 Forby turn-coats amang oursel'. 
 
 There 's Smith for ane, 
 I doubt he 's but a gray-nick quill. 
 
 And that ye 'U fin'. 
 
 Oh 1 a' ye flocks o'er a' the hills. 
 
 By mosses, meadows, moors, and fells. 
 
 Come, join your counsel and your skills, 
 
 ' To cowe the lairds. 
 
 And get the brutes the power themsel's 
 To chooSe their herds. 
 
 Then Orthodoxy yet may prance. 
 And Learning in a woodie dance. 
 And that fell cur ca'd Common Sense, 
 
 That bites sae sair. 
 Be banish'd o'er the sea to France : 
 
 Let him bark there. 
 
 • ' Dread hlra : ' alluding to the Rev. Mr. M'Math, mentioned above. 
 
THE HOLY TULZIE, OR TWA HERDS 353 
 
 Then Shaw's and D'rj'mple's eloquence, 
 M'GiU's close nervous excellence, 
 M'Quhae's pathetic manly sense, 
 
 And guid M'Math, 
 Wi' Smith, wha through the heart can glance. 
 
 May a' pack aft. 
 
 EPISTLE TO WILLIAM CREECH, 
 
 ( BOOKSELLER, EDINBURGH 
 
 AuLD chuckle Reekie 's * sair distress'd, 
 Down droops.her ance weel-burnish'd crest, 
 Nae joy her bonnie buskit nest 
 
 Can yield ava, 
 Her darling bird that she lo'es best — 
 
 Willie 's awa' ! 
 
 Oh, Willie was a witty wight, 
 And had o' things an unco slight ; 
 Auld Reekie aye he keepit tight, * 
 
 And trig and braw : 
 But now they '11 busk her like a fright — 
 
 Willie 's awa' 1 
 
 The stiffest o' them a' he bow'd ; 
 The bauldest o' them a' he cow'd ; 
 They durst na mair than he allow'd, 
 
 That was a law : 
 We 've lost a birkie weel worth gowd — 
 
 Willie 's awa' 1 
 
 Now gawkies, tawpies, gowks, and fools, 
 Frae colleges and boarding-schools. 
 May sprout like simmer puddock-stools, 
 
 In glen or shaw ; 
 He wha could brush them down to mools, 
 
 Willie 's awa' 1 
 
 The brethren o' the Commerce-chaumer t 
 May mourn their loss wi doolfu' clamour, 
 
 • ' Reekie : ' Edinburgh. 
 
 t ' Commerce-chaumer : ' the Chambra ol Commerce of Edinburgh, of 
 which Mr. Creech was secretary. 
 4&— L 
 
354 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 He was a dictionar' and grammar 
 
 Amang them a' ; 
 I fear they '11 now makmony a stammer^- 
 ' Willie 'sawa'l 
 
 Nae mair we see his levee door 
 PhUosophers and Poets pour. 
 And toothy critics by the score, 
 
 In bloody raw 1 
 The adjutant o' a' the core — 
 
 Willie 's vma.' 1 ; 
 
 Now worthy Gregory's Latin face, 
 Tytler's and Greenfield's * modest grace ; 
 Mackenzie, Stuart, sic a brace 
 
 . As Rome ne'er saw ; 
 
 They a' maun meet some ither place- 
 Willie 's awa' 1 
 
 Poor Burns, e'en Scotch drink canna quicken. 
 He cheeps like some bewilder'd chicken 
 Scared frae its minnie and the cleckin' 
 
 By hoodie-craw ; 
 Grief 's gien his heart an unco kickin' — 
 
 Willie 's awa' I 
 
 Now every sotir-mou'd girnin' blellum — 
 And Calvin's folk, are fit to fell him ; 
 And self-conceited critic skellum 
 
 His quill may draw ; 
 He wha could brawly ward their blellum-^ 
 
 Willie 's awa' I 
 
 Up wimpling stately Tweed I 've sped, 
 And Eden scenes on crystal Jed, 
 And Ettrick banks now roaring red. 
 
 While tempests, blaw ; 
 But every joy and plea^urfs.'s fled^ 
 
 WilUe 's awa' I 
 
 May ,1 be slander's common speech ; 
 A text for infamy to preach ; 
 And lastly, streekit out to bleach 
 
 ^ In winter snaw, . 
 When I forget thee, "V^illie Creech, 
 Though far awa* 1 
 
 ' ' Greenfield : ' a Professor of Rhetoric, wlio fled Edinburgh owing to 
 a dire fama, and was said teiig after thii to be the author of the Waverley 
 Novels ! 
 
EPISTLE TO WILLIAM CREECH 355 
 
 May never wicked fortune touzle him I 
 May never wicked men bamBoozl'e him I 
 Until a pow as auld 's Methusalem 
 
 He canty claw I 
 Then to the blessed New Jerusalem, 
 
 Fleet wing awa' 1 
 
 TO GAVIN HAMILTON, ESQ.,, MAUCHLINE 
 
 (becommending a boy) 
 
 MossGiEL, May 3, 1786. 
 
 I HOLD it, sir, my bounden duty 
 
 To warn you how that Master Tootle,* 
 
 Alias, Laird M'Gaun, 
 Was here to hire yon lad away 
 'Bout whom ye spak the tither day. 
 
 And wad hae don 't aff han' : 
 But lest he learn the callan tricks, 
 As, faith, I muckle doubt hitn, 
 Like scrapin' out auld crummie's nicks 
 And tellin' lies ahout them ; 
 
 As lieve, then, I 'd hive, thieh. 
 
 Your clerkship he should sair. 
 If sae be, ye may be. 
 Not fitted otherwhere. 
 
 Although I say 't, he 's gleg enough, 
 And, 'bout a house that 's rude and rough. 
 
 The boy might learn to swear ; 
 But then wi' you he 'U be sae taught. 
 And get sic fair example straught, 
 
 I have nae ony fear. 
 Ye '11 catechise him every quirk. 
 
 And shore him weel \n' hell ; 
 
 And gar him follow to the kirk — 
 
 Aye when ye gang yoursel'. 
 
 If ye, then, maun be, then, 
 
 Frae hame this comiji' Friday ; 
 Then please, sir, to lea'e, sir. 
 The orders yd' your lady. 
 
 • ■ Master Tootie : ' then lived in Mauchline ; a dealer in cows. It was 
 his practice olten to cut the nicks or markings Irom the horns ol cattU, 
 to disguise their age. 
 
356 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 My word of honour I hae gi'en, 
 
 In Paisley John's, that night at e'en, 
 
 To meet the warld's worm ; 
 To try to get the twa to gree. 
 And name the airles and the fee. 
 
 In legal mode and form : 
 I ken he weel a sneck can draw. 
 When simple bodies let him ; 
 And if a Devil be at a', 
 
 In faith he 's sure to get him. 
 
 To phrase you, and praise you. 
 
 Ye ken your Laureate scorns ; 
 The prayer still, you share still. 
 Of grateful Minstrel Burns. 
 
 TO MR. M'ADAM, OF CRAIGEN-GILLAN, 
 
 IN ANSWER TO AN OBLIGING LETTER HE SENT IN THE 
 COMMENCEMENT OF MY POETIC CAREER 
 
 Sir, o'er a gill I gat your card, 
 
 I trow it made me proud ; 
 ' See wha taks notice o' the bard I ' 
 
 I lap and cried f u' loud. 
 
 Now deil-ma-care about their jaw. 
 
 The senseless, gawky million ; 
 I '11 cock my nose aboon them a', 
 
 I 'm roosed by Craigen-Gillan 1 
 
 'Twas noble, sir ; 'twas like ydursel', 
 
 To grant your high protection : 
 A great man's smUe, ye ken fu' weel, 
 
 Is aye a blest infection ; — 
 
 Though, by his banes * wha in a tub 
 
 Match'd Macedonian Sandy 1 
 On my ain legs through dirt and dub, 
 
 I independent stand aye. 
 
 And when those legs to gude warm kail, 
 
 Wi' welcome canna bear me ; 
 A lee dyke-side, a syboe-tail, 
 
 And barley-scone, shall cheer me. 
 
 * ' His banes : ' Diogenes. 
 
TO MR. M'ADAM, OF CRAIGEN-GILLAN 357 
 
 Heaven spare you lang to kiss the breath 
 
 C mony flowery simmers ; • 
 And bless your bonnie lasses baith — 
 
 I 'm tald they 're lo'esome kimmersl 
 
 And God bless young Dunaskin's laird. 
 
 The blossom of our gentry 1 
 And may he wear an auld inan's beard, 
 
 A credit to his country i ' 
 
 TO CAPTAIN RIDDEL, GLENRIDDEL 
 
 EXTEMPORE UNES ON RETURNING A NEWSPAPER 
 
 Ellislanq, Monday^ Evening. 
 
 Your news arid review, sir, I 've read through and through, 
 sir, : ; . 
 
 With little a,dmiring or blaming : 
 The papers are barren of home-news or foreign, 
 
 No murders or rapes worth the naming. 
 
 Our friends the revijewers, those chippers and hewers, 
 
 Are judges of mortar and stone, sir ; 
 But of meet or unmeet, in a fabric complete, 
 
 I '11 boldly pronounce they are none, sir. 
 
 My goose-quill too rude is to tell all your goodness 
 
 Bestow'd on your servant, the Poet ; 
 Would to God I had one like a beam of the sun. 
 
 And then aU the world, sir, should know it 1 
 
 TO TERRAUGHTY,* ON HIS BIRTHDAY 
 
 Health to the Maxwells' vet'ran chief 1 
 Health, aye unsour'd by care or grief : 
 Inspired, I'turn'd Fate's Sibyl leaf 
 
 This natal morn, 
 I see thy life is stuff o' prief, 
 
 Scarce quite half worn. 
 
 • ' To Terraughty : ' Mr. Maxwell, of Terraughty, near Dumfries. 
 
358 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 This day thou metes threescore eleven. 
 And I can tell that bounteous Heaven 
 (The second sight, ye fcen, is given 
 
 ToUkaPoet) 
 On thee a tack o' seven times seven 
 
 , WUl yet bestow it. 
 
 If envious buckies view wi' sorrow 
 
 Thy lehgthen'd days pn this blest morrosv. 
 
 May Desolation's lahg-teeth'd harrow, 
 
 Nine miles an hour, 
 Rake them, like Sodom and Gomorrah, 
 
 In brunstane stourc ! 
 
 But for thy friends, arid they are mony, 
 Baith honest men and lasses bonnie, 
 May couthie fortune, kind and cannie. 
 
 In social glee, 
 Wi' mornings blithe and e'enings funny, 
 
 Bless them and thee ! 
 
 Fareweel, auld Birkie t Lord be near ye, 
 And then the dell he daurna steer ye : 
 Your friends aye love, your faes aye fear ye ; 
 
 For ihe, shame fa' me, 
 If neist my heart I dinna wear ye, 
 
 "While- Bums they ca' me t 
 
 TO A LADY * 
 
 WITH A PRESENT OF A PAIR OF DRINKING-GLASSES 
 
 Fair Empress of the Poet's soul. 
 
 And Queen of Poetesses ; 
 Clarinda, take this Uttle boon. 
 
 This humble pair of glasses I 
 
 And fiU them high with generous juice. 
 
 As generous as your mind ; 
 And pledge me in the generous toast — 
 ; ' The whole of human kind I ' 
 
 ' To thosie who love us I ' — second fill ; 
 
 But not to those whom we love ; 
 Lest we love those who love not us I 
 
 A third-^' To thee and me, love 1 ' 
 
 • • Lady : ' Mrs. M'Lehose. 
 
TRAGIC FRAGMENT 359 
 
 TRAGIC FRAGMENT 
 
 In my early years nothing less -would serve me than courting the 
 Tragic Muse. I was, I think, about eighteen or nineteen when 
 I sketched the outUnes of a tragedy forsooth ; but the bursting 
 of a cloud of family misfortunes, ,which had for sometime 
 threatened us, prevented my farther progress. In those days 
 I never wrote down any thing ; so, except a speech or two, 
 the whole has escaped my memory. The following, which I 
 most distinctly remember, was an exclamation from a great 
 character — great in occasional instances of geijerosity, and 
 daring at times in viUanies. He is supposed to meet with a 
 child of misery, and exclaims to himself : — B. 
 
 ' All, devil as I am, a damned wretch, 
 
 A harden'd, stubborn, unrepenting villafn, ' 
 
 Still my heart melts at human wretchedness ; 
 
 And with sincere though unavailing sighs 
 
 I view the helpless children of distress. '■ ' 
 
 With tears indignant I behold th' oppressor 
 
 Rejoicing in the honest man's destruction, 
 
 \ATiose unsubmitting heart was all his crime. 
 
 Even you, ye helpless crew, I pity you ; , 
 
 Ye, whom the seeming good think sin to pity : 
 
 Ye poor, despised, abandon'd vagabonds, 
 
 Whom vice, as usual, has tum'd o'er to ruin. 
 
 Oh, but for kind, thovigh iU-requited friends, 
 
 I had been driven forth like you forlorn, 
 
 The most detested, worthless wretch among you I ' 
 
 THE VOWELS 
 
 'TwAS where the birch and sounding thong are plied, 
 
 The noisy domicile of pedant pride ; ■ 
 
 Where Ignorance ber dark'ning vapour throws, 
 
 And Cruelty directs the thick'ning blows ; 
 
 Upon a time. Sir Abece the Great, 
 
 In all his pedagogic powiers elate. 
 
 His awful chair of state resolves to mount. 
 
 And call the trembling vowels to account. 
 
 First enter'd A, a grave, broad, solemn wight, 
 But, ah ! deform'd, dishonest to the sight ! 
 His twisted head look'd backward on his way, 
 And flagrant from the scourge he grunted, Ai .' 
 
360 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Reluctant, E stalk' d in : with piteous race 
 The jostling tears ran down his honest face I 
 That name, that well-worn name, and all his own. 
 Pale he surrenders at the tyrant's throne I 
 The pedant stifles keen the Roman sound ' 
 Not all his mongrel diphthongs can compound ; 
 And next the title following close behind 
 He to the nameless, ghastly wretch assign'd. 
 
 The cobweb'd Gothic dome resounded, Y ! 
 In sullen vengeance, I disdain'd reply: 
 ' The pedant swung his felon cudgel round, 
 And knock'd the groaning vowel to the ground 1 
 
 In rueful apprehension enter'd O, 
 
 The waUing minstrel of despairing woe ; 
 
 Th' Inquisitor of Spain the most expert. 
 
 Might there have learnt new mysteries of his art ; 
 
 So grim, deform'd, with horrors entering U, 
 
 His dearest friend and brother scarcely knew I 
 
 As trembling U stood staring all aghast. 
 The pedant in his left hand clutch'd him fast. 
 In helpless infants' tears he dipp'd his right. 
 Baptized him eu, and kick'd him from his sight. 
 
 SKETCH [W. CREECH] 
 
 A LITTLE, upright, pert, tart, tripping wight, 
 And still his precious self his dear delight : 
 "Who loves his own smart shadow in the streets, 
 Better than e'er the fairest she he meets. 
 A man of fashion, too, he mpde his tour, 
 Learn' d Vive la bagatelle, et Vive I' amour ;. 
 So travell'd monkeys their grimace improve, 
 Polish their grin, nay, sigh for ladies' love. 
 Much specious lore, but little understood ; 
 Veneering oft outshines the solid wood : 
 His solid sense by inches you must tell, 
 But mete his cunning by the old Scots ell ; 
 His meddling vanity, a busy fiend. 
 Still making work his selfish craft must mend. 
 
AN EXTEMPORANEOUS EFFUSION 361 
 
 AN EXTEMPORANEOUS, EFFUSION ON BEING 
 APPOINTED TO THE EXCISE 
 
 Searching auld wives' barrels, . 
 
 Och, hon I the day 1 
 That clarty barm should stain my laurels ; 
 
 But — what '11 ye say ? 
 These movin' things ca'd wives and weans, 
 Wad move the very hearts o' stanes I 
 
 ELEGY ON THE YEAR 1788 
 
 For lords or kings I dinna mourn, 
 
 E'en let them die — for that they 're born 1 
 
 But, oh, prodigious to reflec', 
 
 A towmont, sirs, is gane to wreck I 
 
 O Eighty-eight, in thy sma' sjpaeie 
 
 What dire events hae taken place ! 
 
 Of what enjoyments thou hast reft us 1 
 
 In what a pickle thou hast left us I 
 
 The Spanish empire 's tint a head. 
 And my auld tfeethless Bawtle 's dead ; 
 The tulzie 's teugh 'tween Pitt and Fox, 
 And our guidwife's wee birdie cocks ; 
 The tane is game, a bluidy devil. 
 But to the hen-birds unco civil ; 
 The tither 's dour, has nae sic breedin', 
 But better stuff ne'er claw'd a midden ! 
 
 Ye ministers, come mount the pu'pit. 
 And cry till ye be hearse and roopit ; 
 For Eighty-eight he wish'd you weel, 
 And gied you a' baith gear and meal ; 
 E'eri mony a plack, and mony a peck, 
 Ye ken yoursels, for little feck 1 
 
 Ye bonnie lasses, dight your e'en. 
 For some o' you hae tint a frien' ; 
 In Eighty-eight, ye ken, was ta'en. 
 What ye '11 ne'er hae to gie again. 
 
 Observe the very nowte and sheep 
 How dowfl and dowle now they creep ; 
 Nay, even the yirth itsel' does cry. 
 For Embro' weUs are grutten dry. 
 
362 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 O Eighty-nine, thou 's but a baim, 
 And no owre auld, I hope, to leam 1 
 Thou beardless boy, I pray tak pare, 
 Thou now has got thy daddy's chair, 
 Nae hand-cuffd, muzzled, hap-shackled Regent, 
 But, like himsel', a full free agent, 
 Be sure ye follow out the plan 
 Nae waur than he did, honest man I 
 As meikle better as you can. 
 January 1, 1789 
 
 THE JOLLY BEGGARS 
 
 A CANTATA* 
 
 REGITATIVO 
 
 "When lyart leaves bestrew the yird. 
 Or wavering like the bauckie-bird. 
 
 Bedim cauld Boreas' blast ; 
 When hailstanes drive wi' bitter skyte. 
 And infant frosts begin to bite, 
 
 In hoary cranreuch dress'd ; 
 Ae night at e'en a meiTy core 
 
 O' randie, gangrel bodies, 
 In Poosie Nansie's held the splore, 
 
 To drink their orra duddies : 
 Wi' quaffing and laughing. 
 
 They ranted and they sang ; 
 Wi' jumping and thumping, . 
 
 The vera girdle rang. 
 
 First, neist the fire, in auld red rags, 
 
 Ane sat, 'wreel braced wi' mealy bags. 
 And knapsack a' in order ; 
 
 His doxy lay within his arm, 
 
 Wi' usquebae and blankets warm- 
 She blinket on her sodger ; 
 
 And aye he gies the touzie drab 
 The tither skelpin' kiss, 
 
 While she held up her greedy gab. 
 Just like an a'mous dish ; 
 
 Ilk smack still, did crack still. 
 Just like a cadger's whip. 
 
 Then staggering and swaggering 
 He roar'd this ditty up — 
 
 * This Cantata was written in 1785 ; but not published till after the 
 death ol the poet. 
 
THE JOLLY BEGGARS 363 
 
 Tune — ' Soldier's Joy ' ■ 
 
 I am a son of Mars, who have been in many wars; 
 
 And show my cuts and scars wherever I come ; 
 This here was for a wench, and that other in a trench, 
 
 When welcoming the French at the souiid 6f the drum. 
 
 Lai de daudle, etc. 
 
 My 'prenticeship I past where my leader breathed his last. 
 When the bloody die was cast on the heights of Abram ; * 
 
 I served out my trade when the gallant game was play'd, 
 And the Moro low was laid f at the sound of the drum. 
 
 I lastly was with Curtis, among the floating b|atteries,J 
 And there I left for, witness an arm and ^ ^imb, ; 
 
 Yet let my country need me, with pll|pt io licad me, 
 I 'd clatter on my stumps at the sound of a, drum. 
 
 And now though I must. beg with a wooden arm and leg, 
 And many a tatter* d rag hanging' over my buni,' ' 
 
 1 'm as happy with my wallet, iriy bottle and my ballet. 
 As when I used in scarlet to foUoW a'drum. 
 
 What though with hoary locks I must stand the winter 
 shocks, it. 
 
 Beneath the woods and rocks oftentimes for a home. 
 When the t'other bag I seU, and the t'other' bottle tell, 
 
 I could meet a troop of hell at the sound of the drum. 
 
 RECITATIVO 
 
 He ended ; and the kebsrs sheuk; 
 
 Aboon the chorus roar ; 
 While frighted rattons backward leuk, 
 
 And seek the benmost bore ; 
 A fairy fiddler frae the neuk. 
 
 He skirl' d out ' Encore 1 ' 
 But up arose the martial chucJk, 
 
 And laid the loud uproar. 
 
 • • The heights o£ Abrain : ' the battle-field near QiiebeQ, where Genera] 
 Wolfe fell in the arms of victory, 1759. ! 
 
 t ' The Moro low was laid : ' the capture of Havanah, the capital of the 
 island of Cuba, by the British, in 1762, is here alluded to. ' ■ ' 
 
 t ' 1 lastly was with Curtis, among the floating, batteries : ' referring to 
 the destruction of the Spanish floating batteries by Captain Curtis, during 
 the famous siege of Gibraltar, 1782. ' 
 
364 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 AIR 
 
 Tune — ' Soldier Laddie ' 
 
 I once was a maid, though I cannot tell when. 
 And still my delight is in proper young men ; 
 Some one of a troop of dragoons was my daddie. 
 No wonder I 'm fond of a sodger laddie, 
 
 Sing, Lai de lal, etc. 
 
 The first of my loves was a swaggering blade. 
 To rattle the thundering drum was his trade ; 
 His leg was so tight, and his cheek was so ruddy. 
 Transported I was with my sodger laddie. 
 
 But the godly old chaplain left him in the lurch. 
 So the sword 1 forsook for the sake of the Church ; 
 He ventured the soul, and I risk'd the body^^ 
 'Twas then I proved false to my sodger laddie. 
 
 F.uH soon I grew sick of the sanctified sot, 
 The regiment at large for a husband I got ; 
 From the gilded spontoon to the fife I was ready, 
 I asked no more but a sodger laddie. 
 
 But the peace it reduced 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 rejoiced at my sodger laddie. 
 
 And now I have lived — I know not how long, 
 
 And still I can join in a cup or a song ; 
 
 But whilst with both hands I can hold the glass steady. 
 
 Here 's to thee, my hero, my sodger laddie I 
 
 RECITATIVO 
 
 Poor Merry Andrew in the neuk 
 
 Sat guzzling wi' a tinkler hizzie ; 
 They mind't na wha the chorus teuk. 
 
 Between themselves they were so busy. 
 At length wi' drink an' courting dizzy, 
 
 He stoiter'd up and made a face : 
 Then tum'd, and laid a smack on Grizzy, 
 
 Syne tuned his pipes wi' grave grimace. 
 
THE JOLLY BEGGARS 365 
 
 AIR 
 
 Tune — ' Auld Sir Symon ' 
 
 Sir Wisdom 's a fool when he 's fou. 
 
 Sir Knave is a fool in a session ; 
 He 's there but a prentice, I trow, 
 
 But I am a fool by profession. 
 
 My grannie she bought me a beuk. 
 
 And I held awa' to the school ; 
 I fear I my talent mistenk. 
 
 But what will ye hae of a fool ? 
 
 For- drink I would venture my neck, 
 
 A hizzie 's the half o' my craft : 
 But what could ye other expect 
 
 Of ane that 's avowedly daft ? 
 
 I ance was tied up like a stirk, 
 For civilly swearing and quailing ; 
 
 I ance was abused i' the kirk. 
 For touzling a lass i' ray dafiin'. 
 
 Poor Andrew that tumbles for sport. 
 
 Let naebody name wi' a jeer ; 
 There 's even, I 'm tauld, i' the court, 
 
 A tumbler ca'd the Premier. 
 
 Observed ye yon reverend lad 
 
 Maks faces to tickle the mob ? 
 He rails at our mountebank squad — 
 
 It 's rivalship just i' the job. 
 
 And now my conclusion I '11 tell, 
 
 For faith I 'm confoundedly dry. 
 The chiel that 's a fool for himsel', 
 
 Gude Lord I he 's far dafter than L 
 
 RECITATIVO 
 
 Then neist outspak a raucle carlin, 
 Wha kent fu' weel to cleek the sterling. 
 For mony a pursie she had hookit. 
 And had in mony a well been duckit. 
 
366 BURNS' POEMS AND . SONGS 
 
 Her dove had been a Highland laddie, 
 But weary fa' the waefu' woodie 1 
 Wi' sighs and sobs she thus began 
 To wail her braw John Highlandman : — 
 
 AIR 
 
 Tune — 'Oh an'' ye were dead, Gudeman' 
 
 A Highland lad my love was born, 
 The Lawlan' laws he held in scorn ; 
 But he stiU was f aithfu' to his clan. 
 My gallant, braw John Highlandman. 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 Sing, hey my braw John HlgWandmdn 1 
 Sing, ho liiy tiraw John Highlandman 1 
 There 's not a lad in a' the Ian' 
 Was match for my John Highlandman 1 
 
 With his philabeg and tartan plaid. 
 And gude claymore down by his side. 
 The ladies' hearts he did trepan, 
 My gallant, braw John Highlandman. 
 
 We ranged a' from Tweed to Spey, 
 And lived like lords and ladies gay : 
 For a Lawlan' face he feared none, 
 My gallant, braw John Highlandman. 
 
 They banish'4 him beyond the sea. 
 But ere the bud was on the tree, 
 Adown my cheek the pearls ran. 
 Embracing my John Highlandma;i. 
 
 But, oh 1 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. 
 
 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. 
 
THE JOLLY BEGGARS 367 
 
 RECITATIVO 
 
 A pigmy scraper, \vi' his fiddle, 
 
 Wha used at trysts and fairs to driddle, 
 
 Her strappin' limb and gaucy middle, 
 
 (He reach'd nae higher,) 
 Had holed his heartie like a riddle, 
 
 And blawn 't on Are. 
 
 Wi' hand on haunch, and upward e'e. 
 He croon'd his gamut, one, two, three. 
 Then in an arioso key. 
 
 The wee Apollo 
 Set ofl Wl' Allegretto glee 
 
 His giga solo. 
 
 AIR 
 
 Tune — ' Whistle owre the lave o'i ' 
 
 Let me ryke up to dight that tear. 
 And go wi' me and be my dear. 
 And then your every care and fear 
 May whistle owre the lave o 't. 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 I am a fiddler to my trade. 
 And a' the tunes that e'er I play'd. 
 The sweetest still to wife or iriaid. 
 Was whistle owre the lave o 't. 
 
 At kirns and weddings we'se be there. 
 And oh 1 sae nicely 's we wUl fare ; 
 We '11 bouse about till Daddy Care 
 Sings whistle owre the lave o 't. 
 
 Sae merrily the banes we '11 pyke. 
 And sun oursel's about the dyke. 
 And at our leisure, when ye like. 
 We '11 whistle owre the lave o 't. 
 
 But bless me wi' your heaven o' charms. 
 And while I kittle hair on thairms. 
 Hunger, cauld, and a' sic harms. 
 May whistle owre the lave o 't. 
 
368 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 BECITATIVO 
 
 Her charms had struck a sturdy caird. 
 
 As weel as poor gut-scraper ; 
 He taks the fiddler by the beard, 
 
 And draws a rusty rapier. 
 He swoor by a' was swearing worth. 
 
 To speet him like a pliver, 
 Unless he 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. 
 
 And sae the quarrel ended. 
 But though his little heart did grieve. 
 
 When round the tinkler press' d her. 
 He feign'd to snirtle in his sleeve. 
 
 When thus the caird address' d her :— 
 
 AIR 
 
 Tune — ' Clout the caudron ' 
 
 My bonnie lass, I work in brass, 
 
 A tinkler is my station ; 
 I 've travell'd round all Christian ground. 
 
 In this my occupation : 
 I 've ta'en the gold, I 've been enroH'd 
 
 In many a noble squadron : 
 But vain they search'd, when off I march'd 
 
 To go and clout the caudron. 
 
 I 've ta'en the gold, etc. 
 
 Despise that shrimp, that wither'd imp, 
 
 Wi' a' his noise and cap'rin', 
 And tak a share wi' those that bear 
 
 The budget and the apron. 
 And by that stoup, my faith and houp. 
 
 And by that dear Kilbaigie,* 
 If e'er ye want, or meet wi' scant. 
 
 May I ne'er weet my craigie. 
 
 • ' Kilbaigie : ' a peculiar sort ol whisky, so called from Kilbaigie 
 distillery ia Clackmannanshire, and a great favourite with Poosie Nansie's 
 dubs. — B. 
 
THE' JOLLY BEGGARS 
 
 RECITATIVO 
 
 The caird prevail' d — the unblushing fair 
 
 In his embraces sunk. 
 Partly wi' love o'ercome sae sair, 
 
 And partly she was drunk. 
 Sir Violino, with an air 
 
 That show'd a man of spunk, 
 Wish'd unison between the pair, 
 
 And made the bottle clunk 
 
 To their health that night. 
 
 But urchin Cupid shot a shaft. 
 
 That play'd a d'aihe a shavie, 
 The flddier raked her fore and aft, 
 
 Behirit the chicken cavie. 
 Her lord, a wight o' Homer's craft,* 
 
 Though limping with the spavie, 
 He hirpled up, and lap like daft, 
 
 And shored them Dantie Davie 
 
 O' boot that night. 
 
 He was a care-defying blade. 
 
 As ever Bacchus listed, 
 Though Fortune sair upon him laid. 
 
 His heart she ever miss'd it. 
 He had no wish but — to be glad. 
 
 Nor want but — when he thirsted ; 
 He hated naught but— to be sad, 
 
 And thus the Muse suggested 
 
 His sang that night. 
 
 AIR ' 
 
 Tune — ' For a' that, and a' that ' 
 
 I am a bard of no regard 
 
 Wi' gentle folks, and a' that ; 
 But Homer-like, the glowran' byke, 
 
 Frae town tp, town I draw that. 
 
 * ' Homer's craft : ' Homer is allowed to be the oldest ballad-singer on 
 record. — B. 
 
37« BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 For a' that, and a' that, 
 And twice as meiklc 's a' that ; 
 
 I 've lost but ane,. I 've twa behin', 
 I 'vpiwife eneugb lor a' that. 
 
 I never drank the Muse's stank, 
 
 Castalia's burn, and a' that ; 
 But there it streams, and richly reams, 
 
 My Helicon I ca' that- 
 Great love I bear to a' the fair. 
 
 Their humble slave, and a' that ; 
 But lordly will, I hold it still 
 
 A mortal sin to thraw that., 
 
 In raptures sweet, this houi- we meet, 
 
 Wi' mutual Ibve and a' that ; 
 But lor how lang the flee may stang. 
 
 Let inclination iaw that. 
 
 Their tricks and craft hsve put me daft. 
 They 've ta'en me in, and a' that : 
 
 But clear your decks, and here 's the sex 1 
 I like the jauds for a' that. 
 
 For a' that, and a' that; 
 
 And twice as meikle 's a' that ; 
 My dearest bluid, to do them guid. 
 
 They 're welcome till 't for a' that. 
 
 ■ RECITATIVO 
 
 So sung the bard — and Nansie's wa's 
 Shook wi' a thunder o' applause, 
 
 Re-echoed from each mouth ; 
 They toom'd their pocks, and pawn'd their duds. 
 They scarcely left to co'er their fuds, 
 
 To qilench their lowin' drouth. 
 
 Then owre again the jovial thrang 
 
 The poet did request, 
 To lowse his pacl^ arid wale a sang, 
 A ballad o' the best : 
 He rising, rejoicing. 
 
 Between his twa Deborahs, 
 Looks round him, and found them 
 Impatient for the chorus. 
 
THE JOLLY BEGGARS 371 
 
 Tune — ' J ollij mortals, fill your ylasses' 
 
 See 1 the smoking bowl before us, 
 Mark our jovial ragged rifig I , 
 
 Round and round take up the chorus, 
 And in raptures let us sing. 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 A fig for those by law protected 1 
 Liberty 's a glorious least I ' 
 
 Courts for cowards were erected. 
 Churches built to please the priest. 
 
 What is title ? wha,t is treaSiire ? ' 
 
 What is reputation's care f 
 If we lead a hie of pleasure, 
 
 'Tis no matter how or where I 
 
 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. 
 
 Does the train-attended, carriage , 
 Through the country lighter rove ? 
 
 Does the sober bed of marriage , 
 Witness brighter scenes of love :? 
 
 Life is all a variorum. 
 
 We regard not how it goes : - 
 
 Let them cant about decorum 
 Who have characters to lose. 
 
 Here 's to budgets, bags, and wallets I 
 Here 's to all the wandering train I 
 
 Here 's our ragged brats and Pallets ! 
 One and all cry out — Amen 1 
 
 WILLIE CHALMERS 
 
 Wi' braw new branks in meikle pride, 
 And eke a braw new brechan, 
 
 My Pegasus I 'm got astride. 
 And up Parnassus pechin' ; 
 
372 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Whiles owre a bush, wi' downward crush. 
 The doited beastie stammers ; 
 
 Then up he gets, and off he sets. 
 For sake o' Willie Chalmers. 
 
 I doubtna, lass, that weel-kenn'd name. 
 
 May cost a pair o' blushes ; 
 I am nae stranger to your fame. 
 
 Nor his warm-urged wishes. 
 Your bonnie face, Sae mild and sweet. 
 
 His honest heart enamours. 
 And, faith, ye '11 no be lost a whit. 
 
 Though wair'd on Willie Chalmers. 
 
 Auld Truth hersel' might swear ye 're fair. 
 
 And Honour safely back her. 
 And Modesty assume your air. 
 
 And ne'er a ane mistak her : 
 And sic twa love-inspiring e'en 
 
 Might fire even holy palmers ; 
 Nae wonder, then, they 've fatal been 
 
 To honest Willie Chalmers. 
 
 I doubtna fortune may you shore 
 
 Some mim-mou'd pouther'd priestie, 
 Fu' lifted up wi' Hebrew lore. 
 
 And band upon his breastie : 
 But oh ! what sigriifles to you. 
 
 His lexicons and grammars ; 
 The feeling heart 's the royal blue. 
 
 And that 's wi' Willie Chalmers. 
 
 Some gapin', glowrin', country laird. 
 
 May warsle for your favour ; 
 May claw his lug, and straik his beard. 
 
 And hoast up some palaver. 
 My bonnie maid, before ye wed 
 
 Sic clumsy-witted hammers. 
 Seek Heaven for help, and barefit skelp 
 
 Awa' wi' Willie Chalmers. 
 
 Forgive the Bard I my fond regard 
 For ane that shares my bosom. 
 
 Inspires my Muse to gie 'm his dues, 
 For deil a hair I roose him. 
 
WILLIE CHALMERS 37S 
 
 May powers aboon unite you soon. 
 
 And fructify your amours, 
 And every year comes in mair dear 
 
 To you and Willie Chalmers 1 * 
 
 VERSES TO J. RANKINEt 
 
 Ae day, as Death, that gruesome carle. 
 
 Was driving to the tither warl' 
 
 A mixtie-maxtie motley squad, 
 
 And mony a guilt-bespotted lad ; 
 
 Black gowns of each denomination. 
 
 And thieves of every rank and station. 
 
 From him that wears the star and garter. 
 
 To him that wintles in a halter : 
 
 Ashamed himsel' to see the wretches. 
 
 He mutters, glow'rin' at the bitches, 
 
 ' By heavens, I '11 not be seen behint them,. 
 
 Nor 'mang the sp'ritual core present them, 
 
 Without iat least ae honest rnan 
 
 To grace this damn'd infernal clan.' " 
 
 By Adamhill a glance he threw, 
 
 ' My stars I ' quoth he, ' I have it now ; 
 
 There 's jnst the man I want,, i'' faith,' 
 
 And quickly stoppit Rankine's breath. 
 
 ON HEARING THAT THERE WAS FALSEHOOD 
 IN THE REV. DR. BLAIR'S VERY LOOKS 
 
 That there is falsehood in his looks 
 
 I must and will deny : 
 They say their master is a knave — 
 
 And sure they do not lie. 
 
 * ' Willie Chalmers : ' this was written by Burns for a friend of his, ai 
 lawyer in Ayr. 
 
 t ' J. Rankine : ' the person to whom a former epistle was addressed, 
 while Rankine occupied the farm of Adamhill, in Ayrshire. 
 
374. BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 PROLOGUE i " 
 
 FOB MR. SUTHERLAND'S BENEFlt-NlGKT; DUMFRIES 
 
 What needs this din about the town o' Lon'on, 
 How this new play and that new sang is comin' ? 
 ''^Vhy is outlandish stufl sae melkle courted ? 
 Does nonsense mend, like whisky, wh^ imported ? 
 Is there "nae poet, burning keen for fame, 
 Will try to gie us sangs and plays at hame ? 
 For comedy abroad he needna toil, " 
 A fool and knave are plants 'of every soil ; 
 Nor need he hunt as far as Rbirie and Greece 
 To gather matter for a serious piece ; ' ' 
 There 's themes enough in CaleddWan Story, 
 Would show the tragic Muse in a' her glory. 
 
 Is there no daring bard will rise, and tell 
 
 How glorious Wallace stqo'd, how hapless fell ? 
 
 Where aire the Muses fled, that could produce 
 
 A drama worthy o' the name q' Bruce ; 
 
 How here, even here, he first unsheath'd the sword 
 
 'Gainst mighty England aiid, her gU)iity lord ; 
 
 And after mony a bloody,., deathless doing, 
 
 Wrench'd his dear country froni the jaws of ruin ? 
 
 Oh, for a Sliakspeare or an Otw;ay scene, 
 
 To draw the lovely, hapless Scottish Qiieen I 
 
 Vain all the omnipotence of female charms 
 
 'Gainst headlong, ruthless, mad Rebellion's arms. 
 
 She fell, but fell with spirit truly Roman, 
 
 To glut the vengeance of a. rival wom,an ; 
 
 A woman — though the phrase may seem uncivil — 
 
 As able and as cinel as the Devil ! 
 
 One Douglas lives in Home's immortal page, 
 
 But Douglasses were heroes every age : 
 
 And though your fathers, prodigal of life, 
 
 A Douglas foUow'd to the martial strife, 
 
 Perhaps, if bowls row right, and Right succeeds, 
 
 Ye yet may foUow where a Douglas leads ! 
 
 As ye hae generous done, if a' the land 
 Would take the Muses' servants by the hand ; 
 Not only hear, but patronise, befriend them, 
 And where ye justly can commend, commend them ; 
 And aiblins when they winna stand the test, 
 Wink hard, and say the folks hae done their best I 
 
PROLOGUE 375 
 
 Would a' the lafid do this, then I '11 be, caution 
 Ye '11 soon hae poets. o' th^ Scottish nation 
 WiU gar Fame blaw untU her trumpet ,crac]^. 
 And warsle Time, and lay him on hi^ back I 
 
 For us, and for our stage, should ony spier, 
 
 ' "Whase aught thae ehiels maks a' this bustle here V ' 
 
 My best leg foremost, I fU set up my brow. 
 
 We have the honour to belong to you I 
 
 We 're youii ain baims< e'en guide us as ye like. 
 
 But, like good mithers, shore before ye strike. 
 
 And gratefu' still I hope ye 'U ever find us. 
 
 For a' the patronage and meikle kindness 
 
 We 've got frae a' professions, sets, and ranks ; 
 
 God help' us 1 we 're but poor^ye 'se get but thanks. 
 
 THE DEAN OF FACULTY 
 
 A NEW BAiLLAD ' 
 
 Tune — ' The Dragon of Wantleg ' 
 
 Dire was the hate at old Harlaw, 
 
 That Sfcot to Scot did carry ; 
 And dire the discord Langside saw. 
 
 For beauteous, hapless Mary : 
 But Scot with Scot ne'er niet so hot. 
 
 Or were more in fury seen, sir. 
 Than 'twixt Hal * and Bob t for the famous job- 
 
 Who should be Faculty's Dean, sir. 
 
 This Hal for genius, wit, and lore, 
 
 Among the first was number'd ; 
 But pious Bob, 'mid learning's store. 
 
 Commandment tenth remember'd. 
 Yet simple Bob the victory got. 
 
 And wan his heart's desire ; 
 Which shows that Heaven can boil the pot, 
 
 Though the DevU p — in the fire. 
 
 Squire Hal besides had in this case 
 
 Pretpnsions rather brassy, 
 For talents to deserve a place 
 
 Are qualifications saucy ; 
 
 • ' Hal : " the Hon. Henry Ersldne. > 
 t ' Bob : ' Robert Blair of Aventon. 
 
376 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 :So their worships of the Faculty, 
 Quite sick of merit's rudeness, 
 
 Chose 'one who should owe it all, d' ye see, 
 7*0 their gratis grace and goodness. 
 
 As once on Pisgah purged was the sight 
 
 Of a son of Circumcision, 
 So may be, on this Pisgah height, 
 
 Bob's purblind ihental vision : ;.. 
 Nay, Bobby's mouth may be open'd yet 
 
 Till for eloquence you hail him. 
 And sWear he has the Angel liiet 
 
 That met the ass of Balaam. 
 
 In your heretic sins may you live and die. 
 
 Ye heretic Tiight-and- thirty. 
 But accept, ye sublime majority. 
 
 My congratulations hearty. 
 With your Honours and a certain King 
 
 In your servants this is striking. 
 The more incapacity they bring, 
 
 The more they 're to your liking. 
 
 EXTEMPORE IN THE COURT OF SESSION 
 Tune — ' Killiecranki^ ' 
 
 LORD ADVOCATE 
 
 He clench'd his pamphlets in his fist. 
 
 He quoted and he hinted. 
 Till in a declamation-mist. 
 
 His argument he tint it : 
 He gapedfor 't, he graiped for 't. 
 
 He fand it was awa', man ; 
 But what his common, sense came short. 
 
 He eked it out wi' law, man. : 
 
 MR. ERSKINE. 
 
 Collected, Harry stood a wee. 
 
 Then open'd out his arm, nian :, 
 His lordship sat wi' rueftf e'e, 
 
 And eyed the gathering storm, man ; 
 Like wind-driven hail, it did assail. 
 
 Or torrents owre a linn^ man ; 
 The Bench sae wise lift up their eyes, 
 
 Half-wauken'd wi' the din, man. 
 
ADDRESS TO GENERAL DUMOURIER 377 
 ADDRESS TO GENERAL DUMOURIER 
 
 A PARODY, ON ' ROBIN ADAIR ' 
 
 You 're welcome to despots, Dumourier ; 
 You 're welcome to despots, Dumourier. 
 How does Dampiere do 1 
 Ay, and Bournonville too ? 
 Why did they not come along with you, Dumourier ?' 
 
 ■ * 
 
 I will iight France with you, Dumourier ; 
 I will fight France with you, Dumourier ; 
 I wiU flght France with you, 
 I will take my chance with you ; 
 By my soul, I '11 dance a dance with you, Dumourier. 
 
 Then let us flght about, Dumourier ; 
 Then let us flght about, Dumourier ; 
 Then let us flght about. 
 Till freedom's spark is out. 
 Then we '11 be damn'd, no doubt, Dumourier, 
 
 ELECTION BALLADS 
 
 BALLAD I THE FIVE CARLINES 
 
 There were five carlines in the south,. 
 
 They fell upon a scheme. 
 To send a lad to Lon'on town, 
 
 To bring them tidings hame.. 
 
 Nor only bring them tidings hame, 
 
 But do their errands there. 
 And aiblins gowd and honour baith 
 
 Migbt be that laddie's share. 
 
 There was Maggy by the banks o' Nith,* 
 
 A xiame wi' pride eneugh. 
 And Marjory o' the Mony Lochs.t 
 
 A carline auld and teugh. 
 
 * ' Nith : ' Dumfries. 
 
 t ' Mony Lochs : ' Lochmaben. 
 
378 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 And Blinkin' Bess o' Annandale,* 
 That dwelt near SoMayside, 
 
 And Whisky Jean, that took her gill. 
 In Galloway t sae wide. 
 
 And Black Joan, frae Crichton Ped,J 
 
 O' gipsy kith and kin — 
 Five wighter carlines werna foun' 
 
 The south countirie within. 
 
 To send a lad to Lon'on town, 
 
 They met upon a day. 
 And mony a knight, aiid mony a lalird, 
 
 Their errand Iain would gae. , 
 
 Oh, mony a knight and mony a laird, 
 This errand fain wad gae ; 
 
 But nae ane could their fancy please. 
 Oh, ne'er a ane but twae. 
 
 The first he was a belted knight,§ 
 
 Bred o' a Border clan. 
 And he would gae to Lon'on town, 
 
 Might nae man him withstan'. 
 
 And he wad do their errands well, 
 
 And meikle he wad say. 
 And ilka ane at Lon'on court, 
 
 "Would bid to him guid-day. 
 
 T'r.en next came in a sodger youth,|| 
 And spak wi' modest grace. 
 
 And he wad gae to Lon'on town, 
 If sae their pleasure was. 
 
 He wadna hecht them courtly gilts. 
 Nor meikle speech pretend. 
 
 But he wad hecht ah honest heart, 
 Wad ne'er desert a friend; 
 
 Now, wham to choose, and wham refuse. 
 At strife thir carlines fell ; 
 
 For some had gentle folks to please. 
 And some would please themsel'. 
 
 • ' Annandale : ', Annan. 
 
 t ' Galloway : Kirkcudbright.' 
 
 i ' Crichton Peel : * Sanquhar. 
 
 § ■ Belted knight : ' Sir J. Johnstone. 
 
 II ' Sodger youth : ' Major Miller. 
 
ELECTION BALLADS • 379 
 
 Then out spak mdm-mou'd Meg o'Nith, 
 
 And she spak up wi' pride, 
 And she wad send the sodger youth, 
 
 "Whatevei: might betide. .-> 
 
 For thft rwW; ^idman o' , Lon'on .court * 
 
 She didn^i care, :a pin ; , , 
 But she w^d.sejid the spdger, youth 
 
 To greet his eldest son,t. , 
 
 Then up sprang Bess o' Annandale, 
 
 And. a deadly aith she 's ta'en, 
 Thkt she' -^ad vote the 'Border Knight, 
 
 Though she should vote her lane. 
 
 For lar7afl Jowls hae feathers lair, 
 
 And'lobls o' change are laih ; 
 But I hae trie!d the Botder Knight, 
 
 And 1 11 try hiin yet aga:i^. 
 
 Says Black Joan frae Crichtpn Peel, 
 
 A carlini? stoor and grim, 
 The auld guidihap, and the young guidman. 
 
 For me rhay sink or swim ; ' 
 
 For fools will freit o' right or wrang, 
 "While tnaves laugh th6m to scorn ; 
 
 But the sodger's friends Tjae blawn the best. 
 So he shall bear the horn. 
 
 Then Whisky Jean sp^ owre her drink. 
 
 Ye weel ken, kimmers a'. 
 The auld guidman o' Lon'on court. 
 
 His back 's been at the wa' ; 
 
 And mony 4 friend that kiss'd his cup. 
 
 Is now a fre'mit wight : 
 But it 's ne'er be said o' Whisky Jean — 
 
 I '11 send the Border Knight. 
 
 Then slow raise Marjory o' the Lochs, 
 
 And wriiikled was her brow. 
 Her ancient weed was russet gray. 
 
 Her auld Scots bluid was true : 
 
 * ■ Lon'on court : ' George IIT. 
 
 t ' Eldest, son : ' the Prince ol Wales. 
 
.380 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 There 's some great folks set light by me- 
 
 I set as light by them ; 
 But I will sen' to Lon'on town 
 
 Wham I like best at hame. 
 
 Sae how this weighty plea may end, 
 Nae mortal wight can tell : 
 
 God grant the King and ilka man 
 May look weel to himsel'. ' 
 
 BALLAD II ^WRITTEN IN 1795 
 
 Tune—-' jPor a' that, and a' that ' 
 
 Whom will ye send to London town. 
 
 To parliament and a' that ? 
 ■Or whom in a' the country roun' 
 The best deserves to fa' that ? 
 For a' that, and a' that. 
 
 Through Galloway, and a' that ; 
 Where is the laird or belted knight 
 That best deserves to fa' that ? 
 
 Wha sees Kerroughtree's open yett ? 
 
 And wha is 't never saw that ? 
 Wha ever wi' Kerroughtree 's met. 
 And has a doubt of a' that ? 
 For a' that, and a' thiat, 
 
 Here 's Heron yet for a' that ! 
 The independent patriot, 
 
 The honest man, and a', that. 
 
 Though wit and worth, in either sex, 
 
 St. Mary's Isle can shaw that ; 
 
 "Wi' dnkes and lords let Selkirk mix. 
 
 And weel does Selkirk fa' that. 
 
 For a' that, and a' that, ^ 
 
 Here 's Heron yet for a* that 1 
 The independent commoner 
 Shall be the man for a' that. 
 
 But why, should we to nobles jouk ?- 
 And is 't agaiinst the law that ? 
 
 For why, a lord may be a gouk, 
 Wi' ribbon, star, and a' that. 
 
ELECTION BALLADS 381 
 
 For a' that, and a' that, 
 
 Here 's Heron yet for a' that I 
 A lord may be a lousy loon, 
 
 Wi' ribbon, star, and a' tiiat. 
 
 A beardless boy comes o'er the hills, 
 
 "Wi' uncle's purse, and a' that ; 
 But we '11 hae ane frae 'mang oursels, 
 A man we ken, and a' that. 
 For a' that, and a' tl^at. 
 
 Here 's Heron yet for a' that I 
 For we 're not to be bought or sold. 
 Like naigs and nowte, and a' that. 
 
 Then let us drink the Stewartry, 
 
 Kerroughtree's laird, and a' that, 
 Our representative to be. 
 
 For weel he 's worthy a' that. 
 For a' that, and a' that. 
 
 Here 's Heron yet for a' that ! 
 A House o' Commons such as he. 
 They wad be blest that saw that. 
 
 BALLAD III ^THE ELECTION 
 
 Tune—' Fy, let 's a' to the Bridal ' 
 
 Fy, let us a' to Kirkcudbright, 
 
 For there will be bickerin' there ; 
 For Murray's light horse are to muster. 
 
 And, oh, how the heroes will swear 1 
 And there will be Murray commander. 
 
 And Gordon the battlg to win ; 
 Like brothers they '11 stand by each other, 
 
 Sae knit in alliance are kin. 
 
 And there will be black-nebbit Johnnie, 
 
 The tongue o' the trump to them a' ; 
 An he getna hell for his troddin'. 
 
 The deU gets nae justice ava. 
 And there will be Kempleton's birkie, 
 
 A boy no sae black at the bane ; 
 But as to his line nabob fortune. 
 
 We '11 e'en let this subject alane. 
 
382 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 And there -will, be Wigton's new sheriff, 
 
 Daiiie Justice fu' brawly has sped ; 
 She 's gotten the heart of a Bushby, 
 
 But .what has become o' the head ? 
 And there will be Caxdoness, Esquire, 
 
 Sae mighty in Cardoness' eyes, 
 A mght th.at will weather dainnation — 
 
 The devil the prey will despise. 
 
 And 1,here will be Douglasses doughty. 
 
 New christehiijg towris far and near. 
 Abjuring their dbmOcrat doings, 
 
 B^ kissin' the arse of a peer. 
 And there will be Kenmure sae generous I 
 
 Whase honour is proof to the storm ; 
 To save them from stark reprobation. 
 
 He lent them his name to the firm. 
 
 But we winna mention Redcastle, 
 
 The body, e'en let him escape ; 
 He 'd venture the gallows for sUler, 
 
 An 'twere na the cost o' the rape. 
 And where is our king's lord-lieutenant, 
 
 Sae famed for his gratefu' return ? 
 The billie is gettin' his questions. 
 
 To say in Saint Stephen's the morn. 
 
 And there will be lads o' the gospel, 
 
 Muirhead,* wha 's as gude as he 's true ; 
 And there will be Buittle's apostle, 
 
 Wha 's mair o' the black than the blue ; 
 And there wUl be folk frae St. Mary's, 
 
 A house of great merit and note ; 
 The deil ane but honours them highly — 
 
 The deil ane will give them his vote. 
 
 And there will be wealthy young Richard- 
 Dame Fortune should hing by the neck 
 
 For prodigal, thoughtless bestowing — 
 His merit had won him respect. 
 
 And there will be rich brother nabobs. 
 Though nabobs, yet men o' the first ; 
 
 And there will be CoUiston's whiskers, 
 And Quehtin, o' lads not the worst. 
 
 » ' Muirhead : ' of Urr — see ' Life." 
 
ELECTION BALLADS 383 
 
 And there will be Stamp-office Johnnie, 
 
 Tak tent how ye purchase a dram ; 
 And there will be gay Cassencarie, 
 
 And there will be gleg Colonel Tarn. 
 And there will be trusty, Kerroughtree, 
 
 Wha's honour was ever his law ; 
 If the virtues were pack'd in a parcel, 
 
 His worth might be sample for a'. 
 
 And can we forget the auld Major, 
 
 AWlia '11 ne'er be forgot in the Greys ? 
 Our flattery we '11 keep for some ither, 
 
 Him it 's only justice to praise. 
 And there will be maiden Kilkerran, 
 
 And also Barskimming's gude knight ; 
 And there wUl be roaring Birtwhistle, 
 
 "Wha, luckily, roars in the right. 
 
 And there frae the !Niddesdale border, 
 
 Will mingle the Maxwells in droves, , 
 Teugh Johnnie, staunch Geordie and Wattle, 
 
 That granes for the fishes and loaves. 
 And there wUl be Logan M'DowaU ; 
 
 Sculdudd'ry and he wiU be there : 
 And also the wUd Scot o' Galloway, 
 
 Sodgerin' gunpowder Blair. 
 
 Hey for the chaste int'rest of Broughton, 
 
 And hey for the blossoms 'twill bring ; 
 It may send Balmaghie to the Commons, 
 
 In Sodom 'twould made him a king. 
 And hey for the sanctified Murray, 
 
 Our land wha wi' chapels has stored ; 
 He founder'd his horse among harlots, 
 
 But gied his auld naig to the Lord. 
 
 BALLAp IV — -AN EXCELLENT NEW SONG 
 
 Tune — ' Biof Broom, Besoms ' 
 
 Wha will buy my troggin,* 
 
 Gude election, ware ;' 
 Broken trade o' Broughton, 
 
 A' in high repair. 
 
 * ' Tropgin : ' a name lor pedlars' wares. 
 
384 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 Buy braw troggin, 
 
 Frae the banks o' Dee ; 
 
 Wha ^yants troggin, 
 Let him come to me. 
 
 Here 's a noble Earl's 
 Fame and high renown. 
 
 For an auld sang — 
 
 It 's thought the goods were stown. 
 
 Here 's the worth o' Broughton, 
 
 In a needle's e'e : 
 Here 's a reputation, 
 
 Tint by Balmaghie. 
 
 Here 's an honest conscience, 
 
 Might a prince adorn, 
 Frae the downs o' Tinwald — 
 
 So was never worn. 
 
 Here 's the stuff and lining 
 
 O' Cardoness' head ; 
 Fine for a sodger, 
 
 A' the wale o' lead. 
 
 Here 's a little wadset, 
 Buittle's scrap o' truth ; 
 
 Pawn'd in a gin-shop. 
 Quenching holy drouth. 
 
 Here 's armorial bearings, 
 Frae the manse o' Urr ; 
 
 The crest an auld crab-apple. 
 Rotten at the core. 
 
 Here is Satan's picture, 
 
 Like a bizzard gled. 
 Pouncing poor Redcastle, 
 
 Sprawlin' like a taed. 
 
 Here 's the worth and wisdom 
 
 CoUieston can boast ; 
 By a thievish midge 
 
 They had amaist been lost. 
 
ELECrfoN BALLADS 385 
 
 Here is Murray's fragments 
 
 O' the Teh Commands ; 
 Gifted by black Jock, ' 
 
 To get them afl his hands. 
 
 Saw ye e'er sic troggin ? 
 
 If to biiy ye 're slack, 
 Hornie's turnin' chapman — 
 
 He '11 buy a' the pack. 
 
 BALLAD V JOHN BUSHB,y's * LAMENTATION 
 
 Tune — ' The Babes in the Wood ' 
 
 'TwAS in the seventeen hundred year 
 
 O' Christ, and ninety-five. 
 That year I was the wae'est man 
 
 O' ony man alive. 
 
 In March, the three-and-tweiltieth day. 
 The sun rose clear and bright ; 
 
 But oh, I was a waefu' man 
 Ere toofa' 6" the night. 
 
 Yerl Galloway lang did rule this land 
 
 Wi' equal right and fame. 
 And thereto was his kinsman join'd 
 
 The Murray's noble name 1 
 
 Yerl Galloway lang did rule the land 
 
 Made me the judge o' strife ; 
 But now Yerl Galloway's sceptre 's broke, 
 
 \nd eke my hangman's knife. 
 
 'Twas by the banks o' bonnie Dee, 
 
 Beside Kirkcudbright towers. 
 The Stewart and the Murray there, 
 
 Did muster a' their powers. 
 
 The Murray, and the auld gray yaud, 
 
 Wi' winged spurs did ride. 
 That auld gray yaud, yea, Nidsdale rade. 
 
 He staw upon Nidside. 
 
 ' Bushby : ' John Bushby, Esq., of Tinwald-downs. 
 46 — M 
 
386 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 An there had been the Yerl himsel'. 
 Oh, there had been nae play ; < 
 
 But Garlies was to London gane. 
 And sae the kye might stray. 
 
 And there was Balnlaghie, I ween. 
 In the front rank he wad shihe ; 
 
 But Balmaghie had better been 
 Drinking Madeira wine. 
 
 Frae the Glenkens came to our aid 
 A chief o' doughty deed, 
 
 In case that worth should wanted be, 
 O' Kenmore we had need. 
 
 And there sae grave Squire Cardoness 
 Look'd on till a' was done ; 
 
 Sae, in a tower o' Cardoness, 
 A howlet sits at noon. 
 
 And there led I the Bushbys a' ; 
 
 My gamesome bUlie WUl, 
 And my son Maitland, wise as brave. 
 
 My footsteps follow' d stiU. 
 
 The Douglas ani the Heron's name. 
 We set naught to their score : 
 
 The Douglas and the Heron's name 
 Had felt our weight before. 
 
 But Douglasses o' weight had we, 
 
 The pair o' lusty lairds. 
 For buUding cot-houses sae famed. 
 
 And christening kail-yards. 
 
 And by our banners march'd Muirhead, 
 
 And Buittle was na slack ; 
 Whose holy priesthood nane can stain. 
 
 For wha can dye the black ? 
 
EPISTLE FROM A TAILOR 387 
 
 EPISTLE FROM A TAILOR 
 
 THOMAS WALKER, OCHILTREE, TO ROBERT BURNS 
 
 What waefu' news is this I hear ? 
 Frae greeting I can scarce forbear, 
 Folk tells me, ye 're gaun afl this year. 
 
 Out owre the sea. 
 And lasses wham ye lo'e sae dear 
 
 Will greet for thee. 
 
 Weel wad I like were ye to stay 
 But, Robin, since ye wiU away, 
 I hae a word yet mair to say. 
 
 And maybe twa ; 
 May He protect us night and day. 
 
 That made us a' I 
 
 Whare thou art gaun, keep mind frae me. 
 Seek Him to bear thee companie. 
 And, Robin, whan ye come to die. 
 
 Ye '11 win aboon, 
 And live at peace and unity 
 
 Ayont the moon. 
 
 Some teU me, Rab, ye dinna fear 
 To get a wean, and curse and swear ; 
 I 'm unco wae, my lad, to hear 
 
 O' sic a trade. 
 Could I persuade you to forbear, 
 
 I wad be glad. 
 
 Fu' weel ye ken ye '11 gang to hell, 
 
 Gin ye persist in doin' ill — 
 
 Waes me I ye 're hurlin' down the hill 
 
 Withouten dread. 
 And ye '11 get leave to swear your flU 
 
 After ye 're dead. 
 
 There, walth o' women ye '11 get near, 
 But gettin' weans ye will forbear. 
 Ye '11 never say, My bonnie dear. 
 
 Come, gie 's a kiss — 
 Nae kissing there — ye '11 gim and sneer. 
 
 And ither hiss. 
 
388 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Rab I lay by thy foolish tricks, 
 And ^teer nae mair the femaje sex, 
 
 Or some day ye '11 come through the pricks. 
 And that ye '11 see ; 
 
 Ye '11 fin' hard living wi' Auld Nicks — 
 I 'm wae for thee 1 
 
 But what 's this comes wi' sic a kneU, 
 Amaist as loud as ony bell, 
 WhUe it does mak my conscience teU 
 Me what is true 1 
 
 1 'm but a ragget cowt mysel', 
 
 Owre sib to you 1 
 
 We 're owre like those wha think it fit, 
 To stufi their noddles fu' o' wit. 
 And yet content in darkness sit, 
 
 Wha shun the light. 
 Wad let them see to 's'tape the pit 
 
 That lang dark night. 
 
 But fareweel, Rab, I maun awa' ; 
 May He that made us keep us a', 
 For that wad be a dreadfu' fa', 
 
 And hurt us sair ; 
 Lad, ye wad never mend ava ; 
 
 Sae, Rab, tak care. 
 
 ROBERT BURNS' ANSWER 
 
 What aUs ye now, ye lousy bitch. 
 To thresh my back at sic a pitch ? 
 Losh man 1 hae mercy wi' your natch. 
 
 Your bodkin's bauld ; 
 I didna suffer half sae much 
 
 Frae Daddy Auld. 
 
 What though at tinjes, when I grow crouse, 
 I gie the dames a random pouse. 
 Is that enough for you to souse 
 
 Your servant sae ? 
 Gae mind your seam, ye prick-the-louse t 
 
 And jag the flae. 
 
ROBERT BURNS' ANSWER 389 
 
 King David, o' poetic brief, 
 Wrought 'mang the; Jasses sic mischief, 
 As fill'd his afjtier life wi' gilef 
 
 And blgody rants, 
 And yet he 's rauk'd amang th^ chief 
 
 O' langsyne saunts. 
 
 And maybe, Tam, for a' my cants. 
 My wicked rhymes, and druckeii ranta, 
 I 'U gie auld cloyfcn Clooty's haunts 
 
 An unco slip yet. 
 And snugly sit amang the saunts, 
 
 At Davie's hip yet. 
 
 But fegs, the Session says I maun 
 
 Gae fa' upon anither plan, 
 
 Than garrin' lasses coup the cran 
 
 Clean heels-owre-gbwdy, 
 And fairly thole their mither's ban, 
 
 Afore the howdy. 
 
 This leads me on to tell for sport 
 How I did wi' the Session sort — 
 Auld Clinkum at the Inner Port 
 
 Cried three times, ' Robin I 
 Come hither lad, and ansWer for 't, 
 
 Ye 're blamed for jobbin'.' 
 
 Wi' pinch I put a Sunday's face on. 
 And snooved awa' before the Session— 
 I made an open fair confession, 
 
 I scorn' d to lie ; 
 And syne Mess John, beyond expression. 
 
 Fell foul o' me. 
 
 A fornicator loun he call'd me. 
 
 And said my fau't frae bliss expell'd me ; 
 
 I own'd the tdle was true he tell'd me ; 
 
 ' But what the matter 1 ' 
 Quo' I, ' I fear, unless ye geld me, 
 
 I '11 ne'er be better.' 
 
 • Geld you I ' quo' he, ' and what for no ? 
 If that your right hand, leg, or toe. 
 Should ever prove your sp'ritual foe, 
 
 ^ You should remember 
 
 To cut it afl, and what for no 
 
 Your dearest member ? ' 
 
390 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 ' Na, na,' quo' I, ' I 'm no for that, 
 Gelding 's nae better than it 's ca't, 
 I 'd rather suffer for my faut, 
 
 A hearty flewit, 
 As fair owre hip as ye can draw 't, 
 
 Though I should rue it. 
 
 ' Or gin ye like to end the bother, 
 To please us a', I 've just ae ither ; 
 When next wi' yon lass I forgather, 
 
 "Whate'er betide it, 
 I '11 frankly gi'e her 't a' thegither, 
 
 And let her guide it.' 
 
 But, sir, this pleased them warst ava. 
 And therefore, Tam, when that I saw, 
 I said, ' Gude-night,' and cam awa'. 
 
 And left the Session ; 
 I saw they were resolved a' 
 
 On my oppression. 
 
 LIBERTY 
 
 A FRAGMENT 
 
 Thee, Caledonia, thy wild heaths among. 
 Thee, famed for martial deed and sacred song. 
 
 To thee I turn with swimming eyes ; 
 Where is that soul of freedom fled ? 
 Immingled with the mighty dead I 
 
 Beneath the hallow'd turf where Wallace lies 1 
 Hear it not, Wallace, in thy bed of death I 
 
 Ye babbling winds, in silence sweep ; 
 
 Disturb not yet the hero's sleep, 
 Nor give the coward secret breath. 
 
 Is this the power in freedom's war. 
 
 That wont to bid the battle rage ? 
 Behold that eye which shot immortal hate. 
 
 Crushing the despot's proudest bearing, 
 That arm which, nerved with thundering fate. 
 
 Braved usurpation's boldest daring I 
 One quench'd in darkness like the sinking star, 
 And one the palsied arm of tottering, powerless age. 
 
ELEGY ,, 391 
 
 ELEGY 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF ROBERT RUISSEAUX * 
 
 Now Robin lies in his last lair, 
 
 He '11 gabble rhyme nor sing nae mair ; 
 
 Cauld poverty, wi' hungry stare, 
 
 Nae mair, shall fear him ; 
 Nor anxious fear, nor cankert care 
 
 E'er mair come near him. 
 
 To tell the truth, they seldom fash'd him, 
 Except the moment that they crush'd him ; 
 For soon as chance or fate had hush'd 'em. 
 
 Though e'er sae short, 
 Then wi' a rhyme or sang he lash'd 'em^ 
 
 And thought it sport. 
 
 Though he was born to kintrawark. 
 And counted was baith wight and slark, 
 Yet that was never Robin's mark 
 
 To mak a man ; 
 But tell him he was learn'd and dark, 
 
 Ye roosed, him then 1 
 
 EPISTLE TO HUGH PARKER f 
 
 In this strange land, this uncouth clime, , 
 
 A land unknown to prose or rhyme ; 
 
 Where words ne'er cross'd the Muse's heckles, 
 
 Nor limpet in poetic shackles ; 
 
 A land that Prose did never view it, 
 
 Except when drunk he stacher't through it ; 
 
 Here, ambush' d by the chimla cheek, 
 
 Hid in an atmosphere of reek, 
 
 I hear a wheel thrum i' the neuk, 
 
 I hear it — for in vain I leuk. 
 
 The red peat gleams, a fiery kernel, 
 
 Enhusked by a fog infernal : 
 
 Here, for my wonted rhyming raptures, 
 
 I sit and count my sins by chapters ; 
 
 • ' Ruisseaux : ' a play upon his own name. 
 
 t This epistle, written at Ellisland, and dated June 1788. is addressed 
 tq Mr. Hugh Parl^er, merchant, Kilmarnocli, one ol Burns' earliest friends 
 and patrons. 
 
392 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 For life and spunk like ither Christians, 
 
 I 'm dwindled do-Wn to mere existence — 
 
 Wi' nae converse but Gallowa' bodies, 
 
 Wi' nae kent face but Jenny Geddes. 
 
 Jenny, my Pegasean pride 1 
 
 Dowie she saunters down Nithside, 
 
 And aye a westlin' leuk she throws, 
 
 While tears hap o'er her auld brown nose 1 
 
 Was it for this, wi' canny care, 
 
 Thou bure the Bard through mony a shu-e ? 
 
 At howes or hillocks never stumbled. 
 
 And late or early never grumbled 1 
 
 Oh, had I power like inclination, 
 
 I 'd heeze thee up a constellation. 
 
 To canter with the Sagitarre, 
 
 Or loup the ecliptic like a bar ; 
 
 Or turn the pole like ^luy arrow ; 
 
 Or, when auld Phoebus bids good-morrow, 
 
 Down the zodiac urge the race, 
 
 And cast dirt on his godship's face ; 
 
 For I could lay my bread and kail ' , 
 
 He 'd ne'er cast saut upo' thy taili 
 
 Wi' a' this care and a' this grief, 
 
 And sma', sma' prospect of relief. 
 
 And naught but peat-reek i' my head. 
 
 How can I write what ye can read ? 
 
 Tarbolton, twenty-fourth o' June, 
 
 Ye '11 find me in a better tune ; 
 
 But till we meet and weet our whistle, 
 
 Tak this excuse for nae epistle. 
 
 Robert Burns 
 
 THE GUIDWIFE OF WAUCHOPE HOUSE* 
 
 TO ROBERT BURNS 
 
 Febraarij 1787. 
 
 My canty, witty, rhyming ploughman, 
 
 I hafflins doubt it is na true, man. 
 
 That ye between the stilts were bred, 
 
 Wi' ploughmen school'd, wi' ploughmen fed ; 
 
 I doubt it sair, ye 've drawn your knowledge 
 
 Either frae grammar-school or college. 
 
 • ' Th•^ guidwllo of Wauchope house : " was the late talented Mrs. Scott 
 at Wauchope. 
 
THE GUIDWIFE OF WAUCHOPE HOUSE 393 
 
 Guid troth, your saul and body baith 
 
 Ware better fed, I 'd gie my aith. 
 
 Than theirs, wha sup sour-milli and parritch. 
 
 And bummil through the Single Carritch. 
 
 Wha ever hearjd the ploughman speak 
 
 Could tell gif Homer was a Greek ? 
 
 He 'd flee as s6on upon a cudgel, 
 
 As get a single line of Virgil. 
 
 And then sae slee ye crack your jokes 
 
 On Willie Pitt and Charlie Fox : 
 
 Our great men a' sae weel descrive, 
 
 And how to gar the nation thrive, 
 
 Ane maist wad swear ye dwalt amang them, 
 
 And as ye saw theiti, sae ye sang them. 
 
 But be ye ploughman, be ye peer, 
 
 Ye are a funny blade, I swear : 
 
 And though the cauld I ill can bide. 
 
 Yet twenty miles, and mair, I 'd ride. 
 
 O'er moss, and muir, and never grumble. 
 
 Though my auld yad should gie a stumble. 
 
 To crack a winter night M' thee. 
 
 And h§ar thy sangs and sonnets slee. 
 
 A guid saut herring and a Cake, 
 
 Wi' sic a chiel, a feast wad make ; 
 
 I 'd rather scour your reaming yill. 
 
 Or eat o' cheese and bread my fill. 
 
 Than wi' dull lairds on turtle dine. 
 
 And ferlie at their wit and wine. 
 
 Oh, gif I kepn'd but where ye baide, 
 
 I 'd send to you a marled plaid ; 
 
 'Twad hand your shouthers warm and braw. 
 
 And douse at kirk or market shaw ; 
 
 For south as weel as north, my lad, 
 
 A' honest Scotsmen lo'e the maud. 
 
 Right wae that we 're sae far frae ither ; 
 
 Yet proud I am to ca' ye brither. 
 
 Your most obedient, 
 
 E. S. 
 
394 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 TO THE GUIDWIFE 0' WAUCHOPE HOUSE 
 
 GUIDWIFE, 
 
 I MIND it weel, in early date, 
 
 When I was bear(iless,..young, and blate, 
 
 And first could thresh the barn. 
 Or baud a yokin' at the pleugh. 
 And though forfoughten sair eneugli, 
 
 Yet unco proud to learn ; 
 "When first amang the yellow corn 
 
 A man I reckon'd was. 
 And wi' the lave ilk merry morn 
 Could rank my rig and lass, 
 Still shearing, and clearing 
 The tither stocked raw, 
 Wi' claiyers and haivers. 
 Wearing the day awa'. 
 
 Even then a wish — I mind its power— 
 A wish that to my latest hour 
 
 Shall strongly heave my breast — 
 That I, for poor ailld Scotland's sake. 
 Some usefu' plan, or beuk could make. 
 
 Or sing a sang at least. 
 The rough bur-thistle, spreading wide 
 
 Amang the bearded bear, 
 I turn'd the weeder-clips aside. 
 And spared the symbol dear : 
 No nation, no station, 
 
 My envy e'er could raise ; 
 A Scot still, but blot still, 
 I knew nae higher praise. 
 
 But still the elements o' sang 
 
 In formless jumble, right and wrang. 
 
 Wild floated in my brain : 
 Till on that hairst I said before 
 My partner in the merry core. 
 
 She roused the forming strain ; 
 I see her yet^ the sonsie quean. 
 
 That lighted up my jingle. 
 Her witching smile, her pauky e'en. 
 That gart my heart-strings tingle ; 
 I fir^d, inspired. 
 
 At every kindling keek. 
 But bashing, and dashing, 
 I feared aye to speak. 
 
TO THE GUIDWIFE O' WAUCHOPE HOUSE 395 
 
 Health to the sex ! ilk guid chiel says, 
 Wi' merry dance in winter days, 
 And we to share in common : 
 the gust of joy, the balm of woe. 
 The saul o' life, the heaven below, 
 
 Is rapture-giving woman. 
 Ye surfy sumphs, who hate the name, 
 
 Be mindfu' o' your mither ; 
 She, honest woman, may think shame 
 That ye 're connected with her. 
 Ye 're wae men, ye 're nae men. 
 That slight the lovely dears ; 
 To shame ye, disclaim ye. 
 Ilk honest birkie swears. 
 
 For you, no bred to barn and byre, 
 ViTia sweetly tune the Scottish lyre. 
 
 Thanks to you for your line : 
 The marlfid plaid ye kindly spare. 
 By me should gratefully be ware ; 
 
 "Twad please me to the nine ; 
 I 'd be mair vauntie o' my hap,' 
 Douse hingin' o'er my curple. 
 Than ony ermine ever lap. 
 Or proud imperial purple. 
 
 Farewell then, lang heal then. 
 
 And plenty be your fa' : 
 May losses, and crosses, 
 Ne'er at your hallan ca' 1 
 March 1787 
 
 LAMENT 
 
 WRITTEN AT A TIME WHEN THE POET WAS ABOUT TO 
 LEAVE SCOTLAND 
 
 Tune — ' The Banks of the Devon ' 
 
 O'er the mist-shrOuded cliffs of the lone mountain straying, 
 Where the wild winds of winter incessantly rave, 
 
 What woes wring my heart whUe intently surveying 
 The storm's glbomy path on the breast of the wave I 
 
 Ye foam-crested billows, allow me to wail, 
 
 Ere ye toss me afar from my loved native shore ; 
 
 Wliere the flower which bloom'd sweetest in CoUa's green, 
 vale, 
 The pride of my bosom, my Mary 's no more. 
 
396 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 No more by the banks 6f the streamlet we '11 wander, 
 And smile at the moon's rtopled lace in the wave ; 
 
 No more shall my arms cliiig with fondness around her. 
 For the dew-drops of morning fall cold on her grave. 
 
 No more shall the soft thrill of love warm my breast, 
 I haste with the storm to a far distant shore ; 
 
 "Where, unknown, unlamented, ray ashes shall rest. 
 And joy shall revisit my' bosom no more. 
 
 PROLOGUE 
 
 SPOKEN BY MB. WOODS ON HIS BENEFIT-NIGHT 
 
 Monday, April 16, 1787 
 
 When by a generous Public's kind acclaim. 
 That dearest meed is granted — honest fame : 
 When here your favour is the actor's lot. 
 Nor even the man in private life forgot ; 
 What breast so dead to heavenly Virtue's glow. 
 But heaves impassion'd with the grateful throe 1 
 
 Poor is the task to please a barbarous throng, 
 It needs no Siddons' powers in Southern's song ; 
 But here an ancient nation famed afar. 
 For genius, learning high, as great in war — 
 Hail, Caledonia, name for ever dear 1 
 Before whose sons I 'm honour'd to appear I 
 Where every science — every nobler art — 
 That can inform the mind, or mend the heart. 
 Is known ; as grateful nations oft have found 
 Far as the rude barbarian marks the bound. 
 Philosophy, no idle pedant dream. 
 
 Here holds her search by heaven-taught Reason's beam ; 
 Here History paints with elegance and force. 
 The tide of Empire's fluctuating course ; 
 Here Douglas forms wild Shakspeare into plan. 
 And Harley * rouses all the God in man, 
 When well-form'd taste and sparkling wit unite 
 With manly lore, or female beauty bright, 
 (Beauty, where faultless symmetry and grace. 
 Can only charm us in the second place,) 
 
 * ' Harley : • ' The Man ol Feeling," wrote by Mr. Mackenzie. — B. 
 
PROLOGUE 397 
 
 Witness my heart, how oft with panting fear 
 As on this night, I 've met these judges here 1 
 But still the hope experience taught to live. 
 Equal to judge, you 're candid to forgive. 
 No hundred-headed Riot here we rneet, 
 With Decency and Law beneath his feet ; 
 Nor insolence assumes fair Freedom's name ; 
 Like Caledonians, you applaud or blame. 
 
 O thou dread Power 1 whose empire-giving hand 
 Has oft been stretch'd to shield the honour'd land 1 
 Strong may she glow with all her ancient fire 1 
 May every son be worthy of his sire 1 
 Firm may she rise with generous disdain 
 At Tyranny's, or direr Pleasure's chain 1 
 Still self-dependent in her native shore. 
 Bold may she brave grim Danger's loudest roar, 
 Till Fate the curtain drop on worlds -to be no more. 
 
 THE POET'S WELCOME TO HIS ILLEGITIMATE 
 CHILD * 
 
 Thou 's welcome, wean ! mishanter fa' me. 
 If aught of thee, or of thy mammy, 
 Shall ever danton me, or awe me. 
 
 My sweet wee lady. 
 Or if I blush when thou shalt ca' me 
 
 Tit-ta, or daddy. 
 
 Wee image of my bonnie Betty, 
 I fatherly will kiss and daut thee. 
 As dear and near my heart I set thee 
 
 Wi' as gude wUl, 
 As a' the priests had seen me get thee 
 
 That 's out 0' hell. 
 
 What though they ca' me fornicator. 
 And tease my name in kintra clatter : 
 
 • The subject of these verses was the poet's illegitimate daughter, -whom 
 in ■ The Inventory ' he styles his 
 
 •'Sonsy, smirking, dear-bought Bess," 
 She was married to Mr. John Bishop, overseer at Polkemmet, near 
 Whitburn, and is long dead. 
 
398 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 The mair they talk I 'm kent the better. 
 E'en let them clash ; 
 
 An auld wife's tongue 's a feckless matter 
 To gie ane fash. 
 
 Sweet fruit o' mony a merry dint. 
 
 My funny toU is now a' tint. 
 
 Sin' thou came to the world asklent, 
 
 "Which fools may scoff at ; 
 In my last plack thy part 's be in 't — 
 
 The better half o 't. 
 
 And if thou be what I would hae thee. 
 And tak the counsel I shall gie thee, 
 A lovin' father I '11 be to thee, 
 
 If thou be spared : 
 Through a' thy chUdish years I '11 e'e thee. 
 
 And think 't weel wared. 
 
 Gude grant that thou may aye inherit 
 Thy mither's person, grace, and merit. 
 And thy poor worthless daddy's spirit 
 
 Without his failins ; 
 'TwUl please me mair to hear and see 't. 
 
 Than stockit maUins. 
 
 LETTER TO JAMES TAIT, GLENCONNAR 
 
 Auld comrade dear, and brither sinner, 
 How's a' the folk about Glenconnar ? 
 How do you, this blae eastlin' win'. 
 That 's like to blaw a body blin' ? 
 For me, my faculties are frozen. 
 My dearest member nearly dozen'. 
 I 've sent you here, by Johnnie Simpson, 
 Twa sage philosophers to glimpse on ; 
 Smith, wi' his sympathetic feeling. 
 And Reid, to common sense appealing. 
 Philosophers have fought and wrangled. 
 And meikle Greek and Latin mangled, 
 Till, wi' their logic-jargon tired. 
 And in the depth of Science mired. 
 To Common Sense they now appeal. 
 What wives and wabsters see and feel. 
 But, hark ye, friend 1 I charge you strictly, 
 Peruse them, and return them quickly, 
 
LETTER TO JAMES TAIT 399 
 
 For now I 'm grown so cursed douce, 
 I pray and ponder butt the house, 
 My shins, my lane, I there sit roastin'. 
 Perusing Bunyan, Brown, and Boston ; 
 Till by and by, if I baud on, 
 I '11 grunt a real gospel-groan : 
 Already I begin to try it. 
 To cast my e'en up like a pyet, 
 When by the gun she tumbles o'er, 
 Flutt'ring and gasping in her gore : 
 Sae shortly you shall see me bright, 
 A burning and a shining light. 
 
 My heart-warm love to guid auld Glen, 
 The ace and wale of honest men : 
 When bending down wi' auld gray hairs. 
 Beneath the load of years and cares, 
 May He who made him still support him, 
 And views beyond the grave comfort him ; 
 His worthy family far and near, 
 God bless them a' wi' grace and gear 1 
 
 My auld school-fellow. Preacher Willie, 
 
 The manly tar, my mason billie, ' 
 
 And Auchenbay, I wish him joy 1 
 
 If he 's a parent, lass or boy. 
 
 May he be dad, and Mag the mither, 
 
 Just five-and-forty years thegither 1 
 
 And not forgetting wabster Gharlie, 
 
 I 'm tauld he offers very fairly. 
 
 And, Lord, remember singing Sannock, 
 
 Wi' hale-breeks, saxpence, and a bannock ; 
 
 And next, my auld acquaintance, Nancy, 
 
 Since she is fitted to her fancy ; 
 
 And her kind stars hae airted till her 
 
 A good chiel wi' a pickle siller. 
 
 My kindest, best respects I sen' it. 
 
 To cousin Kate and sister Janet ; 
 
 Tell them frae me, wi' chiels be cautious, 
 
 For, faith, they 'II aiblins fin' them fashious : 
 
 To grant a heart is fairly civil. 
 
 But to grant a maidenhead 's the devil. 
 
 And lastly Jamie, for yoursel'. 
 
 May guardian angels tak a speU, 
 
 And steer you seven miles south o' hell : 
 
 But first, before you see heaven's glory, 
 
 May ye get mony a merry story. 
 
400 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Mony a laugh, and mony a drink. 
 And aye eneugh o' needlu' clink I 
 
 Now fare ye weel, and joy be wi' you'; 
 For my sake this I beg it o' you, 
 Assist poor Simpson a' ye can. 
 Ye '11 fin' him just an honest man ; 
 Sae I conclude, and quat my chanter. 
 Yours, saint or sinner, 
 
 Rob the Ranter 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF A FAVOURITE CHILD 
 
 Oh, sweet be thy sleep in the land of the grave. 
 
 My dear little angel, for ever ; 
 For ever — oh no 1 let not man be a slave. 
 
 His hopes from existence to sever. 
 
 Though cold be the clay, where thou pillow'st thy head, 
 
 In the dai-k silent mansions of sorrow, 
 The spring shall return to thy low narrow bed. 
 
 Like the beam of the Day-star to-morrow. 
 
 The flower-stem shall bloom like thy sweet seraph form. 
 
 Ere the spoiler had nipt thee in blossom, 
 Wlien thou shrunk frae the scowl of the loud winter storm, 
 
 And nestled thee close to that bosom. 
 
 Oh I stni I behold thee; all lovely in death. 
 
 Reclined on the lap of thy mother, 
 When the tear trickled bright, when the short stifled breath, 
 
 Told how dear ye were aye to each other. 
 
 My chfld, thou art gone to the home of thy rest. 
 
 Where suffering no longer can harm ye, 
 Where the songs of the good, whefe the hymns of the blest. 
 
 Through an endless existence shall charm ye. 
 
 While he, thy fond parent, must sighing sojourn. 
 
 Through the dire desert regions of sorrow, 
 O'er the hope and misfortune of being to mourn. 
 
 And sigh for this life's latest morrow. 
 
TO THE EARL OF BRE^D<ALpANE 401 
 
 TO THE RIGHT HbNQURABtE' ■ THE EARL 
 OF BREADALBANE, 
 
 President of the Right Honourable and Honoilrable the Highland 
 Society, which met on the 23rd ot May last, at the Shalcspeare, 
 Covent-Garden, to concert ways and means to frustrate the 
 designs of five hundred Highlanders, who, as the Society were 
 informed by Mr. M'Kenzie of Applecross, were so audacious 
 as to attempt an escape from their lawful lords and masters, 
 whose property they are, by emigrating- from the lands of Mr. 
 Macdonell of Glengarry to the wilds of Canada, in search of tliat 
 fantastic thing — i,iberty ! — B. 
 
 Long life, my lord, and healthbe yours, 
 Unskaith'd by hunger' 4 Highland, boors I 
 Lord, grant nae duddie, desperate beggar, 
 Wi' durk, claymore, or rusty trigger. 
 May twin auld Scotland o' a life 
 She likes^as lambkins like a knife I 
 
 Faith, you and Applecross were right 
 To keep the Highland hounds in sight : 
 I doubtna, they would bid nae better 
 Than, let theni ance out owre the ■yyater, 
 Then up amang thae lakes and seas ^ 
 They 'U mak what rules knd laws they please I 
 Some daring Hancock, or a Franklin, 
 May set their Highland bluid a ranklin' ; 
 Some Washington again' may head them. 
 Or some Montgomery, fearless, lead them I 
 Till God knows what may be effected. 
 When by such heads and hearts directed ; 
 Poor dunghill sons of dirt and mire. 
 May to patrician rights aspire 1 
 Nae sage North now, or sager Sackville, 
 To watch and premier owre the pack vile I 
 And where will ye get Howes and (Clintons 
 To bring them to a right repentance, 
 To cowe the rebel generation, 
 And save the honour o' the nation ? 
 
 They.! and be damn'd ! what right hae they 
 To meat, or sleep, or light d' day ? 
 Far less to riches, power, or freedom, 
 But what your lordships please to gi'e them I 
 But hear, my lord ! Glengarry, hear I 
 Your hand 's owre light on them, I fear : 
 Your factors, grieves, trustees, and bailies, 
 I canna say but they do gaylies ; 
 
4o2 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 They lay aside a' tender mercies. 
 
 And tirl the hallions to the birses ; 
 
 Yet, while they 're only poind't and herriet. 
 
 They '11 keep their stubborn Highland spirit : 
 
 But smash them I crash them a' to spails 1 
 
 And rot the dyvours i' the jails ! 
 
 The young dogs, swinge them to the labour ; 
 
 Let wark and hunger mak them sober ! 
 
 The hizzies, if they 're oughtlihs fawsont, 
 
 Let them in Drury Lane be lesson'd 1 
 
 And if the wives and dirty brats 
 
 Come thiggin' at your doors and yetts, 
 
 Flaflan wi' duds and gray wi' beas', 
 
 Frightin' awa' your deucks and geese. 
 
 Get out a horse- whip or a Jowler, 
 
 The langest thong, the fiercest growler, 
 
 And gar the tatter'd gipsies pack 
 
 Wi' a' their bastards on their back I 
 
 Go on, my lord t I lang to ineet you. 
 And in my house at hame to greet you 1 
 Wi' common lords ye shanna mingle ; 
 The benmost neuk beside the ingle, 
 At my right hand assign'd your seat, 
 'Tween Herod's hip and ' Polycrate — 
 Or if ye on your station tarrow, 
 Between Almagro and Pizarro ; 
 A seat I 'm sure ye 're weel deservin't ; 
 And till ye come — Your humble servant, 
 
 Beelzebub 
 
 June 1st, Anno Mundi 5790 [a.d. 1786] 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF THE LATE LORD 
 PRESIDENT * 
 
 Lone on the bleaky hills the straying flocks 
 Shun the fierce storrns among the shelt'ring rocks ; 
 Down foam the riv'lets, red with dashing rains ; 
 The gathering floods burst o'er the distant plains ; 
 Beneath the blast the leafless forests groan. 
 The hollow caves return a sullen moan. 
 
 * 'Lord Presiieiit ; ' Dundas. 
 
THE, LATE LORD PRESIDENT 403 
 
 Ye hUls, ye plains, ye forests, and ye caves. 
 Ye howling winds, and wintry swelling waves I 
 Unheard, unseen, by human ear or eye. 
 Sad, to your sympathetic glooms I fly, 
 "Where, to the whistling blast and waters' roar. 
 Pale Scotia's recent wound I may deplore 
 
 O heavy loss, thy country iU could bear 1 
 A loss these evil days can ne'er repair 1 
 Justice, the high vicegerent of her God, 
 Her doubtful balance eyed and swayed her rod ; 
 She heard the tidings of the fatal blow, 
 And sunk abandon'd to the wildest woe. 
 
 Wrongs, injuries, from many a darksome den. 
 Now gay in hope explore the paths of men : 
 See, from his cavern grim Oppression rise. 
 And throw on Poverty his cruel eyes ; 
 Keen on the helpless victim See him fly. 
 And stifle, dark, the feebly-bursting cry ; 
 
 Mark rufiian Violence, distain'd with crimes. 
 
 Rousing elate in these degenerate times : 
 
 View unsuspecting Innocence a prey, 
 
 As guileful Fraud points out the erring way ; 
 
 While subtle Litigation's pliant tongue 
 
 The life-blood equal sucks of Right and Wrong : 
 
 Hark, injured Want recounts the unlisten'd tale, 
 
 And much-wrong'd Misery pours the unpitied wail I 
 
 Ye dark waste hUls, and brown unsightly plains, 
 Inspire and soothe my melancholy strains I 
 Ye tempests, rage I ye turbid torrents, roll 1 
 Ye suit the joyless tenor of my soul ; 
 Life's social haunts and pleasures I resign ; 
 Be nameless wilds and lonely wanderings mine 
 To mourn the woes my country must endure. 
 That wound degenerate ages cannot cure. 
 
404 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 TO JOHN M'MURDO, ESQ.* 
 
 ■WITH SOME BOOKS 
 
 Oh, could I give thee India's wealth 
 
 As I this trifle send I 
 Because thy joy in both would be 
 
 To share them with a friend. 
 
 But golden sands did never grace 
 The Heliconian stream ; 
 
 Then take what gold could never buy- 
 An honest Bard's esteem. 
 
 PEG NICHOLSON t 
 
 Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare. 
 
 As ever trod on aim ; 
 But now she 's floating down the Nith, 
 
 And past the mouth o' Cairn. 
 
 Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare. 
 And rode through thick and thin ; 
 
 But now she 's floating down the Nith, 
 And wanting even the skin. 
 
 Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare, 
 
 And ance she bore a priest ; 
 But now she 's floating down the Nith, 
 
 For Solway fish a feast. 
 
 Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare, 
 
 And the priest he rode her sair ; 
 And much oppress'd and bruised she was. 
 
 As priest-rid cattle are. 
 
 • ■ John M'Murdo, Esq. : ' tliis gentleman was steward to the Duke ol 
 Qucensberry. 
 
 t ' Peg Nicholson : ' a name derived from the maniac who attempted the 
 lilc ot George III., was the poet's mare, and the successor of Jenny Geddes ; 
 she v/as either sold or lent to him by William NicoL 
 
THE HENPECKED HUSBANI) 405 
 
 THE HENPECkfib HUSBAND 
 
 Cursed fee the man, the poorest wretch in life, 
 The crouching vassal to jthe tyrant wife, > 
 \yiio has no will hut by her high permission ; 
 "W^o has not sixpence but in her possession ; 
 Who must to her his dear friend's sepreft tell ; 
 Who drea/ds a curtain-lecture worse than hell. 
 Were such, the wife had f all'n to my part, 
 I 'd break her spirit, or I 'd break her heart ; 
 I 'd charm her with the^ magic of a switch, 
 I 'd kfss her maids, and 'kick the perverse bitch. 
 
 THE TOAST 
 
 Fill me with the rosy wine, 
 Call a toast — a toast , diyine ; 
 Give the Poet's darling flame. 
 Lovely Jessy be the name ; 
 Then thou niayest, freely boast. 
 Thou hast given a peerless toast. 
 
 ON JESSY LEWARS' SICKNESS 
 
 Say, sages, what 's the charm on earth 
 
 Can turn death's dart aside ? 
 It is not pu3;ity ^nd wqrth, 
 -■ Else Jessy had not died 
 
 ON THE RECOVERY OF JESSY LEWARS 
 
 But rarely .seen since nature's birth 
 
 The natives of the sky ; 
 Yet still one seraph s left on earth. 
 
 For Jessy did not die. 
 
406 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 A TOAST * 
 
 Instead of a song, boys, I '11 give you a toast. 
 Here 's the memory of those on the twelfth that we lost ; 
 That we lost, did I say ? nay, by heaven, that we found 1 
 For their fame it shall last while the world goes round. 
 The next in succession, I '11 give you the King, 
 "Whoe'er would betray him, on high may" he swing ; 
 And here 's the grand fabric, our free Constitution, 
 As built on the base of the great Revolution ; 
 And longer with politics not to be cramm'd. 
 Be Anarchy cursed, and be Tyranny damn'd ; 
 And who would to Liberty e'er prove disloyal, 
 May his son be a hangman, and he his first trial. 
 
 JESSY LEWARS 
 
 Talk not to me of savages 
 From Afric's burning sun, . 
 
 No savage e'er could reiid my heart 
 As, Jessy, thou hast done. 
 
 But, Jessy's lovely hand in mine, 
 
 A mutual faith to plight, 
 Not even to view the heavenly choir 
 
 Would be so blest a sight. 
 
 ON SEEING THE BEAUTIFUL SEAT OF LORD 
 GALLOWAY 
 
 What dost thou in that mansion fair ? 
 
 Flit, Galloway, and, find 
 Some narrow, dirty, dungeon cave. 
 
 The picture of thy mind I 
 
 * ' A toast : ' at a meeting ol the Dumfriesshire Volimteers, held to 
 commemorate the anniversary ol Rodney's victory, April 12th, 1782, 
 Bums was called upon lor a song, instead ol which he delivered the above 
 lines extempore. 
 
ON THE SAME 407 
 
 ON THE SAME 
 
 No Stewart art thou, Galloway, 
 The Stewarts all were brave ; 
 
 Besides, the Stewarts were but fools, 
 Not one of them a knave. 
 
 ON THE SAME 
 
 Bright ran thy line, O Galloway I 
 Through many a far-famed sire- 
 So ran the far-famed Roman way. 
 So ended in a mire. 
 
 TO THE SAME 
 
 ON THE AUTHOR BEING THREATENED WITH HIS 
 RESENTMENT 
 
 Spare me thy vengeance, Galloway, 
 
 In quiet let me live : 
 I ask no kindness at thy hand. 
 
 For thou hast none to give. 
 
 VERSES WRITTE^f UNDER THE PORTRAIT 
 OF FERGUSON, THE POET, 
 
 IN A COPY OF THAT AUTHOR's WORKS PRESENTED TO 
 YOUNG LADY IN EDINBURGH, MARCH 19, 1787 
 
 Curse on ungrateful man, that can be pleased, 
 And yet can starve the author of the pleasure ! 
 O thou my elder brother in misfortune, 
 By far my elder brother in the Muses, 
 With tears I pity thy unhappy fate 1 
 Why is the bard unpitied by the world, 
 Yet has so keen a relish of its pleasures ? 
 
408 BURNS' PQEMS AND SONGS 
 
 VERSES WRITTEN .ON 4 WINDOW OF THE 
 INN AT CARRON 
 
 We cam' na here to, view your ■warliis. 
 
 In hopes tobe mair wise,!; . 
 But only, lest we gang to hell, 
 
 It may be nae surprise : 
 
 But whan we tirl^d at your door, 
 Your porter dought na hear us ; 
 
 Sae may, should we. to hell's yetts come. 
 Your biUie Satan sair us t 
 
 VERSES WRITTEN ON THE BLANK LEAF OF 
 A COPY OF HIS POEMS 
 
 PRESENTED TO AN OLD SWEETHEART, THEN MARRIED 
 
 Once fondly loved, and still remember'd dear. 
 Sweet early object of my youthful vows. 
 
 Accept this mark of friendsjiip, warm, sincere ; 
 Friendship' I 'tis all cold duty now allows. 
 
 And when you read the simple, artless rhymes, 
 One friendly sigh for him — he asks no more — 
 
 Who distant burns in flaming torrid climes, 
 Or haply lies beneath th' Atlantic roar. 
 
 VERSES 
 
 ADDRESSED TO THE LANDLADY OF THE INN AT ROSLIN 
 
 My blessings on you, sonsy wife ; 
 
 I ne'er was here before ; 
 You 've gi'en us walth for horn and knife, ■ 
 
 Nae heart could wish for more. 
 
 Heaven keep you free frae care and strife, 
 
 Till far ayont, fourscore ; 
 And, while I tbddle on through life, 
 
 I '11 ne'er gang by your door. 
 
ADDRESSED TO A GEl^TLEMkN AT TABLE 409 
 ADDRESSED TO A GENTLEMAN AT TABLE 
 
 WHO KEPT BOASTING OF THfe COSlPANY HE KEPT 
 
 What of lords with -whom you have siipp'd, 
 And of dukes that you dined with yestreen 1 
 
 A louse, sir, is still but a louse. 
 
 Though it crawl on the locks of a queen. 
 
 LINES 
 
 WRITTEN UNDER THE PORTRAIT OF THE CELEBRATED 
 MISS BURNS * 
 
 I 
 
 Cease, ye prudes, your envious: railing ; 
 
 Lovely Burns has charms— confess 1 
 True it is, she has one falling — 
 
 Had a woman ever less ? 
 
 LINES 
 
 WRITTEN ON A PEW IN THE KIRK OF LAMINGTON, IN 
 CLYDESDALE 
 
 A CAULD,' cauld kirk, and in 't but few, 
 
 A caulder minister never spak : 
 His sermon made us a' turn blue. 
 
 But it 's be warm ere I come back. 
 
 LINES WRITTEN ON A BANK NOTE 
 
 Wae worth thy power, thou cursed leaf. 
 Fell source o' a' my woe and grief 1 > 
 For lack o' thee I 've lost my lass. 
 For lack o' thee I scrimp my glass. 
 I see the children of afilictipn 
 Unaided, through thy cursed restriction. 
 
 • The Miss Bums ol these lines was more notorious than reputable in 
 Edinburgh at the period when Burns first visited that city. 
 
410 .( , burns; POEMS ANE). SONGS ^ 
 
 I 've seen the oppressor's cruel smile 
 
 Amid hi? hapless victim's spoil, , 
 
 And foV thy potehce vainly wish'd 
 
 To crush the viU^in in the dust.j 
 
 For lack o' thee I leave this rhiich-loved shore, 
 
 Never, perhaps,, to grept old Scotland more. 
 
 : , ' l R. B., Kyle 
 
 TO A MEDICAL GENTLEMAN 
 
 INVITING HIM TO ATTEND A MASONIC ANNIVERSARY 
 MEETING 
 
 Friday first 's the day appointed. 
 By our Right Worshipful anointed. 
 
 To hold our grand^ procession ; 
 To get a blaud o' Johnnie'si morals, 
 And taste a .swatch o' Manson's barrels, 
 
 I' the way of our profession. 
 Our Master and the Brotherhood 
 
 Wad a' be glad to see you ; 
 For me I would be mair than proud 
 To share the merciesj wi' you. 
 If death then, wi' scaith then, 
 
 Some mortal hearths hechtin'. 
 Inform hira^ and storm * him. 
 That Saturday ye '11 fecht him. 
 
 \, Robert Burns 
 
 LINES 
 
 written ON A WINDOW OF THE GLOBE TAVERN, DUMFRIES 
 
 The graybeard, old Wisdom, may boast of his treasures. 
 Give me with gay Folly to live ; ; .. . 
 
 I grant him his calm-blooded, time-settled pleasures. 
 But Folly has raptures to give, 
 
 • ' storm :^ that is, threaten him. 
 
REPLY TO A 'gentleman 411 
 REPLY TO A GENTLEMAN 
 
 WHO ASKED IF HE 'WOULD NOT LIKE TO BE A SOLDIER 
 
 I MURDER hate, by field or flood, 
 Though glory's name may screen, us; 
 
 In wars at hame I '11 spend my blood, 
 Life-giving wars of Venus. 
 
 The deities that I adore,'' 
 
 Are social peace and plenty ; 
 I 'm better pleasetl to make one' more, 
 I ,Than be thp death o' twenty. 
 
 THE CREED OF POVERTY 
 
 In politics- if thou wouldst jnix. 
 And mean thy fortunes be ; 
 
 Bear this in mind, be deaf and blind. 
 Let great folks hear and see. 
 
 ON BEING ASKED WHY GOD HAD MADE 
 
 MISS DAVIES SO LITTLE AND MRS. SO 
 
 LARGE 
 
 WRITTEN ON A PANE. OF GLASS IN THE INN AT MOFFAT 
 
 Ask why God made the gem so small. 
 
 And why so huge the granite.?'. 
 Because God meant mankind should set 
 
 The higher value on it. 
 
 LINES WRITTEN ON A PANE OF GLASS 
 
 ON THE OCCASION OF. A NATIONAL THANKSGIVING FOR A 
 NAVAL VICTORY 
 
 Ye hypocr'ites ! are these yoiir pranks, 
 To murder men, and' gie God thanks 1 
 For shame 1 gie o'er, proceed no further — 
 God won't accept your thanks for murther I 
 
412 BURNS' POEMS 4ND SONGS 
 
 LINES O^ ^.STIRLING 
 
 WRITTEN ON A WINDOW IN WINGATE'S INN THERE 
 
 Here Stuarts once in glory rejgn'd, 
 And laws for Scotia's weel or<ia;in'd ; 
 But now unrpbl'd their palace stands. 
 Their sceptre 's sway'd by foreign hiands. 
 The Stuarts' native race is gone ! 
 A race outlandish fills theiTrthrone — 
 An idiot race, tp, hoiipur lost : 
 Who know tbern best, despise them most. 
 
 Burns, •who -was then a zealous Jacobite, being reproved by a friend 
 for tlie above lines, replied, " I shall reprove myself ; " and 
 immediately wrote the following lines on tiie same pane : — 
 
 THE REPROOF 
 
 Rash mortal, and slanderous poet, thy name 
 
 Shall no longer appear in the records, of fame ; 
 
 Dost not know that old Mansfield, who writes like the Bible, 
 
 Says the more 'tis a truth, sir, the more 'tis a libel ? 
 
 REPLY TO A CLERGYMAN 
 
 WHO WROTE A POETICAL PHILIPPIC AGAINST THE 
 FOREGOING LINES ON STIRLING 
 
 Like jEsop's lion, Burns says, ' Sorp I feel 
 All others' scorn — but damn that ass's heel.' 
 
 LINES 
 
 WRITTEN ON' A WINDOW, AT TJJE KIN(?'s ARU^S TAVERN, . 
 DUMFRIES 
 
 Ye men of wit and wealth, why all ttiis sneering 
 'Gainst poor excisemen ? give the cause a hearing ; 
 What are your landlords' rent-rpUs ? — taxing ledgers ; 
 Wliat premiers ? what even monarchs ?^mighty gaugers ; 
 Nay, what are priests, those seerping-godly wisemen, 
 What are they, pray, but spiritual excisemen ? 
 
LINES TO MRS. KEMBLE 413 
 
 LINES WRITTEN AND PRESENTED TO 
 MRS. KEMBLE 
 
 ON SEEING HER IN THE CHARACTER OF YARICO, 
 DUMFRIES THEATRE, 1794 
 
 Kemble, thou cur'st my unbelief 
 
 Of Moses and his rod ; 
 At Yaricq's sweiet notes o( grief, 
 
 The rock with tears had flow'd. 
 
 LINES 
 
 WRITTEN EXTEMPORE IN A LADY'S POCKET-BOOK 
 
 Grant me, indulgent Heaven I that I may live 
 To see the miscreants feel the pains they give ; 
 Deal Freedom's sacred treasures free as air, ■ 
 Till slave and despot be but things which were. 
 
 LINES WRITTEN BY BURNS WHILE ON HIS 
 DEATH-BED 
 
 TO JOHN RANKINE, AYRSHIRE, AND FORWARDED TO 
 HIM IMMEDIATELY AFTER THE POET's DEATH 
 
 He who of Rankine sang lies stiff and di^ad. 
 And a green grassy hillock hides his head ; 
 Alas 1 alas I an awful change indeed I 
 
 THE BOOK-WORMS 
 
 Through and through the inspired leaves. 
 Ye maggots, make your windings ; 
 
 But, oh ! respect his lordship's taste. 
 And spare his golden bindings 1 
 
414 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 THE SOLEMN LEAGUE AND COVENANT 
 
 The Solemn League and Covenant 
 
 Cost Scotland blood-^cost Scotland tears ; 
 
 But it seal'd Freedom's sacred cause — 
 If thou 'rt a slave, indulge thy sneers. 
 
 THE TRUE LOYAL NATIVES* 
 
 Ye true ' Loyal Natives,' attend to my song ; 
 
 In uproar and riot rejoice the night long ; 
 
 From envy and hatred your corps is exempt ; 
 
 But where is your shield from the darts of contempt ? 
 
 VERSES ADDRESSED TO J. RANKINE 
 
 ON HIS WRITING TO THE POET THAT, A GIRL IN THAT PART 
 OF THE COUNTRY WAS WITH CHILD BY HIM 
 
 I AM a keeper of the law 
 
 In some sma' points, although not a' ; 
 
 Sonle people tell me gin I fa', 
 
 Ae way or ither. 
 The breaking of ae point, though sma'. 
 
 Breaks a' thegither. 
 
 I hae been in for 't ance or twice, 
 And winna say o'er far for thrice, 
 Yet never met with that surprise 
 
 That broke my rest. 
 But now a rumour 's like to rise, 
 
 A whaup 's i' the nest. 
 
 ON ROBERT RIDDEL, ESQ. 
 
 To Riddel, much lamented man, 
 
 This ivied cot was dear ; 
 Reader, dost value matchless worth ? 
 
 This ivied cot revere. 
 
 • • Loyal Natives : ' a, club in Dumlries, one ot whose members sent an 
 abusive epigram to Burns, who repUed in the above impromptu. 
 
INSCRIPTION ON A GOBLET 415 
 
 INSCRIPTION ON A GOBLET 
 
 BELONGING TO MR. SYME 
 
 There 's death in the cup— sae beware 1 
 Nay, more — there is danger in touching ; 
 
 But -wha can avoid the feU snare ? 
 
 The man and his wine 's sae bewitching 1 
 
 EPIGRAMS 
 
 Whoe'er he be that sojourns here, 
 
 I pity much his case, 
 Unless he come to wait upon 
 
 The Lord their God, his Grace. 
 
 There 's naething here but Highland pride/ 
 And Highland scab and hunger ; 
 
 If Providence has sent me here, 
 'Twas surely in his anger.* 
 
 ON ANDREW TURNER 
 
 In se'enteen hundred forty-nine 
 Satan took stuff to make a s-vyine, 
 
 Ai).d cuist it in a comer ; , 
 But wUily he changed his plan. 
 And shaped it something like a man. 
 
 And ca'd it Andrew Turner. 
 
 ON A HENPECKED COUNTRY SQUIRE 
 
 O Death, hadst thou but spared his life 
 
 Whom 'we this day lariient 1 
 We freely wad exchanged the wife. 
 
 And a' been weel content. 
 
 E'en as he is, cauld in his graff. 
 
 The swap we yet will do 't ; 
 Tak thou the carlin's carcase aft, 
 
 Thou 'se get the saul to boot. 
 
 • This was written at Inverary, on an imaginary slight at the inn, by 
 the indignant poet. 
 
416 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 ANOTHER 
 
 One Queeft Artertiisia, as old stories tell, 
 
 When deprjived of her husband she loved so well, 
 
 In respect for the love and affection lie 'd sho'w'd her, 
 
 She reduced him to dust,, and she drank off the powder. 
 
 But Queen Netherplace, of a difl'rent complexion, 
 When call'd on to order the funeral direction. 
 Would have eat her dead lord, on a slender pretence. 
 Not to show her respect, but — to save the expense. 
 
 ON CAPTAIN FRANCIS GROSE, THE CELEBRATED 
 ANTIQUARIAN 
 
 The Devil got notice that Grose was a-dying, 
 
 So whip 1 at the summons old Satan came flying ; 
 
 But when he approach'.d where poor Francis lay moaning, 
 
 And saw each bed-post with its burden a-groaning, 
 
 Astonish'd, confounded, cried Satan, 'By God, 
 
 I '11 want 'im, ere I take such a damnable load 1 ' 
 
 ON ELPHINSTONE S TRANSLATION OF MARTIAL S EPIGRAMS 
 
 O thou whom Poetry abhors. 
 Whom Prose has turned out of doors 1 
 Heardst thou that groan — ^proceed no further, 
 'Twas laurell'd Martial roaring murder. 
 
 ON MISS J. SCOTT, OF AYR 
 
 Oh, had each Scot of ancient times. 
 Been Jeanie Scott, as thou art ; 
 
 The bravest heart on English ground. 
 Had yielded like a coward. 
 
EPITAPHS 417 
 
 EPITAPHS 
 
 ON MR. W. CRtllCKSHANKS 
 
 Honest Will 's to heaven gane. 
 
 And mony shall lament him ; ■ 
 His faults they a' in Latin lay, 
 
 In English nane e'er kent them. 
 
 ON A WAG IN MAUCHLINE 
 
 Lament him, Mauchline husbands a', 
 
 He aften did assist ye ; 
 For had ye staid whole weeks awa'. 
 
 Your wives they ne'er had miss'd ye. 
 
 Ye Mauchline bairns, as on ye pass, 
 To school in bands thegither, 
 
 Oh, tread ye lightly on his grass, 
 Perhaps he was your father. 
 
 ON JOHN DOVE, INNKEEPER, MAUCHLINB 
 
 Here lies Johnnie Pigeon ; 
 What was his religion, 
 
 Whae'er desires to ken. 
 To some other warl' 
 Maun follow the carl. 
 
 For here Johnnie Pigeon had nane. 
 
 Strong ale was ablution. 
 Small beer persecution, 
 
 A dram was memento mori ; 
 But a full flowing bowl, 
 Was the saving his soul. 
 
 And port was celestial glory. 
 
 ON A HENPECKED COUNTRY SQUIRE 
 
 As father Adam first was fool'd, 
 A case that 's stUl too common. 
 
 Here lies a man a woman ruled — 
 The devil ruled the woman. 
 
 46 — N 
 
418 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 ON A SCHOOLMASTER IN CLEISH PARISH, FIFESHIRE 
 
 Here lie Willie Michie's banes, 
 
 O Satan I when ye tak him, 
 Gie him the schoolin' o' your weans ; 
 
 For clever deUs he 'U mak 'em 1 
 
 ON A PERSON NICKNAMED THE MARQUIS, WHO DESIRED 
 BURNS TO WRITE AN EPITAPH FOR HIM 
 
 Here lies a mock Marquis, whose titles were shamm'd ; 
 If ever he rise, it will be to be damned. 
 
 ON WALTER S- 
 
 Sic a reptile was "Watt, 
 
 Sic a miscreant slave. 
 That e'en the worms damn'd him 
 
 When laid in his grave. 
 
 ' In his flesh there 's a famine,' 
 
 A starved reptile cries ; 
 ' And his heart is rank poison,' 
 
 Another replies. 
 
 ON JOHN BUSHBY, WRITER, DUMFRIES 
 
 Here lies John Bushby, honest man 1 
 Cheat him, DevD, if you can. 
 
 ON WILLIAM NICOL 
 
 Ye maggots, feed on Nicol's brain. 
 For few sic feasts you 've gotten ; 
 
 You 've got a prize o' Willie's heart, 
 For defl a bit o 't 's rotten. 
 
 ON ORIZEL GRIM 
 
 Here lies with Death auld Grizel Grim, 
 
 Lincluden's ugl^ witch ; 
 O Death 1 how horrid is thy taste 
 
 To lie with such a bjtch ! 
 
EPITAPHS 419 
 
 ON W- 
 
 Stop thief I dame Nature cried to Death, 
 As Willie drew his latjest breath ; 
 You have my choicest model ta'en, 
 How shall I make a fool again ? 
 
 ON THE SAME 
 
 Rest gently, turf, upon his breast, 
 His chicken heart 's so tender ; 
 
 But rear huge castles on his head. 
 His skull will prop them under. 
 
 ON GABRIEL RICHARDSON, BREWER, DUMFRIES 
 
 Here Brewer Gabriel's Are 's extinct, 
 
 And empty all his barrels ; 
 He 's blest — if, as he brew'd, he drink — 
 
 In upright, honest morals. 
 
 ON THE poet's DAUGHTER 
 
 Here lies a rose, a budding rose. 
 
 Blasted before its bloom ; 
 Whose innocence did sweets disclose 
 
 Beyond that flower's perfume. 
 
 To those who for her loss are grieved. 
 
 This consolation 's given — 
 She 's from a world of woe relieved. 
 
 And blooms a rose in heaven. 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF A LAPDOG NAMED ECHO 
 
 In wood and wild,, ye warbling throng. 
 
 Your heavy loss deplore ! 
 Now half extinct your powers of song — 
 
 Sweet Echo is no more. 
 
 Ye jarring, screeching things around. 
 Scream your discordant joys ! 
 
 Now half your din of tuneless song 
 With Echo silent lies. 
 
420 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 ON SIR DAVID MAXWELL OF CARDONESS 
 
 . Bless the Redeemer, Cardoness, 
 
 With grateful lifted eyes, 
 Who said that not the soul alone, 
 
 But body too, must rise ; 
 For had he said, ' The soul alone 
 
 From death I wUl deliver : ' 
 Alas, alas, O Cardoness I 
 
 Then thou hadst slept for ever 1 
 
 ON A SUICIDE 
 
 Earth'd up here lies an imp o' hell, 
 Planted by Satan's dibble — - 
 
 Poor silly wretch, he 's damn'd himsel', 
 To save the Lord the trouble. 
 
 THE TITHER MORN 
 
 TO A HIGHLAND AIR 
 
 The tither mom. 
 
 When I, forlorn, 
 Aneath an aik sat moaning, 
 
 I did na troyr, 
 
 I 'd see my jo 
 Beside me gin the gloaming. 
 
 But he sae trig. 
 
 Lap o'er the rig, 
 And dawtingly did cheer me, 
 
 When I, what reck, 
 
 Did least expec' 
 To see my lad so near me. 
 
 His bonnet he, 
 
 A thought ajee, 
 Cock'd sprush when first he clasp'd me ; 
 
 And I, I wat, 
 
 Wi' fainness grat. 
 While in his grips he press'd me. 
 
 Deil tak the war 1 
 
 I late and air, 
 Hae wish'd since Jock departed ; 
 
 But now as glad 
 
 I 'm wi' my lad, 
 As short syne broken-hearted. 
 
THE TITHER MORN 421 
 
 Fu' aft at e'en 
 
 Wi' dancing keen, 
 When' a' were blithe and merry, 
 
 I cared na by, 
 
 Sae sad was I, 
 In absence o' my dearie. 
 
 But, praise be blest, 
 
 My mind 's at rest, 
 I 'm happy wi' my Johnnie ; 
 
 At Isirk and fair, 
 
 I 'se aye be there. 
 And be as canty 's ony. 
 
 OH, SAW YIS MY , DEARIE ? 
 
 Tune — ' Eppie Macnab ' 
 
 Oh, saw ye my dearie, my Eppie M'Nab ? 
 Oh, saw ye my dearie, ffly Eppie M'Nab ? 
 She 's down in the yard, she 's kissin' the laird, 
 She winna come hame to hesr ain Jock Rab. 
 Oh, come thy ways to rtie, my Eppie M'Nab ! 
 Oh, come thy ways to me, my Eppie M'Nah I 
 Whate'er thou hast done, be it late, be it soon, 
 Thou 's welcome again to 't^hy ain Jock Rab. 
 
 What says she, my dearie,, my Eppie M'Nab ? 
 What says stie, my dearie, my Eppie M'Nab ? 
 She lets thefe to wot, that she has thee forgot, 
 And for ever disowns thee, her ain Jodc Rab. 
 Oh, had I ne'er seen thee, my Eppie lyjE'Nab I 
 Oh, had I ne'er seen thee, my Eppie M'N'ab I 
 As light as the air, and fause as thou 's fair. 
 Thou 's broken the heart o' thy ain Jock ftab. 
 
 LQ.VELY POLI.Y STEWART 
 Tune — ' Ye 're Ufelcoim^, Charley Stewart ' 
 
 O LOVELY Polly Stewart ! , 
 
 O cliarming Polly Stewart I 
 There 's not a flower that blooms in May 
 
 That 's half so fair as thou art. 
 
422 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 The flower it blaws, it fades and fa's, 
 
 And art can ne'er renew it ; 
 But worth and truth eternal youth 
 
 Will give to Polly Stewart. 
 
 May he whose arms shall fauld thy charms 
 
 Possess a leal and true heart ; 
 To him be given to ken the heaven 
 
 He grasps in PoUy Stewart I 
 O lovely Polly Stewart ! 
 
 O charming Polly Stewart I 
 There 's ne'er a flower that blooms in May 
 
 That 's half so sweet as thou art. 
 
 THE HIGHLAND LADDIE* 
 Tune — ' // thou 'It play me fair play ' 
 
 ' The bonniest lad that e'er I saw, 
 
 Bonnie laddie. Highland laddie ; 
 Wore a plaid, and was fu' braw, 
 
 Bonnie Highland laddie. 
 On his head a bonnet blue, 
 
 Bonnie laddie. Highland laddie ; 
 His loyal heart was firm and true, 
 
 Bonnie Highland laddie.' 
 
 ' Trumpets sound, and cannons roar, 
 
 Bonnie lassie. Lowland lassie ; 
 And a' the hills wi' echoes roar, 
 
 Bonnie Lowland lassie. 
 Glory, honour, now invite, 
 
 Bonnie lassie. Lowland lassie, 
 For freedom and my king to fight, 
 
 Bonnie Lowland lassie.' 
 
 • The sun a backward course shall take, 
 
 Bonnie laddie. Highland laddie. 
 Ere aught thy manly courage shake, 
 
 Bonnie Highland laddie. 
 Go ! for yourself procure renown, 
 
 Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie ; 
 And for your lawful king, his crown, 
 
 Bonnie Highland laddie.' 
 
 • This song partly old. 
 
LOVELY DAVIES 423 
 
 LOVELY DAVIES* 
 Tune — ' Miss Muir ' 
 
 Oh, how shall I, unskilfu', try 
 
 The poet's occupation, 
 The tunefu' powers, in happy hours. 
 
 That whisper inspiration ? " 
 Even they maun dare an effort malr, 
 
 Than aught they ever gave us, 
 Or they rehearse, in equal verse. 
 
 The charms o' lovely Davies. 
 
 Each eye it cheers, when she appears, 
 
 Like Phoebus In the morning, 
 When past the shower, and every flower 
 
 The garden is adorning. 
 As the wretch looks o'er Siberia's shore, 
 
 When winter-bound the wave is, 
 Sae droops our heart when we maun part 
 
 Frae charming, lovely Davies. 
 
 Her smile 's a gift, frae 'boon the lift. 
 
 That makes us mair than princes ; 
 A sceptred hand, a king's command. 
 
 Is in her darting glances : 
 The man in arms, 'gainst female charms, 
 
 Even he her willing slave is ; 
 He hugs his chain, and owns the reign 
 
 Of conquering, lovely Davies. 
 
 My Muse to dream of such a theme, 
 
 Her feeble powers surrenders ; 
 The eagle's gaze alone surveys 
 
 The sun's meridian splendours : 
 I wad in vain essay the strain. 
 
 The deed too daring brave is ; 
 I '11 drap the lyre, and mute admire 
 
 The charms o' lovely Davies. 
 
 • ' Lovely Davies : ' a yoiing lady from Pembrokeshire, whom Burns 
 met at the Riddel's — ^very pretty, witty, and wee. Her late was unhappy. 
 
424 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 NITHSDALE'S WELCOME HAME 
 
 The noble Maxwells and their powers 
 
 Are coming o'er the Border, 
 And they '11 gae bigg Terreagles towers. 
 
 And set them a' in order. 
 And they declare Terreagles fair. 
 
 For their abode they choose it ; 
 There 's nae a heart in a' the land, 
 
 But 's lighter at the news o't. 
 
 Though stars in skies may disappear. 
 
 And angry tempests gather ; 
 The happy hour may soon be near 
 
 That brings us pleasant weather : 
 The weary night o' care and grief 
 
 May hae a joyful morrow ; 
 So dawning day has brought relief — 
 
 Fareweel our night o' sorrow 1 
 
 AS I WAS A-WANDERING 
 Tune — ' Rinn Meiidial mo Mhealladh ' 
 
 As I was a-wand'ring ae midsummer e'enin', 
 
 The pipers and youngsters were making their game ; 
 
 Amang them I spied my faithless fause lover, 
 Which bled a' the wounds o' my dolour again. 
 
 Weel, since he last left me, may pleasure gae wi' him ; 
 
 I may be distress' d, but I winna complain ; 
 I flatter my fancy I may get anither, 
 
 My heart it shall never be broken for ane. 
 
 I couldna get sleepin' till dawin' for greetin'. 
 The tears trickled down like the hail and the rain ; 
 
 Had I na got greetin', my heart wad a broken. 
 For, oh I love forsaken 's a tormenting pain. 
 
 Although he has left me for greed o' the siller, 
 I didna envy him the gains he can win : 
 
 I rather wad bear a' the lade o' my sorrow. 
 Than ever hae acted sae faithless to him. 
 
IT IS NA, JEAN, THY BONNIE FACE 425 
 
 IT IS NA, JEAN, THY BONNIE FACE* 
 Tune — ' The Maid's Complaint ' 
 
 It is na, Jean, thy bonnie face 
 
 Nor shape that I admire. 
 Although thy beauty and thy grace 
 
 Might weel awake desire. , 
 SomethMg, in ilka part o' thee. 
 
 To praise, to love, I find ; 
 But dear as is thy form to me. 
 
 Still dearer is thy mind. 
 
 Nae mair ungen'rous wish I hae 
 
 Nor stronger in my breast. 
 Than if I canna mak thee sae. 
 
 At least to see thee blest. 
 Content am I, if Heaven stfall give 
 
 But happiness to thee : 
 And as wi' thee I 'd wish to live, 
 
 For thee I 'd bear to die. 
 
 THE LASS OF ECCLEFECHAN 
 Tune — ' Jacky Latin ' 
 
 ' Oh, gat ye me,^olh, gat ye me, 
 
 Oh, gat ye me wi' naething ? 
 Rock, and reel and spinning-wheel, 
 
 A mickle quarter basin. 
 Bye attour, my gutcher has 
 
 A heich house and a laigh ahe, 
 A' forbye my bonnie sel'. 
 
 The toss of Ecclefechan.' 
 
 ' Oh; baud your tongue now, Luckie Laing, 
 
 Oh, hand your tongue and jauner ; 
 I held the gate tUl you I met, 
 
 Syne I began to wander : 
 I tint my whistle and my sang, 
 
 I tint my peace and pleasure ; 
 But your green grafi, now, Luckie Laing, 
 
 Wad airt me to my treasure.' 
 
 * An English soii£. Scottified. 
 
426 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 MERRY HAE I BEEN TEETHIN' A HECKLE 
 Tune — ' Lord Breadalbane' s March ' 
 
 Oh, merry hae I been teethin' a heckle, 
 
 And merry hae I been shapin' a spoon ; 
 Oh, merry hae I been cloutin' a kettle, 
 
 And kissin' my Katie when a' was done. 
 Oh, a' the laiig day I ca' at my hammer, 
 
 And a' the lang day I whistle and sing, 
 A' the lang night I cuddle my kimmer, 
 
 And a' the lang night am as happy 's a king. 
 
 Bitter in dool I lickit my winnins, 
 
 O' marrying Bess, to gie her a slave : 
 Blest be the hour she cool'd in her linens. 
 
 And blithe be the bird that sings on her grave. 
 Come to my arms, my Katie, my Katie, 
 
 And come to my arms and kiss me again I 
 Drunken or sober, here 's to thee, Katie I 
 
 And blest be the day I did it again. 
 
 FRAE THE FRIENDS AND LAND I LOVE* 
 ' Tune — ' Carron Side ' 
 
 Frae the friends and land I love 
 
 Driven by fortune's felly spite, 
 Frae my best beloved I rove. 
 
 Never mair to taste delight ; 
 Never mair maun hope to find 
 
 Ease frae toU, relief frae care ; 
 When remembrance wracks the mind. 
 
 Pleasures but unveU despair. 
 
 Brightest climes shall mirk appear, 
 
 Desert ilka blooming shore, 
 TiU the Fates, nae mair severe. 
 
 Friendship, love, and peace restore ; 
 Till Revenge, wi' laurell'd head. 
 
 Bring our banish'd hame again ; 
 And ilk loyal bonnie lad 
 
 Cross the seas and win his ain. 
 
 * This song is oaly in part tliat of Bums. 
 
OUR THRISSLES FLOUR ISH'D 427 
 
 OUR THRISSLES FLOURISH'D 
 
 Tune — ' Awa', Whigs, awa' ' 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 Awa', Whigs, awa' 1 
 
 Awa', "Whigs, awa' I 
 Ye 're but a pack o' traitor louns. 
 
 Ye '11 do nae good at a'. 
 
 Our thrissles flourish' d fresh and fair. 
 
 And bonnie bloom'd our roses ; 
 But Whigs came like a frost in June, 
 
 And wither'd a' our posies. , 
 
 Our ancient crown 's fa'n in the dust — 
 
 De'il blin' them wi' the stour o 't. 
 And write their name in his black beuk, 
 
 Wha gae the Whigs the power o 't. 
 
 Our sad decay in Church and State 
 
 Surpasses my descriving ; 
 The Whigs came o'er us for a curse. 
 
 And we hae done wi' thriving. 
 
 Grim Vengeance lang has ta'en a nap, 
 
 But we may seen him wauken ; 
 Gude help the day when royal heads 
 
 Are hunted like a maukin l 
 
 WHERE HAE YE BEEN? 
 Tune — ' Killiecrankie ' 
 
 Where hae ye been sae braw, lad ? 
 
 Where hae ye been sae brankie, O ? 
 t)h, where hae ye been sae braw, lad ? 
 
 Cam ye by Killiecrankie, O ? 
 An ye had been where I hae been, 
 
 Ye wadna been sae cantie, O I 
 An ye had seen what I hae seen. 
 
 On the braes o' Killiecrankie, I 
 
428 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 I fought at land, I fought at sea ; 
 
 Athame I fought my auntie, O I 
 But I met the devil and Dundee, 
 
 On the braes o' KiUiecrankie, O I 
 The bauld Pitcur fell in a furr. 
 
 And Clavers got a clankie, O ! 
 Or I had fed an Athole gled 
 
 On the braes o' KiUiecrankie, O I 
 
 OH, GUDE ALE COMES* 
 
 Oh, gude ale comes and gude ale goes, 
 Gude ale gars me sell my hose. 
 Sell my hose, and pawn my shoon, 
 Gude ale keeps my heart aboon. 
 I had sax o-wsen in a pleugh,, 
 They drew a' weel eneugh ; 
 I sell'd them a'- just ane by ane, 
 Gude ale keeps my heart aboon. 
 
 Gude ale bauds me bare and busy. 
 Gars me moop wi' the servant nizzie. 
 Stand i' the stool when I hae done, 
 Gude ale keeps my heart aboon.. 
 Oh, gude ale comes and gude ale goes, 
 Gude ale gars me sell my hose. 
 Sell my hose, and pawn my shoon, 
 Gude ale keeps my heart aboon. 
 
 SIMMER'S A PLEASANT TIME 
 
 Tune — ' Aye waukin' ! ' 
 
 Simmer 's a pleasant time, 
 Flowers of every colour ; 
 The water rins o'er the heugh. 
 And I long for my true lover. 
 Aye waukin', O I 
 
 Waukin' still and wearie : 
 Sleep I can get nane 
 
 For thinking on my dearie. 
 
 * An old song slightly amended. 
 
SIMMER'S A PLEASANT TIME 429 
 
 When I sleep I dream, 
 
 When I lyauk I 'ni eerie ; 
 Sleep I can get nana ' 
 
 For thinking on my dearie. 
 
 Lanely night comes on 
 
 A' the lave are sleepin' ; 
 I think on my bonnie lad, , 
 And I bleer my e'en wi' igreetin'. 
 Aye waukin', O 1 
 
 Waukin' still and wearie : 
 Sleep I can get nane 
 For thinking on my dearie. 
 
 JAMIE, COME TRY ME 
 Tune — ' Jamie, come try me ' 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 Jamie, come try me, 
 Jamie, come try me ; 
 If thou would win niy love, 
 Jamie, come try me; 
 
 If thou should ask my love, 
 
 Could I deny thee ? 
 If thou would win my love^ 
 
 Jamie, come try me. 
 
 If thou should tiss me, iove, 
 Wha could espy thee 1 
 
 If thou wad be my love, 
 Jamie, come try me. 
 
 ROBIN SHURE IN HAIRST 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 Robin shure in hairst, 
 
 I shure wi' him; 
 Fient a beuk had I, 
 
 Yet I stack by him. 
 
430 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 I gaed up tq Dunse 
 To warp a wab o' plaiden ; 
 
 At his daddie's yett 
 "Wha met me but Robin ? 
 
 Was na Robin bauld. 
 Though I was a cottar, 
 
 Play'd me sic a trick, 
 
 And me the elder's dochter ? 
 
 Robin promised me 
 A' my winter vittle ; 
 
 Fient haet he had but three 
 Goose feathers and a whittle. 
 
 THERE'S NEWS, LASSES, NEWS 
 
 There 's news, lasses, news, 
 
 Guid news I 've to tell. 
 There 's a boatfu' o' lads 
 Come to our town to sell. 
 The wean wants a cradle. 
 
 And the cradle wants a cod • 
 And I '11 no gang to my bed 
 Until I get a nod. 
 
 Father, quo' she, mither, quo' she. 
 
 Do what ye can, 
 I '11 no gang to my bed. 
 
 Till I get a man. 
 
 I hae as guid a craft rig 
 As made o' yird and stane ; 
 
 And waly fa' the ley-crap. 
 For I maun till 't again. 
 
 OH, THAT I HAD NE'ER BEEN MARRIED 1 
 
 Oh, that I had ne'er been married, 
 
 I wad never had nae care ; 
 Now I 've gotten wife and bairns, 
 
 And they cry crowdie evermair. 
 
OH, THAT I HAD NE'ER BEEN MARRIED 431 
 
 Ance crowdie, twice crowdie. 
 Three times crowdie in ei day. 
 
 Gin ye crowdie ony mair. 
 
 Ye '11 crowdie a' my meal a"way. 
 
 Waefu' want and hunger fley me, 
 
 Glowrin' by the hallan en' ; 
 Sair I fecht them at the door, 
 
 But aye I 'm eerie they come ben. 
 
 COULD AUGHT 'OF SONG 
 Tune—' At Setting Day ' 
 
 Could aught of song declare my pains, 
 
 Could artful numbers move thee, 
 The Muse should tell, in labour'd strains, 
 
 O Mary, how I love thee I 
 They who but feign a wounded heart. 
 
 May teach the lyre to languish : 
 But what avails the pride of art. 
 
 When wastes the soul with anguish ? 
 
 Then let the sudden bursting sigh. 
 
 The heartfelt pang discover ; 
 And in the keen, yet tender eye, 
 
 Oh, read th' imploring lover I 
 For weU I know thy gentle mind 
 
 Disdains art's gay disguising, 
 Beyond what fancy e'er refined. 
 
 The voice of nature prizing. 
 
 HERE'S TO THY HEALTH 
 
 Tune—' Laggan Burn ' 
 
 Here 's to thy health, my bonnie lass, 
 
 Gude night and joy be wi' thee : 
 I '11 come nae mair to thy bower-door. 
 
 To tell thee that I lo'e thee. 
 Oh, dinna think, my pretty pink. 
 
 But I can live without thee ; 
 I vow and swear I dinna care 
 
 How lang ye look about ye. 
 
432 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Thou 'rt aye sae free informing me 
 Thou hast nae mind to marry • 
 
 I '11 be as free informing thee 
 Nae time hae I to t&rry. 
 
 I ken thy friends try ilka means 
 Frae wedlock to delay thee. 
 
 Depending on some higher chance- 
 But fortune may betray thee. 
 
 I ken they scorn my low estate. 
 
 But that does never grieve me ; 
 But I 'm as free as any he, , 
 
 Sma' sUler wUl relieve me. 
 I count my health my greatest wealth, 
 
 Sae lang as I '11 enjoy it : 
 I '11 fear nae scant, I. '11 bode nae want. 
 
 As lang 's I get employment. 
 
 But far-ofl fowls hae feathers fair, 
 
 And aye until ye try them : 
 Though they seem fair, stiU have a care. 
 
 They may prove waur than I am. 
 But at twal at night, when the moon shines bright. 
 
 My dear, I 'U come and see thee ; 
 For the man that lo'es his mistress weel, 
 
 Nae travel makes him weary. 
 
 OH, STEER HER UP 
 Tune — ' Oh, steer her up, and baud her gaun ' 
 
 Oh, steer her up, and baud her gaun — 
 
 Her mother 's at the miU, jo ; 
 And gin she winna take a man. 
 
 E'en let her take her wiU, jo : 
 First shore her wi' a kindly kiss. 
 
 And ca' anither giU, jo ; 
 And gin she take the thing amiss. 
 
 E'en let her flyte her fill, jo. 
 
 Oh, steer her up, and be na blate, 
 
 And gin she tgJie it ill, jo, 
 Then lea'e the lassie tiU her fate. 
 
 And time nae langer spill, jo ; 
 
OH, STEER HER UP 433 
 
 Ne'er break youi* heart for ae rebut, 
 
 But think upon it stUl, jo ; 
 Then gin the lassie winna do '.t, 
 
 Ye'U fln' another will, jo. 
 
 OH, LAY THY LOOP IN MINE, LASS 
 
 Tune — ' Cordwainers' March ' 
 
 Oh, lay thy loot in mine, lass, 
 
 In mine, lass, in mine, lass ; 
 
 And swear on thy white hand, lass. 
 
 That thou wilt be my ain. 
 A slave to love's unbounded sway, 
 , He aft has wrought me melkle wae ; 
 But now he is my deadly fae. 
 
 Unless thou be my aiu. 
 
 There 's mony a lass has broke my rest. 
 That for a blink I hae lo'ed best ; 
 But thou art queen within my breaSt, 
 
 For ever to remain. 
 Oh, lay thy loof in mine, lass, 
 ' In mine, lass, in mine, lass ; 
 And swear on thy white band, lass. 
 
 That thou wilt be my ain. 
 
 OH, WHA WILL TO SAINT STEPHEN'S HOUSE ? * 
 TuNE-^' Killiecrankie ' 
 
 Oh, wha will to Saint Stephen's house, 
 
 To do our errands there, man ? 
 Oh, wha wiU to Saint Stephen's house, 
 
 O' th' merry lads o' Ayr, man 1 
 Or wUl we send a man o' law ? 
 
 Or will we send a sodger 1 
 Or him wha led o'er Scotland a' 
 
 The meikle Ursa Major ? 
 
 * ' Saint Stephen's House : ' The occasion of this ballad was as follows : — 
 When Mr. Cunninghame of Enterkin came to his estate, two mansion- 
 houses on it — Enterkin and Annbank — were both in a ruinous state. 
 Wishing to introduce himself with some icliU to the county, he got tem- 
 porary erections made on the banks of Ayr, tastefully decorated with 
 shrubs and flowers, for a supper and ball, to which most of the respectable 
 families in the county were invited. It was a novelty in the (Sounty, arid 
 
434 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Come, will ye court a noble lord. 
 
 Or buy a score o' lairds, man ? 
 For worth ^nd honour pawn their word, 
 
 Their vote shall be Glencaird's, man. 
 Ane gies them coin, ane gies them wine, 
 
 Anither gies them clatter ; 
 Annbank, wha guess'd the ladies' taste. 
 
 He gies a ftte champitre. 
 
 When Love and Beauty heard the news. 
 
 The gay green-woods amang, man ; 
 Where, gathering flowers, and busking bowers, 
 
 They heard the blackbird's sang, man ; 
 A vow, they seal'd it with a kiss. 
 
 Sir Politics to letter. 
 As theirs alone, the patent bliss. 
 
 To hold a fete champitre. 
 
 Then mounted Mirth, on gleesome wing. 
 
 O'er hUl and dale she flew, man ; 
 Ilk wimpling bum, Uk crystal spring. 
 
 Ilk glen and shaw she knew, man ; 
 She summon' dv every social sprite. 
 
 That sports by wood or water. 
 On th' bonnie banks o' Ayr to meet. 
 
 And keep this ftte champetre. 
 
 Cauld, Boreas, wi' his boist'rous crew, 
 
 Were bound to stakes like kye, man ; 
 And Cynthia's car, o' silver fu', 
 
 Clamb up the starry sky, man : 
 Reflected beams dwell in the streams. 
 
 Or down the current shatter ; 
 The western breeze steals through the trees, 
 
 To view this fkte champetre. 
 
 How many a robe sae gaUy floats 1 
 What sparkling jewels glance, man ! 
 
 To Harmony's enchanting notes. 
 As moves the mazy dance, man. 
 
 attracted much notice. A dissolution of parliament was soon expected, 
 and the festivity was thought to be an introduction to a canvass for re- 
 presenting the county. Several other candidates were spoken of, particu- 
 larly Sir John Whltefoord, then residing at Cloncalrd, commonly pro- 
 nounced Glencaird, and Mr. Boswell, the well-known biographer of Dr. 
 Johnson. The political views of the festive assemblage which are alluded 
 to in the ballad, if they ever existed, were however laid aside, as Mr. C. did 
 not canvass the county. 
 
WHA WILL TO SAINT STEPHEN'S HOUSE 435 
 
 The echoing wood, the winding flood. 
 
 Like Paradise did glitter, 
 When angels met at Adam's yett. 
 
 To hold their fMe champitre. 
 
 When Politics came there, to mix. 
 
 And make his ether-stane,* man 1 
 He circled round the magic ground. 
 
 But entrance found he nane, man ; 
 He blush'd for shame, he quat his name, 
 
 Forswore it, every letter, 
 Wi' humble prayer to join and share 
 
 This festive ftte champitre. 
 
 CAULD IS THE E'ENIN' BLAST 
 Tune — ' Cauld is the e'enin' blast ' 
 
 Cauld is the e'enin' blast 
 O' Boreas o'er the pool, 
 
 i^nd dawin' it is dreary 
 
 When birks are bare at Yule. 
 
 Oh, bitter blaws the e'enin' blast 
 When bitter bites the frost, 
 
 And in the mirk and dreary drift 
 The hills and glens are lost. 
 
 Ne'er sae murky blew the night 
 That drifted o'er the hill. 
 
 But bonnie Peg-a-Ramsey 
 Gat grist to her mill. 
 
 THERE WAS A BONNIE LASS 
 
 Therk was a bonnie lass, 
 
 And a bonnie, bonnie lass, 
 And she lo'ed her bonnie laddie dear ; 
 
 Till war's loud alarms 
 
 Tore her laddie frae her arms, 
 Wi' mony a sigh and a tear. 
 
 • * Ether-stane : ' alluding to the little annular stones, supposed to be 
 formed from the sloughs of adders, but which in reality are Druidical. 
 
436 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Over sea, over shore, 
 
 Where the cannons loudly roar, 
 He still was a stranger to fear : 
 
 And nocht could him queU, 
 
 Or his bosom assail. 
 But the bonnie lass he lo'ed sae dear. 
 
 OH, MALLY'S MEEK, MALLY 'S SWEET 
 
 Oh, Mally 's meek, Mally 's sweet, 
 Mally 's modest and discreet, 
 
 Mally 's rare, Mally 's fair, 
 Mally 's every way complete. 
 
 As I was walking up the street, 
 A bareflt maid I chanced to meet ; 
 
 But oh 1 the road was very hard 
 For that fair maiden's tender feet. 
 
 It were mair meet that those fine feet 
 Were weel laced up in sUken shoon, 
 
 And 'twere more fit that she should sit 
 Within yon chariot gilt aboon. 
 
 Her yellow hair, beyond compare. 
 
 Comes trinkling down her swan-white neck ; 
 And her two eyes like stars in skies. 
 
 Would keep a sinking ship frae wreck. 
 
 LADY MARY ANN 
 Tune — ' Craigtoh's Growing' 
 
 Oh, Lady Mary Ann 
 
 Look'd o'er the castle wa'. 
 She saw three bonnie boys 
 
 Playing at the ba' ; 
 The youngest he was 
 
 The flower amang them a', — 
 My bonnie laddie 's young. 
 
 But he 's growin' yet. 
 
LADY MARY ANN 437 
 
 O father ! O father I 
 
 An ye think it fit, 
 We '11 send him a year 
 
 To the college yet : 
 We '11 sew a green ribbon 
 
 Round about his hat, 
 And that will let them ken 
 
 He 's to marry yet. 
 
 Lady Mary Ann 
 
 Was a flower i' the dew, . 
 Sweet; was its smell, 
 , And.bonnie was its hue ; 
 And the langer it blossom'd 
 
 The sweeter it grew ; 
 For the Uly in the bud 
 
 Will be bonnier yet. 
 
 Young Charlie Cochrane 
 
 Was the sprout of an aik ; 
 Bonnie and bloomin' 
 
 And straught was it§ make : 
 The sun took delight ' 
 
 To shine for its s^lce,. 
 And it will be the brag 
 
 O' the forest yet. 
 
 The simmer is gane 
 
 When the leaves they were green. 
 And the days are awa' 
 
 That we hae seen ; 
 But far better days 
 
 I trust wiU come again. 
 For my bonnie laddie's young, 
 
 But he 's growln' yet. 
 
 MY LADY'S GOWN, THERE 'S GAIRS UPON 'T * 
 
 Tune — ' Gregg's Pipes ' 
 
 CHOKUS 
 
 My lady's gown, there 's gairs upon 't. 
 And gowdeii flowers sae rare upon 't ; 
 But Jenny's Jimps and jirginet, 
 My lord thinks muckle mair upon 't. 
 
 * An old song amended. 
 
438 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 My lord a-hunting he is gane. 
 
 But hounds or hawks wi' him are nane ; 
 
 By Colin's cottage lies his game, 
 
 If Colin's Jenny be at hame. 
 
 My lady 's white, my lady 's red, 
 And kith and kin o' Cassilis' blude ; 
 But her ten-pund lands o' tocher guid 
 Were a' the charms his lordship lo'ed. 
 
 Out owre yon muir, out owre yon moss, 
 Whare gorcocks through the heather pass. 
 There wons auld CoUn's bonnie lass, 
 A lily in a wilderness ! 
 
 Sae sweetly move her genty limbs, 
 Like music notes o' lovers' hymns ; 
 The diamond dew is her e'en sae blue. 
 Where laughing love sae wanton swims. 
 
 My lady 's dink, my lady 's drest. 
 The flower and fancy o' the west ; 
 But the lassie that a man lo'es best. 
 Oh, that 's the lass to make him blest 1 
 
 A MOTHER'S LAMENT FOR THE DEATH OF 
 HER SON* 
 
 Tune — ' Finlaystoun House ' 
 
 Fate gave the word, the arrow sped. 
 
 And pierced my darhng'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 aU my hopes. 
 
 My age's future shade. 
 
 The mother linnet in the brake 
 
 Bewails her ravish'd young ; 
 So I, for my lost darling's sake. 
 
 Lament the live-day long. 
 
 * Burns in this song alludes to Mrs. Ferguson of Craigdarroch, who lost 
 her son a promising youth of eighteen years of age. 
 
A MOTHER'S LAMENT 439 
 
 Death 1 oft I 've lear'd thy fatal blow 
 
 Now, fond, I bare my breast, 
 Oh, do thou kindly lay me low 
 
 With him I love, at rest 1 
 
 DELIA 
 
 Fair the face of orient day. 
 Fair the tints of op'ning rose ; 
 
 But fairer still my Delia dawns, 
 More lovely far her beauty blows. 
 
 Sweet the lark's wild-warbled lay. 
 Sweet the tinkling rill to hear 
 
 But, Delia, more delightful still, 
 Steal thine accents on mine ear I 
 
 The flower-enamour' d busy bee 
 Tlie rosy banquet loves to sip ; 
 
 Sweet the streamlet's limpid lapse 
 To the sun-brown'd Arab's lip ; 
 
 But, Delia, on thy balmy lips 
 Let me, no vagrant insect, rove 1 
 
 Oh, let me steal one Uquid kiss. 
 For oh I my soul is parch'd with love ! 
 
 SWEET CLOSES THE EVENING* 
 Tune — ' Craigieburn-wood ' 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 Beyond thee, dearie, beyond thee, dearie, 
 
 And oh, to be lying beyond thee ; 
 Oh, sweetly, soundly, weel may he sleep 
 
 "That 's laid in the bed beyond thee 1 
 
 Sweet closes the eve on Craigiebum-wood, 
 
 And blithely awaukens the morrow ; 
 But the pride of the spring in the Craigieburn-wood 
 
 Can yield to me nothing but sorrow. 
 
 Written on Miss Lorimer, afterwards Mrs. Whelpdale, a flame ol Bums, 
 *ho lived at Craigieburn, near to Moffat. 
 
440 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 I see the spreading leaves and flowers, 
 I hear the wild birds singing ; 
 
 But pleasure they hae nane for me, 
 While care my heart is wringing. 
 
 I canna tell, I maunna teU, 
 I darena for your anger ; 
 
 But secret love will break my heart, 
 If I conceal it langer. 
 
 I see thee gracefu', straight, and tall, 
 I see thee sweet and bonnie ; 
 
 But oh, what will my torments be. 
 If thou refuse thy Johnnie I 
 
 To see thee in anither's arms. 
 In love to lie and languish, 
 
 'Twad be my dead, that wiU be seen, 
 My heart wad burst wi' anguish. 
 
 But, Jeanie, say thou wilt be mine. 
 Say thou lo'es nane before me ; 
 
 And a' my days o' life to come 
 I '11 gratefully adore thee. 
 
 MY HEART WAS ANCE 
 Tune — ' To the Weavers gin ye go ' 
 
 My heart was ance as blythe and free 
 
 As simmer days were lang. 
 But a bonnie, westlin' weaver lad 
 
 Has gait me change my sang. 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 To the weavers gin ye go, fair maids, 
 To the weavers gin ye go ; 
 
 I rede you right, gang ne'er at night 
 To the weavers gin ye go. 
 
 My mither sent me to the town. 
 
 To warp a plaidin' wab ; 
 But the weary, weary warpin' o't 
 
 Has gart me sigh and s^. 
 
MY HEART WAS ANCE 441 
 
 A bon,nie, ■westlin' weaver lad, • 
 
 Sat working at his loom : , 
 
 He took my heart as wi' a net, 
 
 In every knot and thrum- 
 
 I sat beside my warpin'-wheel, 
 
 And aye I ca'd it roun' ; 
 But every shot and every knock. 
 
 My heart it gae a stoun'. 
 
 The moon was sinking in the west 
 
 Wi' visage pale and wan, ' 
 
 As my bonnie westUn' weaver lad 
 
 Gonvoy'd me through the glen. 
 
 But what was said, or what was done. 
 
 Shame fa' me gin I tell ; 
 But, oh I I tear the kintra soon 
 
 Will ken as weel 's mysel'. 
 
 THERE WAS A LASS 
 
 Tune — ''iDuncah Davison ' 
 
 There was a lass, they ca'd her Meg, 
 
 And she held o'er the moors to spin ; 
 There was a lad that follow'd her. 
 
 They ca'd him Duncan Davison. 
 The moor was dreigh, and Meg was skeigh, 
 
 Her favour Duncan couldna win ; 
 For wi' the roke she wad him knock. 
 
 And aye she shook the temper-piri. 
 
 As o'er the moor they lightly foor, 
 
 A bum was clear, a glen was green. 
 Upon the banks they eased their shanks, 
 
 And aye she set the wheel between ; 
 But Duncan swore a haly aith, 
 
 That Meg should be a bride the mom ; 
 Then Meg took up her spinnin' graith, 
 
 And flang them a' out o'er the bum. 
 
 We '11 big a house — a wee, wee house. 
 And we will live like king and queen ; 
 
 Sae blithe and merry we will be 
 When ye set by the wheel at e'en. 
 
442 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 A man may drink and no be drunk ; 
 
 A man may fight and no be slain ; 
 A man may kiss a bonnie lass, 
 
 And aye be welcome back again. 
 
 THENIEL MENZIES' BONNIE MARY 
 Tune — ' The Ruffian's Rant ' 
 
 In coming by the brig o' Dye 
 At Darlet we a blink did tarry ; 
 
 As day was dawin' in the sky. 
 
 We drank a health to bonnie Mary. 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 Theniel Menzies' bonme Mary, 
 Theniel Menzies' bonnie Mary ; 
 
 Charlie Gregor tint his plaidie, 
 Kissin' Theniel's bonnie Mary. 
 
 Her e'en sae bright, her brow sae white. 
 Her haffet locks as brown 's a berry ; 
 
 And aye they dimpl't wi' a smile. 
 The rosy cheeks o' bonnie Mary. 
 
 We lap and danced the lee-lang day. 
 Till piper lads' were wae and weary ; 
 
 But Charlie gat the spring to pay. 
 For kissin' Theniel's bonnie Mary. 
 
 MACPHERSON'S FAREWELL 
 Tune- — ' Macpherson's Rant ' 
 
 Farewell, ye dungeons dark and strong, 
 
 The wretch's destinie I 
 Macpherson's time will not be long 
 
 On yonder gallows-tree. 
 
MACPHERSON'S FAREWELL 443 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 Sae rantingly, sae wantonly, 
 
 Sae dauntingly gaed he ; 
 He play'd a spring, and danced it round, 
 
 Below the gallows-tree. 
 
 Oh, what is death but parting breath ? — 
 
 On many a bloody plain 
 I 've dared his face, and in this place 
 
 I scorn him yet again 1 
 
 Untie these bands from ofl my hands. 
 
 And bring to me my sword : 
 And there 's no a man in all Scotland, 
 
 But I '11 brave him at a word. 
 
 I 've lived a life of sturt and strife ; 
 
 I die by treacherie : 
 It burns my heart I must depart, 
 
 And not avenged be. 
 
 Now farewell, light — thou sunshine bright. 
 
 And all beneath the sky I 
 May coward shame distain his name, 
 
 The wretch that dares not die I 
 
 AMANG THE TREES 
 Tune — ' The King of France, he rade a Race ' 
 
 Amaug the trees, where humming bees 
 
 At buds and flowers were hinging, O ! 
 Auld Caledon drew out her drone. 
 
 And to her pipe was singing, O 1 
 'Twas pibroch, sang, strathspey, or reels, 
 
 She dirl'd them afl fu' clearly, O 1 
 When there cam a yell o' foreign Squeels, 
 
 That dang her tapsalteerie, O ! 
 
 Their capon craws, and queer ha ha's, 
 They made our lugs grow eerie, O 1 
 
 The hungry byke did scrape and pike 
 Till we were wae and weary, O 1 
 
444 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 But a royal ghaist, wha ance was cased 
 A prisoner aughteen year awa'. 
 
 He fired a fiddler in the North 
 That dang them tapsalteerie, O I 
 
 THE TAILOR 
 
 Tune — ' The Tailor fell through the bed, thimbles 
 
 and a' ' 
 
 The tailor fell through the bed, thimbles and a', 
 The tailor fell through the bed, .thimbles and a' ; 
 The blankets were thin, and tlie sheets they were sma', 
 The tailor fell through the bed, thimbles and a'. 
 
 The sleepy bit lassie, she dreaded nae ill. 
 The sleepy bit lassie, she dreaded nae ill ; 
 The weather was caiild, and the lassie lay still. 
 She thought that a tailor could do her nae ill. 
 
 Gie me the groat again, canny young man, 
 Gie me the groat again, canny young man ; 
 The day it is short, and the night it is lang, 
 The dearest siller that ever I wan I 
 
 There 's somebody weary wi' lying her lane. 
 There 's somebody weary wi' lying her lane ; 
 There 's some that are dowie, I trow wad be fain 
 To see the bit tailor come skippin' again. 
 
 MY JEAN! 
 Tune — ' The Northern Lass ' 
 
 Though cruel fate should bid us part. 
 
 Far as the pole and line, 
 Hter dear idea round rny heart 
 
 Should tenderly entwine. 
 
 Though mountains rise, and deserts howl, 
 
 And oceans roar between ; 
 Yet dearer than my deathless soul, 
 
 I still would loVe my Jean. 
 
MY HARRY WAS A GALLANT GAY 445 
 
 MY HARRY WAS A GALLANT GAY 
 Tune — ' Highlander's Lament ' 
 
 My Harry was a gallant gay, 
 
 Fu' stately strode he on the plain : 
 
 But now he 's banish'd far away, 
 I 'U never see him back again. 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 for him back again 1 
 
 O for him back again I 
 
 1 wad gie a' Knockhaspie's land, 
 For Highland Harry back again. 
 
 When a' the lave gae to their bed, 
 
 I wander dowie up the glen ; 
 I set me down and greet my fill, 
 
 And aye I wish him back again. 
 
 Oh, were some villains hangit high, 
 
 And ilka body had their ain 1 
 Then I might see the joyfu' sight. 
 
 My Highland Harry back again. 
 
 I'LL AYE CA' IN BY YON TOWN 
 
 Tune — ' / 'II gae nae mair to yon town ' 
 
 I 'll aye ca' in by yon town. 
 
 And by yon garden green, again ; 
 I '11 aye ca' in by yon town, 
 
 And see my bonnie Jean again. 
 There 's nane sail ken, there 's nane sail guess, 
 
 What brings me back the gate again ; 
 But she, my fairest faithfu' lass. 
 
 And stowUns we sail meet again. 
 
 She '11 wander by the aiken tree. 
 
 When trystin'-time draws near again ; 
 And when her lovely form I see. 
 
 Oh, haith, she 's doubly dear again ! 
 I '11 aye ca' in by yon town. 
 
 And by yon garden green, again ; * 
 
 I '11 aye ca' in by yon town, 
 
 And see my bonnie Jean again. 
 
446 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 THE GOWDEN LOCKS OF ANNA 
 Tune — ' Banks of Banna ' 
 
 Yestreen, I had a pint o' wine, 
 
 A place where body saw na' ; 
 Yestreen lay on this breast of mine 
 
 The gowden locks of Anna. 
 The hungry Jew in wilderness. 
 
 Rejoicing o'er his manna. 
 Was naething to my hinny bliss. 
 
 Upon the lips of Anna. 
 
 Ye rftonarchs, tak the east and west 
 
 Frae Indus to Savannah ; 
 Gie me within my strajning grasp 
 
 The melting form of Anna I 
 There I '11 despise imperial charms. 
 
 An Empress or Sultana, 
 While dying raptures, in her arms, 
 
 I give and take with Anna 1 
 
 Awa', thou flaunting god o' day 1 
 
 Awa', thou pale Diana ! 
 Ilk star gae hide thy twinkling ray 
 
 When I 'm to meet my Anna 1 
 Come, in thy raven plumage. Night, 
 
 Sun, moon, and stars withdraw a' ; 
 And bring an angel pen to write 
 
 My transports wi' my Anna I 
 
 THE EXCISEMAN 
 Tune — ' The De'il cam fiddling through the town ' 
 
 The de'il cam fiddling through the town, 
 And danced awa' wi' the Exciseman, 
 
 And ilka wife cries — ' Auld Mahoun, 
 I wish you luck o' the prize, man 1 ' 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 The de'il's awa', the de'il's awa', 
 • The de'il's awa' wi' the Exciseman ; 
 He 's danced awa', he 's danced awa'. 
 He 's danced awa' wi' the Exciseman 1 
 
THE EXCISEMAN 447 
 
 We '11 mak our maut, we '11 brew our drink 
 We '11 dance, and sing, and rejoice, man ; 
 
 And mony braw thanks to the meikle black de'il 
 That danced awa' wi' th*e Exciseman. 
 
 There 's threesome reels, there 's foursome reels, 
 There 's hornpipes and strathspeys, man ; 
 
 But the ae best dance e'er calm' to the land 
 Was — the de'il 's awa' wi' the Exciseman. 
 
 WEARY FA' YOU, DUNCAN GRAY 
 Tune — ' Duncan Gray ' 
 
 Weary fa' you, Duncan Gray — 
 
 Ha, ha, the girdin' o 't ! 
 Wae gae by you, Duncan Gray — 
 
 Ha, ha, the girdin' o 't ! 
 When a' the lave gae to their play. 
 Then I maun sit the lee-lang, day, 
 And jog the cradle wi' my tae. 
 
 And a' for the girdin' o 't. 
 
 Bonnie was the Lammas moon — 
 
 Ha, ha, the girdin' o 't 1 
 Glowrin' a' the hiUs aboon-^ 
 
 Ha, ha, the girdin' o 't 1 
 The girdin' brak, the beast cam down, ' 
 I tint my curch, and baith my shoon ; 
 Ah ! Duncan, ye 're an unco loon — 
 
 Wae on the bad girdin' o 't I 
 
 But, Duncan, gin ye '11 keep your aith — 
 
 Ha, ha, the girdin' o 't 1 
 I 'se bless you wi' my hindmost breath — 
 
 Ha, ha, the girdin' o 't ! 
 Duncan, gin ye '11 keep your aith. 
 The beast again can bear us baith. 
 And auld Mess John will mend the skaith, 
 
 And clout the bad girdin' o 't. 
 
448 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 UP IN THE MORNING EARLY 
 Tune—' Cauid blaws the Wind ' 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 Up in the morning 's no for me, 
 Up in the morning early ; 
 
 When a' the hills are cover'd wi' snaw, 
 I 'm sure it 's winter fairly. 
 
 Cauld blaws the wind frae east to west, 
 
 The drift is driving sairly ; 
 Sae loud and shriU I hear the blast, 
 
 I 'm sure it 's winter fairly. 
 
 The birds sit chittering in the thorn, 
 A' day they fare but sparely ; 
 
 And lang 's the night frae e'en to mom — 
 I 'm sure it 's winter fairly. 
 
 Up in the morning 's no for me. 
 
 Up in the morning early ; 
 When a' the hills are cover'd wi' snaw, 
 
 I 'm sure it 's winter fairly. 
 
 MY HOGG IE 
 
 Tune — ' What will I do gin my Hoggie die ? ' 
 
 What will I do gin my hoggie die ? 
 
 My joy, my pride, my hoggie ? 
 My only beast, I had nae mae, 
 
 And vow, but I was voggie 1 
 
 The lee-lang night we watch'd the fauld, 
 
 Me and my faithfu' doggie ; 
 We heard naught but the roaring linn, 
 
 Amang the braes sae scroggie. 
 
 But the howlet cried frae the castle wa'. 
 
 The blitter frae the boggie. 
 The tod replied upon the hill — 
 
 I trembled for my hoggie. 
 
MY HOGGIE 449 
 
 When day did daw, and cocks did craw, 
 
 The morning it was foggie ; 
 An unco tylie lap o'er the dyke, 
 
 And maist has kill'd my hoggie. 
 
 THE CARLES OF DYSART 
 Tune — ' Hey ca' through ' 
 
 Up wi' the carles o' Dysart, 
 And the lads o' Buckhaven, 
 
 And the kimmers o' Largo, 
 And the lasses o' Leven. 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 Hey, ca' through, ca' through, 
 For we hae meikle ado ; 
 
 Hey, ca' through, ca' through, 
 For we hae meikle ado. 
 
 We hae tales to tell. 
 
 And we hae sangs to sing ; 
 
 We hae pennies to spend, 
 And we hae pints to bring. 
 
 We '11 live a' our days. 
 
 And them that come behin'. 
 Let them do the like. 
 And spend the gear they win. 
 Hey, ca' through, ca' through, 
 
 For we hae meikle ado ; 
 Hey, ca' through, ca' through, 
 For we hae meikle ado. 
 
 MY LOVE SHE'S BUT A LASSIE YET* 
 Tune — ' Lady Badinscoth's Reel ' 
 
 My love she 's but a lassie yet, 
 My love she 's but a lassie yet ; 
 
 We '11 let her stand a year or twa, 
 She '11 no be half sae saucy yet. 
 
 46—0 
 
 ' An old song amended. 
 
450 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 I rue the day I sought her, O I 
 I rue the day I sought her, O 1 
 
 Wha gets her needs na say she 's woo'd, 
 But he may say he 's bought her, O ! 
 
 Come, draw a drap o' the best o 't yet, 
 
 Come, draw a drap o' the best o 't yet ; 
 Gae seek for pleasure where ye will, 
 
 But here I never miss'd it yet. 
 We 're a' dry wi' drinkin' o't. 
 
 We 're a' dry wi' drinkin' o 't ; 
 The minister kiss'd the fiddler's wife; 
 
 And couldna preach for thinkin' o 't. 
 
 HERE'S A HEALTH TO THEM THAT'S AM^A' 
 
 Tune — ' Here 's a health to them that 's awa' ' 
 
 Here 's a health to them that 's awa'. 
 Here 's a health to them that 's awa' ; 
 And wha winna wish gude luck to our cause. 
 May never gude luck be their fa' 1 
 It 's gude to be merry and wise, 
 It 's gude to be honest and true, 
 It 's gude to support Caledonia's cause. 
 And bide by the buff and the blue, i 
 
 Here 's a health to them that 's awa,' 
 
 Here 's a health to them that 's awa' ; 
 
 Here 's a health to Charlie,* the chief o' the clan, 
 
 Although that his band be but sma'. 
 
 May Liberty meet wi' success ! 
 
 May Prudence protect her frae evil ! 
 
 May tyrants and tyranny tine in the mist. 
 
 And wander their way to the devU ! 
 
 Here 's a health to them that 's awa'. 
 
 Here 's a health to them that 's awa' ; 
 
 Here 's a health to Tammie.t the Norlan' laddie, 
 
 That lives at the lug o' the law 1 
 
 Here 's freedom to him that wad read, 
 
 Here 's freedom to him that wad write 1 
 
 There 's nane ever fear' d that the truth should be heard, 
 
 But they wham the truth wad indite. 
 
 • • Charlie : ' Mr. Fox. t ' Tammie : ' Lord Erskine. 
 
HERE 'S A HEALTH TO THEM THAT'S AW A' .451 
 
 Here 's a health to'them that 's awa', . 
 
 Here 's a health to them that 's awa' ; 
 
 Here 's Chieftain M'Leod, a chieftain worth gowd, 
 
 Though bred amang mountains o' snaw 1 
 
 Here 's friends on both sides of the Forth,! 
 
 Arid friends on both sides of the Tweed ; ' : 
 
 And wha wad betray old Albion's rights, 
 
 May they never eat of her bread 1 
 
 THE BONNIE BLINK O' MARY'S E'E 
 
 " ■ : ',''1 
 
 Now bank and brae are claith'd in green, 
 
 And scatter'd cowslips sweetly spring : 
 By Girvan's fairy-haunted sti-eam 
 
 The birdies flit on wanton wing. 
 To Cassilis' banks, when e'ening fa's. 
 
 There wi' my Mary let me flee, 
 There catch her ilka glance of love, 
 
 The bonnie blink o' Mary's e'ej 
 
 The chield wha boasts o' warld's walth, 
 
 Is aften laird o' meikle care ; 
 But Maiy she is a' my ain — 
 
 Ah, Fortune canna gie me maii- ! 
 Then let me range by Cassilis' banks, 
 
 Wi' her, the lassie dear to me, 
 And catch her ilka glance o' love. 
 
 The bonnie blink o' Mary's e'e 1 
 
 AE FOND KISS* 
 
 Tune—' Rory Ball's . Port ' 
 
 A.E fond kiss, and then we sever ; 
 Ae f areweel, and then fqr, ever I 
 Deep in heart-wrung tears I '11 pledge thee. 
 Warring sighs and groans I '11 wage thee. 
 Who shall gay that fortune grieves him 
 While the Star of Hope she leaves him ? 
 Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me ; 
 Dark despair around benights me. 
 
 • • Written on his parting from Clarihda. The verses arfe beautiful ; 
 but the idea of either party being ' broken-hesrted,' is purely fanciful, 
 
452 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 I '11 ne'er blame my partial fancy, 
 Naething could resist my Nancy ; 
 But to see her, vi^as to love her ; 
 Love but her, and love lor ever. 
 Had we never loved sae kindly. 
 Had we never loved sae bUndly, 
 Never met or never parted. 
 We had ne'er been broken-hearted. 
 
 Fare-thee-weel, thou first and fairest I 
 Fare-thee-weel, thou best and dearest I 
 Thine be ilka joy and treasure, 
 Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure 1 ' 
 Ae fond kiss, and then we sever ; 
 Ae fareweel, alas 1 for ever t 
 Deep in heart-wrung tears I '11 pledge thee, 
 \Varring sighs and groans I '11 wage tliee. 
 
 HOW CAN I BE BLITHE AND GLAD? 
 Tune — ' The bonnie Lad thai 's far . awa' ' 
 
 Oh, how can I be blithe and glad. 
 Or how can I gang brisk and braw. 
 
 When the bonnie lad that I lo'e best 
 Is o'er the hills and far awa' ? 
 
 When the bonnie lad that I lo'e best 
 Is o'er the hills and far awa' ? 
 
 It 's no the frosty winter wind. 
 
 It 's no the driving drift and snaw ; 
 
 But aye the tear comes in my e'e. 
 To think on him that 's far awa' ; 
 
 But aye the tear comes in my e'e, 
 To think on him that 's far awa'. 
 
 My father pat me f rae his /door, 
 
 My friends they hae disown'd me a% 
 
 Biit I hae ane will tak my part, 
 "The bonnie lad that 's far awa' ; 
 
 But I hae ane will tak my part. 
 The bonnie lad that 's far awa'. 
 
 A, pair o' gloves he gave to me. 
 
 And silken snoods he gave me twa ; 
 
HOW CAN I BE BLITHE AND GIAD ? 453 
 
 And I will wear them for his sake. 
 
 The bonnie lad that 's far awa' ; 
 And I will wear them for his sake, 
 
 The bonnie lad that 's far awa'. 
 
 The weary winter soon will pass. 
 
 And spring will cleed the birken-shaw ; • 
 
 And my sweet baby will be born, 
 
 And he '11 come hame that 's far awa' ; 
 
 And my sweet baby will be born. 
 And he '11 come hame that 's far awa'. 
 
 OUT OVER THE FORTH 
 Ti'NE — ' Charlie Gordon 's welcome hame ' 
 
 Out over the Forth I look to the north, 
 
 But what is the north and its Highlands to me ? 
 
 The south nor the east gie ease to my breast, 
 The far foreign land, or the wild-rolling sea. 
 
 But I look to the west, when I gae to rest. 
 That happy my dreams and my slumbers may be ; 
 
 For far in the west lives he I lo'e best. 
 The lad that is dear to my baby and me. 
 
 MY COLLIER LADDIE* 
 Tune — ' The Collier Laddie ' 
 
 ' Where live ye, my bonnie lass 1 
 And tell me what they ca' ye ? ' 
 
 ' My name,' she says, ' is Mistress Jean, 
 And I follow the collier laddie ; 
 
 My name,' she says, ' is Mistress Jean, 
 And I follow the collier laddie.' 
 
 • Oh, see you not yon hills and dales. 
 The sun shines on sae brawlie f 
 
 They a' are mine, they shall be thine, 
 Gin ye '11 leave your collier laddie ; 
 
 They a' are mine, and they shall be thine. 
 Gin ye '11 leave your collier laddie. 
 
 • An old song altered. 
 
454 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 ' Ye shall gang in gay attire, 
 
 "Weel buskit up sae gaudy ; 
 And ane to wait on every hand, 
 
 Gin ye '11 leave your collier laddie ; 
 And ane to wait on every hand. 
 
 Gin ye '11 leave your collier laddie.' 
 
 ' Though ye had a' the sun shines on, 
 And the earth conceals sae lowly, 
 
 I wad turn my back on you and it a'. 
 And embrace my collier laddie ; 
 
 I wad turn my back on you and it a', 
 And embrace my collier laddie. 
 
 ' I can win my five pennies in a day, 
 And spend 't at night fu' brawlie ; 
 
 And make my bed in the collier's neuk, 
 And lie down wi' my collier laddie ; 
 
 And make my bed in the coUier's neuk, 
 And He down wi' my collier laddie. 
 
 • Luve for luve is the bargain for me. 
 
 Though the wee cot-house should haud me ; 
 
 And the world before me to win my bread. 
 And fair fa' my collier laddie ; 
 
 And the world before me to win my bread, 
 And fair fa' my collier laddie.' 
 
 LADY ONLIE 
 
 Tune—* The Ruffian's Rant ' 
 
 A' THE lads o' Thornie-bank, 
 
 "When they gae to the shore o' Buckj', 
 They '11 step in and tak a pint 
 
 Wi' Lady Onlie, honest Lucky I 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 Lady Onlie, honest Lucky, 
 
 Brews good ale at shore o' Bucky, 
 
 I wish her sale for her gude ale, 
 The best oii a' the shore o' Bucky. 
 
LADY ONLIE 455 
 
 Her house sae bien, her curch sae clean, 
 
 I wat she is a dainty chuclcy ; 
 And cheerlie blinks the ingle-gleed 
 
 Of Lady Onlie, honest Lucky ! 
 
 THE LADDIES BY THE BANKS O' NITH 
 
 AN ELECTION BALLAD 
 
 Tune — ' Up and waur them a* ' 
 
 The laddies by the banks o' Nith 
 Wad trust his Grace wi' a', Jamie ; 
 
 But he '11 sair them as he sair'd the king — ■ 
 Turn tail and rin awa', Jamie. 
 
 Up and waur them a', Jamie, 
 Up and waur them a' ; 
 
 The Johnstons hae the guidin' o ',t. 
 Ye turncoat whigs, awa'. 
 
 The day he stude his country's friend, 
 Or gied her faes a claw, Jamie, 
 
 Or frae puir man a blessin' wan, 
 
 That day the Duke ne'er saw, Jamie. 
 
 But wha is he, his country's boast ? 
 
 Like him there is na twa, Jamie ; 
 There 's no a callant tents the kye, 
 
 But kens o' Westerha', Jamie. 
 
 To end the wark, here 's Whistlebirk, 
 Lang may his whistle blaw, Jamie ; 
 
 And Maxwell true o' sterling blue. 
 And we '11 be Johnstons a', Jamie. 
 
 THE BLUDE RED ROSE AT YULE' MAY BLAW 
 
 Tune — ' To daunton me ' 
 
 The blude red rose at Yule may blaw. 
 The simmer lilies bloom in snaw, 
 The frost may freeze the deepest sea ; 
 But an auld man shall never daunton me. 
 
456 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 To daunton me, and me sae young, 
 Wi' his fause heart and flattering tongue, 
 That is the thing you ne'er shall see ; 
 For an old man shall never daunton me. 
 
 For a' his meal and a' his maut, 
 For a' his fresh beef and his saut. 
 For a' his gold and white monie. 
 An auld man shall never daunton me. 
 
 His gear may buy him kye and yowes, 
 His gear may buy him glens and knowes ; 
 But me he shall not buy nor fee. 
 For an auld man shall never daunton me. 
 
 He hirples twalauld as he dow, 
 Wi' his Leethless gab and his auld held pow, 
 And the rain rains down frae his red bleer'd e'e- 
 That auld man shall never daunton me. 
 
 COME BOAT ME O'ER TO CHARLIE * 
 
 Tune — ' O'er the Water to Charlie ' 
 
 Come boat me o'er, come row me o'er, 
 
 Come boat me o'er !o Charlie ; 
 1 11 gie John Ross anither bawbee. 
 
 To boat mc o'er to Charlie. 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 We '11 o'er the water and o'er the sea. 
 
 We '11 o'er the water to Charlie ; 
 Come weal, come woe, we '11 gather and go, 
 
 And live or die wi' Charlie. 
 
 I lo'e weel my Charlie's name, 
 ITiough some there be abhor him ; 
 
 But oh, to see auld Nick gaun hame. 
 And Charlie's faes before him 1 
 
 * An old song amended. 
 
COME BOAT ME O'ER TO CHARLIE 457 
 
 I swear and vow by moon and stars. 
 
 And sun that shines so early, 
 If I had twenty thousand lives, 
 
 I 'd die as aft for Charlie. 
 
 EPPIE ADAIR 
 
 Tune — ' My Eppie ' 
 
 And oh 1 my Eppie, 
 My jewel, my Eppie ! 
 Wha wadna be happy 
 
 Wi' Eppie Adair ? 
 By love, and by beauty, 
 By law, and by duty, 
 I swear to be true to 
 
 My Eppie Adair 1 
 
 And oh 1 my Eppie, 
 My jewel, my Eppie I 
 Wha wadna be happy 
 
 Wi' Eppie Adair ? 
 A* pleasure exile me, 
 Dishonour defile me. 
 If e'er I beguile thee. 
 
 My Eppie Adair ! 
 
 COMING THROUGH THE RYE * 
 Tune — ' Coming through the Rye ' 
 
 Coming through the rye, poor body. 
 
 Coming through the rye, 
 She draiglet a' her petticoatie. 
 
 Coming through the rye. 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 Jenny 's a' wat, poor body, 
 Jenny 's seldom dry ; 
 
 She draiglet- a' her petticoatie 
 Coming through the rye, 
 
 ^ An old song improved. 
 
458 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Gin a body meet a body 
 Corning through the rye. 
 
 Gin a body kiss a body, 
 Need a body cry ? 
 
 Gin a body meet a body 
 Coming through the glen. 
 
 Gin a body kiss a body, 
 Need the world ken ? 
 
 HAD I THE WYTE? 
 Tune — ' Had I the wyte ? — she bade me ' 
 
 Had I the wyte, had I the wyte. 
 
 Had I the wyte ? — she bade me ; 
 She watch'd me by the hie-gate side, 
 
 And up the loan she shaw'd me ; 
 And when I wadna venture in, 
 
 A coward loon she ca'd me ; 
 Had Kirk and State been in the gate, 
 
 I 'd lighted When she bade me. 
 
 Sae craftily she took me ben, 
 
 And bade me ftiake nae clatter ; 
 ' For our ramgunshoch glum gudeman 
 
 Is out and owre the water : ' 
 Whae'er shall say I wanted grace 
 
 When I did kiss and dawt her. 
 Let him be planted in my place, 
 
 Syne say I was the tauter. 
 
 Could I for shame, could I for shame. 
 
 Could I for shame refused her ? 
 And wadna manhood been to blame, 
 
 Had I unkindly used her ? 
 He claw'd her wi' the riplin'-kame, 
 
 And blue and bluidy bruised her ; 
 When sic a husband was frae home. 
 
 What wife but had excused her ? 
 
 1 dighted aye her. e'en sae blue. 
 And bann'd the cruel randy ; 
 
 And, weel 1 wat, her willing mou' 
 Was e'en like sugar-candy. 
 
HAD I THE WYTE? 459 
 
 A gloamin'-shot it was I trow, 
 
 I lighted on the Monday ; 
 But I came through the Tysday's dew, 
 
 To wanton Willie's brandy. 
 
 FIRST WHEN MAGGY WAS MY CARE 
 
 Tune — ' Whistle o'er the lave o '/ ' 
 
 First when Maggy«was my care. 
 Heaven, I thought, was in her air ; 
 Now we 're married — spier nae mair — 
 
 Whistle o'er the lave o 't. 
 Meg was meek, and Meg was mild, 
 Bonnie Meg was Nature's child ; 
 Wiser men than me 's beguiled — 
 
 Whistle o'er the lave o 't. 
 
 How we live, my Meg and me, 
 How we love and how we 'gree, 
 I care na by how few may see — 
 
 Whistle o'er the lave o 't. 
 Wha I wish were maggots' meat, 
 Dish'd up in her winding sheet, 
 I could write — ^but Meg maun see 't — 
 
 Whistle o'er the lave o 't. 
 
 THE BAIRNS GAT OUT 
 Tune—' The Deuks dang o'er my Daddic ' 
 
 The bairns gat out wi' an unco shout. 
 
 The deuks dang o'er my daddic, O I 
 The fien'-ma-care, quo' the feirie auld wife. 
 
 He was but a paidlin' body, O 1 
 He paidles out, and he paidles in. 
 
 And he paidles late and early, O ! 
 This seven lang years I hae lien by his side, 
 
 And he 's but a fusionless carlie, O ! 
 
 Oh, baud your tongue, my feirie auld wife. 
 Oh, baud your tongue now, Nansic, O 1 
 
 I 've seen the day, and sac hae yc, 
 Ye wadna been sac donsie, 1 
 
460 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 I 've seen the day ye butter'd my brose. 
 And cuddled me late and early, O I 
 
 But downa do 's come o'er me now. 
 And, oh I I feel it sairly, O I 
 
 HER FLOWING LOCKS * 
 
 Hek flowing locks, the raven's wing, 
 Adown her neck and bosom hing ; 
 How sweet unto that breast to cling. 
 
 And round that neck entwine her 1 
 Her lips are roses wat wi' dew. 
 Oh, what a feast her bonnie mou' ! 
 Her cheeks a niau- celestial hue, 
 
 A crimson still diviner. 
 
 YOUNG JOCKEY 
 TuNK— ' Young Jockey ' 
 
 Young Jockey was the blithest lad 
 
 In a' our town or here awa' ; 
 Fu' blithe he whistled at the gaud, 
 
 Fu' lightly danced he in the ha'. 
 He roosed my e'en sae bonnie blue. 
 
 He roosed my waist, sae gently sma' ; 
 And aye my heart came to my mou', 
 
 "When ne'er a body heard or saw. 
 
 My Jockey toils upon the plain. 
 
 Through wind and weet, through frost and snaw ; 
 And o'er the lee I leuk fu' fain. 
 
 When Jockey's owsen hameward ca'. 
 And aye the night comes round again, 
 
 When in his arms he talcs me a' ; 
 And aye he vows he '11 be my ain 
 
 As lang 's he has a breath to draw. 
 
 * ' Her flowing locks : ' an impromptu composed at Jlaucliline on seeing 
 beautiful young lady on horseback. 
 
 a 
 
OH, AYE MY WIFE SHE DANG ME 461 
 
 OH, AYE MY WIFE SHE DANG ME 
 Tune — ' My Wife she dang me ' 
 
 Oh, aye my wife she dang me. 
 
 And aft my wife did bang me ; 
 If ye gie a woman a' tier will, 
 
 Gude faith, she 'II soon o'ergang ye. 
 On peace and rest my mind was bent. 
 
 And, fool I was, I married ; 
 But never honest man's intent 
 
 As cursedly miscarried. 
 
 Some share o' comfort still at last. 
 
 When a' my days are done, man ; 
 My pains o' hell on earth are past, 
 
 I 'm sure o' bliss aboon, man. 
 Oh, aye my wife she dang me. 
 
 And aft my wife did bang me ; 
 If ye gie a woman a' her will, 
 
 Gude faith, she '11 soon o'ergang ye. 
 
 HUNTING-SONG 
 
 Tune — ' I rede you beware at the hunting ' 
 
 The heather was blooming, the meadows were mawn. 
 Our lads gaed a-hunting, ae day at the dawn, 
 O'er moors and o'er mosses and mony a glen, 
 At length they discover'd a bonnie moor-hen. 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 I rede you beware at the hunting, young men ; 
 I rede you beware at the hunting, young men ; 
 Tak some on the wing, and some as they spring. 
 But cannily steal on a bonnie moor-hen. 
 
 Sweet brushing the dew from the brown heather-bells, 
 Her colours betray'd her on yon mossy fells ; 
 Her plumage outlustred the pride o' the spring, 
 And oh 1 as she wantoned gay on the wing. 
 
462 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Auld Phoebus himsel') as he peep'd o'er the hill, 
 
 In spite at her plumage he tried his skill ; 
 
 He levell'd his rays where she bask'd on the brae — 
 
 His rays were outshone, and but mark'd where she lay. 
 
 They hunted the valley, they hunted the hill ; 
 The best of our lads wi' the best o' their skill ; 
 But still as the fairest she sat in their sight, 
 Then, whirr ! she was over a mile at a flight. 
 
 YOUNG PEGGY 
 Tune — ' Last time I cam o'er the Mait ' 
 
 Young Peggy blooms our bonniest lass, 
 
 Her blush is like the morning. 
 The rosy dawn, the springing grass, 
 
 With early gems adorning : 
 Her eyes outshine the radiant beams 
 
 That gild the passing shower, 
 And glitter o'er the crystal streams, 
 
 And cheer each fresh'ning flower. 
 
 Her lips, more than the cherries bright, 
 
 A richer dye has graced them. 
 They charm th' admiring gazer's sight. 
 
 And sweetly tempt to taste them ; 
 Her smile is as the evening mild, 
 
 When feather'd pairs are courting, 
 And little lambkins wanton Mild, 
 
 In playful bands disporting. 
 
 Were Fortune lovely Peggy's foe. 
 
 Such sweetness would relent her. 
 As blooming spring unbends the brow 
 
 Of surly, savage winter. 
 Detraction's eye no aim can gain 
 
 Her winning powers to lessen ; 
 And fretful envy grins in vain, 
 
 The poison'd tooth to fasten. 
 
 Ye Powers of honour, love, and truth. 
 
 From every ill defend her ; 
 Inspire the highly-favour'd youtli 
 
 The Destinies intend her ; 
 
YOUNG PEGGY 463 
 
 Still fan the sweet connubial flame 
 
 Responsive in each bosom, 
 And bless the dear parental name 
 
 With many a filial blossom. 
 
 MARY 1 * 
 Tune — ' Blue Bonnets ' 
 
 Powers celestial 1 whose protection 
 
 Ever guards the virtuous fair. 
 While in distant climes I wander, 
 
 Let my Mary be your care : 
 Let her form, sae fair and faultless, 
 
 Fair and faultless as your own. 
 Let my Mary's kindred spirit. 
 
 Draw your choicest influence down. 
 
 Make the gales you waft around her, 
 
 Soft and peaceful as her breast ; 
 Breathing in the breeze that fans her, 
 
 Soothe her bosom into rest : 
 Guardian angels I oh, protect her 
 
 When in distant lands I roam ; 
 To realms unknown whUe Fate exiles me, 
 
 Make her bosom still my home. 
 
 BONNIE PEGGY ALISON 
 Tune — ' Braes o' Balquhidder ' 
 
 I 'i.T, kiss thee yet, yet, 
 
 And I '11 kiss thee o'er again, 
 
 And I '11 kiss thee yet, yet, 
 My bonnie Peggy Alison ! 
 
 nk care and fear, when thou art near, 
 
 I ever mair defy them, O 1 
 Young kings upon their hansel throne 
 
 Are no sae blest as 1 am, O t 
 
 * ' Mary : ' written on Maiy Campbell, at the time Burns Was preparliij: 
 to go abroad. 
 
464 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 When in my arms, wi' a' thy charms, 
 I clasp my countless treasure, O ! 
 
 I seek nae mair o' Heaven to share. 
 Than sic a moment's pleasure, O I 
 
 And by thy e'e, sae bonnie blue, 
 I swear I 'm thine for ever, O 1 
 
 And on thy lips I seal my vow, 
 And break it shall I never, O 1 
 
 ON CESSNOCK BANKS 
 TuNi-; — ' // he be a Butcher neat and trim ' 
 
 On Cessnock banks there lives a lass. 
 Could I describe her shape and mien ; 
 
 The graces of her weelfared face, 
 And the glancin' of her sparkling e'en. 
 
 She 's fresher than the morning dawn, 
 When rising Phoebus first is seen, 
 
 When dew-drops twinkle o'er the lawn ; 
 And she 's twa glancin', sparklin' e'en. 
 
 She 's stately like yon youthful ash, 
 Tl; it grows the cowslip braes between, 
 
 And shoots its head above each bush ; 
 And she 's twa glancin', sparklin' e'en. 
 
 She 's spotless as the flowering thorn 
 With flowers so white and leaves so green, 
 
 When purest in the dewy morn ; 
 
 And she 's twa glancin', sparklin' e'en. 
 
 Her looks are like the sportive lamb, 
 When flowery May adorns the scene. 
 
 That wantons round its bleating dam ; 
 And she 's twa glancin'j sparkUn' e'en. 
 
 Her hair is like the diirling mist 
 
 I'hat shades the rhbuntain-side at e'erij 
 
 \Vhen flower-reviving rains are past ; 
 And she 'g b^A glandh'< sparklin' fe'erii 
 
ON CESSNOCK BANKS 465 
 
 Her forehead 's like the show'ry bow, 
 
 When shming sunbeams intervene, 
 And gild the distant mountain's brow ; 
 
 And she 's twa glancin', sparklin' e'en. 
 
 Her voice is like the evening thrush 
 That sings on Cessnock banks unseen, 
 
 While his mate sits nestling in the bush ; 
 And she 's twa glancin', sparklin' e'en. 
 
 Her lips are like the cherries ripe, 
 
 That sunny walls from Boreas screen. 
 
 They tempt the taste and charm the sight ; 
 And she 's twa glancin', sparklin' e'en. 
 
 Her teeth are like a flock of sheep. 
 
 With fleeces newly washen clean. 
 That slowly mount the rising steep ; 
 
 And she 's twa glancin', sparklin' e'en. 
 
 Her breath is like the fragrant breeze 
 That gently stirs the blossom'd bean. 
 
 When Phoebus sinks behind the seas ; 
 And she 's tWa glancin', sparklin' e'en. 
 
 But it 's not her air, her form, her face. 
 Though matching beauty's fabled queen ; 
 
 But the mind that shines in every grace. 
 And chiefly in her sparklin' e'en I 
 
 WAE IS MY HEART 
 
 Tune — ' Wae is my heart ' 
 
 Wae is my heart, and the tear 's in my e'e ; 
 Lang, lang, joy 's been a stranger to me : 
 Forsaken and friendless my burden I bear, 
 And the sweet voice o' pity ne'er sounds in my eat. 
 
 Love, thou hast pleasures ; and deep hae 1 Ibved ; 
 Love, thou hast sorrows ; and sair hae I prdved : 
 But this bt-uis6d heart that now bleeds in my bfeast) 
 i can fefel by its throbbingS will soon be at rest, 
 
466 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Oh, if I were where happy I hae been 1 
 Down by yon stream and yon bonnie castle-green ; 
 For there he is wandering and musing on me, 
 Wha wad soon dry the tear frae his Phillis's e'e. 
 
 THE PLOUGHMAN 
 Tune — ' Up wV tlie Ploughman ' 
 
 The ploughman he 's a bonnie lad. 
 
 His mind is ever true, jo ; 
 His garters Icnit below his knee, 
 
 His bonnet it is blue, jo. 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 Then up wi' my ploughman lad, 
 And hey my merry ploughman ! 
 
 Of a' the trades that I do ken. 
 Commend me to the ploughman. 
 
 My plou;;hman he comes hame at e'en. 
 He 's aften wat and weary ; 
 
 Cast off the wat, put on the dry. 
 And gae to bed, my dearie 1 
 
 I will wash my ploughman's hose, 
 And I will dress his o'erlay ; 
 
 I will make my ploughman's bed, 
 And cheer him late and early. 
 
 I hae been east, I hae been west, 
 I hae been at Saint Johnston ; 
 
 The bonniest sight that e'er I saw 
 "Was the ploughman laddie dancin'. 
 
 Snaw-white stockins on his legs, 
 And siUer buckles glancin' ; 
 
 A gude blue bonnet on his head — 
 And oh, but he was handsome I 
 
 Commend me to the barn-yard, 
 
 And the com-mou', man ; 
 I never gat my coggie fou. 
 
 Till I met wi' the ploughman. 
 
THE PLOUGHMAN 467 
 
 Up wi' my ploughman lad, 
 
 And hey my merry ploughman I 
 Of a' the trades that I do ken, 
 
 Commend me to the ploughman. 
 
 TO THEE, LOVED NITH 1 
 
 To thee, loved Nith ! thy gladsome plains. 
 Where late wi' careless thought I ranged, 
 
 Though press'd wi' care and sunk in woe, 
 To thee I bring a heart unchanged. 
 
 I love thee, Nith, thy banks and braes, 
 Though memory there my bosom tear ; 
 
 For there he roved that brake my heart, 
 Yet to that heart, ah, still how dear I 
 
 COCK UP YOUR BEAVER 
 Tune — ' Cock up your beaver ' 
 
 When first my brave Johnnie lad 
 
 Came to this town, 
 He had a blue bonnet 
 
 That wanted the crown : 
 But now he has gotten 
 
 A hat and a feather — 
 Hey, brave Johnnie lad. 
 
 Cock up your beaver I 
 
 Cock up your beaver, 
 
 And cock it fu' sprush. 
 We '11 over the border 
 
 And gie them a brush ; 
 There 's somebody there 
 
 We '11 teach better behaviour — 
 Hey, brave Johnnie lad. 
 
 Cock up your beaver I 
 
468 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS* 
 
 Tune — ' Faille na Miosg ' 
 
 My heart 's in the Highlands, my heart "is not here ; 
 My heart 's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer ; 
 - Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe — 
 My heart 's in the Highlands wherever I go. 
 Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North, 
 The birth-place of valour, the country of worth ; 
 Wherever I wander, wherever I rove. 
 The hills of the Highlands for ever I love. 
 
 Farewell to the mountains high cover'd with snow : 
 Farewell to the straths and green valleys below : 
 Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods ; 
 Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods. 
 My heart 's in the Highlands, my heart is not here, 
 My heart 's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer ; 
 Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe — ■ 
 My heart 's in the Highlands wherever I go. 
 
 I AM MY MAMMY'S AE BAIRN 
 Tune — ' / 'in o'er young to marry yet ' 
 
 I A.M my mammy's ae bairn, 
 Wi' unco folic I weary, sir ; 
 
 And lying in a man's bed, 
 
 I 'm fley'd it maks me eerie, s'ir. 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 I 'm o'er young to marry yet ; 
 
 I 'm o'er young to marry yet ; 
 I 'm o'er young — 'twad be a sin 
 
 To tak me frae my mammy yet. 
 
 Hallowmas is come and gane. 
 
 The nights are lang in winter, sir ; 
 
 And 5'ou and I in ae bed, 
 
 In troth I darna venture, sir. 
 
 • An old song expanded. 
 
I AM MY MAMMY'S AE BAIRN 469 
 
 Fu' loud and shrill the frosty wind 
 
 Blaws through the leafless timmer, sir ; 
 
 But if ye come this gate again, 
 I '11 aulder be gin simmer, sir. 
 
 LANDLADY, COUNT THE LAWIN' 
 Tune—' Hey tulti, laiti ' 
 
 Landlady, count the lawin'. 
 
 The day is near the dawin' ; 
 
 Ye 're a' blind drunk, boys, 
 
 And I 'm but jolly fou. 
 
 Hey tutti, taiti. 
 
 How tutti, taiti — 
 
 Wha 's fou now ? 
 
 Cog, an ye were aye fu'. 
 Cog, an ye were aye fu', 
 I wad sit and sing to you. 
 If ye were aye fu'. 
 
 Weel may ye a' be 1 
 111 may we never see ! 
 God bless the king, boys, 
 And the companie I 
 
 THE WEARY FUND O' TOW 
 
 Tune — ' The weary pund o' Tow ' 
 
 The weary pund, the weary pund, 
 The weary pund o' tow ; 
 
 I think my wife will end her life, 
 Before she spin her tow. 
 
 I bought my wife a stane o' lint, 
 As gude as e'er did grow ; 
 
 And a' that she has made o' that, 
 Is ae poor pund o' tow. 
 
470 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 There sat a bottle in a bole, 
 
 Beyont the ingle low, 
 And aye she took the tither souk, 
 
 To drouk the stourie tow. 
 
 Quoth I, ' For shame, ye dirty dame, 
 Gae spin your tap o' tow 1 ' 
 
 She took the rock, and wi' a knock 
 She brak it o'er my pow. 
 
 At last her feet— I sang to see 't — 
 Gaed foremost o'er the knowe ; 
 
 And or I wad anither jaud, 
 I '11 wallop in a tow. 
 
 OH, WHARE DID YE GET? 
 
 Tune — ' Bonnie Dundee ' 
 
 Oh. whare did ye get that hauver meal bannock ? 
 
 Oh, silly blind body,' Oh dinna ye see ? 
 I gat it frae a brisk young sodger laddie, 
 
 Between Saint Johnston and bonnie Dundee. 
 Oh, gin I saw the laddie that gae me 't 1 
 
 Aft has he doudled me upon his knee ; 
 May Heaven protect my bonnie Scots laddie, 
 
 And send him safe hame to his baby and mc I 
 
 My blessin's upon thy sweet wee lippie, 
 
 My blessin's upon thy bonnie e'e bree ! 
 Thy smiles are sae like my blithe sodger laddie. 
 
 Thou 's aye the dearer and dearer to me 1 
 But I '11 big a bower on yon bonnie banks, 
 
 Whare Tay rins wimplin' by sae clear ; 
 And I '11 deed thee in the tartan sae flue. 
 
 And mak thee a man like thy daddie dear. 
 
 ANOTHER VERSION 
 
 Oh, whare gat ye that bonnie blue bonnet ? 
 
 Oh, what makes them aye put the question to me '? 
 I gat it frae a bonnie Scots callan, 
 
 Atween Saint Johnston and bonnie Dundee. 
 Oh, gin I saw the laddie that gae me 't I 
 
 Aft has he doudled me upon his knee ; 
 May Heaven protect my bonnie Scots laddie, 
 
 And send him safe hame to his baby and iiic I 
 
OH, WHARE DID YE GET? 471 
 
 My heart has nae room when I think on my laddie, 
 
 His dear rosy haflets bring tears to my e'e — 
 But, oh 1 he 's awa', and I dinna ken whare he 's — 
 
 Gin we could ance meet, we '11 ne'er part till we die. 
 Oh, light be the breezes around him saft blawin'. 
 
 And o'eiy him sweet simmer still blink bonnilie, 
 And the rich dews o' plenty, around him wide fa'in'. 
 
 Prevent a' his fears for my baby and me 1 
 
 My blessin's upon that sweet wee lippie I 
 
 My blessin's upon that bonnie e'e bree 1 
 Thy smiles are sae like my blithe sodger laddie. 
 
 Thou 's aye the dearer and dearer to me. 
 But I '11 big a bower on yon green bank sae bonnie, 
 
 That 's laved by the waters o' Tay wimplin' clear, 
 And deed thee in tartans, my wee smiling Johnnie, 
 
 And mak thee a man like thy daddie dear. 
 
 WHA IS THAT AT MY BOWER DOOR? 
 Tune— ' jLass, an I come near thee' 
 
 Wh.^ is that at my bower-door ? 
 
 Oh, wha is it but Findlay. 
 Then gae your gate, ye 'se no be here ! 
 
 Indeed, maun I, quo' Findlay. 
 What mak ye, sae like a thief ? 
 
 Oh come and see, quo' Findlay ; 
 Before the morn ye '11 work mischief ; 
 
 Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 
 
 Gif I rise and let ye in ? 
 
 Let me in, quo' Findlay ; 
 Ye '11 keep me waukin' wi' your din ; 
 
 Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 
 In. my bower if you should stay — 
 
 Let me stay, quo' Findlay ; 
 I fear ye '11 bide till break o' day ; 
 
 Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 
 
 Here this night if ye remain ; 
 
 I '11 remain, quo' Findlay : 
 1 dread ye '11 learn the gate again ; 
 
 Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 
 
172 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 What may pass within this bower — 
 Let it pass, quo' Findlay ; 
 
 Ye maun conceal till your last hour ; 
 Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 
 
 THE RANTIN' DOG THE DADDIE O'T 
 
 Tune—' East Nook o' Fife ' 
 
 Oh, wha my baby clouts will buy ? 
 Oh, wha will tent me when I cry ? 
 Wha will kiss me where I lie ? 
 The rantin' dog the daddie o 't. 
 
 Oh, wha will own he did the fau't ? 
 Oh, wha will buy the groanin' maut ? 
 Oh, wha will tell me how to ca 't ? 
 The rantin' dog the daddie o ' t. 
 
 Wlien I mount the creepie chair, 
 Wha will sit beside me there ? 
 Gie me Rob, I '11 seek nae mair — 
 The rantin' dog the daddie o 't. 
 
 Wha will crack to me my lane ? 
 Wha will mak me fldgin' fain ? 
 ^^^la win kiss me o'er again ? 
 The rantin' dog the daddie o 't. 
 
 A FRAGMENT 
 Tune — ' John Anderson, my jo ' 
 
 One night as 1 did wander. 
 
 When corn begins to shoot> 
 i sat me down to ponder 
 
 Upon an auld tree root : 
 Auld Ayr rah by before me, 
 
 And bicker'd to the seas ; 
 A cushat crooded d'er me, 
 
 That echoed through the bfafesi 
 
ROBIN 473 
 
 ROBIN 
 
 Tune — ' Daintie Davie ' 
 
 There was a lad was born in Kyle, 
 But whatna day o' whatna style, 
 I doubt it 's hardly worth the while 
 To be sae nice wi' Robin. 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 Robin was a rovin' boy, 
 
 Rantin', rovin', rantin', rovin' ; 
 
 Robin was a rovin' boy, 
 Rantin', rovin' Robin I 
 
 Our monarch's hindmost year but ane 
 Was flve-and-twenty days begun, 
 'Twas then a blast o' Janwar' win' 
 Blew hansel in on Robin. 
 
 The gossip keekit in his loof. 
 Quo' she, wha lives mil see the proof. 
 This waly boy will be nae coof ; 
 I think we 'U ca' him Robin. 
 
 He '11 hae misfortunes great and sma', 
 But aye a heart aboon them a' ; 
 He '11 be a credit till us a' — 
 We '11 a' be proud o' Robin. 
 
 But sure as three times three mak nine, 
 I see by ilka score and line. 
 This chap will dearly like our kin', 
 So leeze me on thee, Robin. 
 
 Guid faith, quo' she, I doubt you '11 gar 
 The bonnie lasses lie aspar ; 
 But twenty fauts ye may hae \\ aur — 
 So blessin's on thee, Robin 1 
 
474 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 OH, LEAVE NOVELS 1 
 Tune — ' Mauchline Belles ' 
 
 Oh, leave novels, ye Mauchline beUes, 
 Ye 're safer at your spinning-wheel ; 
 
 Such witching books are baited hooks 
 For rakish rooks, like Rob Mossgiel. 
 
 Your fine Tom Jones and Grandisons, 
 They make your youthful fancies reel ; 
 
 They heat your brains, and Are your veins. 
 And then you 're prey for Rob Mossgiel. 
 
 Beware a tongue that 's smoothly hung, 
 A heart that warmly seems to feel ; 
 
 That feeling heart but acts a part — 
 'Tis rakish art in Rob Mossgiel. 
 
 The frank address, the soft caress, 
 
 Are worse than poison'd darts of steel ; 
 
 The frank address and politesse 
 Are all finesse in Rob Mossgiel. 
 
 THE MAUCHLINE BELLES 
 
 In Mauchline there dwells six proper young belles, 
 
 The pride o' the place and its neighbourhood a' ; 
 Their carriage and dress, a stranger would guess, 
 
 In Lon'on or Paris they 'd gotten it a' : 
 Miss Miller is fine, Miss Markland 's divine. 
 
 Miss Smith she has wit, and Miss Betty is braw ; 
 There 's beauty and fortune to get wi' Miss ^Morton, 
 
 But Armour 's the jewel for me o' them a'. 
 
 A BOTTLE AND AN HONEST FRIEND 
 
 Here 's a bottle and an honest friend I 
 "What would ye wish for mair, man ? 
 
 Wha kens, before his life may end. 
 What his share may be of care, man ? 
 
A BOTTLE AND AN HONEST FRIEND 475 
 
 Then catch the moments as they fly, 
 And use them as ye ought, man : 
 
 Believe me, happiness is shy. 
 
 And comes not aye when sought, man. 
 
 LINES 
 
 ON A PLOUGHMAN 
 
 As I was a-wandering ae morning in spring, 
 I heard a young ploughman sae sweetly to sing ; 
 And ss he was singin' thir words he did say, 
 ' There 's nae life like the ploughman in the month o' 
 sweet May. 
 
 ' The laverock in the morning she 'U rise frae Iier nest. 
 And mount to the air wi' the dew on her breast ; 
 And wi' the merry ploughman she '11 whistle and sing, 
 And at night she 'U return to her nest back again,' 
 
 YON WILD MOSSY MOUNTAINS 
 
 Tune — ' Yon wild mossy Mountains ' 
 
 Yon wild mossy mountains sae lofty and wide, 
 
 That nurse in their bosom the youth o' the Clyde, 
 
 V,Tiere the grouse lead their coveys through the heather 
 
 to feed, 
 And the shepherd tents his flock as he pipes on his reed ; 
 Where the grouse lead their coveys through the heather 
 
 to feed, 
 And the shepherd tents his flock as he pipes on his reed. 
 
 Not Cowrie's rich valley, nor Forth's sunny shores. 
 To me hae the charms o' yon wild mossy moors ; 
 For there, by a lanely and sequester'd stream, 
 Resides a sweet lassie, my thought and my dream ; 
 For there, by a lanely and sequester'd stream. 
 Resides a sweet lassie, my thought and my dream. 
 
 Amang thae Wild mountains shall still be my path, 
 Ilk stream foaming down its ain green, narrow strath ; 
 For there, wi' my lassie, the day lang I rove, 
 WhUe o'er us unheeded flee the swift hours o' love ; 
 For there, wi' my lassie, the day lang I rove, 
 While o'er us unheeded flee the swift hours o' love, 
 
476 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 She is not the fairest, although she is fair ; 
 O' nice education but sma' is her share ; 
 Her parentage humble as humble can be ; 
 But I lo'e the dear lassie because she lo'es me ; 
 
 Her parentage humble as humble can be ; 
 
 But I lo'e the dear lassie because she lo'es me. 
 
 To beauty what man but maun yield him a prize, 
 In her armour of glances, and blushes, and sighs ? 
 And when wit and refinement hae poUsh'd her darts. 
 They dazzle our e'en, as they flee to our hearts ; 
 And when wit and refinement hae polish'd her darts. 
 They dazzle our e'en, as they flee to our hearts. 
 
 But kindness, sweet kindness, in the fond sparkling e'e. 
 Has lustre outshining the diamond to. me ; 
 And the heart beating love, as I 'm clasp'd in her arms. 
 Oh, these are my lassie's all-conquering charms ! 
 
 And the heart beating love, as I'm clasp'd in her arms. 
 Oh, these are my lassie's all-conquering charms I 
 
 HER DADDIE FORBADE 
 Tune — ' Jumpin' John ' 
 
 Her daddie forbade, her minnie forbade ; 
 
 Forbidden she wadna be ; 
 She wadna trow 't the browst she brew'd 
 
 Wad taste sae bitterlie. 
 
 The lang lad they ca' Jumpin' John 
 
 Beguiled the bonnie lassie ; 
 The lang lad they ca' Jumpin' John 
 
 Beguiled the bonnie lassie. 
 
 A cow and a cauf, a yowe and a haul, 
 And thretty gude shlUin's and three ; 
 
 A vera gude tocher, a cottar-man's dochter, 
 The lass wi' the bonnie black e'e. 
 
HEY, THE DUSTY MILLER 477 
 
 HEY, THE DUSTY MILLER* 
 
 Tune — ' The Dusty Miller ' 
 
 Hey, the dusty miller. 
 And his dusty coat ; 
 He will win a shilling, 
 Or he spend a groat. 
 Dusty was the coat. 
 
 Dusty was the colour ; 
 Dusty was the kiss 
 
 That I got frae the miller. 
 
 Hey, the dusty miller, 
 And his dusty sack, 
 Leeze me on the calling 
 Fills the dusty peck ; 
 FUls the dusty peck. 
 
 Brings the dusty siller ; 
 I wad gie my coatie 
 For the dusty miller. 
 
 THE JOYFUL WIDOWER 
 Tune — ' Maggy Lauder ' 
 
 I MARRIED with a scolding wife 
 
 The fourteenth of November ; 
 She made me wearie of my life, 
 
 By one unruly member. 
 Long did I bear the heavy yoke, 
 
 And many griefs attended ; 
 But, to my comfort be it spoke, 
 
 Now, now her life is ended. 
 
 We lived fuU one-and-twenty years 
 
 A man and wife together ; 
 At length from me her course she 's steer'd. 
 
 And gone I know not whither ; 
 Would I could guess, I do profess, 
 
 I speak and do not flatter. 
 Of all the women in the world, 
 
 I never could come at her. 
 
 • Founded, as well as the following, on an old ditty. 
 
478 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Her body is bestowed well, 
 
 A handsome grave does hide her ; 
 But sure her soul is not in hell, 
 
 The de'il would ne'er abide her. 
 I rather think she is aloft. 
 
 And imitating thunder ; 
 For why — meLhinks I hear her voice 
 
 Tearing the clouds asunder. 
 
 SAE FAR AW A' 
 Tune — ' Dalkeith Maiden Bridge ' 
 
 Oh, sad and heavy should I part, 
 
 But for her sake sae far awa' ; 
 Unknowing what my way may thwart, 
 
 My native land sae far awa". 
 Thou that of a' things ]Maker art, 
 
 That form'd this Fair sae far awa'. 
 Gig body strength, and I '11 ne'er start 
 
 At this my way sae far awa'. 
 
 How true is love to pure desert, 
 
 So love to her sae far awa' : 
 And nocht can heal my bosom's smart, 
 
 While, oh I she is sae far awa'. 
 Nane other love, nane other dart, 
 
 I feel but her's, sae far awa' : 
 But fairer never touch'd a heart 
 
 Than her's, the Fair sae far awa'. 
 
 THE CARDIN' O 'T 
 
 Tune — ' Salt fish and dumpUns ' 
 
 I coFT a stane o' haslock woo', 
 To make a coat to Johnny o 't ; 
 
 For Johnny is my only jo, 
 I lo'e him best of ony yet. 
 
 The cardin' o 't, the spinnin' o 't, 
 The warpin' o 't, the winnin' o 't ; 
 
 When ilka ell cost me a groat, 
 Xhe tailor staw the linin' o 't. 
 
THE CARDIN' O'T 479 
 
 For though his locks be lyart gray, 
 And though his brow be held aboon ; 
 
 Yet I hae seen him on a day, 
 The pride of a' the parishen. 
 
 YOUNG JAMIE, PRIDE OF A' THE PLAIN 
 
 Tune — ' The carlin o' the glen ' 
 
 Young Jamie, pride of a' the plsiin, 
 Sae gallant and sae gay a swain ; 
 Through a' our lasses he did rove. 
 And reign' d resistless king of love : 
 But now wi' sighs and starting tears, 
 He strays amang the woods and briers ; 
 Or in the glens and rocky caves 
 He sad, complaining, dowie raves : 
 
 ' I wha sae late did range and rove, 
 And changed with every moon my love, 
 I little thought the time was near, 
 Repentance I should buy sae dear : 
 The slighted maids my torment see. 
 And laugh at a' the pangs I dree ; 
 While she, my cruel, scomfu' fair. 
 Forbids me e'er to see her malr 1 ' 
 
 THERE'S A YOUTH IN THIS CITY* 
 
 TO A GAELIC AIR 
 
 There 's a youth in this city, 
 
 It were a great pity 
 That he frae our lasses should wander awa' ; 
 
 For he 's bonnie and braw, 
 
 Weel-favour'd and a', 
 And his hair has a natural buckle and a'. 
 
 His coat is the hue 
 
 Of his bonnet sae blue ; 
 His fecket is white as the new-dri\en snaw ; 
 
 His hose they are blae. 
 
 And his shoon like the slae, 
 And his clear siUer buckles they dazzle us a'. 
 
 ♦ ParUy old. 
 
480 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 For beauty and fortune 
 
 The laddie 's been courtin' ; 
 Weel-featured, weel-tocher'd, wecl-mounted, and braw 
 
 But chiefly the siller — 
 
 That gars him gang till her, 
 The penny 's the jewel that beautifies a'. 
 
 There 's Meg wi' the mailen. 
 
 That fain wad a haen him ; 
 And Susie, whose daddie was laird o' the ha' ; 
 
 There 's lang-tocher'd Nancy 
 
 Maist fetters his fancy — 
 But the laddie's dear sel' he lo'es dearest of a'. 
 
 RATTLIN', ROARIN' WILUE * 
 
 Tune—' Rattlin', roarin' Willie ' 
 
 Oh, rattlin', roarin' Willie, 
 
 Oh, he held to the fair, 
 And for lo sell his fiddle. 
 
 And buy some other ware ; 
 But parting wi' his fiddle. 
 
 The saut tear blin't his e'c ; 
 And rattlin', roarin' "Willie, 
 
 Ye 're welcome hame to mc I 
 
 Willie, come sell your fiddle, 
 
 Oh, sell your fiddle sae finr ; 
 O Willie, come sell your fiddle, 
 
 And buy a pint o' wine I 
 If I should sell my fiddle. 
 
 The warl' wad think I was mad ; 
 For mony a rftntin' day 
 
 My fiddle and I hae had. 
 
 As I cam by Crochallan, 
 
 I cannily keekit ben — 
 Rattlin', roarin' Willie 
 
 Was sitting at yon board en' ; 
 Sitting at yon board en'. 
 
 And amang guid companie, 
 Rattlin', roarin' Willie, 
 
 Ye 're welcome hame to me ! 
 
 • ' Roarin" Willie ; ' William Dunbar, W.S., Edinburgh, Captain ol the 
 Crochallan corps. 
 
HERE'S HIS 'HEALTH IN WATER 481 
 
 HERE'S HIS HEALTH IN AVATER 
 Tune — ' The job of jomney-wti^k ' 
 
 ALTHODtJH'iny back be at the wa',' 
 
 And though he be the fauter ; 
 Although my back be at the wa', 
 
 Yet here 's his health in water 1 
 
 Oh 1 wae gae by his'waritoh Sides, 
 
 Sae brawlie he could flatter ; 
 Till for his sake I 'hi slighted saif, 
 
 And dree the kintra clatter. ' ' 
 
 But though my'back be at the, wa', 
 
 And though he be the fauter ; 
 But thongh my back be at th^ wa'. 
 
 Yet, 'herie 's his health in water 1 
 
 THE CARLE OF KELLYBURN BRAES* 
 Tune — ' Kellyburn Braes ' 
 
 There lived a carle on Kellyburn braes, 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) 
 
 And he had a wife was the plague, o' bis days ; 
 
 (And the thynie it Is wither' d,, and rue is in prime,) 
 
 Ae day as the carle gaed up the lang glen, 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) 
 
 He met wi' the devil ; says, ' How do you f eii^ ? ' 
 (And the thyme it is wither' d, and rue is in prime.') 
 
 ' I 've got a bad wife, sir ; that 's a' my cdniplaint ; 
 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonnie jjfi' thyme,) 
 For, saving your presence, to her ye 're a saint ; ' 
 
 (And the thyme it is wither'd, and, rue is in prime.) 
 
 ' It 's neither your stot nor your staig I shall crave, 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) ' 
 
 But gie me your wife, man, for her I must have ; ' 
 (And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime.) 
 
 ' An old song much altered. 
 4C— P 
 
482 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 ■ Oh, welcome, most kindly,' the blithe carle said, 
 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) 
 ' But if ye can match her, ye 're waur nor ye 're ca'd : 
 (And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime.) 
 
 The devil has got the auld wife on his back, 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) 
 
 And, like a poor pedlar, he 's carried his pack ; 
 
 (And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime.) 
 
 He 's carried her hame to his ain hallan-door : 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) 
 
 Syne bade h^r gae in, for a bitch and a whore ; 
 
 (And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime.) 
 
 Then straight he makes fifty, the pick o' his band, 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) 
 
 Turn out on her guard in the clap of a hand ; 
 
 (And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime.) 
 
 The carline gaed through them like ony wud bear, 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) 
 
 Whae'er she gat hands on came near her na mair ; 
 (And the thyme it is wither'd, and, rue is in prime.) 
 
 A reekit wee devil looks over the wa' ; 
 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) 
 
 ■ Oh, help, master, help, or she '11 ruin us a' ; ' 
 
 (And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime.) 
 
 The devU he swore by the edge o' his knife, 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thymS,) 
 
 He pitied the man that was tied to a wife'; 
 
 (And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime.) 
 
 The devil he swore by the kirk and the bell, 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) 
 
 He was not in wedlock, thank heaven, but in hell ; 
 (And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime.) 
 
 Then Satan has travell'd again wi' his pack ; 
 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) 
 And to her auld husband he 's carried her back ; ' 
 
 (And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime.) 
 
 ' I hae been a devil the feck o' my life ; 
 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme,) 
 But ne'er was in hell, till I met wi' a wife ; ' 
 
 (And the thyme it is wither'd, and nje is in prime.) 
 
YE JACOBITES BY NAME 483 
 
 Y'E JACOBITES BY NAME* 
 
 Tune — ' Ye Jacobites by name ' 
 
 Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear, give an ear ; 
 Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear ; 
 Ye Jacobites by name. 
 Your fauts I will proclaim. 
 Your doctrines I maun blame — 
 You shall hear. 
 
 What is right and what is wrang, by the law, by the law ? 
 What is right and what is wrang by the law ? 
 What is right and what is wrang ? 
 A short sword and a lang, 
 A weak arm, and a Strang 
 For to draw. 
 
 What makes heroic strife, famed afar, famed afar ? 
 What makes heroic strife famed afar ? 
 What makes heroic strife ? 
 To whet th' assassin's knife. 
 Or hunt a parent's life 
 Wi' bludie war; 
 
 Then let your schemes alone, in the state, in the state ; 
 Then let your schemes alone in the state ; 
 Then let your schemes alone, 
 Adore the rising sun, 
 And leave a man undone 
 To his fate. 
 
 WHEN ROSY MAY 
 
 Tune — ' The Gardener wi' his paidle ' 
 
 When rosy May comes in wi' flowers. 
 To deck her gay green-spreading bowers 
 Then busy, busy are his, hours — - 
 The gardener wi' his paidle. 
 
 • Partly old. 
 
184 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 The crystal waters gently fa' ; 
 The merry birds are lovers a' ; 
 The scented breezes round him blaw — 
 The gardener wi' his paidle. 
 
 When purple morning starts the hare 
 To steal upon her early fare, ' 
 
 Then tbrciugh the dews he maun'repair- 
 The gardener wi' his paidle. ' 
 
 When day, expiring in the west,- 
 The curtain draws of Nature's rest, 
 He flies to her arms he lo'es best — 
 The gardener wi' his paidle. 
 
 BANNOCKS 0' BARLEY 
 Tune—' The Killogie ' 
 
 Bannocks o' bear meal, 
 
 Bannocks o' barley; 
 Here 's to the Highlandman's 
 
 Bannocks o' barley. 
 Wha in a brulzie 
 
 Will first cry a parley ? 
 Never the lads wi' 
 
 The bannocks o' barley. 
 
 Bannocks o' bear meal. 
 
 Bannocks o' barley ; 
 Here 's to the lads wi' 
 
 The bannocks o' barley. 
 Wha in his wae-days 
 
 Were loyal to Charlie ? 
 Wha but the lads wi' 
 
 The bannocks o' barley. 
 
 HEE BALOUl 
 
 Tune—' The, Highland Balou' 
 
 Hee balou 1 , my syreet wee Donald, 
 Picture o' the great Clanronald ; 
 Brawlie kens our wanton chief 
 Wha got my young Highland thief. 
 
HEE BALOUI 485 
 
 Leeze me on thy bonnie craigie, 
 An thou live, thou 'It steal a naigie ; 
 Travel the country through and through, 
 And bring hame a Carlisle cow. 
 
 Through the Lavrlands, o'er the border, 
 Weel, my baby, may thou furder ; 
 Kerry the louns o' the laigh countri*, 
 Syne to the Highlands hame to me. 
 
 BONNIE PEG 
 
 As I came in by our gate end. 
 
 As day was waxin' weary ; 
 Oh, wha cam tripping down the street 
 
 But bonnie Peg, my dearie 1 
 
 Her air sae sweet, and shape complete, 
 Wi' nae proportion wanting, 
 
 The Queen o' Love did never move 
 Wi' motion mair enchanting. 
 
 Wi' linked hands we took the sands 
 
 A-down yon winding river ; 
 And, oh 1 that hour and broomy bower. 
 
 Can I forget it ever 1 
 
 WEE WILLIE GRAY 
 
 Wee Willie Gray, and his leather wallet ; 
 
 Peel a wiUow-wand to be him boots and jacket ; 
 
 The rose upon the brier wUl be him trouse and doublet, 
 
 The rose upon the brier will be him trouse and doublet. 
 
 Wee Willie Gray, and his leather wallet ; 
 Twice a lOy -flower will t)e him sark and cravat ; 
 Feathers ol a flee wad feather up his bonnet. 
 Feathers of a flee wad feather up his bonnet. 
 
BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 BEWARE O' BONNIE ANN* 
 Tune — ' Ye gallants bright ' 
 
 Ye gallants bright, I rede ye right, 
 
 Beware o' bonnie Ann ; 
 Her comely face, sae fu' o' grace. 
 
 Your heart she will trepan. 
 Her e'en sae bright, like stars by night. 
 
 Her skin is like the swan ; 
 Sae jimply laced her genty waist, 
 
 That sweetly ye might span. 
 
 Youth, grace, and love, attendant move, 
 
 And pleasure leads the van ; 
 In a' their charms and conquering arms. 
 
 They wait on bonnie Ann. 
 The captive bands may chain the hands. 
 
 But love enslaves the man ; 
 Ye gallants braw, I rede ye a', 
 
 Beware o' bonnie Ann 1 
 
 MONTGOMERY'S PEGGY 
 Tune — ' Gala Water ' 
 
 Although my bed were in yon muir, 
 Amang the heather in my plaidie, 
 
 Yet happy, happy would I be. 
 Had I my dear Montgomery's Peggy. 
 
 When o'er the hill beat surly storms. 
 And winter nights were dark and rainy ; 
 
 I 'd seek some dell, and in my arms 
 I 'd shelter dear Montgomery's Peggy. 
 
 Were I a baron proud and high. 
 
 And horse and servants waiting ready. 
 
 Then a' 'twad gie o' joy to me. 
 
 The sharin't with Montgomery's Peggy. 
 
 • ' Bonnie Ann : ' daughter of Allan Masterton, the third in the revel, 
 when ■ Willie brew'd a peck o' maut • (p. 274). He was a steadfast friend 
 of tlifi poet. 
 
VERSES 487 
 
 VERSES 
 
 ON THE DESTRUCTION OF THE WOODS NEAR DRUMLANRIQ 
 
 As on the banks o' wandering Nith, 
 
 Ae smiling simmer-morn I stray' d,. 
 And traced its bonnie howes and haughs, 
 
 Where Unties sang and lambkins play'd, 
 I sat me down upon a craig, 
 
 And drank my fill o' fancy's dream, 
 ^iVhen, from the eddying deep below, 
 
 Uprose the Genius of the stream. 
 
 Dark, like the frowning rock, his brow. 
 
 And troubled, like his wintoy wave. 
 And deep, as sughs the boding wind 
 
 Amang his caves, the sigh he gave — 
 ' And came ye here, my son,' he cried, 
 
 ' To wander in my birken shade ? 
 To muse some favourite Scottish theme. 
 
 Or sing some favourite Scottish maid ? 
 
 ' There was a tinie — it 's nae lang syne — 
 
 Ye might hae seen me in my pride. 
 When a' my banks sae bravely saw 
 
 Their woody pictures in my tide ; 
 When hanging beech and spreading elm 
 
 Shaded my stream sae clear and cool ; 
 And stately oaks their twisted arms 
 
 Threw broad and dark across the pool ; 
 
 ' When, glinting through the trees, appear'd 
 
 The wee white cot aboon the mill. 
 And peacefu' rose its ingle reek. 
 
 That slowly curled up the hill. 
 But now the cot is bare and cauld, 
 
 Its branchy shelter 's lost and gane. 
 And scarce a stinted birk is left 
 
 To shiver in the blast its lane.' 
 
 ' Alas I ' said I, ' what ruefu' chance 
 
 Has twin'd ye o' your stately trees ? 
 Has laid your rocky bosom bare ? 
 
 Has stripp'd the deeding o' your braes ? 
 Was it the bitter eastern blast. 
 
 That scatters blight in early spring ? 
 Or was 't the wU'-fire scorch'd their boughs, 
 
 Or canker-worm, wi' secret sting ? ' 
 
488 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 ' Nae eastlin' blast,' the Sprite replied ; 
 
 ' It blew na here sae fierce and feU, 
 And on my dry and halesome banks 
 
 Nae canker-worms get leave to dwell : . 
 Man 1 cruel man 1 ' the Genius sigh'd — 
 
 As through the cliffs he sank him down- 
 ' The worm that gnaw'd my bonnie trees, 
 
 That reptile, wears a ducal crowii 1 ' * 
 
 ON TAM THE CHAPMAN t 
 
 As Tam the Chapman, on a day, 
 
 Wi' Death forgather'd by the way, 
 
 Weel pleased, he greets a wight sae famous, 
 
 And Death was nae less pleased wi' Thomas, 
 
 Wha cheerfully lays down the pack, 
 
 And there blaws up a hearty crack : 
 
 His social, friendly, honest heart 
 
 Sae tickled Death, they could na part : 
 
 Sae after viewing knives and garters, 
 
 Death takes him hame to gi'e him quarters. 
 
 TO CLARINDA 
 
 Before I saw Clarinda's face, 
 
 My heart was blithe and gay, 
 Free as the wind, or feather'd race 
 
 That hop from spray to spray. 
 
 But now dejected I appear, 
 
 Clarinda proves imkind ; 
 I, sighing, drop the silent tear. 
 
 But no relief can And. 
 
 In plaintive notes my tale rehearses 
 
 A^en I the fair have found : 
 On every tree appear my verses 
 
 That to her praise resound. 
 
 • ' Ducal crown : ' alluding to the Duke ol Queensberry cutting down 
 the woods ol Drumlanrig to enrich the Duchess ol Yarmouth, his presumed 
 (untruly) daughter. 
 
 t ' Tam the Chapman : ' one Kennedy of Ayr, who had recovered from 
 an illness, and met the poet. — Communicated by William Cobbett. 
 
TO CLARINDA 489 
 
 But she, ungrateful, shuns my sight. 
 
 My faithful love disdains. 
 My vows and tears her scorn excite. 
 
 Another happy reigns. 
 
 Ah, though my looks betray 
 
 I envy yoiy: success. 
 Yet love to friendship shaU give way — 
 
 I cannot wish it less. 
 
 BRAW LADS OF GALA WATER 
 Tune — ' Gala Water ' 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 Braw, brawlads of Gala Water, 
 
 O braw lads of Gala Water : 
 I 'U kUt my coats aboon my knee, . , 
 
 And follow my love through the water. 
 
 Sae fair her hair, sae brent her brow, 
 Sae bonnie blue her e'en, my dearie ; 
 
 Sae white her teeth, sae sweet her mou'. 
 The mair I kiss she 's aye my dearie. 
 
 O'er yon bank and o'er yon brae. 
 O'er yon moss amang the heather ; 
 
 I '11 kUt my coats aboon my knee, 
 And follow my love through the water. 
 
 Down amang the broom, the broom, 
 Down amang the broom, my dearie. 
 
 The lassie lost a silken snood. 
 
 That cost her mony a blirt and blearie. 
 
 COME REDE ME, DAME 
 
 Come rede me, dame, come tell me, dame, 
 
 And nane can tell mair truly, 
 What colour maun the man be of. 
 
 To love a woman duly ? 
 
490 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 The carline clew baith up and down. 
 And leugh and answer'd ready, 
 
 ' I learn'd a sang in Annandale, 
 A dark man for my lady. 
 
 ' But for a country quean like thee. 
 Young lass, I tell thee fairly, 
 
 That wi' the white I 've made a shift, 
 And brown will do fu' rarely. 
 
 ' There 's meikle love in raven locks. 
 The flaxen ne'er grows youden, 
 
 There 's kiss and hause me in the brown, 
 And glory in the gowden.' 
 
 THE TREE OF LIBERTY 
 
 Heard ye o' the tree o' France, 
 
 I watna what 's the name o 't ; 
 Around it a' the patriots dance, 
 
 Weel Europe kens the fame o 't. 
 It stands where ance the Bastille stood, 
 
 A prison buUt by kings, man, 
 When Superstition's hellish brood 
 
 Kept France in leading strings, man. 
 
 Upo' this tree there grows sic fruit, 
 
 Its virtues a' can tell, man ; 
 It raises man aboon the brute, 
 
 It maks him ken himsel', man. 
 Gif ance the peasant taste a bit. 
 
 He 's greater than a lord, man, 
 An' wi' the beggar shares a mite 
 
 O' a' he can afford, man. 
 
 This fruit is worth a' Afric's wealth, 
 
 To comfort us 'twas sent, man : 
 To gie the sweetest blush o' health, 
 
 An' mak us a' content, man. 
 It clears the e'en, it cheers the heart, 
 
 Maks high and low guid friends, man ; 
 And he wha acts the traitor's part 
 
 It to perdition sends, man. 
 
THE TREE OF LIBERTY 491 
 
 My blessings aye attend the chiel 
 
 Wha pitied Gallia's slaves, man^ 
 And staw a branch, spite o' the de'il, 
 
 Frae yont the western waves, man. 
 Fair Virtue water'd it wi' care. 
 
 And now she sees wi' pride, man. 
 How weel it buds and blossoms there, 
 
 Its branches spreading wide, man. 
 
 But vicious folks aye hate to see 
 
 The works o' Virtue thrive, man, 
 The courtly vermin 's bann'd the tree, 
 
 And grat to see it thrive, man ; 
 King Louis thought to cut it down, 
 
 When it was unco sma', man ; 
 For this the watchmen crack' d his crown, 
 
 Gut aff his head and a', man. 
 
 A wicked crew syne, on a time. 
 
 Did tak a solemn aitb, man. 
 It ne'er should flourish to its prime,' 
 
 I wat they pledged their faith, map. 
 Awa' they gaed wi' mock parade. 
 
 Like beagles hunting game, man. 
 But soon grew weary o' the trade. 
 
 And wish'd they 'd been at hame, man. 
 
 For Freedom, standing by the tree, 
 
 Her sons did loudly ca', man ; 
 She sang a sang o' liberty. 
 
 Which pleased them ane and a', man. 
 By her inspired, the new-born race 
 
 Soon drew the avenging steel, man ; 
 The hirelings ran — her foes gied chase, 
 
 And bang'd the despot weel, man. 
 
 Let Britain boast her hardy oak. 
 
 Her poplar and her pine, man, 
 Auld Britain ance could crack her joke, 
 
 And o'er her neighbours shine, man. 
 But seek the forest round and round, 
 
 And soon 'twill be agreed, man. 
 That sic a tree cannot be found, 
 
 'Twixt Londoi»and the Tweed, man. 
 
 Without this tree, alake, this life 
 
 Is but a vale o' woe, man ; 
 A scene o' sorrow mix'd wi' strife, 
 
 Nae real joys we know, man. 
 
492 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 We labour soon, v/e labour late, 
 To feed the titled knave, man ; 
 
 And a' the comfort we 're to get 
 Is that ayont the grave, man. 
 
 Wi' plenty o' sic trees, I trow, 
 
 The warld would live in peace, man : 
 The sword would help to mak a plough, 
 
 The din o' war would cease, man. 
 Like brethren in a common cause, 
 
 We 'd on each other smile, man ; 
 And equal rights and equal laws 
 
 Wad gladden every isle, man. 
 
 Wae worth the loon wha wadna eat 
 
 Sic halesome, dainty cheer, man ; 
 I'd gie my shoon frae aff my feet, 
 
 To taste sic fruit, I swear, man. 
 Syne let us pray, auld England may 
 
 Sure plant this far-famed tree, man ; 
 And blithe we 'U sing, and hail the day 
 
 That gave us literty, man. 
 
 HAPPY FRIENDSHIP 
 
 Here around the ingle bleezing, 
 Wha sae happy and sae free ; 
 
 Though the northern wind blaws freezing, 
 Frien'ship warms baith you and me. 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 Happy we are a' thegither, 
 Happy we '11 be ane an' a'. 
 
 Time shall see us a' the blither 
 Ere we rise to gang awa'. 
 
 See the miser o'er his treasure 
 
 Gloating wl' a greedy e'e 1 
 Can he feel the glow o' pleasure 
 
 That around us herg we see ? 
 
 Can the peer, in silk and ermine, 
 Ca' his conscience half his own : 
 
 His claes are spun an' edged wi' vermin, 
 Though he stan' afore a throne ! 
 
HAPPY FRIENDSHIP 493 
 
 Thus, then, let us a' be tassing ' 
 
 Aff aur stoups o' generous' flame ; 
 An' while roun' the board 'tis passing. 
 
 Raise a sang in Men' ship's haihe. 
 
 Frien'ship males us a' mair happy, 
 
 Frien'ship gies us a' delight ; , 
 Frien'ship consecrates the drappie, 
 
 Frien'ship bririgs us here to-night. 
 
 STANZAS • 
 
 ON THE DUKE OF QUEENSBERRY 
 
 How shall I sing Drumlanrig's Grace-^ 
 Discarded remnant of a race 
 
 Once great in martial story ? 
 His forbears' virtues' all' contrasted— 
 The very name of Douglas blasted— 
 
 His that inverted glory ! 
 
 Hate, envy, oft the Douglas b<)re ; 
 But he has supperadded more. 
 
 And sunk them in contempt ; 
 Follies and crimes have stain' d the name : 
 But, Queensberry, thine, the virgin claim. 
 
 From aught that 's good exempt. 
 
 TO A KISS 
 
 Humid seal of Soft affections, 
 Tend'rest pledge of future bliss, 
 
 Dearest tie of ybnng connexions. 
 Love's first snow-drop, virgin kiss. 
 
 Speaking silence, dumb confession. 
 Passion's birth, and infants', play. 
 
 Dove-like fondness, chaste; concession. 
 Glowing dawn of brighter day. 
 
 * • stanzas : ' an impromptu ori'thi tree-destroying' Di^ke, made by the 
 poet when once reproached for choosing not*hing but low suhjects. 
 
49^ BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Sorrowing joy, adieu's last action, 
 
 When ling'ring lips no more must join ; 
 
 What words can ever speak affection 
 So thrilling and sincere as thine 1 
 
 I DREAM'D I LAY 
 
 I dreAm'd I lay where flowers were springing, 
 
 Gaily in the sunny beam ; 
 List'ning to the wild birds singing, 
 
 By a falling crystal stream : 
 Straight the sky grew black and daring ; 
 
 Through the woods the whirlwinds rave ; 
 Trees with, aged arms were warring 
 
 O'er the swelling, drumlie wave. 
 
 Such was my life's deceitful morning. 
 
 Such the pleasures I enjoy'd ; 
 But lang ere noon, loud tempests storming 
 
 A' my flow'ry bliss destroy'4. 
 Though fickle fortune has deceived me, 
 
 (She promis'd fair, and perform'd but ill ;) 
 Of mony a joy and hope bereaved me, 
 
 I bear a heart shall support me still. 
 
 THE DISCREET HINT 
 
 ' Lass, when your mither is frae hame, 
 
 May I but be sae bauld 
 As come to your bower-window. 
 
 And creep in frae the cauld ? 
 As come to your bower-window, 
 
 And when it 's cauld an' wat. 
 Warm me in thy fair bosom, — 
 
 Sweet lass, may I do that ? ' 
 
 'Young man, gin ye should be sae kind. 
 
 When our guidwife 's fra,e hame. 
 As come to my bower-window, 
 
 Whare I am laid my- lane. 
 To warm thee in my bosom, — 
 
 Tak tent, I '11 tell thee what. 
 The way to me lies through the kirk :— 
 
 Young man, do ye hear that ? ' 
 
MY FATHER WAS A FARMER 495 
 
 MY FATHER WAS A FARMER 
 Tune—' The Weaver and his Shuttle^ O I 
 
 My father was a farmer 
 
 Upon the Carrick border, 1 
 And carefully he bred me 
 
 In decency and order, O I 
 He bade me act a manly part. 
 
 Though I had ne'er a farthing, 01 
 For without an honest,, Inanly heart. 
 
 No man was worth regarding, ,0 I 
 
 Then out into the world 
 
 My course I did determine, O'l 
 Though to be rich was not my wish, 
 
 Yet to be great was charming, 01 
 My talents they were not the worst. 
 
 Nor yet my education, 01 .''. i- 
 
 Resolved was I, at least to try 
 
 To mend my situation, O I 
 
 In many a way, and vaii> essay, 
 
 I courted fortune's favour,, O I 
 Some cause unseen -still stept between, 
 
 To frustrate eacji endeavour, O 1 
 Sometimes by foes I was o'erpower'd ; 
 
 Sometimes by friends forsaken, O I 
 And when my hope was at the top 
 
 I still was worst mistaken, O 1 
 
 Then sore harass'd, and tired at last. 
 
 With fortune's vain delusion, O 1 
 I dropt my schemes, like idle dreams. 
 
 And came to this conclusion, O ! 
 The past was bdd, and the future hid ; 
 
 Its good or ill untried, O 1 
 But the present hour was in my power, 
 
 And so I would enjoy it, O I 
 
 No help, nor hope, nor view had I, 
 
 Nor person to befriend me, O I 
 So I must toil, and sweat, and broil. 
 
 And. labour to sustain me, O ! 
 To plough and sow, to reap and mow. 
 
 My father bred me early, O I 
 For one, he said, to labour bred* •■ 
 
 Was a match for fortune fairly, O I 
 
496 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 Thus all obscure, unknown, and poor, 
 Through life 1 'm doom'd to wander, O I 
 
 Till down my weary bones I lay 
 ■ In everlasting slumber, 1 > 
 
 No view nor care, but shun whate'er 
 Might breed me pain or sorrow, O 1 
 
 I live to-daV ias weU 's I mky; 
 Regardless of to-'morrowj O 1 
 
 But cheerful still, I am as weU 
 
 As a monarch in a palace, O 1 
 Though fortune's frown still hpnts me down, 
 
 "With all' her wanton nialice, 1 
 I make indeed my daily br^^d,. 
 
 But ne?er can piake it farther, , O I 
 But as daily bread is all I ne^d, 
 
 I do not much regard hpr, 01 
 
 When sometimes by my labour 
 
 I earn a little money, 1- 
 Some unforeseeh misfortune • 
 
 Comes generally upon me, O I 
 Mischance, mistakei or by neglect. 
 
 Or my good-natured folly, 01' 
 But comewhat wfll, i 've Sworn it still, 
 
 I '11 ne'er be melaincholy, O ! 
 
 AU you who follow wealth and power 
 
 With unremitting ardour, O I 
 The more in this you look for bliss, 
 
 You leave your view the farther, O 1 
 Had you the wealth Potosi boasts. 
 
 Or nations to ^dore you, 1 
 A cheerfiilj honest-heartedi Qlpwn 
 
 I will prefer before you, 1 
 
 TO MR. JOHN KENNEDY 
 
 Now, Kennedy, if foot or horse . 
 E'er bring you in by Mauchline Corse, 
 Lord, man, there 's lasSes thdre wad force 
 
 .A hermit's fancy ; ; 
 And down the gate, in faith, they 're worse, 
 . I And mair unchancyl 
 
TO MR. JOHN KENNEDY 497 
 
 But, as I 'm sayin', please step to DoWs, . 
 And taste, sic gear as Johnnie brews, 
 Till some bit callant bring me news 
 
 , , That you are there ; 
 And if we dinna baud a bouse 
 
 I 'se ne'er drink .mair,- 
 
 It 's no I like to sjt and swallow. 
 Then like a swine to puke and wallow ; 
 But gie me just a true good fallow, 
 
 Wi' right ingine. 
 And spunkie ance to make iis mellpAV, 
 
 And then we 'U shine. 
 
 Now, if ye 're ane o' warld's folk, 
 Wha rate the wearer by the cloak, 
 And sklent on poverty their joke, 
 
 Wi' bitter sneer, 
 Wi' you no friendship will I trokfe, 
 
 Nor cheap nor dear. 
 
 But if, as I 'm informed weel. 
 Ye hate, as ill 's the verra de'il, 
 The flinty heart that canna ffeel. 
 
 Come, sir; here 's tae you 1 
 Hae, there 's my haun', I -vviss you weel. 
 
 And gude be wi' you 1 
 
 OH, KENMURE 'S ON AND AW A' 
 Tune — ' Oh, Kenmure 's on and awa', Willie ! ' 
 
 Oh, Kenmure 's on and awa', Willie I 
 Oh, Kenmure 's on and awa I •; 
 
 And Kenmure's lord 's the bravest lord 
 That ever Galloway saw. 
 
 Success to Kenmure's band, Willie 1 
 
 Success to Kenmure's band ; 
 There 's no a heart that fears a whig 
 
 That rides by Kenmure's hand. 
 
 Here Kenmure's, health in wne, Willie I 
 Here Kenmure's health in wii;ie ;, 
 
 There ne'er was a coward o' Kenmure's blude, 
 Nor yet o' Gordon's line. 
 
498 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Oh,' Kenhlure's lads are men, Willie I 
 Oh, Kertmure's lads are men ; 
 
 Their he'arts and swords are metal true — 
 And that their faes shall ken. 
 
 They '11 live or die wi' fame, Willie 1 
 They 'U live or die wi' fame ; 
 
 But soon, wi' sounding victorie, 
 May Kenmure's lord come hame I 
 
 Here 's hiin that 's far awa', Willie ! 
 
 Here 's him that's far awa' f 
 And hei-e 's the flower that I lo'e best — 
 
 The rose that 's like the snaw 1 
 
 ■ ■■■ .:: ji'.-l ... 
 
 HANDSOME NELL* 
 
 Tune — ' / am a man unmarried ' 
 
 Oh, once I lov^d a bonnie lass. 
 Aye, and' I love her still ; 
 . , And whilst tliat virtue warms my breast 
 I '11 love my handsome Nell. 
 
 As bonnie lasses I ha'e seen, 
 
 And mony full as braw, 
 But for a modest gracefu' mien, 
 ■ The like I never saw. , , 
 
 A bonnie lass, I will confess. 
 
 Is pleasant to the e'e, 
 But without some better qualities . 
 
 She 's no a lass for me. ' 
 
 But Nelly's looks are blithe and sweet, 
 
 And, what is best of a', 
 Her reputation is complfete; 
 
 And fair without a flaw.' 
 
 She dresses dye sae clean and neat. 
 
 Both decent and. geijteel ; 
 And then there 's something in her gait 
 
 Gars ony dress look weel. 
 
HANDSOME NELL 499 
 
 A gaudy dress and, gqntle aix : 
 
 May slightly touch the heart, 
 But it 's innocence and modesty 
 
 That polishes the dart. 
 
 'Tis this in Nelly pleases me, 
 'Tis this enchants my soul ; 
 - For absolutely in my breast , 
 She reigns without control. 
 
 LUCKLESS FORTUNE . r 
 
 Oh, raging fortune's withering blast 
 Has laid my leaf full low, 0.1 ;^ 
 
 Oh, raging fortune's withering blast . 
 Has laid my leaf full low, O 1 
 
 My stem was fair, my bud was green, 
 My blossom sweet did blow, O I 
 
 The dew fell fresh, the si^n rose mild. 
 And made my branches grow, O ! 
 
 But luckless fortune's' northertf stornis 
 Laid a' my blossoms low, 1 /' 
 
 But luckless fortune's northern storms 
 Laid a' my blossoms low; 1 ' ' 
 
 TIBBIE DUNBAR 
 Tune—' Johnny M'Gill ' 
 
 Oh, wilt thou go wi' me. 
 
 Sweet Tibbie Dunbar ? 
 Oh, wilt thou go Wi' me. 
 
 Sweet Tibbie Dunbar ? 
 WUt thou ride on a horse. 
 
 Or be drawn in a car. 
 Or walk by my side, 
 
 Sweet Tibbie Dunbar ? 
 
 I care na thy daddie, 
 His lands and his money, 
 
 I care na thy kin, ; 
 
 Sae high and sae lordly : 
 
500 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 But say thou -wilt hae me 
 For- better for waur — 
 
 And Come in thy coatie, 
 Sweet Tibbie Dunbar ! 
 
 OH, WHY THE DEUCE SHOULD I REPINE? 
 
 Oh, why the deuce should I repine. 
 
 And be an ill foreboder ? 
 I 'm twenty-three, and five feet nine — 
 
 I 'U go, and be A sod:ger. 
 
 I gat some gear wi' meikle care, 
 
 I held it weel thegither ; 
 But now it 's gane, and something mair — 
 
 I '11 go and be a sod^er. 
 
 TO THE OWL 
 
 Sad bii;^^ of night ! what sorrows call thee forth. 
 To vent thy plaints thus in the midnight hour ? 
 
 Is it some blast that gathers in the North, 
 Threat'riing to ^hip the verdure of thy power ? 
 
 Is it, sad owl I that Autumn strips the shade, 
 And leaves thee here, unshelter'd and forlorn ? 
 
 Or fear that Winter will thy nest invade ? 
 Or friendless melancholy bids thee mourn ? 
 
 Shut out, lone bird I from all the feather'd train. 
 To teU thy sorrows^to th' unheeding gloom ; 
 
 No friend to pity when thou dost complain. 
 Grief aU thy thought, and solitude thy home. 
 
 Sing on, sad mourner ! I will bless thy strain. 
 And, pleased, in sorrow listen to thy song : 
 
 Sing on, sad mourner I to the night complain, 
 WhUe the lone echo wafts thy notes along. 
 
 Is beauty less, when down the glowing cheek 
 Sad, piteous tears in native sorrows fall ? 
 
 Less kind the heart when anguish bids it break ? 
 Less happy he who lists to pity's call ? 
 
TO THE OWL 501 
 
 Ah no, sad owl 1 nor is thy voice less sweet, 
 That sadness tunes it, and that grief is there ; 
 
 That spring's gay notes, unskUI'd, thou can'st repeat ; 
 That sorrow bids thee to the gloom repair. 
 
 Nor that the treble songsters of the day / , 
 
 Are quite estranged, sad bird of night ! from thee ; 
 
 Nor that the thrush deserts the evening spray. 
 When darkness calls thee from thy reverie. 
 
 From some old tower, thy m.elancholy dome, 
 While the grey walls, and desert solitudes, 
 
 Return each note, responsive to the glpom 
 Of ivied covepts aiid surrounding woods ; 
 
 There hooting, I will list more pleased to thee 
 
 Than ever lover to the nightingale ; 
 Or drooping wretch, oppress* d withmiseryj 
 
 Lending his ear to some condoling tale. 
 
 SWEETEST MAY , 
 
 Sweetest May, let love inspire thee ; 
 Take a heart which he desires thee ; 
 As thy constant slave regard it ; 
 For its faith and truth reward it. 
 
 Proof o' shot to birth or money, 
 Not the wealthy, but the bonnie ; 
 Not high-born, but noble minded. 
 In love's sOken bands can bind it I 
 
 ON : SEEING MISS FONTENELLE 
 
 IN A FAVOURITE CHARACTEK 
 
 Sweet naivete of feature 
 Simple, wUd, enchanting elf, 
 
 Not to thee, but thanks to Nature, 
 Thou art acting but thyself. 
 
 Wert thou awkward, stiff, affected, 
 Spurning nature, torturing art. 
 
 Loves and graces all rejected. 
 
 Then indeed thou ',dst act a part. 
 
502 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 THE BLACK-HEADED EAGLE 
 
 A FRAGMENT 
 
 ON THE DEFEAT OF THE AUSTRIANS BY DUMOURIER 
 AT GEMAPPE, NOVEMBER 1792 
 
 The black-headed eagle 
 
 As keen as a beagle, 
 He hunted o'er height and o'er howe '; 
 
 But fell in a trap, 
 
 On the braes o' Gemappe ; 
 E'eri let him come out as h6 dow. 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF SIR JAMES HUNTER 
 BLAIR 
 
 The lamp of day, with ill-presaging glare. 
 Dim, cloudy, sank beneath^ the western wave ; 
 
 Th' inconstant blast howl'd through the dark'ning air, 
 And hollow whistled in the rocky cave. 
 
 Lone as I wander'd by each cliff and deU, 
 
 Once the loved haunts of Scotia's royal train ; 
 
 Or mused where limpid streams, once hallow' d, well. 
 Or mouldering ruins mark the sacred fane. 
 
 Th' increasing blast roar'd round the beetling rocks, 
 The clouds, swift-wing'd, flew o'er the starry sky, 
 
 The groaning trees untimely shed their locks, 
 And shooting meteors caught the startling eye. 
 
 The paly moon rose in the livid east, 
 
 And 'mong the cliffs disclosed a stately form. 
 
 In weeds of woe that frantic beat her breast. 
 And mix'd her wailings with the raving storm. 
 
 Wild to my heart the filial pulses glow, 
 
 'Twas Caledonia's trophied shield I view'd : 
 
 Her form majestic droop'd in pensive woe, 
 The lightning of her eye in -tears imbued. 
 
 Reversed that spear, redoubtable in war ; 
 
 Reclined that banner, erst in fields unfurl' d. 
 That like a deathful meteor gleam'd afar. 
 
 And braVed the mighty monarchs of the world. 
 
DEATH OF SIR JAMES HUNTER BLAIR 503 
 
 ' My patriot son fills an untimely grave 1 ' 
 With accents wild and lifted arms she cried ; 
 
 ' Low lies the hand that oft was stretch'd to save, 
 Low lies the heart that swell'd with honest pride ! 
 
 ' A weeping country joins a widow's tear, 
 The helpless poor mix with the orphan's cry ; 
 
 The drooping Arts surround their patron's bier, 
 And grateful Science heaves the heartfelt sigh 1 
 
 ' I saw my sons resume thteir ancient Are ; 
 
 I saw fair Freedom's blossoms richly blow ; 
 But, ah I how hope is born but to expire 1 
 
 Relentless fate has laid this guardian low. 
 
 ' My patriot falls, but shall he lie unsung. 
 
 While empty greatness saves a worthless name ? 
 
 No ; every Muse shall join her tunieful tongue, 
 And future ages hear his growing fame. 
 
 ' And I will join a mother's tender cares, ^ 
 Through future times to make his virtues last, 
 
 That distant years may boast of other Blairs I ' 
 She said, and vanish'd with the sweeping blast. 
 
 VERSES TO MY BED 
 
 Thou bed, in which I first began 
 To be that various creature — Man J 
 And when again the Fates decree 
 The place where I must cease to be ; 
 When sickness comes, to whom I fly. 
 To soothe my pain, or close mine eye ; 
 When cares surround me where I weep, 
 Or lose them all in balmy sleep ; 
 When sore with labour, whom I court, 
 And to thy downy breast resort ; 
 Where too, ecstatic joys I find, 
 When deigns my Delia to be kind, 
 And full of love, in all her charms. 
 Thou giv'st the fair one to my arms. 
 The centre thou, where grief and pain. 
 Disease and rest, alternate reign. 
 Oh, since within thy little space, 
 So many various scenes take place ; 
 
504 BURNS' POEMS , AND SONGS 
 
 Lessons as useful shalt ;thou teach, , • 
 As' sages dictate— ^churchmen preach, i 
 And man, convinced/ by thee alone, 
 This great important truth shall own :— 
 That thin partitions do divide 
 The bounds wberegood and ill reside ; 
 That naught is perfect here below ; 
 But bliss still boi;deriiLg upon woe. 
 
 TO MRS C^ 
 
 ON RECEIVING A WORK OF HANNAH MORE'S 
 
 Tho^ flaljteriijg mark of friiendship kind. 
 Still tnay tliy^pg^ges call to mind 
 
 The dear, the ^eauteoiiS donor : 
 Though sweetly female every* part, 
 Yet such a head, and more the heart, 
 
 Does both the sexes honour. 
 She show' d her taste refined and jiist 
 
 When she sbjected thee. 
 Yet deviating, own I must, 
 For so approving me ; 
 
 But kind still, I mind still. 
 
 The giver in the gift, 
 I '11 bless her, and wiss her 
 A friend above the Lift.* 
 
 WHEN FIRST L CAME TO STEWART KYLE 
 Tune—' / had a horse, I had nae mair ' 
 
 When first I came tO Stewart Kyle, 
 
 My mind it was nae Steady ; ■ : 
 Where'er I gaed, where'er ■ I rade,' 
 
 A mistress still I had aye : 
 But when I camei roun' by Mauchline town, 
 
 Not dreadih' any body. 
 My heart was caught before I thought,- 
 
 And by a MaUchline lady. ' 
 
 • Burns sent also a £opy ol these lines to his Iriend Aiken. 
 
THE BANKS O* DOON 605 
 
 ON 
 
 When deceased to the devil went down, 
 
 'Twas nothing would serve him but Satan's own crown ; 
 'Thy fool's head,' quoth Satan, ' that crown shall wear 
 
 never ; 
 I grant thou 'rt as -wicked, but not quite so clever.' 
 
 THE BANKS O' DOON 
 
 FIRST VERSION 
 
 Tune — ' Catherine Ogie ' 
 
 Ye flowery banks o' bonnie Doon, 
 
 How can ye bloom sae fair 1 
 How can ye chant, ye little birds, 
 
 And I sae'fu' o' care ! 
 
 Thou '11 break my heart, thou bonnie bird, 
 
 That sings upon the bough • 
 Thou minds me o' t:Jie happydays 
 
 When iriy f ause luve was true. 
 
 Thou 'U break my heart, thou bonnie bird, 
 
 That sings beside thy mate ; 
 For sae I sat, and sae I sang. 
 
 And wist na o' my fa.te. 
 
 Aft hae I roved by bonnie Doon, , 
 
 To see the woodbine jtwine. 
 And ilka hird sajig o' its luve. 
 
 And sae did I o' mine. 
 
 Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a roSe, 
 
 Frae all its thorny tree, 
 And my fause luver staw the rose, 
 
 But left the thorn wi' me. 
 
506 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 YE HAE LIEN A' WRANG, LASSIE 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 Ye hae lien a' wrang, lassie, 
 Ye 've lien a' wrang ; 
 
 Ye 've lien in an unco bed, 
 And wi' a fremit man. 
 
 Your rosy cheeks are tum'd sae wan. 
 Ye 're greener than the grass, lassie ; 
 
 Your coatie 's shorter by a span, 
 Yet ne'er an inch the less, lassie. 
 
 O lassie, ye ha'e play'd the fool. 
 And ye will leel the scorn, lassie ; 
 
 For aye the brose ye sup at e'en, 
 Ye bock them e'er the morn, lassie. 
 
 Oh, ance ye danced upon the knowes. 
 
 And through the wood ye sang, lassie. 
 But in the berrying o' a bee byke, 
 I fear ye 've got a stang, lassie. 
 Ye hae lien a' wrang, lassie. 
 
 Ye 've lien a' wrang. 
 Ye 've lien In an unco bed. 
 And wl' a fremit man. 
 
 ON AN EVENING VIEW OF THE RUINS OF 
 LINCLUDEN ABBEY 
 
 Ye holy walls, that, still sublime. 
 Resist the crumbling touch of time. 
 How strongly still your form displays 
 The piety of ancient days I 
 As through your ruins, hoar and gray — 
 Ruins yet beauteous in decay — 
 The silvery moonbeams trembling fly : 
 The forms of ages long gone by 
 Crowd thick on fancy's wand'ring eye, 
 And wake the soul to musings high. 
 
 E'en now, as lost in thought profound, 
 I view the solemn scene around, 
 
VIEW OF LINGLUDEN ABBEY 507 
 
 And, pensive, gaze with wistful eyes, 
 The past returns, the present flies ; 
 Again the dome, in pristine pride, 
 Lifts high its roof, and arches wide. 
 That, knit with curious tracery. 
 Each Gothic ornament display ; 
 The high arch'd windows, painted fair. 
 Show many a saint and martsrr there. 
 
 As on their slender forms I 'd gaze, 
 Methinks they brighten to a blaze I 
 "With noiseless step and taper bright, 
 What are yon forms that meet my sight ? 
 Slowly they move, while every eye 
 Is heavenward raised in ecstasy. 
 
 'Tis the fair, spotless, vestal train. 
 That seek in prayer the midnight fane. 
 And, hark I what more than mortal sound 
 Of music breathes the pile around ? 
 'Tis the soft chanted choral song, 
 Whose tones the echoing aisles prolong ; 
 TUl, thence retum'd, they softly; stray 
 O'er Cluden's wave, with fond delay ; 
 Nbw on the rising gale swell high, 
 And now in fainting murmurs die ; 
 The boatmen on Nith's gentle streap, 
 That glistens in the pale moonbeam. 
 Suspend their dashing oars to hear 
 The holy anthem, loud and, clear ; 
 Each worldly thought awhile forbear, 
 And mutter forth a half-form'd prayer. 
 
 But, as I gaze, the vision fails, 
 
 Like frost-work touch'd by southern gales ; 
 
 The altar sinks, the tapers fade. 
 
 And all the splendid scene 's decay'd ; 
 
 In window fair the painted pane ' 
 
 No longer glows with holy stain. 
 
 But through the broken glass the gale 
 
 Blows chUly from the misty vale : 
 
 The bird of eve flits sullen by, 
 
 Her home, these aisles and arches high ; 
 
 The choral hymn, that erst so clear 
 
 Broke softly sweet on fancy's ear, 
 
 Is drown'd amid the mournful scream, 
 
 That breaks the magic of my dream ! 
 
508 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Roused by the sound, I start and see 
 The ruin'd sad reality I 
 
 DAMON AND SYLVIA 
 Tune — ' The tither morn, as I, forlorn' 
 
 Yon wandering rill, that marks the hill 
 And glances o'er the brae,, sir. 
 
 Slides, by a bower, where mony a flower 
 Sheds fragrance oh the day, sir. 
 
 There Damon lay, with Sylvi^ gay. 
 To love they thought nae crime, sir ; 
 
 The wild birds sang, the echoes rang, 
 Willie Damon's heart beat time, sir. 
 
 AH, CHLORIS! 
 Tune — ' Major Graham ' 
 
 !■ 
 
 Ah, Chloris 1 isirice it may na be 
 That thou of love wilt hear ; 
 
 If from the lover thou maun flee, 
 Yet let the friend be dear. 
 
 Although I love my Chloris mair 
 Than eVei' tongue could tell ; 
 
 My passion I wfll ne'er declare, 
 I 'U say, I wish thee weU. 
 
 Though a' my daily care thou art. 
 And a' my nightly dream, 
 
 ;I 'U hide the struggle in my heart, 
 And say it is esteem. ■ 
 
 AS DOWN THE BURN 
 
 As down the bum they toolk their way, 
 And through the flowery dale ; 
 
 His cheek to 'hers he aft did lay, 
 And love was aye the tale. 
 
AS DOWN THE BURN: 509 
 
 "With ' Mary, when shall we return. 
 
 Sic pleasure to renew ? ' 
 Quoth, Mary, ' Love, I like the bum. 
 
 And aye shall follow you.' , i 
 
 EPITAPH ON MR. BURTON 
 
 Here cursing, swearing Burton lies, 
 
 A buck, a beau, or ' Dem my eyes I ' 
 
 "Who, in his life, did little good. 
 
 And whose last words were ' Dem my blood ! 
 
 THE HIGHLAND WIDO"W'S LAMENT 
 
 Oh 1 I am come to the low countrie, 
 Och-on, och-on, och-rie 1 _ ^, 
 
 "Without a penny in ihy puf se,' ' 
 To buy a medl'tp me. ' ■ ' 
 
 It was nae sae in the Highland hills, 
 
 Och-on, och-on, och-rie 1 
 Nae woman in the countrie wide 
 
 Sae happy was as me. 
 
 For then I had a score o' kye, 
 Och-on, och-on, och-rie I ' 
 
 Feeding on yon hills so high, 
 And giving milk to me. 
 
 And there I had three score b' yowes, 
 Och-on,' och-on, och-rie 1 ■ •' 
 
 Skipping on yon Ijonnie knowes. 
 And casting woo' to me. 
 
 I was the happiest o' a dan, 
 
 Sair, sair may I repine ; 
 For Donald was the brawest lad. 
 
 And Donald he was mine. 
 
 Till Charlie Stuart cam' at last ' 
 
 Sae far to set us free ; 
 My Donald's arm was wanted' thein. 
 
 For Scotland and- for me. 
 
510 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 Their waefu' fate what need I tell. 
 Right to the wrang did yield : 
 
 My Doiiald and his country fell 
 Upon CuUoden'S' field. 
 
 Oh, I am come to the low countrie, 
 Och-on, och-on, och-riel 
 
 Nae wonian in the world wide 
 Sae wretched now as me. 
 
 OH, LEEZE ME ON MY "WEE THING 
 
 Oh, leeze me on my wee thing, 
 , My bonnie blithesome wee thing ; 
 
 Sae lang 's I ha'e my wee thing, 
 I '11 think my lot divine. 
 
 Though warld's care we share o 't. 
 And may see meikle mair o 't : 
 Wl' her I '11 blithely bear it. 
 And ne'er a word repine. 
 
 THE CAPTAIN'S LADY 
 Tune — ' Oh, mount and go ' 
 
 When the drums do beat. 
 
 And the cannons rattle. 
 Thou shalt sit in state. 
 
 And see thy love in battle. 
 
 CHOKUS 
 
 Oh, mount and go. 
 
 Mount and make you ready ; 
 Oh, mount and go, 
 
 And be the captain's lady. 
 
 When the vanqulsh'd foe 
 Sues for peace and quiet, 
 
 To the Shades, we '11 go. 
 And in love enjoy it. 
 
WHEN I THINK ON; THE HAPPY; DAYS 511 
 
 WHEN I THINK QN THE; HAPPY DAYS 
 
 When I think on the happy d^ys. 
 
 I spent wi' you, my dearie ; 
 And now wha); lands.between us ^i^,. 
 , Ijiovr can I be but eerie ? 
 
 How slow ye move, ye heavyi hours. 
 As ye were wae and weary 1 ' 
 
 It wasna sae ye glinted by 
 When I was wi' my dearie. 
 
 EPISTLE TO JOHN TAYLOR 
 
 With Pegasus upon a day, 
 
 Apollo weary flying, 
 Through frosty hills the journey lay. 
 
 On foot the way was plying. 
 
 I 
 
 Poor slip-shod giddy Pegasus 
 
 Was but a sorry walker ; 
 To Vulcan then Apollo goes. 
 
 To get a frosty calker. 
 
 Obliging Vulcan fell to work. 
 
 Threw by his coat and bonnet. 
 And did Sol's business in a crack ; 
 
 Sol paid him with a sonnet. 
 
 Ye Vulcan's sons of Wanlockhead, 
 
 Pity my sad disaster ; 
 My Pegasus is poorly shod — 
 
 I 'U pay you like my master. 
 
 Robert Burns 
 
 SHELAH O'NEIL. 
 
 When first I began for to sigh and to woo her, 
 Of many fine things I did say a great deal. 
 
 But, above all the rest, that which pleased her the best, 
 Was, ' Oh, will you marry me, Shelah O'Neil ? ' 
 
512 BURNS' POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 My point I soon carried, for straight we were married, 
 Thifeii the weight'of my burden I soon 'gah to feel — 
 
 For she scolded, she fisted, Oh then I enlisted, 
 Left Ireland, and whisky, and Shfelah O'Neil I 
 
 Then tired and duljl-hearted. Oh ^hen I deserted. 
 
 And fled unto regidnS far distant from home. 
 To Frederick's army, where none e'er could harm me. 
 
 Save Shelah herself in the shape of a bomb. 
 I fought every battle, where cannons did rattle, 
 
 Felt sharp shot, alas 1 anki the sharp pointed steel ; 
 But, in all my wars round, thank my stars, I ne'er found 
 
 Aught so sharp as the tongue of curs'd Shelah O'Neil. 
 
GLOSSARY 
 
 A', all. 
 
 Aback, away, aloof. 
 
 Abeigh, at a shy distance, aloof, 
 
 Aboon, above. 
 
 Abread, abroad. 
 
 Abreed, in breadth. 
 
 Adle, putrid water. 
 
 Ae, one. 
 
 Aff, off ; aff loof, off hand. 
 
 Afore, before. 
 
 Aft, ott. 
 
 Aften, often. 
 
 Aglejf, off the right line, wrong. 
 
 Aiblins, perhaps. 
 
 Aik, an oak. 
 
 A in, own. 
 
 Airles, earnest. 
 
 Airl-penny, a penny given as 
 earnest, or hiring money. 
 
 Aim, Iron ; an iron tool. 
 
 Airt, to direct. 
 
 Airts, directions, points of the 
 compass. 
 
 Ailh, an oath. 
 
 Ails, oats. 
 
 Aiver, a work-horse. 
 
 Aizle, a hot cinder. 
 
 A fee, awry, ajar. 
 
 Alake, alas ! 
 Alane, alone. 
 Akwart, awkward. 
 Amaisi, almost. 
 Among, among. 
 An', and; if. 
 Ance, once. 
 Ane, one. 
 
 Anent, about, concerning; 
 Anither, another. 
 Ase, ashes. 
 
 Asklent, aslant, asquint. 
 Asteer, astir. 
 
 Athart, or alhort; athwart. 
 Aught, possession ; as, in a' mij 
 aught, in all my possession. 
 46 — Q 513 
 
 Auld, old. 
 
 Auld-farrant, knowing, saga- 
 cious. 
 
 Auld-hmg-sgne, long ago, the 
 days of otlier years.. „ 
 
 Auldrshoon, old shoes ; term for 
 a discarded lover. 
 
 Auld-warld, old-fashioned. 
 
 Aumous, or awmous, alms. < 
 
 Aumous-dish, a beggar's dish, a 
 vessel for collecting money for 
 the poor at church- . 
 
 Aumry, a cupboard for keeping 
 victuals, dishes, etc. 
 
 Ava, at all. 
 
 Awa', away. 
 
 Awfu', awful. 
 
 Awn, the beard of barley or 
 other grain. 
 
 Awnie, bearded. 
 
 Ayont, beyond. 
 
 Ba', a ball. 
 
 Backet, or baikey, • a wooden 
 coal scuttle ; saui - backet, 
 salt-box. 
 
 Bakes, biscuits. 
 
 Backlins, back, backwards. 
 
 Bad, did, bid. 
 
 Baggie, the belly. 
 
 Baide, remained, endured, re- 
 sided. 
 
 Bainie, large-boned. 
 
 Bairn, a child. 
 
 Bairntime, a family of children, a 
 brood. 
 
 Baith, both. 
 
 Ban, to swear or curse. 
 
 Bane, bone. 
 
 Bang) to beat.to excel. 
 
 Bang, a blow, also a great 
 number. 
 
514 
 
 GLOSSARY 
 
 Bannocks, round flat cakes. 
 Ba/is, rolls of bread. 
 Bardie, diminutive of bard, 
 Bareflt, barefooted. 
 Barleg-bree, malt liquor. 
 Barmie, of or like barm, yeasty. 
 Batch, a crew or gang. 
 Bails, botts, colic. 
 Bauckie-bird, the bat. 
 Baudrons, a cat. 
 Banks, cfoss'beams. 
 Bauld, bold. 
 Bawbee, a half-penny ; bdwbeei, 
 
 money. 
 Bauik, a bank, a strip of un- 
 
 ploughed land. 
 Baws'nt, having a white spot oh 
 
 the forehead or face. 
 Be (to let be), to give over. 
 Beare, barley. 
 Beast, vermin. 
 
 Beastie, diminutive of beast. 
 Beck, a cuttsy. 
 Bedesman, a poor pensioner, one 
 
 who prays for his patron. 
 Beek, to bask. 
 Beet, to add fuel to fire. 
 Begoud, began. 
 Begunk, trick, jilting. 
 Beld, bald. 
 Belgve, by and by. 
 Ben, into the spence, or parlour. 
 Benlomond, a noted mountain in 
 
 Dumbartonshire. 
 Benmost bore, innermost hole. 
 Behnison, blessing. 
 Bent, a kind of grass ; ' ia'en the 
 
 bent,' taken the moor, run 
 
 away. 
 Beihankit, grace after meat. 
 Beuk, a book. 
 Bicker, a wooden dish ; a short 
 
 race. 
 Bid, to propose, to offer ; bade 
 
 nae tetter, . desired no more. 
 Bide, to stay or residfe, to endure. 
 Bield, or biiU shelter. 
 Bien, comfortable, well-to-do. 
 Big, to build. 
 Biggin', a building. 
 Biggit, built. 
 
 Biggonet, k linen cap or coif. 
 Bill, a bulli : 
 Billie, a brother, a young fellow. 
 
 Bing, a heap of grain, potatoes, 
 etc. 
 
 Binna, be not. 
 
 Birk, birch. 
 
 Birken-schaw, plantation of 
 bircl^es. 
 
 Birleie, a forward, lively fellow. 
 
 Birle, to drink ; ' birle the baw- 
 bee,' to club for drink. 
 
 Birring, the noise of partridges, 
 etc., when they spring.' 
 
 Birses, bristles. 
 
 Bit, crisisy nick of time ; and 
 also as a diminutive , - as ' a bil 
 burn,' a small streaih ; 'a 
 bit lassie,' a little girl. 
 
 Bittock, a little bit, a short 
 distance. 
 
 Bizz, a bustle ; to blizz. 
 
 Bizzard, buzzard. 
 
 Blae, pale blue, tlie colouf of tlilB 
 skin when bruised; 
 
 Blastie, a shrivelled dwarf, a 
 term of contempt. 
 
 Blastit, blasted. 
 
 Blate, bashful, sheepish. 
 
 Blather, bladder. 
 
 Blaud, a flat piece of anything; 
 to slap ; ■ a hearty bland, a large 
 piece..: ' , 
 
 Blaw, to blow, to boast ; ' blcm V 
 Thif lug,' to flatter. * 
 
 Bleerit, bleared, sore with rheum, 
 or dim with weeping.) 
 
 Bleert an' blin', bleared and 
 blind. 
 
 Bleezing, blazing. , 
 
 Blellum, idle, talking fellow. 
 
 Blether, to talk idly ; nonsense. 
 
 Blethers, babbling, foolish talk. 
 
 Blethrin', babbling. 
 
 Blink, an instant, a little whUe ; 
 a smiling look ; to look 
 kindly ; to shine by fits, 
 twinkle. 
 
 Blinker, a term of contempt, i 
 
 Blinkiri'i smirking.. , - 
 
 Blue-gown, an order of paupers, 
 who receive annuaUy, on the 
 Sovereign's birthday, a blue 
 cloak or gown, with a pewter 
 badge,, and a few pence< 
 
 Bluidi blood. 
 
 Bluntie, snivelling. 
 
f^LOSSARY 
 
 515 
 
 Blutler, the flMre-S|nip,e, 
 
 Blype, a shred, a piece rent 00. 
 
 BockyXq vomit, to gurgle. 
 
 Socked, gushed, vomited. 
 
 Bodle, a sm?Jl copper cqin. 
 
 Bogie, a small ^og.. 
 
 Bogles, goblins. 
 
 Bonnie, or bonny, handsome, 
 pretty. 
 
 Board, a board. 
 
 Boortree, or bu'tree, the shrub 
 elder, formerly much planted 
 in hedges of fjarm-yards, e,t(;. 
 
 Boosi, ^glioyed, must needs. 
 
 Bore, si hole in the wall. 
 
 Botch, an inflamed tumour. 
 
 Bouk, bijlk ; a corpse. 
 
 Bou?ing, tippling. 
 
 Boul-kail, cabbage. 
 
 Bowt, bent, crooked. 
 
 Brackens, or brecicens, fern. 
 
 Brae, the face of a hill. 
 
 Braid,' broad. 
 
 Braik, a kind of harro-^. 
 
 Brainge, to dash forward'. 
 
 Braing't, rusjied forward, 
 
 Brak, broke, made insolypnt. 
 
 Brankie, gaudy, pranlfed out 
 
 gaily- 
 
 Branks, a halter with wooden 
 cheejc-pieces for cows and 
 Iforses. 
 
 Brash, a smart fit of illness. 
 
 Brats, rags, coarse clothes ; the 
 terni is also applied to chil- 
 dren. 
 
 Brattle, a short race„lmrfy, fury. 
 
 Braw, fine, handsome, weli- 
 4rpsse(}. 
 
 Brawlies, or brawlif, bravely, 
 , heaftily, very well. 
 
 Brfixfe, a disicas.ed sheep, or the 
 mutton of a sheep which has 
 Ipee,!) smothercid in snow. 
 
 Breastie, little breast. 
 
 Breastit, sprang breasjt-ljjgh. 
 
 Brecham, a horse-collar. , 
 
 ^^\ec|/:fffl, fern. 
 
 Breef, an jrj;eisistible spell. 
 
 Breeks, breeches. 
 
 Brent, smooth,, plew ; bfent new, 
 
 quite new.,' 
 l^rewin', bfjewlng. 
 
 Brie, juice, iiquM. 
 
 Br,1^, a bridge. , 
 
 Brisket, the breast, the bosom. 
 
 Brither, a brother. 
 
 jBrdck, a Jjadger. , 
 
 Brogue, a hum, a trick. 
 
 Broo, broth, liquid, water, 
 
 Broose, a race ^t country 
 weddings, from the cliurch to 
 the bridegroom's house. 
 
 Brose, hasty pu,dding, made by 
 , pouring boiling water or broth 
 on 9atnxe^, ,Th^ di^h ^ 
 jpanipd ^qrn the Jiquid used, 
 as, water - brose, kail - brose, 
 pease-pTPSfi. 
 
 Browstf a brewing. 
 
 Brugh, a burgh. 
 
 Bruilzie, a broil, a strife. 
 
 Brunstane, brimstone, 
 
 Brynt, bnrned. 
 
 Brust, to burst, burst. . 
 
 Buchian-bullers, the boiling of the 
 sea among the ropks on the 
 coagt of l^ucliari, ^-frerdeen- 
 -shire. , 
 
 Buckskiif., an inhabitant of 'Vir; 
 ginia. 
 
 Bught, a pen for sheep, 
 
 Bughlin-tittw, the timp for col- 
 lecting the sheep iiitp the pens 
 to be milked. 
 
 Biiirdly, athletic, broad and 
 large of make. 
 
 Bum-clock, the humming beetle, 
 which IJjes in the summer 
 evenings. 
 
 Bumming, humming, droning. 
 
 Bummle, to blunder, to bungle. 
 
 Bummler, bungler. 
 
 Bunker, a witidow-seat, or seat 
 which also serves for a chest, 
 opening with !^ hin?^"! hd. 
 
 Burdies, small birds. 
 
 Bure, bore. 
 
 Burn, a stream, a rivulet. 
 
 Burnie, a small stfegmlet. 
 
 Burnewin, i.e., biirn-the-wind, a 
 black^n^th. 
 
 Buskie, bushy. 
 
 Buskit, dressed. 
 
 Busks, dresses. 
 
 Bussle, a Rustle,' to busj;lp. 
 
 Buss, shelter. 
 
 Bui, or bol, without. 
 
516 
 
 GLOSSARY 
 
 But an' ben, the country kitchen 
 
 and parlour. 
 By himself, lunatic, distracted. 
 Byke, a bee-hive, nest of the wjid 
 
 bee ; a swarm ; glowin' h^ke, 
 
 staring multitude. 
 Byre, a cow-house, a sheep-pen. 
 
 CcC, to callj to name ; to drive. 
 Ca't, or ca'd", ' called ; driven; 
 
 calved. 
 Cadger, a carrier, a hiixter. 
 Cadie, or caddie, a porter or 
 
 messenger. 
 Caff, chaff. 
 Caird, a tinker. 
 Cairn, a heap of loose stones. 
 Calf-ward, a small enclosure for 
 
 calves. 
 Callan, a boy. 
 Caller, or cauler, fresh, sound, 
 
 refreshing. 
 Canie, or cannie, gentle, mild, 
 knowing ; canniest gate, easi- 
 est way. 
 Cannilie, gently, sagaciously. 
 Cantrip, a charm, a spell. 
 Canty, or cantie, cheerful, merry. 
 Cap-stane, cope-stone, key-stone. 
 Careerin', cheerfully. 
 Carl, an old man. 
 Carl-hemp, the male stalk of 
 hemp, known by its superior 
 strength and height. 
 Carline, a stout old woman. 
 Carritch, catechism ; single car- 
 ritch, the Shorter Catechism. 
 Cartes, cards. 
 Caudron, a caldron. 
 Cauk, chalk; 
 Cauld, cold. 
 Caup, a wooden bowl. 
 Cavie, a hen-coop. 
 Cesses; taxes. 
 
 Chanter, part of a bagpipe. , 
 Chap, a person, a fellow ; a 
 
 blow, a stroke. 
 Cheekit, cheeked. 
 Cheep, a Chirp, to chirp. 
 Chiel, a young fellow. 
 Chimla, or chimlie, a fire-place. I 
 
 Chipda-lug, fireside. 
 
 Chink, money. 
 
 Chittering, shiverihg with cold. 
 
 Chokin', choking. 
 
 Chow, to chew ; cheek-for-chdrb, 
 
 side-by-side, clieek-by-jole. 
 Chuckle, a brood hen. 
 Chuffie, fat-faced. 
 Clachan, a small village about a 
 
 church, a hamlet. 
 Cl'aise, or claes, clothes. 
 Claith, cloth. 
 Cldithing, clothing. 
 Clap, the clapper of a mill. 
 Clarkit, wrote. " 
 
 Clartg, dirty. 
 
 Clash, an idle tale, gossip. 
 Clatter, to tell idle stories ; an 
 
 idle story. 
 C/auffW, snatched at, laid hold of. 
 Claut, to scrape, to (Jean ; claat 
 
 o' gear, heap of money. 
 Clouted, scraped clean, 
 Clavers, idle stories. 
 Claw, to scratch. 
 Cleckin, a brdod.'a litter. 
 Cleed, to clothe. 
 Cleeds, clothes. 
 Cleekit, hooked, caught. 
 Cleg, the gadfly. 
 Clinkin', jerking, clinking. 
 Clinkumbell, man who rings tlie 
 church-beU. ' 
 
 Clips, shears. 
 Clishmaclaoer, gossip, idle chat, 
 
 palaver. 
 Clock, to hatch ; a beetle. 
 Clockin', hatching. '' 
 Cloot, or cluit, the hoof of a cow, 
 
 sheep, etc. 
 Clootie, an old name for the 
 Devil, in allusion to'the cloven 
 foot. 
 Clour, a bump or swelling after a 
 
 blow. 
 Clout, to patch. 
 Cluds, clouds. 
 
 Clunk, the gurgling sound of 
 liquor in emptying a cask or 
 botUe. 
 Coaxin', wheedling. 
 Coble, a fishing-boat. 
 Cockernonny, a lock of hair tied 
 on a girl's head ; a cap. 
 
GLOSSARY 
 
 517 
 
 Coft, bought. 
 
 Cog, a wooden dish. 
 
 Coggie, a little cog. 
 
 Coila, from Kyle, a district of 
 Ayrshire ; so called, according 
 to tradition, from Coil, or 
 Coilus, a Pictish king. 
 
 Collie, a cur-dog. 
 
 Collieshangie, a quarrel, a noisy 
 altercation. 
 
 Comman.', command. 
 
 Good, the cud. 
 
 Coo/, or caif, a blockkead, a 
 ninny. > 
 
 Cookit, appeared and disap- 
 peared by turns. 
 
 Coost, cast. 
 
 Coot, the ankle. 
 
 Cootie, a wooden kitchen dish ; 
 also, those fowls whose legs 
 are dad with feathers are said 
 to be cootie. 
 
 Corbie, the raven, the carrion 
 crow. 
 
 Core, corps, party, dan. 
 
 Corn't, fed with oats. 
 
 Cottar, the inhabitant of a cot- 
 house or cottage. 
 
 Couthie, kind, loving. 
 
 Cove, a cave. 
 
 Cowe, to overbear, to keep under, 
 to lop off ; a fright ; a bush 
 of furze or broom. 
 
 Cowp, to barter; to tumble 
 over ; a gang. 
 
 Cowpit, bartered ; tumbled. 
 
 Cow'rin', cowering. 
 
 Cowie, a colt. 
 
 Cozie, snug, warm. 
 
 Cozily, snugly. 
 
 Crabbit, crabbed, peevish. 
 
 Crack, conversation, to converse. 
 
 Crackin', conversing ; crackin' 
 crouse, talking briskly. 
 
 Craft, or croft, a field near a 
 house (in old husbandry). 
 
 Craig, the neck or throat ; 
 dimin. craigie. 
 
 Craik, a bird, the rail or corn- 
 crake. 
 
 Craiks, cries or calls incessantly. 
 
 Crambo-clink, or crambo-jingle, 
 doggrel rhymes. 
 
 Crancreuch, hoarfrost. 
 
 Crank, the noise of an ungrcased 
 
 wheel. 
 Crankous, fretful, captious. 
 Crap, a crdp, to crop. 
 Craw, the crow of a cock ; a 
 
 crow or rook. 
 Creel, a coarse basket ; to have 
 
 one's wits in a creel, to be 
 
 crazed, to be fascinated. 
 Creeshie, greasy. 
 Croo'd, or crou'd, to coo as a 
 
 dove. 
 Croon, a low, droning sound ; to 
 
 make such a sound ; to hum a 
 
 tune. 
 Crooning, droning, humming. 
 Crouchie, crook-backed. 
 Croalin', crawhng. 
 Crouse, cheerful, courageous. 
 Crousely, cheerfully, courage- 
 ously. 
 Crowdie, a stir-about of oatmoal 
 
 and boiling water, or the brotli 
 
 of beef or mutton, etc. 
 Crowdie-time, breakfast-time. 
 Crummock, n cow with crooked 
 
 horns. 
 Crump, brittle, friable, crisp ; 
 
 spoken of bread or pie-crust, 
 
 etc. 
 Crunt, a blow on the head with a 
 
 cudgel. 
 • Cuddle, to caress. 
 Cuif, a ninny. 
 Cummock, a short staff, with a 
 
 crooked head. 
 Curchie, a curtsey. 
 Curler, a player at the game of 
 
 curling. 
 Curlie, curled, one whose hair 
 
 naturally falls in ringlets. 
 Curling, a well-known game in 
 
 Scotland, played on the ice. 
 Curmurring, murmuring, a 
 
 slight rumbling noise. 
 Curpin, the crupper. 
 Cushat, the wood-pigeon. 
 Cuitg, short, a short spoon ; a 
 
 loose girl ; cutty sark, short 
 
 shift. 
 Cutty-stool, the stool of repent- 
 ance, which was used in 
 
 former times in the churches 
 
 in Scotland. 
 
518 
 
 GLOSSARY 
 
 D 
 
 Daddie, a father. 
 
 Baffin.', fun, merrlnjent, foolish- 
 ness. 
 
 Daft, merry, giddy, foolish. 
 
 Daidlin', loitering, trifling, tip- 
 pling. 
 
 Daimen, rare, now and then. 
 
 Daimen-icker, an ear of corn 
 now and then. 
 
 Dainiie, pleasant, good - 
 humoured, agreeable. 
 
 Dales, valleys. 
 
 Darklins, in the dark. 
 
 Daud, to thrash, to abuse, to 
 pelt. 
 
 Daud (noun), a large piece j 
 noise of a heavy fall. 
 
 Daudin', beating. 
 
 DauT, to dare. 
 
 Daur't, dared. 
 
 Dawg, dawk, or darg, a day's 
 work. 
 
 Davoc, David. 
 
 Dawtit, or dawtet, fondled, 
 caressed. 
 
 Dead, death. 
 
 Dearies, diminutive of dears. 
 
 Dearihfu', dear. 
 
 Deave, to deafen. 
 
 Diel-ma-care, devil-may-care. 
 
 Deleerit, delirious. 
 
 Descrive, to describe. 
 
 Devel, a severe blow. 
 
 Dight, to wipe ; to winnow 
 corn. 
 
 Digfil, cleaned from chaff. 
 
 Dights, cleans. 
 
 Dike, stone fence. 
 
 Din, dun, sallow. 
 
 Ding, to worst, to push, to beat ; 
 winna ding, will not be beat. 
 
 Dinncf, do not. 
 
 Dirl, a slight, tremulous stroke, 
 or pain ; to vibrate. 
 
 Dizze.n, or diz'n, a dozen. 
 
 Doited, stupid, silly from age. 
 
 Dolt, stup^efi, crazed. 
 
 Donzie, or donsie, unlucky. 
 
 Dool, sorrow ; to sing dool, to 
 lament. 
 
 Doos, doves. 
 
 Dorty, saucy, pettish, nice. 
 
 Douce, sober, wise, prudent ; 
 
 doucer, more prudent. 
 Doucely, soberly, prudently. 
 Dought, was or were able. 
 Doup, hind-quarters. 
 Doup-slfelper, one that stij^es 
 
 the hind-quarters. 
 Dour, obstinate. 
 Doure, stout, stubborn, sullen. 
 Dow, am or are able, can. 
 Dowff, pithless, wanting force. 
 Dowie, worn with grief or 
 
 fatigue ; half-asleep. 
 Downa, am or are not able, 
 
 cannot. 
 Doylt, stupid, 
 Dozen't, stupefied. 
 Drab, a slatternly young wonjan. 
 Drants, long prayers. 
 Drap, a drop, to drop. 
 Dropping, dropping. 
 Draunting, drawling. 
 Dreep, to opz.e, ,Ut drop. 
 Dree, to suffer. 
 Dreigh, tedious, long about it. 
 Dribble, dri^^ling, slaV[er, 
 Driddle, to scrape on a fiddle. 
 Drift, a drove. 
 Droddum, the breech. 
 Drone, part of a bagpipe. 
 Droop-rumpk't, that droops at 
 
 the crupper; 
 Droukit, drenched. 
 Drouth, thirst, drought, 
 Drucken, drunken. 
 Drumlie, muddy. 
 Drummock, meal and water 
 
 mixed, raw. 
 Drunt, pet, sour humour, sulks. 
 Dub, a dirty pool. 
 Duds, rags, tattered clothes. 
 Duddie, ragged. 
 
 Dung, worsted, pushed, driven. 
 Dunt, a knock or stroke ; to beat, 
 
 to throb. 
 Dunled, beaten, boxed. 
 Dush, to push Uke a ram, to butt. 
 Dush't, butted by a ram or ox , 
 
 etc. 
 Dwam, a qualm or swoon. 
 Divining, pining away, dsqaying. 
 Dyke, a stone-waJl fence. 
 Dyvour, a bankrupt, an ill- 
 dressed, seedy, idle fellow. 
 
GLOSSARY 
 
 519 
 
 E 
 
 E'e, the eye. 
 
 E'en, the eyes. 
 
 E'enin', evening. 
 
 Eerie, lonely, frighteJai' dreading 
 
 ghosts and spirits. 
 Eild, old age. 
 Elbuck, the elbo'w. 
 Eldritch, dreary, ghastly, fright- 
 
 ftil, tiheafthly. 
 En', end. 
 
 Enbragh, Edinburgh. 
 Eneugh, enough. 
 Especial, es^edially. 
 Eaie, to try, attempt, intend. 
 Eydent, or eidenl, diligtot. 
 
 Fcf, fall, lot, fate, watetlall ; 
 as a verb, it signifies to gtt or 
 obtain. 
 
 Fa'ard, favoured ; ill-fa' atd, ill- 
 favoured, ugly. 
 
 Faddom't, fathomed, ' encoml- 
 passed with the arihs. 
 
 Fde, a foe. 
 
 Faem, foam. 
 
 Faiket, unknown, unemploytd, 
 abated, folded. 
 
 Fain, fond. 
 
 Fdirin', si fairiii'g-, k jJresfeflt. 
 
 Fallow, fellow. 
 
 Fand, found. 
 
 Farl, a crisp cake; 
 
 Fash, trouble, cafe ; to ti'bubld, 
 to care for. 
 
 Fashions, trdtib'lesonle. 
 
 Fasht, troubled. 
 
 Fastern-e'en, Fastens-evefe. 
 
 Fati'reh, rlBboh' ends. 
 
 iJ'au W, a fold, to fold. 
 
 Faulding, folding. 
 
 Fdiif-d, fayfauired ; ili-faar'd, ill- 
 fa(voured. 
 
 Faiiii, false. 
 
 Fause-house, opening in a corn- 
 stack for ventilation. 
 
 Faut, fault; , 
 
 Fawsont, decent, seemly. 
 
 Fieal, a field, grassy turf, siAodtb. 
 
 Fearfu', frightfuL 
 
 Fear't, frightfed. 
 
 Feat, neat, spruce. 
 
 Fecht, to fight; 
 
 Fechtin', fighting. 
 
 Feck, Hiahy, plenty, the niost; 
 
 Fecket, waistcoat. 
 
 Feckfti'; largej hia^ti^, stout; 
 
 Fecklessi puny, weak, silly. 
 
 Feekly, mioStly. 
 
 J'eff, aflg. 
 
 Feid, feud. 
 
 Fell, keen, biting ; the' flesh 
 
 immediately under the skin ; 
 
 a level space on the Side or 
 
 top Of a hill. 
 Fen', successful struggle, fight. 
 Fend, to beat ofl want, to live 
 
 comfortably, to provide for ; 
 
 to mak a fen', to make a 
 
 shift. 
 Ferlie, ot fcrley td ^rohdef, a 
 
 wonder ; a term of coHterrlpt. 
 Fetch, to pull by fits. 
 Fetch'i, pulled intermittently. 
 Fey, ddortied, predestinated. 
 Fidge, to fidget, to shrug. 
 Fidgin' faih, excitedly eager. 
 Fiel, soft, smooth. 
 Fient, fiend, a petty oath. 
 Fient hakt, detice a bit. 
 Fiere, sound, healthy ; a 
 
 brother, a friend. 
 Fissle, to inake a rustling noise, 
 
 to fidget, to bustle. 
 Fit, a foot. 
 Fitlie-lan', the near htlfise of the 
 
 hindmost pair in the plough. 
 Fizz, to make a hIsSlhg ndiSe like 
 
 ferin-entation; of as *heH a hot 
 
 iron Is plunged into water. 
 Flaffan, fluttering. 
 Flairttn, or /Zahnen, flannel. 
 Flaaghlering, light gleaming fit- 
 
 fuUy. 
 Fleech, to cajole, to Beseech 
 
 flatteriiigiy, 
 Fleech'd, wheedled. 
 Fleechin', wheedling. 
 Fleesh, a fleece. 
 Flegi a kicK, a random bldV, a 
 
 vagary. 
 Flether, to deny by fair words. 
 FZeUierin', . flattering. 
 Fleg, to frighten, scares 
 
520 
 
 GLOSSARY 
 
 FlicMer, to flutter like nestlings 
 ■when their dam approaches. 
 Flickering, meeting, encounter- 
 ing with.* 
 Flinders, shreds, splinters. 
 
 Flin^in-tree, a bale, or piece of 
 timber hung horizontally be- 
 tween two horses in a stable, 
 by way of partition ; a flail. 
 
 Flisk, to fret at the yoke. 
 
 Fliskit, fretted. 
 
 Flitter, to vibrate like the wings 
 of small birds. 
 
 Flittering, fluttering, vibrating. 
 
 Flunkie, a servant in livery. 
 
 Flyte, to scold. 
 
 Fodgel, plump. 
 
 Foord, a ford. 
 
 Forbears, forefathers. 
 
 Forbye, besides. 
 
 Fore, to the fore, stiU in exist- 
 ence. 
 
 Forfairn, distressed, worn out, 
 jaded, enfeebled. 
 
 Forfoughten, fatigued, knocked 
 up. 
 
 Forgather, to meet, to encounter 
 with. 
 
 Forgie, to forgive. 
 
 Forjesket, jaded with fatigue. 
 
 Father, fodder. 
 
 Fou', full, drunk. 
 
 Foughien, troubled, harassed. 
 
 Fouth, plenty, enough, or more 
 than enough. 
 
 Fow, a bushel ; also a pitchfork. 
 
 Frae, from. 
 
 Freath, froth. 
 
 Fremii, strange, estranged. 
 
 Frien', friend. 
 
 Fu', full. 
 
 Fud, the scut or tail of the hare, 
 rabbit, etc. 
 
 Fuff, to blow in puffs. 
 
 Fufft, blew. 
 
 Funnie, amusing, fuU of merri- 
 ment. 
 
 Fur, a furrow. 
 
 Fur-ahin', the hindmost horse on 
 the right hand when plough- 
 ing. 
 
 Furm, a form or bench. 
 
 Fyke, trifling cares ; to malce a 
 
 fuss about trifles, to fret ; to 
 
 shrug, to wince. 
 Fyle, to soil, to dirty. 
 Fgl'i, soiled. 
 
 Gab, the mouth ; to speak boldly 
 or pertly. 
 
 Gaber-lunzie, a beggar man, one 
 who carries a wallet. 
 
 Gadsman, a ploughboy. 
 
 Gae, to go ; gaed, went ; gaen or 
 gone, gone ; gaun, going. 
 
 Gaet, or gate,--via.y, manner, road. 
 
 Gang, to go, to walk. 
 
 Gangrel, a vagrant. 
 
 Gar, to force to, to compel. 
 
 Gar't, forced to. 
 
 Garten, a garter. 
 
 Gash, shrewd, talkative ; to con- 
 verse. 
 
 Gashin', conversing. 
 
 Gaucy, jolly, large. 
 
 Gaunted, yawned. 
 
 Gawky, half - witted, foolish, 
 romping. 
 
 Gaj/Zzes, pretty well. 
 
 Gear, riches, goods of any kind. 
 
 Geek, to toss the head in scorn or 
 wantonness, to mock, to sport. 
 
 Ged, a pike. 
 
 Gentles, great follcs. 
 
 Geordie, a guinea. 
 
 Get, a child, a young one. 
 
 Ghaist, a ghost. 
 
 Gie, to give ; gied, gave ; gien, 
 given. 
 
 Gif, if. 
 
 Gifiie, diminutive of gift. 
 
 Giglets, giggling girls. 
 
 Gillie, diminutive of giU. 
 
 Gilpie, a half-grown boy or girl, 
 a romping lad, a hoyden. 
 
 Gimmer, a ewe from one to two 
 years old. 
 
 Gin, if, against. 
 
 Gipsey, a young girl. 
 
 * To flicker in Jamieson ii to coax, to flirt ; but flickering is glossed as 
 above in Blaikie. 
 
GLOSSARY 
 
 521 
 
 Girn, to grin, to twist the 
 features in rage or pain. 
 
 Girning, grinning. 
 
 Gizz, a periwig ; a shaggy head 
 of hair. 
 
 Glaikit, heedless, foolish. 
 
 Glaive, a sword. 
 
 Glaizie, glittering, smooth as 
 
 Glamour, necromancy. 
 
 Glaum' d, aimed, snatched at. 
 
 Gleck, sharp, ready.* 
 
 Gled, a kite. 
 
 Gleg, sharp, ready. 
 
 Gleib, glebe. 
 
 Glen, dale, deep valley. 
 
 Gley, a squint, to squint. 
 
 Glibe - gabbet, ready - tongued, 
 
 smooth-spoken. 
 Glint, to peep. 
 Glinted, peeped. 
 Glintin', peeping. 
 Gloamin', the twilight. 
 Glowr, to stare, a stare. 
 Glowred, stared. 
 
 Glunch, to frown, to look sulky. 
 Goavan, moving stupidly. 
 Gowan, a daisy, 
 Gowany, goivang glens, daisied 
 
 valleys. 
 Gowd, gold. 
 
 Gowdspink, the goldfinch. 
 Gowff, the game of golf ; to 
 
 strike as the dub does the ball 
 
 at goif. 
 Gowff'd, struck. 
 Gowk, a cuckoo ; a term of 
 
 contempt. 
 Gowl, to howl. 
 Grain'd, groaned. 
 Graining, groaning. 
 Graip, a dung-ft>rk. 
 Graiih, accoutrements, furniture, 
 
 dress, gear, implements. 
 Gram, or grain, a groan, to 
 
 groan, to long for. 
 Grannie, grandmother. 
 Grape, to grope. 
 Grapit, groped. 
 Gra/, wept. 
 Great, to be great with any one,j 
 
 means to be intimate, familiar. 
 
 Gree, to agree ; to bear thi gree, 
 to be decidedly victor. 
 
 Gree't, agreed. 
 
 Greet, to weep. 
 
 Greetin', weeping. 
 
 Grippet, catched, seized. 
 
 Groat, to get the whistle of 
 one's groat, to play a losing 
 game. 
 
 Grousome, loathsomely grim. 
 
 Grozel, a gooseberry. 
 
 Grumph, a grunt, to grunt. 
 
 Grumphie, a swine. 
 
 Gruri', ground. 
 
 Grunstane, a grindstone. 
 
 Gruntle, the phiz, a grunting 
 noise. 
 
 Grunzie, the mouth. 
 
 Grushie, thick, of thriving 
 growth. 
 
 Grutten, wept. 
 
 Gude, good ; the Supreme 
 
 ' Being. 
 
 Guffaw, loud burst of laughter. 
 
 Guid, good. 
 
 Guid-e'en, good evening. 
 
 Guidfather, guidmither, father- 
 in-law, mother-in-law. 
 
 Guidman and guidwife, the 
 master and mistress of the 
 house ; young guidman, a 
 man newly married. 
 
 Guid-mornin' , good morrow. 
 
 Gully, or gullie, a large knife ; 
 gleg gullie, a sharp knife. 
 
 Gulravage, confusion. 
 
 Gumlie, muddy. 
 
 Gumption, shrewd sense. 
 
 Gusty, tasteful, appetising. 
 
 Gutcher, grandsire. 
 
 Gutty, bigbellied, gross. 
 
 Gyre-carline, hag. 
 
 H 
 
 Ho', haU. 
 
 Ha' Bible, the large Bible that 
 
 lies, in the hall. 
 Hae, to have. 
 'Haen, had. 
 Haet, thing ; fient haet, a petty 
 
 oath of negation. 
 
 • Gleck, so given in Biailde, but not found in Jamieson< 
 
522 
 
 GLOSSARY 
 
 Hafjet, the temple, the side of 
 
 the head. 
 Hafflins, nearly half, partly. 
 Hagg, a scar or gulf in mosses and 
 
 moors. 
 Haggis, a kind of pudding, made 
 
 of pluck, suet, onions, etc., 
 
 and boiled in the stomach of 
 
 a sheep. 
 Hain, to spare, save, economise. 
 Hain'd, spared. 
 Hairst, harvest. 
 Haith, a petty oath. 
 Hal', or hald, a hold, a dweUing. 
 Hale, whole, tight, healthy. 
 Hallan, a particular partition 
 
 wall in a cottage, or, more 
 
 properly, a seat of turf at the 
 
 outside ; a porch. 
 Hallan - shaker, a sturdy, 
 
 beggarly scamp. 
 Hallions, rogues. 
 Hallowmas, Hallow-eve, the 31st 
 
 October. 
 Haly, holy. 
 Home, home. 
 
 Homely, homely, frank, affable. 
 Han', or haun, hand. 
 Hantle, a good many. 
 Hap, an outer garment, a mantle 
 
 or plaid ; to wrap, to cover. 
 Happer, hopper of ai mill. 
 Happing, hopping. 
 Hap-step-an'-leap, hop-step-and- 
 
 leap. 
 Harkii, hearkened. 
 Horn, very coarse linen. 
 Hash, a rough, clumsy fellow. 
 Hastit, hastened. ■ . 
 Haud, to hold. 
 Houghs, rich level meadows by a 
 
 river side. 
 Haurl, to drag, to peel. 
 Hamlin', peeling, dragging. 
 Haver-meal, oafiSieal. 
 Havers, nonsense, thoughtless 
 
 ehat. 
 Havrel, half-witted. 
 Havins, good manners, pro- 
 priety, good sense. 
 Hamkie, a cow, properly one 
 
 with a white face. 
 Healsome, wholesome, healthful. 
 Heapit, heaped. 
 
 Hearse, hoarse. 
 
 Hear 't, hear it. 
 
 Heather, heath. 
 
 Hech ! oh I strange I 
 
 Hecht, foretold, offered, pro- 
 mised ; hechtin', aiming at. 
 
 Heckle, a card on which flax and 
 hemp are dressed ; one of the 
 sharp steel spikes of such a 
 card. 
 
 Heels-o'er-gowdie, heels over 
 head. 
 
 Heeze, to raise, to lift up. 
 
 Hcj'n-sA/nned,. having large pro- 
 jecting shin bones: 
 
 Hellim, a helm. 
 
 Herd, one who tends flocks. 
 
 Hern, the heron. 
 
 Herrin, a herring. 
 
 Herry, to plunder, to rob a 
 bird's nest. 
 
 Hcrryment, plundering, devasta- 
 tion. 
 
 Het, hot. 
 
 Heugh, a crag, a ravine, a coal- 
 piti 
 
 Hie, high. 
 
 Hilch, to hobble, to limp. 
 
 Hilchin', limping. 
 
 Hiney, honey. 
 
 Hing, to hang. 
 
 Hirple, to walk erazily. 
 
 Hirsiel, a herd of sheep or cattle. 
 
 Hisiie, dry, chapped, barren. 
 
 Hitch, a loop, a knot. 
 
 Hizzy, a hussie, a young girl. 
 
 Hoddin, jogging, the ftiotioiB of a 
 cuantryman jogging along on 
 a cart-horse ; humble. 
 
 Hoddin-grag, coarse gray wooUen 
 cloth. 
 
 Hoggie, a two-year-old sheep. 
 
 Hog-score, a kind of distance line 
 in curling, drawn across the 
 ' rink. 
 
 Hog-shouther, a kind of horse- 
 play by 'josOing with the 
 shoulder ; to jostle. 
 
 Hoodock, miserly. 
 
 7/ooZ, outer-skin or case, a nut- 
 shell, pease-Swade. 
 
 Hoolie, slowly, leisurely; cauti- 
 ously. 
 
 Hoolie, take time, softly, stop. 
 
GLOSSARY 
 
 523 
 
 Hoard, a hoard, to fioard. 
 
 Hoordit, hoarded. 
 
 i?om, a spoon made of horn. 
 
 Horfiie, a name for the Devil. 
 
 Host, or hoast, to cbugh. 
 
 Hostin', coughing. 
 
 Hoich, to jerk, to nioVe the body 
 by jerks. 
 
 Hoich'd, turned topsy-turvy, 
 mixed. 
 
 Houghmagcmdie, fornication. 
 
 Hoasie, diihinutiv6 of house. 
 
 Hove, to heave, to swell. 
 
 Hov'd, swelled. 
 
 Howdie, a midwife. , 
 
 Howe, hoUow ; a hollow or dell. 
 
 Howebackit, sunk in the back, 
 spoken of a horse, etc. 
 
 Howff, a place of resort, an ale- 
 house. 
 
 Howk, to dig. 
 
 Howkin', digging. 
 
 Howkit, digged. 
 
 HoOilei; an owl. 
 
 Hog, to urge on. 
 
 Hog^t, urged. 
 
 Hoyse, to pull upwards. 
 
 Hogte, to amble stiffly. 
 
 Hughoc, diminutive of Hugh. 
 
 Hankers, iha hams. 
 
 Hureheon, a hedgehog. 
 
 Hurdies, the loins, the crupper, 
 the hips. 
 
 Hushion, cushion. 
 
 Hgie, mad, in a fury. 
 
 r, in. 
 
 leker, an. ear. of com. 
 
 ler-oe, a great graindohild. 
 
 Ilk, or i&a, each, every. 
 
 ni-thief, the devil. 
 
 Ill-Willie, ill-natured, malicious, 
 
 niggardly, 
 Ingine, genius, ingenuity. 
 Ingle, fire, fireplace-. 
 I 'sBj I shall qr will. 
 liher, other, one another. 
 
 Jad, jade ; also a familiir term 
 • among country folks for a 
 giddy youflg ^t. 
 
 Jauk, to dally, to trifle. 
 
 Jaukin'., trifling. 
 
 Jauner!,' prattle. 
 
 Jaup, a jerk of \(fater ; ib jerk 
 
 or plash as agitated water, 
 
 to splash. 
 Jaw, coarse raillery ; to Ji6tir 
 
 out, to jerk as wat^, to adsh. 
 Jaw-hole, sink. 
 Jillet, a jilt, a giddy girl. 
 Jimp, slender in the waist, 
 
 handsonie ; to jump. 
 Jimply, barely, scarcely. 
 Jing, bg jing, a petty oath. 
 Jink, to dodge, to ixat. a cb'rner, 
 
 a sudden', turning a corrie'r. 
 Jinker, th'At turriS qiiicfely, t'|iat 
 
 gives the slip ; a gay, 
 
 sprightly ^1, a ,wag. 
 JinkirP, dodging, furtive. 
 Jiri, SL iefk'. 
 
 Jokteleg, a kind of knife. 
 Joes, sweetheart. 
 Jougs, the pillory. 
 Jouk, to stoop, to bow the head, 
 
 to skulk. 
 Jow, to jow, a verb which ex- 
 presses both thq s\fiiiging 
 
 motion and peafing soiind of a 
 
 large bell. 
 Joiik'erg-pdwkerg, sly juggling 
 
 talk or tricks. 
 JandiCi to jostle. 
 
 K 
 
 Kae, a jackdaw. 
 Kail^ colewort, broth. 
 Kail-runt, the stem of colewort. 
 Kain, fowls, etc., paid as rent by 
 
 a farmer. 
 Kebars, rafters. 
 Kebbuck, a cheese. 
 Keek, a peep, to peep ; keekit 
 
 ben, looked in. 
 Keel, red chalk. 
 Kelpies, a sort of mischievous 
 
 goblins, said to haunt fords 
 
 and ferries at night, especially 
 
 in storms. 
 Ken, to know ; kcn'd, or ken't, 
 
 knew. 
 Kennin, a small mattei:. 
 
524 
 
 GLOSSARY 
 
 Kenspeckle, well-known, pecu- 
 liar, a gazing-stock. 
 
 Kep, to receive, to catph. , 
 
 Ket, matted, hairy ; a; fleece ol 
 wool. 
 
 Kiaugh, carking anxiety. 
 
 Kilt, to truss up the clothes ; the 
 philabeg. 
 
 Kimmer, or cummer, a young 
 girl, a gossip. 
 
 if m, kindred. 
 
 Kin', kind (adjective). 
 
 Kingshood, a certain part of the 
 entrails of an ox. 
 
 Kinird, country. 
 
 Kinira-cooser, a country stallion. 
 
 Kirn, a churn ; the harvest 
 home. 
 
 Kirsen, to christen,. 
 
 Kist, chest, trunk, coflHn. 
 
 Kitchen, anything eaten with 
 bread, or other fare, to give it 
 a relish. ' Hunger is gude 
 kitchen,' hunger is good sauce. 
 
 Kith, kindred. 
 
 KUlin, a kitten. 
 
 Kittle, to tickle ; skittish, tick- 
 lish, difBcult. 
 
 Knaggie, Uke knags or nobs, 
 bony. 
 
 Knappin' -hammer, a hammer for 
 breaking stones. 
 
 Knowe, a knoll. 
 
 Knurl, or knurlin', a dwarf. 
 
 Kuitlle, to cuddle. 
 
 Kuiitlin', cuddling. 
 
 Kye, cows. 
 
 Kyle, a district in Ayrshire. 
 
 Kyte, the belly. 
 
 Kyih£, to come to light, to show 
 one's self. 
 
 Laddie, diminutive of lad, a boy. 
 
 Lade, a load. 
 
 Laggan, the angle between the 
 
 side and bottom of a wooden 
 
 dish. 
 Ldigh, low. 
 Lair, or lcq.r, learning. 
 Lairing, wading, and sinking in 
 
 snow or mi^'e. 
 
 * Laith, loath. 
 
 Laithfu', bashful, sheepish. 
 
 Laive, or lave, the rest, the re- 
 mainder. 
 
 Lallans, Scottish dialect. Low- 
 lands.' 
 
 Lambie, diminntive of lamb. 
 
 Lammas-moon, harvest moon. 
 
 Lamp it, a limpet, a kind of shell- 
 fish. 
 
 Lan', land, estate. 
 
 Lan'-afore, foremost horse in 
 the plough. 
 
 Lan'-ahin', the hindmost hori$e 
 in the plough. 
 
 Lane, lone ; my lane, thy lane, 
 etc., myself alone. 
 
 Lanely, lonely. 
 
 Lang, long ; to think lang, to 
 long, to weary. 
 
 Langsyne, long since. 
 
 Lap, leaped. 
 
 Lave, or laive, the rest, the re- 
 mainder, the others, other 
 people. 
 
 Laverock, the lark. 
 
 Lawin, shot, reckoning, bill. 
 
 Lawlan', Lowland. 
 
 Lays, or leys, fields. 
 
 Leal, loyal, faithful, true. 
 
 Lear, or lair, learning. 
 
 Lea-rig, grassy ridge. 
 
 Lea'e, to leave. 
 
 Lee-lang, livelong. 
 
 Leesome, pleasant ; leesome lane, 
 dear self alone. 
 
 Leeze-me, a phrase of congratu- 
 latory endearment ; I am 
 happy in thee, or proud of 
 thee, blessings on thee. 
 
 Leister, a three-pronged fish- 
 spear. 
 
 Leugh, laughed. 
 
 Leuk, a look, to look. 
 
 Libbet, emasculated. 
 
 Licks, a beating. 
 
 Lift, the sky. 
 
 Lightly, sneering, to sneer at, to 
 slight. 
 
 IJlt, a. ballad, a tune, to sing. 
 
 Limmer, a kept mistress, a 
 strumpet. 
 
 Limp't, limped, hobbled. 
 
 Linli, to trip along. 
 
GLOSSARY 
 
 525 
 
 Linkin', tripping. 
 
 Linn, a waterfall, a cascade. 
 
 Lint, flax ; lint C the bell, flax in 
 
 flower. 
 Lintwhile, a linnet. 
 Lippen, to trust. 
 Loan, or loanin, a lane ; the 
 
 place of milking. 
 Loof, the palm of the hand. 
 Loopg, craftyL 
 Loot, did let or permit. 
 Looves, plural of loot. 
 Loan, or loon, a fellow, a raga- 
 ■ muflln,' a woman of loose 
 
 character. 
 Loup, jump, leap. 
 Lowe, a flame. 
 Lowin', flaming. 
 Lowrie, abbreviation of Law- 
 rence. 
 Lowse, to loose. 
 Lowsedi loosed. 
 Lug, the ear, a handle. 
 Lugget, having a handle ; luggcl 
 
 coup, eared cup. 
 Luggie, a small wooden dish 
 
 with a handle. 
 Lum, the chimney. 
 Lunch, a large piece of dicese, 
 
 meat, etc. 
 Lunt, a column of smoke ; to 
 
 smoke. 
 Luntin', smoking. 
 Lyca-t, of a mixed colour, gray. 
 
 M 
 
 Mae, more. 
 
 Mahoun, Satan. 
 
 Mailen, farm. 
 
 Mair, more. 
 
 Maist, most, almost. 
 
 Maistlg, mostly. 
 
 Mak, to make. 
 
 Makin', making. 
 
 Malison, curse. 
 
 Mallie, Molly or Mary. 
 
 Mang, among. 
 
 Manse, a parsonage house. 
 
 Manteele, a mantle. 
 
 Mark, or merk, marks ; a deno- 
 mination of ancient Scottish 
 money. (This and several 
 othei words, which in English 
 
 require an s to form the plural, 
 are in Scotch the same in 
 both numiiers, like the words, 
 sheep, deer). 
 
 Marrow, match, mate, one of a 
 pair. , 
 
 Mar's year, the year 1715, when 
 the Earl of Mar was in arms 
 for the Pretender, 
 
 Mashlum, mcslin, mixed corn. 
 
 Mask, to masli, as nialt, etc. ; to 
 infuse. 
 
 Maskin'-pal, teapot. 
 
 Maukin, a hare. 
 
 Maun, must ; maunna, must 
 not. f 
 
 Maut, malt. 
 
 Mavis, the thrush. 
 
 Maw, to mow. 
 
 Mawin', mowing. 
 
 Meere, mare. 
 
 Meikle, or rwickle, much. 
 
 Melancholious, mournful. 
 
 Melder, quantity of grain sent to 
 the mill to be ground. 
 
 Mcll, a mallet ; also to meddle, 
 to be intimate. 
 
 Melvie, to soil witli meal. 
 
 Men', to mend. 
 
 Mense, good manners, decorum. 
 
 Menseless, ill-bred, rude, im- 
 pudent. 
 
 Mercies, provisions, entertain- 
 ment. 
 
 Merle, the blackbird. 
 
 Messan, a small dog. 
 
 Middin, dunghill. 
 
 Middin-hole, dunghill, gutter. 
 
 Midge, a gnat. 
 
 Mim, prim. 
 
 Min', mind. 
 
 Mind't, mind it, resolved. 
 
 Minnie,, mother,, dam. 
 
 Mirk, mirkest, dark, darkest. 
 
 Misca', to abuse, to call names. 
 
 Misca'd, abused. 
 
 Mishanter, misfortune. 
 
 Mislear'd, mischievous, unman- 
 nerly ; to be put out of one's 
 art. 
 Mislippen, neglect. 
 Misleuk, mistook. 
 Mistryst, to disappoint by break- 
 ing an appointment,to deceive,/ 
 
526 
 
 GLOSSARY 
 
 Mither, mother. 
 
 Mixtie-maxtii, dohfusedl^ mixled. 
 
 Moislifg, to moisten. 
 
 Many, or monie, many. 
 
 Mobls, or mouls, earth, mould, 
 
 the grave, the dust. 
 Moop, to nibble as a sheep, to 
 
 mump. 
 Moorlan', of or belonging to 
 
 moors. 
 Morn, to-morrow. 
 Moss-hags, pits and sloughs in a 
 
 mire or bog. 
 Mostie, dustie. 
 Mou, the mouth. 
 Moudiewori, * mole. 
 Mouls, or mools, earth, thte ^ave. 
 Mousie, dimintatiVe' of mouse. 
 Muckle, or meikle, much, big, 
 
 great. 
 Musie, diminutive of muse. 
 Muslin - kail, broth composed 
 
 simply of water, shellEd 
 
 barley, and greens. 
 Mutch, a woman's cap. 
 Muichkin, sin English piiit. 
 MyseV, myself. 
 
 N 
 
 Na, no, not, nor. 
 
 Nae, no, not any. 
 
 Naething, or naiihing, nothing. 
 
 Nalg, a horse. 
 
 Nane, none. 
 
 Nappp, ale ; to be tipsy. 
 
 Negleckit, neglected. 
 
 Neibour, a neighbour. 
 
 Neist, next. 
 
 Neuk, nook. 
 
 l^ew-fangled, new-fashioned, en- 
 grossed with some ndvelty. 
 
 Nick, a cut. 
 
 Nickin', cutting. 
 
 Nieve, the flfet. 
 
 NieOefu', hahdful. 
 
 j^tffit, an exchange ; to ex- 
 change, to barter. 
 
 Nigger, a negrd. 
 
 Nine-tailed- foi, a Hkngman's 
 whip. ■ 
 
 Nit, a nut. 
 
 Norlan', of or belongihg to the 
 
 north. 
 Notic't, noticed. 
 Nowte, black cattle. 
 
 O', of. 
 
 Ochils, hills in Perthshire. 
 
 Oe, or aye, a grandt;Mld.> 
 
 O haith ! O faith 1 
 
 Ony, or onie, any* 
 
 Or, is often used for erev 
 
 Orra, ddd, not matched, that 
 
 may be spared. 
 O't, of it. 
 
 Oughtlins, at all, in any degreej 
 Ourie, shivering, drooping. 
 OuTseV, or oursels, ourselves; 
 Outcast, a quarrel. 
 Outlers, cattle not housed. 
 Ower, over, too, too much. 
 Owre-hip, a way of fetching a 
 
 blow with the hammer over 
 
 the arm. 
 Owsen, oxen. 
 
 Pack, intimate, faimUiar ; twelve 
 stone of wool. 
 
 Paidle, to plash among water ; 
 also short and irregular steps, 
 like those of children. 
 
 Paiks, blows. 
 
 Painch, paunch. 
 
 Pairtrick, or paitrick, a part- 
 ridge. 
 
 Pang, to cram. 
 
 Parle, speech. 
 
 Parritch, oatmeal puddin^v i 
 well-known Scotch dish. 
 
 Pat, put ; a pot. 
 
 Pattle, or pettle, a ploughiStaJI. 
 
 Paughty, prou'd, haughty. 
 
 Pauky, or pliibkie, cunning', sly. 
 
 Pay't, paid, beaten. 
 
 Peeh, t6" fetch the breath shtirt 
 as in^an asthma. 
 
 Pechan, the crop, ihe stomach. 
 
 Peelin', peeling, 
 
 Penny-fee, Wages. 
 
 Pet, a doHiestie^d sheep; eitfc. 
 
GLOSSARY 
 
 527 
 
 Fettle, to cherish ; a plough- 
 staff. 
 Philabeg, the Ifighlan^ kilt, , 
 Phraise, fair speeches^ flatiery'; 
 
 to flatter. 
 Phraisin', flattery, cajoling. 
 Pibroch, a Highland war-song, 
 
 adapted to the bagpipe. 
 Pickle, a sn?a}l quantity ol any- 
 thing. 
 Pig, an earthen pot, or pitcher. 
 Pine, pain, uneasiness. 
 Pint-sioup, a two-quart measure. 
 Pirn, bobbin. 
 Pit, to put. 
 Placad, a public proclamation j 
 
 a cheer ; to pubhsh. 
 Plack, a doit, an old Scotch 
 coin, two bodies, or the third 
 of a penny English. 
 Pktckless, ppnndless. , 
 Piatie, diminutive of plate. ' 
 Plenishing, furniture. 
 Plew, or pleiigh, a plough. 
 Pliskie, a trick. 
 
 Poind, to seize on cattle or 
 take the goods, as the laws 
 Of.Scotlapd allow for rent, 
 etc. 
 Poortith, poverty. ; 
 Posie, a nosegay. 
 Pou', to pull. 
 Poiflf, jto twit,clf, to, piuck, 
 Poussie, a hare or cat. 
 Pout, tL poult, a chick. 
 Pou'/, pulled. 
 Poutti/eiy., powdery. 
 Pouther, or' ppwther, powder. 
 Poiv, tiie head, tJie skull. 
 Pownie, a pony. 
 Preen, a pin. 
 Prent, print. 
 Prie, or pree, to taste. 
 Prie'd,, t^s^gd. 
 Prief, proof. 
 
 Prig, to cheapen, to en^rpa^. .[ 
 Priggin', cheapening, 
 Primsie, ^^eyx^i,^,' precise. 
 Propine, a present, a gj|t. 
 Propone, to lay dqiy^, to pro- 
 pose. I 
 |^pj«)s«% praYtgs^, WY^rs^ 
 Pair, poor. 
 Pund, pound, pqup^s. 
 
 Pifle,, a M?9' '"0>. ^ sjngl^ ^raifl 
 of chafl. 
 
 Quciich, a small wooden drinking 
 
 cup. 
 Quak, to quake. 
 Quarters, lodgings. 
 Quat, to quit. 
 Quean, a wench. 
 Queg, a cow from one to twp 
 
 years old. 
 
 R 
 
 Ragweed, the herb ragwort. 
 Raible, to rattle nonsense. ' 
 Hair, to roar. ' ' 
 Raize, to madden, to inflaine, to 
 
 excite. 
 Ramfeezled, fatigued, overspent, 
 Ram-siam, heedless, thoughtless, 
 
 forward. 
 Raploch, a coarse cloth ; coarse. 
 Rarely, expellently, very well. 
 i?asii,,a rush ; rc^h bush, a busft' 
 
 of rushes. 
 Ratfon^fl rat. 
 Rducle, rash, sio^t,' fearless ; 
 
 raucle q(u;line. Stout beIda^^, 
 Rau^ht, reached. 
 Rqve, tore. 
 
 Ravelled, entangled, contused, 
 i^aiv, 9. row. , '' 
 
 Rax, to reach, to stretch. 
 Raxin', stretching. , 
 
 Ream, cream ; to prearti. 
 Reamin', brimful, frqi,liing. 
 Reave, po rovej ]to rob. 
 Reaviiig, open yfolent thieying. 
 Reck, to heed. ' 
 
 Red, pr rede, 9 waging, counsel,, 
 
 to counsel, to warp ; also, to 
 
 sepaJrate,' to" put to ^ig^lts; 
 
 I'm red, I am informed. ' 
 Red-wat-shfii, walking ' in ' blood 
 
 oyer .the shoe-tops. ' 
 Rea-wiia, stark mpd. 
 Ree, half drunl^^ fyiddled, 
 
 Reekin , smoking. 
 Reekit, smoked, smoky. 
 Reft, broken. 
 
528 
 
 Glossary 
 
 Reisted, stopped, stuck fast ; 
 
 also smoke-dried. 
 Remead, remedy. 
 Requite, requited. 
 Rest, or reist, to stand restive. 
 Restit, stood restive ; stunted, 
 
 withered. Or, rei^tit. 
 Restricked, restricted, 
 Rickles, shocks of corn. 
 Rief, reef, plenty ; robbery. 
 Rief-randies, sturdy beggars.' 
 Rig, a ridge. j 
 
 Riggin', a roof. 
 
 Rigwoodie-hag, old hag deserv- 
 ing the gallows. 
 Rin, to run, to melt; rinnin', 
 
 running. 
 Rink, the course of the stones, a 
 
 term in the game of purling. 
 Rip, a handful of unthrashed 
 
 corn. 
 Ripling-kame, an Instrument for 
 
 dressing flax. 
 Rislfit, made a noise like the 
 
 teai'ing of roots. \ 
 
 Rivef, to tear, to burst. 
 Rockin', spinning on the rock or 
 
 distaff. 
 Rood, stands likewise for, the 
 
 plural ropds., 
 Roon, a shred, a paring. 
 Roose, to praise, to commend. 
 Roun', round, in the circle of 
 
 neighbourhood. 
 Roupit, 01 roopit, hoarse with a, 
 
 cold.' , , 
 
 Routh, plenty. 
 Routhie, plentitul. 
 Row, to roU, ^0 wrap. 
 Rowan-tree, mountain-ash. 
 Row't, rolled, wrapped, 
 iipiute, to lOY?, to bellow. ' 
 Rowih, or rouiA, 'plenty ; Touth 
 
 o' jeo/-, plenty of goods. 
 Rowtin', lowing. 
 lio^t,, rosin. 
 Rue, or rew, to repent. 
 Rug, pull ; a dog-cheap bargain. 
 Rung, a pudgel. , 
 
 Runkled, wrinkled. 
 Runt, the stem of colewort or 
 
 cabbage. 
 Ruth, sorrow. 
 Ryke, reach. 
 
 Sackless, innocent. ' 
 
 Sue, so. 
 
 Saft, soft. ' 
 
 Sam, to bless against evil influ- 
 ence. 
 
 Sair, sore, a sore ; to serve, 
 
 Sairlij, or sairlie, sorely. 
 
 Sair't, served. 
 
 Sark, a shirt. '" ■ ' 
 
 Sarkit, provided in shirts. 
 
 Saugh, a willow. ' 
 
 Saul, soul. ' 
 
 Squmont^ salmon. 
 
 Saarit, a saivt, ' ■ 
 
 Saut, salt. 
 
 Saw, to sow. 
 
 Sawin', sowing. 
 
 Sax, six. 
 
 Scaith, injury; to damage, to 
 injure. ' 
 
 Scaiihless, unharihed. 
 
 Scar, to scar, a scare. 
 
 Scaud, to scald. 
 
 Sc'auld, to scold. ' 
 
 Scaur, apt to be scared ; a pre- 
 cipitous bank of earth over- 
 hanging a river. 
 
 Scawl, a scold. 
 
 Scone, a kind of bread, Mmp' 
 barley cakes. 
 
 Scratch, to scream as a hen, 
 partridge, etc. 
 
 Screed, to tear, a rent; a long 
 story. 
 
 Scrieve, to glide swiftly along. 
 
 Scrievin', gleesomely, swiftly. 
 
 Scrimp, to scant. 
 
 Scrimpet, did scant, scanty. 
 
 Scroggie, covered with under- 
 wood. 
 
 Scud, to run. 
 
 Sculduddery, loose,' obscene. ' 
 
 Scunner, disgust. 
 
 See'd, saw. 
 
 Seizin', seizing. 
 
 Set', self; a body's seV, one's' 
 self alone. 
 
 Sell't, did sell. 
 
 Sen', to send. 
 
 Sen't, I, he, or she sent ; send 
 it. ■ • 
 
 Servan', servant. 
 
GLOSSARY 
 
 529 
 
 Sets, sends for : sets off, goes away. 
 
 Settlin', settling ; to get a settlin', 
 to be frighted into quietness. 
 
 Shachl't, distorted, out of shape. 
 
 Shaird, a shred, a shard. 
 
 Shangan, a stick cleft at one end, 
 and put on the tail of a dog, 
 etc., for mischief, or to 
 frighten him away. 
 
 Shangling, shambling. 
 
 Shanks, legs. 
 
 Shaver, a humorous wag, a 
 barber. 
 
 Shavie, an ill turn played to one. 
 
 Shaw, to show ; a small wood in 
 a hollow. 
 
 Shearers, reapers. 
 
 Sheen, bright, shining. 
 
 Sheep-shank, to think one's self 
 nae sheep-shank, to be con- 
 ceited. 
 
 Sherra-moor, Sheriflmoor, where 
 a battle was fought in the 
 rebellion of 1715. 
 
 Sheugh, a ditch or trench, a 
 sluice, a channel. 
 
 Shiel, a shed. 
 
 Shill, shrill. 
 
 Shilpit, weak, washy, insipid. 
 
 Shbg, a shock, a push off atone 
 side, it shake ; to shake. 
 
 Shoal, a shovel. 
 
 Shoon, shoes. 
 
 Shore, to offer, to threaten. 
 
 Shored, offered. 
 
 Shouther, shoulder. 
 
 Sibb, related by blood. 
 
 Sic, such. 
 
 Sicker, sure, steady. 
 
 Sidelins, sidelong, slanting. 
 
 Silken-snood, a fillet of silk, for- 
 merly worn as a token of vir- 
 ginity. 
 
 Siller, silver, money. 
 
 Simmer, summer. 
 
 Sin, a son. 
 
 Sin', since. 
 
 Skaith, see scaith. 
 
 Skance, a sight of. 
 
 Skeigh, coy. 
 
 Skellum, a worthless fellow. 
 
 Skelp, to strike, to slap, a smart 
 stroke ; to walk With a smart 
 Hipping pace. 
 46— Q* 
 
 Skelpin', walking ; also slapping 
 
 with the palm of the hand. 
 Skeps, bee-hives. 
 Skelpy-limmer, a technical term 
 
 in female scolding. 
 Skiegh, or skeigh, proud, nice, 
 
 high-mettled. 
 Skinking ware, thin stuff. 
 Skinklin, a small portion. 
 Skirl, to shriek, to cry shrilly. 
 Skirlin', shrieking, crying. 
 Skirl't, shrieked. 
 Sklent, slant, to run aslant, to 
 
 deviate from truth, to deceive. 
 Sklented, ran, or hit, in an 
 
 oblique direction, glanced. 
 Skouth, vent, scope, free action. 
 Skreigh, a scream, to scream. 
 Skyrin, shining, bright coloured. 
 Skyte, to slide rapidly off ; a 
 
 worthless fellow. 
 Slade, did slide. 
 Slae, the sloe. 
 
 Slap, a gate, a breach in a fence. 
 Slaw, slow. 
 
 Slee, sly ; sleest, slyest. 
 Sleekit, sleek, sly. 
 Sliddery, slippery. 
 Sloken, quench, slake. 
 Slype, to fall otfer as a wet 
 
 furrow from the plough. 
 Sly pit, fell over. 
 Sma', small. 
 Smeddum, dust, powder ; mettle, 
 
 sense. 
 Smeek, smoke, fumes. 
 Smiddy, a smithy. 
 Smoor, to smother. 
 Smoor'd, smothered. 
 Smoutie, smutty, obscene, ugly. 
 Smgtrie, a numerous collection 
 
 of small individuals. 
 Snapper, stumble. 
 Snash, abuse. Billingsgate. 
 Snaw, snow, to snow. 
 Snaw-broo, melted snow. 
 Snawie, snowy. 
 Sneck, latch of a door. 
 Sneck-drawing, trick-contriving. 
 Sned, to lop away, to cut off. 
 Sneeshin, snuff. 
 Sneeshin-mill, snuff-box. 
 Snell, bitter, biting, keen. 
 Snicic, same as sneck. 
 
530 
 
 GLOSSARY 
 
 Snirtle, to titter, to laugh. 
 Snod, neat. 
 Snood, virgin iillet. 
 Snool, to submit tamely, to 
 sneak ; one whose spirit is 
 broken by oppression ; to snub. 
 Snoove, to go smootlily and con- 
 stantly, to sneak ; snoove awa,' 
 push on. 
 Snowk, to scent or snuS, as a 
 
 dog, etc. 
 Snowkit, scented, snuffed. 
 Sonsie, having sweet, engaging 
 
 looks, lucky, joUy, fat. 
 Soom, to swim. 
 Sooth, truth, a petty oath. 
 Sorners, sturdy beggars, ob- 
 trusive guests. 
 Sot, a fool. 
 
 Sough, the noise of the wind, a 
 sigh, a sound dying on the 
 ear ; also a rumour. 
 Souple, flexible, swift. 
 Souter, a shoemaker. 
 Sowens, a dish made of oatmeal, 
 the seeds of oatmeal soured, 
 etc., and boiled up till they 
 make an agreeable pudding. 
 Sowp, a spoonful, a small 
 quantity of anything liquid. 
 Sowth, to try over a tune with a 
 
 low whistle. 
 Sowther, solder ; to solder, to 
 
 cement. 
 Spae, to prophesy, to divine. 
 Spails, chips. 
 Spairge, to dash, to soU as with 
 
 mire, to asperse. 
 Spate, or speat, a.swell in a river, 
 an inundation, a sweeping tor- 
 rent after rain or thaw. 
 Spaul, a limb, the shoulder- 
 blade. 
 Spaviet, having the spavin. 
 Spean, to wean. 
 
 Speat, or spate, an inundation. 
 Speel, to climb. 
 Spence, the parlour. 
 Spier, to ask, to inquire. 
 SpieVt, asked. 
 Splatter, to splutter. 
 Spleuchan, a tobacco-pouch. 
 Splore,' a frolic, noise, disturb- 
 ance. 
 
 Sporran, a purse. 
 Spracliled, scrambled. 
 Sprattle, to scramble. 
 Spreekled, spotted, speckled. 
 Spree, a convivial indulgence, a 
 
 frolic, a lark. 
 Spring, a quick air in music, a 
 
 Scotch reel. 
 Sprit, a tough-rooted plant, 
 
 something like rushes. 
 Sprittie, full of such plants. 
 Spunk, fire, a match, a spark ; 
 
 mettle, wit. 
 Spunkie, mettlesome, brisk, 
 fiery ; Wilt o' Wisp, or ignis 
 fatuus. 
 Spurtle, a stick used in making 
 oatmeal pudding or porridge. 
 Squad, a crew, a party. 
 Squatter, to flutter in water, as a 
 
 wild duck, etc. 
 Squallle, to sprawl. 
 Sgueel, a scream, a screech ; to 
 
 scream. 
 Stacker, to stagger. 
 Stack, a rick of corn or hay. 
 Staggie, diminutive of stag. 
 Staig, a young horse not broken 
 
 in. 
 Stalwart, strong, stout. 
 Stance, standing-place. 
 Stane, a stone. 
 
 Stang, a pole, a branch of a tree. 
 Stank, did stink ; a pool of 
 
 standing water. 
 Stani, to stand ; sian't, did 
 
 stand. 
 Stap, stop. 
 Stark, stout. 
 Startle, to run, as cattle stung by 
 
 the gadfly. 
 Staumrel, a blockhead ; half- 
 witted. 
 Staw, stole ; to surfeit. 
 Stech, to cram the belly. 
 Stechin', cramming. 
 Steek, to shut ; a stitch. 
 Steer, to molest, to stir. 
 Sleeve, or stieve, firm, compact. 
 Stell, a still. 
 Sten, to rear like a horse ; to 
 
 bound, to leap. 
 Sten't, reared. 
 Stents, tribute, dues of any kind. 
 
GLOSSARY 
 
 531 
 
 SUrns, stars. 
 
 Stey, steep ; stegest, steepest. 
 
 Stibble, stubble ; stibble-rig, the 
 
 reaper in harvest who takes 
 
 the lead. 
 Stick-on' -stowe, totally, alto- 
 gether. 
 Sticket, stuck, spoUed. 
 Stilt, a crutch ; to halt, to limp. 
 Stimpart, the eighth part of a 
 
 Winchester bushel. 
 Stirk, a young cow or bullock. 
 Stock, a plant or root ol colewort, 
 
 cabbage, etc. 
 Stockin', a stocking ; throwing 
 
 the stockin', an old marriage 
 
 custom. 
 Stoitin', staggering. 
 Stook, a shock of corn. 
 Stooked, made up in shocks. 
 Stoor, sounding hoUow ; strong, 
 
 and hoarse ; austere. 
 Slot, an ox. 
 Stound, a pang. 
 Stoup, or stomp, a kind of jug or 
 
 dish with a handle. 
 Stour, stern, gruff. 
 Stoure, dust, particularly dust 
 
 in motion. 
 Stow, to cut off, to lop. 
 Stowlins, by stealth. 
 Stown, stolen. 
 Stoyte, to stumble. 
 Strack, did strike. 
 Strae, straw ; to die a fair strae 
 
 death, to die in bed, a natural 
 
 death. 
 Straik, to stroke. 
 Straikit, stroked. 
 Strappin, tall and handsome. 
 Straught, straight. 
 Stravagin' , wandering without 
 
 an aim. 
 Streek, to stretch. 
 Stress, hard pressure, straining. 
 Striddle, to straddle. 
 Siroan, to spout. 
 Studdie, an anvil. 
 Stumpie, diminutive of stump. 
 Strunt, spirituous liquor of any 
 
 kind ; to walk sturdily, to 
 
 strut ; to iak" the strunt, to 
 
 take the pet. 
 'Stuff, corn or pulse of any -kind. 
 
 Sturt, trouble ; to molest. 
 
 Sturtin', frighted. 
 
 Sucker, sugar. 
 
 Sud, should. 
 
 Sugh, the continued rushing 
 
 noise of wind or water. 
 Sumph, a soft stupid fellow. 
 Sunkets, provisions, delicacies. 
 Sunkie, a low stool. 
 Suthron, Southern, an old name 
 
 for the English. 
 Swaird, sward. 
 Swall'd, swelled. 
 Swank, stately, jolly. 
 Swankie, or swanker, a tight 
 
 strapping young fellow or girl. 
 Swap, an exchange or barter. 
 Swcu'f, swoon. 
 Swat, did sweat. 
 Swatch, a. sample. 
 Swats, drink, good ale, wort. 
 Sweatin', sweating. 
 Sweer, lazy, averse ; dtad sweer, 
 
 extremely averse. 
 Swinge, to beat, to whip. 
 Swirl, a curve ; an eddying 
 
 blast, or pool ; a knot in 
 
 wood ; a whirl ; circular 
 
 motion. 
 Swirlie, knaggie, full of knots. 
 Swith, get away, quickly. 
 Swiiher, to hesitate in choice ; 
 
 an irresolute wavering in 
 
 choice ; an eerie swither, a 
 
 dismal hesitation. 
 Swoor, swore. 
 
 Syboes, a garden vegetable. 
 Synd, rinse. 
 Syndings, rinsings. 
 Syne, since, ago, then, after that, 
 
 in that case. 
 Syver, a drain, a gutter. 
 
 Tack, lease. 
 
 Tackets, hobnails for shoes. 
 
 Tae, a toe ; three-tae'd, three- 
 pronged. 
 
 Taed, a toad. 
 
 Tairge, target ; to task, to 
 exercise. 
 
 Tait, a small quantity. 
 
 Tak, to take ; takin', taking. 
 
532 
 
 GLOSSARY 
 
 Tamtallan, the name of a moun- 
 tain. 
 Tangle, a sea-weed. 
 Tangs, tongs. 
 Tap, the top. 
 Tapetless, heedless, foolish, 
 
 feeble, numb. 
 Tappit-hen, a drinking vessel 
 with a nob at the top and 
 containing a quart. 
 Tapsalteerie, topsy-turvy. 
 Tarrow, to murmur at one's 
 
 allowance. 
 Tarrow't, murmured. 
 Tarry-breeks, a sailor. 
 Tasse, or tassie, a cup. 
 Taald, or tald, told. 
 Taupie, a foolish, thoughtless 
 
 young woman. 
 Touted, or tautie, matted to- 
 gether ; spoken of hair or 
 wool. 
 Tawie, that allows itself peace- 
 ably to be handled ; spoken 
 of a horse, cow, etc. 
 Teat, or tait, a small quantity. 
 ^Tedding, spreading after the 
 
 mower. 
 Teen, grief. 
 
 Ten-hours' -bite, a slight feed to 
 the horses while in the yoke, 
 in the forenoon. 
 Tent, a field pulpit ; heed, 
 caution ; take heed, observe. 
 Tentie, heedful, cautious. 
 Tentless, heedless. 
 Teugh, tough. 
 Thaek, thatch ; thack an' rape, 
 
 clothing, necessaries. 
 Thae, these. 
 Thairms, small guts, fiddle 
 
 strings. 
 Thankit, thanked. 
 Theekit, thatched. 
 Thegither, together. 
 ThemseV, themselves. 
 Thick, intimate, familiar. 
 Thieoeless, cold, dry, spited ; 
 spoken of a person's de- 
 meanour. 
 Thigger, to rob. 
 Thir, these. 
 Thirl, to thriU. 
 Thirled, thrilled, vibrated. 
 
 Thole, to suffer, to endure, to 
 
 bear with. 
 Thowe, a thaw, to thaw. 
 Thowless, slack, lazy, feeble. 
 Throng, throng, a crowd ; busy ; 
 
 on good terms. 
 Thrapple, throat, windpipe. 
 Throve, twenty-four sheaves of 
 
 corn. 
 Throw, to sprain, to twist, to 
 contradict, to thwart ; throws, 
 throes, pangs. 
 Thrawin', twisting, etc. 
 Thrown, sprained, twisted, given 
 
 to contradiction. 
 Threap, to maintain by dint of 
 
 assertion. 
 Threshin', thrashing. 
 Thretieen, thirteen. 
 Thristle, thistle. 
 
 Through, to mok to through, to 
 go on with, to make out, to 
 make good. 
 Throu'ther, pell-mell, confusedly. 
 Tlmd, to make a loud inter- 
 mittent noise. 
 Thummart, pole cat. 
 Thumpit, thumped. 
 ThyseV, thyself. 
 Till 't, to it. 
 Timmer, timber. 
 Tine, or tyne, to lose ; tint, lost. 
 Tinkler, a tinker. 
 Tint the gate, lost the way. 
 Tip, a ram. 
 Tippence, twopence. 
 Tirl, to make a slight noise, 
 knock at a door ; to uncover. 
 Tirlin', stripping, uncovering. 
 Tither, the other. 
 Tittle, a sister. 
 Tittle, to whisper. 
 Tittlin', whispering. 
 Tocher, marriage portion. 
 Tod, a fox. 
 Toddle, to totter, like the walk of 
 
 a child. 
 Toddlin', tottering, 
 room, empty ; loom roose, 
 
 empty praise, 
 roop, a ram. 
 
 Toun, a hamlet, a farm-house. 
 
 Tout, the blast of a horn or 
 
 trumpet ; to blow a horn, etc 
 
GLOSSARY 
 
 533 
 
 Tow, a rope. 
 
 Towmond, a twelvemonth. 
 
 Tdwzie, rough, shaggy. 
 
 Towzled, rumpled, in disorder. 
 
 Tog, a -very old fashion of female 
 head-dress. 
 
 Toijte, to totter like old age. ' 
 
 Tozie, tipsy, fuddled. 
 
 Transmogrified, tiansmigrated, 
 metamorpliosed. 
 
 Trashtrie, trash.' 
 
 Trews, trousers. '•>< 
 
 Trickle, full of tricks.-' ■ 
 
 Trig, spruce, neat. 
 
 Trimly, excellently. 
 
 Trln'le, wheel of a barrow. 
 
 Troke, to exchange. 
 
 Trow, to believe. 
 
 Trowth, truth, a petty oath. 
 
 Tryste, a fair. ' 
 
 Trysied, appointed ; in tryste, to 
 
 ' make an appointment. 
 
 Try"!, tried. 
 
 Till/, raw hide, of which, in old 
 times, plough-traces were fre- 
 quently made. 
 
 Tulzie, "a quarrel, a brawl ; to 
 quarrel, to fight. 
 
 Twa, two. 
 
 Twa-three, a few. 
 
 'Twad, it would. 
 
 Twal, twelve ; twal - penny- 
 worth, a small quantity, a 
 penny worth. One penny 
 English is 12d. Scotch. 
 
 Twin, to part, to separate. 
 
 Tyke, a dog of the larger kind; 
 
 Tyne, or tine, to lose.' 
 
 ■■■ , U 
 
 Ugsome, disgusting. 
 Unchancy, unlucky. 
 ZJnco, strange, uncouth ; very, 
 ■ very gBeat, prodigious; an 
 
 unco fit, a rapid pace. 
 Ufwosi i news, strangers. 
 Unkenn'd, unknown, 
 Unsicker, unsure, unsteady. 
 Unskaithed, undaraagftd, unhurt 
 Wmweetitig, un wotting,; unknow- 
 ; idBgly<- !.. • -.■.' .. 
 Vp-bye, up the way. , i- 
 
 Upcast, reproach.; 
 Uphauden, supported. 
 Upo', upon. ! ! r j, 
 
 Upsettin', assuming, conceited. 
 Upsides with, even with., 
 Urchini a hedgehog. 
 
 Vap'rin\ vapouring. 
 Vauntle, elated. 
 Vera, very. 
 
 Virl, a ring, round a column, 
 etc. 
 
 W 
 
 Wa', wall ; wa's, walls. 
 
 Wabsier, a weaver. 
 
 Wad, would ; to bet, a bet, a 
 pledge. 
 
 Wadna, would not. 
 
 Wae, woe, sorrowful. 
 
 Waesueks I O Maes me! alas 1 
 O the pity 1 
 
 Waff, shabby. , , 
 
 Waft, the woof in weaving. 
 
 Waif, a straggler. 
 
 Waifu', wailing. 
 
 Wair, or ware, to. lay out, to ex- 
 pend. 
 
 Wale, choice. ,, ' 
 
 Waled, chose, ■ chosen ; hand- 
 waled, carefully picjced, . , 
 
 Walie, ample, large, jolly.,; glso 
 an interjection of distress. 
 
 Wame, the belly. 
 
 Wamefu', a bellyful. 
 
 Wanchansie, unlucky. 
 
 Wanrestfu', restless. 
 
 Ware, worn. See ivair. 
 
 Wark, work, i , , , 
 
 Wark-lume, a tool to work' with. 
 
 Warl', 01, world, the world. | 
 
 Warloclc, Si! wizard., 
 
 Warly, worldly, eager on amass- 
 ing wealth. , , , 
 
 Warran', a warrant, to warrant. 
 
 Wars^, worst. 
 
 Warstled, or warsled, wrestled. 
 
 W,a,strie, prodigality, wast,^, 
 
 Wal, wet ; / wat, 1 wot, I 
 know. ,,.,,, 
 
534 
 
 GLOSSARY 
 
 Water-brose, broSe made ol meal 
 
 and water simply, without the 
 
 addition of milk or butter, 
 
 etc. 
 Wattle, a twig, a wand. 
 Wauble, to swing, to reel. 
 Waught, a hearty draught of 
 
 liquor. 
 Waukii, thickened, as fullers do 
 
 cloth. 
 Waukrife, not apt to sleep ; 
 
 waukrife winkers, sleepless 
 
 eyelids. 
 Waur, worse ; to worst, to get 
 
 the better of. 
 Waur'i, worsted. 
 Wean, or weanie, a child. 
 Wearie, or weary; many a 
 
 weary body, many a different 
 
 person. 
 Weason, wind-pipe. 
 Weaving the siockin', throwing 
 
 the stocking, old marriage 
 
 custom. 
 Wecht, winnowing basket. 
 Wee, little ; wee things, little 
 
 ones ; wee bit, small matter. 
 Weel, well ; weelfare, welfare. 
 Weet, rain, wetness. 
 Weird, fate, destiny. 
 We'se, we shall. 
 Wha, who. 
 Whaizle, to wheeze. 
 Whalpit, whelped. 
 Whang, a leathern string or 
 
 strap ; a cut of cheese, bread, 
 
 etc. ; to givfe the strappado. 
 Whore, where ; whare'er, wher- 
 ever. 
 Whose, whose. 
 Whatreck, nevertheless. 
 Whott, cut with a knife, whittled. 
 Tfheep, to fly nimbly, to jerk ; 
 ' penny-wheep, small beer. 
 Whid, the riiotion of a hare, 
 
 running but not firightened ; 
 
 a lie. 
 yfhiddin', running as a hare or 
 
 rabbit. ' ' 
 Whigijialeeries, whims, fandes, 
 
 crotchets. 
 Whingin*, cryihtf, complaining, 
 
 fretting. 
 Whins, gorse. 
 
 Whirligigams, useless . orna- 
 ments ; trifling appendages. 
 Whisht, silence ; lo hold one's 
 
 vohisht, to be silent. 
 Whisk, to sweep, to lash. 
 Whiskit, lashed. 
 Whisle, a whistle, to whistle. 
 Whiiter, a hearty draught ol 
 
 liquor. 
 Whittle, a knife. 
 Whunstane, a whinstone. 
 Whyles, sometimes. 
 WV, with. 
 Wick, to strike a stone in an 
 
 oblique direction, a term in 
 
 curling. 
 Wicker, willow (the smaller sort), 
 Widdiefu', deserving the widdie, 
 
 or gallows. 
 Widdie, wriggling, motion ; 
 
 struggle,' busUe. 
 Wiel, a smaU whirlpool, an 
 
 eddy. 
 Wifle, a diminutive or endearing 
 
 term for wife. 
 Wight, active, handsome. 
 Williewought, draught of liquoii. 
 Willyart, wild, strange, shy. 
 Wimple, to meander. 
 Wimpl't, meandered. 
 Wimplin', meandening. 
 Win, to winnow, to get. 
 Win', wind 5 win's, winds. 
 Win't, winded, as a bottom of 
 
 yarn. 
 Winna; will not. 
 Wihnock, a window. 
 Winsome, hearty, vaunted, gay, 
 
 engaging in manners or ap- 
 pearance. 
 Wintle, a staggering motion ; to 
 
 stagger ; to reel. 
 Winze, an oath. 
 Wiss, to wish,. 
 Withouiten, without. 
 Wizen'd, hidebound, diied, 
 
 shrunk. 
 Wonner, a wonder, a ooi\temp^ 
 
 tuous appellation. 
 Wons^ dwells. 
 W^o', Wool. 
 Woodie, a rope, more properly 
 
 one made of withs or wIIIqiks ; 
 
 the gallows. 
 
GLOSSARY 
 
 535 
 
 Wooer-bdb, the garter knotted 
 below the knee with a couple 
 of loops. 
 
 Wordy, worthy. 
 
 Worset, worsted. 
 
 Wow, an exclamation of pleasure 
 or wonder. 
 
 Wrack, to tease, to vex. 
 
 Wraith, a spirit, a ghost ; an ap- 
 parition exactly like a living 
 person, whose appearance is 
 said to forebode the person's 
 approaching death. 
 
 Wriu^f, wrong, to wrong. 
 
 Wreath, or wreeth, a drifted heap 
 of snow. 
 
 Wud, mad, distracted. 
 
 Wuinble, a wimble. 
 
 Wuzzent, withered, dried. 
 
 Wyte, beguile. 
 
 Wyliecoat, a flannel vest. 
 
 Wyie, blame, to blame. 
 
 YM, a horse. 
 
 Yald, supple, active. 
 
 Yammer, to complain peevishly. 
 Ye ; this pronoun is frequently 
 
 used for thou. 
 Year, is 'Used both for singular 
 
 and plural, years. 
 Yearlings, or yealihgs, born in 
 
 the same year, coevals. 
 Yearns, longs much, 
 yearns, eagles; 
 Yell, or yeld, barren, that gives 
 
 no mUk. , . - 
 Yellow - yeldrin, the yellow 
 
 hammer. 
 Yerk, to lash, to jerk. 
 Yerkit, jerked, lashed. 
 Yestreen,, yesternight. 
 Yett, a gate, such as is usually at 
 
 the entrance into a farmyard 
 
 or field. 
 Yeuks, itches. 
 Yill, ale. \ 
 Yird, earth. 
 Yokin', yoking a bout. 
 , Yont, beyond. 
 Yoarsel', yourself. 
 Yowe, an ewe. 
 Yowie, diminutive of ewe. 
 Yuk. Christmas. 
 
INDEX OF FIRST LINES 
 
 A cauld, cauld kirk and in 't but few 
 
 Adieu I a heail-warm, fond adieu ! 
 
 Admiring Nature in her wildest grace 
 
 Adown winding Nith I did wander 
 
 Ae day, as Deatli, that gruesome carle 
 
 Ae fond kiss, and then we sever 
 
 Again rejoicing Nature sees . 
 
 Again the silent wheels of Time 
 
 A guid new-year I wish thee, Maggie 
 
 Ah, Chloris, since it may na be 
 
 A Highland lad my love was born 
 
 A little, upright, pert, tart, tripping wight 
 
 All devil as I am, a damned WTetch 
 
 All hail ! inexorable lord 
 
 A' the lads o' Thornie bank . 
 
 A' ye wha live by soups o' drink . 
 
 Although my back be at the wa' . 
 
 Although my bed were in yon muir 
 
 Amang the trees, where humming bees 
 
 Among the heathy hills and. Tagged woods 
 
 Ance mair I hail thee, thou gloomy December 
 
 An honest man here lies at rest 
 
 Anna, thy charms my bosom fire 
 
 An' oh, for ane-and-twenty, Tam 
 
 And oh ! my Eppie 
 
 A rose-bud by my early walk 
 
 As down the burn they took their way 
 
 As father Adam first was fool'd 
 
 As I came in by our gate end 
 
 As I stood by yon roofless tower 
 
 As I was a-wand'ring ae midsummer e'enin' 
 
 As I was a-wand'ring ae morning in spring 
 
 Ask why God made the gem so small . 
 
 As Mailie and her lambs thegither 
 
 As on the banks o' wandering Nith 
 
 As Tam the Chapman on a day 
 
 Auld chuckle Reekie 's sair dlstress'd 
 
 Auld comrade dear, and brither sinner . 
 
 Awa' Whigs, awa' .... 
 
 Awa' wi' your witchcraft o' beauty's alarms 
 
 Bannocks o' bear meal .... 
 feeauteous rose-bud, young and gay 
 Before I saw Clarinda's face . 
 Behind yon hills where Lugar flows , 
 
 536 
 
INDEX OF FIRST LINES 
 
 537 
 
 Behold the hour, the boat arrive . . 
 Below thir stanes lie Jamie's banes 
 Beyond thee, dearie, beyond thee, dearie 
 Bless the Redeemer, Cardoness 
 Blithe, blithe and merry was she . 
 51i};he hae I been on yon hiU 
 Bonnie lassie, will ye go 
 Bonnie wee Uiing, cannie wee thing 
 Braw, braw lads of Gala Water 
 Bright ran thy line, O Galloway . 
 But lately seen in gladsome green . 
 But rarely seen since nature's birth 
 By Allan-stream I chanced to rove 
 By yon castle wa', at the dose ol the day 
 
 Can I cease to care .... 
 
 Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy 
 
 Ca' the yowes to the knowes . 
 
 Cauld is the e'enin' blast 
 
 Cease, ye prudes, your envious railing . 
 
 Clarinda, mistress of ray soul 
 
 Come boat me o'er, come row me o'er . 
 
 Come, let me take thee to my breast . 
 
 Come rede me, dame, come tell me, dame 
 
 Coming through the rye, poor body 
 
 Contented wi' Uttle, and cantie wl' mair . 
 
 Could aught of song declare my pains . 
 
 Cursed be the man, the poorest wretch in life 
 
 Curse on ungrateful man, that can be pleased 
 
 Dear Burns, thou brother of my heart 
 Dear Smith, the sleest, paukie thief 
 Deluded swain, the pleasure . 
 Dire was the hate at old Harlaw . 
 Does haughty Gaul invasion threat 
 Duncan Gray cam here to woo 
 Dweller in yon dungeon dark 
 
 Earth'd up here lies an imp o' hell . 
 Edina 1 Scotia's darling seat . 
 Expect na. Sir, in this narration . 
 
 Fair Empress of the Poet's soul . 
 
 Fairest maid on Devon banks 
 
 Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face . 
 
 Fair the face of orient day . 
 
 False flatterer, Hope, away . 
 
 Farewell, thou fair day, thou green earth, and 
 
 Farewell, thou stream that winding flows 
 
 Farewell, ye dungeons dark and strong . 
 
 Fate gave the word, the arrow sped 
 
 Fill me with the rosy wine . . . 
 
 Fintry, my stay in worldly strife . . 
 
 ye skies 
 
 PAGE 
 
 233 
 197 
 439 
 420 
 267 
 224 
 264 
 278 
 489 
 407 
 244' 
 405 
 228 
 290 
 
 254 
 250 
 240 
 435 
 409 
 270 
 456 
 231 
 489 
 457 
 249 
 431 
 405 
 407 
 
 287 
 68 
 235 
 375 
 326 
 216 
 174 
 
 420 
 144 
 140 
 
 358 
 263 
 138 
 439 
 335 
 291 
 247 
 442 
 438 
 405 
 182 
 
538 
 
 INDEX OF FIRSt LINES 
 
 First when Maggy was my Care . 
 
 Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes 
 
 For lords or kings I dinna m'6um . 
 
 Forlorn, my love, no comfort near 
 
 Frae the friends and land I love . 
 
 Friday first 's the day appoiftted . 
 
 Friend of the Poet, tried and leal . 
 
 From thee, Eliza, I must go . 
 
 From those drear solitudes and frowsy cells 
 
 Fy, let us a' to Kirkcudbright 
 
 Gane is the day, and mirk 's the night . 
 
 Go fetch to me a pint o' wine . . . 
 
 Grant me, indulgent Heaven, that 1 may live 
 
 Guid-mornin' to your Majesty 
 
 Guid speed and furder to yoil, Johnnie . 
 
 Had I a cave on some wild, distant shorie 
 
 Had I the wyte, had I the wyte . 
 
 Hail, Poesie 1 thou nyniph reserved 
 
 Hail, thairm-inspirin', rattliri' WilUe 
 
 Has auld Kilmarnock, seen the De'il . 
 
 Ha I whare ye gaun, ye crawlin' ferlie . 
 
 Health to the Maxwells' vet'ran chief . 
 
 Heard ye o' the tree o' Fraiice 
 
 He clench'd his pamphlets in his fist . 
 
 Hee balpu I my sweet wee Donald 
 
 Her daddie forbade, her minnie forbade 
 
 Here around the ingle bleezing 
 
 Here awa', there awa', wandering WilUe 
 
 Here Brewer Gabriel's fire 's extinct 
 
 Here cursing, swearing Burton lies 
 
 Here Holy WilUe's sair-worn day . 
 
 Here is the glen and here the bower 
 
 Here 's a bottle and an honest friend 
 
 Here 's a health to ane I lo'e dear . 
 
 Here 's a health to them that 's awa' 
 
 Here 's to thy health, my bonnie lass 
 
 Hear, Land o' Cakes, and brither Scots . 
 
 Here lies a mock Marquis, whose titles were shahim'd 
 
 Here lies a rose, a budding rose 
 
 Here lies John Bushby, honest man 
 
 Here lies Johnny Pigeon . . . 
 
 Here lies with Death auld Grizel Grim . 
 
 Here lie Willie Michie's banes 
 
 Here souter Hood in death does sleep . 
 
 Here Stuarts once in glory reign'd 
 
 Here, where the Scottish Muse immortal live 
 
 Her flowing locks, the raven's wing . 
 
 He who of Rankine sang hes stifE and dead 
 
 Hey, the dusty miller .... 
 
 Honest "Will's to heaven gane 
 
 How can my poor heart be glad . 
 
INDEX OF FIRST LINES 
 
 539 
 
 How cold is that bosom which folly once flred 
 How cruel are the parents .... 
 How lang and dreary is the night ... 
 How pleasant the banks ol the clear-winding Devoti 
 How shall I sing Drumlanrig's grace . . 
 How wisdom and foUy meet, mix, and unite . 
 Humid seal of soft affections . . 
 
 Husband, husband, cease your strife , . 
 
 I am a bard of no regard .... 
 I am a keeper of the law .... 
 
 I am a son of Mars, who have been in many wars 
 
 I am my mammie's ae bairn .... 
 
 I call no goddess to inspire my strains . 
 
 I coft a stane o' haslock, woo' . , . 
 
 I dream'd I lay where flowers were springing 
 
 I gaed a waefu' gate yestreen 
 
 I gat your letter, winsome WiUie . 
 
 I hae a wife o' my ain .... 
 
 I hold it, sir, my bounden duty 
 
 I lang hae thought, my youthfu' friend . 
 
 I 'U aye ca' in by yon town . 
 
 I '11 kiss thee, yet, yet .... 
 
 I 'm three times doubly owre your debtor 
 
 I married with a scolding wife 
 
 I mind it weel, in early date . 
 
 I murder hate, by field or flood 
 
 I once was a maid, though I cannot tell when 
 
 In coming by the brig p' Dye 
 
 Inhuman man 1 curse on tiiy barbarous art 
 
 In Mauchline there dwells six proper young belles 
 
 In politics if thou wouldst mix 
 
 Ip se'enteen hundred forty-nine 
 
 In simmer, when the hay was mawn 
 
 Instead of a song, boys, I 'U give you a toast 
 
 In this strange land, this uncouth clime 
 
 In wood and wild, ye warbling thrpng 
 
 I sing of a whistle, a whistle of worth 
 
 Is there a whim-inspired fool . , 
 
 Is there, for honest poverty . 
 
 It is na, Jean, thy bonnie face 
 
 It was the charming month of May 
 
 It was upon a Lammas night , , 
 
 Jamie, come try me . . . • 
 Jpckey 's ta'en the parting \af^ , 
 
 Johp Anderson, my jo, John • f » 
 
 Kesible, thou cur'st my unbelief , , 
 
 Ken ye aught o' Captai;i Grose . , 
 
 Kilinanjock wabsters, fjdge gnd claw i 
 Kiad Sir, I 've read yoyr paper througb 
 
 Know then, O stranger tp the fame ; ,• 
 
 429 
 331 
 
 m 
 
 333 
 
 310 
 i98 
 
540 
 
 INDEX OF FIRST LINES 
 
 Lament him, Mauchlirie husbands a' 
 Lament in rhyme, lament in prose 
 Landlady, count the lawin 
 Lassie wi' the lint-white locks 
 Lass, when your mither is frae hame 
 Last May a braw wooer cam down the lang 
 Late crippled of an arm, and now a leg 
 Let me ryke up to dight that tear . 
 Let not woman e'er complain 
 Let other poets raise a fracas . 
 Life ne'er exulted in so rich a prize 
 Like jEsop's lion. Burns says, ' Sore I feel 
 Lone on the bleaky hills the straying flocks 
 Long life, my lord, and health be yours 
 •Loud blaw the frosty breezes 
 Louis, what reck I by thee . 
 
 Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion 
 
 Maxwell, if merit here you crave - 
 
 Musing on the roaring ocean . 
 
 My blessings on you, sonsy wife 
 
 My bonnie lass, I work in brass 
 
 My canty, witty, rhyming ploughman 
 
 My Chloris, mark how green the groves 
 
 My curse upon thy venom'd stang 
 
 My father was a farmer . 
 
 My Harry was a gallant gay . 
 
 My heart is a-breaking, dear tittie 
 
 My heart is sair, I dare na tell 
 
 My heart 's in the Highlands, ray heart is not here 
 
 My heart was ance as blythe and free 
 
 My honour'd colonel, deep I feel . 
 
 My lady's gown, there 's gairs upon 't 
 
 My Lord, I know your noble ear . 
 
 My loved, my honour'd, much respected friend 
 
 My love, she 's but a lassie yet 
 
 My Peggy's face, my Peggy's form 
 
 Nae gentle dames, though e'er sae fair . 
 No churchman am I for to rail and to write 
 No more of your guests, be they titled or not 
 No more, ye warblers of the wood, no more 
 No sculptured marble here, nor pompous lay 
 No song nor dance I bring from yon great city 
 No Stewart art thou, Galloway 
 Now bank and brae are claithed in green 
 Now in her green mantle blithe Nature arrays 
 Now, Kennedy, if foot or horse 
 Now Nature hangs her mantle green 
 Now Robin Ues in his last lair 
 Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers 
 Now spring has clad the grove in green . 
 Now westlin' winds, and slaught'ring guns 
 
INDEX OF FIRST LINES 
 
 541 
 
 O Death, hadst thou but spared his lite 
 
 O Death 1 thou tyrant fell and bloody 
 
 O'er the mist-shrouded cliffs of the lone mountain straying 
 
 Of a' the airts the wind can blaw . 
 
 Of all the numerous iUs that hurt our peace 
 
 O Goudie I terror o' the Whigs 
 
 Oh, a' ye pious godly flocks . 
 
 Oh, aye my wife she dang me 
 
 Oh, bonnie was yon rosy brier 
 
 Oh, cam ye here the fight to shun 
 
 Oh, could I give thee India's wealth 
 
 Oh, gat ye me, oh, gat ye me . 
 
 Oh, gin my love were yon red rose 
 
 Oh, guid ale comes, and guid ale goes 
 
 Oh, had each Scqt of ancient times 
 
 Oh, had the malt thy strength of mind 
 
 Oh, how can I be blithe and glad . 
 
 Oh, how shall I, unskilfu', try 
 
 Oh, I am come to the low countrie 
 
 Oh, Kenmure 's on and awa', Willie 
 
 Oh, ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten 
 
 Oh, Lady Mary Ann 
 
 Oh, lay thy loot in mine, lass . 
 
 Oh, leave novels, ye Mauchline belles 
 
 Oh, leeze me on my spinning wheel 
 
 Oh, leeze me on my wee thing 
 
 Oh, Logan, sweetly didst thou glide 
 
 Oh, luve will venture in where it daur na weel be seen 
 
 Oh, Mally's meek, Mally 's sweet 
 
 Oh, meikle thinks my love o' my beauty 
 
 Oh, merry hae I been teetliin' a heckle 
 
 Oh, mirk, mirk is this midnight hour 
 
 Oh, my luve 's like a red, red rose . 
 
 Oh, once I loved a bonnie lass 
 
 Oh, open the door, some pity to show 
 
 O, poortith cauld, and restless love 
 
 Oh, raging fortune's withering blast 
 
 Oh, rattlin', roaring Willie 
 
 O, rough, rude, ready-witted Rankine 
 
 Oh, sad and heavy should I part . 
 
 Oh, saw ye bonnie Lesley 
 
 Oh, saw ye my dearie, my Eppie M'Nab 
 
 Oh, saw ye my dear, my Phely 
 
 Oh, stay, sweet warbling wood-lark, stay 
 
 Oh, steer her up and baud her gaun 
 
 Oh, sweet be thy sleep in the land of the grave 
 
 Oh, that I had ne'er been married 
 
 Oh, this is no my ain lassie . 
 
 Oh, wat ye wha 's in yon town 
 
 Oh, were I on Parnassus' hill . 
 
 Oh, wert thou in the cauld blast 
 
 Oh, wha is she that lo'es me . 
 
 Oh, wha my babie-clouts will buy 
 
542 
 
 INDEX OF FIRST LINES 
 
 Oh, whar did ye get that hauver theal bannock 
 
 Oh, wha will to Saint Stephen's house . 
 
 Oh whistle, and I 'U come to you, my lad 
 
 Oh, why the deuce should I repine 
 
 Oh, Willie brew'd a peck o' maut 
 
 Oh, wilt thou go wi' me . 
 
 O lassie, art thou sleeping yet 
 
 Old Winter, with his frosty beard 
 
 O lovely Polly Stewart . 
 
 O Mary, at thy window be 
 
 O May, thy morn was ne'er sae SWeet 
 
 Oiice fondly loved, and still remember'd deaf . 
 
 OH Cessnock banks there Uves a lass 
 
 One night as I did wander 
 
 One Queen Artemisia, as old stories tell . 
 
 O Philly, happy be that day ; . 
 
 Oppress'd with grief, oppress'd with care 
 
 Orthodox, orthodox, wha believe in Jolift Knox 
 
 O Thou dread Power, who reign'st above 
 
 O Thou Great Being I what Thou art 
 
 O Thou, in whom we live and move 
 
 O thou pale Orb, that silent shines 
 
 O thou, the first, the greatest Friend 
 
 O Thou unknown, Almighty Csiuse 
 
 O Thou, wha in the heavens dost dwell . 
 
 O thou I whatever title suit thee . 
 
 O Thou, who kindly dost provide . 
 
 O thou whom Poetry abhors . . 
 
 O Tibbie, I hae seen the day . 
 
 Out over the Forth I look to the north 
 
 O ye wha are sae guid yoursel' 
 
 O ye whose cheek the tear of pity stains 
 
 Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare i 
 Powers celestial whose protection . 
 
 RaSh mortal, and slanderous poet', thy name 
 Raving winds around her blowing . 
 Rest gently, turf, upon his breast . 
 Revered defender of beauteous Stuart 
 Ri^t, sir, your text I '11 prove it true 
 Robin shure in hairst . 
 
 Sad bird of night, what sorrow calls thee forth 
 Sad thy tale, thou idle page . 
 sad flaxen were her ringlets . ' . 
 Say, sages, what 's the charm on earth 
 Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure 
 Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled . 
 Seatrching auld wives' barrels . 
 See 1 the smoking bowl- before us . 
 SeiisibUity, how charming . . 
 Sh4is a winsome wee thing . . 
 
INDEX OF FIRST LINES 
 
 543 
 
 She 's fair and fause that causes my smart 
 
 Should auld acquaintance be forgot 
 
 Shrewd WiUie SmeUie to Crochallan came 
 
 Sic a reptile was Wat .... 
 
 Simmer 's a pleasant time 
 
 Sing on, sweet thrush, upon the leafless bough 
 
 Sir, as your mandate did request . 
 
 Sir, o'er a gill I gat your card 
 
 Sir Wisdom 's a fool when he 's fou' 
 
 Sleep'st thou, or wak'st thou, fairest creature 
 
 Some books are lies frae end to end 
 
 Some hae meat tjiat canna eat 
 
 Spare me thy vengeance, Galloway 
 
 Stay, my charmer, can you leave me 
 
 StUl anxious to secure your partial favour 
 
 Stop thief I dam,e Nature qried to Death 
 
 Streams that ghde in orient plains . 
 
 Sweetest May, let love inspire thee 
 
 Sweet fa's the ev.e on iCraigje-burn . 
 
 Sweet floweret, pledge o' m.eilde love 
 
 Sweet naivetfe of feature . 
 
 Talk not to me .of savages . 
 
 That there is falsehood in his looks 
 
 iThe bairns gat out wi' an unco shput 
 
 The black-headed eagle . . . 
 
 The bljide-red rose at Yule may blaw 
 
 The bonniest lad that e'er I saw . 
 
 The Catrine Woods were yellow seen 
 
 The day returns, my bosom burns . 
 
 Xhe de'il cam fiddling through the town 
 
 "The Devil got notice that Grose was a-dying 
 
 sfhee, Caledonia, thy wild heaths among 
 
 The friend whom, wild from wisdom's way 
 
 The glpomy night is gathering fast 
 
 The graybeard, QJd Wisdom, may boast of his treasures 
 
 The heather was blooming, the meadows were mawn 
 
 Their groves o' s.weet myrije let foreign lands reckon 
 
 The laddies by the bapks o' Nith . 
 
 The lapip of day, with ill-presaging glare 
 
 The lazy mist hapgs fi:om the brow of the hili 
 
 The loyely lass o' Inverness , 
 
 The man in life wherever placed . 
 
 The noble Maxwells and their powers . 
 
 The ploughman he 's a bonnie lad . ■ • 
 
 The poor man weeps— r-here Gavin sleeps 
 
 There lived a carle on Kellyburn braes . 
 
 There 's auld Rob Morris that wons in yon gl 
 
 There 's a youth in this city . 
 
 There 's braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes 
 
 There 's death in the cup, sae beware . 
 
 There 's news, lasses, news ... 
 
 There 's nought but care on every ban' . 
 
544 
 
 INDEX OF FIRST LINES 
 
 There was a bonnie lass 
 
 There was a lad was born in Kyle . 
 
 There was a lass,- and «he was lair . 
 
 There was a lass,- they ca'd her Meg 
 
 There -was once a day^ but old Time then was young 
 
 There were five carlines in the south 
 
 There were three kings into the east 
 
 The simple Bard, rough at the rustic plough 
 
 The small birds rejoice in the green leaves returning 
 
 ■The smiling Spring comes in rejoicing 
 
 The solemn league and covenant . 
 
 The sun had closed the winter day 
 
 The tailor fell through the bed, thimbles an' 
 
 The Thames flows proudly to the sea 
 
 The tither morn 
 
 The weary pund, the weary pund . 
 
 The wind blew hollow Irae the hills 
 
 The wintry west extends his blast . 
 
 Thickest night, o'erhang my dwelling 
 
 Thine am T, my faithful fair . 
 
 Thine be the volumes, Jessy fair . 
 
 This day Time winds th' exhausted chain 
 
 This wot ye all whom it concerns . 
 
 Thou bed in which I first began 
 
 Thou flattering mark of friendship kind 
 
 Though cruel fate should bid us part 
 
 Thou hast left me ever, Jamie 
 
 Thou lingering star, with less'ning ray 
 
 Thou of an independent mind 
 
 Thou 's welcome, wean 1 mishanter fa' me 
 
 Thou whom chance may hither lead 
 
 Thou, who thy honour as thy God reVer'st . 
 
 Through and through the inspired leaves 
 
 'Tis Friendship's pledge, my young, fair friend 
 
 To Riddel, much lamented man 
 
 To thee, loved Nith, thy gladsome plains 
 
 True-hearted was he, the sad swain o' the Yarrow 
 
 Turn again, thou fair Eliza . 
 
 'Twas even, the dewy fields were green 
 
 'Twas in that place o' Scotland's isle 
 
 'Twas in the seventeen hundred year 
 
 'Twas na her bonnie blue e'e was my ruin 
 
 'Twas where tlie birch and sounding thong are plied 
 
 Up in the morning 's no for me 
 Upon a simmer Sunday mom 
 Upon that night, when fairies light 
 Up wi'the carles o' Dysart 
 
 Wae is my heart, and the tear 's in my e'e 
 Wae worth thy power, thou cursed leaf . 
 Weary fa' you, Duncan Gray 
 We cam' na here to view your warks 
 
INDEX OF FIRST LINES 
 
 545 
 
 Wee, Tnodest, crimson-tipped flower 
 Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'xous beastie 
 Wee Willie Gray, and his leather wallet 
 Wha is that at my bower door 
 Wha will buy my troggin 
 What ails ye now, ye lousy bitch . 
 What can a young lassie, what shall a young lassie 
 ■^Vhat dost thou in that mansion fair 
 What needs this din about the town o' Lon'on 
 What of lords with whom you have supp'd 
 What waelu' news is this I hear . 
 What will I do gin my hoggie die . 
 , When biting Boreas, fell and doure 
 ■ When by a generous Public's kind acclaim 
 When chapman billies leave the street . 
 When chill November's sutly blast 
 When death's dark stream I ferry o'er . 
 
 When ■■ deceased to the devil went down 
 
 When first 1 began for to sigh and to woo her 
 
 When first I came to Stewart Kyle 
 
 When first my brave Johnnie lad . 
 
 When Guildford good our pilot stood 
 
 When I think on the happy days . 
 
 When lyart leaves bestrew the yird 
 
 When Nature her great masterpiece design'd 
 
 When o'er the hiU the eastern star 
 
 When rosy May comes in wi' flowers 
 
 When the drums do beat 
 
 When wild war's deadly blast was blawn . 
 
 Where are the joys I have met in the morning 
 
 Where, braving angry winter's storms . 
 
 Where Cart rins rowin' to the sea . 
 
 Where hae ye been sae braw, lad . 
 
 Where live ye, my bonnie lass 
 
 While at the stook the shearers cower . 
 
 While briars and woodbines budding green 
 
 While Europe's eye is fixed on mighty things 
 
 While larks with little wing . 
 
 While new-ca'd kye rowte at the stake . 
 
 While virgin Spring, by Eden's flood 
 
 While winds frae aff Ben-lomond blaw . 
 
 Whoe'er he be that sojourns here . 
 
 Whoe'er thou art, O reader ! know 
 
 Whom wiU ye send to London town 
 
 Why am I loth to leave this earthly scene 
 
 Why, why tell thy lover 
 
 Why, ye tenants of the lake . 
 
 Wi' braw new branks in meikle pride . 
 
 Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed 
 
 Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary 
 
 Wilt thou be my dearie .... 
 
 With Pegasus upon a day 
 
 Wow, but your letter made me vauntie , 
 
546 
 
 INDEX OF FIRST LIN^S 
 
 Ye banks, and braes, and streams arojind 
 
 Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon 
 
 Ye flowery banks o' bonnie Dooi> . 
 
 Ye gallants bright, I rede ye right . 
 
 Ye hae lien a' wrang, lassie . 
 
 Ye holy walls, that still subUme . 
 
 Ye hypocrites 1 are these your pranks 
 
 Ye Irish lords, ye knights an' squires 
 
 Ye Jacobites by nanj,?, give an ear, give ,?fi e^r 
 
 Ye maggots, feed on Nicpl's brajn . 
 
 Ye men of wit and wealth, why all th^s sneering 
 
 Ye sons of old Killie, assernbled by Wilhe 
 
 Yestreen I had a pint o' wine ' , • :, r 
 
 Ye true Loyal Natives, attend to my song , 
 
 Yon wand'ring rill, that marks the bjll • 
 
 Yon wild mossy mountains sae lofty ai^d wide 
 
 Young Jamie, pride of a' the plain . .,, . 
 
 Young Jockey was the blitjjest, lad . 
 
 Young Peggy blooms, our bonniest lass . 
 
 You 're welcome to despots, Dumourier . , . . 
 
 Your news and review, sir, I 've re^d through and ijfrpHglji^ sir 
 
 2315 
 
 298 
 505 
 4^6 
 506 
 4t)6 
 411 
 
 4?3 
 
 f§9 
 
 4^4 
 
 5p8 
 475 
 479 
 460 
 '4^2 
 
 $57 
 
 THE END 
 
 PntNTBD BT The East or England Pximtinq ^ORXf, ^Lonsqm and KoR\rici| 
 
J* THE PEOPLE'S LIBRARY ^ 
 
 1. Treasure Island and Kidnapped— STEVENSON. 
 
 2. Adam Bed^ELIOT. 
 
 3. East Lynne— WOOD. 
 
 4. The Essays of EUa— LAMB. 
 
 5. Ivanhoe^SCOTT. 
 
 6. A Tale of Two Cities— DICKENS. 
 
 7. Poems, 1830-1865- TENNYSON. 
 
 8. Westward Ho !— KINGSLEY. 
 
 9. Sesame and lilies, Unto tliis Last, \ urife^-.., 
 
 and The Political EcoHOiiiy of Aft i — l^UiK-lN. 
 10. The Scarlet Letter— HAWTHORNE, 
 n. The Cloister and the Hearth— REAi>E. 
 
 12. Thfc Chriitmas flooXS^DICKENS. ' 
 
 13. Tom Brown's Schooldays^HUOHESl 
 
 14. King Solomon's Mines— HAGdAMd). 
 
 15. Poems (Selection, 1833-1865)— BROWNING; 
 
 16. John Halifax, Gentleriiin — CRAlK. 
 
 17. Essays and other ^ Writings^BACON. 
 
 18. The> Miil on the Ftess— ELIOT. 
 
 19. The Autocrat bf the Bjeakfest Tafelg-^HOLMES. 
 
 20. Kenilworth— SCOTT. 
 
 21. Jane Eyre— BRONTE. 
 
 22. Robinsc^ C*isiBe^E>EFGE. 
 
 23. Waverley— SCOTT; •' 
 
 24. The Old Curiosity ShopMCJICKEI^S., 
 
 25. Essays and other Writings — EMERSONl' 
 
 26. Cranford— GASKELL. 
 
 27. Silas Mamer- ELfGTj 
 
 28. Poems {SelectionJ--L0NGFELLOW. 
 
 29. The Last Days bf Pompeii— LYTTON. 
 
 30. Esmend— THACKERAY. 
 
 31. Pride and Prejudice— AUSTEN. 
 
 32. The Tower bfLondon^-AlNSWORtH. 
 
 33. The Bible in SpaiA— BG*I4R0'#1 ' 
 
 34. The Last of the Mohidans— COOPER. 
 
 35. The Opium Eater and other Writiiigs^DE QUINCEY. 
 36—39. Complete Works— SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 40. Barnaby Rudge— DICKENS. 
 
 41. The Last of the Barons— LYtTON; 
 
 42. Fairy Tales (Selection)— ANDERSEN. 
 
 43. The Vicar of Wakefield and Pdeiiis— GOLDSMITH. 
 
 44. The Deerslayer— COOPER. 
 
 45. Sense and Sensibility— AUSTEN. 
 
 46. Poems and Songs^BtJRNS. 
 
 47. The Three Musketeeirs^bUMAS. 
 
 48. The Channings— W0^. ■' 
 
 49. The Ingoldsby Legends— BAFSHAM. 
 
 50. OUver Twist— DICKENS. 
 
 .'.■!' ' i. ' :-. ,. ■ •■'! ■ I - 
 
 THE STANDARD 
 
 "The paper, printing,, and binding of each volume are 
 excellently contrived aiid produced, and must inevitably give 
 a book-lover genuine pleasure to examine and handle. ' ' 
 
51. The Little Minister— BARRIE. 
 
 52. Paiiy Tales (Selected)-^GRIMM. 
 
 53. Meditations— MARCUS AURELIUS. 
 
 54. Uncle Tom's Cabin— STOWE. 
 
 55. The History of Selbome— WHITE. 
 
 56. The Two Paths and Other Essays^RUSKIN. 
 
 57. The Pathfinder— COOPER. 
 
 58. Tales from Shakespeare — LAMB. 
 
 59. The Woman in White— COLLINSf. 
 
 60. Sartor Resartus and Essays on Bums and Scott — CARLYLE. 
 
 61. It is Never Too Late to Mend— READE. 
 
 62. The Pilgrim's Progress— BUNYAN. 
 
 63. Shirley— BRONTE. , 
 
 64. Tales, Poems, and Sketches— BRET HARTE. 
 
 65. Hypatia— KINGSLEY, 
 
 66. Essays-^HUXLEY. 
 
 67. Handy Andy— LOVER. 
 
 68. Voyages of Discovery— COOK. 
 
 69. Mr. Midshipman Easy— MARRY AT. 
 
 70. Heroes and Hero Worship & Essays on Goethe-r-CARLYLE, 
 
 71. Masterman Ready-^MARRYAT. 
 
 72. Our Village— MITFORD. 
 
 73. Origin of Species— DARWIN. 
 
 74. The Three Midshipmen— KINGSTON. 
 
 75. Gulliver's Travels— SWIFT. : 
 
 76. The Talisman— SCOTT. 
 
 77. Harold-^LYTTOI^. 
 
 78. Plays— SHERIDAN. • 
 
 79. Ravenshoe— H. KINGSLEY., 
 
 80. Vanity Fair— THACKERAY. 
 
 81. Peter the Whaler-^KINGSTON. 
 
 82. Wonder Book and Tanglewood Tales— HAWTHORNE. 
 
 83. Charles O'Malley— LEVER. 
 
 84. Historical.Essays & Lays of Ancient Rome — MACAULAY. 
 
 85. Wuthering Heights— BRONTE. 
 
 86. Guy Mannering— SCOTT. 
 
 87. Hard Cash— READE. 
 
 88. Whitefriars— ROBINSON. 
 
 89. Poems— WHITMAN. 
 
 90. Legends— PROCTER. 
 
 91. Two Years Ago— KINGSLEY. 
 
 92. The Heart of Midlothian— SCOTT. 
 
 93. Barchester Towers— TROLLOPE. 
 
 94. Peter Simple— MARRY AT. 
 
 95. Life of Nelson— SOUTHEY. 
 
 96. Tales of Mystery -and Imagination — POE. 
 
 97. Life of Christ— FARRAR. . 
 
 98. Faust— GOETHE. 
 
 99. Swiss Family Robinson. 
 
 100. The Compleat Angler— WALTON. 
 Other volumes to follow. 
 
 THE TIMES 
 
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