BURNS'S POEMS Wi CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY GIFT OF Edward Kabelac UNDERGRADUATE LIBRARY DATE DUE i tm- iUEr^ »ur" — ,-««i |^^Kg^B|gM^ ■7 •"ij'rws -T05 ijTo^ ^ CAYLORD PKINTCDINU a.A PR 4300 mom""""*''-"""* '''''« .fomplete poetical Cornell University Library The original of tliis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924009156187 KOBEET BUENS. Hiy ^yy yw jL«ir wr \n nr TBH i^^y, si^v vw y»it. -UTt AH'^ THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS ROBERT BURNS WITH BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION, NOTES AND GLOSSARY " The simple Bard, unbroke by rules of Art, He pours the wild effusions of the heart; And if inspir'd, 't is Nature's pow'rs inspire, Hers all the melting thrill, and hers the kindling fire." On title-page of Kilmarnock Edition, rj8b> (UiiHmni, ,.ovnv"""""//,,, NEW YORK ' »'' V<' t; THOMAS Y. CROWELl. & CO, / PUBLISHERS \,j„ 1''^ / , MKY i 3 1980 % > !*'\.»,:.'.,.-'" '' / ,v\M'" .'""///, V? I.-'-' I.. N'^ ■. ^ Copyright, 1900, Bv THOMAS Y. CROWELL & 00. CONTENTS Page Biographical Sketch xi Published at Kilmarnock, 1786: — The Twa Dogs I Scotch Drink 4 The Author's Earnest Cry and Prayer 7 The Holy Fair 10 Address to the Deil 13 The Death and Dying Words of Poor Mailie 15 Poor Mailie's Elegy , . . 16 Epistle to James Smith , . , 17 A Dream 20 The Vision 22 Halloween 28 The Auld Farmer's New Year Morning Salutation to his Auld Mare, Maggie 31 The Cotter's Saturday Night . . 33 To a Mouse 37 Epistle to Davie, a Brother Poet . 38 The Lament 40 Despondency 42 Man was made to Mourn. ... 43 Winter 44 A Prayer in the Prospect of Death 45 To a Mountain Daisy 45 To Ruin 46 Epistle to a Young Friend ... 47 On a Scotch Bard 48 A Dedication to Gavin Hamilton, Esq 49 To a Louse 51 Epistle to J. Lapraik 52 Second Epistle to J. Lapraik . . S4 To William Simpson of Ochiltree, 56 Epistle to John Rankine .... 59 Song : Tune, ' Corn Rigs "... 60 Composed in August . . 61 from thee Eliza .... 62 Page The Farewell 62 Epitaph on a Henpecked Squire . 63 Epigram on Said Occasion ... 63 Another 63 Epitaph : On a Celebrated Ruling Elder 63 On a Noisy Polemic . . 63 On Wee Johnie ... 63 For the Author's Father, 64 For Robert Aiken, Esq 64 For Gavin Hamilton, Esq 64 A Bard's 64 Added in 1787: — Death and Doctor Hornbook . . 65 The Brigs of Ayr 68 The Ordination 73 The Calf 75 Address to the Unco Guid ... 75 Tam Samson's Elegy 76 A Winter Night 78 Stanzas in Prospect of Death . . 80 Prayer: O thou Dread Power . . 80 Paraphrase of the First Psalm . . 81 Prayer under the Pressure of Violent Anguish 81 Ninetieth Psalm Versified ... 82 To Miss Logan 82 Address to a Haggis 83 Address to Edinburgh 83 Song : John Barleycorn .... 85 A Fpgment: When Guil- ford Good 86 My Nanie, O 87 Green grow the Rashes, O, 88 Composed in Spring ... 88 The Gloomy Night is gathering fast .... 89 No Churchman am 1 . . S9 Iv CONTENTS. Page Added in 1793: — Written in Friars Carse Hermi- tage 91 Ode sacred to the Memory of Mrs. Oswald 91 Elegy on Captain Matthew Hen- derson 92 Lament of Mary Queen of Scots . 94 To Robert Graham of Fintry, Esq. 95 Lament for James, Earl of Glen- cairn , « . 97 Lines to Sir John Whitefoord, Bart 98 Tarn O'Shanter 99 On seeing a Wounded Hare . . 102 Address to the Shade of Thomson, 103 On the Late Captain Grose's Peie- grmations thro' Scotland . . . 103 To Miss Cruickshank .... 104 Song: Anna 105 On the Death of John M'Leod, Esq lOS The Humble Petition of Bruar Water 103 On scaring Some Water-fowl in Loch Turit 107 Verses written with a. Pencil at Taymouth 107 Lines on the Fall of Fyers ... 108 On the Birth of o Posthumous Child 108 The Whistle 109 The Jolly Beggars: a Cantata, hi Satires and Verses The Twa Herds: or, the Holy Tulyie 117 Holy Willie's Prayer 119 The Kirk's Alarm 120 A Poet's Welcome to his Love- begotten Daughter 123 The Inventory 124 A Mauchline Wedding .... 125 Adam Armour's Prayer .... 126 The Court of Equity 126 Nature's Law 128 Lines on meeting with Lord Daer, 129 Address to the Toothache . . . 129 Lament for the Absence of Will- iam Creech 130 Verses in Friars Carse Hermitage, 131 Pagh Elegy on the Departed Year 1788, 133 Castle Gordon 132 On the Duchess of Gordon's Reel Dancing 133 On Captain Grose 133 New Year's Day, 1791 .... 134 From Esopus to Maria .... 135 Notes and Epistles To John Rankine ...... 136 To lohn Goldie 137 To J. Lapraik : TTiird F.pistle . 138 To the Rev. John M'Mith . . 139 To Davie : Second Epistle . . , 140 To John Kennedy 141 To Gavin Hamilton, Esq. . . . 142 To Mr. M'Adam of Craigen- Gillan 142 Reply to an Invitation .... 143 To Dr. Mackenzie 143 To John Kennedy: a Farewell . 143 To Willie Chalmers' Sweetheart , 144 To an Old Sweetheart .... 144 Extempore to Gavin Hamilton . 145 Reply to a Trimming Epistle from a i'ailor 146 To Major Logan 147 To the Guidwife of Wauchope House 148 To Wm. Tytler, Esq., of Wood- houselee 149 To Mr. Renton of Lamerton . . 150 i To Miss Isabella Macleod . . , 150 To Symon Gray 151 To Miss Ferrier 151 Sylvander to Clarinda .... 152 To Clarinda with a Pair of Wine- Glasses 152 To Hugh Parker 153 To Alex. Cunningham .... 153 To Robert Graham, Esq., of Fintty, 154 Impromptu to Captain Riddell . 156 Reply to a Note from Captain Riddell 156 To JamesTennant of Glenconner, 156 To John M'Murdo 157 Sonnet to Robert Graham, Esq., of Fintry 158 To Dr. Blacklock 15S To a Gentleman who had sent a Newspaper ijg CONTENTS. Page To Peter Stuart i6o To John Maxwell, Esq., of Ter- raughtie l6o To William Stewart l6i Inscription to Miss Graham of ' Fintry i6i Remorsefiil Apology i6i To Collector Mitchell i6i To Colonel De Peyster .... 162 To Miss Jessie Lewars .... 163 Inscription to Chloris 163 Theatrical Pieces Prologue spoken by Mr. Woods, 164 Prologue spoken at the Theatre of Dumfries 165 Scots Prologue for Mrs. Suther- land 166 The Rights of Woman .... 167 Address spoken by Miss Fonte- nelle 168 Political Pieces Address of Beelzebub 169 Birthday Ode for sist December, 1787 170 Ode to the Departed Regency Bill, 171 A New Psalm for the Chapel of Kilmarnock . 172 Inscribed to the Right Hon. C. J. Fox 173 On Glenriddell's Fox breaking his Chain 174 On the Commemoration of Rod- ney's Victory 17S Ode for General Washington's Birthday 17S The FSte Champetre 177 The Five Carlins 178 Election Ballad for Westerha" . . 179 Turn-coat Whigs awa, Man . . 180 Election Ballad addressed to Rob- ert Graham, Esq., of Fintry . . 180 Ballads on Mr. Heron's Election, 1795: Ballad First 183 Ballad Second : the Election . 184 Ballad Third: John Bushby's Lamentation 183 Ballad Fourth : the Trogger . 186 The Dean of the Faculty ... 187 Pagb Miscellanies The Tarbolton Lasses .... 188 The Ronalds of the Bennals . . 189 I'll go and be a Sodger .... 190 Apostrophe to Fergusson . . . 190 The Belles of Mauchline . . . 190 Ah, Woe is me, my Mother Dear . igi Inscribed on a Work of Hannah More's 191 Lines written on a Bank Note . . 191 The Farewell 192 Elegy on the Death of Robert Ruisseaux 192 Verses intended to be written be- low a Noble Earl's Picture . . 192 Elegy on the Death of Sir James Hunter Blair 193 On the Death of Lord President Dundas i94 Elegy on Willie Nicol's Mare . . 19S Lines on Fergu.sson 19S Elegy on the late Miss Burnet of Monboddo 196 Pegasus at Wanlockhead . . . 196 On Some Commemorations of Thomson ......... 197 On General Dumourier's Deser- tion 197 On John M'Murdo 198 On hearing a Thrush sing in a Morning Walk in January . . 198 Impromptu on Mrs. Riddell's Birthday 198 Sonnet on the Death of Robert Riddell of Glenriddell .... 199 A Sonnet upon Sonnets .... 199 Grizzel Grimme 199 Fragments Tragic Fragment . . .... 201 Remorse 201 Rusticity's Ungainly Form . . . 202 On William Creech 202 On William Smellie 202 Sketch for an Elegy 202 Passion's Cry 203 In vain would Prudence .... 204 The Cares o' Love 204 EpigraTns Extempore in the Court of Session, 204 CONTENTS, Page At Roslin Inn 204 To an Artist 205 The Book-worms 205 On Elphinstone's Translation of Martial 205 On Johnson's Opinion of Hamp- den 205 Under the Portrait of Miss Burns . 205 On Miss Ainslie in Church . . . 205 At Inveraray 205 At Carron Ironworks 206 On seeing the Royal Palace at Stirling in Ruins 206 Additional Lines at Stirling . . 206 Reply to the Threat of a Censori- ous Critic 206 A Highland Welcome .... 206 At Whigham's Inn, Sanquhar. . 207 Versicles on Sign-posts .... 207 On Miss Jean Scott 207 On Captain Francis Grose . . 207 On being appointed to an Excise Division 207 On Miss Davies 208 On a Beautiful Country Seat . . 208 The Tyrant Wife 208 At Brownhill Inn 208 rThe Toadeater 208 In Lamington Kirk 208 The Keekin Glass 209 At the Globe Tavern, Dumfries . 209 Ye True Loyal Natives .... 209 On Commissary Goldie's Brains . 209 In a Lady's Pocket-book . . . 210 Against the Earl of Galloway , . 210 On the Same 210 On the Same 210 On the Same, on the Author being threatened with Vengeance , , 210 On the Laird of Laggan . , , , 210 On Maria Riddell 210 On Miss Fontenelle 210 Kirk and State Excisemen ... 211 On Thanksgiving for a National Victory 211 Pinned to Mrs. Walter Riddell's Carriage 211 To Dr. Maxwell 211 To the Beautiful Miss Eliza J n 211 On Chloris 2ii Pagh To the Hon. Wm. R. Maule of Panmure 21a On seeing Mrs. Kenible in Yarico, 212 On Dr. Babington's Looks . . . 212 On Andrew Turner 212 The Solemn League and Cove-" nant 212 To John Syme of Ryedale . . . 212 On a Goblet 212 Apology to John Syme . . . 213 On Mr. James Gracie .... 213 At Friars Carse Hermitage . . . 213 For an Altar of Independence . . 213 Versicles to Jessie Lewars . . . 213 On Marriage 214 Graces A Poet's Grace 214 At the Globe Tavern 214 MpiiapAs On James Grieve, Laird of Bog- head, Tarbolton 215 On Wm. Muir in Tarbolton Mill. 215 On John Rankine 215 On Tam the Chapman .... 215 On Holy Willie 215 On John Dove 216 On a Wag in Mauchline . . . 216 On Robert Fergusson .... 216 Additional Stanzas on Fergusson, 216 For William Nicol 217 For Mr. William Michie . . . 217 For William Cruickshank, A.M. . 217 On Robert Muir 217 On a Lap-dog 217 Monody on a Lady famed for her Caprice 217 For Mr. Walter Riddell .... 218 On a Noted Coxcomb .... 218 On Capt. Lascelles 218 On a Galloway Laird ..... 219 On Wm. Graham of Mossknowe, 219 On John Bushby of Tinwald Downs . 219 On a Suicide 219 On a Swearing Coxcomb . . . 219 On an Innkeeper nicknamed ' The Marquis" 219 On Grizzel Grimme 219 For Gabriel Richardson . . . 220 On the Author aao CONTENTS. vn Pagb Songs from Johnson's "Musical Museum " and Thomson's " Scot- tish Airs " : — Young Peggy ......... 221 Bonie Dundee 221 To the Weaver's gin ye Go , . , . 222 Whistle an' I "11 come to ye, my Lad . 222 I 'm o'er Young to marry yet .... 223 The Birks of Aberfeldie ..... 223 M'Pherson's Farewell 224 My Highland Lassie, O ..... 224 Tho' Cruel Fate 225 Stay my Charmer 225 Strathallan's Lament 225 My Hoggie 226 Jumpin John 226 Up in the Morning Early 226 The Young Highland Rover .... 227 The Dusty Millet 227 i dream'd I Lay 227 Duncan Davison 228 Theniel Menzies' Bonie Mary , . , 228 Lady Onlie, Honest Lucky .... 228 The Banks of the Devon 229 Duncan Gray (first set) 229 The Ploughman 230 Landlady, Count the Lawin .... 230 Raving Winds around her Blowing . 230 How Lang and Dreary is the Night . 231 Musing on the Roaring Ocean . . . 231 Blythe was she 231 To daunton me 232 O'er the Water to Charlie 232 A Rose-bud, by my Early Walk . . 233 And I '11 kiss thee yet ', 233 Ratthn, Roarin Willie 234 Where, braving Angry Winter's Storms 234 Tibbie, I hae seen the Day . . . 234 Clarinda, Mistress of my Soul , . . 235 The Winter it is Past 235 1 love my Love in Secret 236 Sweet Tibbie Dunbar ...... 236 Highland Harry 237 The Tailor fell thro' the Bed .... 237 Ay Waukln O 238 Beware o' Bonie Ann 238 Laddie, lie near me 238 The Gard'ner wi* his Paidle .... 239 On a Bank of Flowers 239 The Day Returns . • = . . . „ , 239 Pagb My Love, she 's but a Lassie yet . . 240 Jamie, come try me 24c The Silver Tassie 241 The Lazy Mist . . 241 The Captain's Lady 241 Of a' the Airts 242 Carl, an the King Come 242 Whistle o'er the Lave o 't 242 O, were I on Parnassus Hill . , . . 243 The Captive Ribband ..... 243 There 's a Youth in this City . . , 243 My Heart 's in the Highlands . . . 244 John Anderson my Jo ..... . 244 Awa, Whigs, awa 245 Ca' the Yowes to the Knowes (first set) 24s O, Merry hae I Been 246 A Mother's Lament 246 The White Cockade 246 The Braes o' Ballochmyle 247 The Rantin Dog, the Daddie o 't . . 247 Thou Ling'ring Star 247 Eppie Adair 248 The Battle of Sherramuir 248 Young Jockie was the Blythest Lad . 249 A Waukrife Minnie 250 Tho' Women's Minds 250 Willie brew'd a Peck o' Maut . . . 251 Killiecrankie 251 The Blue-eyed Lassie 252 The Banks of Nith 252 Tam Glen 252 Craigieburn Wood 253 Frae the Friends and Land I Love . 253 John, come kiss me now .... 254 Cock up your Beaver 254 My Tocher 's the Jewel 254 Guidwife, Count the Lawin .... 255 There'll never be Peace till Jamie comes Hame 255 What can a Young Lassie .... 256 The Bonie Lad that 's far awa . . . 256 1 do confess thou art sae Fair . . . 257 Sensibility how Charming .... 257 Yon Wild Mossy Mountains .... 257 I hae been at Crookieden .... 258 It is na, Jean, thy Bonie Face . . . 258 My Eppie MacNab 259 Wha is that at my Bower Door ... 259 Bonie Wee Thing 2.59 TheTitherMom. 26a v?fi CONTENTS. Page Ae Fond Kiss , , , 260 Lovely Davies ..».«••.. 261 The Weary Fund o' Tow 261 I hae a Wife o' my ain ...... 262 When she cam ben, she bobbed . . 262 O, for Ane-and-twenty, Tam .^ , . . 262 O, Kenmure 's on and awa, Willie . . 263 O, leeze me on my Spinnin-wheel . . 263 My Collier Laddie 264 Nithsdale's Welcome Hame .... 264 In Simmer when the Hay was Mawn . 265 Fair Eliza 265 Ye Jacobites by Name 266 The Posie 266 The Banks o' Doon ....... 267 Willie Wastle 267 Lady Mary Ann 268 Such a Parcel of Rogues in a Nation . 269 Kellyburn Braes 269 The Slave's Lament 271 The Song of Death E71 Sweet Afton 271 Bonie Bell 272 The Gallant Weaver 272 Hey, ca' thro' 273 O, can ye labour lea 273 The Deuk 's dang o'er my Daddie . 274 She's Fair and Fause 274 The Deil 's awa wi' th' Exciseman . . 274 The Lovely Lass of Inverness . . . 275 A Red, Red Rose 275 As I stood by Yon Roofless Tower . 275 O, an ye were dead, Guidman . . . 276 Auld Lang Syne 277 Louis, what reck I by thee .... 277 Had I the Wyte ? 277 Comin thro' the Rye 278 Young Jamie 278 Out over the Forth 279 Wantonness for evermair 279 Charlie he 's my Darling 279 The Lass o' Ecclefechan 280 The Cooper o' Cuddy 280 For the Sake o' Somebody .... 280 TheCardino't 281 There 's Three True Guid Fellows . . 281 Sae Flaxen were her Ringlets . , . 281 The Lass that made the Bed .... 282 Sae far awa 283 The Reel o' Stumpie 283 I '11 ay ca' in by Yon Town .... 283 Pagb O, wat ye wha 's in Yon Town . . . 284 Wherefore Sighing art thou, Phil- lis? 285 O May, thy Morn 285 As I came o'er the Cairney Mount . 285 Highland Laddie 285 Wilt thou be my Dearie 286 Lovely Polly Stewart 286 The Highland Balou 287 Bannocks o' Bear Meal . , . 287 Wae is my Heart ........ 287 Here 's his Health in Water .... 288 The Winter of Life 288 The Tailor 288 There grows a Bonie Brier-bush . . 288 Here 's to thy Health 289 It was a' for our Rightfu' King . . . 289 The Highland Widow's Lament . . 200 Thou Gloomy December 291 My Peggy's Face, my Peggy's Form . 2yi O, steer her up, an' haud her Gaun 20Z Wee Willie Gray 2r2 We 're a' Noddin 292 O, ay my Wife she dang Me .... 203 Scroggam 293 O, Guid Ale Comes 293 Robin Shure in Hairst ...... 294 Does Haughty Gaul Invasion Threat ? 294 O, once I lov'd a Bonie Lass . . . 29^ My Lord a-hunting 295 Sweetest May 296 Meg o' the Mill 296 Jockie's ta' en the Parting Kiss . . . 296 O, lay thy Loof in mine, Lass . . . 297 Cauld is the E'ening Blast .... 297 There was a Bonie Lass 297 There 's News, Lasses, News . . . 258 O, that I had ne'er been Married . . 298 Mally 's Meek, Mally 's Sweet . . . 298 Wandering Willie 299 Braw Lads o' Galla Water .... 299 Auld Rob Morris 300 Open the Door to me, O . . . , . 300 When Wild War's Deadly Blast . . 301 Duncan Gray (second set) .... 302 Deluded Swain, the Pleasure . . . 302 Here is the Glen 303 Let not Women e'er Complain . . . 303 Lord Gregory 3113 O Poortith Caiild .tg^ CONTENTS. Page O, stay. Sweet Warbling Wood-lark . 304 Saw ye Bonie Lesley 305 Sweet fa's the Eve 305 Young Jessie 305 Adown Winding Nith 306 A Lass wi' a Tocher 307 Blythe hae I been on Yon Hill . . . 307 By Allan Stream 307 Canst thou leave me 308 Come, let me take thee 308 Contented wi' Little 308 Farewell, thou Stream .,•.,, 309 Had 1 a Cave 309 Here's a Health 310 How Cruel are the Parents .... 310 Husband, Husband, cease your Strife 311 It was the Charming Month .... 311 Last May a Braw Wooer 312 My Nanie 's awa 313 Now Rosy May 313 Now Spring has Clad 314 O, this is no my Ain Lassie .... 314 O, wat ye wha that lo'es me .... 315 Scots, Wha hae 313 Their Groves o' Sweet Myrtle . . . 316 Thine am I 316 Thou hast left me ever, Jamie . . . 317 Highland Mary 317 My Chloris, Mark 318 Fairest Maid on Devon Banks . . . 318 Lassie wi' the Lint-white Locks . . . 319 Long, Long the Night 319 Logan Water 320 Yon Rosy Brier 320 Where are the Joys 320 Behold the Hour 321 Forlorn my Love 321 Ca' the Yowes to the Knowes (second i set) 322 How can my Poor Heart 322 Is there for Honest Poverty .... 323 Mark Yonder Pomp 324 O, let me in this Ae Night 324 O Philly, Happy be that Day . . . . 325 O, were my Love 326 Sleep'stthou 326 There was a Lass 327 The Lea-rig . , 328 My Wife 's a Winsome Wee Thing . 328 Mary Morison 329 Fag) Miscellaneous Songs A Ruined Farmer , , .... 329 Montgomerie's Peggy .... 330 The Lass of Cessnock Banks . . 330 Tho' Fickle Fortune 332 Raging Fortune 332 My Father was a Farmer . . . 332 O, Leave Novfels 333 The Mauchhne Lady 334 One Night as I did Wander . . 334 There was a I^d 334 Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, 335 Her Flowing Locks 335 The Lass o' Ballochmyle . . . 335 The Night was Still 336 Masonic Song 336 The Bonie Moor-hen 337 Here 's a Bottle 337 The Bonie Lass of Albanie . , 338 Amang the Trees 338 The Chevalier's Lament . . . 338 Yestreen I had a Pint o' Wine . 339 Sweet are the Banks 340 Ye Flowery Banks 34a Caledonia 341 You 're Welcome, Willie Stewart . 342 When First I Saw 342 Behold the Hour (first set) . . . 343 Here 's a Health to them that 's awa 343 Ah, Chloris 344 Pretty Peg 344 Meg o' the Mill (second set) . . 344 Phillis the Fair 345 O saw ye my Dear, my Philly . . 345 'T was na her Bonie Blue E'e . . 346 Why, why tell thy Lover .... 346 The Primrose 346 O, wert thou in the Cauld Blast . 346 Interpolations Your Friendship 347 For thee is Laughing Nature . . 347 No Cold Approach 347 Altho' he hasleft me , . • . . ^^47 Let Loove Sparkle .,••,, 347 As down the Bum 348 Improhables On Rough Roads .,.,,, 348 Elegy on Stella ....... 348 CONTENTS. Page 35° Poem on Pastoral Poetry . , On the Destruction of Drumlan- rig Woods 351 The Joyful Widower 351 Why should we idly waste our Prime 352 The Tree of Liberty 352 To a Kiss 354 Delia (an ode) 354 To the Owl 354 The Vowels (a tale) 355 On the Illness of a Favourite Child 356 On the Death of a Favourite Child 356 Poems of Doubtful Authen- ticity: — A Tippling Ballad 357 The Wren's Nest 338 My Girl she 's Airy 358 The Ploughman's Life .... 358 Sound be his Sleep 358 When Pleasure Fascinates . . . 358 On Thomas Kirkpatrick, Late Blacksmith in Stoop .... 359 Sick of the World 359 The Philosopher's Stone . . . 359 Now, God in Heaven 359 Leezie Lindsay 339 It may — do — maun — do. . , 359 Dear Sir, our Lucky humbly Begs, 359 I look to the West 3(jo Ah, Chloris I 360 Kist Yestreen, Kist Yestreen . , 360 Come fill me a Bumper .... 360 Extempore Lines 360 Thanksgiving for a National Vic- tory 360 Poems rejected by Latest Edi- tors OF Burns: — The Hermit of Aberfeldy ... 361 Pastoral Verses to Clarinda . . . 362 The Ruined Maid's Lament . . 362 The Banks of Nith Happy Friendship Come rede me, Dame Verses written under Violent Grief As I was a-wandering Could aught of Song On himself Epitaph on the Poet's Daughter . I met a Lass, a Bonie Lass ... On Maria Dancing , Jenny M'Craw , Lass, when your Mitheris frae Hame , Lament O gie my Love Brose, Brose . . . . O wat ye what my Minnie did ? . . Oh wha is she that lo'es me ? . . . Evan Banks Powers Celestial ! whose Protection . O can ye sew Cushions ? On Burns's Horse being Impounded . Hughie Graham The Selkirk Grace Damon and Sylvia Whan I sleep I Dream Katharine Jaffray Braw Lads of Galla Water .... Liberty The Last Braw Bridal There came a Piper There's naethin like the Honest Nappy When I think on the Happy Days . . Ye hae lien a' Wrang, Lassie . . . Johnny Peep Innocence Verses on Lincluden Abbey .... Verses to my Bed Bruce Shelah O'Neil ! .' .' NOTES Glossary \ \ chronological index . . . .' General Index of Titles and First Lines Page ■ 363 363 364 364 36s 36s 366 366 366 366 366 366 367 367 367 368 368 369 369 369 370 370 370 370 370 371 371 372 372 372 372 372 373 373 373 374 374 374 377 38s 421 43a BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. Robert Burns was born January 25, 1 759. His father, William Burns, or Burness, was of the North of Scotland where, at Kincardineshire, his ancestors for many generations had been farmers. He was " thrown by early misfortunes on the world at large," says the poet in his biographical letter to Dr. Moore, and there he adds, " after many years' wanderings and sojourn- ings, I picked up a pretty large quantity of observation and experience, to which I am indebted for most of my little pretensions to wisdom. I have met with few who understood men, their manners and their ways, equal to him ; but stubborn, ungainly integrity, and headlong, ungovernable irascibility, are disqualifying circumstances; consequently, 1 was born a very poor man's son." After several years' residence near Edinburgh, he took seven acres of land in Doonside with the intention of becoming a nurseryman, but was engaged as gardener and overseer to Mr. Fergusson of Doonholm. He retained the land, nnd on one spot of it built a clay " biggin " or cottage, divided into a kitchen with a recess for a bed, and a " spence " or sitting-room with a fireplace and chimney. Gilbert Burns remarked, long afterwards, that when it was altogether cast over inside and outside with lime it had " a neat and comfortable appearance." It still stands,and is used as a Burns museum. Here in December, 1757, he brought his bride, Agnes Brown, the daughter of a Carrick farmer; a red-haired, dark-eyed, hot-tempered lassie eleven years his junior. Robert was their first-born. When he was seven years old his father became tenant of a small farm belonging to Mr. Fergusson, at Mount Oliphant, not far from the mouth of " Bonnie Doon." The land was poor ; and after the death of their " generous master " they " fell into the hands of a factor," who, says Burns, sat for the picture that he drew of one in his tale of " Twa Dogs." Still more trying was their life at Tarbolton on the Ayr, where they took a larger farm in 1777. At first they lived comfortably; but a difference as to terms arose, and " after three years' tossing and whirling in the vortex of litigation," the suit was decided in favor of the landlord, and William Burness, whose health and spirit were entirely broken, died in February, 1784, "just saved from the horrors of a jail." Robert began to go to school when he was six years old. In 1 765, John Murdoch, a young man of eighteen, became his teacher. In his recollections Murdoch says that Robert and Gilbert were generally near the head of their classes, " even when ranged with boys by far their seniors." He says that they committed to memory the hymns and other poems of Masson's collection with uncommon facility; but strangely enough the two boys were behind all the others in music. "Robert's ear," says xi BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. Murdoch, "was remarkably dull, and his voice untunable. It was long before 1 could get them to distinguish one tune from another; " and, in conclusion, he declares, that " certainly if any person who knew the two boys had been asked which of them was the most likely to court the Muses, he would surely never have guessed that Robert had a propensity of that kmd." "Though it cost the schoolmaster some thrashings," says Burns, "I made an excellent English scholar; and by the time I was ten or eleven years of age, I was a critic in substantives, verbs, and particles. In my infant and boyish days, too, I owe much to an old woman who resided in the family, remarkable for her ignorance, credulity, and superstition. She had, I suppose, the largest collection in the country of tales and songs concerning devils, ghosts, fairies, brownies, witches, warlocks, spunkies, kelpies, elf-candles, death-lights, wraiths, apparitions, cantraips, enchanted towers, giants, dragons, arid other trumpery. This cultivated the latent seeds of poesy. . . . The earliest composition that I recollect taking pleasure in was ' The Vision of Mirza,' and a hymn of Addison's beginning, ' How are thy servants blest, O Lord ! '" He says that the firr.t books that he read in private were "The Life of Hannibal," lent to him by Mr. Murdoch, and the " History of Sir William Wallace," which he procured from a neighboring blacksmith; and declares that Hannibal gave his young ideas such a turn, that he used to strut in rapture up and down after the recruiting drum and bagpipe, and wish himself tall enough to be a. soldier; while the story of Wallace poured into his veins a Scottish prejudice which would boil along there till the flood-gates of life shut in eternal rest. Salmon's and Guthrie's geographical grammars told him all that he knew of " ancient story." His ideas of " modern manners, of literature and criticism," he got from the " Spectator. " Pope's works, some of Shakespeare's plays, Locke's " Essay on Human Understanding," Allan Ramsay's works, Taylor's " Scripture Doctrine of Original Sin," a select collection of English songs, Hervey's " Medita- tion," ai'd a few other books, formed the whole of his early reading. The collection of songs, he says, was his vnde mecum : " I pored over them driv- ing my cart, or walking to labor, song by song, verse by verse : carefully noting the true, tender, or sublime, from affectation and fustian. I am convinced," he adds, " I owe to this practice much of my critic craft, such as it is." After Mr. Murdoch, who was, unfortunately, addicted to the use of ardent spirits, left Mr. Oliphant he sometimes came back to make visits, and on one occasion read Shakespeare's " Titus Andronicus " ; and it is said that " Robert's pure taste rose in a passionate revolt against its coarse cruelties and unspiritual horrors." Murdoch also helped him to a small knowledge of French. But when a lady once asked him if he had studied Latin, he replied : , " All I know of Latin is contained in three words, omnia vincit Amor ! " , After the removal of the family to Lochlea in 1777, he received from his father yearly wages of seven pounds sterling. In order to give his manners a brush, as he expresses it, he at that time began to go to a country dancing-school. His father had "an unaccountable antipathy against such meetings " ; and indeed he had reason to tremble for his son. On his death-bed, when Robert was present alone with him and his sister, Mrs. Begg, he confessed that there was one of his family for whose future BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. he feared. Robert asked : " Oh, father, is it me you mean ? " and when the old man said it was, Robert turned to the window and burst into tears. Burns had already been initiated into the delirious society of love and had " com- mitted the sin of rhyme." When he was about sixteen his partner in the harvesting was Miss Nellie Kilpatrick, known as " Handsome Nell," a girl a year younger than himself. " Among her other love-inspiring qualities, she sang sweetly, and it was to her favorite reel " that he first attempted to fit words. It was the song beginning : " O, once I lov'd a bonnie lass. Ay, and I love her still. And whilst that virtue warms my breast I 'U love my handsome Nell. Fal lal de ral, etc." His own criticism upon it in his " Common-Place Book " is interesting and curious. After taking it up stanza by stanza he adds : " I remember I composed it in a wild enthusiasm of passion; and to this hour I never recollect it but my heart melts, my blood sallies at the remembrance." The dancing-school offered further opportunities in what the Scotch call sweet- hearting. Burns, who saw no way to rise above his surroundings and yet had a vast ambition, became discouraged, and simply drifted with the tide. He says of this period : " My heart was completely tinder, and was eternally lighted up by some goddess or other; and, as in every other warfare in this world, my fortune was various, some- times I was received with favor, and sometimes I was mortified with a repulse. At the plough, scythe, or reap-hook I feared no competitor, and thus I set absolute want at defiance ; and as I never cared farther for my labors than while I was in actual exercise, I spent the evenings in the way after my own heart." Ali this was a dangerous but powerful training for the profession of minnesinger. When he was eighteen years of age, he studied mensuration, surveying, drilling, and kindred branches of practical knowledge, under the parish schoolmaster of Kirkoswald in the district of Carrick, where he spent some time, probably with his mother's relatives. The schoolmaster, whose name was Rodger, was " skilled in mathematics," but possessed " a narrow understanding and little general knowledge." He discovered that Burns and a youth called " Willie " were in the habit of holding " disputations or arguments on speculative questions." This seemed to him absurd ; and one day, when the whole school was assembled, he went up to the two young men and began very sarcastically to twit them on their debates. The other scholars who had been invited to join in these intellectual disputes, but who preferred ball or shirty, burst into uproarious laughter at the teacher's wit. " Wilhe " replied that he was sorry to find that Robert and he had given offence; that it was uninteniional ; indeed, they supposed he would be pleased to know of their attempts to improve their minds. Rodger asked what they disputed about, and " Willie " replied that their question that day had been whether a great general or a respectable merchant were the most valuable member of society. The master, laugh BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH - ing contemptuously at the " silliness " of such a question, said there could be no doubt about it, and was drawn into an argument by Burns, who easily got the better of him. Failing to regain his superiority Rodger fell into such a " pitiable state of vexation " that he had to dismiss the school. But it was not altogether mental improvement he found at this " noted school." That wild coast was the resort of smugglers. He made good progress in his mathe matics, but he says he made greater progress in the knowledge of mankind: "The contraband trade was at that time very successful, and it sometimes happened to me to fall in with those who carried it on. Scenes of swaggering riot and roaring dissi- pation were, till this time, new to me; but I was no enemy to social life. Here, though I learnt to fill my glass, and to mix without fear in a drunken squabble, yet I went on with a high hand with my geometry till the sun entered Virgo, a month which is always a carnival ia my bosom ; when a charming fillette, who lived next door to *Jie school, overset my trigonometry, and set me off at a tangent from the spheres of my studies." The image of that " modest and innocent girl " effectually prevented any more attempts to measure the sun's altitude. Study was useless. But " the ebullition of that passion " was only a song, one of his most beautiful, beginning " Now westlin winds and slaught'ring guns." On his return to Tarbolton he still further indulged his love of discussion by join- ing with his brother Gilbert and five other young men in establishing a debating society, where the young people set for themselves such questions as this : " Suppose a young man, bred a farmer, but without any fortune, has it in his pbwer to marry either of two women : the one a girl of large fortune, but neither handsome in person nor agreeable in conversation, but who can manage the household affairs of a farm well enough ; the other of them, a girl every way agreeable in person, conversation, and behavior, but without any fortune : which of them shall he choose ? " At Tarbolton also, while still under his father's roof, Burns wrote several of his finest and sweetest songs : " Behind yon hills, where Lugar flows Mang moors an' mosses many, O I The wintry sun the day has clos'd. An' I '11 awa' to Nanie, O." and " It was upon a Lammas night, When corn rigs are bonie, Beneath the moon's unclouded lightt I held awa' to Annie : " and more than one in praise of the Tarbolton lasses : " There 's few sae bonie, nane sae guid In a' King George' dominion." While still at Tarbolton, Burns was induced by his friend, John Rankine, to join St. Mary's Lodge of Free-masons; and he became like Mozart, and about the same time, an enthusiastic member of the order. BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. When he was about twenty-three years old, he conceived the idea of going into the flax business; so he went to live with a flax-dresser named Peacock, a relative of his mother's, in the neighboring town of Irvine. Among his acquaintances at Irvine, which was a small seaport town, were also smugglers, whose influence upon him was not good; and his chief friend was a young fellow named Richard Brown, whom he called " a very noble character, but a hapless son of misfortune." This " noble fellow," whose mind " was fraught with indepen- dence, magnanimity, and every manly virtue," was the only man, Burns confesses, who was a greater fool than himself " where Woman was the presiding star." " He spoke of illicit love with the levity of a sailor, which hitherto I had regarded with horror. Here his friendship did me a mischief ; and the consequence was that soon after I assumed the plough, I wrote the ' Poet's Welcome.' " The illegitimate daughter thus welcomed bore a striking resemblance to Burns. She married Mr. John Bishop of Polkemmet, and died in 1817. It is proper to add that the poet was afterwards " stung by a manly sorrow " at the tone in which this poem to his shame was written. Doubtless his recklessness was partly due to the fact that he had just been disap- pointed in his hopes of marrying Miss Ellison Begbie, " an amiable, intelligent, but not particularly handsome girl," in the service of a family on the banks of the Cessnock. To her he wrote the song : " On Cessnock banks a lassie dwells; Could I describe her shape and mien ! Our lasses a' she far excels. An' she has twa sparkling rogueish een." He was deeply in love with her, but her affections were given to another. He was at this time suffering from o nervous disorder, and his constitutional hypochondria, inherited from his father, was intensified by the depressing effects of dissipation. His gloomy state of mind may be seen in certain passages of a letter written to his father two days after Christmas, 1781 or 1782: "Honored Sir, " My health is nearly the same as when you were here, only my sleep is a little sounder, and on the whole I am rather better than otherwise, though I mend by very slow degrees. The weakness of my nerves has so debilitated my mind that I dare neither review past events, nor look forward into futurity; for the least anxiety or perturbation in my breast produces most unhappy effects on my whole frame. Some- times, indeed, when for an hour or two my spirits are a little lightened, I glimmer a little into futurity; but my principal, and indeed my only pleasurable employment, is looking backwards and forwards in a moral and religious way. I am quite trans- ported at the thought that ere long, perhaps very soon, I shall bid an eternal adieu to all the pains, and uneasinesses, and disquietudes of this weary life ; for I assure you I am heartily tired of it, and if I do not very much deceive myself, I could contentedly and gladly resign it. . . . As for this world, I despair of ever making a figure in it. I am not formed for the bustle of the busy, nor the flutter of the gay. I shall never again BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. be capable of entering into such scenes. Indeed, I am altogether unconcerned at the thoughts of this life. I foresee that poverty and obscurity probably await me, and I am in some measure prepared, and daily preparing, to meet them. I have but just time and paper to return you my grateful thanks for the lessons of virtue and piety you have given me, which were too much neglected at the time of giving them, but which I hope have been remembered ere it is yet too late. ..." Three days later, while he and some of his friends " were giving a welcome carou- sal to the new year," the shop was set on fire and totally destroyed, so that he " was left like a true poet, not worth a sixpence." He attributed it to " the drunken care- lessness " of his partner's wife. His partner he called " a scoundrel cf the first water, who made money by the mystery of thieving ! " A year or two afterwards, in March, 1784, he wrote in his " Common-Place Book " : " There was a certain period of my life that my spirit was broke by repeated losses and disasters, which threatened, and indeed effected, the utter ruin of my fortune. My body, too, was attacked by that most dreadful distemper, a hypochondria, or confirmed melancholy. In this wretched state, the recollection of which makes me yet shudder, I hung my harp on the willow-trees, except in some lucid intervals, in one of which I composed the 'Prayer: Under the Pressure of Violent Anguish,' which begins: " O Thou Great Being ! what Thou art Surpasses me to know : Yet sure I am, that known to Thee Are all Thy works below." But at last the cloud passed, as is shown by the cheerfulness of his extempore lines which are referred to the following April : " O, why the deuce should I repine. And be an ill foreboder ? I 'm twenty-three, and five feet nine — I '11 go and be a sodger. 1 gat some gear wi' meikle care, I held it weel thegither; But now it 's gane — and something mair : I '11 go and be a sodger." After bis return to Lochlea, he and his brother Gilbert hired a farm of one hundred and nineteen acres at Mossgiel, near the village of Mauchline, at an annual rental of ninety pounds. Three months later their father died, leaving his affairs in utter ruin. " His all," says Burns, " went among the hell hounds that growl in the kennel of justice." As his sons and two married daughters ranked as creditors for arrears of wages, they saved a little money from the wreck, and the whole family moved to Mossgiel in March, 1784. Gilbert Burns bears witness to his brother's steadiness and industry during their joint partnership, but, after all, the drudgery of farming was vksome to a poet : it was Pegasus harnessed to a plough. BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. xvii He expresses his feelings in a rhymed epistle to his friend David Sillar, " a brother ipoet, lover, ploughman, and fiddler " : " While winds frae aff Ben-Lomond blaw And bar the doors wi' drivin 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, westUn jingle : While frosty winds blaw in the drift, Ben to the chimla lug, 1 grudge a wee the great-folk's gift. That live sae bien an' snug : 1 tent less, and want less Their roomy fireside ; But hanker, and canker. To see their tursed pride. It 's hardly in a body's pow'r To keep, at times, frae being sour. To see how things are shar'd; How best o' chiels are whyles in want. While coofs on countless thousands rant. It 's no in titles nor in rank; It 's no in wealth like Lon'on Bank, To purchase peace and rest; It 's no in makin muckle, viair: It 's no in books, it 's no in lear. To make us truly blest : If happiness hae not her seat An' 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 ay 's the part ay. That makes us right or wrang. But tent me, Davie, ace o' hearts ! (To say aught less wad wrang the carte And flatt'ry I detest) This life hasjoys for you and I ; And joys that riches ne'er could buy. And joys the very best. BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 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 ! " The "darling Jean," celebrated in his "Epistle to Davie," and in many another poem, was Jean Armour, a " comely country lass," whom he met at a penny wedding at Mauchline. They chanced to be dancing in the same quadrille when the poet's dog sprang to his master and almost upset some of the dancers. Burns remarked that he wished he could get any of the lasses to like him as well as his dog did. Some days afterward, Jean, seeing him pass as she was bleaching clothes on the village green, called to him and asked him if he had as yet got any of the lasses to like him as well as his dog did. This was the beginning of an acquaintance which colored all of Burns's life. In the spring of 1786 he learned that she was about to become a mother. In Scotland at that time a license and a ceremony were not required in order to legalize a marriage. Burns, who was inclined to be honorable, gave Jean a written acknowledgment of marriage — a sufficient reparation in the eyes of the law. But the master-mason, her father, compelled her to destroy the paper and to have nothing more to do with Burns, who was then in the straits of poverty ovring to a succession of bad crops, and who was with some reason looked upon by the pious inhabitants of that parish as little better than a Pariah. This was in April. It was under the gloom of this bitter trouble that Burns wrote hiE " Lament occasioned by the Unfortunate Issue oi a Friend's Amour " : " O thou pale Orb that silent shines While care-untroubled mortals sleep ! Thou seest a wretch who inly pines, And wanders here to wail and weep ! With woe I nightly vigils keep. Beneath thy wan, unwarming beam; And mourn, in lamentation deep. How life and love are all a dream." The friend was of course his best friend and worst enemy — himself. Bums, was really very lond 01 his " ijomiie jean," anu he wrule taat though he had not a hope or a wish to make her his after her conduct, yet when he was told that " the names were out " of the informal marriage contract, " his heart died within him and his veins were cut with the news." Emerson says: Nature's darhngs, the great, the strong, the beautiful, are not children of our law ; do not come out of the Sunday school, nor weigh their food, nor punctually keep the commandments. BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. So much the worse for them. The destruction of the paper did not, of course, absolve Burns, but he determined to leave Scotland forever. He entered into negotiations with Dr. John Hamilton with the view of going out to Jamaica as bookkeeper on a plantation there. While this matter was pending, and while he was still sore at the treatment which he had received from the Armours, Mary Campbell, known to fame as " Hieland Mary," "a most sprightly, blue-eyed. creature of great modesty and self-respect," who had been in the service of his friend and landlord, Gavin Hamilton, showed so much sympathy with him, that Burns, considering himself free, offered to make her his wife, and she agreed to go with him to Jamaica. She left Mauchline and started on foot for Campbelltown in the Highlands, where her father was a sailor. Burns accompanied her. It was the second Sunday in May, 1 786. They reached "a sequestered spot on the banks of the Ayr," — now a railway runs within a few yards of it, — and there the parting took place. According to tradition, they stood on opposite sides of a slow-running brook, and, dipping their hands into the pure water, swore solemn vows to be true and one till death. At the Burns monument at Ayr are preserved the Bibles which they exchanged. Mary's gift to Burns is a small plain one ; his to her, a dainty edition in two vol- umes. In one of them the poet wrote the Scripture verse : Ye shall not swear by my name falsely ; I am the Lord (l^&\ii. Wa., 12). And in the other : Thou shall not forswear thyself, but shall perform unto the Lord thine oaths (Matt. V. 33)- The poem " To Mary " is referred by Burns to this time when he was " thinking of going to the West Indies ": " Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, And leave auld Scotia's shore? Will ye go the Indies, my Mary, Across the Atlantic's roar?" Nothing more was said about Mary Campbell going to Jamaica vnth him. Indeed, he never saw her again. After making her visit at Campbelltown, she started for Glasgow to take the prosaic place of a servant; but stopping at Greenock to care for a sick brother, she caught the fever and died. There is nothing in Burns's behavior or his letters to indicate that this poetic end- ing of a miserable story was regarded as anything but a relief. When he heard the news his face changed and he left the house ; but he said nothing about it, and only his immortal poem "To Mary in Heaven," written years afterward, shows that it made an impression on him. On the contrary, it was probably only a hasty episode conducted partly under the influence of pique ; and so he continued his preparations for his journey, and wrote his rhymes, and conceived the idea of publishing them. In the following June, 1786, he wrote to Mr. David Brice, a shoemaker of Glasgow, a full account of his trouble. He said : " Poor, ill-advised, ungrateful Armour came home on Friday last. You have heard BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. all the particulars of that affair, and a black affair it is. What she thinks of her con- duct now, I don't know; one thing I do know — she has made me completely miserable. Never man loved, or rather adored, a woman more than I did her : and to confess a truth between you and me, I do still love her to distraction after all, though I won't tell her so if I were to see her, which I don't want to do. My poor, dear, unfortunate Jean ! how happy have I been in thy arms ! It is not the losing her that makes me so unhappy, but for her sake I feel most severely : I foresee she is in the road to, I am afraid, eternal ruin. " May Almighty God forgive her ingratitude and perjury to me, as I from my very soul forgive her; and may His grace be with her and bless her in all her future life ! 1 can have no nearer idea of the place of eternal punishment that what I have felt in my own breast on her account. I have tried often to forget her; I have run into all kinds of dissipation and riots, mason-meetings, drinking-matches, and other mischief, to drive her out of my head, but all in vain. And now for a grand cure : the ship is on her way home that is to take me out to Jamaica ; and then, farewell dear old Scotland ! and farewell dear, ungrateful Jean ! for never, never will I see you more. " You will have heard that I am going to commence poet in print; and to-morrow my works go to the press. I expect it will be a volume of about two hundred pages — it is just the last foolish action I intend to do; and then turn a wise man as fast as possible." It was only after considerable hesitation that he had determined to venture into print with a volume of poems. Thus he expressed his doubts in a poetic epistle to his crony, Mr. James Smith, a shopkeeper in Mauchline : " Just now I 've taen the fit o' rhyme, My barmie noddle 's working prime. My fancie yerkit up sublime Wi' hasty summon : Hae ye a leisure-moment's time To hear what's comin? Some rhyme a neebor's name to lash; Some rhyme (vain thought !) for needfu' cash; Some rhyme to court the countra clash. An' raise a din; For me, an aim I never fash; I rhyme for fun. The star that rules my luckless lot, Has fated me the russet ccat. An' damn'd my fortune to the groat; But, in requit, Has blest me with a random-shot O' countra wit. BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. This while my motion 's taen a sklent. To try my fate in guid, black prent; But still the mait I 'm that way bent, Something cries, ' Hoolie 1 I red you, honest man, tak tent ! Ye '11 shaw your folly : ' There 's ither poets, much your betters, Far seen in Greek, deep men o' letters, Hae thought they had ensur'd their debtors, A' future ages; Now moths deform, in shapeless tatters. Their unknown pages.' Then farewell hopes o' laurel boughs To garland my poetic brows ! Henceforth I '11 rove where busy ploughs Are whistling thrang; An' teach the lanely heights an' howes My rustic sang." He had material enough for a volume. For months he had been pouring forth his most beautiful poems. He had " electrified " his brother Gilbert by repeating to him " The Cotter's Saturday Night " — that sentimental apotheosis of humble piety and rural content. Many of his songs were household words in his neighborhood. He had won unstinted applause and even more unbounded blame by his satiric verses occasioned by a quarrel which was dividing the parish at that day, and into which he entered with all the zeal of his impetuous nature. The descendants or representatives of the old Covenanters, naturally proud of their distinction, clung to a fierce and unmodified Calvinism. Their clergy and the elders of the Kirk possessed a moral dominion which had become a veritable tyranny, ex- tending from the weightier matters of the law even down to the merest trifles of con- duct or opinion. This party were called "The Auld Lichts." Opposed to them were the New Lights, or Moderates, who believed that Christians had no right to lay down the law upon their brethren in matters of faith and practice, and that the "Kirk Session" — that is, the Committee of the Elders — existed simply to assist the minister in knowing his congregation. The two ministers of Ayr belonged to the New Lights, and one of them. Dr. McGill, had undergone persecution. Burns's kind landlord and friend, Gavin Hamil- ton, had been absent from church two or three Sundays, and it was discovered, by questioning the servants, that he was remiss in the ordinances of family worship. He had also neglected to pay a small church rate. He was selected as a special victim of the dominant party. Burns, whose father was a Moderate, naturally sympathized with that side. BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. The armor of the Evangelicals was not arrow-proof. The shafts of ridicule could Snd joints to pierce ; and, worse yet, vital places were not protected. Some of the most violent persecutors of Gavin Hamilton were secretly guilty of unworthy practices, and Burns was alert to seize every chance. Thus he picked out Mr. William Fisher, one of the Kirk elders of Mauchline, and gibbeted him in the doggerel rhymes — unfortunately not guiltless of vulgarity — entitled " Holy Willie's Prayer " : " Oh Thou, wha in the heavens dost dwell, Wha, as it pleases best Thysel', Sends ane to heaven and ten to hell, A' for Thy glory, And no for onie guid or ill They 'ye done afore Thee I " The attack was after all not so disreputable as the elder's own career. Burns called him a hypocrite; he was worse. He afterwards was found guilty of embezzling church funds; and he died in a ditch into which he fell while "elevated," as they then called being tipsy. Two Auld Licht divines had quarrelled about their parish boundaries, and Burns satirized them in his " Twa Herds " ; " O a' ye pious godly flocks, Weel fed on pastures orthodox, Wha now will keep you frae the fox Or worrying lykes? Or wha will tent the waifs an' crocks About the dykes? The twa best herds in a' the wast. That e'er gae gospel horn a blast These five and twenty summers past— O, dool to tell! — Hae had a bitter, black out-cast Atween themsel'. Sic twa — O ! do I live to see t ? — Sic famous twa sud disagree 't, An' names like ' villain,' ' hypocrite,' nk ither gi'en. While New-Light herds wi' laughin' spite Say, ' neither 's liein ! ' " The Sacrament of the Lord's Supper had in many places gradually degenerated into a sort of carousal, where there was much eating and drinking, much gossip and BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. even flirtation. This state of things Burns satirized in his poem entitled " The Holy Fair": " Upon a simmer Sunday mom. When Nature's face is fair, I wallced 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 " lightsomely " the poet glowers abroad " to see a scene so gay," three Hizzies — Fun, Superstition, and Hypocrisy — come "skelpin up the way," bound for "Mauchline Holy Fair"; and Fun, his "crony dear," invites him to accompany them. The sights that he witnessed he then describes with more zest that) propriety. There were more satirical poems of the same sort; and though they had their legitimate effect (as was the case with " The Holy Fair ") and worked a needed reform, they brought much obloquy upon Burns himself, who was perfectly reckless as long as he made a point. It was not hypocrisy in religion alone which he satirized. The village school- master set up a grocery store, and, having a liking for drugs, advertised that " advice would be given in common disorders, at the shop, gratis." He put on great airs of medical knowledge, and Burns one day repeated to his brother Gilbert the terrible lines entitled " Death and Doctor Hornbook." Here the Deil describes the various cases in which " Hornbook was by wi' ready art," to prevent poor humanity from paying its last debt, and " stop him of his lawfu' prey." The laughter caused by this satire was so great, that it actually drove John Wil- son, the apothecary and schoolmaster, out of the country. It seemed to Burns that liis local reputation as a poet justified him in risking the venture ; so he collected over three hundred subscriptions, and engaged John Wil- son, a printer at Kilmarnock, to publish the volume. While he was busy correcting the proofs, Jean Armour came home. He went to call upon her, " not," so he wrote, " from the least view of reconciliation, but merely to ask for her health . . . and from a foolish, hankering fondness, very ill-placed indeed." Her mother forbade him the house; and with anger in his heart, he resolved to gain his " certificate as a single man,' promised him by the minister, provided he would comply with the rules of the church. On the seventeenth of July he wrote to Mr. David Brice : " I have already appeared publicly in church, and was indulged in the liberty of standing in my own seat. I do this to get a certificate as a bachelor, which Mr. Auld has promised me. I am now fixed to go for the West Indies in October. Jean and BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. her friends insisted much that she should stand along with me in the kirk, but the minister would not allow it, which bred a great trouble, I assure you, and I am blamed as the cause of it, though I am sure I am innocent ; but I am very much pleased, for all that, not to have had her company." In order to drive Burns from the country, Jean's father got out a warrant to arrest him. " Some ill-advised people," he wrote Dr. Moore, " had uncoupled the merciless pack of the law at his heels," and he was skulking about from Carrick to Kyle, and from. Kyle to Carrick. "The ship Nancy, Captain Smith, from Clyde to Jamaica, and to call at Antigua," was to sail toward the latter part of August. Here was the chance for Burns. He was saying good-by to his friends. He had passed what he supposed was his last night at the Tarbolton Lodge, where it was afterwards remembered that he " came in a pair of buckskins, out of which he would always pull the other shilling for the other bowl till it was five o'clock in the morning." The departure was postponed till September, and in September poor Jean "repaid him double." An understanding was reached between the two families as to the nurture of the twins ; and still Burns lingered, with " tender yearnings of heart fot the little angels to whom he gave existence," and with indefinite hopes that after all he might not be " exiled, abandoned, forlorn." His poems had succeeded better than he feared. After he had settled with Wilson, he had about twenty pounds to his credit, and was trying to publish a second edition. But Wilson refused to undertake it unless the twenty-seven pounds required for paper were advanced. "This," said Burns, "is out of my power, so farewell hopes of a second edition till I grow richer ! an epocha which, I think, will arrive at the payment of the British national debt." And he added in reference to his domestic troubles: " I have for some time been pining under secret wretchedness, from causes which you pretty well know — the pang of disappointment, the sting of pride, with some wandering stabs of remorse, which never fail to settle on my vitals like vultures, when attention is not called away by the calls of society, or the vagaries of the Muse. Even in the hour of social mirth, my gayety is the madness of an intoxicated criminal under the hands of the executioner. All these reasons urge me to go abroad; and to all these reasons I have only one answer, — the feelings of a father. This, in the present mood I am in, overbalances everything that can be laid in the scale against it." The poems were becoming known outside of Ayrshire. Dr. Lawrie of Lou- don, near Kilmarnock, sent a copy of the precious volume to Dr. Thomas Black- lock of Edinburgh, the well-known blind poet and preacher, who replied in a most complimentary manner, and wished, " for the sake of the young man, that a second edition, more numerous than the former, could immediately be printed." Professor Dugald Stewart of Edinburgh had a country residence at Catrine-on- the-Ayr, only a few miles from Mossgiel ; and having come into possession o{ Burns's poems, he invited the young man to dine with him. On this occasion he met Basil William, Lord Daer, the son of the Earl of Selkirk, a youth of twenty- three, and shortly afterward wrote the poem beginning: BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. "This wot ye all whom it concerns: I, Rhymer Robin, alias Burns, October twenty-third, A ne'er-to-be-forgotten day, Sae far I sprachl'd up the brae I dinner'd wi' a Lord!" i^otessor Stewart declared that " his manners were simple, manly, and independent; strongly expressive of conscious genius and worth, but without anything that indicated forwardness, arrogance, and vanity." About the same time the Edinburgh Magazine came out with a favorable review of the poems, and Burns was so much encouraged that he determined to go to Edin- burgh and try his fortunes there. He mounted his pony and reached " Edina, Scotia's darling seat," on the evening of November 28, 1 786. For the first fortnight he suffered " with a miserable headache and stomach complaint," and apparently did little else than " View that noble, stately dome Where Scotia's kings of other years, Fam'd heroes ! had their royal home ! " and mate himself familiar with the sights of the historic city. He found a warm welcome among the literary celebrities of the day, — Professor Stewart, Professor Blair, Mr. Mackenzie, author of "The Man of Feeling," and others. Mr. James Dalrymple of Orangefield, near Ayr, gave him an introduction to his brother-in-law, the Earl of Glencairn, through whose influence he was brought before the Caledonian Hunt, a society of the Scottish nobility. In a letter to Gavin Hamilton, dated December 7, he wrote: " I am in a fair way of becoming as eminent as Thomas 5i Kempis or John Bunyan ; and you may expect henceforth to see my birthday inserted among the wonderful events, in the Poor Robin's and Aberdeen Almanacks, along with the Black Monday, and the Battle of Bothwell Bridge. My Lord Glencairn and the Dean of Faculty, Mr. H. Erskine, have taken me under their wing ; and by all probability I shall soon be the tenth worthy, and the eighth wise man of the world. Through my Lord's influence it is inserted in tiie records of the Cale- donian Hunt, that they universally, one and all, subscribe for the second edition." This subscription, amounting to a hundred guineas, insured the success of the volume. Private individuals, also, subscribed liberally, one taking forty-two copies, another forty, another twenty, at five shillings each. As an enthusiastic Freemason, Burns was welcomed to the Kilwinning Lodge of Edinburgh, and was made their Poet Laureate. There are a number of descriptions of Burns at that time. Professor Josiah Walker described him as strong and well-knit in person, " much superior to what might be expected in a plowman " ; his stature rather above middle height, though "from want of setting up" it seemed to be "only of the middle size"; his "large, dark eye," the most striking index of his character; his dress simple, plain, but appropriate; his hair, unpowdered, was tied behind and spread upon his forehead; xxvi BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. his manner, absolutely free from affectation; nor did his conversation or behavior betray " that he had been for some months the favorite of all the fashionable circles of a metiropolis." Walter Scott, then a youth of sixteen, met him at the house of Dr. Adam Ferguson, and remembered the " dignified plainness and simplicity of his manners," the " strong expression of strength and shrewdness in all his lineaments," and above all his large and glovidng eye, which alone seemed to indicate his " poetical character and tem- perament." Only two instances are on record where he allowed himself any breach of eti- quette, and they were not serious. Generally be was welcomed as an equal; and if he shone in conversation in the more polished circles, he scintillated in the free and easy life of the taverns and the lodges. While he was correcting his proofs he was puzzling his head as to what the future had in store for him, and debating whether to go to farming again. Burns recognized that he was out of place in Edinburgh. There was nothing for him to do; his rustic training had not fitted him for city life; there was no field for literary work. He was out of his element; Uke the fabled Antaeus, he had need to be in contact with mother earth to find his strength. City pavements offer to such a bard no inspiration. He was weary of adulation; he was too independent to live happily at the table of Patronage. Dr. Lawrie warned him against the dangers of his new life. Burns replied : " I thank you; Sir, with all my soul for your friendly hints, though I do not need them so much as my friends are apt to imagine. You are dazzled with newspaper accounts and distant reports; but in reality, I have no great temptation to be intoxi- cated with the cup of prosperity." The Earl of Buchan advised Burns to make a pilgrimage to the chief battle-fields of Scotland. He replied that he wished for nothing more than a leisurely tour through his native land, " to fire his muse at Scottish story and Scottish scenes," but he declared that Wisdom, " a long-visaged, dry, moral-phantom," whose home was with Prudence, gave him different advice ; and he added : " I must return to my humble station, and woo my rustic muse in my wonted way at the plough-tail." The same " Utopian thoughts " he expressed to Mrs. Dunlop. " The appellation of a Scottish bard is by far my highest pride; to continue to deserve it is my most ex- alted ambition. Scottish scenes and Scottish story are the themes I could wish to sing. I have no dearer aim than to have it in my power, unplagued with the routine of business, for which Heaven knows I am unfit enough, to make leisurely pilgrim- ages through Caledonia; to sit on the fields of her battles; to wander on the romantic banks of her rivers; and to muse by the stately towers or venerable ruins once the honored abodes of her heroes." But again the idea of his true station in life comes to him; besides, he had " an aged mother to care for, and some other bosom ties perhaps equally tender." The volume appeared toward the last of April, 1787. Twenty-eight hundred copies were taken by subscription, and Burns's share of the profits was about five hundred pounds.' This little fortune seemed to justify Burns in undertaking the pilgrimages for BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. which he yearned, before he should settle down to his farming again. On the fifth of May, in company with Robert Ainslie, he set forth on his " auld, ga'd gleyde o' a aieere," for a long ride. They spent the next day, which was Sunday, at Berry Well, with Ainslie's family; at church Miss Ainslie tried to find the text,' which was in con- demnation of obstinate sinners. Burns seeing it, wrote these lines on a piece of paper and handed them to her : ' " Fair maid, you need not take the hint, Nor idle texts pursue : •T was guilty sinners that he meant, Not angels such as you ! " At Jedburgh he was presented with the freedom of the town, an honor which he prized much less than the privilege of a walk with Miss Isabella Lindsay, whose " beautiful hazel eyes " bewitched him. They rode up the Tweed and the Ettrick, and spent a night at Selkirk, where afterwards Scott served as Sheriff. Here they found some gentlemen drinliing at Veitch's Inn and proposed to join them ; but when the landlord said that one spoke rather like a gentleman, but the other was "a drover-looking chap," the gentlemen declined their company, to the life-long regret of at least one of them. At Selkirk he wrote the rhymed epistle to his publisher, William Creech, beginning, "Auld chuckle Reekie's sair distrest." During the trip Burns, for the first and only time, set foot on English soil. On the eighth of June, after a delightful trip, having " dander'd owre a' the Kintra frae Dumbar to Selcraig, an' fore-gather'd wi' mony a guid fallow an' monie a weel far'd hizzie," he reached his home at Mauchline. He who had left them in disgrace, came back the most distinguished man in Scotland. The money and the fame placed him in a different light. Even old Armour forgot his resentment; and this made Burns angry, as is seen by a letter which he dated June 1 1, 1 787 : "I date this from Mauchline, where I arrived on Friday even last. If anything had been wanting to disgust me completely at Armour's family, their mean,, servile compliance would have done it." In this unsettled state of mind he left Mauchline toward the last of June, and went to the West Highlands, where he apparently found little to please him: " a country where savage streams tumble over savage mountains, thinly overspread with savage flocks, which starvingly support as savage inhabitants." At Inveraray, where he could find no shelter, he composed these bitter lines : " 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, 'T was surely in an anger." BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. But later he found boon companions and the sort of wild dissipation which for a time caused him to forget his errors. He tells on one occasion when they danced till three in the morning, and how " they ranged round the bowl till the good-fellow hour of six." The next day they again " pushed the bottle," and finding themselves " not ma fou but gaylie yet," they tried to outgallop a Highlandman who had a tolerably good horse. But the race ended in a bad tumble. " His horse, which had never known the ornaments of iron or leather, zigzagged across before my old spavin'd hunter, whose name was Jenny Geddes, and down came the Highlandman, horse and all, and down came Jenny and my hardship; so I have got such a skinful of bruises and wounds, that I shall be at least four weeks before I dare venture on my journey to Edinburgh." " I came off," he says in another letter, " with n few cuts and bruises, and a thorough resolution to be a pattern of sobriety for the future." Unconsciously to himself he had woven a net at Mauchline which was to entangle him. He had renewed his intimacy with Jean Armour. It was while he was at Mossgiel on his return from this escapade, that he wrote his autobiographical letter to Dr. Moore. In August he returned to Edinburgh, and on the twenty-fifth of the month started with " a truly original but very worthy man, a Mr. Nicol, one of the masters of the high school in Edinburgh," on a twenty-two days' trip or "near six hundred miles," through the Highlands. On the twenty-sixth he wrote : " This morning I knelt at the tomb of Sir John the Graham, the gallant friend of the immortal Wallace; and two hours ago I said a fervent prayer for Old Caledonia over the hole in a blue whinstone, where Robert de Bruce fixed his royal standard on the banks of Bannockburn; and just now, from Stirling Castle, I have seen by the setting sun the glorious prospect of the windings of Forth, through the rich carse of Stirling, and skirting the equally rich carse of Falkirk." He described his trip not only in various letters, but also in a jotted diary, so that all his steps are known. At Blair Athole, where he was so cordially welcomed by " honest men and bonnie lasses," he left behind him the poem entitled, " The Humble Petition of Bruar Water." The Earl carried out the idea, and " shaded the banks wi' tow'ring trees and bonnie spreading bushes." At Stirling he inscribed on the window-pane of a tavern with a recently purchased diamond ring these lines : " Here Stewarts once in glory reign'd. And laws for Scotland's weal ordair'd; But now imroof'd their palace stands, Their sceptre fallen to other hands; The injured Stewart line is gone, A race outlandish fills their throne : An idiot race, to honor lost — Who knows them best despise them most." The minister ot Gladsmuir attacked him for the treason thus expressed, and Burns replied with another epigram : BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. " With Esop's lion, Burns says : — ' Sore I feel Each other blow : but damn that ass's heel. ' " In October, after his return to Edinburgh, he started on another tour, this time with his friend Dr. Adair. At Clackmannan they visited Mrs. Bruce, who had the helmet and sword of the great chieftain, from whom she inherited it. She conferred knighthood on the two travellers, remarking that she had a better right to give the honor than some people had. At Stirling, Burns, who had been told that his treasonable lines might affect his prospects, broke the pane of glass, and indulged in a still bitterer epigram. Neither was forgotten: " Rash mortal, and slanderous poet, thy name Shall no longer appear in the records of Fame ! Dost not know that old Mansfield, who writes hke the Bible, Says, the more 't is a truth, Sir, the more 't is a libel ? " At Harvieston he enjoyed a visit to " the accomplished " Miss Margaret Chalmers, whom he immortalized as Peggy in the two songs entitled " Peggy's Charms." He spent two days at Ochtertyre on the Teith, surprising every one by his " flashes of intellectual brightness," and visited Ochtertyre in Strathearn, where he wrote the poem, " On Scaring some Water-fowl in Loch Turit," and the song to Miss Euphemia Murray of Lintrove, known as " the Flower of Strathearn " : " Blythe, blythe and merry was she, Blythe was she butt and ben : Blythe by the banks of Earn, And blythe in Glenturit glen." At Dunfermline they visited the ruined abbey, and Abbey Church, and Bums from the pulpit delivered a mock reproof and exhortation to Dr. Adair, mounted on the " cutty stool," or stool of repentance. Robert Bruce is buried in the churchyard, under two broad flagstones; and Burns, says Dr. Adair, " knelt and kissed the stone with sacred fervor, and heartily execrated the worse than Gothic neglect of the first of Scottish heroes." On his return to Edinburgh he was still undecided whether to take a farm of Mr. Miller, or enter into partnership with his brother Gilbert, who was, as he said, an excellent farmer, and, " besides, an exceedingly prudent, sober man." Creech, the publisher of his poems, was slow in making a settlement; there were rumors of his insolvency, and Burns remained in town, rooming in St. James's Square with Mr. William Cruickshank. Early in December, at the house of Miss Nimmo, he made the acquaintance of a Mrs. M'Lehose, " of a somewhat voluptuous style of beauty." Her maiden name had been Agnes Craig; she was the daughter of a surgeon, and had been known in Glasgow society as " the pretty Miss Nancy." She was married at the early age of seventeen to James M'Lehose, a law-agent, from whom she separated four years later. Her husband was in Jamaica. She was a poet. BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. She invited Burns to take tea with her at her lodgings on the evening of Saturday, December 8; but a drunken coachman overset him, bruising his knees so that he could not stir out. Burns wrote a note expressing his chagrin. Mrs. M'Lehose replied that if she were his sister she would call and see him ! She also enclosed some verses. This was the beginning of a perilous friendship which ran over the sea of passion, though the fair widow had a kedge-anchor to windward in her intensely religious nature. The correspondence between Sylvander and Clarinda (as they sentimentally called themselves) is famous in the history of literature. Mrs. M'Lehose long outlived Burns ; for thirty or forty years she was said to be in company five-sevenths of the time. Those who saw her in later life found her a short, plain, snuff-taking little woman. But to the last she worshipped the memory of Burns, and lived in the hope that they should meet in another sphere where "love is not a crime." To her Burns wrote the poem in which he called her " the fair sun of all her sex." Perhaps, if both of them had been free. Burns might have married " Clarinda, mistress of his soul," as he more than once wrote ; but he was even less free than he supposed. In February, 1788, Burns went for the third time to inspect Mr. Miller's farms at Dalswinton. On his way he stopped at Mossgiel, and had an interview with Jean Armour, then wrote in regard to it to his sympathiizing Clarinda : " I, this morning as I came home, called for a certain woman. I am disgusted with her. I cannot endure her. I, while my heart smote me for the profanity, tried to compare her with my Clarinda : 't was setting the expiring glimmer of a farthing taper beside the cloudless glory of the meridian sun. Here was tasteless insipidity, vul- garity of soul, and mercenary fawning; there, polished good sense. Heaven-born genius, and the most generous, the most delicate, the most tender passion. I have done with her, and she with me'." In regard to the same interview he wrote more frankly to Robert Ainslie : " I have been through sore tribulation, and under much buffeting of the evil one, since I came to this country. Jean I found banished, like a martyr, — forlorn, destitute, and friendless, — all for the good old cause. I have reconciled her to her fate; I have reconciled her to her mother; I have taken her a room; I have taken her to my arms; I have given her a mahogany bed; I have given her a guinea; and I have embraced her till she rejoiced with joy unspeakable and full of glory. But — as I always am on every occasion — I have been prudent and cautious to an astounding de- gree. I swore her privately and solemnly never to attempt any claim on me as a husband, even though anybody should persuade her she had such a claim, which she had not, neither during my life nor after my death. She did all this like a good girl." Such conduct requires no comment. It speaks for itself. He returned to Edin- burgh in March, and on the fourteenth of the month he wrote to Miss Chalmers that he had completed a bargain for the farm of EUisland on the banks of the Mth, between five and six miles above Dumfries. The birth and death of a second pair of twins seems to have changed his opinions in regard to Jean Armour. He made up his mindtthat "some sacrifices" were neoe*- BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. oary for his peace of mind. On the 28th of April he wrote Mr. James Smith, "There IS a certain clean-limbed, handsome, bewitching young hussy of your acquaintance, to whom I have lately and privately given a matrimonial title to my corpus." In this letter he first calls Jean Armour Mrs. Burns, though he adds, " 't is only her private designation." To his uncle Samuel Brown he wrote whimsically : " It would be a vain attempt for me to enumerate the various transactions I have been engaged in since I saw you last; but this know, I engaged in a smuggling trade, and God knows if ever any poor man experienced better returns — two for one; but as freight and delivery have turned out so dear, I am thinking of taking out a license and beginning in fair trade. I have taken a farm on the borders of the Nith, and, in imitation of the old patri- archs, get men-servants and maid-servants, and flocks and herds, and beget sons and daughters." In June he wrote to Mrs. Dunlop from EUisland, telling her how busy he was building his farmhouse, digging foundations, carting stones and lime, and dwelling " a solitary inmate of an old, smoky spenee; far from every object I love, or by whom I am beloved; nor any acquaintance older than yesterday, except Jenny Geddes, the old mare I ride on; while uncouth cares and novel plans hourly insult my awkward ignorance and bashful inexperience," In this letter he confirmed her suspicions that he was a husband. Of his wife he says : "The most placid good-nature and sweetness of disposition; a warm heart, grate- fully devoted with all its powers to love me; vigorous health and sprightly cheerfulness, set off to the best advantage by a mere than commonly handsome figure; these, I think, in a woman, may make a good wife, though she should never have read a page but the Scriptures of the Old and New Testament, nor have danced in a brighter assembly than a penny pay wedding." Less than a month later Burns and his wife appeared before the Kirk Session and publicly "acknowledged their irregular marriage and their sorrow for their irregu- larity." The Session agreed that they should both be rebuked and "be solemnly engaged to adhere faithfully to one another as man and wife all the days of their life." While he was building his house and qualifying for his position on the Excise, to which he had been appointed, he left his wife at Mauchline and dwelt alone at EUis- land. It was in the Honeymoon; and, as Burns says, here he wrote those beautiful songs to his Jean : " Of a' the airts the wind can blaw I dearly like the west, For there the bonie lassie live^ The lassie I lo'e best;" and " O, were I on Parnassus hill." Burns's letters during this time are filled with curious contradictions. He tells Mrs. Dunlop that he might easily fancy a more agreeable companion for his journey BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. of life. He writes Mr. Bengo tliat his choice was as random as blind-man's buff. He writes Miss Chalmers : " Shortly after my last return to Ayrshire I married ' My Jean.' This was not in con- sequence of the attachment of romance, perhaps; but I had a long and much loved fellow-creature's happiness or misery in my determination, and I durst not trifle with so important a deposit. Nor have I any cause to repent it. If I have not got polite tattle, modish manners, and fashionable dress, I am not sickened and disgusted with the multiform curse of boarding-school affectation; and I have got the handsomest figure, the sweetest temper, the soundest constitution, and the kindest heart in the county." In November he wrote to Dr. Blacklock : '' I am more and more pleased with the step I took respecting ' My Jean.' Two things, from my happy experience, I set down as apophthegms in life, — A wife's head is immaterial compared with her heart; and, 'Virtue's (for wisdom, what poet pre- tends to it?) ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace.' " In December Jean appeared upon the scene, bringing her household belongings, including a four-post bedstead, a gift from Mrs. Dunlop, and a faithful servant-maid named Elizabeth Smith. He welcomed her with the poem beginning, " I hae a wife o' my ain." The house was small, but Burns was on the whole content. This was the happiest period of his life. He was comparatively regular in his habits, though his poem of " The Whistle " shows that he occasionally indulged in the intoxicating bowl after the universal custom of the day. He became interested in the local library, for which he ordered the Spectator, the Lounger, Religious Pieces, and ' other works from Edinburgh ; and he still took an interest in theological matters, as is proved by his satire entitled, "The Kirk's Alarm," occasioned by an heretical work by Pastor McGill. The first year at EUisland was fairly successful. The crops turned out well; Major Dunlop sent him a present of a heifer; Mr. John Tennant forwarded to him a cask of whiskey; he was in frequent correspondence with his friends. In the summer of 1790 Captain Francis Grose, an English antiquary, visited Scotland and made Burns's acquaintance. To him was indirectly due the tale of "Tam o' Shanter," that famous "masterpiece of Scottish character, Scottish humor, Scottish witcblore, and Scottish imagination." This piece. Burns declared, was " his standard performance in the poetical line." In the same year Samuel Egerton Brydges, the poet, visited Burns at EUis- land. He wrote: " At first I was not entirely pleased with his countenance. I thought it had a sort of capricious jealousy, as if he was half inclined to treat me as an intruder. I resolved to bear it, and try if I could humor him. I let him choose his turn of conversation, but said a word about the friend whose letter I had brought to him. It was now about four o'clock in the afternoon of an autumn day. While we were talking, Mrs. Burns, as if accustomed to entertain visitors in this way, brought in a bottle of Scotch whiskey, and set the table. I accepted this hospitality. I could not help observing the curious glance with which he watched me at the en- trance of this sequel of homely entertainment. He was satisfied; he filled our glasses. BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. «< Here's a health to Auld Caledonia.' The fire sparkled in his eye, and mine sympathetically met his. He shook my hands, and we were friends at once. Then he drank ' Erin forever,' and the tear of delight burst from bis eye. The fountain of his mind and his heart opened at once, and flowed with abundant force almost till midnight. " He had amazing acnteness of intellect, as well as glow of sentiment. I do not deny that he said some absurd things and many coarse ones, and that his knowledge was very irregular, and sometimes too presumptuous; and that he did not endure contradiction with sufficient patience. His pride, and perhaps his vanity, was even morbid, I carefully avoided topics in which he could not take an active part. Of literary gossip he knew nothing, and, therefore, kept aloof from it; in the technical parts of literature, his opinions were crude and unformed; but whenever he spoke of a great writer whom he had read, his taste was gen- erally sound. To a few minor writers he gave more credit than they deserved. His grand beauty was his manly strength and his energy and elevation of thought and feeling. He had always a full mind, and all flowed from a genuine spring. I never conversed with a. man who appeared to be more warmly impressed with the beauties of Nature; and visions of female beauty and tenderness seemed to transport him. He did not merely appear to be a poet at casual intervals, but at every moment a poetical enthusiasm seemed to beat in his veins; and he lived all his days the inward, if not the outward, life of a poet." In order to enable his brother Gilbert to remain at Mossgiel, Burns advanced him one hundred and eighty pounds: the rest of the small fortune made by his poems was gradually sunk in the unsuccessful conduct of the farm. He had been appointed Exciseman; and his duties, on a salary of fifty pounds a year, " condenlned " him, as he expressed it, to " galop " over ten parishes "at least two hundred miles every week, to inspect dirty ponds and yeasty barrels." These absences, and frequent attacks of illness; a lame knee and a broken arm, occasioned by a fall "not from but with" his horse; "an omnipotent toothache," were not to the advantage of farming. A deranged nervous system, resulting in incessant headache, kept him ill all the following winter. He determined to relinquish his " curst farm '" ; and as Mr. Miller was willing to free him from his lease, he gave it up. Toward the last of July, 1 791, he sold his crops at an average of a guinea an acre above value. Burns writing about it to a friend, said : " But such a. scene of drunkenness was hardly ever seen in this country. After the roup was over, about thirty people engaged in a battle, every man for his own hand, and fought it out for three hours. Nor was the scene much better in the house. No fighting indeed, but the folks lying drunk on the floor, and decanting, until both my dogs got so drunk by attending on them, that they could not stand. You will easily guess how I enjoyed the scene, as I was no farther over than you used to see me." In November he was appointed excise-officer for the district of Dumfries, at a salary of seventy pounds a year, and the hope of being promoted to be supervisor at a salary of two hundred pounds. He sold off his stock arid farming implements, and moved to a small housa BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. in the Wee Vennel of Dumfries. The thought of Burns at the plough awakeiu a pleasurable picture ; we remember his poem to the Mountain Daisy, and the Field Mouse. But Burns as a ganger of ardent spirits is pathetic ; it connects him too directly with the indecent wit and vulgar lowness of "The Jolly Beggars"; that move was a step toward his ruin. While Mrs. Burns was visiting in Ayrshire, Burns himself was still lingering at EUisland, and for no good. Annie Park, the fair niece of the hostess of the Globe Tavern, had met his eye. To her he wrote the song, " The Gowden Locks of Anna," with its impudent, reckless postscript. The price of that song was a soul. When Burns tried to get his brother to take the helpless babe, who was born of his intrigue, Mrs. Burns, with characteristic magnanimity, insisted on adopting the little girl, and became very fond of her. She was the image of her father; she made an excellent marriage, and lived till within a few years ago. Before he settled in Dumfries, Burns visited Edinburgh for the last time, and saw his beloved "Clarinda," with whom he had kept up an infrequent corre- spondence. She was about to sail for Jamaica to join her "repentant but worth- less husband." This episode gave rise to the songs: "Aince Mair I hail thee, thou Gloomy December," "Behold the Hour, the Boat arrive," "Ae Fond Kiss and then we sever," and " My Nanie's Awa'." Burns wrote her that whenever he was called upon to give a toast, he regularly proposed, " Mrs. Mac," or " Clarinda," though he kept them all in the dark as to whom he meant by it. Fortunately, Mrs. Burns was not a jealous woman; for her husband's susceptible heart, not " vitrified " as he once feared it was, found constant fuel in Dumfries. In August, 1792, he wrote Mrs. Dunlop that he was "in love, souse ! over head and ears, deep as the most unfathomable abyss of the boundless ocean," with her neighbor. Miss Lesley Baillie. The young lady, on her way to England with her father and sister, called on him. Burns rode fourteen or fifteen miles with them, and on his way back composed the song : " O, saw ye bonie Lesley As she gaed o'er the border : " a sort of parody on the old ballad : " My bonnie Lizie Baillie, I '11 rowe thee in my plaidie." The very next month Mr. George Thomson, clerk to the Board of Trustees for the Encouragement of Manufactures in Scotland, who was interested in publishing a collection of Scots songs, wrote to enlist Burns in his scheme. Burns replied that he would do so on three conditions : that he should not be hurried (was not his crest a slow-worm supported by two sloths, and his motto " De'il tak' the Foremost " ?) • that he need not be expected to write English verses; and that he should not be paid for them. Mr. Thomson's work was published in 1801-2; and Burns, in the course of four years, contributed at least a hundred songs ! Once five pounds was sent to him, and Burns replied, " I assure you, my dear sir, that you truly hurt me with your pecuniary BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. parcel. It degrades me in my own eyes ! " and he threatened that " any more traffic of that dettor and creditor kind " would break off their friendship. He so loved the work that he felt that any talk of money, wages, fee, hire, and such like would be downright " prostitution of soul " ! He seems to have made an effort to cure himself of hard drinking. In December he wrote Mrs. Dunlop ; " As to myself, I am better, though not quite free of my complaint. You must not think, as you seem to insinuate, that in my way of life I want exercise. Of that I have enough ; but occasionally hard drinking is the devil to me. Against this I have again and again bent my resolution, and have greatly succeeded. Taverns I have totally abandoned : it is the private parties in the family way, among the hard-drink- ing gentlemen of this country, that do me the mischief; but even this I have more than half given over." Dumfries was then, says Chalmers, " a great stage on the road from England to the North of Ireland." Visitors were apt to send for Burns to meet them and drink with them. He had not the will-power to resist. Early one summer morning one of his neighbors just getting to work received a visit from him as he was staggering home from some such debauch. The poet said : " O George 1 you are a happy man. You have risen from refreshing sleep and left a kind wife and children, while I am returning, a self-condemned wretch, to mine ! " Yet he was not neglectful of his duties. In February, 1 792, a contraband brig was discovered in Solway Frith. Burns sent for a squad of dragoons, put himself at their head, and was the first to board her. In spite of superior numbers opposed to him, he made himself master of her: the brig was next day sold with all her contents. While his messenger, a man named Lewars, was gone for the dragoons. Burns composed the poem, " The De'il's Awa'." "The De'il cam' fiddling thro' the town. And danc'd awa' wi' the Exciseman." , In spite of such zeal he had ruined his chances — slim though they were — of becoming a supervisor. In the preceding December the Board was ordered to inquire into his political conduct; and he wrdte a pitiful appeal to Mr. Robert Graham, not so much for himself as in behalf of " the much-loved wife of his bosom and his helpless, prattling little ones," likely to be " turned adrift into the world, degraded and disgraced." He declared that the attack upon him arose from " the damned dark insinuations of hellish, groundless envy." Yet there was some ground for suspicion of him. It was known that he looked with favor on the Revolutionary party in France; that he had sent to the French Convention a present of four small cannon, for whjch he paid three pounds. At a dinner party, when the toast to Pitt was proposed. Burns gave " the health of George Washington, a better man." In his cups he indulged in sarcasms and rampant radicalism. Epigrams of his were in circulation. For such a man promotion was out of the question. At one time the good people of Dumfries even refused to recog- nize him on the street. At heart he was sound enough. He wrote to Mr. Graham : " To the British xxxvi BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. Constitution, on revolution principles, next after my God, I am most devoutly at- tached; ~ and when there seemed to be some danger of a French invasion, he published in the Dumfries Journal (May 5, 1795) the immensely popular song " Does Hnughty Gaul Invasion Threat? " He also joined the Dumfries volunteers, and vfore the uniform of kersey breeches, blue coat, and round hat. In July, 1793, Burns, in company with Mr. Syme, stamp distributor, made an excursion into Galloway, and, during a thunder storm on the wilds of Kenmore, composed his famous song, " Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled." At Whitsuntide of this year he had moved his family into a larger and better house in the Mill-hole Brae, afterward named Burns Street. The rent was eight pounds a year. During all these months he was constantly inspired to compose songs for Mr. Thomson's collection. Among the fair ladies in whose honor he wrote, was Miss Jean Lorimer, whom he celebrated in a dozen songs under the name of Chloris, because of her light flaxen hair : " Lassie wi' the Lint-white Locks " is one of the most popular of them. Still another was Mrs. Lucy Oswald, of Ayrshire, on whom he wrote the song beginning : " O, wat ye wha 's in yon town. Ye see the e'enin' sun upon? The dearest maid 's in yon town That e'enin' sun is shining on." Still another was Mrs. Maria Riddell, of Woodley Park, only eighteen, and, like Clarinda, a poet. Burns called her " the most amiable of her sex." She and her husband made Burns welcome at their table. On one occasion, when all the men had been drinking (as usual) heavily. Burns went with the rest to the drawing-room, and, entirely forgetting himself, marched up to his hostess and kissed her on the lips. The scene may be imagined ! The next morning he wrote to her a most abject letter of apology, in which he says : " If I could in any measure be reinstated in the good opinion of the fair circle whom my conduct last night so much injured, I think it would be an alleviation to my torments. For this reason I trouble you with this letter. To the men of the com- pany I will make no apology. Your- husband, who insisted on my drinking more than I chose, has no right to blame me; and the other gentlemen were partakers of my guilt. But to you. Madam, I have much to apologize. Your good opinion I valued as one of the greatest acquisitions I bad made on earth, and I was truly a beast to forfeit it.'? 4 Captain Riddell never forgave Burns. He died a few months later. Unfor- tunately, Burns, exasperated at what he considered unfair treatment, wrote several cruel epigrams upon Mrs. Riddell, which he afterward deeply regretted. Even such a severe warning had no lasting effect upon him, nor the fact that he saw his health was failing. On December 29, 1795, he wrote Mrs. Dunlop : "Very lately I was a boy; but t' other day I was a young man; and I already begin to feel the rigid fibre and stiffening joints of old age coming fast over my frame.'' Other letters presage his early death. In the following January he stayed late at the tavern with boon companions, per- BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. haps trying to drown his sorrow at the recent loss of his daughter, his " sweet little girl." On his way home he was overcome with drowsiness, sat down in the snow, and fell asleep. The exposure brought on an attack of rheumatic fever, which kept him in bed all the rest of the winter, and ended iu what he dreaded — in "flying gout, — a sad business." Even in June he wrote Mrs. Riddell, who had gradually restored to him her favor : " Racked as I am with rheumatisms, I meet every face with a greeting like that of Balak to Balaam : ' Come, curse me Jacob ; and come, defy Israel ! ' So say I : Come, curse me that east wind ; and come, defy me the north ! Would you have me in such circumstances copy you out a love-song ? " On the fourth of July he was taken to Brow on the Solway, where Mrs. Riddell was staying. She called upon him and saw that " the stamp of death was imprinted on his features. He seemed already touching the brink of eternity." His first greeting was, " Well, Madam, have you any commands for the other world ? " She wrote these details to a friend of hers, and told how anxious Burns seemed about his family, and how concerned about the care of his literary fame. He wished that such letters and verses as had been written vrith unguarded and improper freedom might be burned in oblivion. "He lamented," she wrote, "that he had written many epigrams on persons against whom he entertained no enmity, and whose characters he should be sorry to wound; and many indifTerent poetical pieces, which he feared would now, with all their imperfections on their head, be thrust upon the world." On the seventh of July he wrote to Mr. Cunningham urging him to use his influence that his full salary might be paid him while he was on the sick-list, — his salary as Exciseman being reduced, while off duty, to ;^35 instead of ;^50. Less than a week later he wrote his cousin, Mr. James Burness, appealing for assistance. His cousin immediately sent him ten pounds, and afterward offered to bring up and educate his son Robert. Then he put his pride into his pocket, and " implored " Mr. G. Thomson for five pounds, promising, if he recovered, to furnish him with " five pounds' worth of the neatest song genius " he ha'd seen. That morning he wrote his last song : " Fairest maid on Devon banks, Crystal Devon, winding Devon, Wilt thou lay that frown aside. And smile as thou wert wont to do? " On the eighteenth he returned to Dumfries in a small spring cart. When he alighted, he could not stand. He immediately wrote his father-in-law — it was his last letter : " Do, for Heaven's sake, send Mrs. Armour here immediately. My wife is hourly expecting to be put to bed. Good God ! what a situation for her to be in, poor girl, without a friend ! I returned from sea-bathing quarters to-day, and my medical friends would almost persuade me that I am better; but I think and feel that my strength is so gone that the disorder will prove fatal to me." BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. His children were sent to the house of Mr. Lewars. Miss Jessie Lewars, of whom he had written some of his sweetest songs, was sleepless in her attendance upon him. On the twenty-first he became delirious. His children were allowed to see him for the last time. He died (July 2i, 1796), with an execration upon the legal agent whose threats had troubled him. On the evening of July 25 his remains were taken to the Town Hall, and the funeral was conducted on the following day. Several regiments of infantry and cav- alry assisted in the obsequies, which were solemn and impressive. A long procession marched between rows of military to the sound of the Dead March in Saul. Three volleys were fired over the grave. During the service Burns's posthumous son. Maxwell, was born — a pathetic incident. Burns himself predicted that he should be better understood a hundred years later. He had not to wait a hundred years. Henry MacKenzie, author of " The Man of Feeling," in an article in the Lounger, early compared him to Shakspere; not in range of genius, but in magnanimity and unaffected character, in vigor and power. Hazlitt, who uses almost precisely the same words, says in addition : " He was as much of a man, not the twentieth part of a poet, as Shakspere. . . . He had an eye to see, a heart to feel — no more. His strength is not greater than his weakness; his virtues were greater than his vices; his virtues belonged to his genius; his vices to his situation, which did not correspond to his genius." Lord Jeffrey predicted that the name of Burns would endure long after the circum- stances that contributed to its notoriety were forgotten. A writer in the Universal Magazine in 1809 said: "He dipt his pencil in the living tints of Nature. . , . Like Shakspere, the current of his inspiration was un- checked by the cold niceties of critical perfection; it flowed impetuously onward, sometimes spreading into magnificence and beauty; sometimes meandering in peace- ful murmurs, and sometimes rushing with sublime energy over precipices and rocks, forming the thundering cataracts or the eddying whirlpool." Mrs. Oliphant declares : " Not even for a second Shakspere could we let go our Burns; " and she adds: "If ever man was anointed and consecrated to a special work in this world, for which all his antecedents, all his training, all his surrounding circumstances, combined to fit him, Robert Burns was that man." Carlyle called him "a rugged Saxon brother, one of the strongest, noblest men — a Scottish Thor, a true Peasant-Thunder-God." Almost all men have given equally high tribute to Burns. He is the idol of the Scotch ; his poems, next to the Bible, are their consolation and delight. In the splendor of their richness, Burns's faults are almost forgotten, or are taken as a lesson. They were the faults of his age. Burns left in his own writings the idea) to which he would fain have reached. Let us judge him by that. Nathan Haskell Dole. POEMS OF ROBERT BURNS. KILMARNOCK 1786. oVUo THE TWA DOGS. A Tale [According to Gilbert Burns, the tale of " Tile Twa Dogs " was " composed after the resolution of publishing was nearly taken." During the night before the death of William Bumess, Robert's favorite dog, Luath, was killed by some person unknown. Caesar was merely the creature of the poet's imagination. It was Luath's successor, whose appearance at the " penny dance '* at Mauchline led Burns to remark that " he wished he could get any of the lasses to like him as well as his dog did."] 'T WAS in that place o' Scotland's isle That bears the name of auld King Coil, Upon a bonie day in June, When wearing thro' the afternoon, Twa dogs, that were na thrang at hame. Forgathered ance upon a time. The first I'll name, they ca'd him Caesar, Was keepit for ' his Honor's ' pleasure : His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs, Shew'd he was nane o' Scotland's dogs; But whalpit some place far abroad, Whare sailors gang to fish for cod. His lock&d, letter'd, braw brass collar Shew'd him the gentleman an' scholar ; y But tho' he was o' high degree, The fient a pride, nae pride had he , But wad hae spent an hour caressin, Ev'n wi' a tinkler-gipsy's messin ; At kirk or market, mill or smiddie, Nae tawted tyke, tho' e'er sae duddie, But he wad stan't, as glad to sec him, An' stroan't on stanes an' hillocks wi' him. The tither was a ploughman's collie, A rhyming, ranting, raving billie, Wha for his friend an' comrade had him. And in his freaks had Luath ca'd him. After some dog in Highland sang, Was made lang syne — Lord knows how lang. He was a gash an' feithfu' tyke, As ever lap a sheugh or dyke. His honest, sonsie, baws'nt face Ay gat him friends in ilka place ; His breast was white, his tousie back Weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black ; His gawsie tail, wi' upward curl. Hung owre his hurdles wi' a swirl. Nae doubt but they were fain o' ither. And unco pack an' thick thegither; Wi' social nose whyles snufF'd an' snowkit ; Whyles mice an' moudieworts they howkit; THE TWA DOGS. Whyles scour'd awa' in lang excursion, An' worry'd ither in diversion ; Till tir'd at last wi' monie a farce, They sat them down upon their arse. An' there began a lang digression About the ' lords o' the creation.' C^SAR. I 've aften wonder'd, honest Luath, What sort o' life poor dogs like you have; An' when the gentry's life I saw, What way poor bodies liv'd ava. Our laird gets in his racked rents, His coals, his kain, an' 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 bonie silken purse. As lang's my tail, whare, thro' the steeks, The yellow letter'd Geordie keeks. Frae morn to e'en it 's nought but toiling. At baking, roasting, frying, boiling ; An' tho' the gentry first are stechin, Yet ev'n the ha' folk fill their pechan Wi' sauce, ragouts, and sic like trash- trie. That 's little short o' downright was- trie: Our whipper-in, wee, blastit wonner, Poor, worthless elf, it eats a dinner, Better than onie tenant-man His Honor has in a' the Ian' ; An' what poor cot-folk pit their painch in, I own it's past ray comprehension. LUATH. Trowth, Caesar, whyles they 're fash't eneugh : A cotter howkin in a sheugh, Wi' dirty stanes biggin a dyke, Baring a quarry, an' sic like ; Himsel, a wife, he thus sustains, A smytrie o' wee duddie weans, An' nought but his han' darg to keep Them right an' tight in thack an' rape. An' when they meet wi' sair disas- ters. Like loss o' health or want o' mas- ters, Ye maist wad think, a wee touch langer, An' they maun starve o' cauld and hunger : But how it comes, I never kend yet. They 're maistly wonderfii' contented ; An' buirdly chiels, an' clever hizzies, Are bred in sic a way as this is. But then to see how ye 're negleckit, How huff 'd, an' cuflF'd, an' disrespec- kit! Lord man, our gentry care as little For delvers, ditchers, an' sic cattle ; They gang as saucy by poor folk, As I wad by a stinking brock. I 've notic'd, on our laird's court- day, (An' monie a time my heart 's been wae). Poor tenant bodies, scant o' cash, How they maun thole a factor's snash : He '11 stamp an' threaten, curse an' swear He'll apprehend them, poind their gear; While they maun staun', wi' aspect humble. An' hear it a', an' fear an' tremble ! I see how folk live that hae riches ; But surely poor-folk maun be wretches ! LUATH. They're nae sae wretched 's ana wad think : Tho' constantly on poortith's brink. They 're sae accustom'd wi' the sight, The view o ' t gies them little firight. THE TWA DOGS. Then chance an' fortune are sae guided, They 're ay in less or mair provided ; An' tho' fatigu'd wi' close employment, A blink o' rest 's a sweet enjoyment. The dearest comfort o' their lives. Their grushie weans an' faithfu' wives ; The prattling things are just their pride. That sweetens a' their fire-side. An' whyles twalpennie "worth o' nappy Can mak the bodies unco happy : They lay aside their private cares, To mind the Kirk and State affairs ; They '11 talk o' patronage an' priests, Wi' kindling fury i' their breasts. Or tell what new taxation 's comin, An' ferlie at the folk in Lon'on. As bleak-fac'd Hallowmass returns, They get the jovial, ranting kirns, When rural life, of ev'ry station. Unite in common recreation ; Love blinks, Wit slaps, an' social Mirth Forgets there's Care upo' the earth. That merry day the year begins, They bar the door on frosty win's ; The nappy reeks wi' mantling ream, An' sheds a heart-inspiring steam ; The luntin pipe, an' sneeshin mill. Are handed round wi' right guid will ; The cantie auld folks crackin crouse, The young anes ranting thro' the house — My heart has been sae fain to see them, That I for joy hae barkit w<' them. Still it 's owre true that ye hae said Sic game is now owre aften play'd ; There 's monie a creditable stock O' decent, honest, fawsont folk, Are riven out baith root an' branch, Some rascal's pridefu' greed to quench, Wha thinks to knit himsel the faster In favor wi' some gentle master, Wha, aiblins thrang a parliamentin ', For Britain's guid his saul indent- in' Haith, lad, ye little ken about it : For Britain's guid! guid faith! I doubt it. Say rather, gaun as Premiers lead him : An' saying aye or no 's they bid him : At operas an' plays parading, Mortgaging, gambling, masquerad- ing: Or maybe, in a frolic daft. To Hague or Calais taks a waft, To mak a tour an' tak a whirl. To learn bon ton, an' see the worl'. There, at Vienna or Versailles, He rives his father's auld entails ; Or by Madrid he taks the rout. To thrum guitars an' fecht wi' nowt ; Or down Italian vista startles. Whore-hunting amang groves o' myr- tles Then bowses drumlie German-water, To mak himsel look fair an' fatter. An' clear the consequential sorrows. Love-gifts of Carnival signoras. For Britain's guid! for her destruc- tion! Wi' dissipation, feud an' faction. Hech man! dear sirs! is that the gate They waste sae monie a braw estate ! Are we sae foughten an' harass'd For gear ta gang that gate at last ? O would they stay aback frae courts. An' please themsels wi' countra sports, It wad for ev'ry ane be better. The laird, the tenant, an' the cotter ! Fort hae frank, rantin, ramblin billies, Fient haet o' them's ill-hearted fellows : Except for breakin o' their timmer. Or speakin lightly o' their limmer, SCOTCH DRINK. Or shootin of a hare or moor-cock, The ne'er-a-bit they're ill to poor folk. But will ye tell me, master Csesar : Sure great folk's life's a life o' pleasure ? Nae cauld nor hunger e'er can steer them, The vera thought o'tneed na fear them. C^SAR. Lord, man, were ye but whyles whare I am, The gentles, ye wad ne'er envy 'em ! It's true, they need na starve or sweat. Thro' winter^s cauld, or simmer's heat; They 've nae sair wark to craze their banes. An' fill auld-age wi' grips an' granes : But human bodies are sic fools. For a' their colleges an' schools. That when nae real ills perplex them. They mak enow themsels to vex them; An' ay the less they hae to sturt them, In like proportion, less will hurt them. A countra fellow at the pleugh. His acre 's till'd, he 's right eneugh ; A countra girl at her wheel. Her dizzen 's done, she 's unco weel ; But gentlemen, an' ladies warst, Wi' ev'n down want o' wark are curst : They loiter, lounging, lank an' lazy ; Tho' deil-haet ails them, yet uneasy : Their days insipid, dull an' tasteless ; Their nights unquiet, lang an' restless. An' ev'n 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 cast out in party-matches, Then sowther a' in deep debauches ; Ae night they're mad wi' drink an' whoring, Niest day their life is past enduring. The ladies arm-in-arm in clusters, As great an' gracious a' as sisters ; But hear their absent thoughts o' ither. They 're a' run deils an' jads thegither. Whyles, owre the wee bit cup an' platie. They sip the scandal-potion pretty ; Or lee-lang nights, wi' crabbit leuks Pore owre the devil's pictur'd beuks ; Stake on a chance a farmer's stack- yard. An' cheat like onie unhang'd black- guard. There 's some exceptions, 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, an' shook their . !"&*' Rejoic'd they were na men, but dogs ; An' each took aff his several way, Resolv'd to meet some ither day. SCOTCH DRINK. Gie him strong drink -until he ■wink. That 'j sinking in despair ; An' liquor guid to fire his bluid. That 's frest wi' grief an' care : There let him bowse, and deep carouse, Wi' bumpers fiowing o'er. Till he forgets his loves or debts. An' minds his griefs no more. — Solomon's Proverbs, xxxi. 6, 7. [Composed some time between the be- ginning of November, 1785, and Feb. 17, 1786. The metre is that of Fergusson's SCOTCH DRINK. I' Cauler Water," of which " Scotch Drink " is a kind of parody.] Let other poets raise a frdcas 'Bout vines, an' wines, an' drucken Bacchus, 'An' crabbit names an' stories wrack us, An' grate our lug : I sing the juice Scotch bear can mak us, In glass or jug. O thou, my iVIuse! guid auM Scotch drink! Whether thro' wimplin worms thou jink. Or, richly brown, ream owre the brink. In glorious faem. Inspire me, till I lisp an' wink. To sing thy name ! III. Let husky wheat the haughs adorn, An' aits set up their awnie horn, An' pease an' beans, at e'en or morn, Perfiime the plain : Leeze me on thee, John Barleycorn, Thou king o' grain ! On thee aft Scotland chows her cood, In souple scones, the wale o' food ! Or tumbling in the boiling flood Wi' kail an' beef; But when thou pours thy strong heart's blood. There thou shines chief. Food fills the wame, an' keeps us livin ; Tho' life 's a gift no worth receivin, When heavy-dragg'd wi' pine an' grievin ; But oil'd by thee; The wheels o' life gae down-hill, scrievin, Wi' rattlin glee. Thou clears the head o' doited Lear, Thou cheers the heart o' drooping Care; Thou strings the nerves o' Labour sair, At 's weary toil ; Thou ev'n brightens dark Despair Wi' gloomy smile. Aft, clad in massy siller weed, Wi' gentles thou erects thy head ; Yet, humbly kind in time o' need. The poor man's wine : His wee drap parritch, or his bread, Thou kitchens fine. Thou art the life o' public haunts : But thee, what were our fairs and rants ? Ev'n godly meetings o' the saunts, By thee inspir'd. When, gaping, they besiege the tents. Are doubly fir'd. That merry night we get the corn in, O sweetly, then, thou reams the horn in! Or reekin on a New-Year mornin In cog or bicker, An' just a wee drap sp'ritual burn in, An' gusty sucker ! When Vulcan gies his bellows breath. An' ploughmen gather wi' their graith, O rare ! to see thee fizz an' freath ■ I' th' lugget caup ! Then Burnewin comes on like death At ev'ry chaup. SCOTCH DRINK. Nae mercy, then, for aim or steel : The brawnie, painie, ploughman chiel. Brings hard owrehlp, wi' sturdy wheel, The strongforehammer, Till block an' studdie ring an' reel, Wi' dinsome clamour. XII. When skirlin weanies see the light. Thou maks the gossips clatter bright. How fumbling cuifs their dearies slight ; Wae worth the name ! Nae howdie gets a social night. Or plack frae them. When neebors anger at a plea. An' just as wud as wud can be, How easy can the barley-brie Cement the quarrel ! It 's aye the cheapest lawyer's fee, To taste the barrel. Alake ! that e'er my Muse has reason. To wyte her countrymen wi' treason ! But monie daily weet their weason Wi' liquors nice, An' hardly, in a winter season. E'er spier her price. Wae worth that brandy, burnin trash ! Fell source o' monie a pain an' brash ! Twins monie a poor, doylt, drucken hash, O' half his days ; An' sends, beside, auld Scotland's cash To her warst faes. XVI. Ye Scots, wha wish auld Scotland ' well ! Ye chief, to you my tale I tell, Poor, plackless devils like my.sel ! It sets you ill, Wi' bitter, dearthfu' wines to mell, Or foreign gill. May gravels round his blather wrench, An' gouts torment him, inch by inch, Wha twists his gruntle wi' a glunch O' sour disdain, Out owre a glass o' whisky-punch Wi' honest men ! XVIII. O Whisky ! soul o' plays an' pranks ! Accept a Bardie's gratefu' thanks ! When wanting thee, what tuneless cranks Are my poor verses ! Thou comes — they rattle i' their ranks At ither's arses ! Thee, Ferintosh ! O sadly lost ! Scotland lament frae coast to coast ! Now colic grips, an' barkin hoast May kill us a' ; For loyal Forbes' chartered boast Is taen awa! Thae curst horse-leeches o' th' Excise, Wha mak the whisky steUs their prize ! Haud up thy han', Deil ! ance, twice, thrice ! There, seize the bhnkers ! An' bake them up in brunstane pies For poor damn'd drinkers. Fortune! if thou 'U but gie me still Hale breeks, a scone, an' whisky gill. An' rowth o' rhyme to rave at will, Tak a' the rest, An' deal 't about as thy blind skill Directs thee best. THE AUTHOR'S EARNEST CRY AND PRAYER. THE AUTHOR'S EARNEST CRY AND PRAYER. TO THE SCOTCH REPRESENTATIVES IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS. Dearest of dlstillcUion / last and best How art tkou lost I — Parody on Milton. [In the 1787 edition Burns added a foot- note, " Tills was wrote before tiie Act anent the Scotch distilleries, of session 1786, for which Scotland and the autlior return their most grateful thanks."] I. 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 roupet Muse is haerse ! Your Honors' hearts wi' grief 'twad pierce, To see her sitting on her arse Low i' the dust. And scriechin out prosaic verse, An' like to brust ! III. Tell them wha hae the chief direction, Scotland an' me 's in great affliction, E'er sin' they laid that curst restric- tion On aqua-vitae; An' rouse them up to strong convic- tion, An' move their pity. Stand forth, an' tell yon Premier youth The honest, open, naked truth : Tell him o' mine an' Scotland's drouth, His servants humble : The muckle deevil blaw you south, If ye dissemble ! Does onie great man glunch an' gloom ? Speak out, an' never fash your thumb ! Let posts an' pensions sink or soom Wi' them wha grant 'em : If honestly they canna come, Far better want 'era. In gath'rin votes you were na slack ; Now stand as tightly by your tack : Ne'er claw your lug, an' fidge your back. An' hum an' haw ; But raise your arm, an' tell your crack Before them a'. VII. Paint Scotland greetin owre her thrissle ; Her mutchkin stowp as toom's a whissle ; An' damn'd excisement in a bustle. Seizin a stell, Triumphant, crushin 't like a mussel. Or lampit shell ! Then, on the tither hand, present her — A blackguard smuggler right behint her. An' cheek-for-chow, a chuiBe vintner Colleaguing join, Pickin 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, 8 THE AUTHOR'S EARNEST CRY AND PRAYER. To see his poor auld mither's pot Thus dung in staves, An' plunder'd o' her hindmost groat, By gallows knaves ? Aias! I 'm but a nameless wight, Trode i' the mire out o' sight ! But could I like Montgomeries fight, Or gab like Bos well, There 's some sark-necks I wad draw tight, An' tie some hose well. God bless your Honors! can ye see 't, The kind, auld, cantie carlin greet. An' no get warmly to your feet. An' gar them hear it, An' tell them wi' a patriot-heat, Ye winna bear it ? Some o' you nicely ken the laws. To round the period an' pause, An' with rhetoric clause on clause To mak harangues : Then echo thro' Saint Stephen's wa's Auld Scotland's wrangs. Dempster, a true blue Scot I 'se warran ; Thee, aith-detesting, chaste Kilker- ran; An' that glib-gabbet Highland baron. The Laird o' Graham ; An' ane, a chap that's damn'd auld- farran, Dundas his name : Erskine, a spunkie Norland billie ; True Campbells, Frederick and Hay ; An' Livistone, the bauld Sir Willie; An' monie ithers, Whom auld Demosthenes or TuUy Might own for brithers. XV. Thee sodger Hugh, my watchman stented, If Bardies e'er are represented ; I ken if that your sword were wanted, Ye 'd lend your hand ; But when there 's ought to say anent it. Ye 're at a stand. XVI. Arouse, my boys! exert your mettle, To get auld Scotland back her kettle ; Or faith ! I '11 wad my new pleugh- pettle. Ye '11 see 't or lang, She '11 teach you, wi' a reekin whittle, Anither sang. XVII. This while she's been in crankous mood. Her lost Militia fir'd her bluid ; (Deil na they never mair do guid, Play'd her that pliskie !) An' now she 's like to rin red-wud About her whisky. XVIII. 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' the first she meets ! XIX. 1 For God-sake, sirs ! then speak hei fair, An' straik her cannie wi' the hair. An' to the Muckle House repair, Wi' instant speed. An' strive, wi' a' your wit an' lear, To get remead. Yon ill-tongu'd tinkler, Charlie Fox, May taunt you wi' his jeers an' mocks ; THE AUTHOR'S EARNEST CRY AND PRAYER. But gie him't het, my hearty cocks ! E'en cowe the cadie ! An' send him to his dicing box An' sportin lady. XXI. Tell yon guid bluid of auld Bocon- nock's, I '11 be his debt twa mashlumbonnocks, An' drink his health in auld Nanse Tinnock's Nine times a-week, If he some scheme, like tea an' win- nocks, Wad kindly seek. Could he some commutation broach, I'll pledge my aith in guid braid Scotch, He needna fear their foul reproach Nor erudition. Yon mixtie-maxtie, queer hotch- potch. The Coalition. Auld Scotland has a raucle tongue ; She 's just a devil wi' a rung ; An' if she promise auld or young To tak their part, Tho' by the neck she should be strung. She '11 no desert. And now, ye chosen Five-and-Forty, May still your mither's heart support ye; Then, tho' a minister grow dorty, An' kick your place. Ye '11 snap your fingers, poor an' hearty, Before'his face. God bless your Honors, a' your days, Wi' sowps o' kail and brats o' claes, In spite o' a' the thievish kaes. That haunt St. Jamie's ! Your humble Bardie sings an' prays, While Rab his name is. POSTSCRIPT. Let half-starv'd slaves in warmer skies See future wines, rich-clust'ring, rise ; Their lot auld Scotland ne'er envies, But, blythe and frisky, She eyes her freeborn, martial boys Tak aif their whisky. What tho' their Phoebus kinder warms, While fragrance blooms and Beauty charms. When wretches range, in famish'd swarms. The scented groves ; Or, hounded forth, dishonor arms In hungry droves ! Their gun's a burden on their shouther ; They downa bide the stink o' pow- ther ; Their bauldfest thought 's a hank'ring swither To Stan' or rin, Till skelp — a shot — they're afl^ a' throw'ther. To save their skin. XXIX. But bring a Scotsman frae his hill, Clap in his cheek a Highland gill, Say, such is royal George's will, An' there 's the foe ! He has nae thought but how to kill Twa at a blow. Nae cauld, faint-hearted doubtings tease him ; THE HOLY FAIR. Death comes, wi' fearless eye he sees him ; Wi' bluidy han' a welcome gies him ; An' when he fa's, His latest draught o' breathin lea'es him Infaint huzzas. XXXI. Sages their solemn een may steek An' raise a philosophic reek. An' physically causes seek In clime an' season ; But teil me whisky's name in Greek : I '11 tell the reason. XXXII. Scotland, my auld, respected mither! Tho' whiles ye moistify your leather, Till whare ye sit on craps o' heather Ye tine your dam, Freedom and whisky gang thegither, Tak aiFyour dram! THE HOLY FAIR. A robe of seeming truth and trust Hid crafty observation ; And secret hung^ with poison' d crust. The dirk of defamation : A Tnask that like the gorget showed. Dye-varying on the pigeon; And for a mantle large and broad. He wrapt him in Religion. — Hypocrisy a-la-mode. [" ' Holy Fair ' is a common phrase in the West of Scotland for a sacramental occa- sion." (R. B. in Edinburgh editions.) The satire is chiefly concerned with the tent- preaching outside the church while the Com- munion service went on within, Andrew Lang says, " As Loclchart justly observes, Burns in another mood could have given a solemn picture of a very solemn occasion."] Upon a simmer Sunday morn. When Nature's face is fair, I walked forth to view the corn, An' snufF the caller air. The rising sun, owre Galston Muirs, Wi' glorious light was glintin ; The hares were hirplin down the furs, The lav'rocks they were chantin Fu' sweet that day. As lightsomely I glowr'd abroad, To see a scene sae gay. Three hizzies, early at the road, Cam skelpin up the way. Twa had manteeles o' dolefu' black, But ane wi' lyart lining ; The third, that gaed a wee a-back, Was in the fashion shining Fu' gay that day. III. The twa appear'd like sisters twin, In feature, form, an' claes ; Their visage wither'd, lang an' thin. An' sour as onie slaes : The third cam up, hap-step-an'-Iowp, As light as onie lambie. An' wi' a curchie low did stoop, As soon as e'er she saw me, Fu' kind that day» rv. Wi' bonnet afF, quoth I, ' Sweet lass, I think ye seem to ken me ; I 'm sure I 've seen that bonie face, But yet I canna name ye.' Quo' she, an' laughin as she spak. An' taks me by the ban's, ' Ye, for my sake, hae gi'en the feck Of a' the Ten Comman's A screed some day. ' My name is Fun — your cronie dear, "The nearest friend ye hae ; An' this is Superstition here, An' that 's Hypocrisy. I 'm gaun to Mauchline Holy Fair, To spend an hour in daffin : Gin ye '11 go there, yon runkl'd pair^ We will get famous laughin At them this day.' THE HOLY FAIR. VI. Quoth I, ' Wi' a' my heart, I '11 do't; I '11 get my Sunday's sark on, An' meet you on the holy spot ; Faith, we 'se hae fine remarkin! ' Then I gaed hame at crowdie-time. An' soon I made me ready ; For roads were clad, frae side to side, Wi' monie a wearie body. In droves that day. VII. Here farmers gash, in ridin graith, Gaed hoddin by their cotters ; There swankies young, in braw braid- claith, Are springin owre the gutters. The lasses, skelpin barefit, thrang, In silks an' scarlets glitter ; Wi' sweet-milk cheese, in monie a whang. An' farls, bak'd wi' butter, Fu' crump that day. When by the plate we set our nose. Weal heapfed 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 ev'ry side they 're gath'rin ; Some carryin dails, some chairs an' stools, An' some are busy bleth'rin Right loud that day. Here stands a shed to fend the show'rs, An' screen our countra gentry ; There Racer Jess, an' twa-three whores, Are blinkin at the entry. Here sits a raw o' tittlin jads, Wi' heavin breasts an' bare neck ; An' there a batch o' wabster lads, Blackguardin frae Kilmarnock, For fun this day. Here some are thinkin on their sins. An' some upo' their claes ; Ane curses feet that fyl'd his shins, Anither sighs an' prays : On this hand sits a chosen swatch, Wi' screw'd-up, grace-proud faces ; On that a set o' chaps, at watch, Thrang winkin on the lasses To chairs that dqy. O happy is that man an' blest! Nae wonder that it pride him! Whase ain dear lass, that he likes best, Comes clinkin down beside him! Wi' arm repos'd on the chair back, He sweetly does compose him : Which, by degrees, slips round her neck. An 's loof upon her bosom, Unkend that day. Now a' the congregation o'er Is silent expectation ; For Moodie speels the holy door, Wi' tidings o' damnation : Should Hornie, as in ancient days, 'Mang sons o' God present him ; The vera sight o' Moodie's face To 's ain het hame had sent him Wi' fright that day. Hear how he clears the points o' Faith Wi' rattlin and thumpin! Now meekly calm, now wild in wrath, He 's stampin, an' he 's jumpin! His lengthen'd chin, his turn'd-up snout. His eldritch squeel an' gestures, O how they fire the heart devout — Like cantharidian plaisters On sic a day. 12 THE HOLY FAIR. But hark! the tent has chang'd its voice ; There 's peace an' rest nae langer ; For a' the real judges rise, They canna sit for anger : Smith opens out his cauld harangues, On practice and on morals ; An' aff the godly pour in thrangs, To gie the jars an' barrels A lift that day. What signifies his barren shine, Of moral pow'rs an' 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. XVI. In guid time comes an antidote Against sic poison'd nostrum ; For Peebles, 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 has taen the road, An' afiT, an' up the Cowgate Fast, fast that day. XVII. Wee Miller niest, the guard relieves. An' orthodoxy raibles, Tho' in his heart he weel believes. An' thinks it auld wives' fables : But faith! the birkie wants a manse : So, cannilie he hums them ; Altho' his carnal wit an' sense Like haiflins-wise o'ercomes him At times that day. XVIII. Now butt an' ben the change-house fills, Wi' yill-caup commentators ; Here 's crying out for bakes an' gills, An' there the pint-stowp clatters ; While thick an' thrang, an' loud an' lang, Wi' logic an' wi' Scripture, They raise a din, that in the end Is like to breed a rupture C wrath that day. Leeze me on drink! it gies us mair Than either school or college ; It kindles wit, it waukens lear. It pangs us fou o' knowledge : Be 't whisky-gill or penny wheep, Or onie stronger potion, It never fails, on drinkin deep, To kittle up our notion, By night or day. XX. The lads an' lasses, blythely bent To mind baith saul an' body. Sit round the table, weel content, An' steer about the toddy : On this ane's dress, an' that ane's leuk, They 're makin observations ; ■ While some are cozie i' the neuk. An' formin assignations To meet some day. But now the Lord's ain trumpet touts. Till a' the hills are rairin, And echoes back return the shouts ; Black Russell is na spairin : His piercin words, like Highlan' swords. Divide the joints an' marrow ; His talk o' Hell, whare devils dwell. Our verra ' sauls does harrow ' Wi' fright that day! ADDRESS TO THE DEIL. 13 A vast, unbottom'd, boundless pit, Fill'd fou o' lowin brunstane, Whase ragin flame, an' scorchin heat. Wad melt the hardest whun-stane! The half-asleep start up wi' fear. An' think they hear it roarin ; When presently it does appear, 'T was but some neebor snorin Asleep that day. 'T wad be owre lang a tale to tell, How monie stories past ; An' how they crouded to the yill, When they were a' dismist ; How drink gaed round, in cogs an' caups, Araang the fiirms an' benches ; An' cheese an' bread, frae women's laps, Was dealt about in lunches. An' dawds that day. XXIV. In comes a gawsie, gash guidwife. An' sits down by the fire. Syne draws herkebbuck an' her knife ; The lasses they are shyer : The auld guidmen, about the grace, Frae side to side they bother ; Till some ane by his bonnet lays. An' gies them 't, like a tether, Fu' lang that day. Waesucks ! for him that gets nae lass, Or lasses that hae naething! Sma' need has he to say a grace. Or melvie his braw claithing! O wives, be mindfu', ance yoursel, How bonie lads ye wanted ; An' dinna for a kelabuck-heel Let lasses be affronted On sic a day ! Now Clinkumbell, wi' rattlin tow, Begins to jow an' croon ; Some swagger hame the best they dow. Some wait the afternoon. At slaps the billies halt a blink, Till lasses strip their shoon : Wi' faith an' hope, an' love an' drink, They 're a' in famous tune For crack that day. XXVII. How monie hearts this day converts O' sinners and o' lasses! Their hearts o' stane, gin night, are gane As saft as onie flesh is : There 's some are fou o' love divine ; There 's some are fou o' brandy ; An' monie jobs that day begin, May end in houghmagandie Some ither day. ADDRESS TO THE DEIL. O Prince I O Chief of many throned pow'rs ! That ledtK embattt'd seraphim to war. — MILTON. [Gilbert Bums states that his brother first repeated the " Address to the Deil " in the winter following the summer of 17S4, " while they were going together with carts of coal to the family fire." But it is clear from Burns's letter to Richmond, Feb. 12, 1786, that Gilbert misdates the poem by a year. The "Address" is in part a good- natured burlesque on iVlilton's Satan.] O Thou ! whatever title suit thee — Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie— Wha in yon cavern grim an' sootie, Clos'd under hatches, Spairges about the brunstane cootie. To scaud poor wretches' 14 ADDRESS TO THE DEIL. ir. Hear me, Auld Hangie, for a wee, An' let poor damned bodies be ; I 'm sure sma' pleasure it can gie, Ev'n to a deil, To skelp an' scaud poor dogs like me An' hear us squeel. III. Great is thy pow'r an' great thy fame ; Far kend an* noted is thy name ; An' tho' yon lowin heugh 's thy hame, Thou travels far ; An' faith ! thou 's neither lag, nor lame, Nor blate, nor scaur. Whyles, ranging like a roarin lion. For prey, a' holes an' corners trying; Whyles, on the strong-wing'd tempest flyin, Tirlin the kirks ; Whyles, in the human bosom pryin, Unseen thou lurks. I 've heard my rev'rend graunie say, In lanely glens ye like to stray ; Or, where auld ruin'd castles grey Nod to the moon. Ye fright the nightly wand'rer's way Wi' eldritch croon. VI. When twilight did my graunie sum- mon, To say her pray'rs, douce, honest woman ! Aft yont the dyke she's heard you bummin, Wi' eerie drone ; Or, rustlin, thro' the boortrees comin, Wi' heavy groan. Ae dreary, windy, winter night, The stars shot down wi' sklenlin light, Wi' you mysel, I gat a fright : Ayont the lough, Ye, like a rash-buss, stood in sight, Wi' waving sugh. VIII. The cudgel in my nieve did shake, Each bristl'd hair stood like a stake ; When wi' an eldritch, stoor 'quaick, quaick,' Amang the strings, Awa ye squatter'd ii\e a drake, On whistling wings. IX. Let warlocks grim, an' wither'd hags, Tell how wi' you, on ragweed nags, They skim the muirs an' dizzy crags, Wi' wicked speed ; And in kirk-yards renew their leagues, Owre howkit dead. Thence, countra wives, wi' toil an' pain. May plunge an' plunge the kirn in vain; For O ! the yellow treasure 's taen By witching skill ; An' dawtit, twal-pint, hawkie 's gaen As yell 's the bill. Thence, mystic knots mak great abuse On young guidmen, fond, keen an' croose ; When the best wark-lume i' the house, By cantraip wit. Is instant made no worth a louse, Just at the bit. When thowes dissolve the snawy hoord. An' float the jinglin icy boord. Then, water-kelpies haunt the foord. By your direction, An' nighted trav'Uers are allur'd To their destructioQ. THE DEATH AND DYING WORDS OF POOR MAILIE. IS And aft your moss-traversing spunkies Decoy the wight that late an' drunk is : The bleezin, curst, mischievous monkies Delude his eyes, Till in some miry slough he sunk is. Ne'er mair to rise. When Masons' mystic word an' grip In storms an' tempests raise you up, Some cock or cat your rage maun stop, Or, strange to tell! The youngest brother ye wad whip AfF straught to hell. Lang syne in Eden's bonie yard. When youthfu' lovers first were pair'd, An' all the soul of love th6y shar'd. The raptur'd hour. Sweet on the fragrant flow'ry swaird. In shady bow'r : XVI. Then you, ye auld, snick-drawing dog ! Ye cam to Paradise incog, An' play'd on man a cursed brogue (Black be your fa'!). An' gied the infant warld a shog, 'Maist ruin'd a'. XVII. D' ye mind that day when in a bizz We' reekit duds, an' reestit gizz. Ye did present your smoutie phiz 'Mang better folk ; An' sklented on the man of Uzz Your spitefu' joke? An' how ye gat him i' your thrall. An' brak him out o' house an' hal', While scabs an' botches did him gall, Wi' bitter claw ; An' lows'd his ill-tongu'd wicked scaul — Was warst ava? But a' your doings to rehearse, Your wily snares an' fechtin fierce, Sin' that day Michael did you pierce Down to this time, Wad ding a Lallan tongue, or Erse, In prose or rhyme. An' now, Auld Cloots, I ken ye 're thinkin, A certain Bardie's rantin, drinkin, . Some luckless hour will send him lin- kin. To your black Pit ; But, faith ! he '11 turn a corner jinkin, An' cheat you yet. XXI. But fare-you-weel, Auld Nickie-Ben! O, wad ye tak a thought an' men' ! Ye aiblins might — I dinna ken — Still hae a stake : I 'm wae to think upo' yon den, Ev'n for your sake ! THE DEATH AND DYING WORDS OF POOR MAILIE. THE author's only PET YOWE : AN UNCO MOURNFU' TALE. [" ' Poor Mailie,' says Lockhart, follow- ing Gilbert Burns, ' was a real personage, though she did not actually die until some time after her last words were written. She had been purchased by Burns in a frolic, and became exceedingly attached to his person,' as the pig loved Sir Walter Scott. Like Scott, Burns was much loved by ani- mals, whom he has made immortal." — ANDREW Lang.] As Mailie, an' her lambs thegither, Was ae day nibblin on the tether, Upon her cloot she coost a hitch, i6 POOR MAILIE'S ELEGY. An' owre she warsl'd in the ditch : There, groanin, dying, she did lie. When Hughoc he cam doytin by. Wi' glowrin een, an' lifted han's Poor Hughoc like a statue Stan's ; He saw her days were near-hand ended, But, wae 's my iieart! he could na mend it ! He gapid wide, but naething spak. At length poor Mailie silence brak : — ' O thou, whase lamentable face Appears to mourn my woefu' case! My dying words attentive hear, An' bear them to my Master dear. 'Tell him, if e'er again he keep As muckle gear as buy a sheep — O, bid him never tie them mair, Wi' wicked strings o' hemp or hair ! But ca' them out to park or hill, An' let them wander at their wUl : So may his flock increase, an' grow To scores o' lambs, an' packs o' woo' . ' Tell him, he was a Master kin' An' ay was guid to me an' mine ; An' now my dying charge I gie him, My helpless lambs, I trust them wi' him. 'O, bid him save their harmless lives, Frae dogs, an' tods, an' butchers' knives ! But gie them guid cow-milk their fill, Till they be fit to fend themsel ; An' tent them duly, e'en an' morn, Wi' teats o' hay an' ripps o' corn. ' An' may they never learn the gaets, Of ither vile, wanrestfu' pets — To slink thro' slaps, an' reave an' steal. At stacks o' pease, or stocks o' kail ! So may they, like their great forbears. For monie a year come thro' the sheers : So wives will gie them bits o' bread, An' bairns greet for them when they 're dead. 'My poor toop-lamb, my son an' heir, O, bid him breed him up wi' care! An' if he live to be a beast. To pit some havins in his breast! An' warn him — what I winna name- To stay content wi' yowes at hame -■ An' no to rin an' wear his cloots, Like other menseless, graceless brutes. 'An' niest, my yowie, silly thing ; Gude keep thee frae a tether string! O, may thou ne'er forgather up, Wi' onie blastit, moorland toop ; But ay keep mind to moop an' mell, Wi' sheep o' credit like thysel ! ' And now, my bairns, wi' my last breath, I lea'e ray blessin wi' you baith : An' when you think upo' your mither, Mind to be kind to ane anither. ' Now, honest Hughoc, dinna faU, To tell my master a' my tale ; An' bid him burn this cursed tether, An' for thy pains thou'se get my blether.' This said, poor Mailie turn'd her head, An' clos'd her een amang the dead! POOR MAILIE'S ELEGY. I. i Lament in rhyme, lament in prose, Wi' saut tears tricklin down your nose ; Our Bardie's fate is at a close. Past a' remead! The last, sad cape-stane of his woes; Poor Mailie's dead! EPISTLE TO JAMES SMITH. 17 It 's no the loss of warl's gear, That could sae bitter draw the tear, Or mak our Bardie, dowie, wear The mourning weed : He 's lost a friend an' neebor dear In Mailie dead. III. Thro' a' the toun she trotted by him ; A lang half-mile she could descry him ; Wi' kindly bleat, when she did spy him. She ran wi' speed : A friend mair faithfu' ne'er cam nigh him, Than Mailie dead. f wat she was a sheep o' sense. An' could behave hersel wi' mense : I '11 say 't, she never brak a fence, Thro' thievish greed. Our Bardie, lanely, keeps the spence Sin' Mailie's dead. Or, if he wanders up the howe, Her livin image in her yowe Comes bleatin till him, owre the knowe, For bits o' bread ; An' down the briny pearls rowe For Mailie dead. She was nae get o' moorlan tips, Wi' tawted ket, an' hairy hips ; For her forbears were brought in ships, Frae 'yont the Tweed : A bonier fleesh ne'er cross'd the clips Than Mailie's dead. Wae worth the man wha first did shape That vile, wanchancie thing — a rape! It maks guid fellows girn an' gape, Wi' chokin dread ; An' Robin's bonnet wave wi' crape For Mailie dead. O a' ye bards on bonie Doon! An' wha on Ayr your chanters tune! Come, join the melancholious croon O' Robin's reed! His heart will never get aboon! His Maihe's dead! EPISTLE TO JAMES SMITH. Friendship, mysterious cement of the souV Sweet'ner of Life, and solder of Society! I owe thee Tnuch — Blair. [The recipient of this epistle was the son of Robert Smith, merchant, Mauchline, He was six years younger than the poet. He removed to Jamaica about 1788, where he died. His sister's " wit " is celebrated in "The Belles of Mauchline." The " Epistle " was probably written early in 1786.] Dear Smith, the slee'st, pawkie 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 an' moon. And ev'ry star that Winks aboon. Ye 've cost me twenty pair o' shoon, Just gaun to see you ; And ev'ry ither pair that 's done, Mair taen I 'm wi' you. That auld, capricious carlin. Nature, To mak amends for scrimpit stature, J8 EPISTLE TO JAMES SMITH. She 's turn'd you off, a human-creature On her first plan ; And in her freaks, on ev'ry feature She 's wrote the Man. Just now I 've taen the fit o' rhyme, 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 rhyme a neebor's name to lash ; Some rhyme (vain thought !) for need- fu' cash ; Some rhyme to court the countra clash, An' raise a din ; For me, an aim I never fash ; 1 rhyme for fun. The star that rules my luckless lot. Has fated me the russet coat, An' damn'd my fortune to the groat ; But, in requit, Has blest me with a random-shot 0' countra wit. VII. This while my motion 's taen a sklent, To try my fate in guid, black prent ; But still the mair I 'm that way bent. Something cries, ' Hoolie! I red you, honest man, tak tent! Ye '11 shaw your folly : 'There's ither poets, much your betters. Far seen in Greek, deep men o' letters, Hae thought they had ensur'd their debtors, A' future ages ; Now moths deform, in shapeless tatters, Their unknown pages.' DC. Then farewell hopes o' laurel-boughs To garland my poetic brows ! Henceforth I'll rove where busy ploughs Are whistling thrang ; An' teach the lanely heights an' howes My rustic sang. I '11 wander on, wi' tentless heed How never-halting moments speed, Till Fate shall snap the brittle thread ; Then, all unknown, I '11 lay me with th' inglorious dead, Forgot and gone! XI. But why o' death begin a tale ? Just now we're living sound an' hale ; Then top and maintop crowd the sail, Heave Care o'er-side! And large, before Enjoyment's gale, Let 's tak the tide. xn. 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 fii' light. XIII. The magic-wand then let us wield ; For, ance that five-an '-forty 's speel'd, See, crazy, weary, joyless Eild, Wi' wrinkl'd face. Comes hostin, hirplin owre the field, Wi' creepin pace. EPISTLE TG JAMES SMITH. 19 XIV. When ance life's day draws near the gloamin, Then fareweel vacant, careless roamin ; An' fareweel chearfu' tankards foamin, An' social noise : An' fareweel dear, deluding Woman, The joy of joys! XV. O Life! how pleasant, in thy morn- ing. Young Fancy's rays the hills adorn- ing! Cold-pausing Caution's lesson scorn- ing, We frisk away, Like school-boys, at th' expected warning, To joy an' play. We wander there, we wander here, We eye the rose upon the brier. Unmindful that the thorn is near. Among the leaves ; And tho' the puny wound appear, Short while it grieves. Some, lucky, find a flow'ry spot, For which they never toil'd nor swat ; They drink the sweet and eat the fat, But care or pain ; And haply eye the barren hut With high disdain. XVIII. With • steady aim, some Fortune chase ; Keen Hope does ev'ry sinew brace ; Thro' fair, thro' foul, they urge the race, And seize the prey : Then cannie, in some cozie place. They close the day. XIX. And others, like your humble servan'. Poor wights ! nae rules nor roads observin. To right or left eternal swervin. They zig-zag on ; Till, curst with age, obscur an' starvin, They aften groan. Alas! what bitter toil an' straining — But truce with peevish, poor com- plaining! Is Fortune's fickle Luna waning? E'en let her gang ! Beneath what light she has remain- ing, Let 's sing our sang. My pen I here fling to the door. And kneel, ye Pow'rs! and warm im- plore, ' Tho I should wander Terra o'er, In all her climes, Grant me but this, I ask no more, Ay rowth o' rhymes. XXII. 'Gie dreeping roasts to countra lairds, TUl icicles hing frae their beards ; Gie fine braw claes to fine life-guards And maids of honor ; And yill an' whisky gie to cairds, Until they sconner. ' A title, Dempster merits it ; A garter gie to Wilhe Pitt ; Gie wealth to some be-ledger'd cit, In cent, per cent. ; But give me real, sterling wit. And I 'm content XXIV. ' While ye are pleas'd to keep me hale, I '11 sit down o'er my scanty meal, A DREAM. Be 't water-brose or muslin kail, Wi' cheerfu' face, As lang 's the Muses dinna fail To say the grace.' XXV. An' anxious e'e I never throws Behint my lug, or by my nose ; 1 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 an' cool, Compar'd wi' you — O fool! fool! fool! How much unlike! Your hearts are just a standing pool, Your lives a dyke! Nae hair-brained, sentimental traces In your unletter'd, nameless faces! In arioso trills and graces Ye never stray ; But gravissimo, solemn basses Ye hum away. Ye are sae grave, nae doubt ye 're wise; Nae ferly tho' ye do despise The hairum-scairum, ram -stam' boys, The rattling squad : I see ye upward cast your eyes — Ye ken the road! XXIX. Whilst I — but I shall baud me there, Wi' you I '11 scarce gang onie 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, [The leaning to Jacobitism in this ad- dress displeased some of his loyal patrons, who objected to its retention in the 1787 edition, unless modified. Eut Burns wrote to Mrs. Dunlop that he was *' not very amenable to counsel" in such a matter; and his sentiments once published, he scorned either to withdraw them or to di- lute his expression.] On reading in the public papers, the Laureate's Ode with the other parade of June 4th, 1786, the Author was no sooner dropt asleep, than he imagined himself transported to the Birth-day Levee: and, in his dreaming fancy, made the following Address : — GuiD-MORNiN to your Majesty! May Heaven augment your blisses, On ev'ry new birth-day ye see, A humble Poet wishes ! My Bardship here, at your Levee, On sic a day as this is, Is sure an uncouth sight to see, Amang thae birth-day dresses Sae fine this day. I see ye 're complimented thrang. By monie a lord an' lady ; God Save the Kmg''s a cuckoo sang That 's unco easy said ay : The poets, too, a venal gang, Wi' rhymes weel-turn'd an' ready, Wad gar you trow ye ne'er do wrang, But ay unerring steady. On sic a d&y. For me! before a Monarch's face, Ev'n there I winna flatter ; For neither pension, post, nor place, Am I your humble debtor : A DREAM. 21 So, nae reflection on your Grace, Your Kingship to bespatter ; T'lare 's monie waur been o' tiie race, And aiblins ane been better Than you this day. 'T is very true my sovereign King, My skill may weel be doubted ; But facts are chiels that winna ding, And downa be disputed : Your royal nest, beneath your wing. Is e'en right reft and clouted. And now the third part o' the string. An' less, will gang about it Than did ae day. Far be 't frae me that I aspire To blame your legislation. Or say, ye wisdom want, or fire To rule this mighty nation : But faith ! I muckle doubt, my sire Ye 've trusted ministration To chaps wha in a barn or byre Wad better fill'd their station, Than courts yon day. VI. And now ye've gien auld Britain peace, Her broken shins to plaister ; Your sair taxation does her fleece, Till she has scarce a tester : For me, thank God, my life's a lease, Nae bargain wearin faster. Or faith ! I fear, that, wi' the geese, I shortly boost to pasture I' the craft some day. VII. I 'm no mistrusting Willie Pitt, When taxes he enlarges, (An' Will 's a true guid fallow's get, A name not envy spairges). That he intends to pay your debt, An' lessen a' your charges ; But, God sake ! let nae saving fit Abridge your bonie barges An' boats this day. Adieu, my Liege ! may Freedom geek Beneath your high protection ; An' may ye rax Corruption's neck, And gie her for dissection! But since I 'm here I '11 no neglect, In loyal, true aifection. To pay your Queen, wi' due respect, My fealty an' subjection This great birth-day. Hail, Majesty most Excellent! While nobles strive to please ye. Will ye accept a compliment, A simple Bardie gies ye ? Thae bonie bairntime Heav'n has lent, Still higher may they heeze ye In bliss, till Fate some day is sent, For ever to release ye Frae care that day. 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 you may gnaw youi nails. An' curse your folly sairly. That e'er ye brak Diana's pales, Or rattl'd dice wi' Charlie By night or day. XI. Yet aft a ragged cowte 's been knowrt To mak a noble aiver ; So, ye may doucely fill a throne, For a' their clish-ma-claver : There, him at Agincourt wha shonej Few better were or braver ; 12 THE VISION. And yet, wi' funny, queer Sir John, He was an unco shaver For monie a day. XII. For you, right rev'rend Osnaburg, Nane sets the lawn-sleeve sweeter, Altho' a ribban at your lug Wad been a dress completer : As ye disown yon paughty dog, That bears the keys of Peter, Then Swith! an' get a wife to hug. Or trowth, ye '11 stain the mitre Some luckless day! Young, royal Tary-breeks, I learn. Ye 've lately come athwart her — A glorious galley, stem an' stern Weel rigg'd for Venus' barter ; But first hang out that she '11 discern Your hymeneal charter ; Then heave aboard your grapple-airn, An', large upon her quarter. Come full that day. Ye, lastly, bonie blossoms a', Ye royal lasses dainty, Heav'n mak you guid as weel as braw. An' gie you lads a-plenty! But sneer na British boys awa! For king are unco scant ay. An' German gentles are but sma' : They 're better just than want ay On onie day. God bless you a' ! consider now, Ye 're unco muckle dautet ; But ere the course o' life be through, It may be bitter sautet : An' I hae seen their coggie fou. That yet hae tarrow't at it ; But or the day was done, I trow, The laggen they hae clautet Fu' clean that day. THE VISION. [The division into "Duans" was bor- rowed from Ossian, — " Duan," a term of Ossian's for ttie different divisions rf a digressive poem. Fourteen stanzas of this poem as originally composed were withheld by Burns from publication, and were first printed (1852) in Chambers's edition from the Stair IWS., then in the possession of Mr. Dick of Irvine. In all likelihood the published stanzas were revised for the Kil- marnock volume, the others remaining un- touched.] DUAN FIRST. The sun had clos'd the winter day, The curlers quat their roaring play, Ai}d hunger'd maukin taen her way. To kail-yards green, While faithless snaws ilk step betray Whare she has been. The thresher's weary flingin-tree, The lee-lang day had tired me ; And when the day had clos'd his e'e Far i' the west, Ben i' the spence, right pensivelie, I gaed to rest. There, lanely by the ingle-cheek, I sat and ey'd the spewing reek. That fiU'd, wi' hoast-provoking smeek, The auld clay biggin ; An' heard the restless rations squeak About the riggin. IV. All in this mottie, misty clime, I backward mus'd on wasted time : How I had spent my youthfu' prime, An' done naething. But stringing blethers up in rhyme, For fools to sing. THE VISION. 23 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- sarklt, Is a' th' amount. I started, mutt'ring ' Blockhead ! coof ! ' An' heav'd on high my waukit loof, To swear by a' yon starry roof. Or some rash aith. That I henceforth would be rhyme- proof Till my last breath — VII. When click! the string the snick did draw ; A.nd jee! the door gaed to the wa' ; And by my ingle-lowe I saw, Now bleezin bright, A tight, outlandish hizzie, braw, Come full in sight. Ye need na doubt, I held my whisht ; The infant aith, half-form'd, was crusht ; J glowr'd as eerie's I 'd been dusht. In some wild glen ; When sweet, like modest Worth, she blusht, And stepped ben. Green, slender, leaf-clad holly-boughs Were twisted, gracefii', round her brows ; I took her for some Scottish Muse, By that same token ; And come to stop those reckless vows, Would 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, ev'n turn'd on empty space, Beam'd keen with honor. Down flow'd her robe, a tartan sheen,, Till half a leg was scrimply seen ; And such a leg ! my bonie Jean Could only peer it ; Sae straught, sae taper, tight an' clean Nane else came near it. Her mantle large, of greenish hue, My gazing wonder chiefly drew ; Deep lights and shades, bold-min- gling, threw A lustre grand ; And seem'd, to my astonish'd view, A welJ-known land. XIII. Here, rivers in the sea were lost ; There, mountains to the skies were toss't ; Here, tumbling billows mark'd the coast With surging foam ; There, distant shone Art's lofty boast, The lordly dome. XIV. Here, Doon pour'd down his far- fetch'd floods ; There, well-fed Irwine stately thuds : Auld hermit Ayr staw thro' his woods. Or to the shore ; And many a lesser torrent scuds With seeming roar. XV. Low, in a sandy valley spread, An ai.cient borough rear'd her head; 24 THE VISION. Still, as in Scottish story read, She boasts a race To ev'ry nobler virtue bred, And polish'd grace. By stately tow'r, or palace fair. Or ruins pendent in the air, Bold stems of heroes, here and there, I could discern ; Some seem'd to muse, some seem'd to dare, With feature stern. XVII. My heart did glowing transport feel. To see a race heroic wheel. And brandish round the deep-dyed steel In sturdy blows ; While, back-recoiling, seem'd to reel, Their suthron foes. XVIII. His Country's Saviour, mark him well! Bold Richardton's heroic swell ; The chief, on Sark who glorious fell In high command ; And he whom ruthless fates expel His native land. There, where a sceptr'd Pictish shade Stalk'd round his ashes lowly laid, I mark'd a martial race, pourtray'd In colours strong : Bold, soldier-featur'd, undwmay'd, They strode along. Thro' many a wild, romantic grove, Near many a hermit-fancied cove (Fit haunts for friendship or for love In musing mood), An aged Judge, I saw him rove, Dispensing good. With deep-struck, reverential awe, The learned Sire and Son I saw : To Nature's God, and Nature's laW; They gave their lore ; This, all its source and end to draw, That, to adore. Brydon's brave ward I well could spy, Beneath old Scotia's smiling eye ; Who call'd on Fame, low standing by, To hand him on. Where many a patriot-name on high, And hero shone. DUAN SECOND. I. With musing-deep, astonish'd stare, I view'd the heavenly-seeming Fair ; A whisp'ring throb did witness bear Of kindred sweet. When with an elder sister's air She did me greet. All hail ! my own inspired Bard ! In me thy native Muse regard ! Nor longer mourn thy fate is hard, Thus poorly low! I come to give thee such reward, As we bestow. III. ' Know, the great genius of this land Has many a light aerial band, Who, all beneath his high command, Harmoniously, As arts or arms they understand, Their labors ply. 'They Scotia's race among them share : Some fire the soldier on to dare ; THE VISION. 2S Some rouse the patriot up to bare Some teach to meliorate the plain. Corruption's heart ; With tillage-skill ; Some teach the bard — a darling And some instruct the shepherd-train, care — Blythe o'er the hill. The tuneful art. V. X. ' Some hint the lover's harmless wile ; <'Mong swelling floods of reeking Some grace the maiden's artless gore, smile ; They, ardent, kindling spirits pour ; Some soothe the laborer's weary toil Or, 'mid the venal Senate's roar. For humble gains. They, sightless, stand, And make his cottage-scenes beguile To mend the honest patriot-lore, His cares and pains. And grace the hand. XI. VI. ' Some, bounded to a district-space, 'And when the bard, or hoary sage. Explore at large man's infant race, Charm or instruct the future age. To mark the embryotic trace They bind the wild poetic rage Of rustic bard ; In energy; And careful note each opening grac^ Or point the inconclusive page A guide and guard. Full on the eye. XII. VII. ' Of these am I — Coila my name : 'Hence, FuUarton, the brave and And this district as mine I claim, young ; Where once the Campbells, chiefs of Hence, Dempster's zeal-inspirfed fame. tongue ; Held ruling pow'r : Hence, sweet, harmonious Beattie I mark'd thy embryo-tuneful flame, sung Thy natal hour. His Minstrel lays, Or tore, with noble ardour stung. XIII. The sceptic's bays. ' With future hope I oft would gaze, Fond, on thy little early ways : VIII. Thy rudely caroU'd, chiming phrase 'To lower orders are assign'd In uncouth rhymes ; The humbler ranks of human-kind. Fir'd at the simple, artless lays The rustic bard, the laboring hind. Of other times. The artisan ; All chuse, as various they 're inclin'd. XIV. The various man. I saw thee seek the sounding shore. Delighted with the dashing roar ; IX. Or when the North his fleecy store ' When yellow waves the heavy grain, Drove thro' the sky. The threat'ning storm some strongly I saw grim Nature's visage hoar rein, Struck thy young eye. 26 THE VISION. XV. 'Or when the deep green-mantled earth Warm cherish'd ev'ry flow'ret's birth, And joy and music pouring forth In ev'ry grove ; I saw thee eye the gen'ral mirth With boundless love. XVI. ' When ripen'd fields and azure skies Call'd forth the reaper's rustling noise, I saw thee leave their ev'ning joys, And lonely stalk, To vent thy bosom's swelling rise, In pensive walk. ' When youthful Love, warm-blushing, strong, Keen-shivering, shot thy nerves along. Those accents grateful to thy tongue, Th' adored Name, I taught thee how to pour in song To soothe thy flame. XVIII. ' I saw thy pulse's maddening play. Wild-send thee Pleasure's devious way. Misled by Fancy's meteor-ray. By passion driven ; But yet the light that led astray Was light from Heaven. [The following are the suppressed stanzas. After the i8th of Duan i. :— ] 'With secret throes I marked that earth. That cottage, witness of my birth ; And near I saw, bold issuing forth In youthful pride, A Lindsay race of noble worth. Famed far and wide. Where, hid behind a spreading wood. An ancient Pict-built mansion stood, I spied, among an angel brood, A female fair ; Sweet shone their high maternal blood And fathers' air. ' An ancient tower to memory brought How Dettingen's bold hero fought ; Still, far from sinking into nought, It owns a lord Who far in western climates fought, With trusty sword. ' Among the rest I well could spy One gallant, graceful, martial boy, The soldier sparkled in his eye, A diamond water ; I blest that noble badge with joy That owned m&frater. XIX. ' 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. XX. ' 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. [After the 20th stanza of the text : — ^} ' Near by arose a mansion, fine. The seat of many a muse divine ; Not rustic muses such as mine. With holly crown'd. But th' ancient, tuneful, laurell'd Nine, From classic ground. I mourn'd the card that Fortune dealt. To see where bonie Whitefoords dwelt ; iHE vrsio^f. 27 But other prospects made me melt : That village near ; There Nature, Friendship, Love, I felt. Fond-mingling dear! 'Hail! Nature's pang, more strong than death! Warm Friendship's glow, like kindling wrath! Love, dearer than the parting breath Of dying friend ! Not ev'n with life's wild devious path, Your force shall end ! ' The Pow'r that gave the soft alarms In blooming Whiteford's rosy charms, Still threats the tiny, feather'd arms, The barb&d dart. While lovely Wilhelminia warms The coldest heart.' ' Yet, all beneath th' unrivall'd rose. The lowly daisy sweetly blows ; Tho' large the forest's monarch throws His army-shade, Yet green the juicy hawthorn grows Adown the glade. [After the 21st stanza of the text : — ] 'Where Lugar leaves his moorland plaid. Where lately Want was idly laid, I marked busy, bustling Trade, In fervid flame, Beneath a Patroness's aid. Of noble name. 'Wild, countless hills I could survey. And countless flocks as wild as they ; But other scenes did charms display, That better please, Where polish'd manners dwell with "^"Nn rural ease. 'Where Cessnock pours with gurgling sound ; And Irwine, marking out the bound, Enamour'd of the scenes around. Slow runs his race', A name I doubly honor'd found, With knightly grace. 'Brydone's brave ward, I saw him stand. Fame humbly offering her hand, And near, his kinsman's rustic band, With one accord. Lamenting their late blessed land Must change its lord. 'The owner of a pleasant spot, Near sandy wilds, I last did note ; A heart too warm, a pulse too hot At times, o'erran ; But large in ev'ry feature wrote, Appear'd the IVIan.' ' Then never murmur nor repine ; Strive in thy humble sphere to shine ; And trust me, not Potosi's mine. Nor king's regard, Can give a bliss o'ermatching thine, A rustic Bard. 'To give my counsels all in one : Thy tuneful flame still careful fan ; Preserve the dignity of Man, With soul erect ; And trust the Universal Plan Will all protect. XXIV. '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. 28 HALLOWEEN. HALLOWEEN.! Yes / let the rich deride ^ the proud disdain. The simple pleasures of the lowly train : ' To me more dear, congenial to my heart. One native charm, than all tlie gloss of art. — Goldsmith. ["The following Poem will by many readers be well enough understood; but for the sake of those who are unacquainted with the manners and traditions of the country where the scene is cast, notes are added to give some account of the principal charms and spells of that night, so big with prophecy to the peasantry in the west of Scotland. The passion of prying info futu- rity makes a striking part of the history of human nature, in its rude state, in all ages and nations ; and it may be some entertain- ment to a philosophic mind if any such should honor the author with a perusal, to see the remains of it, among the more un- enlightened in our own " (R. B.V See Notes.] I. Upon that night, when fairies light On Cassilis Downans ^ dance, Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze, On sprightly coursers prance ; Or for Colean the route is taen. Beneath the moon's pale beams ; There, up the Cove,* to stray and rove, Amang the rocks and streams To sport that night : Amang the bonie winding banks. Where Doon rins, wimplin, clear ; Where Bruce * ance ruled the martial ranks, An' shook his Carrick spear; Some merry, friendly, country-folks Together did convene, To bum their nits, an' pou their stocks, An' haud their Halloween Fu' blythe that night. The lasses feat an' cleanly neat, Mair braw than when they 're fine ; Their faces blythe fu' sweetly kythe Hearts leal, an' warm, an' kin' : The lads sae trig, wi' wooer-babs Weel-knotted on their garten ; Some unco blate, an' some wi' gabs Gar lasses' hearts gang startin Whyles fast at night. Then, first an' foremost, thro' the kail. Their stocks^ maun a' be sought ance; They steek their een, an' grape an' wale For muckle aues, an' straught anes. Poor hav'rel Will fell afFthe drift. An' wandered thro' the bow-kail, An' pow't, for want o' better shift, A runt, was like a sow-tail, Sae bow't that night. Then, straught or crooked, yird or nane. They roar, an' cry a' throu'ther; The vera wee-things, toddlin, rin Wi' stocks out-owre their shouther : An' gif the custock 's sweet or sour, Wi' joctelegs they taste them ; Syne coziely, aboon the door, Wi' cannie care, they've plac'd them To lie that night. > VI. The lasses staw frae 'mang them a', To pou their stalks o' corn ; ^ But Rab slips out, an' jinks about, Behint the muckle thorn : He grippet Nelly hard an' fast ; Loud skirl'd a' the lasses ; But her tap-pickle maist was lost. Whan kiutlin in the fause-house' Wi' him that night. The auld guid-wife's weel-hoordet nits' HALLOWEEN. 29 Are round an' round divided, An' monie lads' an' lasses' fates Are there that night decided : Some kindle couthie, side by side, An' burn thegither trimiy : Some start awa wi' saucy pride. An' jump out-owre the chimlie Fu' high that night. Jean slips in twa, wi' tentie e'e ; Wha 't was, she wadna tell ; But this is Jock, an' this is me. She says in to herself: He bleez'd owre her, an' she owre him, As they wad never mair part ; Till fuff! he started up the lura, And Jean had e'en a sair heart To see 't that night. Poor Willie, wi' his bow-kail runt. Was burnt wi' primsie Mallie ; An' Mary, nae doubt, took the drunt. To be compar'd to Willie : Mall's nit lap out, wi' pridefu' fling. An' her ain fit, it burnt it ; While Willie lap, an' swoor by jing, 'T was 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 dancing at the view ; She whisper'd Kob to leuk for't : Rob, stownlins, prie'd her bonie mou, Fu' cozie in the neuk for 't. Unseen that night. But Merran sat behint their backs. Her thoughts on Andrew Bell ; She lea'es them gashing at their cracks, An' slips out by hersel : She thro' the yard the nearest taks, An' to the kiln she goes then. An' darklins grapit for the banks. And in the blue-clue ' throws then, Right fear't that night. An' ay she win't, an' ay she swat I wat she made nae jaukin ; Till something held within the pat, Guid Lord! but she was quakin! But whether 't was the Deil himsel, Or whether 't was a bauk-en', Or whether it was Andrew Bell, She did na wait on talkin To spier that night. Wee Jenny to her graunie says, ' Will ye go wi' me, graunie ? I '11 eat the apple'" at the glass, I gat frae uncle Johnie' : She fuff't her pipe wi' sic a lunt, In wrath she was sae vap'rin, She notic't na an aizle brunt Her braw, new, worset apron Out thro' that night. ' Ye little skelpie-limmer's-face ! I daur ye try sic sportin. As seek the Foul Thief onie place, For him to spae your fortune : Nae doubt but ye may get a sight ! Great cause ye hae to fear it ; For monie a ane has gotten a fright, An' liv'd an' died deleeret, On sic a night ' Ae hairst afore the Sherra-moor, I mind't as weel's yestreen — I was a gilpey then, I 'm sure I was na past fyfteen : The simmer had been cauld an' wat, An' stuff was unco green ; An' ay a rantin kirn we gat, An' just on Halloween It fell that night. so HALLOWEEN. 'Our stibble-rig was Rab M'Graen, A clever, sturdy fallow ; His sin gat Eppie Sim wi' wean, That lived in Achmachalla : He gat hemp-seed,ii I mind it weel, An' he made unco light o 't ; , But monie a day was by himsel, He was sae sairly frighted That vera night.' Then up gat fechtin Jamie Fleck, An' he swoor by his conscience, That he could saw hemp-seed a peck ; For it was a' but nonsense : The auld guidman raught down the pock. An' out a handfu' gied him ; Syne bad him slip frae 'mang the folk. Sometime when nae ane see'dhim. An' try 't that night. He marches thro' amang the stacks, Tho' he was something sturtin ; The graip he for a harrow taks, And haurls at his curpin ; And ev'ry now and then, he says, ' Hemp-seed I saw thee. An' her that is to be my lass Come after me, an' draw thee As fast this night.' He whistl'd up Lord Lenoif March, To keep his courage cheery ; Altho' his hair began to arch. He was sae fley'd an' eerie ; Till presently he hears a squeak. An' then a grane an' gruntle ; He by his shouther gae a keek, An' tumbl'd wi' a wintle Out-owre that night. He roar'd a horrid murder-shout, In dreadfu' desperation ! An' young an' auld come rinnin out, An' hear the sad narration : He swoor 't was hilchin Jean M'Craw, Or crouchie Merran Humphie — Till stop ! she trotted thro' them a' An' wha was it but grumphie Asteer that night ? Meg fain wad to the barn gaen. To winn three wechts o' naeth- ing ; 1^ But for to meet the Deil her lane. She pat but little faith in : She gies the herd a pickle nits. An' twa red-cheekit apples, To watch, while for the barn she sets- In hopes to see Tam Kipples That vera night. xxn. She turns the key wi' cannie thraw. An' owre the threshold ventures ; But first on Sawnie gies a ca'. Syne bauldly, in she enters : A ratton rattl'd up the wa'. An' she cry'd, L — d preserve her! An' ran thro' midden-hole an' a'. An' pray'd wi' zeal and fervour Fu' fast that night. xxin. They hoy't out Will, wi' sair advice ; They hecht him some fine braw ane; It chanc'd the stack he faddom't thrice,'* Was timmer-propt for thrawin : He taks a swirlie, auld moss-oak For some black gruesome carlin ; An' loot a winze, an' drew a stroke, Till skin in blypes cam haurlin Aff 's nieves that night - A wanton widow Leezie was, As cantie as a kittlin ; But och ! that night, amang the shaws, She gat a fearfu' settlin! NEW-YEAR MORNING SALUTATION. 31 Sn^ thro' the whins, and by the cairn, An' owre the hill gaed scrievin ; Whare three lairds' lands met at a burn," To dip her left sark-sleeve in Was bent that night. Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays, As thro' the glen it wimpl't ; Whyles round a rocky scaur it strays, Whyles in a wiel it dimpl't ; Whyles glitter'd to the nightly rays, Wi' bickerin, dancin dazzle ; Whyles cookit underneath the braes. Below the spreading hazel Unseen that night. Amang the brachens, on the brae, Between her an' the moon. The Deil, or else an outler quey. Gat up an' gae a croon : Poor Leezie's heart maist lap the hool; Near lav'rock-height she jumpit, But mist a fit, an' in the pool Out-owre the lugs she plumpit Wi' a plunge that night. In order, on the clean hearth-stane, The luggies three ^^ are ranged ; And ev'ry time great care is taen To see them duly changed : Auld uncle John, wha wedlock's joys Sin Mar's-year did desire. Because he gat the toom dish thrice, He heav'd them on the fire In wrath that night. XXVIII. Wi' merry sangs, an' friendly cracks, I wat they did na weary ; And unco tales, an' funnie jokes — Thier sports were cheap an' cheery : Till butter'd sow'ns,^* wi' fragrant lunt, Set a' their gabs a-steerin ; Syne, wi' a social glass o' strunt, They parted aif careerin Fu' blythe that night. THE AULD FARMER'S NEW- YEAR MORNING SALUTA- TION TO HIS AULD MARE, MAGGIE. ON GIVING HER THE ACCUSTOMED RIPP OF CORN TO HANSEL IN THE NEW-YEAR. [This poem was probably composed about the beginning of the year 1786. It illustrates Burns's warm love for animals.] A GuiD New- Year I wish thee, Mag- gie ! Hae, there 's a ripp to thy auld bag- gie: Tho' thou's howe-backit now, an' knaggie, I 've seen the day Thou could hae gaen like onie staggie, Out-owre the lay. Tho' now thou's dowie, stiflF, an' crazy. An' thy auld hide as white 's a daisie, I 've seen thee dappl't, sleek an' glaizie, A bonie gray : He should been tight that daur't to raise thee, Ance in a day. Thou ance was i' the foremost rank, A filly buirdly, steeve, an' swank ; An' set weel down a shapely shank As e'er tread yird ; 32 NEW-YEAR MORNING SALUTATION. An' could hae flown out-owre a stank Like onie bird. IV. It's now some nine-an'-twenty year Sin' thou was my guid-father's meere ; He gied me thee, o' tocher clear, An' fifty mark ; Tho, it was sma', 't was weel-won gear, An' thou was stark. When first I gaed to woo my Jenny, Ye then was trottin wi' your minnie : Tho' ye was trickie, slee, an' funnie, Ye ne'er was donsie ; But hamely, tawie, quiet, an' cannie, An' unco sonsie. That day, ye pranc'd wi' muckle pride, When ye bure hame my bonie bride : An' sweet an' gracefu' she did ride, Wi' maiden air ! Kyle-Stewart I could bragged wide, For sic a pair. Tho' now ye dow but hoyte and hob- ble, An' wintle like a saumont-coble, That day, ye was a jmker noble, For heels an' win' ! An' ran them till they a' did wauble. Far, far behin' ! When thou an' I were young and skiegh, An' stable-meals at fairs were driegh, How thou wad prance, an' snore, an' skriegh. An' tak the road ! Town's-bodies ran, an' stood abiegh. An' ca't thee mad. When thou was corn't, an' I was mel- low, We took the road ay like a swallow ; At brooses thou had ne'er a fellow, For pith an' speed ; But ev'ry tail thou pay't them hollow^ Whare'er thou gaed. The sma', droop-rumpl't, hunter cattle Might aiblins waur't thee for a brattle ; But sax Scotch miles thou try't their mettle, An' gar't them whaizle : Nae whip nor spur, but just a wattle O' saugh or hazle. XI. Thou was a noble fittie-lan'. As e'er in tug or tow was drawn Aft thee an' I, in aught hours' gaun, On guid March-weather, Hae turn'd sax rood beside our han' For days thegither. Thou never braing't, an' fetch't, an' fliskit ; But thy auld tail thou wad hae whiskit, An' spread abreed thy weel-fiU'd brisket, Wi' pith an' pow'r ; Till sprittie knowes wad rair't, an'' . riskit, An' slypet owre. When frosts lay lang, an' snaws were deep. An' threaten'd labour back to keep, I gied thy cog a wee bit heap Aboon the timmer : I ken'd my Maggie wad na sleep For that, or simmer. THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. 33 XIV. In cart or car thou never reestit ; The steyest brae thou wad hae fac't it ; Thou never lap, an' sten't, an' breastit, Then stood to blaw ; But just thy step a wee thing hastit, Thou snoov't awa. My pleugh is now thy bairntime a', Four gallant brutes as e'er did draw ; Forbye sax mae I 've sell't awa, That thou hast nurst : They drew me thretteen pund an' twa, The vera warst. Monie a sair darg we twa hae wrought, An' wi' the weary warl' fought ! An' monie an anxious day I thought We wad be beat ! Yet here to crazy age we 're brought, Wi' something yet. An' think na, my auld trusty ser- van', That now perhaps thou's less de- servin. An' thy auld days may end in starvin ; For my last fow, A heapet stimpart, I '11 reserve ane Laid by for you. xvm. We 've worn to crazy years the- gither; We '11 voyte about wi' ane anither ; Wi' tentie care I '11 flit thy tether To some hain'd rig, Whare ye may nobly rax your leather Wi' sma' fatigue. D THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. INSCRIBED TO R. AIKEN, ESQ. Let not Ambition mock their useful toil. Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; Nor Grandeur /tear, with a disdainful smile. The short and simple annals of the poor. — Gray. [" The poem is as manifestly based on Fergusson's ' Farmer's Ingle,' as is ' Hal- loween * on his ' Hallow P'air.' But Fergus- son is practically obsolete and forgotten, eclipsed among his own people by the most generous of his admirers. Burns's verse is original in its vein of piety, and Family Prayers are unrecorded by the earlier poet, who spares, moreover, the lordling, scathed, as usual, by Burns." — ANDREW LANG. See Notes.] My lov'd, my honor'd, much respected friend ! No mercenary bard his homage pays; With honest pride, I scorn each self- ish end. My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and praise : To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays. The lowly train in life's sequester'd scene ; The native feelings strong, the guileless ways ; What Aiken in a cottage would have been; Ah ! tho' his worth unknown, far happier there I ween ! November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh ; The short'ning winter-day is near a close ; The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh ; The black'ning trains o' craws ta their repose : 34 TIIE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. The toil-worn Cotter frae his labor goes — This night his weekly moil is at an end, Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes, Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend, And weary, o'er the moor, his course does hameward bend. At length his lonely cot appears in view. Beneath the shelter of an aged tree; Th' expectant wee-things, toddlin, stacher through To meet their dad, wi' flichterin' noise and glee. His wee bit ingle, blinkin bonilie. His clean hearth-stane, his thrifty wifie's smile, The lisping infant, prattling on his knee. Does a' his weary kiaugh and care beguile. And makes him quite forget his labor and his toil. Belyve, the elder bairns come drap- ping in. At service out, amang the farmers roun' ; Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, some tentie rin A cannie errand to a neebor town : Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown, In youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in her e'e. Comes hame; perhaps, to shew a braw new gown, Or deposite her sair-won penny-fee, To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be. With joy unfeign'd, brothers and sis- ters meet. And each for other's weelfare kindly spiers : The social hours, swift-wing'd, un- notic'd fleet ; Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears. The parents partial eye their hope- ful years ; Anticipation forward points the view ; The mother, wi' lier needle and her sheers. Gars auld claes look amaist as weel '3 the new ; The father mixes a' wi' admonition due. ■VT. Their master's and their mistress's command The younkers a' are warned to obey ; And mind their labors wi' an eydenf hand. And ne'er, tho' out o' sight, to jauh or play : 'And O ! be sure to fear the Lord alway. And mind your duty, duly, mom and night ; Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray. Implore His counsel and assisting might : They never sought in vain that sought the Lord aright.' But hark ! a rap comes gently to the door; Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same. Tells how a neebor lad came o'er the moor. To do some en-ands, and convoy her hame. The wily mother sees the conscious flame THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. 3S Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek ; With heart-struck anxious carej en- quires his name, While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak ; Weel-pleas'd the mother hears, it's nae wild, worthless rake. W^ith kindly welcome, Jenny brings him ben ; A strappin' youth, he takes the mother's eye ; Blythe Jenny sees the visit's no ill taen; The father cracks of horses, pleughs, and kye. The youngster's artless heart o'er- flows wi' joy, But blate and laithfu', scarce can weel behave ; The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy What makes the youth sae bashfu' and sae grave ; Weel-pleas'd to think her bairn's respected like the lave. O happy love! where love like this is found : O heart-felt raptures ! bliss beyond compare ! I've pacid 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, mod- est pair. In other's arms, breathe out the tender tale Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the ev'ning gale.' Is there, in human form, that bears a heart, A wretch ! a villain ! lost to love and tiTith ! That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art, Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth ? Curse on his perjur'd arts! dissem- bling, smooth ! Are honor, virtue, conscience, all exil'd ? 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 ? XI. But now the supper crowns their simple board, The healsome parritch, 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 compli- mental mood, To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd kebbuck, fell ; And aft he's prest, and aft he oa's it guid ; The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell. How 't was a towmond auld, sin' lint was i' the bell. The chearfu' supper done, wi' serious face. They, round the ingle, form a circle wide; The sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace. The big ha'-Bible, ance his father's pride. 36 THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside. His lyart haffets wearing thin and bare; Tliose strains that once did sweet in Zion glide. He wales a portion with judicious care, And ' Let us worship God ! ' he says, with solemn air. They chant their artless notes in simple guise, They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim ; Perhaps Dundee's wild-warbling meas- ures rise. Or plaintive Martyrs, worthy of the name ; Or noble Elgin beets the heaven- ward flame, The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays : Compar'd with these, Italian trills are tame ; The tickl'd ears no heart-felt raptures raise ; Nae unison hae they, with our Crea- tor's praise. Tfie priest-like father reads the sacred page, . How Abram was the friend of God on high ; Or, Moses bade eternal warfare wage With Amalek's ungracious prog- eny; Or, how the royal Bard did groan- ing lie Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ire ; Or Job's pathetic plaint, and wail- ing 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 ser- vants sped ; The precepts sage they wrote tc many a land : How he, who lone in Patmos ban- ished. Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand. And heard great Bab'lon's doom pro- nounc'd by Heaven's command. Then kneeling down to Heaven's Eternal King, The saint, the father, and the hus- band 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 XVII. Compar'd with this, how poor Reli- gion's pride, In all the pomp of method, and of art; When men display to congregations wide Devotion's ev'ry grace, except the heart The Power, incens'd, the pageant will desert, TO A MOUSE. 37 The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole : But haply, in some cottage far apart, May hear, well-pleas'd, the language of the soul. And in His Book of Life the inmates poor enroll. Then homeward all take off their sev'ral way ; The youngling cottagers retire to rest : The parent-pair their secret homage And proffer up to Heaven the warm request, That He who stills the raven's clam'rous nesl. And decks the lily fair in flow'ry pride, Would, in the way His wisdom sees the Isest, 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 lov'd at home, rever'd abroad : Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, ' An honest man 's the noblest work of God'; And certes, in fair Virtue's heavenly road. The cottage leaves the palace far be- hind; What is a lordling's pomp ? a cum- brous load. Disguising oft the wretch of human kind. Studied in arts of Hell, in wickedness refin'd ! O Scotia ! my dear, my native soil ! For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent ! Long may thv hardy sons of rustic toil Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content ! And O ! may Heaven their simple lives prevent From Luxury's contagion, weak and vile ! Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent, A virtuous populace may rise the while. And stand a wall of fire around their much-lov"d Isle. XXI. O Thou ! who pour'd the patriotic tide. That stream'd thro' Wallace's un- daunted heart, Who dar'd to, nobly, stem tyrannic pride. Or nobly die, the second glorious part: (The patriot's God, peculiarly Thou art. His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward !) O never, never Scotia's realm de- sert ; But still the patriot, and the patriot- bard In bright succession raise, her orna- ment and guard ! TO A MOUSE. ON TURNING HER UP IN HER NEST WITH THE PLOUGH, NOVEMBER 1785. [Gilbert Burns testifies that the verses to the "Mouse" were suggested by the inci- 38 EPISTLE TO DAVIE, A BROTHER POET. dent in the heading of the poem, and com- posed while the author was holding the plough.] Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie, O, what a panic 's in thy breastie ! Thou need na start awa sae hasty Wi' bickering brattle! I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee, Wi' murdering pattle ! I 'm truly sorry man's dominion Has broken Nature's social union. An' justifies that ill opinion Which makes thee startle At me, thy poor, earth-born compan- ion An' fellow mortal ! ni. I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve ; What then? poor beastie, thou maun live ! A daimen icker in a thrave 'S a sma' request ; I '11 get a blessin wi' the lave. An' never miss 't ! Thy wee-bit housie, too, in ruin ! Its silly wa's the win's are strewin ! An' naething. now, to big a new ane, O' foggage green ! An' bleak December's win's ensuin, Baith snell an' keen ! Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste, An' weary winter comin fast. An' cozie here, beneath the blast, Thou thought to dwell, Till crash ! the cruel coulter past Out thro' thy cell. That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stib- ble, Has cost thee monie a weary nibble ! Now thou's turned out, for a' thy trouble, But house or hald. To thole the winter's sleety dribble, An' cranreuch cauld ! But Mousie, thou art no thy lane, In proving foresight may be vain : The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men Gang aft agley. An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain^ For promis'd joy! Still thou are blest, compared wi' me! The present only toucheth thee : But och ! I backward cast my e'e. On prospects drear! An' forward, tho' I canna see, I guess an' fear ! EPISTLE TO DAVIE, A BROTHER POET. JANUARY. [The "Davie" of the "Epistle" was David Sillar, who published in 1789 a vol- ume of Poems in imitation of Burns, who helped him to get subscribers. He died May 2, 1830.] While winds frae aflF Ben-Lomona blaw, And bar the doors wi' drivin snaw, And hing us owre the ingle, I set me down to pass tlie time. And spin a verse or twa o' rhyme, In hamely, westlin jingle-: EPISTLE TO DAVIE, A BROTHER POET. 39 While frosty winds blaw in the drift, Ben to the chimla lug, I grudge a wee the great-folk's gift. That live sae bien an' snug : I tent less, and want less Their i-oomy fire-side ; But hanker, and canker. To see their cursed pride. It's hardly in a body's pow'r, To keep, at times, fi'ae being sour, To see how things are shar'd ; How best o' chiels are whyles in want. While coofs on countless thousands rant, And ken na how to ware 't ; But Davie, lad, ne'er fash your head, Tho' we hae little gear ; We 're fit to win our daily bread, As lang 's we're hale and fier : ' Mair spier na, nor fear na,' Auld age ne'er mind a feg ; The last o't, the warst o't, Is only but to beg. To lie in kilns and barns at e'en, When banes are craz'd, and bluid is thin, Is, doubtless, great distress ! Yet then content could make us blest ; Ev'n then, sometimes, we 'd snatch a taste Of truest happiness. The honest heart that 's free frae a' Intended fraud or guile, However Fortune kick the ba'. Has ay some cause to smile ; And mind still, you '11 find still, A comfort this nae sma' ; Nae mair then, we '11 care then, Nae farther can we fa'. IV. What tho', like commoners of air, We wander out, we know not where, But either house or hal' ? 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. An' sing 't when we hae done. It 's no in titles nor in rank : It 's no in wealth like Lon'on Bank, To purchase peace and rest. It's no in makin muckle, mair; It 's no in books, it 's no in lear, To make us truly blest : If happiness hae not her seat An' 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 ay 's the part ay That makes us right or wrang. VI. Think ye, that sic as you and I, Wha drudge and drive thro' wet and dry, Wi' never ceasing toil ; Think ye, are we less blest than they, Wha scarcely tent us in their way. As hardly worth their while? Alas ! how oft, in haughty mood, God's creatures they oppress ! Or else, neglecting a' that's guid, They riot in excess ! Baith careless and fearless Of either Heaven or Hell; Esteeming and deeming It a' an idle tale ! 40 THE LAMENT. Then let us chearfu' acquiesce, Nor make our scanty pleasures less By pining at our state : And, even should misfortunes come, I here wha sit hae met wi' some, An 's thanlcfu' for them yet, They gie the wit of age to youth ; They let us lien oursel ; They make us see the naked truth, The real guid and ill : Tho' losses and crosses Be lessons right severe, There 's wit there, ye '11 get there, Ye '11 find nae otherwhere. But tent me, Davie, ace o' hearts ! (To say aught less wad wrang the cartes. And flatt'ry 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 ! IX. O all ye Pow'rs who rule above ! O Thou whose very self art love ! Thou know'st my words sincere ! The life-blood streaming thro' my heart. Or my more dear immortal part. Is not more fondly dear ! When heart-corroding care and grief Deprive my soul of rest. Her dear idea brings relief And solace to my breast. Thou Being AU-seeing, O, hear my fervent pray'r ! Still take her, and make her Thy most peculiar care ! X. All hail ! ye tender feelings dear ! The smile of love, the friendly tear, The sympathetic glow ! Long since, this world's thorny ways Had number'd out my weary days. Had it not been for you ! Fate still has blest me with a friend In every care and ill ; And oft a more endearing band, A tie more tender still. It lightens, it brightens The tenebrific scene. To meet with, and greet with My Davie or ray Jean ! O, how that Name inspires my stylet The words come skeipin rank aa' file, Amaist before I ken! The ready measure rins as fine, As Phcebus and the famous Nine Were glowrin owre my pen. My spaviet Pegasus will limp. Till ance he 's fairly het ; And then he '11 hilch, an' stilt, an' jimp. And rin an unco fit ; But least then, the beast then Should rue this hasty ride, I '11 light now, and diglit now His sweaty, wizen'd hide. THE LAMENT. OCCASIONED BY THE UNFORTUNATE ISSUE OF A friend's AMOUR. Alms/ how oft does Goodness wound itself An^ sweet Affection prove the spring of Woe/ — Home. [" The unfortunate issue," not of a "friend's," but of his own "amour" — (when Jean Armour, overborne by paternal authority, agreed to discard him) — was. THE LAMENT. 41 Burns declares, the "unfortunate story alluded to" in the "Lament.''] O THOU pale Orb that silent shines While care - untroubled mortals sleep ! Thou seest a wretch who inly pines. And wanders here to wail and weep ! With Woe I nightly vigils keep, Beneath thy wan, unwarming beam ; And mourn, in lamentation deep, How life and love are all a dream! I joyless view thy rays adorn The faintly-markfed, distant hill ; I joyless view thy trembling horn Reflected in the gurgling rill : My fondly-fluttering heart, be still! Thou busy pow'r, Remembrance, cease ! Ah ! must the agonizing thrill For ever bar returning Peace ? No idly-feign'd, poetic pains My sad, love-lorn lamentings claim : No shepherd's pipe — Arcadian strains ; No fabled tortures quaint and tame. The plighted faith, the mutual flame. The oft-attested Pow'rs above, ' The promis'd father's tender name. These were the pledges of my love ! £. icircled in her clasping arms. How have the raptur'd moments flown ! How have I wished for Fortune's charms. For her dear sake, and her's alone! And, must I think it ! is she gone, My secret heart's exulting boast ? And does she heedless hear my groan ? And is she ever, ever lost? O ! 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 ! Life's path may be unsmooth! Her way may lie thro' rough distress ! Then, who her pangs and pains will soothe. Her sorrows share, and make them less? Ye wingfed Hours that o'er us pass'd, Enraptur'd more the more enjoy'd, Your dear remembrance in my breast My fondly treasurd thoughts em- ploy'd : That breast, how dreary now, and void. For her too scanty once of room ! Ev'n ev'ry ray of Hope destroy'd, And not a wish to gild the gloom ! VII. The morn, that warns th' approach- ing day. Awakes me up to toil and woe ; I see the hours in long array. That I must suffer, lingering slow : Full many a pang, and many a throe. Keen Recollection's direful train. Must wring my soul, ere Phoebus, low. Shall kiss the distant western main. And when my nightly couch I try, Sore-harass'd out with care and grief, 42 DESPONDENCY. My toil-beat nerves and tear-worn eye Keep watchings with the nightly thief: Or, if I slumber, i ancy, chief. Reigns, haggard-wild, in sore affright : Ev'n day, all-bitter, brings relief From such a horror-breathing night. O thou bright Queen, who, o'er th' expanse Now highest reign'st, with bound- less sway ! Oft has thy silent-marking glance Observ'd us, fondly- wand'ring, stray ! The time, unheeded, sped away, While Love's luxurious pulse beat high, Beneath thy silver-glearaing ray, To mark the mutual-kindling eye. O scenes in strong remembrance set ! Scenes, never, never to return! Scenes if in stupor I forget. Again I feel, again I burn ! From ev'ry joy and pleasure torn, Life's weary vale I wander thro' ; And hopeless, comfortiess, I '11 mourn A faithless woman's broken vow ! DESPONDENCY. An Ode. [Composed, no doubt, a little after the "Lament." "Jean, it seems, had gone to Paisley. Highland Mary now occupied the empty heart." — ANDREW LANG.] Oppress'd with grief, oppress'd with care, A burden more than I can bear, I set me down and sigh ; O Life ! thou art a galling load. Along a rough, a weary road, To wretches such as L' Dim-backward, as I cast my view, What sick'ning scenes appear ! What sorrows yet may pierce me thro', Too justly I may fear ! Still caring, despairing, Must be my bitter doom ; My woes here shall close ne'er But with the closing tomb! Happy ye sons of busy life, Who, equal to the bustling strife, No other view regard ! Ev'n when the wished end 's denied. Yet while the busy means are plied, They bring their own reward : Whilst I, a hope-abandoned wight. Unfitted with an aim. Meet ev'ry sad returning night And joyless morn the same. You, bustUng and justling. Forget each grief and pain ; I, listless yet restless, ' Find ev'ry prospect vain. III. How blest the Solitary's lot, Who, all-forgetting, all-forgot, Within his humble cell — The cavern, wild with tangling roots — Sits o'er his newly-gather'd fruits. Beside his crystal well! Or haply to his ev'ning thought, By unfrequented stream. The ways of men are distant brought, A faint-collected dream ; While praising, and raising His thoughts to Heav'n on high. As wand'ring, meand'ring. He views the solemn sky. Than I, no lonely hermit plac'd Where never human footstep trac'd, Less fit to play the part ; The lucky moment to improve. MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN. 43 And just to stop, and just to move, With self-respecting art : But ah ! those pleasures, loves, and joys, Which I too keenly taste, The Solitary can despise — Can want and yet be blest! He needs not, he heeds not Or human love or hate ; Whilst I here must cry here At perfidy ingrate ! O enviable early days. When dancing thoughtless pleasure's maze. To care, to guilt unknown ! How ill exchang'd for riper time To feel the follies or the crimes Of others, or my own ! Ye tiny elves that guiltless sport, Like linnets in the bush. Ye little know the ills ye court. When manhood is your wish ! The losses, the crosses That active man engage ; The fears all, the tears all Of dim declining Age ! MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN. A Dirge, [In a letter to Mrs. Dunlop, Aug.- lo, 1788, Burns tells of an old grand-uncle who had gone blind. " His most voluptuous enjoyment was to sit down and cry, while my mother would sing the simple old song of ' The Life and Age of Man.' "] When chill November's surly blast Made fields and forests bare. One ev'ning, as I wand'red forth Along the banks of Ayr, X spied a man, whose aged step Seem'd weary, worn with care. His face was furrow'd o'er with years. And hoary was his hair. 'Young stranger, whither wand'rest thou? Began the rev'rend Sage ; ' Does thirst of wealth thy step con- strain. Or youthful pleasure's rage ? Or haply, prest with cares and woes, Too soon thou hast began To wander forth, with me to mourn The miseries of Man. ' The sun that overhangs yon moors, Out-spreading far and wide. Where hundreds labour to support A haughty lordling's pride : I've seen yon weary winter-sun Twice forty times return ; And ev'ry time has added proofs. That Man was made to mourn. ' O Man ! while in thy early years. How prodigal of time ! Mis-spending all thy precious hours, Thy glorious, youthful prime ! Alternate follies take the sway, Licentious passions burn : Which tenfold force gives Nature's law, That Man was made to mourn. ' Look not alone on youthful prime, Or manhood's active might ; Man then is useful to his kind. Supported is his right ; But see him on the edge of life, With cares and sorrows worn ; Then Age and Want — O ill-match'd pair Shew Man was made to mourn. ' A few seem favourites of Fate, In Pleasure's lap carest ; WINTER. Yet think not all the rich and great Are likewise truly blest : But oh ! what crowds in ev'ry land, All wretched and forlorn, Thro' weary life this lesson learn, That Man was made to mourn. VII. ' Many and sharp the num'rous ills Inwoven with our frame ! More pointed still we make ourselves Regret, remorse, and shame ! And Man, whose heav'n-erected face The smiles of love adorn, — Man's inhumanity to man Makes countless thousands mourn! ' See yonder poor, o'erlabour'd wight, So abject, mean, and vile, Who begs a brother of the earth To give him leave to toil ; And see his lordly fellow-worm The poor petition spurn. Unmindful,, thAa weeping wife And helpless offspring mourn IX. ' 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, why am I subject to His cruelty, or scorn ? Or why has Man the will and pow'r 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 recom- pense To comfort those that mourn I XI. 'O Death! the poor man's dearesl friend, The kindest and the best ! Welcome the hour my agfed limbs Are laid with thee at rest ! The great, the wealthy fear thy blow, From pomp and pleasure torn ; But, oh ! a blest relief to those That weary-laden mourn ! ' WINTER. A DIRGE. [The poet, in 1787, notes this as being the oldest of his printed poems. In April, 1784, he had inserted it in his " Common Place Book," prefaced with some eloquent remarks. Gilbert Bums affirms it to be a juvenile production.] The wintry west extends his blasts And hail and rain does blaw ; Or the stormy north sends driving forth The blinding sleet and snaw : Wild-tumbling brown, the burn comes down. And roars frae bank to brae : While bird and beast in covert rest, And pass the heartless day. ' The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast,' The joyless winter day Let others fear, to me more dear Than all the pride of May : The tempest's howl, it soothes my soul, My griefs it seems to join ; The leafless trees my fancy please, Their fate resembles mine ! III. Thou Pow'r Supreme, whose mighty scheme These woes of mine fulfil, TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY. 45 Here, firm I rest, they must be best, Because they are Thy will ! Then all I want (O, do Thou grant This one request of mine !) : Since to enjoy Thou dost deny, Assist me to resign. A PRAYER IN THE PROS- PECT OF DEATH. [The poet entered these verses in his early "Common-Place Book" under this title: "A prayer when fainting-fjts, and other alarming symptoms of a pleurisy or some other dangerous disorder, which in- deed still threaten me, first put nature on the alarm." It has been assigned by some authorities to the year 1781 ; by others, to the year 1784.] O Thou unknown, Almighty Cause Of all my hope and fear ! In whose dread presence, ere an hour. Perhaps I must appear ! If 1 have wander'd in those paths Of life I ought to shun — As something, loudly, in my breast, Remonstrates I have done — ,Thou know'st that Thou hast formed me With passions wild and strong ; And list'ning to their witching voice Has often led me wrong. Where human weakness has come short, Or frailty stept aside, x)o Thou, All-good — for such Thou art — In shades of darkness hide. Where with intention I have err'd, No other plea 1 have. But. Thou art good ; and Goodness still Delighteth to forgive. TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY. ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH IN APRIL 1 786. [On the 2oth of April, 1786, the poet transcribed these verses, under the title of " The Gowan," to his friend John Kennedy, with these words : " 1 have here enclosed a I small piece, the very latest of my produc- tions," etc.] ' \ I. Wee, modest, crimson-tippfed flow'r,- ' Thou 's met me in an evil hour , : T- For I maun crush amang the stoure -^ Thy slender stem Sy ) To spare thee now is past my now'r,/ j Thou boni'e gem. -^ r/ Alas ! it 's no thy neebor sweet, ^**' The bonie lark, companion meet. Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet, Wi' spreckl'd breast ! When iipward-springing, blythe, ta greet The purpling east. III. Cauld blew the bitter-biting noith Upon thy early, humble birth ; Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth Amid the storm. Scarce rear'd above the parent-earth Thy tender form. The flaunting flow'rs our gardens yield, High shelt'ring woods and wa's maun shield ; But thou, beneath the random bield O' clod or stane. Adorns the histie stibble-field, Unseen, alane. 4& TO RUIN. V. There, in thy scanty mantle clad, Thy snawie bosom sun-ward spread, Thou lifts thy unassuming head In humble guise ; But now the share uptears thy bed, And low thou lies ! VI. Such is the fate of artless maid, Sweet flow'ret 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 ! Unskilful he to note the card Of prudent lore, Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, And whelm him o'er ! Such fate to suffering Worth is giv'n, Who long with wants and woes has striv'n. By human pride or cunning driv'n To mis'ry's brink ; Till, wrench'd of ev'ry stay but Heav'n, He, ruin'd, sink! Ev'n thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate, That fate is thine — no distant date ; Stern Ruin's plough-share drives elate, ' Full on thy bloom, Till crush'd beneath the furrow's weight Shall be thy doom ! TO RUIN.. [It would appear that this piece dates from the close of Burns's residence at Irvine, in 1782, when, to crown his mis- fortunes, he was, as he relates in his Auto- biographical Letter, jilted, "with peculiar circumstances of mortification," by one "who had pledged her soul to marry him."] I. All hail, inexorable lord! At whose destruction - breathing word, The mightiest empires fall ! Thy cruel, woe-delighted train. The ministers of grief and pain, A sullen welcome, all ! With stern-resolv'd, despairing eye, I see each aimed dart ; For one has cut my dearest tie, And quivers in my heart. Then low'ring and pouring, The storm no more I dread; Tho' thick'ning and black'- ning Round my devoted head. And thou grim Pow'r, by Life ab horr'd While Life a pleasure can afford, O ! hear a wretch's pray'r ! No more I shrink appall'd, afraid ; I court, I beg thy friendly aid. To close this scene of care ! When shall my soul, in silent peace. Resign 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 lifeless face, Enclaspfed and grasped Within thy cold embrace I EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND. 47 EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND. May 1786. [The " young friend " of this " Epistle " was Andrew Hunter Aiken, son of Robert Ailcen of Ayr.] I. I LANG hae thought, my youthfu' friend, A something to have sent you, Tho' it should serve nae ither end Than just a kind memento : But how the subject-theme may gang. Let time and chance determine : Perhaps it may turn out a sang ; Perhaps, turn out a sermon. Ye '11 try the world soon, my lad ; A.nd, Andrew dear, believe me, Ye Ul find mankind an unco squad. And muckle they may grieve ye : For care and trouble set your thought, Ev'n when your end 's attainM ; And a' your views may come to . . nought, Where ev'ry nerve is strained. I '11 no say, men are villains a' : The real, harden'd wicked, Wha hae nae check but human law, Are to a few restricked ; But, och ! mankind are unco weak An' little to be trusted ; If Self the wavering balance shake, It 's rarely right adjusted ! Yet they wha fa' in Fortune's strife, Their fate we should na censure ; For still, th' important end of life They equally may answer : A man may hae an honest heart, Tho' poortith hourly stare him; A man' may tak a neebor's part. Yet hae nae cash to spare ium. Ay free, afF han', your story tell, When wi' a bosom cronie ; But still keep something to yoursel Ye scarcely tell to onie : Conceal yoursel as weel 's ye can Frae critical dissection : But keek thro' ev'ry other man Wi' sharpen'd, sly inspection. The sacred lowe o' weel-plac'd love, Luxuriantly indulge it ; But never tempt th' illicit rove, Tho' naething should divulge it : I waive the quantum o' the sin, The hazard of concealing ; But, och ! it hardens a' within, And petrifies the feeling ! To catch Dame Fortune's golden smile. Assiduous wait upon her ; And gather gear by ev'ry wile That 's justify'd by honor : Not for to hide it in a hedge. Nor for a train-attendant ; But for the glorious privilege Of being independent. The fear 0' Hell's a hangman's whip To baud the wretch in order ; But where ye feel your honour grip. Let that ay be your border : Tts slightest touches, instant pause—" Debar a' side-pretences ; And resolutely keep its laws, Uncaring consequences. iS ON A SCOTCH BARD, IX. The great Creator to revere Must sure become the creature ; But still the preaching cant forbear, And ev'n the rigid feature : Yet ne'er with wits profane to range Be complaisance extended ; An atheist-laugh 's a poor exchange For Deity offended ! When rantinground in Pleasure's ring, Keligion may be blinded; Or if she gie a random sting, It may be little minded ; But when on Life we're tempest- driv'n — A conscience but a canker — A correspondence fix'd Tvi' Heav'n Is sure a noble anchor ! Adieu, dear, amiable youth ! Your heart can ne'er be wanting ! May prudence, fortitude, and truth. Erect your brow undaunting ! In ploughman phrase, ' God send you speed,' Still daily to grow wiser ; And may ye better reck the rede, Than ever did th' adviser ! ON A SCOTCH BARD. GONE TO THE WEST INDIES. [Probably among the the latest poems written for the Kihnarnock edition. While it was in progress Burns was matiiring his plans for emigration.] I. 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 ! Our billie 's gien us a' a jink. An' owre the sea ! Lament him a' ye rantin core, Wha dearly like a random-splore ; Nae mair he '11 join the merry roar In social key ; For now he 's taen anither shore, An' owre the sea ! The bonie lasses weel may wiss hiir, And in their dear petitions place him : The widows, wives, an' a' may bless him Wi' tearfu' e'e. For weel I wat they'll sairly miss him That 's owre the sea! O Fortune, they hae room to grumble! Hadst thou taen aiF some drowsy buramle, Wha can do nought but fyke an' fumble, 'T wad been nae plea ; But he was gleg as onie wumble, That's owre the sea! Auld, cantie Kyle may weepers wear, An' stain them wi' the saut, saut tear : 'T will mak her poor auld heart, I fear, In flinders flee : He was her Laureat raonie a year, That 's owre the sea! He saw Misfortune's cauld nor-west Lang-mustering up a bitter blast ; A jillet brak his heart at last, 111 may she be! So, took a birth afore the mast, An' owre the sea. To tremble under Fortune's cum- mock, On scarce a' bellyfu' o' drummock, A DEDICATION. 49 Wi' his proud, independent stomach, Could ill agree ; So, row't his hurdles in a hammock. An' owre the sea. He ne'er ivas gien 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, An' hap him in a cozie biel : Ye '11 find him ay a dainty chiel. An' fou o' glee : He wad na wrang'd the vera DeU, That 's owre the sea. Fareweel, ray rhyme-composing billie! Your native soil was right ill-willie ; But may ye flourish like a lily. Now bonilie ! I '11 toast you in my hindmost gillie, Tho' owre the sea! A DEDICATION. TO GAVIN HAMILTON, ESQ. [This Dedication did not open the vol- ume published at Kilmarnoclc, as might have been expected, but found a place in the body of the work.] Expect na, Sir, in this narration, A fleechin, fleth'rin Dedication, To roose you up, an' ca' you guid, An' sprung o' great an' noble bluid. Because ye 're surnam'd like His Grace, Perhaps related to the race : Then, when I'm tired — andsaeareye, Wi' raonie a fulsome, sinfu' lie — Set up a face how I stop short, For fear your modesty be hurt. This may do — maun do. Sir, wi' them wha Maun please the great-folk for a wamefou' ; For me! sae laigh I need na bow. For, Lord be thankit, I can plough ; And when I downa yoke a naig. Then, Lord be thankit, I can beg ; Sae I shall say, an' that 's nae flatt'rin, It 's just sic poet an' sic patron. The Poet, some guid angel help him. Or else, I fear, some ill ane skelp him ! He may do weel for a' he 's done yet, But only he 's no just begun yet. The Patron (sir, ye maun forgie me; I winna lie, come what will o' me). On ev'ry hand it will allow'd be. He 's just — nae better than he should be. I readily and freely grant, He downa see a poor man want ; What 's no his ain he winna tak it ; What ance he says, he winna break it ; Ought he can lend he '11 no refus 't, Till aft his guidness is.abus'd; And rascals whyles that do him wrang, Ev'n that, he does na mind it lang ; As master, landlord, husband, father, He does na fail his part in either. But then, nae thanks to him for a' that; Nae godly symptom ye can ca' that ; It 's naething but a milder feature Of our poor, sinfu', corrupt nature : Ye '11 get the best o' moral works, 'Mang black Gentoos, and pagan Turks, Or hunters wild on Ponotaxi, Wha never heard of orthodoxy. 5° A DEDICATION. That he's the poor man's friend in need, The gentleman in word and deed, It 's no thro' terror of damnation : It 's just a carnal inclination, And och! that 's nae regeneration. Morality, thou deadly bane, Thy tens o' thousands thou hast slain ! Vain is his hope, whase stay an' trust is In moral mercy, truth, and justice ! No — stretch a point to catch a plack ; Abuse a brother to his back ; Steal thro' the winnock frae a whore, But point the rake that taks the door ; Be to the poor like onie whunstane, And baud their noses to the grun- stane ; Ply ev'ry art o' legal thieving ; No matter — stick to sound believing. Learn three-mile pray'rs an' half- mile graces, Wi' weel-spread looves, an' lang, wry faces ; Grunt up a solemn, lengthen'd groan. And damn a' parties but your own ; I '11 warrant then, ye 're nae deceiver, A steady, sturdy, staunch believer. O ye wha leave the springs o' Cal- vin, For gumlie dubs of your ain delvin ! Ye sons of Heresy and Error, Ye '11 some day squeel in quaking terror, When vengeance draws the sword in wrath. And in the fire throws the sheath ; When Ruin, with his sweeping besom, Just frets till Heav'n commission gies him ; While o'er the harp pale Misery moans. And strikes the ever-deep'ning tones, Still louder shrieks, and heaviei groans Your pardon, sir, for this digres- sion: I maist forgat ray Dedication ; But when divinity comes 'cross me, My readers still are sure to lose rae. So, Sir, you see 'twas nae daft vapour ; But I maturely thought it proper, When a' my works I did review, To dedicate them, Sir, to you : Because (ye need na tak' it ill), I thought them something like your- sel. Then patronize them wi' your favor, And your petitioner shall ever — I had amaist said, ever pray, But that 's a word I need na say ; For prayin, I hae little skill o 't I 'm baith dead-sweer, an' wretched ill o 't ; But I 'se repeat each poor man's pray'r, That kens or hears about you, Sir : — 'May ne'er Misfortune's gowling bark Howl thro' the dwelling o' the clerk ! May ne'er his gen'rous, honest heart, For that same gen'rous spirit smart ! May Kennedy's far-honoi-'d name Lang beet his hymeneal flame, Till Hamiltons, at least a dizzen, Are frae their nuptial labors risen : Five bonie lasses round their table, And sev'n braw fellows, stout an' able, To serve their king an' country weel, By word, or pen, or pointed steel! May Health and Peace, with mutual Shine on the ev'ning o' his days ; Till his wee, curlie John's ier-oe. When ebbing life nae mair shall flow, The last, sad, mournful rites bestow I ' TO A LOUSE. 51 I will not wind a lang conclusion, With complimentary efnision ; But, whilst your wishes and endeav- ours Are blest with Fortune's smiles and favours, I am, dear sir, with zeal most fervent, VTour much indebted, humble servant. But if (which Pow'rs above pre- vent) That iron-hearted carl. Want, Attended, in his grim advances, By sad mistakes, and black mis- chances, While hopes, and joys, and pleasures fly him. Make you as poor a dog as I am. Your ' humble servant ' then no more; For who would humbly serve the poor? But, by a poor man's hopes inHeav'n! While recollection's jjow'r is giv'n, If, in the vale of humble life, The victim sad of Fortune's strife, I, thro' the tender-gushing tear, Should recognise my master dear ; If friendless, low, we meet together, Then, sir, your hand — my Friend and Brother! TO A LOUSE. ON SEEING ONE ON A LADY'S BONNET AT CHURCH. [" The success of the last verse redeems a rather painful performance. The insect was not treasured as a relic, like the ' flea that loupit on Prince Charlie.' " — ANDREW Lang.] I. Ha! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin fer- lie? Your impudence protects you sairly, I canna say but ye strunt rarely Owre gauze and lace, Tho' faith I 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 ! Gae somewhere else and seek your dinner On some poor body. Swith ! in some beggar's hauffet squattle : There ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle, Wi' ither kindred, jumping cattle, In shoals and nations ; Whare horn nor bane ne'er daur un- settle Your thick plantations. Now haud you there ! ye 're out o' sight. Below the fatt'rils, snug an' tight ; Na, faith ye yet ! ye '11 no be right, Till ye 've got on it — The vera tapmost, tow'ring height O' Miss's bonnet. My sooth ! right bauld ye set your nose out. As plump an' grey as onie grozet : for some rank, mercurial rozet. Or fell, red smeddum, 1 'd gie ye sic a hearty dose o 't, Wad dress your droddum, I wad na been suipris'd to spy You on an auld wife's flainen toy ; Or aiblins some bit duddie boy, On 's wyliecoat ; 52 EPISTLE TO J. LAPRAIK. But Miss's fine Lunardi ! fye ! « How daur ye do 't? O Jenny, dinna toss your head, An' set your beauties a' abread ! Ye little ken what cursed speed The blastie 's makin ! Thae winks an' finger-ends, I dread. Are notice takia ! O wad some Power the giftie gie us To see oursels as ithers see us ! It wad frae monie a blunder free us, An' foolish notion :• What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us, An' ev'n devotion ! EPISTLE TO J. LAPRAIK. AN OLD SCOTTISH BARD, APRIL I, 1785. [" The song, admired by Burns, was pil- fered by Lapraik from (or contributed by him to) ' The Weelcly Magazine,' October H< 1773 (Chambers). The poem here is Burns's 'Ars Poetica ' : possibly his rhymes had been censured by some collegian. Otherwise it is not easy to account for his attack on Greek, a language of which he had no more than Scott, and perhaps less than Shakespeare. Lapraik published his verses in 1788 ; they are collected by Burns- ians." — ANDREW LANG.] I. While briers an' woodbines budding green. And paitricks scraichin loud at e'en. An' morning poussie whiddin seen, Inspire my Muse, This freedom, in an unknown frien' I pray excuse. On Fasten-e'en we had a rockin, To ca' the crack and weave our stockin ; And there was muckle fiin and jokin, Ye need na doubt ; At length we had a hearty yokin. At ' sang about.' III. There was ae sang, amang the rest, Aboon them a' it pleas'd me best, That some kind husband had addrest To some sweet wife : It thirl'd the heart-strings thro' the breast, A' to the life. IV. I 've scarce heard ought describ'd sa5 weel. What gen'rous, manly bosoms feel ; Thought I, 'Can this be Pope oi Steele, Or Beattie's wark? " They tald me 'twas an odd kind chieJ About Muirkirk. It pat me fidgin-fain to hear 't, An' sae about him there I spier *t ; Then a' that kent him round declar'd He had ingine ; That nane excell'd it, few cam near 't^ It was sae fine : That, set him to a pint of ale. An' either douce or merry tale, Or rhymes an' sangs he 'd made him- sel. Or witty catches, 'Tween Inverness an' Teviotdale, He had few matches. Then up I gat, an' swoor an aith, Tho' I should pawn my pleugh an' graith, Or die a cadger pownie's death. At some dyke-back, A pint an' gill I 'd gie them baith, To hear your crack. EPISTLE TO J. LAPRAIK. S3 But, first an' foremost, I should tell, Amaist as soon as I could spell, I to the crambo-jingle fell ; Tho' rude an' rough — Yet crooning to a body's sel. Does weel eneugh. I am nae poet, in a sense ; But just a rhymer like by chance, \n' 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 grammers ? Ye'd better taen up spades and shools, Or knappin-hammers. A set o' dull, conceited hashes Confuse their brains in college-classes. They gang in stirks, and come out asses. Plain truth to speak ; An' syne they think to climb Par- nassus By dint o' Greek! Gie me ae spark o' Natme's fire, That 's a' the learning I desire ; Then, tho' I drudge thro' dub an' mire At pleugh or cart, My Muse, tho' hamely in attire, May touch the heart. O for a spunk o' Allan's glee, Or Fergusson's, the bauld an' slee, Or bright Lapraik's, my friend to be, If I can hit it ! That would be lear eneugh for me, If I could get it. Now, sir, if ye hae friends enow, Tho' real friends I b'lieve are few ; Yet, if your catalogue be fow, I 'se no insist : But, gif ye want ae friend that 's true, I 'm on your list XVI. I winna blaw about mysel. As ill I like my fauts to tell ; But friends, an' folks that wish me well. They sometimes roose me ; Tho', I maun own, as monie still As far abuse me. There 's ae wee faut they whyles lay to me, I like the lasses — Gude forgie me ! For monie a plack they wheedle frae me At dance or fair ; Maybe some ither thing they gie me, They weel can spare. But Mauchline Race or Mauchline Fair, 54 SECOND EPISTLE TO J. LAPRAIK. 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' rhym in-ware Wi' ane anither. The four-gill chap, we'se gar him clatter, An' kirsen him wi' reekin water ; Syne we 'II sit down an' tak out whitter. To cheer our heart ; An' faith, we 'se be acquainted better Before we part. Awa ye selfish, warly race, Wha think that havins, sense, an' grace, Ev'n love an' friendship should give place To Catch-the-Plack ! I dinna like to see your face, Nor hear your crack. ^ut ye whom social pleasure charms, JVhose hearts the tide of kindness warms. Who hold your being on the terms, ' Each aid the others,' Come to my bowl, come to my arms. My friends, my brothers ! XXII. But, to conclude my lang epistle, As my auld pen 's worn to the grissle, Twa lines frae you wad gar me fissle, Who am most fervent, While I can either sing or whistle. Your friend and servant. SECOND EPISTLE TO J. LA- PRAIK. APRIL 21, 1785. [Entered in the "First Common-Place Boole" under "The First Epistle," with this explanation : " On receiving an answer to the above, Burns wrote the follow- ing:—"] I. 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. Forjesket sair, with weary legs, Rattlin the corn out-owre the rigs, Or dealing thro' amang the naigs Their ten-hours' bite, My awkart Muse sair pleads and begs, I would na write. III. The tapetless, ramfeezl'd hizzie. She's saft at best, an' something lazy : Quo' she : ' Ye ken we 've been sae busy This month an' mair. That trowth, my head is grown right dizzie. An' something sair.' IV. Her dowff excuses pat me mad : ' Conscience,' says I, ' ye thowless jad! I '11 write, an' that a hearty blaud, This vera night ; So dinna ye affront your trade, But rhyme it right. SECOND EPISTLE TO J. LAPRAIK. 55 'Shall bauld Lapraik, the king o' hearts, Tho' mankind were a pack o' cartes, Roose you sae weel for your deserts, In terms sae friendly ; Yet ye '11 neglect to shaw your parts An' thank him kindly?' Sae I gat paper in a blink, An' down gaed stumpie in the ink: Quoth I : ' Before I sleep a wink, I vow I '11 close it : An' if ye winna mak it clink. By Jove, I '11 prose it ! ' Sae I 've begun to scrawl, but whether In rhyme, or prose, or baith thegither. Or some hotch-potch that's rightly neither. Let time mak proof; But I shall scribble down some blether Just clean aff-loof. My worthy friend, ne'er grudge an' carp, Tho' Fortune use you hard an' sharp ; Come, kittle up your moorland harp Wi' gleesome touch ! Ne'er mind how Fortune waft an' warp; She 's but a bitch. She 's gien me monie a jirt an' fieg, Sin' I could striddle owre a rig ; But, by the Lord, tho' I should beg Wi' lyart pow, I '11 laugh an' sing, an' shake my leg, As lang 's I dow ! Now comes the sax-an-twentieth sim- mer 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 envy the city gent, Behint a kist to lie an' sklent ; Or purse-proud, big wi' cent, per cent. An' muckle wame. In some bit brugh to represent A bailie's name ? Or is 't the paughty feudal thane, Wi' rufifl'd sark an' glancing cane, Wha thinks himsel nae sheep-shank bane, But lordly stalks ; While caps an' bonnets aff are taen, As by he walks? ' O Thou wha gies us each guid gift ! Gie me o' wit an' sense a lift, Then turn me, if Thou please, adrift Thro' Scotland wide ; Wi' cits nor lairds I wadna shift. In a' their pride!' Were this the charter of our state, ' On pain o' hell be rich an' great,' Damnation then would be our fate. Beyond remead ; But, thanks to heaven, that 's no the gate f We learn our creed. For thus the royal mandate ran, When first the human race began : ' The social, friendly, honest man, Whate'er he be, 'T is he fulfils great Nature's plan, And none but he.' 56 TO WILLIAM SIMPSON OF OCHILTREE. O mandate glorious and divine ! The followers o' the ragged Nine — Poor, thoughtless devils! — yet may shine In glorious light ; While sordid sons o' Mammon's line Are dark as night! XVII. Tho' here they scrape, an' squeeze, an' growl, Their worthless neivefu' of a soul May in some future carcase howl, The forest's fright ; Or in some day-detesting owl May shun the light. Then may Lapraik and Burns arise, To reach their native, kindred skies, And sing their pleasures, hopes an' joys, In some mild sphere ; Still closer knit in friendship's ties. Each passing year! TO WILLIAM SIMPSON OF OCHILTREE. MAY 1785. [William Simpson was the schoolmaster of Ochiltree. He was born Aug. 23, 1758; died July 4, 1815.] I GAT your letter, winsome Willie ; Wi' gratefu' heart I thank you brawlie ; Tho' I maun say 't, I wad be silly And unco vain, Should I believe, my coaxin billie, Your flatterin strain. But I 's believe ye kindly meant it : I sud be laith to think ye hinted Ironic satire, sidelins sklented, On my poor Musie ; Tho' in sic phraisin terms ye've penn'd it, I scarce excuse ye. My senses wad be in a creel. Should I but dare a hope to speel, Wi' Allan, or wi' Gilbertfield, The braes o' fame ; Or Fergusson, the writer-chiel, A deathless name. (O Fergusson ! thy glorious parts 111 suited law's dry, musty arts ! My curse upon your whunstane hearts. Ye E'nhrugh gentry! The tythe o' what ye waste at cartes Wad stow'd his pantry!) Yet when a tale comes i' my head. Or lasses gie my heart a screed — As whyles they 're like to be my dead, (O sad disease!) I kittle up my rustic reed ; It gies me ease. Auld Coila, now, may fidge fu' fain, She 's gotten bardies o' her ain ; Chiels wha their chanters winnahain. But tune their lays. Till echoes a' resound again Her weel-sung praise. Nae Poet thought her worth his while, To set her name in measur'd style ; She lay like some unkend-of isle Beside New Holland, TO WILLIAM SIMPSON OF OCHILTREE. 57 Or whare wild-meeting oceans boil Besouth Magellan. Ramsay an' famous Fergusson Gied Forth an' Tay a lift aboon ; Yarrow an' Tweed, to monie a tune, Owre Scotland rings ; While Irwin, Lugar, Ayr, an' Doon Naebody sings. Th' missus, Tiber, Thames, an' Seine, Glide sweet in monie a tunefu' line : But, Willie, set your fit to mine, An' cock your crest ! We'll gar our streams and burnies shine Up wi' the best. We '11 sing auld Coila's plains an' fells. Her moors red-brown wi' heather bells. Her banks an' braes, her dens an' dells, Whare glorious Wallace Aft bure the gree, as story tells, Frae Suthron billies. XI. At Wallace' name, what Scottish blood But boils up in a spring-tide flood? Oft have our fearless fathers strode By Wallace' side. Still pressing onward, red-wat-shod, Or glorious dy'd ! O, sweet are Coila's haughs an' woods. When lintwhites chant amang the buds. And jinkin hares, in amorous whids. Their loves enjoy ; While thro' the braes the cushat croods With wailfu' cry ! Ev'n winter bleak has charms to me. When winds rave thro' the naked tree ; Or frosts on hills of Ochiltree Are hoary gray ; Or blinding drifts wild-furious flee^ Dark'ning the day ! O Nature ! a' thy shews an' forms To feeling, pensive hearts hae charms! Whether tiie summer kindly warms, Wi' life an' light ; Or winter howls, in gusty storms, The lang, dark night ! The Muse, nae poet ever fand her, TUl by himsel he learn'd to wander, Adown some trottin burn's meander, An' no think lang : O, sweet to stray, an' pensive ponder A heart-felt sang ! The warly race may drudge an' drive, Hog-shouther, jundie, stretch, an' strive : Let me fair Nature's face descrive, And I, wi' pleasure, Shall let the busy, grumbling hive Bum owre their treasure. Fareweel, my rhyme-composing brither ! We 've been owre lang unkend to ither : Now let us lay our heads thegither In love fraternal : May Envy wallop in a tether, Black fiend, infernal ! XVIII. While Highlandmen hate tolls an' taxes ; While moorlan' herds like guid, fat braxies ; S8 TO WILLIAM SIMPSON OF OCHILTREE. 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, Ye bade me write you what they mean By this New-Light, 'Bout which our herds sae aft hae been Maist like to fight. XX. In days when mankind were but cal- lans ; At grammar, logic, an' sic talents, They took nae pains their speech to balance, Or rules to gie ; But spak their thoughts in plain, braid Lallans, Like you or me. In thae auld times, they thought the moon. Just like a sark, or pair o' shoon. Wore by degrees, till her last roon Gaed past their viewin ; An' shortly after she was done. They gat a new ane. This past for certain, undisputed ; It ne'er cam i' their heads to doubt it, Till chiels gat up an' wad confute it, An' ca'd it wrang ; An' muckle din there was about it, Baith loud an' lang. Some herds, weel learn'd upo' the Beuk, Wad threap auld folk the thing mis-_ teuk ; For 't was the auld moon turn'd a neuk-. An' out o' sight. An' backlins-comin to the leuk, She grew mair bright. This was deny'd, it was afiSrm'd ; The herds and hissels were alarm'd , The rev'rend gray-beards rav'd an' storm'd. That beardless laddies Should think they better were in- form'd Than their auld daddies. Frae less to mair, it gaed to sticks ; Frae words an' aiths, to clours an' nicks ; An' monie a fallow gat his licks, Wi' hearty crunt ; An' some, to learn them for their tricks, Were hang'd an' brunt. XXVI. This game was play'd in monie lands, An' Auld-Light caddies bure sic hands. That faith, the youngsters took the sands Wi' nimble shanks Till lairds forbade, by strict com- mands. Sic bluidy pranks. XXVII. But New-Light herds gat sic a cowe, Folk thought them ruin'd stick-an- stowe ; Till now, amaist on ev'ry knowe Ye'll find ane placed ; An' some, their New-Light fair avow, Just quite barefac'd. EPISTLE TO JOHN RANKINE. 59 Nae doubt the Auld-Light flocks are bleatin ; Their zealous herds are vex'd and sweatin ; Mysel, I 've even seen them greetin Wi' girnin spite, To hear the moon sae sadly lie'd on By word an' write. XXIX. But shortly they will cowe the louns! Some Auld-Light herds in neebor touns Are mind't, in things they ca' bal- loons, To tak a flight, An' stay ae month amang the moons An' see them right. Guid observation they will gie them ; An' when the auld moon 's gaun to lea'e them. The hindmost shaird, they '11 fetch it wi' them, Just i' their pouch ; An' when the New-Light billies see them, I think they'll crouch! XXXI. Sae, ye observe that a' this clatter Is naething but a ' moonshine mat- ter'; But tho' dull prose-folk Latin splatter In logic tulzie, I hope we, Bardies, ken some better Than mind sic brulzie. EPISTLE TO JOHN RANKINE ENCLOSING SOME POEMS. [Rankine was farmer at Adamhill.in the parish of Craigie, near Lochlie. His wit. his dreams, and his practical jokes were the tallc of the countryside.] O ROUGH, rude, ready-witted Ran- kine, The wale o' cocks for fun an' drinkin'! There 's monie godly folks are thinkin' Your dreams and tricks Will send you, Korah-like, a-sinkin Straught to Auld Nick's. Ye hae sae monie cracks an' cants, And in your wicked drucken rants, Ye mak a devil o' the saunts. An' fill them fou' ; And then their failings, flaws, an' wants Are a' seen thro'. Hypocrisy, in mercy spare it ! That holy robe, O, dinna tear it ! Spare 't for their sakes, wha aften wear it — The lads in black ; But your curst wit, when it comes near it, Rives 't aff their back. IV. Think, wicked sinner, wha ye 're skaithing : It's just the Blue-gown badge an' claithing 0' saunts ; tak that, ye lea'e them naething To ken them by Frae onie unrcgenerate heathen, Like you' or I. I've sent you here some rhyming ware A' that I bargain'd for, an' mair ; Sae, when ye hae an hour to spare, I will expect, 6o SONG. Yon sang ye '11 sen't, wi' canhie care, And no neglect. ' Tho' faith, sma' heart hae I to sing : My Muse dow scarcely spread her wing! I 've play'd mysel a bonie spring, An' danc'd my fill ! I 'd better gaen an' sair't the King At Bunker's Hill. Yll. 'T was ae night lately, in my fun, I gaed a rovin wi' the gun, An' brought a paitrick to the grun' — A bonie hen ; And, as the twilight was begun, Thought nane wad ken. VIII The poor, wee thing was little hurt ; I straikit it a wee for sport, Ne'er tliinkin they wad fash me for't; But, Deil-ma-care! Somebody fells the Poacher-Court The hale affair. Some auld, us'd hands had taen a note. That sic a hen had got a shot ; 1 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. An' by my pouther an' my hail. An' by my hen, an' by her tail, I vow an' swear! The game shall pay owre moor an' dale, For this, niest year! As soon 's the clockin-time is by, An' the, wee pouts begun to cry. Lord, I 'se hae sportin by an' by For my gowd guinea ; Tho' I should herd the buckskin kye For't, in Virginia! XII. Trowth, they had muckle for to blame ! 'T was neither broken wing nor limb, But twa-three chaps about the wame. Scarce thro' the feathers ; An' baith a yellow George to claim An' thole their blethers ! It pits me ay as mad 's a hare ; So I can rhyme nor write nae mair; But pennyworths again is fair, When time 's expedient : Meanwhile I am, respected Sir, Your most obedient. SONG. TUNE : Corn Rigs. [In his Autobiographical Letter to Dr. Moore, Burns includes this admirable lyric among tlie " rhymes " of his " early days," composed before his twenty-third year. But the early version was probably a mere fragmentary suggestion of the later. The " Annie " of this song is unknown. Several " Annies " claimed the distinction, among them a Mrs. Merry.] It was upon a Lammas night. When corn rigs are bonie, Beneath the moon's unclouded light, I held awa to Annie ; The time flew by, wi' tentless heed; Till, 'tween the late and early, Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed To see me thro' the barley. SONG: COMPOSED IN AUGUST. 6i Corn rigs, an' barley rigs, An' corn rigs are bonie : I '11 ne'er forget that happy night, Amang the rigs wi' Annie. The sky was blue, the wind was still, The moon was shining clearly ; I set her down, wi' right good will, Amang the rigs o' barley : I ken't her heart was a' my ain ; I lov'd her most sincerely ; I kiss'd her owre and owre again, Amang the rigs o' barley. I lock'd her in my fond embrace ; Her heart was beating rarely: Iviy blessings on that happy place, Amang the rigs o' barley ! But by the moon and stars so bright. That shone that hour so clearly ! She aye shall bless that happy night Amang the rigs o' barley. I hae been blythe wi' comrades dear ; I hae been merry drinking ; I hae been joyfu' gath'rin gear; I hae been happy thinking : But a' the pleasures e'er I saw, Tho' three times doubl'd fairly — That happy night was worth them a', Amang the rigs o' barley. Corn rigs, an' barley rigs. An' corn rigs are bonie : I'll ne'er forget that happy night, Amang the rigs wi' Annie. SONG: COMPOSED IN AUGUST. [Burns states, in his " Autobiographical Letter," that this song was tlie ebullition of his passion for a " chtuming JlieUe," Peggy Thomson, who "overset his trigonometry" at Kirkoswald when he was in his seven- teenth year.] I. Now westlin winds and slavght'ring guns Bring Autumn's pleasant weather ; The gorcock springs on whirring wings Amni's; the blooming heather : Now waving grain, wide o'er the plain. Delights the weary farmer ; The moon shines bright, as I rove by night To muse upon my charmer. The paitrick lo'es the fruitfu' fells. The plover lo'es the mountains ; The woodcock haunts the lonely dells. The soaring hern the fountains ; Thro' lofty groves the cushat roves, The path o' man to shun it ; The hazel bush o'erhangs the thrush, The .spreading thorn the linnet. Thus ev'ry kind their pleasure find, The savage and the tender ; Some social join, and leagues com- bine. Some solitary wander : Avaunt, away, the cruel sway ! Tyrannic man's dominion! The sportsman's joy, the murd'ring "V' . ... The flutt'nng, gory pmion! 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 ; 62 THE FAREWELL. The rustling corn, the fruited thorn, And ilka happy creature. We '11 gently walk, and sweetly talk. While the silent moon shines clearly ; I ''11 clasp thy waist, and, fondly prest, Swear how I lo'e thee dearly : Not vernal show'rs to budding flow'rs, Not Autumn to the farmer. So dear can be as thou to me, My fair, my lovely charmer! SONG: FROM THEE ELIZA. Tune: Gilderoy. [" Eliza " was Elizabeth Miller, afterwards Mrs. Templeton, celebrated in" The Mauch- line Belles" as the " Miss Betty" " who 's braw."] I. From thee Eliza, I must go. And from my native shore : The cruel fates between us throw A boundless ocean's roar ; But boundless oceans, roaring wide Between my Love and me. They never, never can divide My heart and soul from thee. Farewell, farewell, Eliza dear, The maid that I adore ! A boding voice is in mine ear, We part to meet no more ! But the latest throb that leaves my heart, While Death stands victor by, That throb, Eliza, is thy part. And thine that latest sigh ! THE FAREWELL. TO THE BRETHREN OF ST. JAMES'S LODGE, TARBOLTON. Tune : Good-night, and joy be wi' you a'. [At this time the author intended going to Jamaica. Burns was admitted an ap- prentice of the St. David's Lodge, July 4, 1781. He was elected depute-master ot St. James's Lodge (which separated from St. David's) July 22, 1784.] Adieu ! a heart-warm, fond adieu ; Dear Brothers of the Mystic Tie! Ye favour'd, ye enlighten'd few. Companions of my social joy ! Tho' I to foreign lands must hie. Pursuing Fortune's slidd'ry ba' ; With melting heart and brimful eye, I '11 mind you still, tho' far awa. Oft have I met your social band, And spent the cheerful, festive night ; Oft, honour'd with supreme command, Presided o'er the Sons of Light ; And by that Hieroglyphic bright, Which none but Craftsmen ever saw ! Strong Mem'ry on my heart shall write Those happy scenes, when fer awa. May Freedom, Harmonyi and Love, Unite you in the Gran^ Design, Beneath th' Omniscient F.^? above — The glorious Architect /o'wme — That you may keep th' Unerring Line, Still rising by the Plmnmefs Law, Till Order bright completely shine. Shall be my pray'r, when far awa. EPITAPHS. 63 And You farewell ! whose merits claim Justly that Highest Badge to wear : Heav'n bless your honour'd, noble Name, To Masonry and Scotia dear ! A last request permit me here, When yearly ye assemble a', One round, I ask it with a tear. To him, the Bard, that 's far awa. EPITAPH ON A HENPECKED SQUIRE. [The subject of this epitaph was Mr. Campbell of Netherplace, a mansion a little to the west of Mauchline, on the road to Mossgiel. The epitaph was not reprinted by Burns, nor was the following one.] As father Adam first was fool'd, A case that 's still too common, Here lies a man a woman rul'd : The Devil ruled the woman. EPIGRAM ON SAID OCCASION. O Death, had'st thou but spar'd his life, Whom we this day lament ! We freely wad exchanged the wife. An' a' been weel content. Ev'n as he is, cauld in his grafF, The swap we yet will do 't ; Talc thou the carlin's carcase aff. Thou 'se get the saul o' boot. ANOTHER. One Queen Artemisa, as old stories tell, When depriv'd of her husband she lovfed so well. In respect for the love and affection he 'd show'd her, She reduc'd him to dust and she drank up the powder. But Queen Netherplace, of a diff 'rent complexion. When call'd on to order the fun'ral direction, Would have eat her dead lord, on a slender pretence. Not to show her respect, but — to save the expense ! EPITAPHS. ON A CELEBRATED RULING ELDER. [Souter Hood was a ruling elder in Tar- bolton, named William Hood.] Here Souter Hood in death does sleep : In hell, if he 's gane thither, Satan, gie him thy gear to keep ; He '11 haud it weel thegither. ON A NOISY POLEMIC. [James Humphry, a mason in Mauchline with no doubt of his ability to debate with Burns. He died in 1844. He was wont to introduce himself to strangers as " Burns's blethering bitch."] Below thir stanes lie Jamie's banes : O Death, it 's my opinion. Thou ne'er took such a bleth'rin bitch Into thy dark dominion. ON WEE JOHNIE. Hicjacet wQ^Johme. [Said to be the poet's Kilmarnock printer. There is another claimant, a bookseller in Mauchline, of diminutive stature, named John WilsonJ Whoe'er thou art, O reader, know. That Death has murdered Johnie, An' here his body lies fu' low — For said he ne'er had onie. 64 EPITAPHS. FOR THE AUTHOR'S FATHER. [William Burness died at Lochlie, Feb. 13, 1784, and this " Epitaph on my Ever Honoured Father " was inserted in the "First Common-Place Book," under the date April of that year. The epitaph is engraved on the tombstone in Alloway Churchyard.] O YE whose cheek the tear of pity stains, Draw near with pious rev'rence, and attend ! Here lie the loving husband's dear remains. The tender father, and the gen'rous friend. The pitying heart that felt for human woe, The dauntless heart that fear'd no human pride. The friend of man — to vice alone a foe; For ' ev'n his failings lean'd to vir- tue's side.' FOR ROBERT AIKEN, Esq. [The gentleman to whom " The Cotter's Saturday Night " was dedicated.] Know thou, O stranger to the fame Of this much lov'd, much honour'd name ! (For none that knew him need be told), A warmer heart Death ne'er made cold. FOR GAVIN HAMILTON, Esq. [These lines allude to the persecution which Haiftilton endured for riding on Sun- day, etc.] The poor man weeps — here Gavin sleeps. Whom canting wretches blam'd ; But with such as he, where'er he be, IVtay I be sav'd or damn'd. A BARD'S EPITAPH. [" Burns's most sincere and touching self, criticism." — ANDREW LANG.] Is there a whim-inspirSd fool, Owre fast for thought, owre hot for 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 ar^a! throng? — O, pass not by ! But with a frater-feeling strong, Here, heave a sigh. Is there a man, whose judgment clear Can others teach the coast to steer. Yet runs, himself, life's mad career Wild as the wave? — Here pause — and, thro' the starting tear, Survey this grave. The poor inhabitant below Was quick to learn and wise to know, And keenly felt the friendly glow And softer flame ; But thoughtless follies laid him low, And stain'd his name. DEATH AND DOCTOR HORNBOOK. 65 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-contra Is wisdom's root. ADDED, EDINBURGH, 1787. DEATH AND DOCTOR HORN- BOOK. A True Story. [John Wilson, the hero of this poem, was, at the time of its composition, school- master in Tarbolton. He was, it is said, a fair scholar, and a very worthy man, but vain of his knowledge of medicine. It was his misfortune to encounter Burns at a Masonic meeting, who, provoked by a long and pedantic speech from the Dominie, ex- claimed, the future lampoon dawning upon him, " Sit down, Dr. Hornbook."] Some books are lies frae end to end, And some great lies were never penn'd : Ev'n ministers, they hae been kend, In holy rapture, A rousing whid at times to vend. And nail't wi' Scripture. But this that I am gaun to tell, Which lately on a night befel. Is just as true 's the Deil 's in hell Or Dublin city : That e'er he nearer comes oursel 'S a muckle pity! The clachan yill had made me canty, I was na fou, but just had plenty : I stacher'd whyles, but yet took tent ay To free the ditches ; An' hillocks, stanes, an' bushes, kend ay Frae ghaists an' witches. The rising moon began to glowr The distant Cumnock Hills out-owre : To count her horns, wi' a my pow'r I set mysel ; But whether she had three or four, I cou'd na tell. I was come round about the hill. And todlin down on Willie's mill. Setting my staff wi' a' my skill To keep me sicker ; Tho' leeward whyles, against my will, I took a bicker. I there wi' Something does forgather, That pat me in an eerie swither ; An awfli' scythe, out-owre ae shouther. Clear-dangling, hang; A three-tae'd leister on the ither Lay, large an' lang. Its stature seem'd lang Scotch ells twa; The queerest shape that e'er I saw, For fient a wame it had ava ; And then its shanks. They were as thin, as sharp an' sma.' As cheeks o' branks. ' Guid-een,' quo' I ; ' Friend, hae ye been mawin, When ither folk are busy sawin ? ' It seem'd to make a kind o' stan', But naething spak. 66 DEATH AND DOCTOR HORNBOOK. ft.t length, says I : ' Friend, whare ye gaun r Will ye go back?' IX. It spak right ho we : 'My name is Death, But be na' fley'd.' Quoth I : ' Guid faith, Ye 're may be come to stap my breath ; But tent me, billie ; I red ye weel, take care o' skaith. See, there's a gully! ' 'Gudeman,' 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 m.ind it, no that spittle Out-owre my beard.' ' Weel, weel ! ' says I, a bargain be 't ; Come, gie 's your hand, an' say we 're g.-ee't ; We '11 ease our shanks, an' tak a seat : Come, gie 's your news : Thi.« while ye hae been monie a gate, At monie a house.' XII. * Ay, ay ! ' quo' he, an' shook his head, ' It's e'en a lang, lang time indeed Sin' I began to nick the thread An' choke the breath : Folk maun do something for their bread. An' sae maun Death. XIII. 'Sax thousand years are near-hand fled Sin' I was to the butching bred, An' monie a scheme in vain 's been laid To stap or scar me ; Till ane Hornbook's ta'en up the trade. And faith ! he '11 waur me. 'Ye ken Jock Hornbook i' the clachan ? Deil mak his king's-hood in a spleu- chan ! — - He 's grown sae weel acquaint wi' Buchaii And ither chaps, The weans baud out their fingers laughin, An' pouk my hips. 'See, here's a scythe, an' there's a dart. They hae pierc'd monie a gallant heart ; But Doctor Hornbook wi' his art An' cmsed skill. Has made them baith no worth a fart, Damn'd haet they '11 kill! ' 'T was but yestreen, nae farther gane I threw a noble throw at ane ; Wi' less, I 'm sure, I 've hundreds slain ; But Deil-ma-care ! It just played dirl on the bane. But did nae mair. ' Hornbook was by wi' ready art, An' had sae fortify'd the part. That when I looked to my dart. It was sae blunt, Fient haet o't wad hae pierc'd the heart Of a kail-runt. DEATH AND DOCTOR HORNBOOK. 67 'I drew my scythe in sic a fury, 1 near-liand cowpit wi' my hurry, But yet the bauld Apothecary Withstood the shock : I might as weel hae try'd a quarry O' hard whin-rock. XIX. 'Ev'n them he canna get attended, Altho' their face he ne'er had kend it, Just shit in a kail-blade an' send it, As soon 's he smells 't, Baith their disease and what will mend it. At once he tells 't. XX. 'And then a' doctor's saws and whittles Of a' dimensions, shapes, an' mettles, A' kinds o' boxes, mugs, and bottles, He 's sure to hae ; Their Latin names as fast he rattles As A B C. XXI. 'Calces o' fossils, earth, and trees; True sal-7tiarinum o' the seas ; The farma of beans an' pease, He has 't in plenty ; Aqua-fontis, what you please. He can content ye. 'Forbye some new, uncommon weapons, Urinus spirttus of capons ; Or mite-horn shavings, filings, scrap- ings, DistiU'd per se ; Sal-alkali o' midge-tail-clippings, And monie mae.' XXIII. ' Waes me for Johnie Ged's Hole now,' ■Quoth I ' if that thae news be true ! His braw calf-ward whare gowans grew Sae white and bonie, Nae doubt they '11 rive it wi' the plew : They '11 niin Johnie!' The creature grain'd an eldritch laugh, And says : ' ye nedna yoke the pleugh, Kirkyards will soon be till'd eneugh, Tak ye nae fear : They'll a' be trench'd wi monie a sheugh In twa-three year. * Whare I kill'd ane, a fair strae death By loss o' blood or want o' breath, This night I 'm free to tak my aith, That Hornbook's skill Has clad a score i' their last claith By drap an' pill. ' An honest wabster to his trade, Whase wife's twa nieves were scarce weel-bred, Gat tippence-worth to mend her head. When it was sair ; The wife slade cannie to her bed. But ne'er spak mair. XX vn. 'A countra laird had taen the batts, Or some curmurring in his guts. His only son for Hornbook sets, An' pays him well : The lad, for twa guid gimmer-pets, Was laird hirasel. XXVIII. 'A bonie lass — ye kend her name — Some ill-brewn drink had hov'd her wame ; She trusts hersel, to hide the shame. In Hornbook's care ; Horn sent her aff to her lang hame To hide it there. 6S THE BRIGS OF AYR. "That 's just a swatch o' Hornbook's way; Thus goes he on from day to day, Thus does he poison, kill, an' slay, An 's weel paid for 't ; Yet stops me o' ray lawfu' prey Wi' his damn'd dirt : ■ But, hark ! I '11 tell you of a plot, Tho' dinna ye be speakin o't : I '11 nail the self-conceited sot, As dead 's a herrin ; Niest time we meet, I '11 wad a groat, He gets his fairin ! ' i ut just as he began to tell, Tiie auld kirk-hammer strak the bell Some wee short hour ayont the twal, Which raised us baith; I took the way that pleas'd mysel. And sae did Death. THE BRIGS OF AYR. A Poem. INSCRIBED TO JOHN BALLANTINE, ESQ., AYR. [Probably composed in September-Oc- tober, 1786 ; a new bridge was being built at Ayr when Mr. Ballantine, a local banker, was dean of guild. The boast of the " Auld Brig" that it would "be a brig" when its neighbor was a " shapeless cairn " was jus- tified in 1877, when the New Bridge was so 'injured by floods that it had to be practi- cally rebuilt.] The simple Bard, rough at the rustic plough. Learning his tuneful trade from ev'ry bough (The chanting linnet, or the mellow thrush, Hailing the setting sun, sweet, in the green thorn bush ; The soaring lark, the perching red- breast shrill, Or deep-ton'd plovers grey, wild- whistling o'er the hill) : Shall he — nurst in the peasant's lowly shed, To hardy independence bravely bred, By early poverty to hardship steel'd. An train'd to arms in stern misfor- tune's field — Shall he be guilty of their hireling crimes. The servile, mercenary Swiss of rhymes ? Or labour hard the panegyric close, With all the venal soul of dedicating prose ? No ! though his artless strains he rudely sings. And throws his hand uncouthly o'er the strings. He glows with all the spirit of the bard. Fame, honest fame, his great, his dear reward. Still, if some patron's gen'rous care he trace, Skill'd in the secret to bestow with grace ; When Ballantine 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. 'T was when the stacks get on their winter hap. And thack and rape secure the toil- won crap ; Potatoe-bings are snuggfed up frae skaith O' coming winter's biting, frosty breath ; The bees, rejoicing o'er their summer toils — Unnumber'd buds' an' flowers' deli- cious spoils, THE BRIGS OF AYR. 69 Seal'd up with frugal care in massive waxen piles — Are doom'd by man, that tyrant o'er the weak, The death o' devils smoor'd wi' brim- stone reek : The thundering guns are heard on ev'ry side, The wounded coveys, reeling, scatter wide; The feather'd field-mates, bound by Nature's tie. Sires, mothers, children in one car- nage lie : (What warm, poetic heart but inly bleeds, And execrates man's savage, ruthless deeds !) Nae mair the flower in field or meadow springs ; Nae mair the grove with airy concert rings, Except perhaps the robin's whistling glee. Proud o' the height o' some bit half- lang tree ; The hoary morns precede the sunny days; Mild, calm, serene, widespreads the noontide blaze. While thick the gossamour waves wanton in the rays. 'Twas in that season, when a simple Bard, Unknown and poor — simplicity's re- ward ! — Ae night, within the ancient brugh of Ayr, By whim inspir'd or haply prest wi' care. He left his bed, and took his wayward route. And down by Simpson's wheel'd the left about (Whether impell'd by all-directing Fate, To witness what I after shall nar- rate; Or whether, rapt in meditation high, He wander'd forth, he knew not where nor why) : The drowsy Dungeon-Clock had nuraber'd two. And Wallace Tower had sworn the fact was true ; The tide-swoln Firth, with sullen- sounding roar, Through the still night dash'd hoarse along the shore ; All else was hush'd as Nature's closed e'e; The silent moon shone high o'er tower and tree ; The chilly frost, beneath the silver beam, Crept, gently-crusting, o'er the glitter- ing stream. When, lo! on either hand the lis- t'ning Bard, The clanging sugh of whistling wings is heard ; Two dusky forms dart thro' the mid- night air. Swift as the gos drives on the wheel- ing 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 tfiat owre the Brigs of Ayr preside. (That bards are second-sighted is nae joke. And ken the lingo of the sp'ritual folk,; ■ Fays, spunkies, kelpies, a', they can explain them, And ev'n the vera deils they brawly \ ken them.) Auld Brig appear'd of ancient Pictish race. The vera wrinkles Gothic in his face ; He seem'd as he wi' Time had war- stl'd lang, Yet, teughly doure, he bade an unco bang. New Brig was buskit in a braw new coat, 70 THE BRIGS OF AYR. That he, at Lon'on, frae ane Adams got; Jn 's hand five taper staves as smooth 's a bead, Wr virls an' whirlygigums at the head. The Goth was stalking round with anxious search, Spying the time-worn flaws in ev'ry arch. It chanc'd his new-come neebor took his e'e, And e'en a vex'd and angry heart had he! WV thieveless sneer to see his mod- ish mien, He, down the water, gies him this guid-een : — AULD BRIG. ' I doubt na, frien', ye '11 think ye 're nae sheep shank, Ance ye were streekit owre frae bank to bank ! But gin ye be a brig as auld as me — Tho' faith, that date, I doubt, ye 'II never see — There 'II be, if that day come, I 'U wad a boddle. Some fewer whigmeleeries 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 foot-path of a street, Where twa wheel-barrows tremble when they meet. Your ruin'd, formless bulk o' stane an' lime. Compare wi' bonie brigs o' modern lime? There 's men of taste would tak the Ducat stream, Tho' they should cast the vera sark and swim, E'er they would grate their feelings wi' the view O' sic an ugly, Gothic hulk as you.' AULD BRIG. 'Conceited gowk! puff'd up wi' windy pride ! This monie a year I 've stood ths flood an' tide ; And tho' wi' crazy eild I 'm sair for- iairn, I '11 be a brig when ye 're a shapeless cairn ! As yet ye little ken about the mat- ter. 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 CoU, Or stately Lugar's mossy fountains boil. Or where the Greenock winds his moorland course. Or haunted Garpal draws his feeble source, Arous'd by blustering winds an' spot- ting thowes, In monie a torrent down the snaw- broo rowes ; While crashing ice, borne on the roaring speat. Sweeps dams, an' mills, an' brigs, a' to the gate ; And from Glenbuck down to the Ratton-Key Auld Ayr is just one lengthen'd, tumbling sea — Then down ye '11 hurl (deil nor ye never rise !), And dash the gumlie jaups up to the pouring skies ! A lesson sadly teaching, to your cost, That Architecture's noble art is lost! ' THE BRIGS OF AYR. 7» NEW BRIG. ' Fine architecture, trowth, I needs must say 't o 't, The Lord be thanlcit tliat we 've tint the gate o 't ! Gaunt, ghastly, ghaist-alluring edi- fices, Hanging with threat'ning jut, lilie precipices ; O'er-arching, mouldy, gloom-inspiring coves. Supporting roofs fantastic — stony groves ; Windows and doors in nameless sculptures drest, With order, symmetry, or taste un- blest ; Forms like some bedlam statuary's dream. The craz'd creations of misguided whim ; Forms might be worshipped on the bended knee. And still the second dread Command be free : Their likeness is not found on earth, in air, or sea! Mansions that would disgrace the building taste Of any mason reptile, bird or beast. Fit only for a doited monkish race. Or frosty maids forsworn the dear embrace, Or cuifs of later times, wha held the notion, That sullen gloom was sterling true devotion : Fancies that our guid brugh denies protection, And soon may they expire, unblest with resurrection ! ' AULD BRIG. ' O ye, my dear-remember'd, ancient yealings. Were ye but here to share my wounded feelings ! Ye worthy proveses, an' monie a bailie. Wha in the paths o' righteousness did toil ay ; Ye dainty deacons, an' ye douce con- veeners. To whom our moderns are but causey- cleaners ; Ye godly councils, wha hae blest this town ; Ye godly brethren o' the sacred gown 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 ! 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 degen'rate race ! Nae langer rev'rend men, their coun- try'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 coun- try; Men three-parts made by tailors and by barbers, Wha waste your weel-hain'd gear on damn'd New Brigs andharbours ' ' NEW BRIG. ' Now baud you there ! for faith ye 've said enough, And muckle mair than you can mak to through. Aa for your priesthood, I shall say but little, Ccirbies and clergy are a shot right kittle : 72 THE BRIGS OF AYR. But, under favour o' your langer beard, Abuse o' magistrates might weel be spar'd ; To liken tiiem to your auld-warld squad, 1 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 lib'ral views in bonds and seisins ; If haply Knowledge, on a random tramp. Had shor'd 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.' What farther clish-ma-claver might been said, What bloody wars if Sprites had blood to shed. No man can tell ; but, all before their sight, A fairy train appear'd in order bright : Adown the glittering stream they featly danc'd ; Bright to the moon their various dresses glanc'd ; They footed o'er the wat'ry glass so neat. The infant ice scarce bent beneath their feet ; While arts of minstrelsy among them rung. And soul-ennobling Bards heroic ditties sung. O, had M'Lauchlan, thairm-inspir- ing sage, Been there to hear this heavenly band engage. When thro' his dear strathspeys they bore with Highland rage ; Or when they struck old Scotia's melting airs, The lover's raptured joys or bleedirg cares ; How would his Highland lug been nobler fir'd. And ev'n his matchless hand with finer touch inspir'd ! No guess could tell what instrument appear'd. But all the soul of Music's self was heard ; Harmonious concert rung in every part. While simple melody pour'd moving on the heart. The Genius of the Stream in front appears, A venerable chief advanc'd in years ; His hoary head with water-IOies crown'd. His manly leg with garter-tangle bound. Next came the loveliest pair in all the ring, Sweet Female Beauty hand in hand with Spring; Then, crown'd with flow'ry hay, came Rural Joy, And Summer, with his fervid-beaming eye; All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn. Led yellow Autumn wreath'd with nodding corn ; Then Winter's time-bleach'd locks did hoary show. By Hospitality, with cloudless brow. Next follow'd Courage, with his mar- tial stride, From where the Feal wild-woody coverts hide ; Benevolence, with mild, benignant all. THE ORDINAflON. 73 A female form, came from the towers of Stair ; Learning and Worth in equal meas- ures trode From simple Catrine, their long-lov'd abode ; Last, white-rob'd Peace, crown'd with a hazel wreath, To rustic Agriculture did bequeath The broken, iron instruments of death : At sight of whom our Sprites forgat their kindling wrath. THE ORDINATION. For sense, they little owe to frugal Heav'n : To please tke mob they hide the little giv'n. [" Written very early in 1786, but not in- cluded in the Kilmarnock edition. A paper bullet in the war of Auld and New Lights, — Calvinism and 'Common Sense,' — which, by the way, is no theological criterion." — ANDREW Lang.] Kilmarnock wabsters, fidge an' claw, An' pour your creeshie nations ; An' ye wha leather rax an' draw. Of a' denominations ; Swith ! to the Laigh Kirk, ane an' a'. An' there tak up your stations ; Then aflf to Begbie's in a raw, An' pour divine libations For joy this day. Curst Common-sense, that imp o' hell, Cam in wi' Maggie Lauder: But 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 ! 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 stoure : Nae mair the knaves shall wrang her. For Heresy is in her pow'r, And gloriously she '11 whang her Wi' pith this day. Come, let a proper text be read, An' touch it aff wi' vigour. How graceless Ham leugh at his dad, Which made Can^ian a nigger; Or Phineas drove the murdering blade Wi' whore-abhorring rigour ; Or Zipporah, the scauldin jad. Was like a bluidy tiger I' 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 sufBcient threshin : Spare them nae day. Now auld Kilmarnock, cock thy tail. An' toss thy horns fu' canty ; Nae mair thou 'It rowte out-owre the dale, Because thy pasture 's scanty ; For lapfu's large o' gospel kail Shall fill thy crib in plenty, An' runts o' grace, the pick an' wale, No gien by way o' dajnty, But ilka day. 74 THE ORDINATION. Nae mair by Babel's streams we'll weep To think upon our Zion ; And hing our fiddles up to sleep, Like baby-clouts a-dryin. Come, screw the pegs wi' tunefu' cheep. And o'er the thairms be tryin ; O, rare ! to see our elbucks wheep, And a' like lamb-tails flyin Fu' fast this day ! Lang, Patronage, wi' rod o' airn, Has shor'd the Kirk's undoin ; As lately Fenwick, sair forfairn. Has proven to its ruin : Our patron, honest man ! Glencairn, He saw mischief was brewin ; Ah' like a godly, elect bairn, He 's waled us out a true ane, • And sound this day. Now Robertson harangue nae mair, But steek your gab for ever ; Or try the wicked town of Ayr, For there they'll think you clever; Or, nae reflection on your lear. Ye may commence a shaver ; Or to the Netherton repair. An' turn a carpet-weaver Aff-hand this day. ■Vlu'trie 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 ay he catch'd the tither wretch. To fry them in his caudrons ; But now his Honor maun detach, Wi' a' his bj^imstone squadrons, Fast, fast this day. XI. See, see auld Orthodoxy's faes She's swingein thro' the city ! Hark, how the nine-tail'd cat she plays ! I vow it 's unco pretty : There, Learning, with his Greekish face, Grunts out some Latin ditty ; And Common-Sense is gaun, she says, To mak to Jamie Beattie Her plaint this day. But there 's Morality himsel, Embracing all opinions ; Hear, how he gies the tither yell Between his twa companions ! See, how she peels the skin an' fell. As ane were peelin onions ! Now there, they 're packed aff to hell, An' banish'd our dominions. Henceforth this day. XIII. O happy day! rejoice, rejoice ! Come bouse about the porter! Morality's demure decoys Shall here nae mair find -quarter: Mackinlay, Russell, are the boys That Heresy can torture ; They '11 gie her on a rape a hoyse, And cowe her measure shorter By th' head some day. XIV. Come, bring the tither mutchkin in, And here 's — for a conclusion — To ev'ry New Light mother's son. From this time forth, confusion! If mair they deave us wi' their din Or patronage intrusion. We 'U light a spunk, and ev'ry skin We '11 run them aff in fusion, Like oil some day. THE CALF. — ADDRESS TO THE UNCO QUID. 75 THE CALF. To THE Rev. James Steven, on his TEXT, Malachi iv. 2 : — " And ye shall go forth, and grow up as calves of the stall." [" The laugh which this little poem raised against Steven was a loud one. Burns com- posed it during the sermon to which it re- lates, and repeated it to Gavin Hamilton, with whom he happened on that day to dine."— ALLAN Cunningham.] Right, sir! your text I '11 prove it true, Tho' heretics may laugh ; For instance, there 's yoursel just now, God knows, an unco calf. And should some patron be so kind As bless you wi' a kirk, I, doubt na, sir, but then we '11 find You 're still as great a stirk. III. But, if the lover's raptur'd hour Shall ever be your lot. Forbid it, every heavenly Power, You e'er should be a stot! IV. Tho', when some kind connubial dear Your but-an'-ben adorns, The like has been that you may wear A noble head of horns. V. And, in your lug, most reverend James, To hear you roar and rowte. Few men o' sense will doubt your claims To rank amonjr the nowie. the VI. And when ye 're number'd wi' dead Below a grassy hillock, With justice they may mark your head : — ' Here lies a famous bullock!'' ADDRESS TO THE UNCO GUID, OR THE RIGIDLY RIGHTEOUS. My Son, these maxims make a rule. An' lump them ay theglther: The Rigid Righteous is afoot. The Rigid Wtse aniiher ; The cleanest corn that e'er was dight May hae some pyles 0' caff in; So ne'er a fellow-creature slight For random fits 0' daffin. Solomon (Bccles. vii. 16). [" It is not easy to determine the pre- cise period when this master-performance was conceived and executed. Had it been written before midsummer of 1786 it surely would not have been excluded from his Kilmarnock volume. There is much of stern, humiliating truth , in the train of thought pursued in the poem, which was a favorite one with the author." — WILLIAM SCOTT Douglas,] O YE, wha are sae guid yoursel, Sae pious and sae holy. Ye 've nought to do but mark and tell Your neebours' fauts and folly ; Whase life is like a weel-gaun mill, Supplied wi' store o' water ; The heapet happer 's ebbing still, An' still the clap plays clatter ! Hear me, ye venerable core, As counsel for poor mortals That frequent pass douce Wisdom's door ) For glaikit Folly's portals ; 76 TAM SAMSON'S ELEGY. I for their thoughtless, careless sakes Would here propone defences — Their donsie tricks, their black mis- takes. Their failings and mischances. Ye see your state wi' theirs compared, And shudder at the niifer ; But cast a moment's fair regard. What makes 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. 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 transmugrify'd they're grown Debauchery and Drinking : O, would they stay to calculate, Th' eternal consequences. Or — your more dreaded hell to state — Damnation of expenses ! Ye high, exalted, virtuous dames, Tied up in godly laces, Before ye gie poor Frailty names. Suppose a change o' cases : A dear-lov'd lad, convenience snug, A treach'rous inclination — But, let me whisper i' your lug, Ye 're aiblins nae temptation. Then gently scan your brother man, Still gentler sister woman ; Tho' they may gang a, kennin wrang, To step aside is human : One point must still be greatly dark, The moving why they do it ; And just as lamely can ye mark How far perhaps they rue it. VIII. Who made the heart, 't is 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. Pope. [" When this worthy old sportsman went out last muir-fowl season, he supposed it was to be, in Ossian's phrase, * the last of his fields,' and expressed an ardent wish to die and be buried in the muirs. On this hint the author composed his Elegy and Epitaph." (R. B.)] Has auld Kilmarnock seen the Deil? Or great Mackinlay thrawn his heel? Or Robertson again grown weel To preach an' read ? 'Na, waur than a' ! ' cries ilka chiel, * Tam Samson 's dead ! ' i Kilmarnock lang may grunt an' grane, An' sigh, an' sab, an' greet her lane, An' deed her bairns — man, wife an' wean — In mourning weed ; TAM SAMSON'S ELEGY. 75 To Death she 's dearly pay'd the kain : Tam Samson 's dead ! The Brethren o' the mystic level May hing their head in woefu' bevel, While by their nose the tears will revel, Like oniebead; Death's gien the Lodge an unco devel : Tarn Samson 's dead ! IV. When Winter muffles up his cloak, And binds the mire like a rock ; When to the loughs the curlers flock, Wi' gleesome speed, Wha will they station at the cock? — Tam Samson 's dead ! He was the king of a' the core, To guard, or draw, or wick a bore. Or up the rink like Jehu roar In time o' need ; But now he lags on Death's hog- • score : Tam Samson 's dead ! Now safe the stately sawmont sail. And trouts bedropp'd wi' crimson hail, And eels, weel-kend for souple tail, And geds for greed, Since, dark in Death's fish-creel, we wail Tam Samson dead ! VII. Rejoice, ye birring paitricks a' ; Ye cootie moorcocks, crousely craw ; Ye maukins, cock your fud fu' braw Withouten dread ; Your mortal fae is now awa : Tam Samson 's dead ! That woefu' morn be ever mourn'd Saw him in shootin graith adorn'd, While pointers round impatient burn'd, Frae couples free'd ; But och! he gaed and ne'er return'd: Tam Samson 's dead. In vain auld-age his body batters. In vain the gout his ancles fetters. In vain the burns cam down like waters. An acre braid ! Now ev'ry auld wife, greetin, clatters : ' Tam Samson 's dead ! ' Owre monie a weary ha^g he limpit. An' ay the tither shot he thumpit, Till coward Death behint him jumpit Wi' deadly feide ; Now he proclaims wi' tout o' trumpet : ' Tam Samson 's dead ! ' When at his heart he felt the dagger. He reel'd his wonted bottle-swagger. But yet he drew the mortal trigger Wi' weel-aim'd heed ; 'Lord, five!' he cry'd, an' owre did stagger — Tam Samson 's dead ! Ilk hoary hunter mourn'd a brither ; Ilk sportsman-youth bemoan'd a father ; Yon auld gray stane, amang the heather, Marks out his head ; Whare Burns has wrote, in rhyming blether : ' Tam Samson 's dead ! ' 78 A WINTER NIGHT. There low he lies in lasting rest ; Perhaps upon his mould'ring breast Some spitefu' moorfowl bigs her nest, To hatch an' breed : Alas! nae mair he '11 them molest : Tam Samson 's dead! When August winds the heather wave, And sportsmen wander by yon grave, Three volleys let his memory crave ^b' pouther an' lead, Till Echo answers frae her cave : ' Tam Samson 's dead! ' ' Heav'n rest his saul whare'er he be! ' Is th' wish o' monie mae than me : He had twa fajUts, or maybe three, Yet what remead? ^ Ae social, honest man want we : Tam Samson 's dead ! THE EPITAPH. Tam Samson's weel-worn clay here lies: Ye canting zealots, spare him! If honest worth in Heaven rise, Ye '11 mend or ye win near him. PER CONTRA. Go, Fame, an' canter like a filly Thro' a' the streets an neuks o' Killie ; Tell ev'ry social honest billie To cease his grievin ; For yet unskaith'd by Death's gleg gullie, Tam Samson's leevin! A WINTER NIGHT. Poornaked wretches, wheresoever you are. That bide the pelting of this pitvless storm f How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides. Your loop'dand window draggedness, defend you From seasons such as these ? — SHAKESPEARE. [" ' This poem," says my friend Thomas Carlyle, ' is worth several homihes on mercy, for it is the voice of Mercy herself.' " — Allan Cunningham.] When biting Boreas, fell and doure. Sharp shivers thro theleafle.ss bow'r; When Phoebus gies a short-liv'd glow'r, Far .south the lift, Dim-dark'ning thro' the flaky show'r Or whirling drift : II. Ae night the storm the steeples rociced ; Poor Labour sweet in sleep was locked ; While burns, wi' snawy wreaths up- choked. Wild-eddying swirl, Or, thro' the mining outlet bocked, Down headlong hurl : . III. List'ning the doors an' winnocks rattle, I thought me on the ourie cattle. Or silly sheep, wha bide this brattle O' winter war. And thro the drift, deep-lairing, sprattle Beneath a scaur. Ilk happing bird — wee, helpless thing ! — That in the merry months o' spring Delighted me to hear thee sing. What comes o' thee ? Whare wilt thou cow'r thy chittering wing. An' close thy e'e? A WINTER NIGHT. 79 Ev'n you, on murd'ring errands toil'd, Lone from your savage homes exil'd, The blood-stain'd roost and sheep- cote spoil'd My heart forgets, While pityless the tempest wild Sore on you beats! Now Phoebe, in her midnight reign, Dark-muffl'd, view'd the dreary plain ; Still crowding thoughts, n 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! Descend, ye chilly, smothering snows! Not all your rage, as now united, shows More hard unkindness unrelenting. Vengeful malice, unrepenting. Than heaven-illumin'd Man on brother Man bestows! See stern Oppression's iron grip, Or mad Ambition's gory hand. Sending, like blood-hounds from the slip, Woe, Want, and Murder o'er a land! Ev'n in the peaceful rural vale. Truth, weeping, tells the mournful tale : How pamper'd Luxury, Flatt'ry 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 glitt'ring show — A creature of another kind, Some coarser substance, unrefin'd — Plac'd for her lordly use, thus far, thus vile, below! Where, where is Love's fond, ten- der throe, With lordly Honor's lofty brow. The pow 'rs you proudly own ? Is there, beneath Love's noble name, Can harbour, dark, the selfish aim, To bless himself alone ? Mark Maiden-Innocence a prey To love-pretending snares : This boasted h onor turns away. Shunning soft Pity's rising sway. Regardless of the tears and unavail- ing pray'rs ! Perhaps this hour, in Misery's squalid nest, She strains your infant to her joy- less breast. And with a mother's fears shrinks at the rocking blast! 'O ye! who, sunk in beds of down, Feel not a want but what your- selves create. Think, for a moment, on his wretched fate. Whom friends and fortune quite disown ! lU-satisfy'd keen nature's clam'- rous call, Stretch'd on his straw, he lays him- self to sleep ; While through the ragged roof and chinky wall. Chill, o'er his slumbers piles the drifty heap! Think on the dungeon's grim confine, Where GuUt and poor Misfortune pine! Guilt, erring man, relenting view ! But shall thy legal rage pursue The wretch, already crushed low By cruel Fortune's undeserved blow ? So PRAYER : O THOU DREAD POWER. Affliction's sons are brothers in dis- tress ; A brother to relieve, how exquisite the bliss ! ' I heard nae mair, for Chanticleer Shook off the pouthery snaw, And hail'd the morning with a cheer, A cottage-rousing craw. But deep this truth impress'd my mind : Thro' all His works abroad, The heart benevolent and kind The most resembles God. STANZAS WRITTEN IN PROS- PECT OF DEATH. [These verses the poet, in his " Common- place Book," calls " Misgivings in the Hour of Despondency and Prospect of Death."] I. Why am I loth to leave this earthly scene ? Have I so found it full of pleasing charms ? Some drops of joy with draughts of ill between ; Some gleams of sunshine mid re- newing storms. Is it departing pangs my soul alarms? Or death's unlovely, dreary, dark abode ? For guilt, for guilt, ray terrors are in arms : I tremble to approach an angry God, And justly smart beneath his sin- avenging rod. II. Fain would I say : ' Forgive my foul offence,' Fain promise never more to dis- obey. But should my Author health again dispense. Again I might desert fair virtue's way; Again in folly's path might go astray ; Again exalt the brute and sink the man : Then how should I for heavenly mercy pray, Who act so counter heavenly mercy's plan? Who sin so oft have mourn'd yet to temptation ran ? O Thou great Governor of all be- low ! — 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 pow'r assist ev'n me Those headlong furious passions to confine. For all unfit I feel my powers to be To rule their torrent in th' allowed line : O, aid me with Thy help, Omnipo- tence Divine ! PRAYER: O THOU DREAD POWER. Lying at a reverend friend's house one night the author left the following verses in the room where he slept. [The " reverend friend" was Dr. Laurie, then minister of Loudoun, at whose house Burns first heard the spinnet played.] O Thou dread Power, who reign'st above, I know Thou wilt me hear. When for this scene of peace and love I make my prayer sincere. PRAYER UNDER THE PRESSURE OF "VaOLENT ANGUISH. Si The hoary Sire — the mortal stroke, Long, long be pleas'd to spare : To bless his little filial flock, And show what good men are. She, who her lovely offspring eyes With tender hopes and fears — O, bless her with a mother's joys. But spare a mother's tears! Their hope, their stay, their darling youth, In manhood's dawning blush. Bless him. Thou God of love and truth. Up to a parent's wish. The beauteous, seiaph sister-band — With earnest tears I pray — Thou know'st the snares on every hand. Guide Thou their steps alway. Vt'hen, soon or late, they reach that coast, O'er Life's rough ocean driven. May they rejoice, no wand'rer lost, A family in Heaven! PARAPHRASE OF THE FIRST PSALM. [This is of the Irvine period, when, as Burns wrote to his father, " My only pleas- urable enjovment is loolting backwards and forwards in a moral and religious way."] 1. The man, in life wherever plac'd. Hath happiness in store, Who walks not in the wicked's way Nor learns their guilty lore ; Nor from the seat of scornful pride Casts forth his eyes abroad. But with humility and awe Still walks before his God ! III. 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 giv'n them peace and rest. But hath decreed that wicked men Shall ne'er be truly blest. PRAYER UNDER THE PRESS- URE OF VIOLENT ANGUISH. [Of this poem Burns says : " There was a certain period of life that my spirit was brolte by repeated losses and disasters. In this wretched state I hung my harp on the willow-trees except in some lucid intervals, in one of which I composed the following."] O Thou Great Being! what Thou art Surpasses me to know ; Yet sure I am, that known to Thee Are all Thy works below. Thy creature here before Thee stands, All wretched and distrest ; Yet sure those ills that wring my soul Obey Thy high behest. 82 TO MISS LOGAN. Sure Thou, Almighty, canst not act From cruelty or wrath ! O, free my weary eyes from tears, Or close them fast in death ! IV. But, if I must afflicted be To suit some wise design, Then man my soul with firm resolves To bear and not repine ! THE NINETIETH PSALM VERSIFIED. [This piece is of the same period as the preceding.] O Thou, the first, the greatest friend Of all the human race ! Whose strong right hand has ever been Their stay and dwelling place ! Before the mountains heav'd their heads Beneath Thy forming hand. Before this ponderous globe itself Arose at Thy command : That Power, which rais'd and still upholds This universal frame. From countless, unbeginning time Was ever still the same. Those mighty periods of years. Which seem to us so vast. Appear no more before Thy sight Than yesterday that 's past. Thou giv'st the word : Thy creature, man. Is to existence brought ; Again Thou say'st : ' Ye sons of men, Return ye into nought ! ' Thou layest them, with all their cares, In everlasting sleep ; As with a flood Thou tak'st them off With overwhelming sweep. They flourish like the morning flower In beauty's pride array'd. But long ere night, cut down, it lies All withe'-'d and decay'd. TO MISS LOGAN. WITH BEATTIE'S poems FOR A NEW year's gift, JANUARY I, I787. [The sister of Major Logan, whom Burns had already celebrated.] Again the silent wheels of time Their annual round have driv'n, And you, tho' scarce in maiden prime, Are so much nearer Heav'n. No gifts have I from Indian coasts The infant year to hail ; I send you more than India boasts In Edwin's simple tale. Our sex with guile, and faithless love. Is charg'd — perhaps too true ; But may, dear maid, each lover prove An Edwin still to you. ADDRESS TO A HAGGIS. — ADDRESS TO EDINBURGH. 83 ADDRESS TO A HAGGIS. [" It has been stated that, being present at a party where a haggis was on the table, and being asked to say something appro- priate on the occasion. Burns pi-oduced the following stanza by way of grace. Being well received he was induced to expand it into his address 'To a Haggis,' retaining the verse in an altered form as a perora- tion." — Wallace Chambers. Ye Powers wha gie us a' that 's guid, Still bless auld Caledonia's brood Wi' great John Barleycorn's heart's bluid In stoups or luggies; And on our board the king o' food, A glorious haggis ! " It is usual to have this Scotch dish at the anniversary celebrations of the poet's birth, and a very savory viand it is, although unsafe to eat much of."] Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, Great chieftain o' the puddin-race! Aboon them a' ye tak your place, Painch, tripe, or thairm : Weel are ye wordy of a grace As lang 's ray arm. The groaning trencher there ye fill, Your hurdles like a distant hill, Your pin wad help to mend a mill In time o' need. While thro' your pores the dews distil Like amber bead. III. His knife see rustic Labour dight, An' cut ye up wi' ready slight. Trenching your gushing entrails bright. Like onie ditch ; And then, O what a glorious sight, Warm-reekin, rich! Then, horn for horn, they stretch an' strive : Dell tak the hindmost, on they drive. Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve Are bent like drums ; Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive, 'Bethankit!' hums. Is there that owre his French ragout^ Or olio that wad staw a sow. Ox fricassee wad mak her spew Wi' perfect sconner. Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view On sic a dinner ? Poor devil! see him owre his trash, As feckless as a wither'd rash, His spindle shank a guid whip-lash, His nieve a nit ; Thro' bluidy flood or field to dash, O how unfit! But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed, The trembling earth resounds his tread, Clap in his walie nieve a blade. He '11 make it whissle ; An' legs, an' arms, an' heads will sned Like taps o' thrissle. Ye Pow'rs wha mak mankind your care. And dish them out their bill o' fare, Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware. That jaups in luggies ; But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer, Gie her a Haggis ! ADDRESS TO EDINBURGH. [Bums enclosed this poem, with another piece unnamed, to Mr, William Chalmers, writer, Ayr, as early as 27th December, 178^ ADDRESS TO EDINBURGH. thus showing therapidity with which he had composed it.] Edina! Scotia's darling seat! All hail thy palaces and tow'rs, Where once, beneath a Monarch's feet, Sat Legislation's sov'reign pow'rs : From marking wildly-scatt'red flow'rs, As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd And singing, lone, the ling'ring hours, I shelter in thy bonor'd shade. Here Wea'th still swells the golden tide, As busy Trade his labours 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. III. Thy sons, Edina, social, kind, With open arms the stranger hail ; Their views enlarg'd, their lib'raJ mind. Above the narrow, rural vale ; Attentive still to Sorrow's wail, Or modest Merit's silent claim : And never may their sources fail! And never Envy blot their name! IV. Thy daughters bright thy walks adorn, Gay as the gilded summer sky, Sweet as the dewy, milk-white thorn, Dear as the raptur'd thrill of joy ! Fair Burnet strikes th' adoring eye, Heav'n's beauties on my fancy shine : I see the Sire of Love on high, And own His work indeed divine ! There, watching high the least alarms, Thy rough, rude fortress gleams afar ; Like some bold vet'ran, grey in arms, And mark'd with many a seamy scar; The pond'rous wall and massy bar, Grim-rising o'er the rugged rock, Have oft withstood assailing war. And oft repell'd th' invader's shock. With awe-struck thought and pitying tears. I view that noble, stately dome. Where Scotia's kings of other years, Fam'd heroes! had their royai home: Alas, how chang'd the times to comn! Their royal name low in the dust ! Their hapless race wild-wand'ring roam ! Tho' rigid Law cries out : "T was just.' VII. Wild beats my heart to trace yom steps. Whose ancestors, in days of yore, Thro' hostile ranks and ruin'd gaps Old Scotia's bloody lion bore : Ev'n I, who sing in rustic lore, Haply my sires have left their shed. And fac'd grim Danger's loudesj roar, Bold-following where your fathers led Edina ! Scotia's darling seat! All hail thy palaces and tow'rs ; Where once, beneath a Monarch's feet. Sat Legislation's sov'reign pow'rs From marking wildly-scatt'red flow'rs. As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd And singing, lone, the ling'ring hours, I shelter in thy honour'd shade. JOHN BARLEYCORN. 85 SONGS. JOHN BARLEYCORN. A Ballad. [Composed on the plan of an old song, of which David Laing has given an authen- tic version in his very curious volume of " Metrical Tales."] There was 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 show'rs began to fall ; John Barleycorn got up again. And sore surpris'd them all. IV. The sultry suns of Summer came. And he grew thick and strong : His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears, That no one should him wrong. . The sober Autumn enter'd mild, When he grew wan and pale ; His bending joints and drooping head Show'd he began to fail. His 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 ty'd him fast upon a cart; Like a rogue for forgerie. They laid him down upon his back. And cudgell'd him full sore. They hung him up before the storm, And turn"d him o'er and o'er. They filled up a darksome pit With water to the brim, They heavfed 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. XI. They wasted o'er a scorching flame The marrow of his bones ; But a miller us'd him worst of all. For he crush'd him between two stones. XII. And they hae taea his very heart's blood. And drank it round and round ; 86 A FRAGMENT: WHEN GUILFORD GOOD. And still the more and more they drank, Their joy did more abound. XIII. John Barleycorn was a hero bold, Of noble enterprise ; For if you do but taste his blood, 'T will make your courage rise. 'T will make a man forget his woe ; 'T will heighten all his joy : 'Twill make the widow's heart to sing, The' 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 Scotlknd ! A FRAGMENT: WHEN GUIL- FORD GOOD. Tune : Gillicrankie. [First published in the Edinburgh edi- tion of 1787, after consulting the Earl of Glencairn and Henry Erskine.] When Guilford good our pilot stood. An' did our hellim thraw, man ; Ae night, at tea, began a plea. Within America, man : Then up they gat the maskin-pat. And in the sea did jaw, man ; An' did nae less, in full Congress, Than quite refuse our law, man. Then thro' the lakes Montgomery takes, I wat he was na slaw, man ; Down Lowrie's Burn he took a turn. And Carleton did ca', man : But yet, whatreck, he at Quebec Montgomery-like did fa', man, Wi' sword in hand, before his band, Amang his en'mies a', man. Poor Tammy Gage within a cage Was kept at Boston-ha', man ; Till Willie Howe took o'er the knowe For Philadelphia, man ; Wi' sword an' gun he thought a sin Guid Christian bluid to draw, man ; But at New-York wi' knife an' fork Sir-Loin he hacked sma', man. Burgoyne gaed up, like spur an' whip, Till Eraser brave did fa', man ; Then lost his way, ae misty day. In Saratoga shaw, man. Cornwallis fought as lang 's he dought. An' did the buckskins claw, man ; But Clinton's glaive frae rust to save. He hung it to the wa', man. Then Montague, an' Guilford too, Began to fear a fa', man ; And Sackville doure, wha stood the stoure The German chief to thraw, man : For Paddy Burke, like onie Turk, Nae mercy had at a', man ; An' Charlie Fox threw by the box, An' lows'd his tinkler jaw, man. Then Rockingham took up the game. Till death did on him ca', man ; When Shelburne meek held up his cheek. Conform to gospel law, man : Saint Stephen's boys, wi' jarring noise. They did his measures thraw, man ; For North an' Fox united stocks. An' bore him to the wa', man. MY NANIE, O. 87 Then dubs an' hearts were Charlie's cartes He swept the stakes awa', man, Till the diamond's ace, of Indian race, Led him a sail 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! ' Behind the throne then Granville's gone, A secret word or twa, man ; While slee Dundas arous'd the class Be-north the Roman wa', man : An' Chatham's wraith, in heav'nly graith (Inspired bardies saw, man), Wi' kindling eyes, cry'd : ' 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 Suthron raise an' coost their claise Behind him in a raw, man : An' Caledon threw by the drone, An' did her whittle draw, man ; An' swoor fu' rude, thro' dirt an' bluid. To mak it guid in law, man. MY NANIE, O. [According to Gilbert Burns the heroine was Agnes Fleming. On the other hand, Mrs. Begg asserts that it was written in honor of Peggy Thomson of Kirkoswald.] Behind yon hills where Lugar flows 'Mang moors an' mosses many, O, The wintry sun the day has clos'd, And I '11 awa to Nanie, O. The westlin wind blaws loud an' shill, The night's baith mirk and rainy, O ; But I '11 get my plaid, an' out I '11 steal. An' owre the hill to Nanie, O. My Nanie 's charming, sweet, an' young; Nae artfu' wiles to win ye, O : May ill befa' the flattering tongue That wad beguile my Nanie, O ! Her face is fair, her heart is true ; As spotless as she 's bonie, O, The op'ning gowan, wat wi' dew, Nae purer is than Nanie, O. A country lad is my degree. An' few there be that ken me, O ; But what care I how few they be ? I'm welcome ay to Nanie, O. My riches a's my penny-fee. An' I maun guide it cannie, O ; But warl's gear ne'er troubles me, My thoughts are a' — my Nanie, O. Our auld guidman delights to view His sheep an' kye thrive bonie, O ; But I 'm as blythe that hauds his pleugh, Come weel, come woe, I care na by ; I '11 tak what Heav'n will send me, O : Nae ither care in life have I, But live, an' love my Nanie, O. 88 GREEN GROW THE RASHES, O. — COMPOSED IN SPRING. GREEN GROW THE RASHES, O. [This little masterpiece of wit and gayety and movement wys suggested either by the fragment *' Green grow the Rashes, O " in Herd's "Ancient and Modern Scottish Songs," or by the coarse old song itself.] Chorus. Green grow the rashes, O ; Green grow the rashes, O ; The sweetest hours that e'er I spend. Are spent among the lasses, O. There's nought but care on ev'ry han', In every hour that passes, O : What signifies the life o' man, An' 't were na for the lasses, O. The war'ly race may riches chase, An' riches still may fly them, O ; An' tho' at last they catch them fast. Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O. But gie me a cannie hour at e'en. My arms about my dearie, O, An' war'ly cares an' war'ly men May a' gae tapsalteerie, O! rv. For you sae douce, ye sneer at this ; Ye'renougb but senseless asses, O: The wisest man the warl' e'er saw, He dearly lov'd the lasses, O. Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears Her noblest work she classes, O : Her prentice han' she try'd on man, An' then she made the lasses, O. Chorus. Green grow the rashes, O ; Green grow the rashes, O ; The sweetest hours that e'er I spend, Are spent among the lasses, O. COMPOSED IN SPRING Tune: Johnny's Grey Breeks. [" Menie is the common abbreviation t>. Marianne. The chorus is part of a song composed by a gentleman in Edinbuigh, a particular friend of the author's." — R. B.] Again rejoicing Nature sees Her robe assume its vernal hues : Her leafy loclcs wave in the breeze. All freshly steep'd in morning dews. Chorus. And maun I still on Menie doat. And bear the scorn that 's in her e'e ? For it's jet, jet-black, an' it's like a hawic. An' it winna let a body be. In vain to me the cowslips blaw. In vain to me the vi'lets spring ; In vain to me in glen or shaw. The mavis and the lintwhite sing. ni. 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. rv. The wanton coot the water skims, Amang the reeds the ducklings cry, The stately swan majestic swims. And ev'ry thing is blest but i. THE GLOOMY NIGHT. — NO CHURCHMAN AM I. 89 The sheep-herd steeks his faulding slap, And o'er the moorlands whistles shill ; Wi' wild, unequal, wand'ring step, I meet him on the dewy hill. And when the lark, 'tvveen light and dark, Blythe waukens by the daisy's side, And mounts and sings on flittering wings, A woe-worn ghalst I hameward glide. Come winter, with thine angry howl, And raging, bend the naked tree ; Thy gloom will soothe my cheerless soul, When nature all is sad like me! Chorus. And maun I still on Menie 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. THE GLOOMY NIGHT IS GATHERING FAST. T0NE: Roslin Castle. [" I composed this song as I conveyed my chest so far on my road to Greenock, where I was to embark in a few days for Jamaica. I meant it as my farewell to my "native land."— R. B.l The gloomy night is gath'ring fast. Loud roars the wild inconstant blast ; Yon murky cloud is filled with rain, I see it driving o'er the plain ; The hunter now has left the moor. The scatt'red coveys meet secure ; While here I wander, prest with caraj Along the lonely banks of Ayr. II. The Autumn mourns her rip'ning com By early Winter's ravage torn ; Across her placid, azure sky, She sees the scowling tempest fly ; Chill runs my blood to hear it rave : I think upon the stormy wave, Where many a danger I must dare, Far from the bonie banks of Ayr. 'T is not the surging billows' roar, 'T is not that fatal, deadly shore ; Tho' death in ev'ry shape appear. The wretched have no more to fear : But round my heart the ties are bound, That heart transpierc'd with many a wound ; These bleed afresh, those ties I tear, To leave the bonie banks of Ayr. Farewell, old Coila's hills and dales, Her heathy moors and winding vales ; The scenes where wretched Fancy roves, Pursuing past unhappy loves ! Farewell my friends ! farewell my foes ! My peace with these, my love with those — The bursting tears my heart declare, Farewell, my bonie banks of Ayr. NO CHURCHMAN AM I. Tune : Prepare, my dear Brethren. [This is not a happy production, al- though, doubtless, it would pass very well among liis youthful companions at Tarbol- go NO CHURCHMAN AM L ton, when the table was in a roar, after a lodge meeting." — William Scoit Douglas.] No churchman am I for to rail and to write, No statesman nor soldier to plot or to fight, No sly man of business contriving a snare, For a big-belly'd bottle 's the whole of my care. II. The peer I don't envy, I give him his bow; I scorn not the peasant, tho' ever so low; But a club of good fellows, like those that are here, And a bottle like this, are my glory and care. , III. Here passes the squire on his brother — his horse. There centum per centum, the cit with his purse. But see you The Crown, how it waves in the air? There a big-belly'd bottle still eases my care. IV. The wife of my bosom, alas ! she did die; For sweet consolation to church I did fly; I found that old Solomon proved it fair. That a big-belly'd bottle 's a cure for all care. I once was persuaded a venture to make ; A letter inform'd me that all was to wreck ; But the pursy old landlord just wad- dled up stairs. With a glorious bottle that ended my cares. VI. 'Life's cares they are comforts' — a maxim laid down By the Bard, what d' ye call him ? that wore the black gown ; And faith I agree with th' old prig to a hair : For a big-belly'd bottle 's a heav'n of a care. A STANZA ADDED IN A MASON LODGE. Then fill up a bumper and make it o'erflow, And honours Masonic prepare for to throw : May ev'ry true Brother of the Com- pass and Square Have a big-belly'd bottle, when harass'd with care ! ODE, SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF MRS. OSWALD. 91 ADDED, EDINBURGH, 1793. WRITTEN IN FRIARS CARSE HERMITAGE, ON NITHSIDE. [This is the second version of a piece originally inscribed on a window pane of Friars Carse Hermitage, in Jnne, 1788.] Thou whom chance may hither lead Be thou clad in russet weed. Be thou deckt in silken stole, Grave these counsels on thy soul. Life is but a day at most, Sprung from night, — in darkness lost : Hope not sunshine ev'ry hour, Fear not clouds will always lour. As Youth and Love wth sprightly dance Beneath thy morning star advance, Pleasure with her siren air May delude the thoughtless pair : Let Prudence bless Enjoyment's cup, Then raptur'd sit and sip it up. As thy day grows warm and high, Life's meridian flaming nigh, Dost thou spurn the humble vale? Life's proud summits would'st thou scale? Check thy climbing step, elate, Evils lurk in felon wait : Dangers, eagle-pinioned, bold. Soar around each cliffy hold ; While cheerful Peace with linnet song Chants the lowly dells among. As the shades of ev'ning close, Beck'ning thee to long repose ; As life itself becomes disease. Seek the chimney-nook of ease : There ruminate with sober thought. On all thou 'st seen, and heard, and wrought ; And teach the sportive younkers round, Saws of experience, sage and sound : Say, man's true, genuine estimate, The grand criterion of his fate, Is not. Art thou high or low? Did thy fortune ebb or flow? Did many talents gild thy span? Or frugal Nature grudge thee one? Tell them, and press it on their mind. As thou thyself must shortly find, The smile or frown of awful Heav'n To Virtue or to Vice is giv'n ; Say, to be just, and kind, and wise — There solid self-enjoyment lies ; That foolish, selfish, faithless ways Lead to be wretched, vile, and base. Thus resign'd and quiet, creep To the bed of lasting sleep : Sleep, whence thou shall ne'er awake, Night, where dawn shall never break; TDl future life, future no more. To light and joy the good restore. To light and joy unknown before. Stranger, go! Heav'n be thy guide! Quod the beadsman of Nithside. ODE, SACRED TO THE MEM- ORY OF MRS. OSWALD OF AUCHENCRUIVE. [The subject of this ode was the widow of Richard Oswald, Esq., of Auchencruive.} Dweller in yon dungeon dark, Hangman of creatiouj mark! Who in widow-weeds appears. Laden with unhonoured years. Noosing with care a bursting purse, Baited with many a deadly curse ? STROPHE. View the wither'd beldam's face : Can thy keen inspection trace Aught of Humanity's sweet, melting grace ? Note that eye, 't is rheum o'erflows — 93 ELEGV ON CAPTAIN MATTHEW H'ENDERSON. 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 ever- lasting rest! ANTISTROPHE. Plunderer of Armies! lift thine eyes (A while forbear, ye torturing fiends), Seest thou whose step, unwilling, hither bends ? No fallen angel, hurl'd from upper skies ! 'T is thy trusty, quondam Mate, Doom'd to share thy fiery fate : She, tardy, hell-ward plies. EPODE. And are they of no more avail. Ten thousand glittering pounds a-year? In other worlds can Mammon fail. Omnipotent as he is here ? O bitter mockery of the pompous bier! While down the wretched vital part is driven, The cave-lodg'd beggar, with a con- science clear, Expires in rags, unknown, and goes to Heaven. ELEGY ON CAPTAIN MAT- THEW HENDERSON. A GENTLEMAN WHO HELD THE PAT- ENT FOR HIS HONOURS IMMEDI- ATELY FROM ALMIGHTY GOD! But now his radiant course is run^ For Matthew's course was bright : His soul was like the glorious sun A matchless. Heavenly light. [The name of this gentleman is found in the list of subscribers to the poet's Edin- burgh edition of April, 1787. In sending a copy of if to Dr. Moore, he says, " The elegy on Capt. Henderson is a tribute to the mem- ory of a man I loved much."] O Death! thou tyrant fell and bloody! The meikle Devil wi' a woodie Haurl thee hame to his black smiddie O'er hurcheon hides. And like stock-fish come o'er his studdie Wi' thy auld sides ! He's gane, he's gane! he's frae us torn, The ae best fellow e'er was born ! Thee, Matthew, Nature's sel shall mourn. By wood and wild. Where, haply. Pity strays forlorn, Frae man exil'd. Ye hills, near neebors o' the starns. That proudly cock your cresting cairns ! Ye cliffs, the haunts of sailing yearns. Where Echo slumbers ! Come join ye, Nature's sturdiest bairns, My wailing numbers ! Mourn, ilka grove the cushat kens ! Ye hazly shaws and briery dens ! Ye burnies, wimplin down your glens Wi' toddlin din, Or foaming, Strang, wi' hasty stens, Frae lin to lin ! Mourn, little harebells o'er the lea ; Ye stately foxgloves, fair to see ; Ye woodbines, hanging bonilie In scented bowers ; ELEGY ON CAPTAIN MATTHEW HENDERSON. 93 Ve roses on your thorny tree, The first o' flowers ! VI. At dawn, when every grassy blade Droops with a diamond at his head ; At ev'n, when beans their fragrance shed r th' rustling gale ; Ye maukins, whiddin through the glade ; Come join my wail ! Mourn, ye wee songsters o' the wood ; Ye grouse that crap the heather bud ; Ye curlews, calling thro' a clud ; Ye whistling plover ; And mourn, ye whirring paitrick brood : He 's gane for ever ! VIII. Mourn, sooty coots, and speckled teals ; Ye fisher herons, watching eels ; Ye duck and drake, wi' airy wheels Circling the lake ; Ye bitterns, till the quagmire reels, Rair for his sake ! Mourn, clam'ring craiks, at close o' day, 'Mang fields o' flow'ring clover gay ! And when you wing your annual way Frae our cauld sharp, Tell thae far warlds wha lies in clay, Wham we deplore. X. Ye houlets, frae your ivy bower In some auld tree, or eldritch tower. What time the moon, wi' silent glowr. Sets up her horn. Wail thro' the dreary midnight hour Till waukrife morn ! O rivers, forests, hills, and plains ! Oft have ye heard my canty strains : But now, what else for me remains But tales of woe ? And frae my een the drapping rains Maun ever flow. Mourn, Spring, thou darling of the year ! Ilk cowslip cup shall kep a tear : Thou, Simmer, while each corny spear Shoots up its head, Thy gay, green, flowery tresses shear For him that 's dead ! Thou, Autumn, wi' thy yellow hair, In grief thy sallow mantle tear ! Thou, Winter, hurling thro' the air The roaring blast. Wide o'er the naked world declare The worth we 've lost ! xrv. Mourn him, thou Sun, great source of light ! Mourn, Empress of the silent night ! And you, ye twinkling starnies bright, My Matthew mourn ! For through your orbs he 's taen his flight. Ne'er to return. O Henderson ! the man ! the brother ! And art thou gone, and gone for ever? And hast thou "^rost that unknown river. Life's dreary bound? Like thee, where shall I find another. The world around? 94 LAMENT OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS. Go to your sculptur'd tombs, ye Great, In a' the tinsel trash o' state ! But by thy honest turf I 'U wait. Thou man of worth ! And weep the ae best fellow's fate E'er lay in earth I THE EPITAPH. Stop, passenger ! my story 's brief, And truth I shall relate, man : I tell nae common tale o' grief. For Matthew was a great man. II. 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. III. If thou a noble sodger art, That passest by this grave, man ; There moulders here a gallant heart, For Matthew was a brave man. , IV. If thou on men, their works and ways. Canst throw uncommon light, man ; H'ire lies wha weal 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. VII. 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. VIII. If onie whiggish, whingin sot, To blame poor Matthew dare, man ; May dool and sorrow be his lot ! For Matthew was a rare man. LAMENT OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS ON THE APPROACH OF SPRING. [" The poets have ever sided with the victim of Elizabeth, of John Knox, and of her own brother. Burns had been reading the ' Percy Reliques," which accounts for the form of the piece." — Andrew Lang.] I. Now Nature hangs her mantle green. On every blooming tree, And spreads her sheets o' daisies white Out o'er the grassy lea ; Now Phcfibus cheers the crystal streams. And glads the azure skies : But nought can glad the weary wight That fast in durance lies. 11. Now laverocks wake the merry mom Aloft on dewy wing ; The merle, in his noontide bow'r, Makes woodland echoes ring ; The mavis wild wi' monie a note • Sings drowsy day to rest : In love and freedom they rejoice, Wi' care nor thrall opprest. TO ROBERT GRAHAM OF FINTRY, ESQ. 95 III. 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 Scotlknd May rove their sweets amang-; But I, the Queen of a' Scotlknd Maun lie in prison Strang. IV. I was the Queen o' bonie France, Where happy I hae bten ; Fu' lightly rase I in the morn. As blythe lay down at e'en : And I 'm the sov'reign of Scotlknd, And monie a traitor there ; Yet here I lie in foreign bands And never-ending care. But as for thee, thou false womkn, My sister and my fae, Grim vengeance yet shall whet a sword That thro' thy soul shall gae ! The weeping blood in woman's breast Was never known to thee ; Nor th' balm that draps on wounds of woe Frae woman's pitying e'e. My son ! my son ! may kinder stars Upon thy fortune shine ; And may those pleasures gild thy reign, That ne'er wad blink on mine! God keep thee frae thy mother's faes. Or turn their hearts to thee ; And where thou meet'st thy mother's ftiend, Remember him for me ! O! soon, to me, may summer suns Nae mair light up the morn! Nae mair to me the autumn winds Wave o'er the yellow corn ! And, in the narrow house of death. Let winter round me rave ; And the next flow'rs that deck the spring Bloom on my peaceful grave. TO ROBERT GRAHAM OF FINTRY, ESQ. [Robert Graham of Fintry was one of the commissioners of excise. " Of all Bums's friends," writes Wilson, " he was the most efficient." When Burns was accused of disloyalty he defended him boldly and well.] Late crippl'd of an arm, and now a leg; About to beg a pass for leave to beg; Dull, listless, teas'd, dejected, and de- prest (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 rhym- ing trade ? Thou, Nature ! partial Nature ! I arraign ; Of thy caprice maternal I complain : The lion and the buU thy care have found, One shakes the forests, and one spurns the ground; Thou giv'st the ass his hide, the snail his shell ; Th' envenom'd wasp, victorious, guards his cell; Thy minions kings defend, control, devour. In all th' omnipotence of rule and power. 96 TO ROBERT GRAHAM OP FINTRY, ESQ. Foxes and statesmen subtile wiles ensure ; The cit and polecat stink, and are secure ; Toads with their poison, doctors with their drug. The priest and hedgehog in their robes, are snug ; Ev'n silly woman has her warlike arts. Her tongue and eyes — her dreaded spear and darts. But O thou bitter step-mother and hard, To thy poor, fenceless, naked child — the Bard ! A thing unteachable in world's skill, And half an idiot too, more helpless still : No heels to bear him from the op'n- ing dun, No claws to dig, his hated sight to shun ; No horns, but those by luckless Hy- men worn. And those, alas ! not, Amalthea's horn ; No nerves olfact'ry. Mammon's trusty cur, Clad in rich Dulness' comfortable fur; In naked feeling, and in aching pride, He bears th' unbroken blast from ev'ry side: Vampyre booksellers drain him to the heart. And scorpion critics cureless venom dart. Critics — appall'd, I venture on the name ; Those cut-throat bandits in the paths of fame ; Bloody dissectors, worse than ten Monroes : He hacks to teach, they mangle to expose. His heart by causeless wanton mal- ice wrung. By blockheads' daring into madness stung; His well-won bays, than life itself more dear. By miscreants torn, who ne'er cne sprig must wear ; Foil'd, bleeding, tortur'd in th' un- equal strife. The hapless Poet flounders on thro' life: Till, fled each hope that once his bosom fir'd. And fled each Muse that glorious once inspir'd. Low sunk in squalid, unprotected age, Dead even resentment for his injur'd page, He heeds or feels no more the ruth- less critic's rage ! So, by some hedge, the gen'rous steed deceas'd. For half-starv'd snarling curs a dainty feast, By toil and famine wore to skin and bone. Lies, senseless of each tugging bitch's son. O Dulness ! portion of the truly blest ! Calm shelter'd haven of eternal rest ! Thy sons ne'er madden in the fierce extremes Of Fortune's polar frost, or torrid beams. If mantling high she fills the golden cup, With sober, selfish ease they sip it up: Conscious the bounteous meed they well deserve, They only wonder 'some folks' do not starve. The grave, sage hern thus easy picks his frog. LAMENT FOR JAMES, EARL OF GLENCAIRN. 9^ And thinks the mallard a sad, worth- less dog. When Disappointment snaps the clue of hope, And thro' disastrous night they dark- ling grope, With deaf endurance sluggishly they bear, And just conclude ' that fools are for- tune'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 heav'n, or vaulted hell. I dread thee, Fate, relentless and severe. With all a poet's, husband's, father's fear! Already one strong hold of hope is lost : Glencairn, the truly noble, lies in dust (Fled, like the sun eclips'd as noon appears. And left us darkling in a world of tears). O, hear my ardent, grateful, selfish pray'r ! Fintry, my other stay, long bless and spare ! Thro' a long life his hopes and wishes crown. And bright in cloudless skies his sun go down ! May bliss domestic smooth his pri- vate path ; Give energy to life; and soothe his latest breath, With many a filial tear circling the bed of death ! LAMENT FOR JAMES, EARL OF GLENCAIRN. [This nobleman, for whom the poet had a deep respect, died at Falmouth, in bis forty-second year.j The wind blew hollow frae the hills ; By fits the sun's departing beam Look'd on the fading yellow woods, That wav'd o'er Lugar's winding stream. Beneath a craigy steep a Bard, Laden with years and meikle pain, In loud lament bewail'd his lord, Whom Death had all untimely taen. He lean'd him to an ancient aik. Whose trunk was mould'ring down with years ; His locks were bleachfed white with time. His hoary cheek was wet wi' tears ; And as he touch'd his trembling harp, And as he tun'd his doleful sang. The winds, lamenting thro' their caves, To echo bore the notes alang : — ' Ye scatter'd birds that faintly sing, The reliques of the vernal quire! Ye woods that shed on a' the winds The honours of the agfed year ! A few short months, and, glad and gay, Again ye '11 charm the ear and e'e • But nocht in all revolving time Can gladness bring again to me. ' I am a bending aged tree. That long has stood the wind and rain; But now has come a cruel blast, And my last hold of earth is gane; 5< LINES TO SIR JOHN WHITEFOORD, BART. 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 monie changefu' years. On earth I am a stranger grown : I wander in the ways of men. Alike unknowing and unknown : Unheard, unpitied, unreliev'd, I bear alane my lade o' care ; For silent, low, on beds of dust, Lie a' that would my sorrows share. VI. ' And last (the sum of a' my griefs !) My noble master lies in clay ; The flow'r amang our barons bold, His country's pride, his country's stay: In weary being now I pine, For a' the life of life is dead. And hope has left my agfed ken, On forward wing for ever fled. VII. 'Awake thy last sad voice, my harp ! The voice of woe and wild despair ! Awake, resound thy latest lay, Then sleep in silence evermair ! And thou, my last, best, only friend, That fiUest an untimely tomb, Accept this tribute from the Bard Thou brought from Fortune's mirk- est gloom VIII. ' In Poverty's low barren vale, Thick mists obscure involv'd me round ; Though oft I turn'd the wistful eye, Nae ray of fame was to be found ; Thou found'st me, like the morning sun That melts the fogs in limpid air : The friendless Bard and rustic song Became alike thy fostering care. ' O, why has Worth so short a date. While villains ripen grey with time! Must thou, the noble, gen'rous, great, Fall in bold manhood's hardy prime ? Why did I live to see that day, A day to me so full of woe? O, had I met the mortal shaft Which laid my benefactor low ! * The bridegroom may forget the bride Was made his wedded wife yes- treen ; The monarch may forget the crown That on his head an hour has been ; The mother may forget the child That smiles sae sweetly on her knee ; But I '11 remember thee, Glencairn, And a' that thou hast done for me !' LINES TO SIR JOHN WHITE- FOORD, Bart. SENT WITH THE FOREGOING POEM. [Sir John Whitefoord was, like Glencairn, the warm friend of Burns.] Thou, who thy honour as thy God rever'st, Who, save thy mind's reproach, nought earthly fear'st, To thee this votive off'ring I impart, The tearful tribute of a broken heart. The Friend thou valued'st, I the Patron lov'd ; His worth, his honour, all the world approv'd : We '11 mourn till we too go as he has gone. And tread the shadowy path to tha* dark world unknown. TAM O' SHANTER. 99 TAM O' SHANTER. A TALE. O/Brownyis and ofBogillufiill is this Buke. Gawin Douglas. [" This immortal poem was composed in 1789-90. It is much to be regretted that Burns, with such a gift of narrative, did not continue to write tales which would have won for him the place of a Scott, and, in humor, not an inferior Chaucer." — AN- DREW Lang. See Notes.] When chapman billies leave the street, And drouthy neebors neeboi-s meet ; As market-days are wearing late, An' folk begin to tak the gate ; While we sit bousing at the nappy, An' getting fou and unco happy, We think na on the lang Scots miles. The mosses, waters, slaps, and styles. That lie between us and our hame, Whare sits our sulky, sullen dame. Gathering her brows like gathering storm, Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter, As he frae Ayr ae night did canter : (Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town sur- passes. For honest men and bonie lasses.) O Tam, had'st thou but been sae wise. As taen thy ain wife Kate's advice ! She tauld thee weel thou was a skel- lum, A blethering, blustering, drunken blel- lum ; That frae November till October, Ae market-day thou was nae sober ; That ilka melder wi' the miller. Thou sat as lang as thou had siller; That ev'ry naig was ca'd a shoe on. The smith and thee gat roaring fou on : That at the Lord's house, even 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 AUoway's auld, haunted kirk. Ah ! gentle dames, it gars me greet, To think how monie counsels sweet. How monie lengthen'd, sage advices The husband frae the wife despises ! But to our tale : — Ae market- night, Tam- had got planted unco right, Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, Wi' reaming swats, that drank di- vinely ; And at his elbow, Souter Johnie,_ His ancient, trusty, drouthy cronie : Tam lo'ed him like a very brither ; They had been fou for weeks the- gither. The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter ; And ay the ale was growing better : The landlady and Tam grew gracious Wi' secret favours, sweet and precious : The Souter tauld his queerest stories ; The landlord's laugh was ready chorus : The storm without might rair and rustle, Tam did na mind the storm a whistle Care, mad to see a man sae happy, ^ E'en drown'd himsel amang the nappy. As bees ilee 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! ,' . ^r* But pleasures are like poppies spread : / You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed; Or like the snow falls in tlie river, j TAM O' SHANTER. A moment white — then melts for ever; 3 Or like the borealis race, That flit ere yoa 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 Tammaun ride : That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane, That dreary hour Tam 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 't wad blawn its last; The rattling showers rose on the blast ; The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd ; Loud, deep, and lang the thunder bellow'd : That night, a child might under- stand. The Deil had business on his hand. Weel mounted on his gray mare Meg, A better never lifted leg, Tarn skelpit on thro' dub and mire, Despising wind, and rain, and fire ; Whiles holding fast his guid blue bonnet, Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet. Whiles glow'ring round wi' prudent cares, Lest bogles catch him unawares : Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh, Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry. By this time he was cross the ford, Whare in the snaw the chapman smoor'd ; And past the birks and meikle stane, Whare drunken Charlie brak 's neck- bane; And thro' the whins, and by the cairn, Whare hunters fand the murder'd bairn ; And near the thorn, aboon the well, Whare Mungo's mither hang'd hersel. Before him Doon pours all his floods ; The doubling storm roars thro' the woods ; The lightnings flash from pole to pole; Near and more near the thunders roll: When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees, Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze. Thro' ilka bore the beams were glanc- ing; And loud resounded mirth and danc- ing. Inspiring bold John Barleycorn, What dangers thou canst make us scorn ! Wi' tippenny, we fear nae evil ; Wi' usquabae, we '11 face the Devil ! The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle. Fair play, he car'd na deils a boddle. But Maggie stood, right sair aston- ish'd. Till, by the heel and hand admon- ish'd. She ventur'd forward on the light ; And, vow ! Tam saw an unco sight ! Warlocks and witches in a dance : Nae cotillion, brent new frae France. But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels. Put life and mettle in their heels. A winnock-bunker in the east. There sat Auld Nick, in shape o' beast ; A tousie tylte, 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, TAM O' SHANTER. That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses ; And, by some devilish cantraip sleight, Each in its cauld hand held a light : By which heroic Tam was able To note upon the haly table, A murderer's banes, in gibbet-aims; Twa span-lang, wee, unchristen'd bairns ; A thief new-cutted frae a rape — Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape ; Five tomahawks wi' bluid red-rusted ; Five scymitars wi' murder crusted ; A garter which a babe had strangled ; A knife a father's throat had man- gled— Whom his ain son o' life bereft — ■ The grey-hairs yet stack to the heft ; Wi' mair of horrible and awefu'. Which even to name wad be unlawfii'. As Tammie glowr'd, amaz'd, and curious, The mirth and fun grew fast and furious ; The piper loud and louder blew, The dancers quick and quicker flew, They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they cleekit. Till ilka carlin swat and reekit. And coost her duddies to the wark, And linket at it in her sark ! Now Tam, O Tam ! had thae been queans, A' plump and strapping in their teens! Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flan- nen, 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 off my hurdles For ae blink o' the bonie burdies ! But wither'd beldams, auld and droll, Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal. Louping and ilinging on a crummoclq I wonder did na turn thy stomach ! But Tam kend what was what fu' brawlie : There was ae winsome wench and wawlie, That night enlisted in the core, Lang after kend on Carrick shore (For monie a beast to dead she shot, An' perish'd monie a bonie boat. And shook baith meikle corn and bear, And kept the country-side in fear). Her cutty sark, o' Paisley hum, That while a lassie she had worn, In longitude tho' sorely scanty. It was her best, and she was vauntie. . . . Ah! little kend thy reverend grannie, That sark she coft for her wee Nan- nie, Wi' twa pund Scots ('t was a' her riches). Wad ever grac'd a dance of witches ! But here my Muse her wing maun cour, Sic flights are far beyond her power : To sing how Nannie lap and flang (A souple jad she was and Strang), And how Tam stood like ane be- witch'd. And thought his very een enrich'd ; Even Satan glowr'd, and fldg'd 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 ! ' 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 plundering herds assail theil byke; As open pussie's mortal foes, ON SEEING A WOUNDED HARE LIMP BY ME. When, pop! she starts before their nose; As eager runs the market-crowd, When ' Catch the thief ! ' resounds aloud ; So Maggie runs, the witches follow, Wi' monie an eldritch skriech and hollo. Ah, Tam! Ah, Tam ! thou '11 get . thy fairin! ^ Vtt hell they '11 roast thee like a herrin! In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin ! Kate soon will be a woefu' woman ! Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, And win the key-stane of the brig ; There, at them thou thy tail may toss, A running stream they dare na cross ! But ere the key-stane she could make, The fient a tail she had to shake ; For Nannie, far before the rest. Hard upon noble Maggie prest, And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle ; But little wist she Maggie's mettle! Ae spring brought off her master hale. But left behind her ain grey tail : The carlin claught her by the rump. And left poor Maggie scarce a stump. Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read, Ilk man, and mother's son, take heed : Whene'er to drink you are inclin'd. Or cutty sarks run in your mind. Think I ye may buy the joys o'er dear : Remember Tam o' Shanter's mare. ON SEEING A WOUNDED HARE LIMP BY ME WHICH A FELLOW HAD JUST SHOT AT. * [O* this poem Burns says, April 21, 1789 : "Two mornings ago, as I was at a very early hour sowing in the fields, I heard a shot, and presently a poor little hare limped by nie apparu'.itiy very nvich hurt. You will easily guess this set my humanity in tears and my indignation in arms."] Inhuman man! curse on thy barb'rous art, And blasted be thy murder-aiming eye; May never pity sooth thee with a sigh. Nor never pleasure glad thy cruel heart! 11. Go live, poor wanderer of the wood and field, The bitter little that of life remains! No more the thickening brakes and verdant plains To thee shall home, or food, or pastime yield. III. Seek, mangled wretch, some place of wonted rest. No more of rest, but now thy dying bed! The sheltering rushes whistling o'er thy head. The cold earth with thy bloody bosom pi est. Perhaps a mother's anguish adds its woe; The playful pair crowd fondly by thy side : Ah, helpless nurslings, who will now provide That life a mother only can bestow ? Oft as by winding Nith I, musing, wait The sober eve, or hail the cheerful dawn, I '11 miss thee sporting o'er the dewy lawn. And curse the ruffian's aim, and mourn thy hapless fate. ON THE LATE CAPTAIN GROSE'S PEREGRINATIONS. 103 ADDRESS TO THE SHADE OF THOMSON, ON CROWNING HIS BUST AT EDNAM, ROXBURGHSHIRE, WITH A WREATH OF BAYS. [An imitation ot Collins. The poem was written for Lord Buchan, on the occasion oi crowning the bust ofThomson with a wreath of 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 : 11. While Summer with a matron grace. Retreats to Dryburgh's cooling shade. Yet oft, delighted, stops to trace The progress of the spikey blade : III. While Autumn, benefactor kind, By Tweed erects his aged head, And sees, with self-approving mind. Each creature on his bounty fed : IV. 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 : V. So long, sweet Poet of the year! Shall bloom that wreath thou well has won ; While Scotia, with exulting tear. Proclaims that Thomson was her ON THE LATE CAPTAIN GROSE'S PEREGRINATIONS THRO' SCOTLAND, COLLECTING THE ANTTQUTTIES OF THAT KINGDOM. [Captain Grose was the son of Francis Grose, a Swiss, who had settled in England. He was bom about 1731, and was educated as an artist. Cunningham says this " fine, fat, fodgel wight" was a clever man, a slcil- ful antiquary, and fot\d of wit and wine. Burns first met him at the social board ol Glenriddell.] Hear, Land o' Cakes, and brither Scots Frae iMaidenkirk to Johnie Groat's, If there 's a hole in a' your coats, I rede you tent it : A chield's amang you takin notes. And faith he '11 prent it : If in your bounds ye chance to light Upon a fine, fat, fodgel wight, O' stature short but genius bright, That 's he, mark weel : And wow! he has an unco sleight O' cauk and keel. By some auld, houlet-haunted biggin. Or kirk deserted by its riggin. It 's ten to ane ye 'II find him snug in Some eldritch part, Wi' deils, they say, Lord safe 's! col- leaguin At some black art. IV. Ilk ghaist that haunts auld ha' or chamer. Ye gipsy-gang that deal in glamrmr. And you, deep-read in hell's black grammar, Warlocks and witches ; 104 TO MISS CRUICKSHANK. Ye '11 quake at his conj6ring hammer, Ye midnight bitches! It 's tauld he was a sodger bred, And ane wad rather fa'n than fled ; But now he 's quat the spurtle-blade And dog-skin wallet. And taen the — Antiquarian trade, I think they call it. He has a fouth o' auld nick-nackets : Rusty aim 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 Tubalcain's fire-shool and fen- der; That which distinguished the gender O' Balaam's ass ; A broomstick o' the witch of Endor, Weel shod wi' brass. VIII. Forbye, he '11 shape you aff fu' gleg The cut of Adam's philibeg ; The knife that nicket Abel's craig He '11 prove you fully. It was a faulding jocteleg. Or lang-kail guUie. IX. 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 ! shine thou a wee, And then ye '11 see him ! Now, by the Pow'rs o' verse and prose ! Thou art a dainty chield, O Grose ! — Whae'er o' thee shall ill -suppose, They sair misca' thee ; I 'd take the rascal bv the nose, Wad say, ' Shame fa' thee.' TO MISS CRUICKSHANK. A VERY YOUNG LADY. Written on the Blank Leaf of a Book, fre- sented to ker by the Author, [Miss Jane Cruickshank was a daughter of Mr. William Cruickshank, a master of the High School, Edinburgh, and was then about twelve years old.] Beauteous Rosebud, young and gay, Blooming on thy early May, Never may'st thou, lovely flower, Chilly shrink in sleety shower ! Never Boreas' hoary path. Never Eurus' pois'nous breath, Never baleful stellar lights. Taint thee with untimely blights ! Never, never reptile thief Riot on thy virgin leaf! Nor even Sol too fiercely view Thy bosom blushing still with dew! May'st thou long, sweet crimson gem, Richly deck thy native stem ; Till some ev'ning, sober, calm, Dropping dews and breathing balm ; While all around the woodland rings, And ev'ry bird thy requiem sings. Thou, amid the dirgeful sound. Shed thy dying honours round. And resign to parent Earth The loveliest form she e'er gave birth. ANNA, THY CHARMS. — HUMBLE PETITION OF BRUAR WATER. 105 SONG: ANNA, THY CHARMS. [This song referred to a sweetheart of Alexander Cunningham, and was a " vica- rious effusion."] Anna, thy charms my bosom fire, And waste my soul with care ; But ah ! how bootless to admire When fated to despair ! Yet in thy presence, lovely Fair, To hope may be forgiven : For sure 't were impious to despair So much in sight of Heaven. ON READING IN A NEWSPA- PER THE DEATH OF JOHN M'LEOD, ESQ., brother to a young lady, a particular friend of the author's. [Mr. M'Leod was of the Raasay family. He died July 20, 1787.] Sad thy tale, thou idle page, And rueful thy alarms : Death tears the brother of her love From Isabella's arms. Sweetly deckt with pearly dew The morning rose may blow ; But cold successive noontide blasts May lay its beauties low. III. Fair on Isabella's morn The sun propitious smil'd ; But, long ere noon, succeeding clouds Succeeding hopes beguil'd. IV. Fate oft tears the bosom-chords That Nature finest strung : So Isabella's heart was form'd. And so that heart was wrung. Dread Omnipotence alone Can heal the wound he gave — Can point the brimful, grief-worn eyes To scenes beyond the grave. Virtue's blossoms there shall blow, And fear no withering blast ; There Isabella's spotless worth Shall happy be at last. THE HUMBLE PETITION OF BRUAR WATER to the noble duke of athole. [" Bruar Falls, in Athole, are exceedingly picturesque and beautiful, but their effect is much impaired by the want of trees and shrubs." — R. B.] My lord, I know, your noble ear Woe ne'er assails in vain ; Embplden'd thus, I beg you '11 hear Your humble slave complain. How saucy Phoebus' scorching beams, In flaming summer-pride. Dry-withering, waste my foamy streams. And drink my crystal tide. The lightly-jumping, glowrin trouts. That thro' my waters play. If, in their random, wanton spouts. They near the margin stray ; If, hapless chance! they linger lang, I 'm scorching up so shallow, They're left the whitening stanes amang In gasping death to wallow. io6 THE HUMBLE PETITION OF BRUAR WATER. Last day I grat wi' spite and teen, As Poet Burns came by, That, to a Bard, I should be seen Wi' half my channel tlry ; A panegyric rhyme, I ween, Ev'n as I was, he shor'd me ; But had I in my glory been, He, kneeling, wad ador'd me. Here, foaming down the skelvy rocks, In twisting strength I rin ; There high my boiling torrent smokes, Wild-roaring o'er a linn : Enjoying large each spring and well, As Nature gave them me, I am, altho' I say 't mysel, Worth gaun a mile to see. Would, then, my noble master please To grant my highest wishes. He '11 shade my banks wi' tow'ring trees And bonie spreading bushes. Delighted doubly then, my lord, You '11 wander on my banks, And listen monie a grateful bird Return you tuneful thanks. VI. 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 clear. The mavis mild and mellow, The robin, pensive Autumn cheer In all her locks of yellow. VII. This, too, a covert shall ensure To shield them from the storm ; And coward maukin sleep secure, Low in her grassy form : Here shall the shepherd make his seat To weave his crown of flow'rs ; Or find a shelt'ring, safe retreat From prone-descending show'rs. VIII. And here, by sweet, endearing stealth, Shall meet the loving pair. Despising worlds with aU their wealth, As empty idle care : The flow'rs shall vie, in all their charms. The hour of heav'n to grace ; And birks extend their fragrant arms To screen the dear embrace. IX. Here haply too, at vernal dawn, Some musing Bard may stray, And eye the smoking, dewy lawn And misty mountain grey ; Or, by the reaper's nightly beam. Mild-chequering thro' the trees, Rave to my darkly dashing stream, Hoarse-sweUing on the breeze. Let lofty firs and ashes cool My lowly banks a'erspread, And view, deep-bending in the pool, Their shadows' wat'ry bed : Let fragrant birks, in woodbines drest. My craggy clifis adorn. And, for the little songster's nest, The close embow'ring thorn ! XI. So may, old Scotia's darling hope, Your little angel band Spring, like their fathers, up to prop Their honour'd native land ! So may, thro' Albion's farthest ken, To social-flowing glasses, The grace be: 'Athole's honest men And Athole's bonie lasses ! ' ON SCARING SOME WATER-FOWL.— ADMIRING NATURE, lo'j ON SCARING SOME WATER- FOWL IN LOCH TURIT, A WILD SCENE AMONG THE HILLS OF OUGHTERTYRE. [" This was the production of a solitary forenoon's wallc from Oughtertyre House. I lived there, the guest of Sir William Murray, for two or three weelcs [ October, 1787], and was much flattered by my hospi- table reception." — R. B.] Why, ye tepants of the lake, For me your wat'ry haunt forsake? Tell me, fellow creatures, why At my presence thus you fly ? Why disturb your social joys, Parent, filial, kindred ties ? — Common friend to you and me, Nature's gifts to all are free : Peaceful keep your dimpling wave, Busy feed, or wanton lave ; Or, beneath the sheltering rock. Bide the surging billow's shock. 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 giv'n A ray direct from pitying Heav'n, Glories in his heart humane — And creatures for his pleasure slain! In these savage, liquid plains. Only known to wand'ring swains. Where the mossy riv'let strays Far 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 p And the foe you cannot brave, Scorn at least to be his slave. VERSES WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL OVER THE CHIMNEY-PIECE, IN THE PARLOUR OF THE INN AT KEN- MORE, TAYMOUTH. [Burns visited Taymouth Aug. 29, 1787. In regard to the poem, he says : " 1 wrote this with a pencil over the chimney-piece in the parlor of the inn at Kenmore, at the outlet of Loch Tay."] Admiring Nature in her wildest grace, These northern scenes with weary feet I trace ; O'er many a winding dale and painful steep, Th' abodes of covey'd grouse and timid sheep. My savage journey, curious, I pursue, Till fam'd Breadalbane opens to my view. The meeting cliffs each deep-sunk glen divides : The woods, wild-scatter'd, clothe their ample sides ; Th' outstretching lake, imbosomed 'mong the hills, The eye with wonder and amazement fills: The Tay meand'ring sweet in infant pride. The palace rising on his verdant side, The lawns wood-fring'd in Nature's native taste. The hillocks dropt in Nature's care- less haste, The arches striding o'er the new-born stream. io8 ON THE BIRTH OF A POSTHUMOUS CHILD. The village glittering in the noontide beam — Poetic ardors in my bosom swell, Lone wand'ring by the hermit's mossy cell; The sweeping theatre of hanging woods, Th' incessant roar of headlong tum- bling floods — Here Poesy might wake her heav'n- taught lyre. And look through Nature with crea- tive fire ; Here, to the wrongs of Fate half reconcil'd, Misfortune's lighten'd steps might wander wild; And Disappointment, in these lonely bounds. Find balm to soothe her bitter rank- ling wounds ; Here heart-struck Grief might heav'n- ward stretch her scan, And injur'd Worth forget and pardon LINES ON THE FALL OF FYERS, NEAR LOCH NESS. WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL ON THE SPOT. [" I composed these lines standing on the brink of the hideous caldron below the waterfall."— (R. B.) He visited the Fall of Fyers on Sept. 5, 1787.] Among the heathy hills and ragged woods The roaring Fyers pours his mossy floods ; Till full he dashes on the rocky mounds, Where, thro' a shapeless breach, his stream resounds. As high in air the bursting torrents flow. As deep recoiling surges foam below. Prone down the rock the whitening sheet descends, And viewless Echo's ear, astonish'd, rends. Dim-seen through rising mists and ceaseless show'rs. The hoary cavern, wide-surrounding, lours : Still thro' the gap the struggling river toils, And still, below, the horrid caldron boils — ON THE BIRTH OF A POST- HUMOUS CHILD, BORN IN PECULIAR CIRCUMSTANCES OF FAMILY DISTRESS. [Composed in November, 1790, on re- ceiving a letter from Mrs. Dunlop announc- ing that her daughter, Mrs. Henri, whose husband had died about five months pre- viously, had borne a son.] Sweet flow'ret, pledge o' meikle love. And ward o' monie a prayer, What heart o' stane wad thou na move, Sae helpless, sweet, and fair ! November hirples o'er the lea. Chill, on thy lovely form ; And gane, alas ! the shelt'ring tree, Should shield thee frae the storm. May He who gives the rain to pour, And wings the blast to blaw, Protect thee frae the driving show'r, The bitter frost and snaw ! THE WHISTLE. log IV. 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 ! But late she flourish'd, rooted fest, Fair on the summer morn, Now feebly bends she in the blast, Unshelter'd and forlorn.' VI. Blest be thy bloom, thou lovely gem, Unscath'd by ruffian hand ! And from thee many a parent stem Arise to deck our land I THE WHISTLE. A Ballad. [Professor Wilson says of " The Whistle " — " It is perhaps an improper poem in priggish eyes, but, in the eyes of Bacchus, the best of triumphal odes." Regarding the poet's share in the transaction. Professor Wilson says, "Burns, that evening, was sitting with his eldest child on his knee, teaching him to say ' Dad !' — that night he was lying in his own bed, with bonie Jeaii by his side, and ' yon bright god of day ' saluted him next morning at the scaur above the glittering Nith." For the prose history of " The Whistle," see NOTES.] 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 Scot- land shall ring. Old Loda, still rueing the arm of Fin- gal, The God of the Bottle sends down from his hall • 'This Whistle's your challenge, to Scotland get o'er. And drink them to Hell, Sir ! or ne'ei see me more ! ' III. Old poets have sung, and old chroni- cles -tell, What champions ventur'd, what champions fell : The son of great Loda was conqueror still. And blew on the Whistle their requiem shriU. Till Robert, the lord of the Cairn and the Scaur, Unmatch'd at the bottle, unconquer'd in war. He drank his poor god-ship as deep as the sea ; No tide of the Baltic e'er drunker than he. Thus Robert, victorious, the trophy has gain'd ; Which now in his house has for ages remain'd ; Till three noble chieftains, and all of his blood. The jovial contest again have re- new'd. VI. Three joyous good fellows, with hearts clear of flaw ; Craigdarroch, so famous for wit, worth, and law ; And trusty Glenriddel, so skilled in old coins ; And gallant Sir Robert, deep-read in old wines. Craigdarroch began, with a tongue smooth as oil, no THE WHISTLE. Desiring Glenriddel to yield up the spoil ; Or else he would muster the heads of . the dan, And once more, in claret, try which was the man. VIII. 'By the gods of the ancients ! ' Glen- riddel replies, ' Before I surrender so glorious a prize, I '11 conjure the ghost of the great Rorie More, And bumper his horn with him twenty times o'er.' IX. Sir Robert, a soldier, no speech would pretend. But he ne'er tum'd his back on his foe, or his friend ; Said ; — ' Toss down the Whistle, the prize of the field,' And, knee-deep in claret, he 'd die ere he 'd yield. X. To the board of Glenriddel our heroes repair, So noted for drowning of sorrow and care ; But for wine and for welcome not more known to fame Than the sense, wit, and taste, of a sweet lovely dame. XI. A Bard was selected to witness the fray And tell future ages the feats of the day; A Bard who detested all sadness and spleen And wish'd that Parnassus a vineyard had been. The dinner being over, the claret they ply. . , And ev'ry new cork is a new sprmg ot 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 joy- ous a core. And vow'd that to leave them he was quite forlorn, Till Cynthia hinted he 'd see them next morn. Six bottles a-piece had well wore out the night, When gallant Sir Robert, to finish the fight, Turn'd o'er in one bumper a bottle of red. And swore 'twas the way that their ancestor did. Then worthy Glenriddel, so cautious and sage, No longer the warfare ungodly would wage: Ahigh Ruling Elder to wallowin wine! He left the foul business to folks less divine. The gallant Sir Robert fought hard to the end ; But who can with Fate and quart bumpers contend ? Though Fate said, a hero should per- ish in light ; So uprose bright Phoebus —and down fell the knight. THE JOLLY BEGGARS. XVII. Next uprose our Bard, like a prophet in drinlc : — ' Craigdarroch, thou 'It soar when crea- tion shall sink ! But if thou would flourish immortal in rhyme, Come — one bottle more — and have at the sublime ! 'Thy line, that have struggled for freedom with Bruce, Shall heroes and patriots ever pro- duce: So thine be the laurel, and mine be the bay ; The field thou hast won, by yon bright God of Day!' THE JOLLY BEGGARS. A CANTATA. [This poem was suggested to Burns by a chance visit, in company with Richmond and Smith, to the " doss-house " of Poosie Nansie, as Agnes Gibson was niclcnamed, in the Cowgaie, Mauchline. The jollity of the vagrants amused the poet, and he com- posed the " Jolly Beggars " a few days after- wards. Matthew Arnold calls it a " puissant and splendid production." See NOTES.] RECITATIVO. When lyart leaves bestrow 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 drest ; Ae night at e'en a merry core O' randie, gangrel bodies In Poosie-Nansie's held the splore, To drink their orra duddies : Wi' quaffing and laughing. They ranted an' they sang, Wi' jumping an' thumping The vera girdle rang. First, niest the fire, in auld red rags Ane sat, weel brac'd wi' mealy bags And knapsack a' in order; His doxy lay within his arm ; Wi' usquebae an' blankets warm. She bhnket on her sodger. An' ay he gies the tozie drab The tither skelpin kiss, While she held up her greedy gab Just like an aumous aish : Ilk smack still did crack still Like onie cadger's whup ; Then, swaggering an' staggering, He roar'd this ditty up : — AIR. Tune : Soldier's Joy. I am a son of Mars, who have been in many wars. And show my cuts and scars wher- ever I come : This here was for a wench, and that other in a trench When welcoming the French at the sound of the druin. Lai de daudle, etc. My prenticeship I past, where my leader breath'd his last, When the bloody die was cast on the heights of Abram ; And I served out my trade when the gallant game was play'd. And the Moro low was laid at the sound of the drum. I lastly was with Curtis among the floating batt'ries. And there I left for witness an arm and a limb ; THE JOLLY BEGGARS. Yet let my country need me, with Eliott to head me I 'd clatter on my stumps at the sound of the drum. And now, tho' I must beg with a wooden arm and leg And many a tatter'd rag hanging over my bum, I 'm as happy with my wallet, my bottle, and my callet As when I us'd in scarlet to follow a drum. What tho' with hoary locks I must stand the winter shocks. Beneath the woods and rocks often- times for a home ? When the tother bag I sell, and the tother bottle tell, I could meet a troop of Hell at the sound of a drum. Lai de daudle, eic. RECITATIVO. He ended ; and the kebars sheuk Aboon the chorus roar ; While frighted rattons backward leuk, An' seek the benmost bore: A fairy fiddler frae the neuk. He skirl'd out Encore I • But up arose the martial chuck, An' laid the loud uproar : — AIR. Tune : Sodger Laddie, I. I once was a maid, tho' I cannot tell when. And still my delight is in proper young men. Some one of a troop of dragoons was my daddie : No wonder I'm fond of a sodger laddie i Sing, lal de dal, etc. The first of my loves was a swagger- ing 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 ; The sword 1 forsook for the sake of the church ; He risked the soul, and I ventur'd the body : 'Twas then I prov'd false to my sodger laddie. rv. Full soon I grew sick of my sanctified sot; The regiment at large for a husband I got; From the gilded spontoon to the fife I was ready : I askfed no more but a sodger laddie. V. But the Peace it reduc'd me to beg in despair, TUl I met my old boy in a Cunning- ham Fair ; His rags regimental they flutter'd so gaudy: My heart it rejoic'd at a sodger laddie. And now I have liv'd — I know not how long ! But still I can join in a cup and a song; THE JOLLY BEGGARS. "3 And TA'hilst with both hands I can hold the glass steady, Here's to thee, my hero, my sodger laddie ! Sing, lal de dal, etc. RECITATIVO. Poor Merry-Andrew in the neuk Sat guzzling wi' a tinkler-hizzie ; They raind't na wha the chorus teuk. Between themselves they were sae busy. At length, wi' drink an' courting dizzy, He stoiter'd up an' made a face ; Then turn'd an' laid a smack on Grizzle, Syne tun'd his pipes wi' grave grim- ace: — 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, An' I held awa to the school : I fear I my talent misteuk, But what will ye hae of a fool? III. For drink I wad venture my neck ; A hizzie 's the half of my craft : But what could ye other expect Of ane that's avowedly daft? I ance was tyed up like a stirk For civilly swearing and quaffing ; I ance was abus'd i' the kirk For towsing a lass i' my daSin. 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. Observ'd ye yon reverend lad Mak faces to tickle the mob ? He rails at our mountebank squad - It 's rivalship just i' the job! And now my conclusion I '11 tell, For faith ! I 'm confoundedly dry : The chiel that 's a fool for himsel, Guid Lord ! he 's far dafter than \. RECITATIVO. Then niest outspak a raucle carlin, Wha kent fu' weel to cleek the sterlin. For monie a pursie she had hookfed. An' had in monie a well been douk&d. Her love had been a Highland laddie. But weary fa' the waefu' woodie! Wi' sighs an' sobs she thus began To wail her braw John Highland- AIR. Tune : O, An' Ye Were Dead, Guidman. I. A Highland lad my love was born, The lalland laws Jie held in scorn, But he still was faithfu' to his clan, My gallant, braw John Highlandman> Chorus. Sing hey my braw John Highlandman! Sing ho my braw John Highlandman! There 's not a lad in a' the Ian' Was match for my John Highlandman! 114 THE JOLLY BEGGARS. With his philibeg, an' tartan plaid, An' guid claymore down by his side, The ladies' hearts he did trepan, My gallant, braw John Highlandman. III. We rangfed a' from Tweed to Spey, An' hv'd like lords an' ladies gay, For a lalland face he fearfed none, My gallant, braw John Highlandman. They banish'd him beyond the sea, But ere the bud was on the tree, Adown my cheeks the pearls ran, Embracing my John Highlandman. But, Och! 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 High- landman! 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. Chorus. Sing hey my braw John Highlandman! Sing ho my braw John Highlandman! There 's not a lad in a' the Ian' Was match for my John Highlandman ! RECITATIVO. I. A pigmy scraper on a fiddle, Wha us'd to trystes an' fairs to drid- dle. Her strappin limb an' gawsie middle (He reach'd nae higher) Had hol'd his heartie like a riddle. An' blawn 't on fire. Wi' hand on hainch and upward e'e, He croon'd his gamut, one, two, three, Then in an arwso key The wee Apollo Set off wi' allegretto glee His giga solo : — AIR. Tune : Whistle Owre the Lave O 't. Let me ryke up to dight that tear ; An' go wi' me an' be my dear. An' then your every care an' fear May whistle owre the lave o 't. Chorus. I am a fiddler to my trade, An' a' the tunes that e'er I play'd. The sweetest still to wife or maid Was Whistle Owre the Lave O ''t. At kirns an' weddins we 'se be there, An' O, sae nicely 's we will fare ! We '11 bowse about till Daddie Care Sing Whistle Owre the Lave OH. Sae merrily the banes we '11 pyke. An' sun oursels about the dyke ; An' at our leisure, when ye like, We'll — whistle owre the lave o't! But bless me wi' your heav'n o' charms, An' while 1 kittle hair on thairms. Hunger, cauld, an' a' sic harms May whistle owre the lave o 't. Chorus. I am a fiddler to my trade, An' a' the tunes that e'er I play'd. The sweetest still to wife or maid Was Whistle Owre the Lave O H. THE JOLLY BEGGARS. "5 RECITATIVO. Her charms had struck a sturdy caird As weel as poor gut-scraper ; He taks the fiddler by the beard, An' draws a roosty 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, An' pray'd for grace wi' ruefti' face, An' sae the quarrel ended. But tho' his little heart did grieve When round the tinkler prest her, He feign'd to snirtle in his sleeve When thus the caird address'd her: — AIR. Tune: Clout the Cauldron. My bonie lass, I work in brass, A tinkler is my station ; I've travell'd round all Christian ground In this my occupation ; I 've taen the gold, an' been enrolled In many a noble squadron ; But vain they search'd when off I march'd To go an' clout the cauldron. Despise that shrimp, that wither'd imp. With a' his noise an' cap'rm, An' take a share wi' those that bear The budget and the apron ! And by 'that stowp, my faith an' houpe ! And by that dear Kilbaigie ! If e'er ye want, or meet wi' scant, May I ne'er weet my craigie! RECITATIVO. The caird prevail'd: th' unblushing fair In his embraces sunk. Partly wi' love o'ercome sae sair, An' partly she was drunk. Sir Violino, with an air That show'd a man o' spunk, Wish'd unison between the pair. An' made the bottle clunk To their health that night. But hurchin Cupid shot a shaft. That play'd a dame a shavie : The fiddler rak'd her fore and aft Behint the chicken cavie ; Her lord, a wight of Homer's craft, Tho' limpin' wi' the spavie. He hirpl'd up, an' lap like daft, An' shor'd them ' Dainty Davie ' O' boot that night. He was a care-defying blade As ever Bacchus listed ! Tho' Fortune sair upon him laid, His heart, she ever miss'd it. He had no wish but — to be glad. Nor want but — when he thristed, He hated nought but — to be sad ; An' thus the Muse suggested His sang that night. AIR. Tune : For A' That An' A' That. I. I am a Bard, of no regard Wi' gentle folks an' a' that. But Homer-like the glowrin byke, Frae town to town I draw that. Chorus. For a' that, an' a' that. An' twice as muckle 's a' that, I 've lost but ane, I 've twa behin', I 've wife eneugh for a' that. nS THE JOLLY BEGGARS. I never drank the Muses' stank, Castalia's burn, an' a' that ; But there it streams, an' richly reams - My Helicon I ca' that. III. Great love I bear to a' the fair, Their humble slave an' a' that ; But lordly will, I hold it still A mortal sin to thraw that. In raptures sweet this hour we meet Wi' mutual love an' a' that ; But for how lang the flie may stang. Let inclination law that ! Their tricks an' craft hae put me daft, They 've taen me in, an' a' that ; But clear your decks, an' here's the Sex! I like the jads for a' that. For a' that, an' a' that, An' twice as mucklo '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 with a thunder of applause, Re-echo'd from each mouth! They toom'd their pocks, they pawn'd their duds, , They scarcely left to coor their fuds. To quench their lowin drouth. Then owre again the jovial thrang The Poet did request To lowse his pack, an' wale a sang, A ballad o' the best : He rising, rejoicing Between his twa Deborahs, Looks round him, an' found them Impatient for the chorus : — AIR. Tune : yoUy Mortals, Fill Your Glasses. I. See the smoking bowl before us! Mark our jovial, ragged ring! Round and round take up the chorus, And in raptures let us sing : Chorus. A fig for those by law protected ! Liberty 's a glorious feast. Courts for cowards were erected. Churches buUt to please the priest! What is title, what is treasure, What is reputation's care? If we lead a life of pleasure, 'T is no matter how or where! With the ready trick and fable Round we wander aU the day ; And at night in barn or stable Hug our doxies on the hay. IV. Does the train-attended carriage Thro' 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 prate about decorum. Who have character to lose. VI. Here 's to budgets, bags, and wallets! Here's to all the wandering train! Here 's our ragged brats and callets .' One and all, cry out. Amen ! Chorus. A fig for those by law protected! Liberty 's a glorious feast. Courts for cowards were erected. Churches built to please the priest! THE TWA HERDS: OR, THE HOLY TULYIE. SATIRES AND VERSES. THE TWA HERDS: OR, THE HOLY TULYIE. AN UNCO MOURNFU' TALE. ' Blockheads with reason wicked wits abhor^ But fool with fool is barbarous civil war. —Pope. [" This is one of the earliest of Burns's ■priest-skelping turns.' Theferment of pop- ular hatred of John Knox (sometimes ex- pressed orally in his Hfetime) at last informs a Scotch poem. Burns says, ' With a cer- tain description of the clergy as well as laity, it met with a roar of applause.' He did not publish it. The ' herds ' were Mr. Moodie (of Riccarton) and Mr. John Russell (of Kilmarnock). The quarrel was about parish boundaries. The right of ' the brutes to choose their herds' ought to have commended itself to a democrat; but Burns's politics were never consistent, and the ' New Lights ' were his personal friends." — ANDREW LaNG.1 O a' ye pious godly flocks, Weel fed on pastures orthodox, Wha now will l^eep you frae the fox Or worrying tylces? Or wha will tent the waifs an' croclcs About the dykes? II. The twa best herds in a' the wast, That e'er gae gospel horn a blast These five an' twenty simmers past — O, dool to tell ! — Hae had a bitter, black out-cast Atween themsel. m. O Moodie, man, an' wordy Russell, How could you raise so vUe a bustle ? Ye '11 see how New Light herds will whistle, An' think it fine! The Lord's cause gat na sic a twistle Sin' I hae min'. IV. O Sirs ! whae'er wad hae expeckit Your duty ye wad sae negleckit ? Ye wha were no by lairds respeckit To wear the plaid. But by the brutes themselves eleckit To be their guide ! What flock wi' Moodie's flock could rank, Sae hale an' hearty every shank? Nae poison'd, soor Arminian stank He let them taste; But Calvin's fountainhead they drank — O, sic a feast ! The thummart, wilcat, brock, an' tod Weel ken his voice thro' a' the wood ; He smell'd their ilka hole an' road, Baith out and in ; An' weel he lik'd to shed their bluid An' sell their skin. VII. What herd like Russell tell'd his tale? His voice was heaid thro' muir and dale; He kend the Lord's sheep, ilka tail, O'er a' the height : An' tell'd gin they were sick or hale At the first sight. ii8 THE TWA HERDS: OR, THE HOLY TULYIE. VIII. He fine a mangy sheep could scrub ; Or nobly swing the gospel club ; Or New-Light herds could nicely drub And pay their skin ; Or hing them o'er the burning dub Or heave them in. Sic twa — O, do I live to see't ?— Sic famous twa sud disagree 't, An' names like villain, hypocrite, Ilk ither gi'en. While New-Light herds wi' laughin spite Say neither 's liein ! A' ye wha tent the gospel fauld, Thee Duncan deep, an' Peebles shaul', But chiefly great apostle Auld, We trust in thee, That thou wilt work them hot an' cauld Till they agree ! XI. Consider, sirs, how we 're beset : There's scarce a new herd that we get But comes frae 'mang that cursed set I winna name : I hope frae heav'n to see them yet In fiery flame ! XII. Dalrymple has been lang our fae. M'Gill has wrought us meikle wae, An' that curs'd rascal ca'd M'Quhae, An' baith the Shaws, That aft hae made us black an' blae Wi' vengefu' paws. Auld Wodrow lang has hatch'd mis- chief : We thought ay death wad bring re- hef. But he has gotten to our grief Ane to succeed him, A chield wha '11 soundly buff out beef — I meikle dread him. An' monie mae 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 greyneck still, An' that ye 'U fin' ! XV. O a' ye flocks o'er a' the hills, By mosses, meadows, moors, an' fells, Come, join your counsel and your skills To cowe the lairds. An' get the brutes the power themsels To chuse their herds ! XVI. Then Orthodoxy yet may prance, An' Learning in a woody dance. An' that fell cur ca'd Common-sense, That bites sae sair. Be banish'd o'er the sea to France — Let him bark there ! Then Shaw's an' D'rymple's elo- quence, M'Gill's close, nervous excellence, M'Quhae's pathetic, manly sense, An' guid IVI'iMath Wha thro' the heart can brawly glance, May a' pack aff ! HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER. 119 HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER. And send the godly in a pet to pray. — Pope. ["This attack on Calvinism dates be- tween August, 1784, when Hamilton was threatened with a torm of excommunica- tion, and July, 1785, when the case ended (Scott Douglas). The Presbytery of Ayr freed him trora ecclesiastical censure for the time. Later he was accused of having potatoes dug on Sunday. His own servants were brought as witnesses against him ! Burns, naturally, never included the poem among his works. Willie was William Fisher, an Elder in Mauchline. M. Angel- lier discovered that he was employed as a Presbyterian Inquisitor on Jean Armour's case. If he died m a ditch, atler a debauch, as is said, Burns, too, is said, shortly before his death, * to have fallen asleep on the snow, on his way home ' from ' a tavern dinner' (Lockhart). There is a similar story in the Legend of Shakspeare. " The MSS. and printed copies differ in many places from each other. The com- mon text is that of Stewart's editions. The sixth verse first appears in that of 1802." — .Andrew Lang.] O Thou that in the heavens does dwell, Wha, as it pleases best Thysel, Sends ane to Heaven an' ten to Hell A' for Thy glory. And no for onie guid or ill They've done before Thee! I bless and praise Thy matchless might, When thousands Thou hast left m night, That I am here before Thy sight, For gifts an' grace A burning and a shining light To a' this place. III. What was I, or my generation, That I should get sic exaltation ? I, wha deserv'd most just damnation For broken laws Sax thousand years ere my creation. Thro' Adam's cause ! When from ray mither's womb I fell, Thou might hae plung'd me deep in hell To gnash my gooms, and weep, and wail In burning lakes, Whare damnfed devils roar and yell, Chain'd to their stakes. Yet I am here, a chosen sample. To show Thy grace is great and ample : I 'm here a pillar o' Thy temple. Strong as a rock, A guide, a buckler, and example To a' Thy flock! But yet, O Lord I confess I must: At times 1 'm fash'd wi' fleshly lust ; An' sometimes, too, in warldly trust, Vile self gets in ; But Thou remembers we are dust. Defiled wi' sin. VII. O Lord ! yestreen. Thou kens, wi' Meg — Thy pardon I sincerely beg — O, may 't ne'er be a living plague To my dishonour! An' I '11 ne'er lift a lawless leg Again upon her. VIII. Besides, I farther maun avow — Wi' Leezie's lass, three times, I trow — 120 THE KIRK'S ALARM. But, Lord, that Friday I was fou, When I cam near her, Or else, Thou kens, Thy servant true Wad never steer her. Maybe thou lets this fleshly thorn Buffet thy servant e'en and morn, Lest he owre proud and high should turn That he 's sae gifted ; If sae, Thy han' maun e'en be borne Until Thou lift it. Lord, bless Thy chosen in this place, For here Thou has a chosen race! But God confound their stubborn face An' blast their name, Wha bring Thy elders to disgrace An' open shame! Lord, mind Gau'n Hamilton's deserts : He drinks, an' swears, an' plays at cartes, Yet has sae monie takin arts Wi' great and sma', Frae God's ain Priest the people's hearts He steals awa. And when we chastea'd him therefore. Thou kens how he bred sic a splore, And set the warld in a roar O' laughin at us : Curse Thou his basket and his store, Kail an' potatoes ! XIII. Lord, hear my earnest cry and pray'r Against that Presbyt'ry of Ayr! Thy strong right hand, Lord, mak it bare Upo' their heads ! Lord, visit them, an' dinna spare, For their misdeeds! O Lord, my God! that glib-tongu'd Aiken, IVIy vera heart and flesh are quakin To think how we stood sweatin, shakin, An' pish'd wi' dread, While he, wi' hingin lip an' snakin, Held up his head. Lord, in Thy day o' vengeance try him ! Lord, visit him wha did employ him! And pass not in Thy mercy by them, Nor hear their pray'r. But for Thy people's sake destroy them. An' dinna spare ! But, Lord, remember me and mine Wi' mercies temporal and divine, That I for grace an' gear may shine Excell'd by nane ; And a' the glory shall be Thine — Amen, Amen! THE KIRK'S ALARM. [The occasion of this satire was the pub- lication of an essay on " The Death of Jesus Christ," by Dr. William M'Gill, one of the ministers of Ayr. A complaint against the essay, as being heterodox, was presented on April IS to the Synod of Glasgow and Ayr. The synod referred the case to the Pres- bytery of Ayr. The matter was finally compromised by M'Gill's offering an ex- planation and apology, which the synod ac- cepted. M'Gill died March 30, 1807.] Orthodox! orthodox! — Wha believe in John Knox — Let me sound an alarm to your con» science : A heretic blast Has been blawn i' the Wast, THE KIRK'S ALARM. That what is not sense must be non- sense — Orthodox! That what is not sense must be non- sense. II. Dr. Mac! Dr. Mac! You should stretch on a rack, I'd strilce wicked Writers wi' terror : To join faith and sense, Upon onie pretence. Was heretic, damnable error — Dr. Mac! 'Twas heretic, damnable error. Town of Ayr ! Town of Ayr ! It was rash, I declare. To meddle wi' mischief a-brewing : Provost John is still deaf To the church's relief, And Orator Bob is its ruin — Town of Ayr ! And Orator Bob is its ruin. D'rymple mild ! D'rymple mild ! Tho' your heart 's like a child, An' your life like the new-driven snaw, Yet that winna save ye : Auld Satan must have ye, For preaching that three's ane and twa — D'rymple mild ! For preaching that three's ane and twa. Calvin's sons! Calvin's sons! Seize your sp'ritual guns. Ammunition you never can need : Your hearts are the stuff Will be powther enough. And your skuUs are store-houses o' lead — Calvin's sons! Your skulls are store-houses o' lead. Rumble John! Rumble John! Mount the steps with a groan, Cry: — 'The book is wi' heresy cramm'd ' ; Then lug out your ladle. Deal brimstone like adle, And roar every note o' the damn'd — Rumble John! And roar every note o' the damn'd. Simper James ! Simper James ! Leave the fair Killie dames — There 's a holier chase in your view : I '11 lay on your head That the pack ye '11 soon lead. For puppies like you there's but few — Simper James! For puppies like you there's but few. Singet Sawnie! Singet Sawnie! Are ye herding the penny. Unconscious what evils await? Wi' a jump, yell, and howl Alarm every soul, For the Foul Thief is just at your gate — Singet Sawnie ! The Foul Thief is just at your gate. Daddie Auld ! Daddie Auld ! There 's a tod in the fauld, A tod meikle waur than the clerk : Tho' ye can do little skaith. Ye '11 be in at the death. And gif ye canna bite, ye may bark - Daddie Auld ! For gif ye canna bite ye may bark. Davie Rant! Davie Rant! In a face like a saunt THE KIRK'S ALARM. And a heart that would poison a hog, Raise an impudent roar, Like a breaker lee-shore. Or the Kirk will be tint in a bog Davie Rant ! Or the Kirk will be tint in a bog. Jamie Goose ! Jamie Goose ! Ye hae made but toom roose In hunting the wicked lieutenant ; But the Doctor 's your mark, For the Lord's haly ark, He has cooper'd, and ca'd a wrang pin in't — Jamie Goose! He has cooper'd and ca'd a wrang pin in 't. XII. 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 shit — Poet Willie ! Ye smelt but the place where he shit. XIII. Andro' Gowk ! Andro Gowk ! Ye may slander the Book, And the Book not the waur, let me tell ye : Ye are rich, and look big, But lay by hat and wig. And ye '11 hae a calf's head o' sma' value — Andro Gowk ! Ye '11 hae a calf's head o' sma' value. XIV. Barr Steenie! Barr Steenie! What mean ye? what mean ye? If ye '11 meddle nae mair wi' the matter, Ye ma}' hae some pretence To havins and sense Wi' people wha ken ye nae better — Barr Steenie! Wi' people wha ken ye liae better. XV. Irvine-side ! Irvine-side! Wi' your turkey-cock pride, Of manhood but sma' is your share : Ye 've the figure, 't is true, Even your faes will allow. And your friends daurna say ye hae mair — ■ Irvine-side ! Your Mends daurna say ye hae mair. Muirland Jock ! Muirland Jock I Whom the Lord gave a stock Wad set up a tinkler in brass, If ill manners were wit, There 's no mortal so fit To prove the poor Doctor an ass — Muirland Jock! To prove the poor Doctor an ass. Holy Will ! Holy Will ! There was wit i' your skull. When ye pilfer'd the alms o' the poor: The timmer is scant;" When ye 're taen for a saunt Wha should swing in a rape for an hour — Holy Will! Ye should swing in a rape for an hour. XVIII. Poet Burns ! Poet Burns ! Wi' your priest-skelping turns, Why desert ye yourauld native shire? Your Muse is a gipsy. Yet were she ev'n tipsy. She could ca' us nae waur than we are — Poet Burns ! Ye could ca' us nae waur than we are. A POET'S WELCOME TO HIS LOVE-BEGOTTEN DAUGHTER. 123 Postscripts I. Afton's Laird ! Afton's Laird ! When your pen can be spared, A copy of this I bequeath, On the same siclcer score As I mention'd before. To that trusty auld worthy, Claclc- leith — Afton's Laird! To that trusty auld worthy, Clackleith. Factor John ! Factor John ! Whom the Lord made alone, And ne'er made another thy peer, Thy poor servant, the Bard, In respectful regard He presents thee this token sincere — Factor John ! He presents thee this token sincere. A POET'S WELCOME TO HIS LOVE-BEGOTTEN DAUGHTER. THE FIRST INSTANCE THAT ENTITLED HIM TO THE VENERABLE APPELLA- TION OF FATHER. [The " wean " of this generous and de- lightful Address was the poet's daughter Elizabeth, by Elizabeth Palon, for soine time a servant at Lochlie. The child was born in November, 1784. She was brought by her father to Mossgiel. She married John Bishop, overseer at Pollcemmet, and died 8th January, 1817, leaving several children.] Thou's welcome, wean! IMishanter fa' me, If thoughts o' thee or yet thy mammie Shall ever daunton me or awe me. My sweet, wee lady. Or if I blush when thou shalt ca' me Tyta or daddie ! What tho' they ca' me fornicator, An' tease my name in kintra clatter? The mair they talk, I 'm kend the better ; E'en let them clash ! An' auld wife's tongue's a feckless matter To gie ane fash. Welcome, my bonie, sweet, wee doch- ter! Tho' ye come here a wee unsought for, And tho' your comin I hae fought for Baith kirk and queir ; Yet, by my faith, ye 're no unwrought for — That I shall swear ! Sweet fruit o' monie a merry dint, My funny toil is no a' tint : Tho' thou cam to the warl' asklent, Which fools may scoif at. In my last plack thy part 's be in 't The better half o 't. Tho' I should be the waur bestead, Thou 's be as braw and bienly clad, And thy young years as nicely bred Wi' education. As onie brat o' wedlock's bed In a' thy station. Wee image o' my bonie Betty, As fatherly I kiss and daut thee, As dear and near my heart I set thee,' Wi' as guid will. As a' the priests had seen me get thee That's out o'HeU. 124 THE INVENTORY. VII. Gude grant that thou may ay inherit Thy mither's looks an' gracefu' merit, An' thy poor, worthless daddie's spirit Without his failins ! 'T will please me mair to see thee heir it Than stocket mailins. VIII. And if thou be what I wad hae thee, An' tak the counsel I shall gie thee, I '11 never rue my trouble wi' thee — The cost nor shame o 't — But be a loving father to thee, And brag the name o 't. THE INVENTORY. IN ANSWER TO A MANDATE BY THE SURVEYOR OF TAXES. [The " Inventory " was addressed to Mr. Robert Aiken, of Ayr, surveyor of taxes for the district.] Sir, as your mandate did request, I send you here a faithfu' list O' guids and gear an' a' my graith. To which I 'm clear to gie my aith. Imprimis, then, for carriage cat- tle: — I hae four brutes o' gallant mettle As ever drew before a pettle : My lan'-afore's a guid auld 'has been,' An' wight an' wilfu' a' his days been. My lan'-ahin 's a weel-gaun fillie, That aft has borne me hame frae Killie, An' your auld borough monie 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, an' that too! — I play'd my fillie sic a shavie, She 's a' bedevil'd wi' the spavie.) My fur-ahin's a wordy beast As e'er in tug or tow was traced. The fourth's a Highland Donald hastie, A damn'd red-wud Kilburnie blastie! Foreby, a cowte, o' cowtes the wale, As ever ran afore a tail : If he be spar'd to be a beast. He '11 draw me fifteen pund at least. Wheel-carriages I hae but few : Three carts, an' twa are feckly new ; An auld wheelbarrow — mair for token, Ae leg an' baith the trams are broken : I made a poker o' the spin'le, An' my auld mither brunt the trin'le. For men, I 've three mischievous boys, Run-deils for fechtin an' for noise : A gaudsman ane, a thrasher t' other, Wee Davoc hauds the nowte in fother. I rule them, as I ought, discreetly, An' aften labour them completely ; An' ay on Sundays duly, nightly, I on the Questions tairge them tightly : Till, faith! wee Davoc 's grown sae , gleg, Tho' scarcely langer than your leg, He 'II screed you aff ' Effectual Call- ing' As fast as onie in the dwalling. I 've nane in female servan' station (Lord keep me ay frae a' tempta- tion!) : I hae nae wife — and that my bliss is — An' ye hae laid nae tax on misses ; An' then, if kirk folks dinna clutch me, I ken the deevils darena touch me. A MAUCHLINE WEDDING. 125 Wr weans I 'm mair than weel con- tented : Heav'n 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 bonie, sweet wee lady, I 've paid enough for her already ; An' gin ye tax her or her mither. By the Lord, ye 'se get them a' the- gither ! But pray, remember, Mr. Aiken, Nae kind of licence out I 'm takin : Frae this time forth, I do declare 1 'se ne'er ride horse nor hizzie mair ; Thro' dirt and dub for life I '11 paidle. Ere I sae dear pay for a saddle ; I've sturdy stumps, the Lord be thankit. And a' my gates on foot I '11 shank it. The Kirk and you may tak' you that. It puts but little in your pat : Sae dinna put me in your beuk. Nor for my ten white shillings leuk. 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 huic, Robert Burns. A MAUCHLINE WEDDING. [This good-natured squib was enclosed in a letter to Mrs. Dunlop, Aug. 21, 1788, and was published for the first time in the "Centenary" Burns, from the Lochryan Mss.] When Eighty-five was seven months auld And wearing thro' the aught, When rolling rains and Boreas bauld Gied farmer-folks a faught ; Ae morning quondam Mason W . Now Merchant Master Miller, Gaed down to meet wi' Nansie B And her Jamaica siller To wed, that day. The rising sun o'er Blacksideen Was just appearing fairly. When Nell and Bess got up to dress Seven lang half-hours o'er early! Now presses clink, and drawers jink, For linens and for laces : But modest Muses only think What ladies' underdress is On sic a day! But we 'U suppose the stays are lac'd. And bonie bosoms steekit, Tho' thro' the lawn — but guess the rest! An angel scarce durst keek it. Then stockins fine o' silken twine Wi' cannie care are drawn up ; An' garten'd tight whare mortal wight — As I never wrote it down my recollection does not entirely serve me. But now the gown wi' rustling sound Its silken pomp displays ; Sure there 's nae sin in being vain O' siccan bonie claes ! Sae jimp the waist, the tail sae vast — TrouthJ they were bonie birdies \ O Mither Eve, ye wad been grieve To see their ample hurdles Sae large that day! Then Sandy, wi 's red jacket braw, Comes whip-jee-woa! about. And in he gets the bonie twa — Loi^d, send them safely out! 126 ADAM ARMOUR'S PRAYER. — THE COURT OF EQUITY. And auld John Trot wi' sober phiz, As braid and braw 's a Bailie, His shouthers and his Sunday's jiz Wi' powther and wi' ulzie Weal smear'd that day. . . ADAM ARMOUR'S PRAYER. [The interlocutor in this intercession was Burns's brother-in-law, who was concerned in a piece of rustic lynch-law.] GuDE pity me, because I 'm little! For though I am an elf o' mettle, And can like onie wabster's shuttle Jink there or here, Yet, scarce as lang 's a guid kail-whittle, I 'm unco queer. An' now Thou kens our woefu' case : For Geordie's jurr we 're in disgrace, Because we stang'd her through the place, An' hurt her spleuchan ; For whilk we daurna show our face Within the clachan. An' now we're dern'd in dens and hollows. And hunted, as was William Wallace, Wi' constables — the blackguard fal- lows — An' sodgers baith ; But Gude preserve us frae the gallows. That shamefu' death ! Auld, grim, black-bearded Geordie's sel' — O, shake him owre the mouth o' Hell! There let him hing, an' roar, an' yell Wi' hideous din. And if he offers to rebel. Then heave him in! When Death comes in wi' glimmerin blink, An' tips auld drucken Nanse the wink, May Sautan gie her doup a clink Within his yett. An' fill her up wi' brimstone drink Red-reekin het. VI. Though Jock an' hav'rel Jean are merry. Some devil seize them in a hurry, An' waft them in th' infernal wherry Straught through the lake, An' gie their hides a noble curry Wi' oil of aik! As for the jurr — puir worthless body! — She 's got mischief enough already ; Wi' stanget hips arid buttocks bluidy She 's suffer'd sair ; But may she wintle in a woody If she whore mair! THE COURT OF EQUITY. AS PRINTED IN AITKEN's ALDINE EDITION, 1893. [" ' The Court of Equity ' was dated ' Mauchline, 12th May, 1786,' and probably written in the previous year, in whicli Burns chronicled certain of the doings of the bachelors who were in the habit of meeting in the Whitefoord Arms. They constituted themselves into a mock Court — Burns being president, Smith fiscal, and Rich- mond clerk — to examine into the 'scan- dals ' in Mauchline, and, in particular, to bring to book ' marauders,' or offenders against ordinary sexual morality, who sought by various means to escape the penalty of their offences. It is full of humanity and tenderness, but [parts of it are] too ' broad' THE COURT OF EQUITY. 127 for publication." — Chambers, revised by William Wallace.] In Truth and Honor's na#e. Amen. Know all men by these presents plain, This twalt o' May at Mauchline given ; The year 'tween eighty-five an' seven ; We (all marauders) by profession, As per extractum from each Session ; In way and manner here narrated, Pro bono Amor congregated ; And by our Brethren constituted, A Court of Equity deputed : With special authoris'd direction, To take beneath our strict protection The stays out-bursting, quondam maiden, With growing life and anguish laden, That by the rascal is deny'd Who led her thoughtless steps aside ; He who disowns the ruin'd fair one. And for her wants and woes does care none ; The wretch that can refiise assistance To those whom he has given exist- ence ; The knave who takes a private stroke Beneath his sanctimonious cloak ! The coof who Stan's on clishma- . clavers When lasses hafHins offer favors ; All who in any way or manner Distain the (bold marauder's) honor, We take cognizance there anent, The proper judges competent First, Poet.Burns, he takes the Chair ; Allow'd by a', his title's fair ; And past nem. con. without dissen- sion. He has a duplicate pretension. The second, Smith, our worthy Fiscal, To cow each pertinacious rascal : In this, as ev'ry other state, His merit is conspicuous great. Richmond, the third, our trusty Clerk, Our minutes regular to mark ; And sit di.spenser of the law In absence of the former twa. The fourth our messenger-at-arms, When failing all the milder terms. Hunter, a hearty, willing Brother, Weel skill'd in dead an' living leather. Without preamble, less or more said, We body politic aforesaid, With legal, due whereas, and where- fore. We are appointed here to care for The interests of our Constituents, And punish contravening truants, ****** Then Brown an' Dow above-design'd For clags an' clauses there subjoin'd. We, Court aforesaid, cite and sum- mon. That on the fourth o' June in comin'. The hour o' Cause, in our Court ha' At Whitefoord's Arms, ye answer Law. But, as reluctantly we punish. An' rather mildly would admonish : Since better punishment prevented Than obstinacy sair repented ; Then, for that ancient secret's sake You have the honor to partake ; An' for that noble badge you wear. You, Sandie Dow, our Brother dear. We give you as a man and mason, This private, sober, friendly lesson. Your crime, a manly deed we view it. A man alone can only do it ; But, in denial persevering. Is to a scoundrel's name adhering. * * * * 4c :fE To tell the truth 's a manly lesson, An' doubly proper in a Mason. ****** This, onr futurmn est Decreet, We mean it not to keep a secret ; But in our summons here insert it. And whoso dares may controvert it, This mark'd before the date and place is ; Subsignum est per Burns the Preses. (L. S.) B . . . This summons and the Signet mark Extractum est, per Richmond, Clerk, R . . . d. 128 NATURE'S LAW. At Mauchline, twenty-fifth of May, About the twalt hour o' the day, You twa, in propria persona. Before design'd Sandie and Johnnie, This summons legally have got, As vide Witness under-wrote ; Within the house of John Dove, Vintner, N'uncfacio hoc — Guillelmus Hunter. NATURE'S LAW. HUMBLY INSCRIBED TO GAVIN HAM- ILTON, ESQUIRE. Great Nature spoke, observant man obeyed. Pope. [The day celebrated here is Sept. 3, 1786. On the 8th' of that month Burns wrote : " You will have heard that poor Armour has repaid my amorous mortgage double. A very fine boy and a girl have awakened a thought and feelings that thrill, some with tender pressure, and some with foreboding anguish, through my soul."] Let other heroes boast their scars, The marks o' sturt and strife. But other poets sing of wars. The plagues o' human life ! Shame fa' the fun: wi' sword and gun To slap mankind like lumber ! I sing his name and nobler fame Wha multiplies our number. II. Great Nature spoke, with air nign : — ' Go on, ye human race ; This lower world I you resign ; Be fruitful and increase. The liquid fire of strong desire, I 've poured it in each bosom ; be- Here on this hand does mankind stand, And there, is Beauty's blossom ! ' The hero of these artless strains, A lowly Bard was he. Who sung his rhymes in Coila's plains With meikle mirth and glee : Kind Nature's care had given his share Large of the flaming current ; And, an devout, he never sought To stem the sacred torrent. He felt the powerful, high behest Thrill vital thro' and thro' ; And sought a correspondent breast To give obedience due. Propitious Powers screen'd the young flow'rs From mildews of abortion ; And lo ! the Bard — a great reward — Has got a double portion ! Auld cantie Coil may count the day, As annual it returns, The third of Libra's equal sway. That gave another Burns, With future rhymes an' other times To emulate his sire, To sing auld Coil in nobler style With more poetic fire ! Ye Powers of peace and peaceful song, Look down with gracious eyes. And bless auld Coila large and long With multiplying joys ! Lang may she stand to prop the land. The flow'r of ancient nations, And Burnses spring her fame to sing To endless generations ! ON MEETING WITH LQRD DAER.— TO THE TOOTHACHE. 129 LINES ON MEETING WITH LORD DAER. [Basil William, Lord Daer, son of the Earl of Selkirk, whom Burns met at t*rofes- sor Dugald Stewart's villa, at Catrine.] This wot ye all whom it concerns : I, Rhymer Rab, alias Burns, October twenty-third, A ne'er-to-be-forgotten day, Sae far I sprachl'd up the brae I dinner'd wi' a Lord. I 've been at drucken Writers' feasts, Nay, been bitch-fou 'mang godly Priests — Wi' rev'rence be it spoken! — I 've even join'd the honor'd jorum. When mighty Squireships o' the Quo- rum Their hydra drouth did sloken. But wi' a Lord! — stand out my shin! A Lord, a Peer, an Earl's son! — Up higher yet my bonnet! An' sic a Lord ! — lang Scotch ell twa Our Peerage he looks o'er them a'. As I look o'er my sonnet. But O, for Hogarth's magic pow'r To show Sir Bardie's willyart glow'r. An' how he star'd an' stam- mer'd, When, goavin's he'd been led wi' branks, An' stumpin on his ploughman shanks. He in the parlour hammer'd ! To meet good Stewart little pain is, Or Scotia's sacred Demosthenes : Thinks I : ' They are but men '! But ' Burns ' ! — ' My Lord ' ! — Good God! I doited, My knees on ane anither knoited As faultering I gaed ben. I sidling shelter'd in a neuk. An' at his Lordship staw a leuk. Like some portentous omen : Except good sense and social glee An' (what surpris'd me) modesty, I markid nbught uncommon. I watch'd the symptoms o' the Great — The gentle pride, the lordly state, The arrogant assuming : The fient a pride, nae pride had he. Nor sauce, nor state, that I could see, Mair than an honest plough- VIII. Then from his Lordship I shall learn Henceforth to meet with unconcern One rank as well "s another ; Nae honest, worthy man neecf care To meet with noble youthfii' Daer, For he but meets a brother. ADDRESS TO THE TOOTH- ACHE. [Bums in later letters specially refers to this " Hell o' a' diseases," but he probably suffered from it at different periods. Pub- lished, October, 1797.] My curse upon your venom'd stang, That shoots my tortur'd gooms alang, An' thro' my lug gies monie a twang Wi' gnawing vengeance. Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang, Like racking engines! J30 LAMENT FOR THE ABSENCE OF WILLIAM CREECH. II. A' down my beard the slavers trickle, I throw the wee stools o'er the mickle, While round the fire the giglets keckle To see me loup, An', raving mad, I wish a heckle Were i' their doup ! III. When fevers burn,, or ague freezes, Rheumatics gnaw, or colic squeezes, Our neebors sympathise to ease us Wi' pitying moan ; But thee! — thou hell o' a' diseases, They mock our groan! rv. Of a' the num'rous human dools — lU-hairsts, daft bargains, cutty-stools. Or worthy frien's laid i' the mools, Sad sight to see! The tricks o' knaves, or fash o' fools — Thou bear'st the gree! Whare'er that place be priests ca' Hell, Whare a' the tones o' misery yell. An' ranked plagues their numbers tell In dreadfu' raw. Thou, Toothache, surely Isear'st the bell Amang them a' ! O thou grim, mischief-making chiel, That gars the notes o' discord squeel. Till humankind aft dance a reel In gore a shoe-thick, Gie a' the faes o' Scotland's weal A towraond's toothache. LAMENT FOR THE ABSENCE OF WILLIAM CREECH, PUB- LISHER. [In enclosing these verses to Mr. Creech, Burns writes: "The enclosed I have just wrote, nearly extempore, in a solitary inn in Selkirk, after a miserable wet day's riding."] AuLD chuckie Reekie's sair distrest, Down droops her ance weel burnish'd crest, Nae joy her bonie buskit nest Can yield ava : Her darling bird that she lo'es best, Willie, 's awa. O, Willie was a witty wight, And had o' things an unco sleight! Auld Reekie ay he keepit tight, And trig an' braw ; But now they'll busk her like a fright — Willie's awa! III. The stifFest o' them a' he bow'd ; The bauldest o' them a' he cow'd ; They durst njfe raair than he allow'd — That was a iaw : We 've lost a birkie weel worth gowd — Willie's awa! Now gawkies, tawpies, gowks, and fools Frae colleges and boarding schools May sprout like simmer puddock- stools In glen or shaw : He wha could brush them down to mools, Willie, 's awa! VERSES IN FRIARS CARSE HERMITAGE. 131 The brethren o' the Commerce-Chau- mer May mourn their loss wi' doolfu' clamour : He was a diction ar and grammar Amang them a'. I fear they '11 now mak raonie a stam- mer: Willie 's awa ! Nae mair we see his levee door Philosophers and Poets pour, And toothy Critics by the score In bloody raw : The adjutant of a' the core, Willie, 's awa I Now worthy Greg'ry's Latin face, Tytler's and Greenfield's modest grace, M'Kenzie, Stewart, such a brace As Rome ne'er saw, They a' maun meet some ither place — Willie's awa! Poor Burns ev'n ' Scotch Drink ' can- na quicken: He cheeps like some bewilder'd chicken Scar'd frae its minnie and the cleckin By hoodie-craw. Grief's gien his heart an unco kickin — Willie's awa! Now ev'ry sour-mou'd, girnin blel- lum. And Calvin's folk, are fit to fell him ; Ilk self-conceited critic-skellum His quill may draw : He wha could brawlie ward their bellum, Willie, 's awa! Up wimpling, stately Tweed I've sped, And Eden scenes on crystal Jed, And Ettrick banks, now roaring red While tempests blaw ; But every joy and pleasure 's fled : Willie's awa! XI. May I be Slander's common speech, A text for Infamy to preach, And, lastly, streekit out to bleach In winter snaw. When I forget thee, Willie Creech, Tho' far awa? May never wicked Fortune touzle him, May never wicked men bamboozle him, Until a pow as auld 's Methusalem He canty claw! Then to the blessed new Jerusalem Fleet- wing awa! VERSES IN FRIARS CARSE HERMITAGE. [Friars Carse was the estate of Captain Riddell, of Glenriddell, beautifully situated on the banks of the Nith, near Ellisland. The Hermitage was a decorated cottage which the proprietor had erected.] Thou whom chance may hither lead, Be thou clad in russet weed. Be thou deckt in silken stole. Grave these maxims on thy soul : — Life is but a day at most. Sprung from night in darkness lost ; Hope not sunshine every hour. Fear not clouds will always lour. Happiness is but a name, Make content and easethy aim. Ambition is a meteor-gleam ; i32 ELEGY ON THE DEPARTED YEAR. — CASTLE GORDON. Fame a restless airy dream ; Pleasures, insects on the wing Round Peace, th' tend'rest flow'r of spring ; Those that sip the dew alone — Make the butterflies thy own ; Thos2 that would the bloom devour — Crush the locusts, save the flower. For the future be prepar'd : Guard wherever thou can'st guard; But, thy utmost duly done. Welcome what thou can'st not shun. Follies past give thou to air — Make their consequence thy care. Keep the name of Man in mind, And dishonour not thy kind. Reverence with lowly heart Him, whose wondrous work thou art ; Keep His Goodness still in view — Thy trust, and thy example too. Stranger, go! Heaven be thy guide! Quod the Beadsman on Nidside. ELEGY ON THE DEPARTED YEAR 1788. [On the same day that Burns composed this, he penned a beautiful letter to Mrs. Dunlop, which has been much admired. Printed in " The Courant," 1789.] For lords or kings I dinna mourn ; E'en let them die — for that they're born; But O, prodigious to reflect, A Towmont, sirs, is gane to wreck! O Eighty-Eight, in thy sma' space What dire events hae taken place! Of what enjoyments thou hast reft us ! In what a pickle thou hast left us! The Spanish empire 's tint a head. An' my auld teethless Bawtie 's dead ; The tulyie's teugh 'tween Pitt and Fox, An' our guidwife's wee birdie cocks : The tane is game, a bluidie devil, But to the hen-birds unco civil ; The tither 's dour — has nae sic breedin. But better stuiT ne'er claw'd a midden. Ye ministers, come mount the poupit, An' cry till ye be haerse an' roupet, For Eighty-Eight, he wished you weel, An' gied ye a' baith gear an' meal : E'en monie a plack and monie a peckj Ye ken yoursels, for little feck ! Ye bonie lasses, dight your een, For some o' you hae tint a frien' : In Eighty-Eight, ye ken, was taen What ye '11 ne'er hae to gie again. Observe the vera nowte an' sheep, How dowfFan' dowilie they creep! Nay, even the yirth itsel does cry, For Embro' wells are grutten dry! O Eighty-Nine, thou 's but a bairn, An' no owre auld, I hope, to learn! Thou beardless boy, I pray tak care. Thou now has got thy Daddie's chair : Nae hand-cuflf'd, mizzl'd, half-shackl'd Regent, But, like himsel, a full free agent, Be sure ye follow out the plan Nae waur than he did, honest man! As muckle better as ye can. January i, 1789. CASTLE GORDON. [Bums was introduced to the Duchess of Gordon in Edinburgh (17B6-87) ; and dur- ing his northern tour in 1787 he called at Gordon Castle on Sept. 7.] Streams that glide in Orient plains, Never bound by Winter's chains ; Glowing here on golden sands. There immixed with foulest stains From tyranny's empurpled hands ; These, their richly gleaming waves. THE DUCHESS OF GORDON'S DANCING. — CAPTAIN GROSE. ijl I leave to tyrants and their slaves : Give me the stream that sweetly laves The banks by Castle Gordon. Spicy forests ever gay, Shading from the burning ray Hapless wretches sold to toil ; Or, the ruthless native's way, Bent on slaughter, blood and spoil ; Woods that ever verdant wave, I leave the tyrant and the slave : Give me the groves that lofty brave The storms of Castle Gordon. III. 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 bonie Castle Gordon. ON THE DUCHESS OF GOR- DON'S REEL DANCING. [Published in Stuart's Sfar, Mar. 31, 1789. Jane, Duchess of Gordon, was second daughter of Sir William Maxwell, third Baronet of Monreith.] She kiltit up her kirtle weel To show her bonie cutes sae sma', And walloped about the reel. The lightest louper o' them a'! While some, like slav'ring, doited stots Stoit'ring out thro' the midden dub, Fankit their heels amang their coats And gart the floor their backsides rub; III. Gordofl, the great, the gay, the gai- lant, Skip't like a maukin owre a dyke : Deil tak me, since I was a callant, Gif e'er my een beheld the like ! ON CAPTAIN GROSE. VITRITTEN ON AN ENVELOPE, ENCLOS- ING A LETTER TO HIM. [The verses were published by Currie in 1800. It is an amusing parody of a funny old song against tale-felling travellers.] Ken ye ought o' Captain Grose? /go and ago If he's among his friends or foes? Iram, coram, daga II. Is he south, or is he north ? Igo and ago Or drowned in the River Forth ? Iratn, coram, dago Is he slain by Hielan' bodies ? Igo and ago And eaten like a wether haggis ? Iram, coram, daga IV. Is be to Abra'm's bosom gane? Igo and ago Or haudin Sarah by the wame ? Iram, coram, dago 134 NEW YEAR'S DAY, 1791. Where'er he be, the Lord be near him! Igo and ago As for the Deil, he daur na steer him, Iram, coram, dago But please transmit th' enclosed letter Jgo 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! Jram, coram, dago So may ye get in glad possession, Igo and ago The coins o' Satan's coronation ! Iram., coram, dago NEW YEAR'S DAY, 1791. [Written to Mrs. Dunlop. The " grand- child" whose cap is referred to was prob- ably the child of Mrs. Henri, born in November, 1790.] This day Time winds th' exhausted chain, To run the twelvemonth's length again : I see the old, bald-pated fellow, With ardent eyes, complexion sallow, Adjust the unimpair'd machine To wheel the equal, dull routine. The absent lover, minor heir, in vain assail him with their prayer : Deaf as my friend, he sees them press. Nor makes the hour one momenf 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 bor- row (That grandchild's cap will do to- morrow), And join with me a-moralizing? This day 's propitious to be wise in ! First, what did yesternight de- liver? 'Another year has gone for ever.' And what is this day's strong sugges- tion .■■ ' The passing moment 's all we rest on!' Rest on — for what ? what do we here ? Or why regard the passing year? Will Time, amus'd with proverb'd lore, Add to our date one minute more ? A few days may — a few years must — Repose us in the silent dust : Then, is it wise to damp our bliss ? Yes : all such reasonings are amiss ! The voice of Nature loudly cries, And many a message from the skies. That something in us never dies ; That on this frail, uncertain state Hang matters of eternal weight ; That future life in worlds unknown Must take its hue from this alone, Whether as heavenly glory bright Or dark as Misery's woeful night. Since, then, my honor'd first of friends. On this poor being all depends. Let us th' important Now employ, And live as those who never die. Tho' you, with days and honours crown'd, FROM ESOPUS TO MARIA. 13S Witness that filial circle round (A sight life's sorrows to repulse, A sight pale envy to convulse), Others now claim your, chief regard : Yourself, you wait your bright reward. FROM ESOPUS TO MARIA. [" The Esopus of this strange epistle," says Mr. Allan Cunningham, " was William- son the actor, and the Maria to whom it was addressed was Mrs. Riddell." While Williamson and his brother actors were performing at Whitehaven Lord Lonsdale committed the whole to prison.] 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, plush 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 destin'd yet to swing, Beat hemp for others riper for the string : From these dire scenes my wretched lines I date. To tell Maria her Esopus' fate. ' Alas ! I feel I am no actor here ! ' 'T is real hangmen real scourges bear I Prepare, Maria, for a horrid tale Will turn thy very rouge to deadly pale; Will make thy hair, tho' erst from gipsy poll'd. By barber woven and by barber sold, Though twisted smooth with Harry's nicest care, Like hoary bristles to erect and stare ! The hero of the mimic scene, no more I start in Hamlet, in Othello roar ; Or, haughty Chieftain, 'mid the din of arms, In Highland bonnet woo Malvina's charms : While sans-culottes stoop up the mountain high, And steal me from Maria's prying eye. Blest Highland bonnet ! once my proudest dress, Now, prouder still, Maria's temples press ! I see her wave thy towering plumes afar. And call each coxcomb to the wordy war ! I see her face the first of Ireland's sons. And even out-Irish his Hibernian bronze ! The crafty Colonel leaves the tartan'd lines For other wars, where he a hero shines ; The hopeful youth, in Scottish senate bred. Who owns a Bushby's heart without the head, Comes 'mid a string of coxcombs to display That Veni, vidi, vici, is his way ; The shrinking Bard adown the 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 called Maria's jaunty stagger The ricket reeling of a crooked swagger? 136 TO JOHN RANKINE. Whose spleen (e'en worse than Burns's venom, when He dips in gall unmix'd his eager pen, And pours his vengeance in the burn- ing line), IVho christen'd thus Maria's lyre- divine, The idiot strum of Vanity bemus'd And even th' abuse of Poesy abus'd? Who called her verse a Parish Work- house, made For motley foundling Fancies, stolen or strayed ? A Workhouse ! Ah, that sound awakes my woes, And pillows on the thorn my rack'd repose ! In durance vile here must I wake and weep, And all my frowsy couch in' sorrow steep : That straw where many a rogue has lain of yore. And vermin'd gipsies litter'd hereto- fore. 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 un- furls Who on my fair one Satire's ven- geance hurls ! Who calls thee, pert, affected, vain coquette, A wit in folly, and a fool in wit ! Who says that fool alone is not thy due. And quotes thy treacheries to prove it true ! Our force united on thy foes we'll 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 all reply ! NOTES AND EPISTLES. TO JOHN RANKINE. IN REPLY TO AN ANNOUNCEMENT. [The " announcement " was " that a girl in that neighborhood was with child " by Robevt Burns. The communication was addressed to the poet after his removal to Mossgiel.J I AM a keeper of the law In some sma' points, altho' not a'; Some people tell me, gin I fa' Ae way or ither, The breaking of ae point, tho' sma', Breaks a' thegither. TO JOHN GOLDIE. »3J I hae been in for't ance or twice, And winna say o'er far for thrice, Yet never met wi' that surprise That broke my rest. But now a rumour 's lilte to rise — A whaup's i' the nest! TO JOHN GOLDIE. AUGUST, 1785. [Mr.JohnGoldie.orGoudie, atradesman in Kilmarnock, was given to mechanical and scientific studies, and in later life ad- dicted to advanced theology, upon which he published a series of essays.] O GouDiE, terror o' the Whigs, Dread o' blaclc coats and rev'rend wigs ! Sour Bigotry on her last legs Girns and looks back, Wishing the ten Egyptian plagues May seize you quick. Poor gapin, glowrin Superstition! Wae 's me, she 's in a sad condition ! Fye! bring Black Jock, her state phy- sician, To see her water! Alas! there 's ground for great suspi- cion She '11 ne'er get better. III. Enthusiasm 's past redemption : Gane in a gallopin consumption : Not a' her quacks wi' a' their gump- tion Can ever mend her ; Her feeble pulse gies strong presump- tion She '11 soon surrender. Auld Orthodoxy lang did grapple For every hole to get a stapple ; But now she fetches at the thrapple, An' fights for breath : Haste, gie her name up in the chapel, Near unto death ! 'T is you an' Taylor are the chief To blame for a' this black mischief; But, gin the Lord's ain folk gat leave, A toom tar barrel An' twa red peats wad bring relief. And end the quarrel. For me, my skill 's but very sma', An' skill in prose I 've nane ava' ; But, quietlenswise between us twa, Weel may ye speed! And, tho' they sud you sair misca', Ne'er fash your head! E'en swinge the dogs, and thresh them sicker! The mair they squeel ay chap the thicker. And still 'mang hands a hearty bicker O' something stout ! It gars an owthor's pulse beat quicker. An' helps his wit. There 's naething like the honest nappy : Whare '11 ye e'er see men sae happy, Or women sonsie, saft, and sappy 'Tween morn and morn. As them wha like to taste the drappie In glass or horn ? I 've seen me daez 't upon a time, I scarce could wink or see a styme ; 538 TO J. LAPRAIK. Just ae hauf-mutchkin does me prime (Ought less is little) ; Then back I rattle on the rhyme As gleg's a whittle. TO J. LAPRAIK. THIRD EPISTLE. [Cromek printed this poem from a copy preserved by the author, and found among the " sweepings of his study," which Currie and his advisers had deemed unworthy of publication.] GuiD speed and furder to you, Johnie, Guid health, hale han's and weather bonie ! Now, when ye 're nickin down fu' cannie The staff o' bread, May ye ne'er want a stoup o' bran'y To clear your head ! May Boreas never thresh your rigs, Nor kick your rickles aff their legs, Sendin the stuff o'er muirs an' haggs Like drivin wrack ! But may the tapmost grain that wags Come to the sack ! I 'm bizzie, too, an' skelpin at it ; But bitter, daudin showers hae wat it; Sae my auld stumpie-pen, I gat it, Wi' muckle wark, An' took my jocteleg, an' whatt it Like onie dark. IV. It 's now twa month that I 'm your debtor For your braw, nameless, dateless letter, Abusin me for harsh ill-nature ' On holy men. While deil a hair yoursel better, But mair profane ! ye 're But let the kirk-folk ring their bells ! Let 's sing about our noble sel's : We '11 cry nae jads frae heathen hills To help or roose us. But browster wives an' whisky stills — They are the Muses ! Your friendship, sir, I winna quat it ; An' if ye mak' objections at it, Then hand in nieve some day we '11 knot it, An' witness take ; An', when wi' usquabae we 've wat it, It winna break. But if the beast and branks be spar'd Till kye be gaun without the herd, And a' the vittel in the yard An' theckit right, I mean your ingle-side to guard Ae winter night. Then Muse-inspirin aqua-vitae Shall mak us baith sae blythe an' witty. Till ye forget ye 're auld an' gatty. And be as canty As ye were nine year less than thretty — Sweet ane an' twenty ! IX. But stocks are cowpet wi' the blast, And now the sinn keeks in the wast ; Then I maun rin amang the rest, An' quat my chanter ; TO THE REV. JOHN M'MATH. ^39 Sae I subscribe mysel in haste, Yours, Rab the Ranter. Sept. 13, 1785. TO THE REV. JOHN M'MATH ENCLOSING A COPy OF "HOLY WIL- LIE'S PRAYER," WHICH HE HAD REQUESTED, SEPT. 1 7, 1 785. (The Rev. Mr. M'Math was, when Burns addressed him, assistant and successor to the Rev. Peter Wodrow, minister of Tarbolton.) I. While at the stook the shearers cow'r To shun the bitter blaudin show'r, Or, in gulravage rinnin, scowr : To pass the time, To you I dedicate the hour In idle rhyme. My Musie, tir'd wi' monie a sonnet On gown an' ban' an' douse blaclc- bonnet, Is grown right eerie now she 's done it, Lest they should blame her, An' rouse their holy thunder on it, And anathdm her. I own 't was rash, an' rather hardy, That I, a simple, countra Bardie, Should meddle wi' a pack sae sturdy, Wha, if they ken me, Can easy wi' a single wordie Louse Hell upon me. But I gae mad at their grimaces. Their sighin, cantin, grace-proud faces. Their three-mile prayers an' hauf- mile graces, Their raxin conscience, Whase greed, revenge, an' pride dis- graces Waur nor their nonsense. There 's Gau'n, misca'd waur than a beast, Wha has mair honor in his breast Than monie scores as guid's the priest Wha sae abus't him : And may a Bard no crack his jest What way tney 've use 't him ? VI. See him, the poor man's friend in need, The gentleman in word an' deed — An' shall his fame an' honor bleed By worthless skellums. An' not a Muse erect her head To cowe the blelluras? VII. Pope, had I thy satire's darts To gie the rascals their deserts, 1 'd rip their rotten, hollow hearts, An' tell aloud Their jugglin, hocus-pocus arts To cheat the crowd! God knows, I 'm no the thing I should be. Nor am I even the thing I could be. But twenty times I rather would be An atheist clean Than under gospel colors hid be Just for a screen. IX. An honest man may like a glass. An honest man may like a lass ; But mean revenge an' malice fause He '11 still disdain An' then cry zeal for gospel laws Like some we ken. 140 TO DAVIE. X. They take Religion in their mouth, They talk o' Mercy, Grace, an' Truth : For what? To gie their malice skouth On some puir wight : An' hunt him down, o'er right an' ruth, To ruin streight. All hail, Religion ! Maid divine. 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. Tho' blotch't and foul wi' monie a stain An' 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 o' dark banditti stabs At worth an' merit. By scoundrels, even wi' holy robes But hellish spirit! O Ayr ! my dear, my native ground, Within thy presbyterial bound A candid lib'ral band is found Of public teachers. As men, as Christians too, renown'd, An' manly preachers. Sir, in that circle you are nam'd ; Sir, in that circle you are fam'd ; An' some, by whom your doctrine 's blam'd (Which gies ye honor), Even, Sir, by them your heart's es- teem'd. An' winning manner. Pardon this freedom I have taen, An' if impertinent I 've been. Impute it not, good sir, in ane Whase heart ne'er wrang'd But to his utmost would befriend Ought that belang'd ye. TO DAVIE. SECOND EPISTLE. [This epistle was prefixed to tlie editiah of Sillar's poems, published in Kilmamoclj in 1789.] AULD Neebor, I 'm three times doubly o'er youi debtor For your auld-farrant, frien'ly let- ter; Tho' I maun say't, I doubt yt. flatter, Ye speak sae fair : For my puir, silly, rhymin clattet Some less maun sair. Hale be your heart, hale be your fiddle! Lang may your elbuck jink an' diddle To cheer you thro' the weary wid- dle O' war'ly cares. Till bairns' bairns kindly cuddle Your auld grey hairs! III. But Davie, lad, I'm red ye 're glaikit : TO JOHN KENKEDY, DUMFRIES HOUSE. >4« I 'm tauld the Muse ye hae neg- leckit ; An' gif it 's sae, ye sud be lickit Until ye fyke ; Sic ban's as you sud ne'er be faiket, Be hain't wha like. IV. y or me, I 'm on Parnassus' brink, Ri vi n the words to gar them clink ; Whyles daez't wi' love, whyles daez't wi' drink Wi' jads or Masons, An' whyles, but ay 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 C rhymin clink — The devil-haet that I sud ban! — They never think. VI. Nae thought, nae view, nae scheme o' livin, Nae cares to gie us joy or grievin. But just the pouchie put the nieve in. An' while ought 's there, Then, hiltie-skUtie, we gae scrlevin. An' fash nae mair. Leeze me on rhyme! It 's ay a treasure. My chief, amaist my only pleasure ; At harae, a-fiel', at wark or leisure, The Muse, poor hizzie! Tho' rough an' raploch be her measure. She's seldom lazy. VIII. Hand to the Muse, my daintj Davie : The warl' may play you monie a shavie, But for the Muse, she '11 never leave ye, Tho' e'er sae puir ; Na, even tho' limpin wi' the spavie Frae door to door! TO JOHN KENNEDY, DUM- FRIES HOUSE. [These verses form the conclusion of a letter written to Mr. John Kennedy from Mossgiel, March 3, 1786.] Now, Kennedy, if foot or horse E'er bring you in by Mauchlin Corss (Lord, man, there 's lasses there wad force A hermit's fancy ; And down the gate, in faith ! they 're worse An' mair unchancy) : But as I 'm sayin, please step to Dow'S; An' taste sic gear as Johnie brews. Till some bit callan bring me news That ye are there ; An' if we dinna hae a bowse, I 'se ne'er drink mair. ni. It 's no I like to sit an' swallow, Then like a swine to puke an' wallow ; But gie me just a true guid fallow Wi' right inglne. And spunkie ance to mak us mellow An' then we '11 shine! IV. Now if ye 're ane o' warl's folk, Wha rate the wearer by the cloak, 142 TO GAVIN HAMILTON, ESQ.— TO MR. M'ADAM. An' sklent on poverty their joke Wi' bitter sneer, Wi' you nae friendship I will troke, Nor cheap nor dear. But if, as I 'm informed weel, Ye hate as ill 's the vera Deil The flinty heart that canna feel — Come, sir, here 's tae you ! Hae, there 's my han', I wiss you weel, An' Gude be wi' you ! ROBT. BURNESS. MOSSGIEL, $rd March, 1786. TO GAVIN HAIVIILTON, ESQ., MAUCHLINE. RECOMMENDING A BOY. [Master Toofie was a cattle-dealer in Mauchline, who disguised the age of his cattle by polishing away the marliings on their horns.] MOSSGAVILLE, May 3, 1786. I HOLD it. Sir, my bounden duty To warn you how that Master Tootie, Alias Laird M'Gaun, Was here to hire yon lad away 'Bout whom ye spak the tither day, An' wad hae don't aif han' ; But lest he learn the callan tricks — As faith ! I muckle doubt him — ■ Like scrapin out auld Crummie's nicks, An' tellin' lies about them. As lieve then, I 'd have then Your clerkship he should sair, If sae be ye may be Not fitted otherwhere. Altho' I say't, he 's gleg enough, An' bout a house that's rude an' rough The boy might learn to swear ; But then wi' j/oa he '11 be sae taught, An' get sic fair example straught, I hae na onie fear : Ye '11 catechise him every quirk, An' shore him weel wi' ' Hell ' ; An' gar him follow to the kirk — Ay when ye gang yoursel! If ye, then, maun be then Frae hame this comin Friday, Then please, Sir, to lea'e, Sir, The orders wi' your lady. My word of honour I hae gien. In Paisley John's that night at e'en To meet the ' warld's worm,' To try to get the twa to gree. An' name the airles an' the fee In legal mode an' form : I ken he weel a snick can draw, When simple bodies let him ; An' if a Devil be at a'. In faith he 's sure to get him. To phrase you an' praise you. Ye ken, your Laureat scorns : The pray'r 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. [Cunningham tells us that the factor to Craigen-Gillan was the poet's friend Wood- burn, who was an early acquaintance of Burns.] Sir, o'er a gill I gat your card, I trow it made me proud. ' See wha taks notice o' the Bard !' 1 lap, and cry'd fu' loud. Now deil-ma-care about their jaw, The senseless, gawky million ! I '11 cock my nose aboon them a' : I 'm roos'd by Craigen-Gillan ! REPLY TO AN INVITATION. — TO JOHN KENNEDY. 143 III. T was noble, sir ; 't was like yousel, To grant your high protection : A great man's smile, ye ken fu' well, Is ay a blest infection. Tho', by his banes wha in a tub Match'd Macedonian Sandy! On my ain legs thro' dirt and dub I independent stand ay ; And when those legs to guid warm kail Wi' welcome canna bear me, A lee dyke-side, a sybow-tail, An' barley-scone shall cheer me. Heaven spare you lang to kiss the breath O' raonie flow'ry simmers. An' bless your bonie lasses baith (I 'm tauld they 're loosome kim- mers) ! VII. An' God bless young Dunaskin's laird, The blossom of our gentry, An' may he wear an auld man's beard, A credit to his country! REPLY TO AN INVITATION. [Written doubtless in a tavern. The original Ms. is in the possession of the Paisley Bums Club.] Sir, Yours this moment I unseal, And faith ! 1 'm gay and hearty. To tell the truth and shame the Deil, I am as fou as Bartie. But Foorsday, Sir, my promise leal, Expect me o' your partie. If on a beastie I can speel Or hurl in a cartie. Yours, — Robert Burns Machlin, Monday Night, 10 o'clock. TO DR. MACKENZIE. An Invitation to a Masonic Gathering, [Dr. James Mackenzie, one of the poet's warmest friends, practised medicine at Mauchline. He introduced the poet to Sir James Whitefoord, Professor Dugald Stew- art, and other persons of influence.] Friday first 's the day appointed By our Right Worshipful Anointed To hold our grand possession, To get a blaud o' Johnie's morals, An' taste a swatch o' Manson's barrels I' th' way of our profession. Our Master and the Brotherhood Wad a' be glad to see you. For me, I wad be mair than proud To share the mercies wi' you. If Death, then, wi' skaith then Some mortal heart is hechtin. Inform him, an' storm him. That Saturday ye '11 fecht him. Robert Burns, D.M. MOSSGIEL, I4M June, A.M. 5790. TO JOHN KENNEDY. A Farewell, [These lines form the conclusion of a letter written by Burns to Mr. John Ken- nedy in August, 1786, while his intention yet held of emigrating to America.] Farewell, dear friend! may guid luck hit you. And 'mong her favourites admit you ! 144 TO AN OLD SWEETHEART. If e'er Detraction shore to smit you, May nane believe him ! And onie deil that thinks to get you. Good Lord, deceive him ! TO WILLIE CHALMERS' SWEETHEART. [Mr. Chalmers was a writer in Ayr, and in love. He desired Burns to address the lady in his behalf.] Wl' braw new branks in mickle pride, And eke a braw new brechen, My Pegasus I 'm got astride, And up Parnassus pechin : Whyles owre a bush wi' downward crush The doited beastie stammers ; Then up he gets, and off he sets For sake o' Willie Chalmers. I doubt na, lass, that weel kend name May cost a pair o' blushes : I am nae stranger to your fame. Nor his warm-urgfed wishes : Your bonie face, sae mild and sweet. His honest heart enamours ; And faith ! ye '11 no be lost a whit, Tho' wair'd on Willie Chalmers. Auld Truth hersel might swear ye 're fair. And Honor safely back her ; And Modesty assume your air. And ne'er a ane mistak her ; And sic twa love-inspiring een Might fire even holy palmers : Nae wonder then they 've fatal been To honest Willie Chalmers! I doubt na Fortune may you shore Some mim-mou'd, pouther'd pries- tie. Fu' lifted up wi' Hebrew lore And band upon his breastie ; But O, what signifies to you His lexicons and grammars ? The feeling heart 's the royal blue, And that 's wi' Willie Chalmers. Some gapin, glowrin countra laird May warsle for your favour : May claw his lug, and straik his beard, And hoast up some palaver. My bonie maid, before ye wed Sic clumsy-witted hammers, Seek Heaven for help, and barefit skelp Awa wi' Willie Chalmers. VI. Forgive the Bard! My fond regard For ane that shares my bosom Inspires my Muse to gie 'm his dues, For deil a hair I roose him. May Powers aboon unite you soon, And fructify your Amours, And every year come in mair dear To you and Willie Chalmers ! TO AN OLD SWEETHEART. WRITTEN ON A COPY OF HIS POEMS [The sweetheart was Peggy Thomson of Kirkoswald.] Once fondly lov'd and still remem- ber'd dear. Sweet early object of my youthful vows. Accept this mark of friendship, warm, sincere — (Friendship ! 't is all cold duty now allows) ; EXTEMPORE TO GAVIN HAMILTON. HS And when you read the simple art- less rhymes, One friendly sigh for him — he asks no more — Who, distant, burns in flaming torrid climes, Or haply lies beneath th' Atlantic roar. EXTEMPORE TO GAVIN HAMILTON. STANZAS ON NAETHING. [Published for the first time in Alexander Smith's edition, and extracted, it is sup- posed, iirom the copy of his " Common- J'lace Book " which Burns presented to his iriend Mrs. Dunlop.] To you, Sir, this summons I Ve sent (Pray, whip till the pownie is fraething!) ; But if you demand what I want, I honestly answer you — naething. Ne'er scorn a poor Poet like me For idly just living and breathing, Vi^hile people of every degree Are busy employed about — nae- thing. Poor Centum-per-Centum may fast. And grumble his hurdles their claithing ; He '11 find, when the balance is cast. He 's gane to the Devil for — nae- thing. The courtier cringes and bows ; Ambition has likewise its play- thing — A coronet beams on his brows ; And what is a coronet ? — Nae- thing. Some quarrel the Presbyter gown, Some quarrel Episcopal graithing ; But every good fellow will own The quarrel is a' about — nae- thing. The lover may sparkle and glow. Approaching his bonie bit gay thing ; But marriage will soon let him know He 's gotten — a buskit-up nae- thing. VII. The Poet may jingle and rhyme ' In hopes of a laureate wreathing, And when he has wasted his time. He 's kindly rewarded with — nae- thing. The thundering bully may rage, And swagger and swear like a heathen ; But collar him fast, I '11 engage. You'll find that his courage is — naething. IX. Last night with a feminine Whig — A poet she couldna put faith in! But soon we grew lovingly big, I taught her, her terrors were — naething. Her Whigship was wonderful pleased, But charmingly tickled wi' ae thing ; Her fingers I lovingly squeezed, And kissed her, and promised her — naething. 146 REPLY TO A TRIMMING EPISTLE FROM A TAILOR. XI. The priest anath&mas may threat — Predicament, sir, that we're baith in; But when Honors reveilld is beat, The holy artillery 's — naething. XII. And now I must mount on the wave : My voyage perhaps there is death in; But what is a watery grave ? The drowning a Poet is — nae- thing. And now, as grim Death's in my thought, To you. Sir, I make this bequeath- ing: My service as long as ye 've ought, And my friendship, by God, when ye 've — naething. REPLY TO A TRIMMING EPIS- TLE RECEIVED FROM A TAILOR. [The tailor was one Thomas Walker, who resided at Pool, near Ochiltree. The reply voices the ribald disdain entertained by the Scots peasantry for the disciplinary processes of the Kirk.] What ails ye now, ye lousie bitch, To thresh my back at sic a pitch ? Losh, man, hae mercy wi' your natch ! Your bodkin 's bauld : I didna suffer half sae much Frae Daddie Auld. What tho' at times, when I grow crouse. I gie their wames a random pouse, Is that enough for you to souse Your servant sae ? Gae mind your seam, ye prick-the- louse An' jag-the-flae! III. King David o' poetic brief Wrocht 'mang the lasses sic mischief As fill'd his after-life with grief " An' bloody rants ; An' yet he 's rank'd amang the chief O' lang-syne saunts. And maybe, Tam, for a' my cants. My wicked rhymes an' drucken rants, I '11 gie auld Cloven-Clootie's haunts An unco slip yet. An' snugly sit amang the saunts At Davie's hip yet! But, fegs! the Session says I maun Gae fa' upo' anither plan Than garrin lasses coup the cran, Clean heels owre body, An sairly thole their mither's ban Afore the howdy. VI. This leads me on to tell for sport How I did wi' the Session sort : Auld Clinkurn at the inner port Cried three times : — ' Robin! Come hither lad, and answer for 't. Ye 're blam'd for jobbin! ' Wi' pinch I put a Sunday's face on. An' snoov'd awa' before the Session: I made an open, fair confession — 1 scorn'd to lie — An' syne Mess John, beyond expres- sion. Fell foul o' me. TO MAJOR LOGAN. »47 A. fornicator-loun he callM me, An' said my faut frae bliss expell'd me. I own'd the tale was true he tell'd me, ' But, what the matter ? ' (Quo' I) ' I fear unless ye geld me, I'll ne'er be better!' IX. ' Geld you ! ' (quo' he) ' an' what for no ? If that your right hand, leg, or toe Should ever prove your sp'ritual foe, You should remember To cut it afif ; an' what for no Your dearest member?' 'Na, na' (quo' I), ' I 'm no for that, Gelding 's nae better than 't is ca 't ; I 'd rather suffer for my faut A hearty flewit. As sair owre hip as ye can draw't, Tho' I should rue it. XI. ' Or, gin ye like to end the bother, To please us a' — I 've just ae ither : When next wi' yon lass I forgather, Whate'er betide it, I '11 frankly gie her 't a' thegither, An' let her guide it.' XII. But, Sir, this pleas'd them warst of a'. An' therefore, Tam, when that I saw, I said ' Guid-night,' an' cam awa. An' left the Session : I saw they were resolv&d a' On my oppression. TO MAJOR LOGAN. [Major Logan, a retired military officer, fond of wit, violin playing, and conviviality, who lived at Park Villa, near Ayr.] Hail, thairm-inspirin, rattlin Willie ! Tho' Fortune's road be rough an' hilly To every fiddling, rhyming billie, We never heed, But take it like the unbrack'd filly Proud o' her speed. When, idly goavin, whyles we saunter, Yirr! Fancy barks, awa we canter, Up hill, down brae, till some mishanter. Some black bog-hole, Arrests us ; then the scathe an' banter We 're forced to thole. Hale be your heart ! hale be your fiddle! Lang may your elbuck jink an' diddle^ To cheer you through the weary widdle O' this vile warl', Until you on a cummock driddle, A grey-hair'd carl. Come wealth, come poortith, late or soon. Heaven send your heart-strings ay in tune. And screw your temper-pins aboon (A fifth or mair) The melancholious, sairie croon O' cankrie Care. IVTay still your life from day to day, Nae lente largo in the play But allegretto forte gay. Harmonious flow, A sweeping, kindling, bauld strath- spey — Encore I Bravo I A' blessings on the cheery gang, Wha dearly like a jig or sang, An' never think o' right an' wrang By square an' rule, But as the clegs o' feeling stang ■ Are wise or fool. 148 TO THE GUIDWIFE OF WAUCHOFE HOUSE. My hand-wal'd curse keep hard in chase The harpy, hoodock, purse-proud race, Wha count on poortith as disgrace! Their tuneless hearts, May fireside discords jar a bass To a' their parts ! VIII. But come, your hand, my careless brither ! I' th' ither warl', if there's anither — An' that there is, I 've little swither About the matter — We, cheek for chow, shall jog the- gither — I 'se ne'er bid better ! We've faults and failins — granted clearly! We're fraU, backsliding mortals merely ; Eve's bonie squad, priests wyte them sheerly For our grand fa' ; But still, but still— I like them dearly ... God bless them a' ! Ochon for poor Castalian drinkers, When they fa' foul o' earthly jinkers ! The witchmg, curs'd, delicious bhnk- srs Hae put me hyte. An' gart me weet my waukrife wink- ers Wi' girnin spite. But by yon moon — and that 's high swearin! — An' every star within my hearin, An' by her een wha was a dear ane I 'U ne'er forget, I hope to gie the jads a clearin In fair play yet ! My loss I mourn, but not repent it ; I '11 seek my pursie whare I tint it ; Ance to the Indies! were wonted. Some cantraip hour By some sweet elf I '11 yet be dinted : Then vive V amour I Faites mes baissemains respectueusi To sentimental sister Susie And honest Lucky : no to roose you, Ye may be proud. That sic a couple Fate allows ye To grace your blood. Nae mair at present can I measure. An' trowth ! my rhymin ware 's nae treasure ; But when in Ayr, some half-hour's leisure, Be 't light, be 't dark, Sir Bard will do himself the pleasure To call at Park. Robert Burns. MOSSGIEL, yah October, 1786. TO THE GUIDWIFE OF WAUCHOPE HOUSE. (MRS. SCOTT.) [Mrs. Scott of Wauchope, Roxburgh- shire, had sent a rhymed epistle to Bums, displaying considerable vigor of thought and neatness of expression.] Quid Wife, I mind it weel, in early date. When I was lieardless, young, and blate. TO WILLIAM TYTLER, ESQ. 149 An' first could thresh the barn, Or haud a yokin at the pleugh, An', tho' forfoughten sair eneugh, Yet unco proud to learn ; When first amang the yellow corn A man I reckon'd was, An' wi' the lave ilk merry morn Could rank my rig and lass : Still shearing, and clearing The tither stookfed raw, Wi' clavers an' havers Wearing the day awa. E'en then, a wish (I mind its pow'r), A wish that to my latest hour Shall strongly heave my breast, That I for poor auld Scotland's sake Some usefu' plan or book could make. Or sing a sang at least. The rough burr-thistle spreading wide Amang the bearded bear, X turn'd the weeder-clips aside, An' spar'd 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 an' wrang, Wild floated in my brain ; Till on that hairst I said before, My partner in the merry core, She rous'd the forming strain. I see her yet, the sonsie quean That lighted up my jingle. Her witching smile, her pauky een That gart my heart-strings tingle! I firfed, inspired. At ev'ry kindling keek. But, bashing and dashing, I feared ay to speak. Hale to the sex! (ilk guid chiel says) : Vv^'i' merry dance on winter days. An' we to share in common! The gust o' joy, the balm of woe, The saul o' life, the heav'n below Is rapture-giving Woman. Ye surly sumphs, who hate the name, Be mindfu' o' your mither : She, honest woman, may think shame That ye 're connected with her! Ye 're wae men, ye 're nae men That slight the lovely dears ; To shame ye, disclaim ye. Ilk honest birkie swears. For you, no bred to barn and byre, Wha sweetly tune the Scottish lyre. Thanks to you for your line! The marl'd plaid ye kindly spare. By me should gratefiiUy be ware ; 'Twad please me to the nine. I 'd be mair vauntie o' my hap. Douce hingiii owre my curple. Than onie ermine ever lap. Or proud imperial purple. Farewell, then! lang hale, then. An' plenty be your fa' ! May losses and crosses Ne'er at your hallan ca' ! R. Burns. March, 1787. TO WM. TYTLER, ESQ., OF WOODHOUSELEE, with an impression of the author's portrait. [Mr. Tytler had published an " Inquiry, Historical and Critical, into the evidence against Mary Queen of Scots."] Revered defender of beauteous Stu- art, Of Stuart ! — a name once respected, A name which to love was once mark of a true heart, But now 'tis despis'd and neglected! ISO TO MR. RENTON.— TO MISS ISABELLA MACLEOD. Tho' something like moisture con- globes in my eye — Let no one misdeem me disloyal! A poor friendless wand'rer may well claim a sigh — Still more, if that wand'rer were royal. III. My Fathers that name have rever'd on a throne ; My Fathers have fallen to right it : Those Fathers would spurn their de- generate son, That name, should he scoffingly slight it. Still in prayers for King George I most heartily join, The Queen, and the rest of the gentry ; Be they wise, be they foolish, is noth- ing 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 ? If bringing them over was lucky for us, I 'm sure 't was as lucky for them. But loyalty — truce! we're on dan- gerous ground : Who knows how the fashions may alter? The doctrine, to-day, that is loyalty sound, To-morrow may bring us a halter! VII. I send you a trifle, a head of a Bard, A triiie scarce worthy your care ; But accept it, good Sir, as a mark oi regard. Sincere as a saint's dying prayer. VIII. 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. TO MR. RENTON OF LAMER- TON. [Sent to Mr. Renton, Mordington House, Berwickshire, probably during the poet's Border tour, though Renton is not men- tioned in his journal. Published in Cham- bers, 1851.] Your billet. Sir, I grant receipt ; Wi' you I '11 canter onie gate, Tho' 'twere a trip to yon blue warl' Where birkies march on burning marl: Then, Sir, God willing, I 'U attend ye, And to His goodness I commend ye. R. Burns. TO MISS ISABELLA MACLEOD. [Published in a Dumfries newspaper and again in " The Burns Chronicle " (1895) from the manuscript in the possession of Mrs. Vincent Burns Scott, Adelaide.] Edinburgh, March 16, 17S7. The crimson blossom charms the bee, The summer sun the swallow: So dear this tunefal gift to me From lovely Isabella. TO SYMON GRAY. — TO MISS FERKTER. iS> Her portrait fair upon my mind Revolving time shiall mellow> And mem'ry's latest effort find The lovely Isabella. III. No Bard nor lover's rapture this In fancies vain and shallow ! She is, so come my soul to bliss, The Lovely Isabella ! TO SYMON GRAY. [S>mon Gray lived near Duns, and while Bums was on his Border tour sent him some verses for his opinion.] I. Symon Gray, you 're dull to-day ! Dullness with redoubled sway Has seized the wits of Symon Gray. Dear Symon Gray, the other day When you sent me some rhyme, I could not then just ascertain Its worth for want of time ; III. But now to-day, good Mr. Gray, I 've read it o'er and o'er : Tried all my skill, but find I 'm still Just where I was before. We auld wives' minions gie our opin- ions. Solicited or no ; Then of its fauts my honest thoughts I '11 give — and here they go : Such damn'd bombeist no age that's past Can show, nor time to come ; So, Symon dear, your song I '11 tear, And with it wipe my bum. TO MISS FERRIER. [Eldest daughter of James Ferrier, writer to the Signet, and sister of Miss Ferrier the novelist.] Nae heathen name shall I prefix Frae Pindus or Parnassus ; Auld Reekie dings them a' to sticks For rhyme-inspiring lasses. Jove's tunefu' dochters three times three Made Homer deep their debtor; But gien the body half an e'e, Nine Ferriers wad done better! Last day my mind Was in a bog ; Down George's Street I stoited ; A creeping, cauld, prosaic fog My very senses doited ; Do what I dought to set her firee, My saul lay in the mire : Ye turned a neuk, I saw your e'e, She took the wing like fire ! V. The mournfii' sang I here enclose, In gratitude I send you. And pray, in rhyme as weel as prose^ A' guid things may attend you ! »S2 SYLVANDER TO CLARINDA.— TO CLARINDA. SYLVANDER TO CLARINDA. [Clarinda was Mrs. Agnes Maclehose, daughter of Andrew Craig, surgeon, Glas- gow. See NOTES.] When dear Clarinda, matchless fair, First struck Sylvander's raptur'd view. He gaz'd, he listened to despair — Alas ! 't was all he dared to do. II. Love from Clarinda's heavenly eyes Transfix'd his bosom thro' and thro. But still in Friendship's guarded guise — For more the demon fear'd to do. III. That heart, already more than lost, The imp beleaguer'd all perdu ; For frowning Honor kept his post — To meet that frown he shrunk to do. His pangs the Bard refus'd to own, Tho' half he wish'd Clarinda knew ; But Anguish wrung the unweeting groan — Who blames what frantic Pain must do? That heart, where motley follies blend. Was sternly still to Honor true : To prove Clarinda's fondest friend Was what a lover, sure, might do! The Muse his ready quill employ'd ; No nearer bliss He could pursue ; That bliss Clarinda cold deny'd — 'Send word by Charles how you do!' VII. The chill behest disarm'd his Muse, Till Passion all impatient grew : He wrote, and hinted for excuse, ' 'T was 'cause he'd nothing else to do.' VIII. But by those hopes I have above ! And by those faults I dearly rue ! The deed, the boldest mark of love, For thee that deed I dare to do ! O, could the Fates but name the price Would bless me with your charms and you, With frantic joy I 'd pay it thrice, If human art or power could do ! Then take, Clarinda, friendship's hand (Friendship, at least, I may avow), And lay no more your chill com- mand — I '11 write, whatever I 've to do. SYLVANDER. Wednesday night. TO CLARINDA. WITH A PAIR OF WINE-GLASSES. [The glasses were sent as a parting gift when Burns . left Edinburgh, March 24, 1788.] Fair Empress of the Poet's soul And Queen of Poetesses, Clarinda, take this little boon. This humble pair of glasses ; TO HUGH PARKER.— TO ALEX. CUNNINGHAM. "S3 And fill them up with generous juice, , As generous as your mind ; A*nd pledge them to the generous toast : ' The whole of human kind ! ' III. ' To those who love us ! ' second fill ; But not to those whom we love, Lest we love those who love not us ! A tjhird : — 'To thee and me, love ! ' TO HUGH PARKER. [Written from Ellisland to his friend Mr. Hugh Parker of Kihnarnock. Pub- lished by Cunningham in 1S34.] In this strange land, this uncouth clime, A land unknown to prose or rhyme ; Where words ne'er cros't the Muse's heckles, Nor limpit in poetic shackles : A land that Prose did never view it. Except when drunk he stacher't thro' 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 Enhuskfed by a fog infernal. Here, for my wonted rhyming rap- tures, t sit and count my sins by chapters ; For life and spunk like ither Chris- tians, I 'm dwindled down to mere exist- ence; Wi' na converse but Gallowa' bodies, Wi' nae kend face but Jenny Geddes. Jenny, my Pegasean pride, Dowie she saunters down Nithside, And ay a westlin leuk she throws, While tears hap o er her auld brown Was it for this wi' cannie care Thou bure the Bard through many a shire ? At howes or hillocks never stumbled, And late or early never grumbled? O, had I power like inchnation, I 'd heeze thee up a constellation! To canter with the Sagitarre, Or loup the Ecliptic like a bar. Or turn the Pole like any arrow ; Or, when auld Phoebus bids good-, morrow, Down the Zodiac urge the race. And cast dirt on his godship's face : For I could lay my bread and kaU He'd ne'er cast saut upo' thy tail! Wi' a' this care and a' this grief. And sma', sma' prospect of relief, And nought but 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.- TO ALEX. CUNNINGHAM. Ellisland in Nithsdale, J-uly zjth, 1788. [Burns and Cunningham were on the friendliest terms until the poet's death. It was Cunningham who originated both the subscription on behalf of Mrs. Burns and the scheme for a collected edition, and to him the success of both enterprises is chiefly due.] I. My godlike friend — nay, do not stare : You think the praise is odd-like? But ' God is Love,' the saints declare ; Then surely thou art god-like ! And is thy ardour still the same, And kindled still in Anna? Others may boast a partial flame, But thou art a volcano! IS4 TO ROBERT GRAHAM, ESQ., OF FINTRY, III. Even Wedlock asks not love beyond Death's tie-dissolving portal ; But thou, omnipotently fond, May'st promise love immortal! rv. Thy wounds such healing powers defy, Such symptoms dire attend them, That last great antihectic try — Marriage perhaps may mend them. Sweet Anna has an air — a grace, Divine, magnetic, touching ! She takes, she charms — but who can trace The process of bewitching? TO ROBERT GRAHAM, ESQ., OF FINTRY, REQUESTING A FAVOUR. [Robert Graham of Fintry was one of the Commissioners of Excise. The " Epis- tle " was the poet's earliest attempt in the manner of Pope.] When Nature her great master-piece design'd. And fram'd her last, best work, the human mind, Her, eye intent on all the wondrous plan. She form'd of variousstufF the various Man. The useful many first, she calls them forth — Plain plodding Industry and sober Worth : Thence peasants, farmers, native sons of earth. And merchandise' whole genus take their birth ; Each prudent cit a warm existence finds. And all mechanics' many-apron'd kinds. Some other rarer sorts are wanted yet — The lead and buoy are needful to the net: The caput 7nortuum of gross desires Makes a material for mere knights and squires ; The martial phosphorus is taught to flow ; She kneads the lumpish philosophic dough. Then marks th' unyielding mass with grave designs — Law, physic, politics, and deep di- vines ; Last, she sublimes th' Aurora of the poles. The flashing elements of female souls. The order'd system fair before her stood ; Nature, well pleas'd, pronounc'd it very good ; Yet ere she gave creating laboiu" o'er. Half-jest, she tried one curious labour more. Some spumy, fiery, ignis fatuus mat- ter, Such as the slightest breath of air might scatter ; With arch-alacrity and conscious glee (Nature may have her whim as well as we : Her Hogarth-art, perhaps she meant to show it), She forms the thing, and christens it — a Poet : Creature, tho' oft the prey of care and sorrow, When blest to-day, unmindful of to- morrow ; A being form'd t' amuse his graver friends ; Admir'd and prais'd — and there the wages ends ; A mortal quite unfit for Fortune's strife TO ROBERT GRAHAM, ESQ., OF FINTRY. ISS 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 for her poor work. Viewing the propless climber of man- kind, She cast about a standard tree to find; In pity for his helpless woodbine state. She clasp'd his tendrils round the truly great : A title, and the only one I claim. To lay strong hold for help on bounteous Graham. Pity the hapless Muses' tuneful train ! Weak, timid landsmen on life's stormy main, Their hearts no selfish, stern, absor- bent stuff, That never gives — tho' humbly takes — enough : The little Fate allows, they share as soon, Unhke sage, proverb'd Wisdom's hard-wrung boon. The world were blest did bliss on them depend — Ah, that 'the friendly e'er should want a friend ! ' Let Prudence number o'er each sturdy son Who life and wisdom at one race begun, Who feel by reason, and who give by rule (Instinct 's a brute, and Sentiment a fool !), Who make poor ' will do ' wait upon 'I should' — We own they 're prudent, but who owns they 're good ? Ye wise ones, hence! ye hurt the social eye, God's image rudely etch'd on base alloy! But come ye who the godlike pleasure know. Heaven's attribute distinguish'd — to bestow ! Whose arms of love would grasp all human race : Come thou who giv'st with all a courtier's grace — Friend of my life, true patron of my rhymes. Prop of my dearest hopes for future times! Why shrinks my soul, half blush- ing, half afraid, Backward, abash'd to ask thy friendly aid? I know my need, I know thy giving hand, I tax thy friendship at thy kind com- mand. But there are such who court the tuneful Nina (Heavens! should the branded char- acter be mine !), Whose verse in manhood's pride sub- limely flbws. Yet vilest reptiles in their begging prose. Mark, how their lofty independent spirit Soars on the spurning wing of injur'd merit ! Seek you the proofs in private life to find? Pity the best of words should be but wind! So to Heaven's gates the lark's shrill song ascends. But grovelling on the earth the carol ends. In all the clam'rous cry of starving want, 156 IMPROMPTU TO CAPTAIN RIDDELL.— TO JAMES TENNANT. They dun Benevolence with shame- less front ; Oblige them, patronise their tinsel lays — They persecute you all your future days! Ere my poor soul such deep dam- nation stain, My horny fist assume the plough again ! The pie-bald jacket let me patch once more ! On eighteenpence a week I've liv'd before. Tho', thanks to Heaven, I dare even that last shift, I trust, meantime, my boon is in thy gift: That, plac'd by thee upon the wish'd- for height. With man and nature fairer in her My Muse may imp her wing for some sublimer flight. IMPROMPTU TO CAPTAIN RIDDELL, ON RETURNING A NEWSPAPER. [Burns's near neighbor at Friars Carse, who showed him great courtesy, and gave him a Icey to his private grounds and the Hermitage on Nithside. The news- paper contained some strictures on Burns's poetry.] Ellisland, Monday Evening. I. Your News and Review, Sir, I 've read through and through, Sir, With little admiring or blaming : The Papers are barren Of home-news or foreign — No murders or rapes worth the nam- ing. Our friends, the Reviewers, Those chippers and hewers. Are judges of mortar and stone, Sir ; But of meet or unmeet In a fabric complete I '11 boldly pronounce they are none, Sir. III. My goose-quill too rude is To tell all your goodness Bestow'd on your servant, the Poet ; Would to God I had one Like a beam of the sun. And then all the world. Sir, should know it ! REPLY TO A NOTE FROM CAPTAIN RIDDELL. [This trifle was written on the back of a rhyming note from Glenriddell himself.] Ellisland. Dear Sir, at onie time or tide I 'd rather sit wi' you than ride, Tho' 't were wi' royal Geordie : And trowth ! your kindness soon and late Aft gars me to mysel look blate — The Lord in Heaven reward ye! R. Burns. TO JAMES TENNANT OF GLENCONNER. [Mr. James Tennant of Glenconner was an old friend of the Poet, and was consulted by him respecting the taking of the farm of Ellisland.] AuLD comrade dear and brither sinner, How's a' the folk about Glencon- ner ? TO JOHN M'MURDO. -57 How do you this blae eastlin wind, That 's like to blaw a body blind ? For me, ray faculties are frozen. My dearest member nearly dozen'd. I've sent you here, by Johnie Sim- son, Twa sage philosophers to glimpse on : Smith wi' his sympathetic feeling, An' Reid to common sense appeal- ing. Philosophers have fought and wran- gled, An' meikle Greek an' Latin mangled, Till, wi' their logic-jargon tir'd And in the depth of science mir'd. To common sense they now appeal — What wives and wabsters see and feel! But, hark ye, friend ! I charge you strictly, Peruse them, an' return them quickly : For now I 'm grown sae cursed douse I pray and ponder butt the house ; My shins my lane I there sit roastin, Perusing Bunyan, Brown, an' Boston ; Till by an' by, if I haud on, I '11 grunt a reJil gospel groan. Already I begin to try it, To cast my een up lilce a pyet, When by the gun she tumbles o'er, Flutt'ring an' gasping in her gore : Sae shortly you shall see me bright, A burning an' a shining light. My heart-warm love to guid auld Glen, The ace an' wale of honest men : When bending down wi' auld grey hairs Beneath the load of years and cares. May He who made him still support him. An' views beyond the grave comf6rt him ! His worthy fam'ly far and near, God bless them a' wi' grace and gear ! My auld WUlie, schoolfellow, preacher The manly tar, my Mason-billie, And Auchenbay, I wish him joy ; If he 's a' parent, lass or boy. May he be dad and Meg the mither Just five-and-forty years thegither ! And no forgetting wabster Charlie, I 'm tauld he offers very fairly An', Lord, remember singing Sannock Wi' hale breeks, saxpence, an' a ban- nock ! And next my auld acquaintance, Nancy, Since she is fitted to her fancy. An' her kind stars hae airted till her A giiid chiel wi' a pickle siller ! My kindest, best respects, I sen' it, To cousin Kate, an' sister Janet : Tell them, frae me, wi' chiels be cautious, For, faith ! they'll aiblins fin' them fashious ; To grant a heart is fairly civil. But to grant a maidenhead's the devil ! An' lastly, Jamie, for yoursel. May guardian angels tak a spell. An' steer you seven miles south o' Hell! But first, before you see Heaven's glory. May ye get monie a merry story, Monie a laugh and monie a drink, And ay eneugh o' needfu' clink ! Now fare ye weel, an' joy be wi' you ! For my sake, this I beg it o' you : Assist poor Simson a' ye can ; Ye '11 fin' him just an honest man. Sae I conclude, and quat my chanter, Yours, saint or sinner, Rab the Ranter. TO JOHN M'MURDO. WITH SOME OF THE AUTHOR'S POEMS. Srhe note was probably sent after a lettel e poet in which he says be is indebted IS8 SONNET TO ROBERT GRAHAM. — EPISTLE TO DR. BLACKLOCK to M'Murdo for a chap containing " Five Excellent Songs."] O, COULD I give thee India's wealth, As I this trifle send ! Because thy Joy in both would be To share them with a friend ! But golden sands did never grace The Heliconian stream ; Then take what gold could never buy — An honest Bard's esteem. SONNET TO ROBERT GRA- HAM, ESQ. OF FINTRY, ON RECEIVING A FAVOUR, I9TH AUGUST, 1789. [The favor was the appointment to an excise district on which the writer's farm was situated.] 1 CALL no Goddess to iiispire my strains : A fabled Muse may suit a Bard that feigns. Friend of ray life ! my ardent spirit burns, And all the tribute of my heart re- turns, For boons accorded, goodness ever new. The gift still dearer, as the giver you. Thou orb of day ! thou other paler light ! And all ye many sparkling stars of night ! If aught that giver from my mind efface. If I that giver's bounty e'er disgrace, Then roll to me along your wand'ring spheres Only to number out a villain's years I I lay my hand upon my swelling breast, And grateful would, but cannot, speak the rest. EPISTLE TO DR. BLACKLOCK. [Thomas Blacklock, a blind poet, protfig^ of David Hume. It was owing to Blacklock that Burns resolved upon an Edinburgh edition.] Ellisland, zist Oct., 1789. Wow, but your letter made me vauntie ! And are ye hale, and weel, and cantie? I kend it still, your wee bit jauntie Wad bring ye to : Lord send you ay as weel 's I want ye. And then ye '11 do ! The Ill-Thief blaw the Heron south. And never drink be near his drouth ! He tauld mysel by word o' mouth. He 'd tak my letter : I lippen'd to the chiel in trowth. 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. IV. But what d' ye think, my trusty fier? I 'm turned a ganger — Peace be here! Parnassian queires, I fear, I fear, Ye '11 now disdain me, And then my fifty pounds a year Will little gain me! TO A GENTLEMAN. 159 V. Ye glaikit, gleesome, dainty damies, Wha by Castalia's vvimplin streamies Lowp, sing, and lave your pretty limbies, • Ye ken, ye ken. That Strang necessity supreme is 'iVlang 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 thro' this warld o' care! I 'm weary — sick o 't late and air! Not but I hae a richer share Than monie ithers ; But why should ae man better fare, And a' men brithers ? VIII. Come, firm Resolve, take thou the van, Thou stalk o' carl-hemp in man! And let us mind, faint heart ne'er wan A lady fair : Wha does the utmost that he can Will whyles do mair. But to conchide 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 daintie chuckle As e'er tread clay : And gratefully, my guid auld cockle, I 'm yours for ay. Robert Burns. TO A GENTLEMAN WHO HAD SENT A NEWSPAPER, AND OFFERED TO CONTINUE IT FREE OF EXPENSE. [Probably Peter Stuart of the London " Star." The lines were published in Cur- rie, 1800.] Kind Sir, I've read your paper through. And faith, to me 't was really new! How guessed ye. Sir, what maist I wanted? This monie a day I've grain'd and gaunted, To ken what French mischief was brewin ; Or what the drumlie Dutch were doin ; That vile doup-skelper. Emperor Jo- seph, If Venus yet had got his nose off; Or how the coUieshangie 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 ; How cut-throat Prussian blades were hingin ; How libbet Italy was singing ; 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 ! — 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 ; leo TO PETER STUART.— TO JOHN MAXWELL, ESQ. How cesses, stents, and fees were rax'd, Or if bare arses yet were tax'd ; The news o' princes, dukes, and earls, Pimps, sharpers, bawds, and opera- giris ; If that daft buckie, Geordie Wales, Was threshin still at hizzies' tails ; Or if he was grown oughtlins douser, And no a perfect kintra cooser : A' this and mair I never heard of. And, but for you, I might despair'd of. So, gratefu', back your news I send you. And pray a' guid things may attend )'ou! Ellisland, Monday Mornmg. TO PETER STUART. [The post-office authorities were evi- dently remiss in their duties, and the poet missed his paper.] Dear Peter, dear Peter, We poor sons of metre Are often negleckit, ye ken : For instance your sheet, man (Tho' glad 1 'm to see 't, man), I get it no ae day in ten. TO JOHN MAXWELL, ESQ., OF TERRAUGHTIE, ON HIS BIRTH-DAY. [John Maxwell, Esq., of Terraughty and Munches. He died in 1814, aged 94.] Health to the Maxwells' vet'ran Chief! Health ay unsour'd by care or grief! Inspjr'd, I turn'd Fate's sibyl leaf This natal morn : I see thy life is stuff o' prief. Scarce quite half-worn. n. This day thou metes threescore eleven. And I can tell that bounteous Heaven (The second sight, ye ken, is given To ilka Poet) On thee a tack o' seven times seven. Will yet bestow it. m. If envious buckies view wi' sorrow Thy lengthen'd days on thy blest morrow, May Desolation's lang-teeth'd har- row. Nine miles an' hour, Rake them, like Sodom and Go- morrah, In brunstane stoure ! But for thy friends, and they are monie, Baith honest men and lasses bonie, May couthie Fortune, kind and can- nie In social glee, Wi' mornings blythe and e'enings funny Bless them and thee ! V. Fareweel, auld birkie! Lord be near ye, And then the Deil, he daurna steer ye! Your friends ay love, your foes ay fear ye ! For me, shame fa' me, If neist my heart I dinna wear ye. While Burns they ca' me ! TO WILLIAM STEWART.— TO COLLECTOR MITCHELL. i<;i TO WILLIAM STEWART. [" Honest Bacon " was landlord of the inn at Brownhill, and a relative of Stewart, who was factor at Closeburn, hard by.] In honest Bacon's ingle-neuk Here maun I sit and think, Sick o' the warld and warld's folk, An' sick, damn'd sick, o' drink I I see, I see there is nae help. But still doun I maun sink, Till some day laigh enough I yelp : — ' Wae worth that cursed drink ! ' Yestreen, alas ! I was sae fa' I could but yisk and wink ; And now, this day, sair, sair I rue The weary, weary drink. Satan, I fear thy sooty claws, I hate thy brunstane stink, And ay I curse the luckless cause — The wicked soup o' drink. In vain I would forget my woes In idle rhyming clink. For, past redemption damn'd in prose, I can do nought but drink. To you my trusty, well-tried friend. May heaven still on ypu blink ! And may your life flow to the end. Sweet as a dry man's drink ! INSCRIPTION TO MISS GRA- HAM OF FINTRY. [Daughter of Bums's patron in the de- partment of the Customs. Published by Currie, 1800.] Here, where the Scottish Muse im- mortal lives In sacred strains and tuneful num- bers join'd, Accept the gift ! Though humble he who gives. Rich is the tribute of the grateful mind. So may no rulBan 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 ! III. 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 sanc- tion seals ! Robert Burns. Dumfries, 31st yamiary, 1794. REMORSEFUL APOLOGY. , [Probably Mrs. Walter Riddell is the kdy addressed.] I. The friend whom, wild from Wis- dom's way, The fumes of wine infuriate send (Not moony madness more astray). Who but deplores that hapless friend ? II. Mine was th' insensate, frenzied part — Ah ! why should I such scenes outlive? Scenes so abhorrent to my heart ! 'T is thine to pity and forgive. TO COLLECTOR MITCHELL. [Burns was on very friendly terms with Mitchell, and often sent him first drafts for criticism.] I. Friend of the Poet, tried and leal, Wha wanting thee might beg or steal; I62 TO COLONEL DE PEYSTER. Alake, alake, the meilde Deil Wi' a' his witches Are at it, skelpin jig an' reel In my poor pouches ! I modestly fu' fein wad hint it, That One-pound-one, I sairly want it ; If wi' the hizzie down ye sent it. It wad be kind ; And while my heart wi' life-blood dunted, ' '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 I Postscript. IV. Ye 've heard this while how I 've been licket, And by fell Death was nearly nicket : Grim loon ! He got 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 '11 tak a care o 't, A tentier way ; Then farewell Folly, hide and hair o 't, For ance and ay ! TO COLONEL DE PEYSTER. [Colonel Arentz Schuyler de Peyster was descended from a Huguenot family settled in America, and served with distinction in the American war. He was colonel of the Dumfries Volunteers.] I. My honor'd Colonel, deep I feel Your interest in the Poet's weal : Ah ! now sma' heart hae I to speel The steep Parnassus, Surrounded thus by bolus pill And potion glasses. O, what a canty world were it, Would pain and care and sickness spare it. And Fortune favor worth and merit As they deserve, And ay a rowth — roast-beef and claret ! — Syne, wha wad starve ? Dame Life, tho' fiction out may trick her. And in paste gems and frippery deck her. Oh ! flickering, feeble, and unsicker I 've found her still : Ay wavering, like the willow- wicker, 'T ween good and ill ! Then that curst carmagnole, Auld Satan, Watches, like baudrons by a ration, Our sinfu' saul to get a claut on Wi' felon ire ; Syne, whip ! his tail ye '11 ne'er cast saut on — He 's aflF like fire. Ah Nick ! Ah Nick ! it is na fair, First showing us the tempting ware, Bright wines and bonie lasses rare, To put us daft ; TO MISS JESSIE LEWARS. — INSCRIPTION. 163 Syne weave, unseen, thy spider snare O' Hell's damned waft ! Poor Man, the flie, aft bizzes by, And aft, as chance he comes thee nigh. Thy damn'd auld elbow yeuks wi' joy And hellish pleasure. Already in thy fancy's eye Thy sicker treasure ! VII. Soon, heels o'er gowdie, in he gangs. And, like a sheep-head on a tangs, Thy girnin laugh enjoys his pangs And murdering wrestle. As, dangling in the wind, he hangs A gibbet's tassle. But lest you think I am uncivil To plague you with this draunting drivel, Abjuring a' intentions evil, I quat my pen : The Lord preserve us frae the Devil Amen! Amen! TO MISS JESSIE LEWARS. [On a copy of the "Scots Musical Mu- seum," in four volumes, presented to her by Burns.] Thine be the volumes, Jessie fair. And with them take the Poet's prayer : That Fate may in her fairest page. With ev'ry kindliest, best presage Of future bliss enrol thy name ; With native worth, and spotless fame. And wakeful caution, still aware Of ill — but chief Man's felon snare! All blameless joys on earth we find, And all the treasures of the mind — These be thy guardian and reward ! So prays thy faithful friend, the Bard. Robert Burns. June 16th, 1796. INSCRIPTION WRITTEN ON THE BLANK LEAF OF A COPY OF THE LAST EDITION OF MY POEMS, PRESENTED TO THE LADY WHOM, IN SO MANY FICTITIOUS REV- ERIES OF PASSION, BUT WITH THE MOST ARDENT SENTIMENTS OF REAL FRIENDSHIP, I HAVE SO OFTEN SUNG UNDER THE NAME OF CHLORIS. [The lady was Miss Jean Lorimer, daugh- ter of a farmer residing a little distance from Dumfries.] I. 'T IS Friendship's pledge, my young, fair Friend, Nor thou the gift refuse ; Nor with unwilling ear attend The moralising Muse. Since thou in all thy youth and charms Must bid the world adieu (A world 'gainst peace in constant arms), To join the friendly few ; Since, thy gay morn of life o'ercast. Chill came the tempest's lour (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, 164 PROLOGUE FOR MR. WOODS. Still nobler wealth hast thou in store — The comforts of the mind! Thine is the self-approving glow Of conscious honor's part ; And (^dearest gift of Heaven below) Thine Friendship's truest heart ; The joys refin'd of sense and taste, With every Muse to rove : And doubly were the Poet blest, These joys could he improve. Utie Bagatelle de PAmitiS, COILA. THEATRICAL PIECES. PROLOGUE SPOKEN BY MR. WOODS ON HIS BENE- FIT NIGHT, MONDAY, i6tH APRIL, 1787. [Burns's interest in Woods was probably quickened by the player's friendship with Fergusson, who in his Last Will bequeaths him his Shakespeare.] When by a generous Public's kind acclaim That dearest need is granted — honest fame ; When here your favour is the actor's lot, Nor even the man in private life for- got; What breast so dead to heavenly Virtue's glow But heaves impassion'd with the grateful throe ? Poor is the task to please a barb'rous throng: It needs no Siddons's powers in Southern's song. But here an ancient nation, fam'd afar For genius, learning high, as great in war. Hail, Caledonia, name for ever dear ! Before whose sons I 'm honor'd to appear Where every science, every nobler art. That can inform the mind or mend the heart. Is known (as gratefiU 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). Witness my heart, how oft with pant- ing fear, As on this night, I 've met these judges here ! But still the hope Experience taught to live : Equal to judge, you 're candid to for- give. PROLOGUE SPOKEN AT THE THEATRE OF DUMFRIES. I6S No hundred-headed Riot here we meet, With Decency and Law beneath his feet; Nor Insolence assumes fair Freedom's name : Like Caledonians you applaud or blame ! O Thou, dread Power, Whose empire- giving hand Has oft been stretch'd to shield the honor'd land! Strong may she glow with all her ancient fire ; May every son be worthy of his sire ; Firm may she rise, with generous dis- dain At Tyranny's, or direr Pleasure's chain ; Still self-dependent in her native shore. Bold may she brave grim Danger's loudest roar. Till Fate the curtain drop on worlds to be no more ! PROLOGUE SPOKEN AT THE THEATRE OF DUMFRIES, ON NEWf year's day EVENING, I79O. [Of this Prologue Burns writes to " Mr. George Sutherland, Player, Dumfries." '* The enclosed verses are very incorrect . . . but if they can be of any service to Mr. Sutherland and his friends I shall kiss my hands to my Lady Muse, and own myself much her debtor."] No song nor dance I bring from yon great city That queens it o'er our taste — the more's the pity! Tho', by the bye, abroad why will you roam? Good sense and taste are natives here at home. But not for panegyric I appear : I come to wish you all a good New Year! Old Father Time deputes me here before ye. Not for to preach, but tell his simple story. The sage, grave Ancient cough'd, and bade me say : ' You 're one year older this important day.' If wiser too — he hinted some sug- gestion. But 't would be rude, you know, to ask ' the question ; And with a would-be-roguish leer and wink He bade me on you press this one word — Think ! Ye sprightly youths, quite flush with hope and spirit, Who think to storm the world by dint of merit. To you the dotard has a deal to say. In his sly, dry, sententious, proverb way! He bids you mind, amid your thought- less rattle, That the first blow is ever half the battle ; That, tho' some by the skirt may try to snatch him ; Yet by the forelock is the hold to catch him ; That, whether doing, suffering, or forbearing. You may do miracles by persevering. Last, tho' not least in love, ye youth- ful fair. Angelic forms, high Heaven's pecul- iar care ! To you old Bald-Pate smoothes his wrinkled brow, And humbly begs you'll mind the important — Now ! To crown your happiness he asks your leave. And offers bliss to give and to receive. For our sincere, tho' haply weak endeavours, i66 SCOTS PROLOGUE FOR MRS. SUTHERLAND. With grateful pride we own your many favours ; And howsoe'er our tongues may ill reveal it, Believe our glowing bosoms truly feel it. SCOTS PROLOGUE FOR MRS. SUTHERLAND, ON HER BENEFIT NIGHT AT THE THEATRE, DUMFRIES, MARCH 3D, 1790. [This Prologue has been hitherto desig- nated as for Mr. Sutherland, but that it was for his wife is proved, first by an unpub- lished letter to Mrs. Dunlop : " The follow- ing is a Prologue I made for his wife ; " and second by a humorous letter (unpublished) to Provost Staig, Dumfries, in which Burns states that Sutherland had asked him for a Prologue for Mrs. Sutherland's benefit night. — Centenary Edition.] What needs this din about the town o' Lon'on, How this new play an' that new song is comin ? Why is outlandish stuff sae meikle courted ? Does Nonsense mend like brandy — when imported? Is there nae poet, burning keen for fame, Will bauldly try to gie us plays at hame? For Comedy abroad he need na toil : A knave and fool are plants of every soil. Nor need he stray as far as Rome or Greece To gather matter for a serious piece : There 's themes enow in Caledonian story Would show the tragic Muse in a' her glory. Is there no daring Bard will rise and tell How glorious Wallace stood, how hapless fell ? Where are the Muses tied that could produce A drama worthy o' the name o' Bruce? How here, even here, he first un- sheath'd the sword 'Gainst mighty England and her guilty lord. And after monie a bloody, deathless doing, Wrench'd his dear country from the jaws of Ruin! O, for a Shakespeare, or an Otway scene To paint the lovely, hapless Scottish Queen ! Vain all th' omnipotence of female charms 'Gainst headlong, ruthless, mad Re- bellion's arras ! She fell, but fell with spirit truly Roman, To glut the vengeance of a rival womau : A woman (tho' the phrase may seem uncivil) As able — and as cruel — as the Devil ! One Douglas lives in Home's immor- tal page, But Douglasses were heroes every age; And tho' your fathers, prodigal of life, A Douglas followed to the martial strife, Perhaps, if bowls row right, and Right succeeds. Ye yet may follow 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 patronize, befriend them, And where ye justly can commend, commend them : THE RIGHTS OP WOMAN. 167 And aiblins, when they winna stand the test, Wink hard, and say : ' The folks hae done their best ! ' Would a' the land do this, then I '11 be caition Ye '11 soon hae Poets o' the Scottish nation Will gar Fame blaw until her trumpet crack. And warsle Time, an' lay him on his back ! For us and for our stage, should onie spier : — ' Whase aught thae chiels raaks a' this bustle here?' My best leg foremost, I '11 set up my brow : — 'We have the honor to belong to you !' We 're your ain bairns, e'en guide us as ye like, But like good mithers, shore before ye strike ; And gratefu' still I trust ye '11 ever find us For gen'rous patronage and raeikle kindness , We 've got frae a' professions setts an' ranks : Crod help us ! we 're but poor — ye'se get but thanks! THE RIGHTS OF WOMAN. An Occasional Address. SPOKEN BY MISS FONTENELLE ON HER BENEFIT NIGHT NOVEMBER 26, 1792. [Sent to Miss Fontenelle in a compli- mentary letter, in which the poet writes: " Your charms as a woman would secure ap- plause to the most indifferent actress, and your theatrical talents would secure admira- tion to the plainest figure." She played in America under the name of Mrs. Wilkin- son, and died in Charleston, S. C, ot yellow fever, September, 1800.] While Europe's eye is fix'd on mighty things. The fate of empires and the fall of kings ; While quacks of State must each pro- duce his plan. And even children lisp the Rights of Man; Amid this mighty fiiss just let me mention, The Rights of Woman merit some attention. First, in the sexes' intermix'd connex- ion One sacred Right of Woman is Pro- tection ; The tender flower, that lifts its head elate, Helpless must fall before the blasts of fate. Sunk on the earth, defac'd its lovely form. Unless your shelter ward th' impend- ing storm. Our second Right — but needless here is caution — To keep that right inviolate 's the fashion : Each man of sense has it so full before him. He 'd die before he 'd wrong it — 't is Decorum ! There was, indeed, in far less polish'd days, A time, when rough rude Man had naughty ways : Would swagger, swear, get drunk, kick up a riot, Nay, even thus invade a lady's quiet ! Now, thank our stars ! these Gothic times are fled ; Now, well-bred men — and you are all well-bred — Most justly think (and we are much the gainers) i68 ADDRESS FOR MISS FONTENELLE. Such conduct neither spirit, wit, nor manners. For Right the third, our last, our best, our dearest : That right to fluttering female hearts the nearest, Which even the Rights of Kings, in low prostration, Most humbly own — 'tis dear, dear Admiration ! In that blest sphere alone we live and move; There taste that life of life — Immor- tal Love. Smiles, glances, sighs, tears, fits, flirta- tions, airs — 'Gainst such an host what flinty sav- age dares? When awful Beauty joins with all her charms. Who is so rash as rise in rebel arms ? But truce with kings, and truce with constitutions, With bloody armaments and revolu- tions ; Let Majesty your first, attention sum- mon : Ah I qa ira I the Majesty of Woman ! ADDRESS SPOKEN BY MISS' FONTENELLE ON HER BENEFIT NIGHT, DECEMBER 4TH, 1793, AT THE THEATRE, DUM- FRIES. Still anxious to secure your partial favor, And not less anxious, sure, this night than ever, A Prologue, Epilogue, or some such matter, 'T would vamp my biU, said I, if noth- ing 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 slilj 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 crea- ture eyeing : — 'D'ye think,' said I, 'this face was made for crying? I'll laugh, that's poz — nay more, the world shall know it ; And so, your servant ! gloomy Master Poet ! ' Firm as my creed. Sirs, 't is my fix'd belief That Misery's another word for Grief I also think (so may I be a bride!) That, so much laughter, so much life enjoy'd. Thou man of crazy care and ceaseless sigh, Still under bleak Misfortune's blasting eye; Doom'd to that sorest task of man alive — • To make three guineas do the work of five; Laugh in Misfortune's face — the bel- dam witch — Say you '11 be merry, tho' you can't be rich! ADDRESS OF BEELZEBUB. 169 Thou other man of care, the wretch Would'st thou be cur'd, thou silly, in love! moping elf? Who long with jiltish arts and airs hast Laugh at her follies, laugh e'en at thy- strove ; self; Who, as the boughs all temptingly Learn to despise those frowns now so project, terrific, Measur'st in desperate thought — a And love a kinder : that 's your grand rope — thy neck — specific. Or, where the beetling cliff o'erhangs the deep, To sum up all : be merry, I advise ; Peerest to meditate the healing' And as we 're merry, may we still be leap: wise! POLITICAL PIECES. ADDRESS OF BEELZEBUB To the Right Honorable the Earl of Breadalbane, President of the Right Honor- able the Highland Society, which met on the 23rd of May last, at the Shakespeare, Covent Garden, to concert ways and means to frus- trate the designs of five hundred Highland- ers who, as the Society were informed by Mr. M'Kenzie of Applecross, were so auda- cious as to attempt an escape from their lawful lords and masters whose property they were, by emigrating from the lands of Mr. Macdonald of Glengary to the wilds of Canada, in search of that' fantastic thing — Liberty. [" Highlanders in those days wanted to emigrate, the chiefs wanted them to stay at home. The parts have long been inverted." — Andrew Lang.] Long life, my lord, an' health be yours, Unskaith'd by hunger'd Highland boors! Lord grant nae duddie, despeiate beg- . SF' Wi' dirk, claymore, or rusty trigger, May tvvin auld Scotland o' a life She likes — as lambkins like a knife ! Faith ! you and Applecross were right To keep the Highland hounds in sight! I doubt na! they wad bid nae better Than let them ance out owre the water ! Then up amang thae lakes and seas, They '11 mak what rules and laws they please : Some daring Hancock, or a Franklin, May set their Highland bluid a-ranklin ; Some Washington again may head them. Or some Montgomerie, fearless, lead them : TUl (God knows what may be effected When by such heads and hearts directed) Poor dunghill sons of dirt an' mire May to Patrician rights aspire! Nae sage North now, nor sager Sack- ville, To watch and premier owre the pack vile! An' whare will ye get Howes and Clintons To bring them to a right repentance ? To cowe the rebel generation, An' save the honor o' the nation? They, an' be damn'd! what right hae they To meat or sleep or light o' day. Far less to riches, pow'r, or freedom, But what your lordship likes to gie them? But hear, my lord! Glengary, hear! Your hand 's owre light on them, I fear •■ Your factors, grieves, trustees, and bail ies, I canna say but they do gaylies : They lay aside a' tender mercies. An' tirl the bullions to the birses. 370 BIRTHDAY ODE. Yet while they're only poind and herriet, They '11 keep their stubborn Highland spirit. But smash them! crush them a' to spalls, An' rot the dyvors i' the jails ! The young dogs, swinge them to the labour : Let wark an' hunger mak them sober! The hizzies, if they 're aughtlins faw- sont, Let them in Drury Lane be lesson'd ! An' if the wives an' dirty brats Come thiggin at your doors an' yetts, Flaffin wi' duds an' grey wi' beas', Frighten awa your deuks an' geese, Get out a horsewhip or a jowler, The langest thong, the fiercest growler, An'-gar the tatter'd gypsies pack Wi' a' their bastards on their back! Go on, my Lord! I lang to meet you, An' in my ' house at hame ' to greet you. Wi' common lords ye shanna mingle : The benmost neuk beside the ingle. At my right han' assigned your seat 'Tween Herod's hip an' Polycrate, Or (if you on your station tarrow) Between Almagro and Pizarro, A seat, I 'm sure ye 're weel deservin 't ; An' till ye come — your humble ser- "^^°*' Beelzebub. Hell, Tjt fune. Anno Mundi 5790. BIRTHDAY ODE FOR 31ST DECEMBER, 1787. ["This piece has a melancholy interest. The greatest of Scottish poets wrote the last Birthday Ode for the last hope of the Stuart line. In a month the king was dead." — ANDREW Lang.] Afar the illustrious Exile roams. Whom kingdoms on this day should hail. Ah inmate in the casual shed. On transient pity's bounty fed, Haunted by busy Memory's bittel tale! Beasts of the forest have their savage homes. But He, who should imperial purple wear, Owns not the lap of earth where rests his royal head : His wretched refuge dark despair, While ravening wrongs and woes pursue. And distant far the faithful few Who would his sorrows share ! False flatterer, Hope, away, Nor think to lure us as in days of yore ! We solemnize this sorrowing natal day. To prove our loyal truth — we can no more — And, owning Heaven's mysterious sway. Submissive, low, adore. Ye honor'd, mighty Dead, Who nobly perish'd in the glori- ous cause. Your King, your Country, and her laws : From great Dundee, who smiling Victory led And fell a Martyr in her arms (What breast of northern ice but warms !), To bold Balmerino's undying name, Whose soul of fire, lighted at Heav- en's high flame. Deserves the proudest wreath de- parted heroes claim ! Not unrevenged your fate shall lie. It only lags, the fatal hour : Your blood shall with incessant cry Awake at last th' unsparing Power. As from the cliff, with thundering course. The snowy ruin smokes along With doubling speed and gathering force, ODE TO THE DEPARTED REGENCY BILL. 171 Till deep it, crushing, whelms the cottage in the vale, So Vengeance' arm, ensanguin'd, strong, Shall with resistless might assail, Usurping Brunswick's pride shall lay, And Stewart's wrongs and yours with tenfold weight repay. Perdition, baleful child of night, Rise and revenge the injured right Of Stewart's royal race ! Lead on the unmuzzled hounds of Hell, Till all the frighted echoes tell The blood-notes of the chase ! Full on the quarry point their view, Full on the base usurping crew. The tools of faction and the nation's curse ! Hark how the cry grows on the wind ; They l^ave the lagging gale be- hind; Their savage fury, pityless, they pour; With murdering eyes already they devour ! See Brunswick spent, a wretched prey, His life one poor despainng day. Where each avenging hour stUl ushers in a worse ! Such Havoc, howling all abroad. Their utter ruin bring. The base apostates to their God Or rebels to their King ! ODE TO THE DEPARTED REGENCY BILL. [Fox insisted on a regency during the insanity of George III. Pitt opposed. In the meantime the l . . Dumounerr I will fight France with you, Dumourier, I will fight France with you, Dumourier ; I will fight France with you, I will take my chance with you, By my soul, I '11 dance with you, Dumourier ! igS ON JOHN M'MURDO. — ON MRS. RIDDELL'S BIRTHDAY. Then let us fight about, Duraourier ! Then let us fight about, Dumourier ! Then let us fight about Till Freedom's spark be out, Then we '11 be damn'd, no doubt, Dumourier. ON JOHN M'MURDO. [Cunningham states that the verses " ac- companied a present of boolcs or verse," and that afterwards Bums wrote them on a window-pane with a diamond.] Blest be M'Murdo to his latest day! No envious cloud o'ercast his evening ray ! No wrinkle fiirrow'd by the hand of care, Nor ever sorrow, add one silver hair ! O may no son the father's honor stain, Nor ever daughter give the mother pain! ON HEARING A THRUSH SING IN A MORNING WALK IN JANUARY. [Burns dealt little in sonnets ; this example breaks every former rule except that which restricts the number of lines to fourteen.] Sing on, sweet thrush, upon the leaf- less bough. Sing on, sweet bird, I listen to thy strain : See aged Winter, 'mid his surly reign. At thy biythe carol clears his fur- rowed brow. So in lone Poverty's dominion drear Sits meek Content with light, un- anxious 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, Thou whose bright sun now gilds yon orient skies ! Riches denied, Thy boon was purer joys: What wealth could never give nor take away ! Yet come, thou child of Poverty and Care, The mite high Heav'n bestow'd, that mite with thee I '11 share. IMPROMPTU ON MRS. RID- DELL'S BIRTHDAY, 4TH NOVEMBER 1 793. [Mrs. Walter Riddell, whose maiden name was Maria Woodley, was the daugh- ter of William Woodley, Commander and Governor of St. Kitts and the Leeward Islands.] Old Winter, with his frosty beard. Thus once to Jove his prayer pre- ferred : — ' 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 crown- ing. But spleeny, English hanging, drown- ing. II. 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 brilliant gift shall so enrich me. Spring, Summer, Autumn, cannot match me.' ON THE DEATH OF ROBT. RIDDEEL. — GRIZZEL GRIMME. 199 ''T is done ! ' says Jove ; so ends my story, And Winter once rejoiced in glory. SONNET ON THE DEATH OF ROBERT RIDDELL OF GLEN- RIDDELL. [Burns had offended the Riddells by lampooning Mrs. WaltT Riddcll ; and "the worthy Glenriddell, deep read in old coins," fell out with the poet ot the " Whistle," and he died unreconciled to his friend, who, re- membering only his worth and former kind- ness, immediately penned an elegiac sonnet on the event.] No more, ye warblers of the wood, no more, Nor pour your descant grating on my soul! Thou young-eyed Spring, gay in thy verdant stole, More welcome were to me grim Winter's wildest roar ! How can ye charm, ye flowers, with all your dyes ? Ye blow upon the sod that wraps my friend. How can I to the tuneful strain at- tend ? That strain flows round the untimely tomb where Riddell lies. Yes, pour, ye warblers, pour the notes of woe, And sooch the Virtues weeping o'er his bier ! The man of worth — and ' hath not left his peer ' ! — Is in his ' narrow house ' for ever darkly low. Thee, Spring, again with joy shall others greet ; Me, memory of my loss will only meet. very Burns, or merely a copy in Burns's handwriting. It seems to be utiknown, and we have assumed that it is one of his few metrical experiments.] Fourteen, a sonneteer thy praises sings ; What magic myst'ries in that number lie! Your hen hath fourteen eggs beneath her wings That fourteen chickens to the roost may fly. Fourteen full pounds the jockey's stone must be ; His age fourteen — a horse's prime is past. Fourteen long hours too oft the Bard must fast ; Fourteen bright bumpers — bliss he ne'er must see ! Before fourteen, a dozen yields the strife ; Before fourteen — e'en thirteen's strength is vain. Fourteen good years ■ — a woman gives us life ; Fourteen good men — we lose that life again. What lucubrations can be more upon it? Fourteen good measur'd verses make a sonnet. A SONNET UPON SONNETS. [First published in the Centenary edition, which says : " We have done our utmost to determine whether this copy of verses be GRIZZEL GRIMME. [This piece is published in the " Notes " of the Centenary edition, with the following comment; "This piece came into our hands too late for insertion among the ' Miscellanies.' But it is plainly Burns, the artist in folk-song, and — save for a false (eighteenth century) note or two in the first half of stanza iii — that Burns by no means at his worst; it is racy, rank, even, of the rustic earth ; and we have pleasure in giving it in this Note."] Grim Grizzel was a mighty Dame Weel kend on Cluden-side : *• Grim Grizzel was a mighty Dame O' t'ieikle fame and pride. GRIZZEL GRIMME. When gentles met in gentle bowers And nobles in the ha', Grim Grizzel was a mighty Dame, The loudest o' them a'. Where lawless Riot rag'd the night And Beauty durst na gang, Grim Grizzel was a mighty Dame, Wham nae man e'er wad wrang. Nor had Grim Grizzel skill alane What bower and ha' require ; But she had skill, and meikle skill, In barn and eke in byre. Ae day Grim Grizzel walked forth. As she was wont to do, Alang the banks o' Cluden fair, Her cattle for to view. The cattle sh . . . o'er hill and dale As cattle will incline, And sair it grieved Grim Grizzel's heart Sae meikle muck to tine. And she has ca'd on John o' Clods, Of her herdsman the chief, And she has ca'd on John o' Clods ! And tell'd him a' her grief: — 'Now wae betide thee, John o' Clods! I gie thee meal and fee. And yet sae muckle muck ye tine Might a' be gear to me ! ' Ye claut my byre, ye sweep my byre, The like was never seen ; The very chamber I lie in Was never half sae clean. 'Ye ca' my kye adown the loan And there they a' discharge : My Tammie's hat, wig, head and a' Was never half sae large ! 'But mind my words now, John o' Clods, And tent me what I say : My kye shall sh . . . ere they gae out, That shall they ilka day. ' And mind my words now, John o' Clods, And tent now wha ye serve ; Or back ye 'se to the Colonel gang, Either to steal or starve.' Then John o' Clods he looked up And syne he looked down ; He lookld east, he looked west, He looked roun' and roun'. His bonnet and his rowantree club Frae either hand did fa' ; Wi' lifted een and open mouth He naething said at a'. At length he found his trembling tongue, Within his mouth was fauld : — ' Ae silly word frae me, maddm, Gin I daur be sae bauld. ' Your kye will at nae bidding sh . . ., Let me do what I can ; Your kye will at nae bidding sh . . . Of onie earthly man. ' Tho' ye are great Lady Glaur-hole, For a' your power and art Tho' ye are great Lady Glaur-hole, They winna let a fart.' ' Now wae betide thee, John o' Clods! An ill death may ye die ! My kye shall at my bidding sh . . ., And that ye soon shall see.' Then she 's ta'en Hawkie by the tail, And wrung wi' might and main. Till Hawkie rowted through the woods Wi' agonising pain. 'Sh . . ., sh . . ., ye bitch,' Grim Grizzel roar'd. Till hill and valley rang; 'And sh . . , ye bitch,' the echoes roar'd Lincluden wa's amang. TBIAGIC FRAGMENT. — REMORSE. FRAGMENTS. TRAGIC FRAGMENT. [Assigned by Burns to his eighteenth or nineteenth year. Much later in life he con- templated a drama on an adventure of Rob- ert Bruce.] All villain as I am — a damned wretch, A hardened, stubborn, unrepenting sinner — Still my heart melts at human wretch- edness. And with sincere, tho' unavailing, sighs 1 view the helpless children of dis- tress. With tears indignant I behold the op- pressor Rejoicing in the honest man's destruc- tion, Whose unsubmitting heart was all his crime. Ev'n you, ye hapless crew! I pity you ! ^ , Ye, whom the seeming good think sin to pity: Ye poor, despised, abandoned vaga- bonds. Whom Vice, as usual, has tum'd o'er to ruin. Oh! but for friends and interposing Heaven, I had been driven forth, like you for- lorn. The most detested, worthless wretch among you ; O injured God! Thy goodness has endow'd me With talents passing most of my com- peers, Which I in just proportion have abused, As far surpassing other common vil- lains As Thou in natural parts has given me more. REMORSE. [" Remorse is the most painful sentiment that can imbitter the human bosom." (R. B.) " As early as 1783. The fragment, of course, is dramatic, and not personal." — ANDREW Lang.] Of all the numerous ills that hurt our peace. That press the soul, or wring the mind with anguish. Beyond comparison the worst are those By our own folly, or our guilt brought on; In ev'ry other circumstance, the mind Has this to say : — 'It was no deed of mine.' But, when to all the evil of misfor- tune This sting is added : — ' Blame thy foolish self ! ' Or, worser far, the pangs of keen re- morse, The torturing, gnawing consciousness of guilt. Of guilt, perhaps, where we 've involved others. The young, the innocent, who fondly lov'd us ; Nay, more, that very love their cause of ruin ! O burning Hell! in all thy store of torments There 's not a keener lash! Lives there a man so firm, who, while his heart Feels all the bitter horrors of his crime, Can reason down its agonizing throbs, And, after proper purpose of amend- ment. Can firmly force his jarring thoughts to peace? O happy, happy, enviable man! O glorious magnanimity of soul! RUSTICITY'S UNGAINLY FORM. — SKETCH FOR AN ELEGY. RUSTICITY'S UNGAINLY FORM. [" The ' sensible ' one Burns grieves for was the unlucky Miss Kennedy." — AN- DREW Lang.] Rusticity's ungainly form May cloud the highest mind ; But when the heart is nobly warm, The good excuse will find. Propriety's cold, cautious rules Warm Fervour may o'erlook ; But spare poor Sensibility Th' ungentle, harsh rebuke. ON WILLIAM CREECH. [Sent to Mrs. Dunlop, Oct. 23, 178S, with the fragment on William Smellie. " These," wrote Burns, " are embryotic fragments of what may one day be a poem."] 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. Much specious lore, but little under- stood (Veneering oft outshines the solid wood), His solid sense by inches you must tell. But meet his subtle cunning by the ell ! A man of fashion, too, he made his tour, Learn'd 'Vive la bagatelle et vive I'amour ' : 60 travell'd monkies their grimace improve, Polish their grin — nay, sigh for ladies' love! His meddling vanity, a busy fiend, Still making work his selfish craft must mend. ON WILLIAM SMELLIE. [Author of the " Philosophy of Natural History," and member of the Antiquarian and Royal Societies of Edinbuigh.j Crochallan came : The old cock'd hat, the brown surtout the same ; His grisly beard just bristling in its might ('T was four long nights and days to shaving-night) ; His uncomb'd, hoary locks, wild-star- ing, thatch'd A head for thought profound and clear ur^match'd ; Yet, tho' his caustic wit was biting rude, His heart was warm, benevolent, and good. SKETCH FOR AN ELEGY. [Probably the original form of the elegy on Captain Matthew Henderson, although his name is not mentioned.] Craigdarroch, fam'd for speaking art And every virtue of the heart, Stops short, nor can a word impart To end his sentence. When mem'ry strikes him like a dart With auld acquaintance. Black James — whase wit was never laith. But, like a sword had tint the sheath. Ay ready for the work o' death — He turns aside. And strains wi' suffocating breath His grief to hide. PASSION'S CRY. •203 Even Philosophic Smellie tries To choak the stream that floods his eyes : So Moses wi' a hazel-rice Came o'er the stane ; But, tho' it cost him speaking twice, It gush'd amain. Go to your marble graffs, ye great, In a' the tinkler-trash of state! But by thy honest turf I '11 wait, Thou man of worth. And weep the ae best fallow's fate E'er lay in earth! PASSION'S CRY. [This Poem was inspired by a famous Jivorce case which was tried in the Court of Session.] Mild zephyrs waft thee to life's far- thest shore, Nor think of me and my distresses more ! Falsehood accurst! No! Still I beg a place, Still near thy heart some little, little trace! For that dear trace the world I would resign : O, let me live, and die, and think it By all I lov'd, neglected and forgot, No friendly face e'er lights my squalid cot. Shunn'd, hated, wrong'd, unpitied, unredrest The mock'd quotation of the scorner's jest; Ev'n the poor support of my wretched life. Snatched by the violence of legal strife ; Oft grateful for my very daily bread. To those my family's once large bounty fed ; A welcome inmate at their homely fare, My griefs, my woes, my sighs, my tears they share : Their vulgar souls unlike the souls refined. The fashion'd marble of the polish'd mind. ' I burn, I burn, as when thro' ripen'd corn By driving winds the crackling flames are borne.' Now, maddening-wild, I curse that fatal night. Now bless the hour that charm'd my guilty sight. In vain the Laws their feeble force oppose : Chain'd at his feet, they groan Love's vanquish'd foes. In vain Religion meets my shrinking eye: I dare not combat, but I turn and fly. Conscience in vain upbraids th' un- hallow'd fire. Love grasps his scorpions — stifled they expire. Reason drops headlong from his sacred throne. Your dear idea reigns, and reigns alone ; Each thought intoxicated homage yields, And riots wanton in forbidden fields. By all on high adoring mortals know ; By all the conscious villain fears be- low ; By what, alas! much more my soul alarms — My doubtful hopes once more to fill thy arms — Ev'n shouldst thou, false, forswear the guilty tie. Thine and thine only I must live and die! 204 IN VAIN WOULD PRUDENCE. — AT ROSLIN INN. IN VAIN WOULD PRUDENCE. [These verses are sometimes included in the preceding fragment.] In vain would Prudence with decorous sneer Point out a censuring world, and bid me fear : Above that world on wings of love I rise, I know its worst, and can that worst despise. 'Wrong'd, injur'dj shunn'd, unpitied, unredrest, The mock'd quotation of the scorner's jest,' Let Prudence' direst bodements on me fall, Clarinda, rich reward! o'erpays them all. THE CARES O' LOVE. [Printed for the first time in the Centen- ary edition, from the Ms. in the possession of Mrs. Andrews, Newcastle.] HE. The cares o' Love are sweeter far Than onie other pleasure ; And if sae dear its sorrows are, Enjoyment, what a treasure ! SHE. I fear to try, I dare na try A passion sae ensnaring ; For light 's her heart and blythe 's her song That for nae man is caring. EPIGRAMS. EXTEMPORE IN THE COURT OF SESSION. Tune: Killiecrankie, [The oratorical duel was between Islay Campbell, Lord Advocate, and Henry Erskine, Dean of Faculty, in a certain divorce case.] 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 gapid for 't, he grapfed for't, He fand it was awa, man ; But what his common sense came short. He ekfed out wi' law, man. MR. ERSKINE. Collected, Harry stood awee, Then open'd out his arm, man ; His lordship sat wi' ruefu' e'e. And ey'd the gathering storm, man » Like wind-driv'n hail it did assail. Or torrents owre a linn, man ; The Bench sae wise lift up their eyes, Hauf-wauken'd wi' the din, man. AT ROSLIN INN. [Chambers states that Burns breakfasted at the inn after a ramble in the Pentlands with Alexander Nasmyth, the painter.] My blessings on ye, honest wife! I ne'er was here before •. Ye've wealth o' gear for spoon and knife : Heart could not wish for more. Heav'n keep you clear o' sturt and strife, Till far ayont fourscore. And by the Lord o' death and life, I '11 ne'er gae by your door ! TO AN ARTIST. — AT INVERARAY. 205 TO AN ARTIST. [According to Chambers, Burns entering a studio in Edinburgh, found the occupant engaged on a " Jacob's Dream," and wrote the hnes on the back of a little slcetch.] Dear , I '11 gie ye some advice, You '11 tak it no uncivil : You shouldna paint at angels, man, But try and paint the Devil. To paint an angel 's kittle wark, Wi' Nick there 's little danger : You '11 easy draw a lang-kent face, . But no sae weal a stranger. R. B. THE BOOK-WORMS. [Said to have been written on a splen- didly bound but worm-eaten volume of Shakespeare in a nobleman's library.] Through and through th' inspired leaves, Ye maggots, make your windings ; But O, respect his lordship's taste. And spare the golden bindings ! ON ELPHINSTONE'S TRANS- LATION OF MARTIAL. [James Elphinstone — bom 1721, died 1809 — published his egregious translation of Martial's epigrams in 1782.] O THOU whom Poesy abhors. Whom Prose has turned out of doors, Heard'st thou yon groan ? — Proceed no further ! 'T was laurel'd Martial calling ' Mur- ther!' ON JOHNSON'S OPINION OF HAMPDEN. [Inscribed on a copy of Johnson's ' ' Lives," presented by Burns to Alexander Cunning- ham.] For shame ! Let Folly and Knavery Freedom oppose: T is suicide, Genius, To mix with her foes. UNDER THE PORTRAIT OF MISS BURNS. [Miss Burns was a woman of ill repute. She was in Edinburgh while Burns resided there In 1786-87.] Cease, ye prudes, your envious rail- ing! Lovely Burns has charms : con- fess ! True it is she had ae failing : Had ae woman ever less ? ON MISS AINSLIE IN CHURCH. [Burns wrote these lines in church, in Miss Ainslie's Bible, apropos of her search for a text against the impenitent denoted by the preacher.] Fair maid, you need not take the hint. Nor idle texts pursue ; 'T was guilty sinners that he meant, Not angels such as you. AT INVERARAY. [This epigram is supposed to have been written on a window-pane of the inn at Inveraray, where the landlord was too busy 206 AT CARRON IRONWORKS. — A HIGHLAND WELCOME. in attendance on visitors to the duke to pay proper attention to the poet and his friend.] Whoe'er he be that sojourns here, I pity much his case, Unless he come to wait upon The Lord their God, ' His Gr?ce.' There 's naething here but Highland pride And Highland scab and hunger : If Providence has sent me here, 'T was surely in an anger. AT CARRON IRONWORKS. [Written on the window of the inn at Carron, and signed " R. B., Ayrshire."] We cam na here to view your warks In hopes to be mair wise, But only, lest we gang to Hell, It may be nae surprise. But when we tirl'd at your door Your porter dough t na bear us : Sae may, should we to Hell's yetts come. Your billie Satan sair us. ON SEEING THE ROYAL PALACE AT STIRLING IN RUINS. [On applying for a place in the excise, Burns was severely questioned in regard to this epigram.] Here Stewarts once in glory reign'd, And laws for Scotland's weal ordain'd ; But now unroof 'd their palace stands. Their sceptre fallen to other hands : Fallen indeed, and to the earth. Whence grovelling reptiles take their birth! The injured Stewart line is gone, A race outlandish fills their throne : An idiot race, to honour lost — Who know them best despise them most. ADDITIONAL LINES STIRLING. AT [Cunningham states that Bums, on being remonstrated with by Nicol on his return from Harvieston, added this mock " reproof to the author."] 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 't is a truth, Sir, the more 't is a libel ? REPLY TO THE THREAT OF A CENSORIOUS CRITIC. [The critic was a Rev. Mr. Hamilton, minister of Gladsmuir, East Lothian.] With ^sop's lion, ' Sore I feel Each other blow : ass's heel ! ' Burns says : — but damn that A HIGHLAND WELCOME. [Composed on leaving a place in the Highlandi, where he had been kindly entertained.] When Death's dai-k stream I ferry o'er CA time that surely shall comej, In Heaven itself I '11 ask no more Than just a Highland welcome. AT WHIGHAM'S INN. — SEARCHING AULD WIVES' BARRELS. 207 AT WHIGHAM'S INN, SAN- QUHAR. [Inscribed on a window-pane of the inn. Whigham became provost of the burgh.] Envy, if thy jaundiced eye Through this window chance to spy, To thy sorrow thou shalt find, All that 's generous, all that 's kind. Friendship, virtue, every grace, Dwelling in this happy place. VERSICLES ON SIGN-POSTS. [" The everlasting surliness of a lion and Saracen's head," writes Burns, " or the un- changing blandness of the landlord wel- coming a traveller, on some sign-posts, would be no bad similes of the constant affected fierceness of a Bully, or the eternal simper of a Frenchman or a Fiddler."] He looked Just as your sign-post Lions do, With aspect fierce and quite as harm- less too. (patient stupidity.) So heavy, passive to the tempest's shocks. Dull on the sign-post stands the stupid ox. His face with smile eternal drest just like the landlord to his guest, High as they hang with creaking din To index out the Country Inn. A HEAD, pure, sinless quite of brain and soul. The very image of a barber's poll : Just shews a human face, and wears a wig. And looks, when well friseur'd, amaz- ing big. ON MISS JEAN SCOTT. [According to Allan Cunningham, the Teanie Scott of these verses, " belonged to Ecclefechan, although she resided in Ayr. and cheered the poet, not only with her sweet looks, but sweet voice." — WILLIAM Wallace.] O, HAD each Scot of ancient times Been, Jeanie Scott, as thou art, The bravest heart on English ground Had yielded like a coward. ON CAPTAIN FRANCIS GROSE. [" Mr. Grose was exceedingly corpulent, and used to rally himself with the greatest good humor on the singular rotundity of his figure." — Scois Magazine?^ The Devil got notice that Grose was • a-dying. So whip ! at the summons, old Satan came flying ; But when he approach'd where poor Francis lay moaning, And saw each bed-post with its bur- then a-groaning, Astonish'd, confounded, cries Satan : — 'By God, I 'd want him ere take such a damna- ble load ! ' ON BEING APPOINTED TO AN EXCISE DIVISION. [The appointment was made in August; 1789.] Searching auld wives' barrels, Ochon, the day ao8 ON MISS DAVIES. — IN LAMINGTON KIRK. That clarty barm should stain my laurels ! But what '11 ye say ? 'These irovin' things ca'd wives an' weaiis Wad move the very hearts o' stanes. ON MISS DAVIES. [Miss Debora Davies, daughter of Dr. *)avies of Tenby, Pembrokeshire, and a relative of Captain Riddeli.J Ask why God made the gem so small, And why so huge the granite ? Because God meant mankind should set That higher value on it. ON A BEAUTIFUL COUNTRY SEAT. [The seat of David Maxwell of Car- doness, described to Mrs. Dunlop by Burns as a " stupid, money-loving dunderpate."] We grant they're thine, those beau- ties all, So lovely in our eye : Keep them, thou eunuch, Cardoness, For others to enjoy. THE TYRANT WIFE. [Usually published under the title of " The Henpeclced fiusband."] Curs'd be the man, the poorest wretch in life. The crouching vassal to the tyrant wife ! Who has no will but by her high per- mission ; Who has not sixpence but in her possession ; Who must to her his dear friend's secret tell ; Who dreads a curtain lecture worse than hell ! Were such the wife had fallen to my part, I 'd break her spirit, or I 'd break her heart : I 'd charm her with the magic of a. switch, I 'd kiss her maids, and kick the per- verse bitch. AT BROWNHILL INN. [A play on the name of the Landlord, "Bacon."] At Brownhill we always get dainty good cheer And plenty of bacon each day in the year; We 've a' thing that 's nice, and mostly in season : But why always bacon? — come, tell me the reason ? THE TOADEATER. [There are several versions of this epi- gram, due to tradition, etc. Some of them are vigorous but coarse.] Of Lordly acquaintance you boast, And the Dukes that you dined with yestreen ; Yet an insect 's an insect at most, Tho' it crawl on the curl of a Queen' IN LAMINGTON KIRK. [The minister was Thomas Mitchell. He is described as " an accomplished scholar."] As cauld a wind as ever blew, A cauld kirk, and in 't but few, As cauld a minister 's ever spak — . Ye 'se a' be het or I come back I THE KEEKIN GLASS. — ON COMMISSARY GOLDIE'S BRAINS. 209 THE KEEKIN GLASS. [Written extempore for Miss Miller, at Dalswinton, on a drunken " Lord of Justi- ciary," pointing at her, and asking, " Wha's yon hoolet-faced tiling i' the corner ? "] How daur ye ca' me ' H owlet-face,' Ye blear-e'ed, wither'd spectre? Ye only spied the keekin-glass, An' there ye saw your picture. AT THE GLOBE TAVERN, DUMFRIES. [Inscribed, with the exception of the second stanza of No. 2, on window-panes now in the possession of Mr. J. P. Brunton, Galashiels.] The greybeard, old Wisdom, may boast of his treasures. Give me with gay Folly to live! [ grant him his calm-blooded, time- settled pleasures. But Folly has raptures to give. 2. (I.) ~ I MURDER hate by field or flood, Tho' Glory's name may screen us. In wars at hame I '11 spend my blood- Life-giving wars of Venus. The deities that I adore Are Social Peace and Plenty : I 'm better pleas'd to make one more Than be the death of twenty. (II.) I would not die like Socrates, For all the fuss of Plato ; Nor would I with Leonidas, Nor yet would I with Cato ; The zealots of the Church and State Shall ne'er my mortal foes be ; But let me have bold Zimri's fate Within the arms of Cozbi. My bottle is a holy pool. That heals the wounds o' care an' dool, And pleasure is a wanton trout — And ye drink it, ye '11 find him out. In politics if thou would'st mix. And mean thy fortunes be ; Bear this in mind : Be deaf and blind. Let great folks hear and see. YE TRUE LOYAL NATIVES. [The " Loyal Natives Club " of DumfHes celebrated the king's birthday on June 4 with a dinner and a ball. They had lam- pooned Burns and his friends, and this is his reply.] Ye true ' Loyal Natives ' attend to my song: In uproar and riot rejoice the night long ! From Envy and Hatred your core is exempt. But where is your shield fi'om the darts of Contempt? ON COMMISSARY GOLDIE'S BRAINS. [Commissary Goldie was President ol the "Xoyal Natives."] Lord, to account who does Thee call, Or e'er dispute Thy pleasure ? Else why within so thick a wall Enclose so poor a treasure? 2IO IN A LADY'S POCKET BOOK. — ON MISS FONTENELLE. IN A LADY'S POCKET BOOK. [Published in Stewart's " Poems ascribed to Robert Burns" (Glasgow, 1801).] Grant me, indulgent Heaven, that I may live To see the miscreants feel the pains they give ! Deal Freedom's sacred treasures free as air, Till Slave and Despot be but things that were ! AGAINST THE EARL OF GALLOWAY. [" Why Bums detested Lord Galloway is not Icnown, nor is it important to know." —Andrew Lang.] What dost thou in that mansion fair? Flit, Galloway, and find Some narrow, dirty, dungeon cav The picture of thy mind. ON THE SAME. No Stewart art thou, Galloway : The Stewarts all were brave. Besides, the Stewarts were but fools, Not one of them a knave. ON THE SAME. Bright ran thy line, O Galloway, Thro' many a far-famed sire ! So ran the far-famed Roman v/ay, And ended in a mire. ON THE SAME, ON THE AUTHOR BEING THREAT- ENED WITH VENGEANCE Spare me thy vengeance, Galloway! In quiet let me live : I ask no kindness at thy hand, For thou hast none to give. ON THE LAIRD OF LAGGAN. [Morine had bought the farm of Ellis- land.] When Morine, deceas'd, 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 clevef.' ON MARIA RIDDELL. [Inscribed on the back of a draft copy of "Scots Wha Hae." The heading is, " On my Lord Buchan's vociferating in an argument that ' Women must always be flattered grossly or not spoken to at all.' "] 'Praise Woman still,' his lordship roars, ' Deserv'd or not, no matter ! ' But thee whom all my soul adores, There Flattery cannot flatter ! Maria, all my thought and dream. Inspires my vocal shell: The more I praise my lovely theme, The more the truth I tell. ON MISS FONTENELLE. [On seeing her in a favorite character. Published in Cunningham, 1834.] Sweet naivete of feature. Simple, wild, enchanting elf, Not to thee, but thanks to Nature Thou art acting but thyself. Wert thou awkward, stiif, affected, Spurning Nature, torturing art. Loves and Graces all rejected. Then indeed thou 'dst act a part. KIRK AND STATE EXCISEMEN. — ON CHLORIS. 211 KIRK AND STATE EXCISE- MEN. [Written on a window in the King's Arms, Dumfries.] Ye men of wit and wealth, why all this sneering 'Gainst poor Excisemen? Give the cause a hearing. What are your Landlord's rent-rolls? Taxing ledgers ! What Premiers? What ev'n Mon- aichs ? Mighty Gaugers ! Nay, what are Priests (those seeming godly wise-men) ? What are they, pray, but Spiritual Excisemen ! ON THANKSGIVING FOR NATIONAL VICTORY. [The victory was probably Howe's, off Ushant, June i, 1794.] Ye hypocrites ! are these your pranks ? To murder men, and give God thanks ? Desist for shame ! Proceed no fur- ther: God won't accept your thanks for Murther. PINNED TO MRS. WALTER RIDDELL'S CARRIAGE. If you rattle along like your mistress's tongue, Your speed will out-rival the dart ; But, a fly for your load, you '11 break down on the road, If your stuff be as rotten 's her heart. TO DR. MAXWELL. ON MISS JESSY STAIG'S RECOVERY. [Burns and Maxwell were fast friends. He attended Burns during his last illness, when the dying man presented him with his pistols.] Maxwell, if merit here you crave, That merit I deny : You save fair Jessie from the grave! — An Angel could not die ! TO THE BEAUTIFUL MISS ELIZA J N. ON HER PRINCIPLES OF LIBERTY AND EQUALITY. [The idea occurs, as Mr. Scott Douglas points out, in a Latin epigram of Dr. John- son's.] How, ' Liberty ! ' Girl, can it be by thee nam'd? ' Equality,' too ! Hussey, art not asham'd ? Free and Equal indeed, while man- kind thou enchainest, And over their hearts a proud Despot so reignest. ON CHLORIS REQUESTING ME TO GIVE HER A SPRIG OF BLOSSOMED THORN. [Published in "The Edinburgh Adver- tiser " of Aug. 8, iSoo. With an additional stanza, a change in the heroine's name, and a change in one of the lines, it was set to music by William Shield, and has been popular with English tenors ever since.] From the white- blossom'd sloe my dear Chloris requested A sprig, her fair breast to adorn : ' No, by Heaven ! ' I exclaim'd, ' let me perish for ever, Ere I plant in that bosom a thorn!' 212 TO MAULE OF PANMURE. — ON A GOBLET. TO THE HON. WM. R. MAULE OF PANMURE. [Published for the first time in the Cen- tenary edition. This gentleman bestowed an annuity of £50 on Burns's widow.] Thou Fool, in thy phaeton towering, Art proud when that phaeton's prais'd ? 'T is the pride of a Thief's exhibition When higher his pillory 's rais'd. ON SEEING MRS. KEMBLE IN YARICO. [The lady was Mrs. Stephen Kemble, who appeared at the Dumfries Theatre in October, 1794.] Kemble, thou cur'st my unbelief Of Moses and his rod : At Yarico's sweet notes of grief The roclc with tears had flow'd. ON DR. BABINGTON'S LOOKS. [Burns, in his letter to Mrs. Dunlop, re- fers to the subject of his satire as " a well- known character " in Dumfries.] That there is a falsehood in his looks I must and will deny : They say their Master is a knave, J And sure they do not lie. ON ANDREW TURNER. [The epigram was written at Turner's own suggestion.] In Se'enteen Huhder'n Forty-Nine The Deil gat stuff to mak a swine, An' coost it in a corner ; But wilily he chang'd his plan, An' shap'd it something like a man, An' ca'd it Andrew Turner. THE SOLEMN LEAGUE AND COVENANT. [" As a rule, Bums preferred Dundee to the Covenanters." — Andrew Lang.] The Solemn League and Covenant Now brings a smile, now brings a tear. But sacred Freedom, too, was theirs : If thou'rt a slave, indulge thy sneer. TO JOHN SYME OF RYEDALE, WITH A present OF A DOZEN OF PORTER. [Mr. John Syme was one of the poet's constant companions. He possessed great talent, and Dr. Currie wished him to under- take the editing of the poet's life and writ- ings.] O HAD the malt thy strength of mind, Or hops the flavour of thy wit, 'Twere drink for first of human kind — A gift that ev'n for Syme were fit. Jerusalem Tavern, Dumfries. ON A GOBLET. [The goblet belonged to Syme.] There's Death in the cup, so be- ware ! Nay, more — there is danger in touching ! But who can avoid the fell snare ? The man and his wine's so be> witching ! APOLOGY TO JOHN SYME.— TO JESSIE LEWARS. 213 APOLOGY TOJ'OHN SYME. [" On refusing to dine with him, after having been promised the first of company and the first of cookery, Dec. 17, 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. ON MR. JAMES GRACIE. [Published in McDowell's "Burns in Dumfriesshire," 1S70. Mr. Gracie was a local banker.] Gracie, thou art a man of worth, O, be thou Dean for ever ! May he be damn'd to Hell hence- forth. Who fauts thy weight or measure ! AT FRIARS CARSE HERMIT- AGE. [" I copied these lines from a pane of glass in the Friars Carse Hermitage, on which they had been traced with the dia^ mond of Burns." — Allan Cunning- ham.] To Riddell, much-lamented man, This ivied cot was dear : Wand'rer, dost value matchless worth ? This ivied cot revere. FOR AN ALTAR OF INDEPEND- ENCE. AT KERROUGHTRIE, THE SEAT OF MR. HERON. [Written in the summer of 1795. Pub- lished in Currie, 1800.] Thou of an independent mind, With soul resolv'd, with soul resign'd, Prepared Power's proudest frown to brave, Who wilt not bfe, nor have a slave. Virtue alone who dost revere. Thy own reproach alone dost fear : Approach this shrine, and worship here. VERSICLES TO JESSIE LEWARS. THE TOAST. [Inscribed on a goblet presented to Miss Lewars.] Fill me with the rosy wine ; Call a toast, a toast divine ; Give the Poet's darling flame ; Lovely Jessie be her name : Then thou mayest freely boast Thou hast given a peerless toast. THE MENAGERIE. [Written on the advertisement of a trav- elling show, handed to Bums in Jessie's presence.] I. Talk not to me of savages From Afric's burning sun ! No savage e'er can rend my heart As, Jessie, thou hast done. But Jessie's lovely hand in mine A mutual faith to plight — Not even to view the heavenly choir Would be so blest a sight. JESSIE'S illness. Say, sages, what 's the charm on eartli Can turn Death's dart aside ? It is not purity and worth. Else Jessie had not died ! HER RECOVERY. But rarely seen since Nature's birth The natives of the sky! Yet still one seraph 's left on earth, For Jessie did not die. 214 ON MARRIAGE. — AT THE GLOBE TAVERN. ON MARRIAGE. [Printed for the first time in the Centen- ary edition, from a Ms. in possession of the publishers of that edition.] That hackney'd judge of human life, The Preacher and the King, Observes: — 'The man that gets a wife He gets a noble thing.' But how capricious are mankind, Now loathing, now desirous! We married men, how oft we find The best of things will tire us! GRACES. A POET'S GRACE. [These stanzas appeared in " The Edin- burgh Courant," Aug. 27, 1789. The " Grace Before Meat " was inscribed in the " Glenrid- dell Boole," and is printed in Currie, 1800. Both were published in Oliver (Edinburgh, 1801), Duncan (Glasgow, 1801), and Stew- art (Glasgow, 1802).] BEFORE MEAT. O Thou, who kindly dost provide For ev'ry creature's want ! We bless the God of Nature wide For all Thy goodness lent. And if it please Thee, heavenly Guide, May never worse be sent ; But, whether granted or denied, Lord, bless us with content. AFTER MEAT. O Thou, in whom we live and move. Who made the sea and shore. Thy goodness constantly we prove. And, grateful, would adore ; And, if it please Thee, Power above ! StUl grant us with such store The friend we trust, the fair we love, And we desire no more. AT THE GLOBE TAVERN. BEFORE MEAT. O Lord, when hunger pinches sore, Do thou stand us in stead, And send us from Thy bounteous stort A tup- or wether-head. AFTER MEAT. Lord [Thee] we thank, and Thee alone. For temporal gifts we little merit! At present we will ask no more : Let William Hislop bring the spirit. O Lord, since we have feasted thus, Which we so little merit. Let Meg now take the flesh away, And Jock bring in the spirit. O Lord, we do Thee humbly thank For that we little merit : Now Jean may tak the flesh away, Ajd Will bring in the spirit. ON THE LAIRD OF BOGHEAD.— ON HOLY WILLIE. 215 EPITAPHS. ON JAMES GRIEVE, LAIRD OF BOGHEAD, TARBOLTON. [This epitaph is a sort of reversal of that on Gavin Hamilton.] Here lies Boghead amang the dead In hopes to get salvation ; But if such as he in Heav'n may be, Then welcome — hail ! damnation. ON WM. MUIR IN TARBOL- TON MILL. [Jean Armour, being expelled from her home, found shelter for a time with Mr. Muir's wife.] An honest man here lies at rest, As e'er God with His image blest : The friend of man, the friend of truth. The friend of age, and guide of youth : Few hearts like his — with virtue warm'd, Few heads with knowledge so in- form'd : If there 's another world, he lives in bliss ; If there is none, he made the best of this. ON JOHN RANKINE. [Adamhill, where Rankine lived, is a farm near Lochea.] Ae day. as Death, that gruesome carl, Was driving to the tither warl' A mixtie-maxtie, motley squad And monie a guilt-bespotted lad : Black gowns of each denomination. And thieves of every rank and station. From him that wears the star and garter To him that wintles in a halter : Asham'd himself to see the wretches, He mutters, glow'ringat the bitches : — ' By God I '11 not be seen behint them. Nor 'mang the sp'ritual core present them. Without at least ae honest man To grace this damn'd infernal clan ! ' By Adamhill a glance he threw, ' Lord God ! ' quoth he, ' I have it now, There's just the man I want, i' faith !' And quickly stoppit Rankine's breath. ON TAM THE CHAPMAN. [Reported to be one Thomas Kennedy, a schoolfellow of Burns, who turned com- mercial traveller.] As Tarn the chapman on a day Wi' Death forgather'd by the way, Weel pleas'd he greets a wight so famous, And Death was nae less pleas'd wi' Thomas, Wha cheerfully lays down his 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 taks him hame to gie him quarters. ON HOLY WILLIE. ["Unpublished by Burns, and Bums was commonly a good critic of his own work." — Andrew Lang.] Here Holy Willie's sair worn clay Taks up its last abode ; His saul has taen some other way — I fear, the left-hand road. Zl6 ON JOHN DOVE. — ON ROBERT FERGUSSON. Stop ! there he is, as sure 's a gun ! Poor, silly body, see him ! Nae wonder he 's as black 's the grun — Observe wha 's standing wi' him ! III. Your brunstane Devilship, I see, Has got him there before ye ! But haud your nine-tail-cat a wee. Till ance you 've heard my story. Vour pity I will not implore. For pity ye have nane. Justice, alas ! has gi'en him o'er, And mercy's day is gane. But hear me. Sir, Deil as ye are, Look something to your credit : A cuif like him wad stain your name, If it were kent ye did it ! ON JOHN DOVE, INNKEEPER. [Dove was landlord of the Whitefoord Arms, Mauchline.] Here lies Johnie Pigeon : What was his religion Whae'er desires to ken To some other warl' Maun follow the carl. For here Johnie 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 WAG IN MAUCHLINE. Qames Smith, a member of the Club.] Lament him, Mauchline husbands a', He aften did assist ye ; For had ye staid hale weeks awa'. Your wives they ne'er had missed ye ! Ye Mauchline bairns, as on ye pass To school in bands thegither, O, tread ye lightly on his grass — Perhaps he was your father ! ON ROBERT FERGUSSON. ON THE TOMBSTONE IN THE CANON- GATE CHURCHYARD. HERE LIES ROBERT FERGUSSON. BORN SEPT. STH, 175I. DIED OCT. 16TH, 1774. [On the reverse of the stone is the decla- ration, ** By special grant of the Managers to Robert Burns, who erected this stone, this burial-place is to remain forever sacred to the memory of Robert Fergusson."] No sculptur'd Marble here, nor pom- pous lay. No storied Urn nor animated Bust ; This simple stone directs pale Scotia's way To pour her sorrow o'er the Poet's dust. Additional Stanzas, NOT inscribed. I. She mourns, sweet tuneful youth, thy hapless fate : FOR WILLIAM NICOL. — MONODY. 217 Tho' all the powers of song thy fancy fir'd, Yet Luxury and Wealth lay by in State, And, thankless, starv'd what they so much admir'd. II. This humble tribute with a tear he gives A brother Bard — he can no more bestow : But dear to fame thy Song immortal lives, A nobler monument than Art can show. FOR WILLIAM NICOL. [Burns counted Nicol his "dearest friend," after his own brother.] Ye maggots, feed on Nicol's brain, For few sic feasts you 've gotten ; And fix your claws in Nicol's heart, For deil a bit o't 's rotten. FOR MR. WILLIAM MICHIE, SCHOOLMASTER OF CLEISH PARISH, FIFESHIRE. [There is no record of Bums's acquaint- ance with William Michie.] Here lie Willie Llichie's banes : O Satan, whon ye iak him, Gie him the schulin o' your weans, For clever dcils he '11 raak them ! FOR WILLIAM CRUICKSHANK, A.M. [Cruickshank was a schoolmaster in Edinburgh. His daughter Jenny was a favorite with the poet.] Now honest William's gaen to Heaven, I wat na gin 't can mend him : The fauts he had in Latin lay, For nane in English kent them. ON ROBERT MUIR. [Muir subscribed with great liberality to both the Kilmarnock and the Edinburgh editions, and letters to him are included in the Burns correspondence.] What man could esteem, or what woman could love, Was he who lies under this sod : If such Thou refusest admission above. Then whom wilt Thou favour. Good God? ON A LAP-DOG. [The lap-dog belonged to Mrs. Gordon of Kenmore. The little beast had died just before Bums visited her during his Gallo- way tour, and she was importunate that he should write its epitaph.] 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 ol tuneless sound With Echo sUon; lies. MONODY ON a lady famed for her caprice, [The lady was Mrs. Walter Riddell, with whom the poet had quarrelled, and become greatly embittered.] How cold is that bosom which Folly once fired ! 2l8 FOR MR. WALTER RIDDELL. — ON CAPT. LASCELLES. 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 flatt'ry so listen'd ! If sorrow and anguish their exit await, From friendship and dearest affec- tion remov'd, How doubly severer, Maria, thy fate ! Thou diedst unwept, as thou livedst unlov'd. 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 Maria's cold bier ! We '11 search through the garden for each silly flower. We '11 roam thro' the forest for each idle weed, But chiefly the nettle, so typical, shower. For none e'er approach'd her but rued the rash deed. We'll sculpture the marble, we'll measure the lay : Here Vanity strums on her idiot lyre ! There keen Indignation shall dart on his prey, Which spurning contempt shall re- deem from his ire ! 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. FOR MR. WALTER RIDDELL. [Enclosed in a letter to Peter Hill, prob- ably of October, 1794, and also in an un- dated letter to Mrs. Dunlop.] So vile was poor Wat, such a mis- creant slave. That the worms ev'n damn'd him when laid in his grave. ' In his scull there 's a famine,' a starved reptile cries ; ' And his heart, it is poison,' another replies. ON A NOTED COXCOMB. CAPT. WM. RODDICK, OF CORBISTON. [Who this noted coxcomb was none of the poet's editors have pointed out; but we are assured that the lines are copied irom the author's Ms. — ScoTT Douglas.] Light lay the earth on Billie's breast, His chicken heart 's so tender ; But build a castle on his head — His scull will prop it under. ON CAPT. LASCELLES. [Published in Scott Douglas, 1877.] When Lascelles thought fit from this world to depart, Some friends warmly spoke of em- balming his heart. A bystander whispers : — ' Pray don't make so much o 't — The subject is poison, no reptile will touch it." ON A GALLOWAY LAIRD. — ON GRIZZEL GRIMME. 219 ON A GALLOWAY LAIRD. NOT QUITE SO WISE AS SOLOMON. [David Maxwell of Cardoness — de- scribed to Mrs. Dunlop as a " stupid, money-loving diinderpate," and alluded to with great contempt in an epigram, was created a baronet in 1S04, and died in 1825.] Bless Jesus Christ, O Cardoness, With grateful lifted eyes, Who taught that not the soul alone But body too shall rise! For had He said : — ' The soul alone From death I will deliver,' Alas ! alas ! O Cardoness, Then hadst thou lain for ever ! ON WM. GRAHAM OF MOSS- KNOWE. [Cunningham (1840). Sent to Creech, and inscribed in the " Glenriddell Book."] ' Stop thief ! ' Dame Nature call'd to Death, As Willie drew his latest breath : ' How shall I make a fool again? My choicest model thou hast taen.' ON JOHN BUSHBY OF WALD DOWNS. TIN- [Bushby, the son of a spirit-dealer in Dumfries, became a lawyer, and afterwards a private banker in the same town.] Here lies John Bushby — honest man ! Cheat him. Devil — if you can ! ON A SUICIDE. [Cunningham says that Bums was seen to write the trash on a piece of paper, and "thrust it with his fingers into the red mould of the grave."] Here lies in earth a root of Hell Set by the Deil's ain dibble : This worthless body damn'd himsel To save the Lord the trouble. ON A SWEARING COXCOMB. [" This was an English swell, who had a constant practice of using such impreca- tions."— ScOTT Douglas.] Here cursing, swearing Burton lies, A buck, a beau, or ' Dem my eyes! ' Who in his life did little good. And his last words were : — ' Dem my blood ! ' ON AN INNKEEPER NICK- NAMED 'THE MARQUIS.' [Published in Duncan, Glasgow, 1801. The inn was in a Dumfries close.] Here lies a mock Marquis, whose titles were shamm'd. If ever he rise, it will be to be damn'd. ON GRIZZEL GRIMME. [Mrs. Grizzel Young was the widow of Thomas Young of Lincluden.] Here lyes with Dethe auld Grizzel Grimme Lincluden's ugly witche. O Dethe, an' what a taste hast thou Cann lye with siche a bitche ' FOR GABRIEL RICHARDSON.— ON THE AUTHOR. FOR GABRIEL RICHARDSON. [Gabriel Richardson was the chief brewer of Dumfries, and provost of the burgh in 1802-3.] Here brewer Gabriel's fire 's extinct, And empty all his barrels : He's blest — if as he brew'd, he drink — In upright, virtuous morals. ON THE AUTHOR. [Written by Burns while on his death- bed to John Rankine, Ayrshire, and for- warded to him immediately after the poet's death.] He who of Rankine sang, lies stiff and deid. And a green, grassy hillock hides his held: Alas! alas! a devilish change indeed! YOUNG PEGGY. — BONIE DUNDEE. SONGS FROM JOHNSON'S "MUSICAL MUSEUM" AND THOMSON'S "SCOTTISH AIRS." YOUNG PEGGY. [Margaret, daughter of Robert Kennedy, of Daljarroch, Ayrshire, and niece of Mr. Gavin Hamilton.] Young Peggy blooms our boniest 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 the 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 wild, 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. IV. Ye Pow'rs of Honour, Love, and Truth, From ev'ry ill defend her ! Inspire the highly-favour'd youth The destinies intend her! Still fan the sweet connubial flame Responsive in each bosom. And bless the dear parental name With many a filial blossom ! BONIE DUNDEE. [A fragment of follc-ballad, with modifi- cations and additions by Burns.] 'O, WHAR gat ye that hauver-meal bannock?' ' O silly blind body. O, dinna ye see ? I gat it frae a young, brisk sodger lad- die Between Saint Johnston and bonie Dundee. O, gin I saw the laddie that gae me 't ! Aft has he doudl'd me up on his knee: May Heaven protect my bonie Scots laddie, And send him hame to his babie and me ! •My blessin's upon thy sweet, wee lippie ! My blessin's upon thy bonie e'e brie! Thy smiles are sae like my blythe sodger laddie. Thou 's ay the dearer and dearer to me ! But I'll big a bow'r on yon bonie banks, Whare Tay rins wimplin by sae clear ; And I "11 deed thee in the tartan sae fiiie. And mak thee a man like thy daddie dear. 222 O, WHISTLE AN' I'LL COME TO YE, MY LAD. TO THE WEAVER'S GIN YE GO. [" The chorus of this song is old, the rest isniiine." (R. B.)] Chorus. To the weaver's gin ye go, fair maids, To the weaver's gin ye go, I rede you right, gang ne'er at night, To the weaver's gin ye go. My heart was ance as biythe and free As simmer days were lang ; But a bonie, westlin weaver lad Has gart me change my sang. II. My mither sent me to the town, To warp a plaiden wab ; But the weary, weary warpin o 't Has gart me sigh and sab. III. A bonie, westlin weaver lad Sat worlcing at his loom ; He took my heart, as wi' a net, In every knot and thrum. rv. I sat beside my warpin-wheel, And ay I ca'd it roun' ; And every shot and every knock, My heart it gae a stoun. V. The moon was sinking in the west Wi' visage pale and wan, As my bonie, westlin weaver lad Convoy'd me thro' the glen. VI. But what was said, or what was done. Shame fa' me gin I tell ; But O ! I fear the kintra soon Will ken as weel 's mysel ! Chorus. To the weaver's gin ye go, fair maids, To the weaver's gin ye go, I rede you right, gang ne'er at night, To the weaver's gin ye go. O, WHISTLE AN' I'LL COME TO YE, MY LAD. [This song has hitherto been held pure Burns. But he found his chorus in the Herd Ms.] Chorus. O, whistle an' I '11 come to ye, my lad! O, whistle an' I '11 come to ye, my lad! Tho' father an' mother an' a' should gae mad, O, whistle an' I '11 come to ye, my lad! But warily tent when ye come to court me, And come nae unless the back-yett be a-jee ; Syne up the back-style, and let nae- body see. And come as ye were na comin to me, And come as ye were na comin to me ! At kirk, or at market, whene'er ye meet me. Gang by me as tho' that ye car'd na a flie; But steal me a blink o' your bonie black e'e. Yet look as ye were na lookin to m Yet look as ye were na lookin to me i III. Ay vow and protest that ye care na for me, I'M O'ER YOUNG TO MARRY.— THE BIRKS OF ABERFELDIE. 223 And whyles ye may lightly ray beauty a wee; But court na anither tho' jokin ye be, For fear that she wyle your fancy frae me, For fear that she wyle your fancy frae me ! Chorus. O, whistle an' I 'II come to ye, my lad! O, whistle an' I '11 come to ye, my lad! Tho' father an' mother an' a' should gae mad, O, whistle an' I '11 come to ye, my lad! I'M O'ER YOUNG TO MARRY YET. ["The chorus of this song is old; the test of it, such as it is, is mine." (R. B.)] CkortiS. I 'm o'er young, I 'm o'er young, I 'm o'er young to marry yet ! I 'ra o'er young, 't wad be a sin To tak me frae my mammie yet. I AM my mammie's ae bairn, Wi' unco folk I weary. Sir, And lying in a man's bed, I 'm fley'd it make me eerie, Sir. Hallowmass is come and gane. The nights are lang in winter. Sir, And you an' I in ae bed — In trowth, I dare na venture, Sir ! Fu' loud and shrill the frosty wind Blaws thro' the leafless tiramer. Sir, But if ye come this gate again, I '11 aulder be gin simmer, Sir. Chorus. I 'm o'er young, I'm o'er young, I 'm o'er young to marry yet ! I 'm o'er young, 't wad be a sin To tak me frae my mammie yet. THE BIRKS OF ABERFELDIE. ["I composed these stanzas standing under the Falls of Moness, at or near Aberfeldy." (R. B.)] Chorits. Bonie lassie, will ye go, Will ye go, will ye go ? Bonie lassie, will ye go To the birks of Aberfeldie ? Now simmer blinks on flow'ry braes. And o'er the crystal streamlets plays. Come, let us spend the lightsome days In the birks of Aberfeldie ! The little birdies tlythely sing. While o'er their heads the hazels hing, Or lightly flit on wanton wmg In the birks of Aberfeldie. The braes ascend like lofty wa's. The foaming stream, deep-roaring, fa's O'er hung with fragrant-spreading shaws, The birks of Aberfeldie. The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi' flowers, White o'er the linns the burnie pours, 224 M'PHERSON'S FAREWELL. — MY HIGHLAND LASSIE, O. And, rising, weets wi' misty showers The birks of Aberfeldie. 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 Aberfeldie. Chorus, Bonie lassie, will ye go, Will ye go, will ye go ? Bonie lassie, will ye go To the birks of Aberfeldie ? M'PHERSON'S FAREWELL. [" M'Pherson, a daring robber in the be- ginning of this century, was condemned to be hanged at the Assizes of Inverness. He is said, when under sentence of death, to have composed this tune, which he calls his own Lament, or Farewell." — R. B. This song was a favorite one of Carlyle's, who sang it with great enthusiasm.] Chorus. Sae rantingly, sae wantonly, Sae dauntingly gaed he, He play'd a spring, and danc'd it round Below the gallows-tree. Farewell, ye dungeons dark and strong. The wretch's destinie ! M'Pherson's time will not be long On yonder gallows-tree. II. O, what is death but parting breath ? On many a bloody plain I 've dar'd his face, and in this place I scorn him yet again ! Untie these bands from off my hands, And bring to rae my sword, And there's no a man in all Scot- land But I '11 brave him at a word. I 've liv'd 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 ! May coward shame distain his name, The wretch that dare not die ! Chorus. Sae rantingly, sae wantonly, Sae dauntingly gaed he, He play'd a spring, and danc'd it round Below the gallows-tree. MY HIGHLAND LASSIE, O. [" This was a composition of mine in very early life, before I was known at all in the world. My ' Highland Lassie ' was a warm-hearted charming young creature as ever blessed a man with eenerpus love." (R. B.)] Chorus. Within the glen sae bushy, O, Aboon the plain sae rashy, O, I set me down wi' right guid will To sing my Highland lassie, O ! Nae gentle dames, tho' ne'er sae fair, Shall ever be my Muse's care : Their titles a' are empty show-«- Gie me my Highland lassie, O ! THO' CRUEL FATE. — STRATHALLAN'S LAMENT. 22J O, were yon hills and vallies mine, Yon palace and yon gardens fine, The world then the love should know I bear my Highland lassie, O ! But fickle Fortune fi-owns on me, And I maun cross the raging sea ; But while my crimson currents flow 1 '11 love my Highland lassie, O. IV. Altho' thro' foreign climes I range, I know her heart will never change ; For her bosom burns with honour's glow. My faithful Highland lassie, O. V. For her I '11 dare the billows' roar, For her I '11 trace a distant shore, That Indian wealth may lustre throw Around my Highland lassie, O. VI. She has my heart, she has my hand, IVIy secret troth and honour's band ! 'Till the mortal stroke shall lay me low, I 'm thine, my Highland lassie, O ! Chorus. Farewell the glen sae bushy, O ! Farewell the plain sae rashy, O ! To other lands I now must go To sing my Highland lassie, O. THO' CRUEL FATE. [Written for Johnson's "Musical Mu- seum."] Tho' cruel fate should bid us part Far as the pole and line, Q Her dear idea round my heart Should tenderly entwine. Tho' mountains rise, and deserts howl, And oceans roar between, Yet dearer than my deathless soul I still would love my Jean. STAY, MY CHARMER. [Written for Johnson's "Musical Mu- seum,"] Stay, my charmer, can you leave me ? Cruel, cruel to deceive me ! Well you know how much you grieve me: Cruel charmer, can you go ? Cruel charmer, can you go ? By my love so ill-requited. By the faith you fondly plighted, By the pangs of lovers slighted. Do not, do not leave me so ! Do not, do not leave me so ! STRATHALLAN'S LAMENT. [The Strathallan of the " Lament " was James Drummond, eldest son of William, 4th Viscount Strathallan, killed at CuIIoden, April 14, 1746-] Thickest night, surround my dwell- Howling tempests, o'er me rave ! Turbid torrents wintry-swelling. Roaring by my lonely cave ! Crystal streamlets gently flowing. Busy haunts of base mankind. Western breezes softly blowing. Suit not my distracted mind. 226 MY HOGGIE. — UP IN THE MORNING EARLY. In the cause of Right engaged, Wrongs injurious to redress, Honours war we strongly wagfed, But the heavens deny'd 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. MY HOGGIE [Lines written to an old air. Burns says : " No person, except a few females at Moss- paul, knew this fine old tune."] 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 vogie ! The lee-lang night we watched the fauld, Me and my faithfu' doggie ; We heard nocht but the roaring linn Amang the braes sae scroggie. But the houlet cry'd frae the castle wa', The blitter frae the boggle, The tod reply'd upon the hiU : I trembled for my hoggie. When day did daw, and cocks did craw, The morning it was foggie, An unco tyke lap o'er the dyke, And maist has kill'd my hoggie ! ; JUMPIN JOHN. [Fragment of an old humorous ballad, with verbal corrections by Burns.] Chorus. The lang lad they ca' Jumpin John Beguil'd the bonie lassie ! The lang lad they ca' Jumpin John Beguil'd the bonie kssie ! Her daddie forbad, her minnie for- bad; Forbidden she wadna be : She wadna trow't, the browst she brew'd Wad taste sae bitterlie ! II. A cow and a cauf, a yowe and a hauf, And thretty guid shillins and three : A vera guid tocher! a cotter-man's dochter, The lass with the bonie black e'e ! Chorus. The lang lad they ca' Jumpin John Beguil'd the bonie lassie ! The lang lad they ca' Jumpin John Beguil'd the bonie lassie ! UP IN THE MORNING EARLY' ["The chorus of this song is old ; the two stanzas are mine." (R. B.)] Chorus. Up in the morning 's no for me. Up in the morning early! When a' the hills are covered 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 shrill 's 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 morn — I 'm sure it 's winter fairly. THE YOUNG HIGHLAND ROVER. — I DREAM'D I LAY. 227 Ckortis. 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 ! THE YOUNG HIGHLAND ROVER. [Intended to commemorate his visit to Castle Gordon in 1787.] Loud blaw the frosty breezes, The snaws the mountains cover. Like winter on me seizes, Since my young Highland rover Far wanders nations over. Where'er he go, where'er he stray, May Heaven be his warden ! Return him safe to fair Strathspey And bonie Castle Gordon ! The trees, now naked gfoaning, Shall soon wi' leaves be hinging, The birdies, dowie moaning, Shall a' be blythely singing. And every flower be springing : Sae I '11 rejoice the lee-lang day. When (by his mighty Warden) My youth 's return'd to fair Strathspey And bonie Castle Gordon. THE DUSTY MILLER. [Fragment of an old ballad, with verbal alterations by Bums. Partly traditional.] Hey the dusty miller And his dusty coat ! He will spend a shilling Or he win a groat. Dusty was the coat, Dusty was the colour, Dusty was the kiss That I gat frae the miller ! Hey the dusty miller And his dusty sack ! Leeze me on the calling Fills the dusty peck ! Fills the dusty peck, Brings the dusty siller ! I wad gie my coatie For the dusty miller ! I DREAM'D I LAY. [" These two stanzas I composed whem I vt'as seventeen ; they are among the oldest of my printed pieces." (R. B.)] 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, Thro' the woods the whirlwinds rave. Trees with agfed arms were warring O'er the swelling, drumlie wave. Such was my life's deceitful morning, Such the pleasures I enjoy 'd ! But lang or noon loud tempests, storming, A' my flowery bliss destroy'd. Tho' fickle Fortune has deceiv'd me (She promis'd fair, .^nd perform'd but iin, Of monie a joy and hope bcreav'd me, I bear a heart shall support me still. .228 DUNCAN DAVISON. — LADY ONLIE, HONEST LUCKY. DUNCAN DAVISON. [Stenhouse affirms that this song is by Burns, although he did not choose to avow it.] I. There was a lass, they ca'd her Meg, And she held o'erthe moors to spin ; There was a lad that foUow'd her, They ca'd him Duncan Davison. The moor was dreigh, and Meg was skeigh, Her favour Duncan could na win ; For wi' the rock she wad him knock, And ay she shook the temper-pin. As o'er the moor they lightly foor, A burn was clear, a glen was green ; Upon the banks they eas'd their shanks. And ay she set the wheel between : But Duncan swoor a haly aith. That Meg should be a bride the morn ; Then Meg took up her spinnin-graith. And flangthema' out o'er the burn. We will big a wee, wee house, And we will live like king and queen, Sae blythe and merry 's we will be, When ye set by the wheel at e'en ! A man may drink, and no be drunk ; A man may fight, and no be slain ; A man may kiss a bonie lass. And ay be welcome back again ! THENIEL MENZIES' BONIE MARY. [" Nothing is known of this Aberdeen- shire beauty." — ANDREW LANG.] Chorus. Theniel Menzies' bonie Mary, Theniel Menzies' bonie Mary, Charlie Grigor tint his plaidie, Kissin Theniel's bonie Mary ! In comin by the brig o' Dye, At Darlet we a blink did tarry; As day was dawin in the sky. We drank a health to bonie Mary. Her een sae bright, her brow sae white Her haffet locks as brown 's a berry, And ay they dirapl't wi' a smile. The rosy cheeks o' bonie Mary We lap an' danc'd the lee-lang day. Till piper-lads were wae and weary ; But Charlie gat the spring to pay. For kissin Theniel's bonie Mary. Chorus. Theniel Menzies' bonie Mary, Theniel Menzies' bonie Mary, Charlie Grigor tint his plaidie, Kissin Theniel's bonie Mary ! LADY ONLIE, HONEST LUCKY. [" Burns probably picked up the chorus during his northern tour."] Choms. Lady Onlie, honest lucky. Brews guid ale at shore o' Bucky : I wish her sale for her guid ale. The best on a' the shore o' Bucky ! A' THE lads o' Thorniebank, When they gae to the shore o' Bucky, They '11 step in an' tak a pint Wi' Lady Onlie, honest lucky. Her house sae bien, her curch sae clean — I wat she is a dainty chuckle, THE BANKS OF THE DEVON. — DUNCAN GRAY. 229 And cheery blinks the ingle-gleede O' Lady Onlie, honest lucky ! Chorus. Lady Onlie, honest lucky, Brews guid ale at shore o' Bucky : I wish her sale for her guid ale. The best on a' the shore o' Bucky ! THE BANKS OF THE DEVON. [" These verses were composed on a charming girl, a Miss Charlotte Hamilton. I first heai d the air from a lady in Inver- ness." (R. B.)] How pleasant the banks of the dear winding Devon, With green spreading bushes and flow'rs blooming fair ! But the boniest flow'r on the banks of the Devon Was once a sweet bud on the braes of the Ayr. Mild be the sun on this sweet blush- ing 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 ! O, spare the dear blossom, ye orient breezes. With chili, hoary wing as ye usher the dawn ! And far be thou distant, thou reptile that seizes The verdure and pride of the gar- den or lawn ! Let Bourbon exult in his gay gilded lilies, And England triumphant display her proud rose ! A fairer than either adorns the green vallies, Where Devon, sweet Devon, mean- dering flows, DUNCAN GRAY. [Founded on a song preserved in the Herd Ms. whh variations by Burns.] 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 jeeg the cradle wi' my tae. And a' for the girdin o 't ! Bonie was the Lammas moon (Ha, ha, the girdin o 't !), Glowrin a' the hills aboon (Ha, ha, the girdin o't !). The girdin brak, the beast cam down, I tint my curch and baith my shoon. And, Duncan, ye 're an unco loun — Wae on the bad girdin o 't ! But Duncan, gin ye '11 keep your aith (Ha, ha, the girdin o 't !), I 'se bless you wi' my hindmost breath (Ha, ha, the girdin o't !). Duncan, gin ye '11 keep your aith. The beast again can bear us baith. And auld Mess John will mend the skaith And clout the bad girdin o't. 230 THE PLOUGHMAN.— RAVING WINDS AROUND HER BLOWING THE PLOUGHMAN. [Founded on a coarse old song preserved in "The Merry Muses."] Chorus. Then up wi 't a', my ploughman lad, And hey, my merry ploughman ! Of a' the trades that I do ken, Commend me to the ploughman ! The ploughman, he 's a bonie lad, His mind is ever true, jo ! His garters knit below his knee, His bonnet it is blue, jo. I hae been east, I hae been west, I hae been at St. Johnston ; The boniest sight that e'er I saw Was the ploughman laddie dancin. Snaw-white stockings on his legs And siller buckles glancin, A guid blue bonnet on his head. And O, but he was handsome ! Commend me to the barn-yard And the corn mou, man ! I never got my coggie fou Till I met wi' the ploughman. Chorus. Then up wi 't a', my ploughman lad, And hey, my merry ploughman ! Of a' the trades that I do ken, Commend me to the ploughman ! LANDLADY, COUNT THE LAWIN. f" I have met the tradition universally over Scotland that this air was Robert Bruce's march to Bannockburn." (R. B.) Burns afterwards wrote " Scots Wha Hae " to it] Chorus. Hey tutti, taiti. How tutti, taita, Hey tutti, taiti, Wha's fou now? Landlady, count the lawin. The day is near the dawin ; Ye 're a' blind drunk, boys, And I 'm but jolly fou. Cog, an ye were ay fou. Cog, an ye were ay fou, I wad sit and sing to you, If ye were ay fou ! III. Weel may ye a' be ! Ill may ye never see ! God bless the king And the companie ! Chorus. Hey tutti, taiti. How tutti, taiti. Hey tutti, taiti, Wha 's fou now ? RAVING WINDS AROUND HER BLOWING. [" I composed these verses on Miss Isabella Macleod of Rasa, alluding to her feelings on the death of her sister." (R. B.)] Raving winds around her blowing, Yellow leaves the woodlands strow- ing, By a river hoarsely roaring, Isabella stray'd deploring : — HOW LANG AND DREARY IS THE NIGHT. — BLYTHE WAS SHE. 231 Farewell hours that late did measure Sunshine days of joy and pleasure ! Hail, thou gloomy night of sorrow — Cheerless night that knows no mor- row ! ' O'er the Past too fondly wandering, On the hopeless Future pondenng, Chilly Grief my life-blood freezes, Fell Despair my fancy seizes. Life, thou soul of every blessing. Load to Misery most distressing, Gladly how would I resign thee. And to dark Oblivion join thee ! ' HOW LANG AND DREARY IS THE NIGHT. [" I met with some such words in a col- lection of songs somewhere, which I altered and enlarged." (R. B.)] Chorus. For O, her lanely nights are lang. And O, her dreams are eerie, And O, her widow'd heart is sair. That 's absent frae her dearie ! How lang and dreary is the night, When I am frae my dearie ! I restless lie frae e'en to morn, Tho' I were ne'er sae weary. When I think on the lightsome days I spent wi' thee, my dearie. And now what seas between us roar, How can I be but eerie ? in. How slow ye move, ye heavy hours ! The joyless day how dreary ! It was na sae ye glinted by. When I was wi' my dearie ! Chorus. For O, her lanely nights are lang. And O, her dreams are eerie. And O, her widow'd heart is sair. That 's absent frae her dearie ! MUSING ON THE ROARING OCEAN. [" I composed these verses out of com- pliment to a Mrs. M'Lachlan, whose hus- band is an officer in the East Indies." (R. B.)] Musing on the roaring ocean. Which divides my love and me. Wearying heav'n in warm devotion For his weal where'er he be : Hope and Fear's alternate billow Yielding late to Nature's law. Whispering spirits round ray pillow Talk of him that 's far awa. III. 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 ! BLYTHE WAS SHE. [" I composed these verses while I stayed at Ochtertyre with Sir William Murray. The lady was Miss Euphemia Murray of Lintrose, who was called, and very justly, ' the flower of Strathmore." " (R. B.)] 232 TO DAUNTON ME. — O'ER THE WATER TO CHARLIE. Chorus. Blythe, blythe and merry was she, Blythe was she butt and ben, Blythe by the banks of Earn, And blythe in Glenturit glen ! By Oughtertyre grows the aik, On Yarrow banks the birken shaw ; But Phemie was a bonier lass Than braes o' Yarrow ever saw. Her looks were like a flow'r in May, Her smile was like a simmer morn. She tripped by the banks o' Earn As light 's a bird upon a thorn. Her bonie face it was as meek As onie lamb upon a lea. The evening sun was ne'er sae sweet As was the blink o' Phemie's e'e. The Highland hills I 've wander'd wide, As o'er the Lawlands I hae been. But Phemie was the blythest lass That ever trod the dewy green. Chorus. Blythe, blythe and merry was she, Blythe was she butt and ben, Blythe by the banks of Earn, And blythe in Glenturit Glen ! TO DAUNTON ME. [Variation from an old Jacobite song.] Chorus. To daunton me, to daunton me, An auld man shall never 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. II. To daunton me, and me sae young, Wi' his fause heart and fiatt'ring tongue : That is the thing you ne'er shall see, For an auld man shall never daunton me. III. 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. V. He hirples twa-fauld as he dow, Wi' his teethless gab and his auld beld pow. And the rain rains down frae his red blear'd e'e — That auld man shall never daunton me ! Chorus. To daunton me, to daunton me. An auld man shall never daunton me ! O'ER THE WATER TO CHARLIE. [The " verses," Stenhouse says, " were revised and improved by Burns." They appear in Hogg's " Jacobite Reliques."] Chorus. We'll o'er the water, we'll o'er the sea. A ROSE-BUD. — AND I'LL KISS THEE YET. 233 We '11 o'er the water to Charlie ! Come weal, come woe, we '11 gather and- go, And live and die wi' Charlie ! Come boat me o'er, come row me o'er, Come boat me o'er to Charlie ! I '11 gie John Ross another bawbee To boat me o'er to Charlie. I lo'e weel my Charlie's name, Tho' some there be abhor him ; But O, to see Auld Nick gaun hame, And Charlie's faes before him ! I swear and vow by moon and stars And sun that shines so early, If I had twenty thousand lives, I 'd die as aft for Charlie ! Chorus. We '11 o'er the water, we '11 o'er the sea. We '11 o'er the water to Charlie ! Come weal, come woe, we '11 gather and And live and die wi' Charlie ! A ROSE-BUD, BY MY EARLY WALK. [" This song I composed on Miss Jenny Cruickshank, the only child of my worthy friend, Mr. William Cruickshank, of the High School, Edinburgh." (R. B.)] A ROSE-BUD, by my early walk Adown a corn-inclosfed 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 prest. The dew sat chilly on her breast, Sae early in the morning. She soon shall see her tender brood, The pride, the pleasure o' the wood, Amang the fresh green leaves bedew'd, Awake the early morning. III. So thou, dear bird, young Jeany fair, On trembling string or vocal air Shall sweetly pay the tender care That tents thy early morning ! So thou, sweet rose-bud, young and gay, Shalt beauteous blaze upon the day. And bless the parent's evening ray That watch'd thy early morning ! AND I'LL KISS THEE YET. [" Spoken of by Burns as ' Juvenile.' Mr. Scott Douglas plausibly conjectures that Peggy, in this piece, is really Ellison, or Ali- son, Begbie, Some suppose the heroine to have been Mary Campbell. The first verse is not in Johnson's copy (' Museum,' ii. 1788) , and was first given by Cromek."] Chorus. And I '11 kiss thee yet, yet. And I '11 kiss thee o'er again, And I '11 kiss thee yet, yet. My bonie Peggy Alison. Ilk care and fear, when thou art near, I evermair defy them, O ! Young kings upon their hansel throne Are no sae blest as I am, O ! When in my arms, wi' a' thy charms, I clasp my countless treasure, O, I seek nae mair o' Heav'n to share Than sic a moment's pleasure, O ! 234 RATTLIN, ROARIN WILLIE.— O TIBBIE, I HAE SEEN THE DAY. And Dy thy een sae bonie blue I swear I 'm thine for ever, O ! And on thy lips I seal my vow. And break it shall I never, O ! Chorus. And I '11 kiss thee yet, yet. And I '11 kiss thee o'er again. And I '11 kiss thee yet, yet, My bonie Peggy Alison. RATTLIN, ROARIN WILLIE. ["The last stanza of this song is mine; it was composed out of compliment to one of the worthiest fellows in the world, William Dunbar, Esq., Writer to the Signet. Edin- burgh." (R. B.)] O, RATTLIN, roarin 'Willie, O, he held to the fair. An' for to sell his fiddle And buy some other ware ; But parting wi' his fiddle, The saut tear blin't his e'e — And, rattlin, roarin Willie, Ye 're welcome hame to me ! ' O Willie, come sell your fiddle, O, sell your fiddle sae fine ! O Willie, come sell your fiddle And buy a pint o' wine ! ' ' If I should sell my fiddle. The warld would think I was mad ; For monie a rantin day My fiddle and I hae had.' As I cam by Crochallan, I cannily keekit ben, Rattlin, roarin Willie Was sitting at yon boord-en' ; Sitting at yon boord-en'. And amang guid companie ! Rattlin, roarin Willie, Ye 're welcome hame to me. WHERE, BRAVING ANGRY WINTER'S STORMS. [The heroine was Margaret, daughter of John Chalmers of Fingland, and a cousin of Charlotte Hamilton, her particular friend.] Where, braving angry winter's storms. The lofty Ochils rise. Far in their shade my Peggy's charms First blest my wondering eyes : As one who by some savage stream A lonely gem surveys, Astonish'd doubly, marks it beam With art's most polish'd blaze. Blest be the wild, sequester'd glade. And blest the day and hour. Where Peggy's charms I first survey'd, When first I felt their pow'r ! The tyrant Death with grim control May seize my fleeting breath. But tearing Peggy from my soiil Must be a stronger death. O TIBBIE, I HAE SEEN THE DAY. [Mrs. Begg states that the heroine was one Isabella Steenson, or Stevenson, the farmer's daughter of Little Hill, which marched with Lochlie.J Chorus. O Tibbie, I hae seen the day, Ye wadna been sae shy ! For laik o' gear ye lightly me, But, trowth, I care na by. CLARINDA, MISTRESS OF MY SOUL. — THE WINTER IT IS PAST. 235 Yestreen I met you on the moor, Ye spak na, but gaed by like stoure ! Ye geek at me because I'm poor — But fient a hair care I ! When comin hame on Sunday last, Upon the road as I cam past. Ye snufft an' gae your head a cast — Bat, trowth, I care't na by ! I doubt na, lass, but ye may think, Because ye hae the name o' clink. That ye can please me at a wink. Whene'er ye like to try. But sorrow tak him that 's sae mean, Altho' his pouch o' coin were clean, Wha follows onie saucy quean. That looks sae proud and high ! Altho' 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 '11 fasten to him like a brier, Tho' hardly he for sense or lear Be better than the kye. VJI. 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. VIII. There lives a lass beside yon park, I 'd rather hae her in her sark Than you wi' a' your thousand mark. That gars you look sae high. Chorus. O Tibbie, I hae seen the day. Ye wadna been sae shy ! For laik o' gear ye lightly me, But, trowth, I care na by. CLARINDA, MISTRESS OF MY SOUL. [This song was written when Bums was about to leave Edinburgh.] CLARINDA, mistress of my soul, The measur'd time is run ! The wretch beneath the dreary pole So marks his latest sun. To what dark cave of frozen night Shall poor Sylvander hie, Depriv'd of thee, his life and light, The sun of all his joy ? III. We part — but, by these precious drops That fill thy lovely eyes, No other light shall guide my steps Till thy bright beams arise ! She, the fair sun of all her sex. Has blest my glorious day ; And shall a glimmering planet fix My worship to its ray ? THE WINTER IT IS PAST. [The song itself is largely and generously adapted from a song called " The Curragh 236 I LOVE MY LOVE IN SECRET. — SWEET TIBBIE DUNBAR. of Kildare." Only stanza II. is wholly Burns's.] The winter it is past, and the simmer comes at last, And the small birds sing on ev'ry tree: The hearts of these are glad, but mine is very sad. For my love is parted from me. The rose upon the brier by the waters running dear May have charms for the linnet or the bee : Their little loves are blest, and their little hearts at rest, But my lover is parted from me. My love is like the sun in the firma- ment does run — Forever is constant and true ; But his is like the moon, that wanders up and down, And every month it is new. All you that are in love, and cannot it remove, I pity the pains you endure. For experience makes me know that your hearts are full of woe, A woe that no mortal can cure. I LOVE MY LOVE IN SECRET. [Stenhouse affirms that the old song was ' slightly altered by Burns, because it was rather inadmissible, in its original state;" but apparently he spoke by guesswork.] Chorus. My Sandy O, my Sandy O, My bonie, bonie Sandy O ! Tho' the love that I owe To thee I dare na show. Yet I love my love in secret, My Sandy O ! My Sandy gied to me a ring Was a' beset wi' diamonds fine ; But I gied him a far better thing, I gied my heart in pledge o' his ring. My Sandy brak a piece o' gowd. While down his cheeks the saut tears row'd ; He took a hauf, and gied it to me. And I '11 keep it till the hour I die. C/iorus. My Sandy O, my Sandy O, My bonie, bonie Sandy O ! Tho' the love that I owe To thee I dare na show. Yet I love ray love in secret, My Sandy O ! SWEET TIBBIE DUNBAR. [Written for Johnson's " Museum," by Burns.] O, WILT thou go wi' me, sweet Tibbie Dunbar? O, wilt thou go wi' me, sweet Tibbie Dunbar? Wilt thou ride on a horse, or be drawn in a car. Or walk by my side, O sweet Tibbie Dunbar? I care na thy daddie, his lands and his money ; HIGHLAND HARRY. — THE TAILOR FELL THRO' THE BED. 237 I care na thy kin, sae high and sae lordly ; But say that thou 'It hae me for better or waur, And come in thy coatie, sweet Tibbie Dunbar. HIGHLAND HARRY. ["The chorus I picked up from an old woman in Dunblane. The rest of the song is mine." (R. B.)] Chorus. O, for him back again ! O, for him back again ! I wad gie a' Knockhaspie's land For Highland Harry back again. My Harry was a gallant gay, Fu' stately strade he on the plain. But now he 's banish'd far away : I '11 never see him back again. When a' the lave gae to their bed, I wander dowie up the glen, I set me down, and greet my fill, And ay I wish him back again. III. O, were some villains hangit high. And ilka body had their ain. Then I might see the joyfu' sight. My Highland Harry back again ! Chorus. O, for him back again ! O, for him back again ! I wad gie a' Knockhaspie's land, For Highland Harry back again. THE TAILOR FELL THRO' THE BED. [" This air is the march of the Corpora- tion of Tailors, The second and fourth stanzas are mine." (R. B.)] The tailor fell thro' the bed, thimble an' a'. The tailor fell thro' the bed, thimble an' a' ; The blankets were thin, and the sheets they were sma' — The tailor fell thro' the bed, thimble an' a' ! II. The sleepy bit lassie, she dreaded nae ill. The sleepy bit lassie, she dreaded nae ill ; The weather was cauld, and the lassie lay still : She thought that a tailor could do her nae ill ! Gie me the groat again, cannie young man ! Gie me the groat again, cannie young man ! The day it is short, and the night it is lang — The dearest siller that ever I wan ! There's somebody weary wi' lying her lane. There's somebody weary wi' lying her lane ! There 's some that are dowie, I trow wad be fain To see the bit tailor come skippia again. 238 AY WAUKIN, O.— LADDIE, LIE NEAR ME. AY WAUKIN, O. [An old ballad supposed to have been adapted by Burns.] Chorus. Ay waukin, O, Waukin still and weary : Sleep I can get nane For thinking on my dearie. Simmer 's a pleasant time : Flowers of every colour, The water rins owre the heugh, And I long for my true lover. When I sleep I dream, When I wauk I 'm eerie, Sleep I can get nane For thinkin on my dearie. Lanely night comes on, A' the lave are sleepin, I think on my bonie lad, And I bleer my een wi' greetin. Chorus. Ay waukin, O, Waukin still and weary : Sleep I can get nane For thinking on my dearie. BEWARE O' BONIE ANN. [" I composed this song out of compli- ment to Miss Ann Masterton, the daughter of my friend Allan Masterton." (R. B.)] Ye gallants bright, I rede you right, Beware o' bonie Ann ! Her comely face sae fu' o' grace, Your heart she will trepan. Her een sae bright like stars by night, Her skin is like the swan. Sae jimply lac'd her genty waist That sweetly ye might span. III. Youth, Grace, and Love attendant move, And Pleasure leads the van : In a' their charms, and conquering arms. They wait on bonie Ann. IV. The captive bands may chain the hands. But Love enslaves the man : Ye gallants braw, I rede you a', Beware o' bonie Ann ! LADDIE, LIE NEAR ME. [An old ballad, probably amended and condensed by Burns.] Chorus. Near me, near me. Laddie, lie near me ! Lang hae I lain my latje — Laddie, lie near me ! Lang hae we parted been. Laddie, my dearie ; Now we are met again — Laddie, lie near me ! A' that I hae endur'd, Laddie, my dearie. Here in thy arms is cur'd - Laddie, lie near me ! THE GARD'NER Wl' HIS PAIDLE. — THE DAY RETURNS. 239 Chorus. Near me, near me, Laddie, lie near me ! Lang hae I lain my lane — Laddie, lie near me ! THE GARD'NER WI' PAIDLE. HIS [" The title of the song is old ; the rest is mine." (R. B.)] When rosy May comes in wi' flowers To deck her gay, green-spreading bowers. Then busy, busy are his hours. The gard'ner wi' his paidle. The crystal waters gently fa', The merry birds are lovers a'. The scented breezes round him blaw — The gard'ner wi' his paidle. When purple morning starts the hare To steal upon her early fare, Then thro' the dew he maun repair — The gard'ner wi' his paidle. When Day, expiring in the west. The curtain draws o' Nature's rest, He flies to her arms he lo'es best. The gard'ner wi' his paidle. ON A BANK OF FLOWERS. [The original was written by Theobald. Variation by Bums.] On a bank of flowers in a summer day, For summer lightly drest, The youthful, blooming Nelly lay With love and sleep opprest ; When Willie, wand'ring thro' the wood, Who for her favour oft had sued — He gaz'd, he wish'd. He fear'd, he blush'd. And trembled where he stood. Her like weapons closed eyes, sheath'd. Were seal'd in soft repose ; Her lips, still as she fragrant breath'd, It richer dyed the rose ; The springing lilies, sweetly prest. Wild-wanton kiss'd her rival breast : He gaz'd, he wish'd. He fear'd, he blush'd, His bosom ill at rest. Her robes, light-waving in the breeze, Her tender limbs embrace ; Her lovely form, her native ease. All harmony and grace. Tumultuous tides his pulses roll, A faltering, ardent kiss he stole : He gaz'd, he wish'd. He fear'd, he blush'd. And sigh'd his very soul. As flies the partridge' from the brake On fear-inspired wings. So Nelly starting, half-awake, Away affrighted springs. But Willie foUow'd — as he should ; He overtook her in the wood ; He vow'd, he pray'd, He found the maid Forgiving all, and good. THE DAY RETURNS. [" I composed this song out of compli- ment to one of the happiest and worthiest 240 MY LOVE, SHE'S BUT A LASSIE YET. — JAMIE, COME TRY ME. couples in the world, — Robert Riddell, Esq., of Glenriddell, and his lady." (R. B.)] The day returns, my bosom burns, The blissful day we twa did meet ! Tho' winter wild in tempest toil'd. Ne'er summer sun was half sae sweet. Than a' the pride that loads the tide, And crosses o'er the sultry line. Than kingly robes, than crowns and globes, Heav'n gave me more — it made thee mine ! While day and night can bring de- light. Or Nature aught of pleasure give. While joys above my mind can move, For thee, and thee alone, I live ! When that grim foe of Life below Comes in between to make us part. The iron hand that breaks our band. It breaks my bliss, it breaks my heart ! MY LOVE, SHE'S BUT A LASSIE YET. [" The title and the last half stanza of this song," says Stenhouse, "are old; the rest was composed by Burns."] Chorus. My love, she's but a lassie yet, My love, she 's but a lassie yet ! We '0 let her stand a year or twa. She '11 no be half sae saucy yet ! I RUE the day I sought her, O ! I rue the day I sought her, O ! Wha gets her need na say he 's woo'd. But he may say he has 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 whare ye will. But here I never missed it yet. We 're a' dry wi' drinkin o 't, We 're a' dry wi' drinkin o 't ! The minister kiss't the fiddler's wife — He could na preach for thinkin o't! Chorus. 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 ! JAMIE, COME TRY ME. [The original was probably related to a blackletter, entitled " The New Scotch Jig, or the Bonny Cravat."] Chorus. Jamie, come try me, Jamie, come try me ! If thou would win my love, Jamie, come try me ! If thou should ask my love, Could I deny thee ? If thou would win my love, Jamie, come try me ! If thou should kiss me, love, Wha could espy thee ? If thou wad be my love, Jamie, come try me ! THE SILVER TASSIE.— THE CAPTAIN'S LADY. 241 Chorus. Jamie, come try me, Jamie, come try me ! If thou would win my love, Jamie, come try me ! THE SILVER TASSIE. [" Thi.«i air is Oswald's ; the first half stanza is old; the rest is mine." (R. B.)] Go, fetcii to me a pint o' wine And fill it in a silver tassie, Tliat I may drink before I go A service to my bonie lassie ! The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith, Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the Ferry, The ship rides by the Berwick-Law, And I maun leave my bonie Mary. II. The trumpets sound, the banners fly, The glittering spears are ranked ready, The shouts o' war are heard afar, The battle closes deep and bloody. It 's not the roar o' sea or shore Wad mak me langer wish to tarry, Nor shouts o' war that 's heard afar : It 's leaving thee, my bonie Mary ! THE LAZY MIST. [No. 232 in Johnson " Written for this work by Robert Burns," and signed " B."] The la?y mist hangs from the brow of the hill, Concealing the course of the dark winding; rill. How languid the scenes, late so sprightly, appear, K As Autumn to Winter resigns the pale year ! The forests are leafless, the meadows are brown, And all the gay foppery of summer is flown. Apart let me wander, apart let me muse, How quick Time is flying, how keen Fate pursues ! How long I have liv'd, but how much liv'd in vain ! How little of life's scanty span may remain ! What aspects old Time in his pro- gress has worn ! What ties cruel Fate in my bosom has torn ! rv. How foolish, or worse, till our summit is gain'd ! And downward, how weaken'd, how darken'd, how pain'd ! Life is not worth having with all it can give : For something beyond it poor man, sure, must live. THE CAPTAIN'S LADY. [An old ballad. Authorship doubtful.] Chorus. O, mount and go. Mount and make you ready ! O, mount and go, And be the Captain's Lady ! When the drums do beat, And the cannons rattle, Thou shalt sit in state. And see thy love ih battle : 242 OF A' THE AIRTS. — WHISTLE O'ER THE LAVE OT. When the vanquish'd foe Sues for peace and quiet, To the shades we 'II go, And in iove enjoy it. Chorus. O, mount and go Mount and make you ready ! O, mount and go, And be the Captain's Lady ! OF A' THE AIRTS. ["The air is by Marshall, the song I composed out of compliment to Mrs. Burns. N.B. It was during the honeymoon." (R. B.)] Of a' the airts the wind can blaw I dearly like the west, For there the bonie lassie lives. The lassie I lo'e best. There wild woods grow, and rivers row, And monie a hill between. But day and night my fancy's flight Is ever wi' my Jean. I see her in the dewy flowers — I see her sweet and fair. I hear her in the tunefu' birds — I hear her charm the air. There 's not a bonie flower that springs By fountain, shaw, or green. There 's not a bonie bird that sings, But minds me o' my Jean. CARL, AN THE KING COME. fA medley of Jacobite catchwords.] Chorus. Carl, an the King come, Call, an the King come, Thou shalt dance, and I wUl sing, Carl, an the king come ! An somebodie were come again, Then somebodie maun cross the main. And every man shall hae his ain, Carl, an the King come ! II. I trow we swapped for the worse : We gae the boot and better horse, And that we '11 tell them at the Cross, Carl, an the King come ! III. Coggie, an the King come, Coggie, an the King come, I '11 be fou, and thou 'se be toom, Coggie, an the King come ! Chorus. Carl, an the King come, Carl, an the King come. Thou shalt dance, and I will sing, Carl, an the King come ! WHISTLE O'ER THE LAVE O'T. [The repeat is borrowed from an old song.] I. First when Maggie was my care, Heav'n, I thought, was in her air ; Now we 're married, spier nae mair, But — whistle o'er the lave o't! Meg was meek, and Meg was mild, Sweet and harmless as a 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 ! O, WERE I.— THERE'S A YOUTH IN THIS CITY. 243 Wha I wish were maggots' meat, Dish'd up in her winding-sheet, 1 could write (but Meg wad see't) — Whistle o'er the lave o 't ! O, WERE I ON PARNASSUS HILL. [The substance of this song is in many old ballads, one of which Burns may have taken as his model,] O, WERE I on Parnassus hill, Or had o' Helicon my fill, That I might catch poetic skill To sing how dear I love thee ! But Nith maun be my Muses' well, My Muse maun be thy bonie sel', On Corsincon I 'II glowr and spell. And write how dear I love thee. Then come, sweet Muse, inspire my lay! For a' the lee-lang simmer's day I couldna sing, I could na say How much, how dear I love thee. I see thee dancing o'er the green, Thy waist sae jimp, thy limbs sae clean. Thy tempting lips, thy roguish een — By Heaven and Earth I love thee ! By night, by day, a-field, at hame, The thoughts o' thee my breast in- flame, And ay I muse and sing thy name — I only live to love thee. Tho' I were doom'd to wander on. Beyond the sea, beyond the sun, Till my last weary sand was run, Till then — and then — I'd love thee! THE CAPTIVE RIBBAND. [Burns's authorship of this song is in doubt.] Myra, the captive ribband 's mine ! 'Twas all my faithful love could gain. And would you ask me to resign The sole reward that crowns my pain? Go, bid the hero, who has run Thro' fields of death to gather fame — Go, bid him lay his laurels down, And all his well-earn'd praise dis- claim ! The ribband shall its freedom lose — Lose all the bliss it had with you ! — And share the fate I would impose On thee, wert thou my captive too. IV. It shall upon my bosom live. Or clasp me in a close embrace ; And at its fortune if you grieve. Retrieve its doom, and take its place. THERE'S A YOUTH IN THIS CITY. [This piece is strongly reminiscent of " The Mauchline Belles."] There 's a youth in this city, it were a great pity That he from our lassies should wander awa' ; For he 's bonie and braw, weel-favor'd witha', 244 MV HEART'S IIST THE HIGHLANDS. — JOHN ANDERSON MY JO. An' his hair has a natural buckle His coat is the hue o' his bonnet sae blue, His fecket is white as the new- driven snaw, His hose they are blae, and his shoon like the slae, And his clear siller buckles, they dazzle us a'. For beauty and fortune the laddie 's been courtin : Weel-featur'd, weel-tocher'd, weel- mounted, an' braw, But chiefly the siller that gars him gang till her — The penny 's the jewel that beauti- fies a' ! There 's Meg wi' the mailen, that fain wad a haen him, And Susie, wha's daddie was laird of the Ha', There's lang-tocher'd Nancy maist fetters his fancy; But the laddie's dear sel he loes dearest of a'. MY HEART'S IN THE HIGH- LANDS. ["The first half stanza of this song is old; the rest is mine." (R. B.)] Chorus. My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here. My heart 's in the Highlands a-chas- ing the deer, A-chasing the wild deer and following the roe — My heart's in the Highlands, wher- ever I go! Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North, The birthplace of valour, the country of worth ! Wherever I wander, wherever I rove. The hills of the Highlands for ever i love. Farewell to the mountains high cover'd with snow, Farewell to the straths and green valleys below, Farewell to the forests and wild-hang- ing woods. Farewell to the torrents and loud- pouring floods ! Chorus. My heart 's in the Highlands, my heart is not here. My heart 's in the Highlands a-chas- ing the deer, A-chasing the wild deer and following the roe — My heart's in the Highlands, wher- ever I go ! JOHN ANDERSON MY JO. [The song traces back to one composed about 1560. Improved by Burns.] John Anderson my jo, John, When we were first acquent, Your locks were like the raven, Your bonie brow was brent ; But now your brow is beld, John, Your locks are like the snaw. But blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson my jo ! John Anderson my jo. John, We clarab the hill thegither. AWA', WHIGS, AWA'. — CA' THE YOWES TO THE KNOWES. 245 And monie a cantie day, John, We 've had wi' ane anither ; Now we maun totter down, John, And hand in hand we '11 go, And sleep thegither at the foot, John Anderson my jo ! AWA', WHIGS, AWA'. [An old Jacobite song, improved by Burns.] Chorus. Awa', Whigs, awa' ! Awa', Whigs, awa' ! Ye 're but a pack o' traitor louns, Ye '11 do nae guid at a'. Our thrissles flourish'd fresh and fair, And bonie bloom'd our roses ; But Whigs cam like a frost in June, An' wither'd a' our posies. Our ancient crown's fa'n in the dust — Deil blin' them wi' the stoure o 't. An' write their names in his black beuk, Wha gae the Whigs the power o 't ! Our sad decay in church and state Surpasses my descriving. The Whigs cam o'er us for a curse, And we hae done wi' thriving. Grim Vengeance lang has taen a nap, . But we may see him waukm — Gude help the day when Royal heads Are hunted like a maukin! Chorus. Avia.'', Whigs, awa' ! Awa', Whigs, awa'! Ye 're but a pack o' traitor louns. Ye '11 do nae euid at a'. CA' THE YOWES TO THE KNOWES. [" This beautiful song is in the true old Scotch taste, yet I do not know that either the air or words were in print before." (R. B.)] Chorus. Ca' the yowes to the knowes, Ca' them where the heather grows, Ca' them where the burnie rowes, My bonie dearie! As I gaed down the water-side, There I met my shepherd lad : He row'd me sweetly in his plaid. And he ca'd me his dearie. ' Will ye gang down the water-side, And see the waves sae sweetly glide Beneath the hazels spreading wide? The moon it shines fu' clearly.' ' I was bred up in nae sic school. My shepherd lad, to play the fool, An' a' the day to sit in dool, An' naebody to see me.' ' Ye sail get gowns and ribbons meet, Cauf-leather shoon upon your feet, And in my arms thou 'It lie and sleepy An' ye sail be my dearie.' 246 O, MERRY HAE I BEEN. — THE WHITE COCKADE. ' If ye 'II but stand to what ye 've said, I 'se gang wi' you, ray shepherd lad. And ye may row me in your plaid, And I sail be your dearie.' ' While waters wimple to the sea. While day blinks in the lift sae hie, Till clay-cauld death sail blin' my e'e, Ye sail be my dearie.' Chorus. Ca' the yowes to the knowes, Ca' them where the heather grows, Ca' them where the burnie rowes. My bonie dearie! O, MERRY HAE I BEEN. [*' The tune was called ' The Bob o' Dum- blane,' and a song with this title appears in Ramsay's ' Tea-Table Miscellany' (1727)." (R. B.)] O, MERRY hae I been teethin a heckle. An' merry hae I been shapin a spoon ! O, merry hae I been cloutin a kettle. An' kissin my Katie when a' was done! O, a' the lang day I ca' at my hammer, An' a' the lang day I whistle an' sing! O, a' the lang night I cuddle my kim- mer, An' a' the lang night 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 blythe be the bird that sings on her grave! Come to my arms, my Katie, my Katie, An' come to my arms, and kiss me again ! Drucken or sober, here 's to thee, Katie, And blest be the day I did it again! A MOTHER'S LAMENT. ["The words were composed to com- memorate the much lamented and prema- ture death of James Ferguson, Esq., Junior of Craigdarroch." (R. B.)] Fate gave the word — the arrow sped, And pierc'd my darling's heart. And with him all' the joys are fled Life can to me impart. By cruel hands the sapling drops. In dust dishonor'd laid : So fell the pride of all my hopes, My age's future shade. The mother linnet in the brake Bewails her ravish'd young : So I for my lost darling's sake Lament the live-day long. Death, oft I 've fear'd thy fatal blow ! Now fond I bare my breast ! O, do thou kindly lay me low, With him I love at rest ! THE WHITE COCKADE. [Adapted from "The Ranting Roving Lad " in Herd.] Chorus. O, he 's a ranting, roving lad ! He is a brisk an' a bonie lad ! Betide what may, I will be wed. And follow the boy with the White Cockade ! My lo\e was born in Aberdeen, The boniest lad that e'er was seen ; THE BRAES O' BALLOCHMYLE. — THOU LINGERING STAR. 247 But no w he makes our hearts fu' sad — He takes the field wi' his White Cock- ade. I 'II sell my rock, my reel, my tow, My guid gray mare and hawkit cow, To buy mysel a tartan plaid, To follow the boy wi' the White Cock- ade. Chorus. O, he 's a ranting, roving lad ! He is a brisk an' a bonie lad ! Betide what may, I will be wed. And follow the boy wi' the White Cockade ! THE BRAES O' BALLOCH- MYLE. [" I composed the verses on the amiable and excellent family of Whitefoord's leav- ing Ballochmyle, when Sir John's misfor- tunes had obliged him to sell the estate." (R. B.)] I. The Catrine woods were yellow seen. The flowers decay'd on Catrine lea; Nae lav'rock sang on hillock green, But nature sicken'd on the e'e ; Thro' faded groves Maria sang, Hersel in beauty's bloom the while. And aye the wild-wood echoes rang : ' Fareweel the braes o' Ballochmyle ! Low in your wintry beds, ye flowers, Again ye '11 flourish fresh and fair ; Ye birdies, dumb in with'ring bowers, Again ye '11 charm the vocal air ; But here, alas ! for me nae mair Shall birdie charm, or floweret smile : Fareweel the bonie banks of Ayr! Fareweel ! fareweel, sweet Balloch- myle ! ' THE RANTIN DOG, THE DADDIE O'T. [" I composed this song pretty early in life, and sent it to a young girl, a very par- ticular acquaintance of rftine, who was at the time under a cloud." (R. B.)] O, WHA my babie-clouts will buy? O, wha "ttill tent me when I cry ? Wha will kiss me where I lie ? — The rantin dog, the daddie o 't ! O, wha will own he did the faut? O, wha will buy the groanin maut? O, wha will tell me how to ca 't ? — The rantin dog, the daddie o 't! When I mount the creepie-chair, Wha will sit beside me there ? Gie me Rob, I '11 seek nae mair — The rantin dog, the daddie o 't ! Wha will crack to me my lane? Wha will mak me fidgin fain? Wha will kiss me o'er again ? — The rantin dog, the daddie o 't ! THOU LINGERING STAR. [Enclosing this very famous lament in a letter to Mrs. Dunlop, November 8, 1789, Burns described it as " made the other day." He also asked her opinion of it, as he was too much interested in the subject to be "a critic in the composition."] Thou ling'ring star with less'ning ray, That lov'st to greet the early morn. Again thou usher'st in the day My Mary from my soul was torn. 248 EPPIE ADAIR.— THE BATTLE OF SHERRAMUIR. O Mary, dear departed shade ! Where is thy place of blissful rest ? See'st thou thy lover lowly laid? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? That sacred hour can I forget, Can I forget the hallow'd grove. Where, by the winding Ayr, we met To live one day of parting love ? Eternity cannot efface Those records dear of transports past, Thy image at our last embrace — Ah ! little thought we 't was our last! III. Ayr, gurgling, kiss'd his pebbled shore, O'erhung with wild woods thicken- ing green; The fragrant birch and hawthorn hoar 'Twin'd amorous round the raptur'd scene ; The flowers sprang wanton to be prest. The birds sang love on every spray. Till too, too soon, the glowing west Proclaim'd the speed of winged day. IV. Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes, And fondly broods with miser-care. Time but th' impression stronger makes, As streams their channels deeper wear. O Mary, dear departed shade ! Where is thy place of blissful rest? See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? EPPIE ADAIR. [No. 281 in Johnson, unsigned. The Ms. is in the Hastie Collection.] Chorus. An' O 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! A' pleasure exile me, Dishonour defile me, If e'er I beguile thee, My Eppie Adair ! Chorus. An' O my Eppie, My jewel, my Eppie ! Wha wadna be happy Wi' Eppie Adair? THE BATTLE OF SHERRA- MUIR. [This song is condensed from a ballad by the Rev. John Barclay.] ' O, CAM ye here the fight to shun. Or herd the sheep wi' me, man? Or were ye at the Sherra-moor, Or did the battle see, man? ' ' I saw the battle, sair and teugh, And reekin-red ran monie a sheugh ; My heart for fear gae sough for sough, To hear the thuds, and see the cluds O' clans frae woods in tartan duds, Wha glaum'd at kingdoms three, man. YOUNG JOCKIE WAS THE BLYTHEST LAD. 249 II. * The red-coat lads wi' black cockauds To meet them were na slaw, man ; They rush'd and push'd and bluid outgush'd, And monie a bouk did fa', man ! The great Argyle led on his files, I wat they glanc'd for twenty miles ; They hough'd the clans like nine-pin kyles, They hack'd a,\d hash'd, while braid- swords claih'd. And thro' they dash'd, and hew'd and smash'd, Till fey men died awa, man. III. But had ye seen the philibegs And skyrin tartan trews, man, When in the teeth they daur'd our whigs And Covenant trueblues, man ! In lines extended lang and large. When baig'nets o'erpower'd the targe, And thousands hasten'd to the charge, Wi' Highland wrath they firae the sheath Drew blades o' death, till out o' breath They fled like frighted dows, man ! ' ' O, how Deil ! Tam, can that be true ? The chase gaed frae the north, man ! I saw mysel, they did pursue The horseman back to Forth, man ; And at Dunblane, in my ain sight, They took the brig wi' a' their might. And straught to Stirling wing'd their flight; But, cursed lot ! the gates were shut, And monie a huntit poor red-coat, For fear amaist did swarf, man ! ' ' My sister Kate cam up the gate Wi' crowdie unto me, man : She swoor she saw some rebels run To Perth and to Dundee, man ! Their left-hand general had nae skill; The Angus lads had nae good will That day their neebors' bluid to spill ; For fear by foes that they should lose Their cogs o' brose, they scar'd at blows. And hameward fast did flee, man. ' They 've lost some gallant gentlemen, Amang the Highland clans, man ! I fear my Lord Panmure is slain. Or in his en'raies' hands, man. Now wad ye sing this double flight. Some fell for wrang, and some for right. But monie bade the world guid-night : Say, pell and mell, wi' muskets' knell How Tories fell, and Whigs to Hell Flew off" in frighted bands, man ! ' YOUNG JOCKIE WAS THE BLYTHEST LAD. [Stenhouse remarks that the whole song, "excepting three or four lines, is the pro- duction ot Burns."] Young Jockie was the blythest lad. In a' our town or here awa : Fu' blythe he whistled at the gaud, Fu' lightly danc'd he in the ha'. He roos'd my een sae bonie blue. He roos'd my waist sae genty sma' f An' ay my heart cam to my mou'. When ne'er a body heard or saw. III. My Jockie toils upon the plain Thro' wind and weet, thro' frost and snaw ; And o'er the lea I leuk fu' fain, When Jockie's owsen hameward ca'. 250 A WAUKRIFE MINNIE. — THO' WOMEN'S MINDS. IV. An' ay the night comes round again, When in his arms he talcs me a', An' ay he vows he '11 be my ain As lang 's he has a breath to draw. A WAUKRIFE MINNIE. [" I picked up the old song and tune from a country girl in Nithsdale. I never met with it elsewliere in Scotland." (R. B.)] 'Whare are you gaun, my bonie lass? Whare are you gaun, my hinnie? ' She answer'd me right saucilie : — ' An errand for my minnie ! ' II. ' O, whare live ye, my bonie lass ? O, whare live ye, my hinnie ? ' ' By yon burnside, gin ye maun ken, In a wee house wi' my minnie !' III. But I foor up the glen at e'en To see my bonie lassie. And lang before the grey morn cam She was na hauf sae saucy. O, weary fa' the waukrife cock. And the foumart lay his crawin ! He wauken'd the auld wife frae her sleep A wee blink or the dawin. An angry wife I wat she raise, And o'er the bed she brought her, And wi' a meikle hazel-rung She made her a weel-pay'd dochter. 'O, fare-thee-weel, my bonie lass ! O, fare-thee-weel, my hinnie ! Thou art a gay and a bonie lass, But thou has a waukrife minnie ! ' THO' WOMEN'S MINDS. [" This song is mine, all except the chorus." (R. B.)] Chorus. For a' that, an' a' that. And twice as meikle 's a' that, The bonie lass that I loe best, She '11 be my ain for a' that ! Tho' women's minds like winter winds May shift, and turn, an' a' that, The noblest breast adores them maist — A consequence, I draw that. II. Great love I bear to a' the fair. Their humble slave, an' a' that ; But lordly will, I hold it still A mortal sin to thraw that. III. In rapture sweet this hour we meet, Wi' mutual love an' a' that. But for how lang the flie may stang. Let inclination law that ! rv. Their tricks an' craft hae put me daft. They 've taen me in an' a' that. But clear your decks, and here 's : — 'The Sex I' I like the jads for a' that 1 WILLIE BREW'D A PJICK O' MAUT. — KILLIECRANKIE. 251 Chorus. For a' that, an' a' that, And twice as meikle 's a' that. The bonie lass that I loe best, She '11 be my ain for a' that ! WILLIE BREW'D A PECK O' MAUT. [" The air is Masterton's ; the song mine." (R. B.)J Chorus. We are na fou, we 're nae that fou, But just a drappie in our e'e ! The cock may craw, the day may daw. And ay we '11 taste the barley- bree ! O, Willie brewed a peck o' maut. And Rob and Allan cam to see. Three blyther hearts that lee-lang night Ye wad na found in Christendie. Here are we met three merry boys, Three merry boys I trow are we ; And monie a night we've merry been. And monie mae we hope to be ! It is the moon, I ken her horn, ' That 's blinkin in the lift sae hie : She shines sae bright to wyle us hame. But, by my sooth, she'll wait a wee! IV. Wha first shall rise to gang awa, A cuckold, coward loun is he ! Wha first beside his chair shall fa'. He is the King amang us three ! Chorus. We are na fou, we 're nae that fou, But just a drappie in our e'e ! The cock may craw, the day may daw. And ay we '11 taste the barley-bree! KILLIECRANKIE. [" The battle of Killiecrankie was the last stand made by the clans for James after his abdication. Here the gallant Lord Dun- dee fell in the moment of victory." (R. B.) The battle was fought on July 17, 1689.] Chorus. An ye had been whare I hae been. Ye wad na been sae cantie, O ! An ye had seen what I hae seen On the braes o' Killiecrankie, O I ' Whare hae ye been sae braw, lad ? Whare hae ye been sae brankie, O ? Whare hae ye been sae braw, lad? Cam ye by Killiecrankie, O ? ' ' I faught at land, I faught at sea. At hame I faught my auntie, O ; But I met the Devil and Dundee On the braes o' Killiecrankie, O IIL ' The bauld Pitcur fell in a furr, An' Clavers gat a clankie, O, Or I had fed an Athole gled On the braes o' Killiecrankie, O ! ' Chorus. An ye had been whare I hae been, Ye wad na been sae cantie, O ! An ye had seen what I hae seen On the braes o' Killiecrankie, O ! £52 THE BLUE-EYED LASSIE. — TAM GLEN. THE BLUE-EYED LASSIE. [Burns enclosed this song in a letter to Mrs. Duiilop, Oct. 2, 1788, writing: "How do you like the following song, designed for and composed by a friend of mine, and which he has christened ' The Blue-Eyed Lassie '? "] I GAED a waefu' gate yestreen, A gate I fear I '11 dearly rue : I gat my death frae twa sweet een, Twa lovely een o' bonie blue! 'T was not her golden ringlets bright, Her lips like roses wat wi' dew, Her heaving bosom lily-white : It was her een sae bonie blue. She talk'd, she smil'd, my heart she wyl'd, She charm'd my soul I wist na how; And ay the stound, the deadly wound. Cam frae her een sae bonie blue. But 'spare to speak, and spare to speed ' — She '11 aiblins listen to my vow : Should she refuse, I '11 lay my dead To her twa een sae bonie blue. THE BANKS OF NITH. [Written for Johnson's " Museum " by Burns. An early draft was sent to Mrs. Dunlop.] The Thames flows proudly to the sea, Where royal cities stately stand ; But sweeter flows the Nith to me. Where Cummins ance had high command. When shall I see that honor'd land. That winding stream I love so dear? Must wayward Fortune 's adverse hand For ever — ever keep me here ? How lovely, Nith, thy fruitful vales, Where bounding hawthorns gaily bloom, And sweetly spread thy sloping dales. Where lambkins wanton thro' the broom ! Tho' wandering now must be my doom Far from thy bonie banks and braes, May there my latest hours consume Amang my friends of early days ! TAM GLEN. [Written for Johnson's " Museum " by Burns.] 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 mauna marry Tam Glen ? III. There 's Lowrie the laird o' Dumeller : ' Guid day to you,' brute ! he comes ben. He brags and he blaws o' his siller. But when will he dance like Tam Glen? IV. My minnie does constantly deave me. And bids me beware o' young men. They flatter, she says, to deceive me — But wha can think sae o' Tam Glen ? My daddie says, gin I '11 forsake him. He 'd gie me guid hunder marks ten. CRAIGIEBURN WOOD.— FRAE THE FRIENDS ATilD LAND 1 LOVE. 253 But if it 's ordain'd I maun take him, O, wha will I get but Tam Glen ? Yestreen at the valentines' dealing, My heart to my mou gied a sten, For thrice. I drew ane without failing, And thrice it was written 'Tam Glen'! VII. The last Halloween I was waukin My droukit sark-sleeve, as ye ken — His likeness came up the house staukin, And the very grey breeks o' Tam Glen! VIII. Come, counsel, dear tittle, don't tarry! I '11 gie ye my bonie black hen, Gif ye will advise me to marry The lad I lo'e dearly, Tam Glen. CRAIGIEBURN WOOD. [" This song was composed on a passion which a Mr. Gillespie, a particular friend of mine, had for a Miss Lorimer, afterwards a Mrs. Whelpdale." (R. B.)] Chorus. Beyond thee, dearie, beyond thee, dearie. And O, to be l3ang beyond thee! O, sweetly, soundly, weel may he sleep That's laid in the bed beyond thee! Sweet closes the ev'ning on Craigie- burn Wood And blythely awaukens the morrow ; But the pride o' the spring on the Craigieburn Wood Can yield me naught but sorrow. II. 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 can na tell, I maun na tell, I daur na for your anger ; But secret love will break my heart, If I conceal it langer. I see thee gracefii', straight, and tall, I see thee sweet and bonie ; But O, what will my torment be, If thou refuse thy Johnie ! V. To see thee in another's arms In love to lie and languish, 'T wad be my dead, that will be seen — My heart wad burst wi' anguish ! But, Jeanie, say thou wilt be mine. Say thou lo'es nane before me, And a' my days o' life to come I '11 gratefully adore thee. Chorus. Beyond thee, dearie, beyond thee, • dearie. And O, to be lying beyond thee! O, sweetly, soundly, weel may he sleep That's laid in the bed beyond thee ! FRAE THE FRIENDS AND LAND I LOVE. [" I added the four last lines by way of giving a turn to the theme of the poem, such as it is." (R. B.)] Frae the friends and land I love Driv'n by Fortune's felly spite, Frae my best belov'd I rove, Never mair to taste delight ! 254 O JOHN, COME KISS ME NOW. — MY TOCHER'S THE JEWEL. Never mair maun hope to find Ease frae toil, relief frae care. When remembrance wracks the mind, Pleasures but unveil despair. Brightest climes shall mirk appear, Desert ilka blooming shore, Till the Fates, nae mair severe, Friendship, love, and peace restore ; Till Revenge wi' laurell'd head Bring our banish'd hame again, And ilk loyal, bonie lad Cross the seas, and win his ain ! O JOHN, COME KISS ME NOW. [Altered and expanded from a fragment in Herd.] Chorus. O John, come kiss me now, now, now ! O John, my love, come kiss me now ! O John, come kiss me by and by. For weel ye ken the way to woo ! O, SOME will court and compliment. And ither some will kiss and daut ; But I will mak o' my guidman. My ain guidman — it is nae faut ! O, some will court and compliment. And ither some will prie their mou'. And some will hause in ither's arms. And that 's the way I like to do ! Chorus. O John, come kiss me now, now, now! O John, my love, come kiss me now ! O John, come kiss me by and by, For weel ye ken the way to woo ! COCK UP YOUR BEAVER. [Redacted from the older set in Herd.] I. When first my brave Johnie 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 Johnie lad, cock up your beaver! Cock up your beaver, and cock it fit' sprush ! We '11 over the border and gie them a brush: There 's somebody there we 'U teach better behaviour — Hey, brave Johnie lad, cock up your beaver ! MY TOCHER'S THE JEWEL. [The last half of stanza II., according to Cromek, was found in Burns's holograph as part of an old song.] O, MEIKLE thinks my luve o' my beauty. And meikle thinks my luve o' my kin; But little thinks my luve I ken brawlie My tocher's the jewel has charms for him. It 's a' for the apple he '11 nourish the tree, It 's a' for the hiney he '11 cherish the bee! My laddie 's sae meikle in luve wi' the siller. He canna hae luve to spare for me ! THERE'LL NEVER BE PEACE TILL JAMIE COMES HAME. 255 Your proffer o' luve 's an airle-penny, My tocher's the bargain ye wad buy; But an ye be crafty, I am cunnin, Sae ye wi' anither your fortune may try. Ve 're like to the timmer o' yon rotten wood, Ye 're like to the bark o' yon rotten tree: Ye '11 slip frae me like a knotless thread. An' ye '11 crack your credit wi' mair nor me ! GUIDWIFE, COUNT THE LAWIN. [" The chorus of this is part of an old song." (R.B.)] Chorus. Then, guidwife, count the lawin. The lawin, the lawin ! Then, guidwife, count the lawin. And bring a coggie mair ! Gane is the day, and mirk's the night, But we '11 ne'er stray for faut o' light. For ale and brandy 's stars and moon, And blude-red wine 's the risin sun. There's wealth and ease for gentle- men. And semple folk maun fecht and fen' ; But here we 're a' in ae accord, For ilka man that 's drunk 's a lord. III. My coggie is a haly pool. That heals the wounds o' care and dool, And Pleasure is a wanton trout : An ye drink it a', ye '11 find him out ! Chorus. Then, guidwife, count the lawin, The lawin, the lawin ! Then, guidwife, count the lawin. And iDring a coggie mair! THERE'LL NEVER BE PEACE TILL JAMIE COMES HAME. ["This tune is sometimes called ' There are Few Gude Fellows when Willie 's Awa.' But I have never been able to meet with anything else of the song than the title." (R.B.)] I. By yon castle wa' at the close of the day, I heard a man sing, tho' his head it was grey. And as he was singing, the tears doon came : — 'There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame ! II. ' The Church is in ruins, the State is in jars, Delusions, oppressions, and murder- ous 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. But now I greet round their green beds in the yerd ; It brak the sweet heart o' my faithfu' auld dame — There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame ! 2S6 THE BONIE LAD THAT'S FAR AWA. IV. 'Now life is a burden that bows me down, Sin I tint my bairns, and he tint his crown ; 3ut till my last moments my words are the same — There '11 never be peace till Jamie comes hame ! ' WHAT CAN A YOUNG LASSIE [A derivative, "The Old Man Killed with the Cough." This derivative Burns seems to have known, and to have borrowed its rhythmus, as vfell as its general tone and sentiment.] What can a young lassie. What shall a young lassie. What can a young lassie Do wi' an auld man? Bad luck on the penny That tempted my minnie To sell her puir Jenny For siller an' Ian' ! He 's always compleenin Frae mornin to eenin ; He hoasts and he hirples The weary day lang ; He 's doylt and he 's dozin ; His blude it is frozen — O, 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 an' jealous Of a' the young fellows — O, dool on the day I met wi" an auld man ! My auld auntie Katie Upon me taks pity, I '11 do ray endeavour To follow her plan : I 'II cross him an' wrack him Uritil I heartbreak him, And then his auld brass Will buy me a new pan. THE BONIE LAD THAT 'S FAR AWA. [It is supposed to refer to old Armour's extrusion ot his daughter in the winter of 1788.] O, HOW can I be blythe and glad, Or how can I gang brisk and braw. When the bonie lad that I lo'e best Is o'er the hills and far awa ? It 's no the frosty winter wind, It's no the driving drift and snaw; But ay the tear comes in my e'e To think on him that 's far awa. III. My father pat me frae his door. My friends they hae disown'd me a' ; But I hae ane will tak my part — The bonie lad that 's far awa. A pair o' glooves he bought to me And silken snoods he gae me twa, And I will wear them for his sake. The bonie lad that 's far awa. O, weary Winter soon will pass. And Spring will deed the birken shaw, I DO CONFESS.— YON WILD MOSSY MOUNTAINS. 257 And my sweet babie will be born, And he '11 be hame that 's far awa ! I DO CONFESS THOU ART SAE FAIR. ["This song is altered from a poem by Sir Robert Ayton, private secretary to Mary and Anne, queens of Scotland." (R, B.)] I DO confess thou art sae fair, I wad been o'er the lugs in luve, Had I na found the slightest prayer That lips could speak thy heart could muve. I do confess thee sweet, but find Thou art so thriftless o' thy sweets, Thy favours are the silly wind That kisses ilka thing it meets. See yonder rosebud rich in dew, Amang its native briers sae coy, How sune it tines its scent and hue, When pu'd and worn a common toy ! Sic fate ere lang shall thee betide, Tho' thou may gaily bloom awhile. And sune thou shalt be thrown aside. Like onie common weed, an' vile. SENSIBILITY HOW CHARM- ING. [Written for Jolinson's Bums.] 'Museum" by Sensibility how charming, Thou, my friend, can'st truly tell ! But Distress with horrors arming Thou alas ! hast known too well ! II. Fairest flower, behold the lily Blooming in the sunny ray : Let the blast sweep o'er the valley. See it prostrate in the clay. Hear the woodlark charm the forest. Telling o'er his little joys ; But alas ! a prey the surest To each pirate of the skies ! Dearly bought the hidden treasure Finer feelings can bestow : Chords that vibrate sweetest pleasure Thrill the deepest notes of woe. YON WILD MOSSY MOUN- TAINS. [" The song alludes to a part of my pri- vate history which is of no consequence to the world to know." (R. B.)] I. Yon wild mossy mountains sae lofty and wide. That nurse in their bosom the youth o' the Clyde, Where the grouse lead their coveys thro' 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, sequestered stream, Resides a sweet lassie, my thought and my dream. Amang thae wild mountains shall stilj be my path. Ilk stream foaming down its ain green, narrow strath ; 258 IT IS NA, JEAN, THY BONIE FACE. For there wi' my lassie the lang day I rove, While o'er us unheeded flie the swift hours o' love. IV. She is not the fairest, altho' she is fair; O' nice education but sina' is her share ; Her parentage hunable as humble can be ; But I lo'e the dear lassie because she lo'es me. To Beauty what man but maun yield him a prize, In her armour of glances, and blushes, and sighs ? And when Wit and Refinement hae polish'd her darts, They dazzle our een, as they flie to our hearts. VI. 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, O, these are ro.y lassie's all-conquer- ing charms ! 1 HAE BEEN AT CROOKIEDEN. [Founded on an old Jacobite rhyme.] I HAE been at Crookieden — My bonie laddie. Highland laddie ! Viewing Willie and his men — My bonie laddie, Highland laddie ! There our foes that burnt and slew — My bonie laddie. Highland laddie There at last they gat their due — • My bonie laddie, Highland laddie ! II. Satan sits in his black neuk — My bonie laddie. Highland laddie ! Breaking sticks to roast the Duke — My bonie laddie, Highland laddie ! The bloody monster gae a yell — My bonie laddie. Highland laddie ! And loud the laugh gaed round a' Hell — My bonie laddie. Highland laddie ! IT IS NA, JEAN, THY BONIE FACE. [" Originally English verses : I gave them their Soots dress." (R. B.)] It is na, Jean, thy bonie face Nor shape that I admire, Altho' thy beauty and thy grace Might weel awauk desire. Something in ilka part o' thee To praise, to love, I find ; But, dear as is thy form to me, Still dearer is thy mind. Nae mair ungen'rous wish I hae. Nor stronger in my breast. Than, if I canna male thee sae, At least to see thee blest : Content am I, if Heaven shall give But happiness to thee, And, as wi' thee I wish to live, For thee I 'd bear to dee. MY EPPIE MACNAB. — BONIE WEE THING. 259 MY EPPIE MACNAB. [" The old song with this title has more wit than decency." (R. B.)] O, SAW ye my dearie, my Eppie Macnab ? O, saw ye my dearie, my Eppie Mac- nab? ' She 's down in the yard, she 's kissin the laird, She winna come hame to her ain Jock Rab!' II. O, come thy ways to me, my Eppie Macnab ! O, come thy ways to me, my Eppie Macnab ! Whate'er thou hast done, be it late, be it soon, Thou's welcome again to thy ain Jock Rab. What says she, my dearie,, my Eppie Macnab ? What says she, my dearie, my Eppie Macnab ? 'She lets thee to wit that she has thee forgot, And for ever disowns thee, her ain Jock Rab.' IV. O, had I ne'er seen thee, my Eppie Macnab ! O, had I ne'er seen thee, my Eppie Macnab ! As light as the air and as fause as thou 's fair, Thou's broken the heart o' thy ain Jock Rab ! WHA IS THAT AT MY BOWER DOOR. [Without any manner of doubt, Burns's original was " Who But I, Quoth Finlay," "A new song, much in request, sung with its own proper tune."] ' Wha is that at my bower door? ' ' O, wha is it but Findlay ! ' 'Then gae your gate, ye'se nae be here.' ' Indeed maun I ! ' quo' Findlay. 'What mak ye, sae like a thief? ' ' O, come and see ! ' quo' Findlay. 'Before the morn ye '11 work mis chief? ' ' Indeed will I ! ' quo' Findlay. 'Gif I rise and let you in' — ' Let me in ! ' quo' Findlay — ' Ye '11 keep me wauken wi' your din?' ' Indeed will I ! ' quo' Findlay. ' In my bower if ye should stay ' — ' Let me stay ! ' quo' Findlay — ' I fear ye '11 bide till break o' day ? ' ' Indeed will I ! ' quo' Findlay. ' Here this night if ye remain ' — 'I'll remain ! ' quo' Findlay — ' I dread ye '11 learn the gate again? ' ' Indeed will I ! ' quo' Findlay. ' What may pass within this bower ' (' Let it pass ! ' quo' Findlay !) ' Ye maun conceal till your last hour ' — ' Indeed will I ! ' quo' Findlay. BONIE WEE THING. ["Composed on my little idol, 'the charming lovely Davies.' " (R. B.)] Chorus. Bonie wee thing, cannie wee thing. Lovely wee thing, wert thou mine, 26o THE TITHER MORN. — AE FOND KISS. I wad wear thee in my bosom Lest my jewel it should tine. Wishfully I look and languish In that bonie face o' thine, And my heart it stounds wi' anguish, Lest my wee thing be na mine. Wit and Grace and Love and Beauty In ae constellation shine I To adore thee is my duty. Goddess o' this soul o' mine ! Chorus. Bonie wee thing, cannie wee thing. Lovely wee thing, wert thou mine, I wad wear thee in ray bosom Lest my jewel it should tine. THE TITHER MORN. [" This tune is originally from the High- lands. I have heard a Gaelic song to it, which I was told was very clever, but not by any means a lady's song." (R. B,)] I. The tither morn, when 1 forlorn Aneath an aik sat moaning, I did na trow I 'd see my jo Beside me gin the gloaming, But he sae trig lap o'er the rig. And dawtingly did cheer me, When I, what reck, did least expeck To see my lad sae near me ! II. His bonnet he a thought ajee Cock'd spunk when first he clasp'd me ; And I, I wat, wi' fainness grat. While in his grips he press'd me. ' Deil tak the war ! ' I late and air Hae wish'd since Jock departed ; But now as glad I 'm wi' my lad As short syne broken-hearted. Fu' aft at e'en, wi' dancing keen. When a' were blythe and merry, I car'd na by, sae sad was I In absence o' my deary. But praise be blest ! my mind 's at rest, I 'm happy wi' my Johnie ! At kirk and fair, I 'se ay be there, And be as canty 's onie. AE FOND KISS. [Burns wrote to Mrs. M'Lehose ("Cla- rinda"), Dec. 27, 1791: "I have just ten minutes before the post goes, and these I shall employ in sending you some songs I have just been composing to different tunes for the ' Collection of Songs,' of which you have three volumes, and of which you shall have the fourth." The germ of" Ae Fond Kiss," is found in " The Parting Kiss," by Robert Dodsley (1703-1764).] Ae fond kiss, and then we sever ! Afi farewell, and then for ever ! deep in heart-wrung tears I '11 pledge thee, Warring sighs and groans I '11 wage thee. Who shall say that Fortune grieves him, While the star of hope she leaves him? Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me. Dark despair around benights me . I '11 ne'er blame my partial fancy : Naething could resist my Nancy ! But to see her was to love her. Love but her, and love for ever. Had we never lov'd sae kindly, Had wp never lov'd sae blindly, LOVELY DAVIES. — THE WEARY FUND 0' TOW. 261 Never met — or never parted — We had ne'er been broken-hearted. Fare-thee weel, thou first and fairest ! Fare-thee-weel, thou best and dearest ! Thine be illca joy and treasure, Peace, Enjoyment, Love, and Pleas- ure ! Ae fond kiss and then we sever ! Ae farewell, alas, for ever ! Deep in heart-wrung tears I '11 pledge thee, Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee. LOVELY DAVIES. [Tins was composed in honor of the lady « ho inspired " The Bonie Wee Thing." "We know not much about the Lovely Davies^ but in Burns's stanzas she is the very sovereign ot Nature." — WILLIAM SCOTT Douglas.] O, HOW shall I, unskilfu', try The Poet's occupation? The tunefu' Powers, in happy hours That whisper inspiration, Even they maun dare an effort man: Than aught they ever gave us, Ere 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. III. Her smile 's a gift frae 'boon the lift, That maks us mair than princes. A sceptred hand, a king's command, Is in her darting glances. The man in arms 'gainst female 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. THE WEARY PUND O' TOW. [Buchan furnished Hogg and Mother- well with several stanzas ot a "very old song, which perhaps Burns had in view when he composed the above."] Chorus. 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 guid as e'er did grow. And a' that she has made o' that Is ae puir pund o' tow. There sat a bottle in a bole Beyont the ingle low ; And ay she took the tither souk To drouk the stourie tow. 262 I HAE A WIFE O' MY AIN. — O, FOR ANE-AND-TWENTY, TAM. III. Quoth I : — ' For shame, ye dirty dame, Gae spin your tap o' tow ! ' She took the rock, and wi' a knock She brake it o'er my pow. IV. At last her feet — I sang to see't! — Gaed foremost o'er the knowe, And or I wad anither jad, I 'U wallop in a tow. Chorus. 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 HAE A WIFE O' MY AIN. [Composed a few days after Burns's marriage.] I HAE a wife o' my ain, I '11 partake wi' naebody : I '11 take cuckold frae nane, I '11 gie cuckold to naebody. I hae a penny to spend, There — thanks to naebody ! I hae naething to lend, I '11 borrow frae naebody. I am naebody's lord, I '11 be slave to naebody. I hae a guid braid sword, I '11 tak dunts frae naebody. IV. I '11 be merry and free, I '11 be sad for naebody. Naebody cares for me, I care for naebody. WHEN SHE CAM BEN, SHE BOBBED. [The first two stanzas differ very slightly from the first two of an old set. The others are pure Bums.] O, WHEN she cam ben, she bobbfed fu' law ! O, when she cam ben, she bobbfed fu' law ! And when she cam ben, she kiss'd Cockpen, And syne she deny'd she did it at a' ! And was na Cockpen right saucy witha' ? And was na Cockpen right saucy witha', In leaving the dochter o' a lord. And kissin a collier lassie an' a' ? O, never look down, my lassie, at a' ! O, never look down, my lassie, at a' ! Thy lips are as sweet, and thy figure complete. As the finest dame in castle or ha'. IV. ' Tho' thou hast nae silk, and hol- land sae sma', Tho' thou hast nae silk, and hoUand sae sma', Thy coat and thy sark are thy ain handywark. And Lady Jean was never sae braw.' O, FOR ANE-AND-TWENTY, TAM. [Perhaps suggested by a song in " The Pretty Maiden's Amusement," and other undated song-books.] O, LEEZE ME ON MY SPINNIN-WHEEL. 263 Chorus. An' O, for ane-and-twenty, Tam ! And hey, sweet ane-and-twenty, Tani ! I '11 learn my kin a rattlin sang An I saw ane-and-twenty, Tam. 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! II. A gleib o' Ian', a claut o' gear Was left me by my auntie, Tam. At kith or kin I needna spier, An I saw ane-and-twenty, Tam. They '11 hae me wed a wealthy coof, The' I mysel hae plenty, Tam ; But hear'st thou, laddie — there 's my loof: I 'm thine at ane-and-twenty, Tam ! Chorus. An' O, for ane-and-twenty, Tam ! And hey, sweet ane-and-twenty, Tam! I '11 learn my kin a rattlin sang An I saw ane-and-twenty, Tam. O, KENMURE'S ON AND AW A, WILLIE. [William Gordon, sixth Viscount Ken- mure, took up the Jacobite cause in 1715, He was taken prisoner at Preston Pans, Nov. 14, and beheaded on Tower Hill, Feb. Z4, 1716.] O, Kenmure 's on and awa, Willie, O, Kenmure 's on and awa ! An' Kenmure's lord 's the bravest lord That ever Galloway saw ! Success to Kenmure's band, Willie, Success to Kenmure's band ! There 's no a heart that fears a Whig That rides by Kenmure's hand. Here 's Kenmure's health in wine, Willie, Here 's Kenmure's health in wine ! There ne'er was a coward o' Ken- mure's blude. Nor yet o' Gordon's line. O, Kenmure's lads are men, Willie, O, Kenmure's lads are men I Their hearts and swords are metal true, And that their faes shall ken. They '11 live or die wi' fame, Willie, They '11 live or die wi' fame I But soon wi' sounding Victorie May Kenmure's lord come hame ! Here 's him that 's far awa, Willie, Here 's him that 's far awa ! And here's the flower that I lo'e best — The rose that 's like the snaw ! O, LEEZE ME ON MY SPINNIN- WHEEL. [This charming song was no doubt suggested by " The Loving Lass and Spin- ning- Wheel " in Ramsay's " Tea-Table Mis- cellany."] O, LEEZE me on my spinnin-wheel ! And leeze me on my rock and reel, 264 MY COLLIER LADDIE. — NITHSDALE'S WELCOME HAME. B'rae tap to tae that deeds me bien, And haps me fiel and warm at e'en ! I '11 set me down, and sing, and spin, While laigh descends the summer sun, Blest wi' content, and milk and meal — O, leeze me on my spinnin-wheel ! On ilka hand the burnies trot. And meet below my theekit cot. The scented birk and hawthorn white Across the pool their arms unite. Alike to screen the birdie's nest And little fishes' caller rest. The sun blinks kindly in the biel. Where blythe I turn my spinnin- wheel. On lofty aiks the cushats wail, And Echo cons the doolfu' tale. The lintwhites in the hazel braes, Delighted, rival ither's lays. The craik amang the claver hay, The paitrick whirrin o'er the ley, The swallow jinkin round my shiel, Amuse me at my spinnin-wheel. Wi' sma to sell and less to buy, Aboon distress, below envy, O, wha wad leave this humble state For a' the pride of a' the great ? Amid their flaring, idle toys. Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys. Can they the peace and pleasure feel Of Bessy at her spinnin-wheel ? MY COLLIER LADDIE. [" I do not know a blither old song than this." (R. B.)] ' O, WHARE live ye, my bonie lass. And tell me how they ca' ye ? ' 'My name,' she says, 'is Mistress Jean, And I follow the collier laddie.' II. ' O, see you not yon hills and dales The sun shines on sae brawlie? They a' are mine, and they shall be thine. Gin ye '11 leave your collier laddie 1 III. ' An' 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 ! ' IV. 'Tho' 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 can win my five pennies in a day. An' spend it at night fu' brawlie, And make my bed in the collier's neuk And lie down wi' my collier laddie. VI. 'Loove for loove is the bargain for me, Tho' the wee cot-house should haud me. And the warld before me to win my bread — And fair fa' my collier laddie I' NITHSDALE'S WELCOME HAME. [William Lord Maxwell, who was sen- tenced to decapitation on Tower Hill, Feb. IN SIMMER, WHEN THE HAY WAS MAWN. — FAIR ELIZA. 265 24, 1716, for his share in the " Fifteen," but escaped the night before the execution.] The noble Maxwells and their powers Are coming o'er the border ; And they'll gae big Terreagles' towers, And set them a' in order ; And they declare Terreagles fair, For their abode they choose it : There 's no a heart in a' the land But's lighter at the news o 't ! The' stars in skies may disappear, And angry tempests gather, The happy hour may soon be near That brings us pleasant weather ; The weary night o' care and grief May hae a joyfii' morrow ; So dawning day has brought relief — Fareweel our night o' sorrow ! IN SIMMER, WHEN THE HAY WAS MAWN. [The stanza is modified from the ballad octave. The Bums MS. is in the Hastie Collection.] I. In simmer, when the hay was mawn And corn wav'd green in ilka field, While claver blooms white o'er the ley. And roses blaw in ilka bield, Blythe Bessie in the milking shiel Says : — ' I '11 be wed, come o 't what will!' Out spake a dame in wrinkled eild : — ' O' guid advisement comes nae ill. ' It 's ye hae wooers monie ane. And lassie, ye 're but young, ye ken! Then wait a wee, and cannie wale A routhie butt, a routhie ben. There Johnie o' the Buskie-Glen, Fu' is his barn, fu' is his byre. Tak this frae me, my bonie hen : It 's plenty beets the luver's fire ! ' III. ' For Johnie o' the Buskie-Glen I dinna care a single flie : He lo'es sae weel his craps and kye. He has nae love to spare for me. But blythe 's the blink o' Robie's e'e, And weel I wat he lo'es me dear: Ae blink o' him I wad na gie For Buskie-Glen and a' his gear.' ' O thoughtless lassie, life 's a faught! The canniest gate, the strife is sair. But ay fu'-han't is fechtin best : A hungry care 's an unco care. But some will spend, and some will spare. An' wilfu' folk maun hae their will. Syne as ye brew, my maiden fair, Keep mind that ye maun drink the yill ! ' V. ' O, gear will buy me rigs o' land, And gear will buy me sheep and kye ! But the tender heart o' leesome loove The gowd and siller canna buy ! We may be poor, Robie and I ; Light is the burden luve lays on ; Content and loove brings peace and What mair hae Queens upon a throne ? ' FAIR ELIZA. [Two copies in Bums's hand are in the Hastie Collection. In the earlier the lady's name is Robina."( Turn again, thou fair Eliza ! Ae kind blink before we part ! 266 YE JACOBITES BY NAME. — THE POSIE. Rew on thy despairing lover — Canst thou break his faithfu' heart? Turn again, thou, fair Eliza ! If to love thy heart denies, For pity hide the cruel sentence Under friendship's kind disguise ! Thee, dear maid, hae I offended? The offence is loving thee. Canst thou wreck his peace for ever, Wha for thine wad gladly die ? While the life beats in my bosom, Thou shall 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' sinny noon. Not the little sporting ftiiry All beneath the simmer moon, Not the Poet in the moment Fancy lightens in his e'e. Kens the pleasure, feels the rapture, That thy presence gies to me. YE JACOBITES BY NAME. [" If a reference to the French Revolu- tion i^ meant, it is extremely obscure. The ' man undone,' if Henry, Cardinal Duke of York, is intended, had, of course, no party, except the Laird of Gask, in 1792, when the song was published." — Andrew Lang.] I. Ye Jacobites by name. Give an ear, give an ear ! Ye Jacobites by name, Give an ear ! Ye Jacobites by name, Your fautes I will proclaim. Your doctrines I maun blame — You shall hear ! 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' bluidy 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 ! THE POSIE. [" ' The Posie ' in the ' Museum ' is my composition ; the air was taken down from Mrs. Burns's voice. It is well known in the west country, but the old words are trash." (R. B.)] I. O, LUVE will venture in where it daur na weel be seen ! O, luve will venture in, where wisdom ance hath been ! But I will doun yon river rove amang the wood sae green. And a' to pu' a posie to my jua dear May ! THE BANKS O' DOON. — WILLIE WASTLE. 267 The primrose I will 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! III. I 'II pu' the budding rose when Phoe- bus peeps in view, For it 's like a baumy kiss o' her sweet, bonie mou. The hyacinth's for constancy wi' its unchanging blue — And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May! IV. The lily it is pure, and the lily it is fair, And in her lovely bosom I '11 place the lily there. Tie daisy's for simplicity and un- aifected air — And a' to be a posie to my am dear May! The hawthorn I will pu', wi' its locks o' siller gray, Where, like an ag&d 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 ! VI. The woodbine I will pu' when the e'ening star is near. And the diamond draps o' dew shall be her een sae clear ! The violet 's for modesty, which weel she fa's to wear — And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May ! 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 ! THE BANKS O" DOON. ["An Ayrshire Legend," aucording to Allan Cunningham, "says the heroine of this affecting song was Pegg Kennedy of Daljarroch.'^ Ye banks and braes o' bonie Doon, How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair? How can ye chant, ye little birds. And I sae weary fu' o' care ! Thou '11 break my heart, thou war- bling bird. That wantons thro' the flowering thorn ! Thou minds me o' departed joys. Departed never to return. II. Aft hae I rov'd by bonie 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 I And my fause luver staw my rose — But ah ! he left the thorn wi' me. WILLIE WASTLE. [The heroine is said to have been the wife of a farmer who lived near Ellisland. A cottage in Peeblesshire was icnown by the 268 LADY MARY ANN. name of Linkumdoddie, but probably it was so named after Burns wrote his song.] Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed, The spot they ca'd it Linkumdoddie. Willie was a wabster guid Could stown a clue wi' onie bodie. He had a wife was dour and din, O, Tinkler Maidgie 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 mil- ler; A whiskin beard about her mou, Her nose and chin they threaten ither : Sic a wife as Willie had, I wad na gie a button for her. III. She's bow-hough'd, she 's hem-shin'd, Ae limpin leg a hand - breed shorter : She 's twisted right, she 's twisted left. To balance fair in ilka quarter ; She has a hump upon her breast. The twin o' that upon hershouther: Sic a wife as Willie had, I wad na gie a button for her. IV. Auld baudrans by the ingle sits, An' wi' her loof her face a-washin ; But Willie's wife is nae sae trig, She dights her grunzie wi' a hush- ion; Her walie nieves like midden-creels, Her face wad fyle the Logan Water : Sic a wife as Willie had, I wad na gie a button for her. LADY MARY ANN. [An old ballad in the northern and western parts of Scotland. Burns got the germ of his song from a fragment in the Herd Ms. ] O, Lady Mary Ann looks o'ei the Castle wa', She saw three bonie boys playing at the ba'. The youngest he was the flower amang them a' — My bonie laddie 's young, but he 's growin yet ! ' O father, O father, an ye think it fit, We '11 send him a year to the college yet; We '11 sew a green ribbon round about his hat. And that will let them ken he 's to marry yet ! ' Lady Mary Ann was a flower in the dew, Sweet was its smell and bonie was its hue, And the longer it blossom'd the sweeter it grew. For the lily in the bud will be bonier yet. Young Charlie Cochran was the sprout i of an aik ; Bonie and bloomin and straucht was its make ; The sun took delight to shine for its sake. And it will be the brag o' the forest yet. SUCH A PARCEL OF ROGUES. — KELLYBURN BRAES. 269 The simmer is gane when the leaves they were green, And the days are awa that we hae seen; But far better days I trust will come again, For my bonie laddie's young, but he's growin yet. SUCH A PARCEL OF ROGUES IN A NATION. [The refrain is borrowed from the name of the old air to which it is adapted.] Fareweel to a' our Scottish fame, Fareweel our ancient glory ! Fareweel ev'n to the Scottish name, Sae famed in martial story ! Now Sark rins over Solway sands, An' Tweed rins to the ocean, To mark where England's province stands — Such a parcel of rogues in a nation ! What force or guile could not subdue Thro' many warlike ages Is wrought now by a coward few For hireling traitor's wages. The English steel we could disdain, Secure in valour's station ; But English gold has been our bane — Such a parcel of rogues in a nation ! O, would, or I had seen the day That Treason thus could sell us, My auld grey head had lien in clay Wi' Bruce and loyal Wallace ! But pith and power, till my last hour I '11 mak this declaration : — 'We 're bought and sold for English gold' — Such a parcel of rogues in a nation ! KELLYBURN BRAES. [The Kelly bum (i.e., brook) forms the northern boundary of Ayrshire, and the ballad has no connection with Nithsdale or Galloway. Burns derived his material, probably, from an old English blackletter ballad, " The Devil and the Scold."] There lived a carl in Kellyburn Braes (Hey and the rue grows bonie wi' thyme !), And he had a wife was the plague o' his days (And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime !). Ae day as the carl gaed up the lang glen (Hey and the rue grows bonie wi' thyme !), He met wi' the Devil, says : — ' How do you fen ? ' (And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime !). III. ' I 've got a bad wife,, sir, that 's a' my complaint (Hey and the rue grows bonie wi' 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 bonie 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 !). 270 KELLYBURN BRAES. ' O welcome most kindly ! ' the blythe carl said (Hey and the rue grows bonie wi' thyme !), ' But if ye can match her ye 're waur than ye 're ca'd ' (And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime !). The Devil has got the auld wife on his back (Hey and the rue grows bonie wi' thyme !), And like a poor pedlar he's carried his pack (And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime !). VII. He 's carried her hame to his ain hal- lan-door . (Hey and the rue grows bonie wi' thyme !), Syne bade her gae in for a bitch and a whore (And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime !). Then straight he makes fifty, the pick o' his band (Hey and the rue grows bonie wi' thyme !), Turn out on her guard in the clap o' a hand (And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime !) . IX. The carlin gaed thro' them like onie wud bear (Hey and the rue grows bonie wi' thyme !) : Whae'er she gat hands on cam ne'er her nae mair (And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime !). A reekit wee deevil looks over the wa' (Hey and the rue grows bonie wi' thyme !) : — ' O help, maister, help, or she '11 ruin us a' ! ' (And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime !). XI. The Devil he swore by the edge o' his knife (Hey and the rue grows bonie wi' thyme !), He pitied the man that was tied to a wife (And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime !). XII. The Devil he swore by the kirk and the bell (Hey and the rue grows bonie wi' thyme !), He was not in wedlock, thank Heav'n, 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 bonie 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 bonie wi' thyme !), THE SLAVE'S LAMENT. — SWEET AFTON. 271 But ne'er was in Hell till I met wi' a wife' (And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime !) . THE SLAVE'S LAMENT. [The original is probably a blackletter broadside, "The Trappan'd Maiden, or The Distressed Damsel."] It was in sweet Senegal That my foes did me enthral For the lands of Virginia, -ginia, O ! Torn irom that lovely shore, And must never see it more, And alas ! I am weary, weary, O ! All on that charming coast Is no bitter snow and frost. Like the lands of Virginia, -ginia, O! There streams for ever flow, And the flowers for ever blow. And alas ! I am weary, weary, O ! The burden I must heat, While the cruel scourge I fear. In the lands of Virginia, -ginia, O ! And I think on friends most dear With the bitter, bitter tear. And alas ! I am weary, weary, O ! THE SONG OF DEATH. [" I have just finished the following song, which, to a lady, the descendant of many heroes of her truly illustrious line, and her- self the mother of several soldiers, needs neither preface nor apology." (R. B.)] Farewell, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies. Now gay with the broad setting Farewell, loves and friendships, ye dear tender ties — Our race of existence is run ! Thou grim King of Terrors ! thou Life's gloomy foe, Go, frighten the coward and slave ! Go, teach them to tremble, fell tyrant, but know, No terrors hast thou to the brave ! II. Thou strik'st the dull peasant — he sinks in the dark. Nor saves e'en the wreck of a name ! Thou strik'st the young hero — a glorious mark. He falls in the blaze of his fame ! In the field of proud honour, our swords in our hands, Our king and otir country to save, While victory shines on Life's last ebbing sands, O, who would not die with the brave? SWEET AFTON. [There has been no little discussion as to the date, the heroine, and the scene of this song. Burns, in a letter to Mrs. Dunlop, Feb. s, 1789, declares that it was written as a "compliment " to the "small river Afton, that flows into Nith, near New Cumnock, which has some charming, wild romantic scenery on its banks."] Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes ! Flow gently, I '11 sing thee a song in thy praise ! My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream — ■ Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream ! 272 BONIE BELL.— THE GALLANT WEAVER. Thou stock dove whose echo resounds thro' the glen, Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den, Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear — I charge you, disturb not my slumber- ing fair ! III. How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neigh- bouring hills, Far mark'd with the courses of clear, winding rills ! There daily I wander, as noon rises high. My flocks and ray Mary's sweet cot in my eye. How pleasant thy banks and green vallies below. Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow There oft, as mild Ev'ning weeps over the lea. The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides. And winds by the cot where my Mary resides ! How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave, As, gathering sweet flowerets, she stems thy clear wave ! VI. Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes ! Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays ! My Mary 's asleep by thy murmuring stream — Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream ! BONIE BELL. [Written for Johnson's " Museum " by Burns. Nothing is known of the heroine.] The smiling Spring comes in rejoic- ing, And surly Winter grimly flies. Now crystal clear are the falling waters, And bonie blue are the sunny skies. Fresh o'er the mountains breaks forth the morning, The ev'ning gilds the ocean's swell : All creatures joy in the sun's return- ing, And I rejoice in my bonie Bell. II. The flowery Spring leads sunny summer. The yellow Autumn presses near ; Then in his turn comes gloomy Winter, Till smiling Spring again appear. Thus seasons dancing, life advancing, Old Time and Nature their changes tell; But never ranging, still unchanging, I adore my bonie Bell. THE GALLANT WEAVER. [Supposed by some to refer to Armour's visit to Paisley in the spring of 1786. Pub- lished in Thomson, with "sailor" substi- tuted for " weaver."] Where Cart rins rowin to the sea By monie a flower and spreading trpe; There lives a lad, the lad for me — He is a gallant weaver ! HEY, CA' THRO'. — O, CAN YE LABOUR LEA. 273 O, I had wooers aught or nine, They gied me rings and ribbons fine, And I was fear'd my heart wad tine, And I gied it to the weaver. My daddie sign'd my tocher-band To gie the lad that has the land ; But to my heart I '11 add my hand. And give it to the weaver. While birds rejoice in leafy bowers, While bees delight in opening flowers. While corn grows green in summer showers, I love my gallant weaver. HEY, CA' THRO'. [Probably suggested by some old rhymes on the coast towns of Fife, which Burns picked up in Edinburgh.] Chorus. Hey, ca' thro', ca' thro'. For we hae mickle ado ! Hey, ca' thro', ca' thro'. For we hae mickle ado ! Up wi' the carls of Dysart And the lads o' Buckhaven, And the kimmers o' Largo And the lassies o' Leven ! We hae tales to tell. And we hae sangs to sing ; We hae pennies to spend. And we hae pints to bring. III. We '11 live a' our days, And them that comes behin'. Let them do the like, And spend the gear they win ! Chorus. Hey, ca' thro', ca' thro'. For we hae mickle ado ! Hey, ca' thro', ca' thro'. For we hae mickle ado ! O, CAN YE LABOUR LEA. [An old song preserved in " The Merry Muses," retouched and enlarged by Bums.] Chortis. O, can ye labour lea, young man, O, can ye labour lea ? Gae back the gate ye came again — Ye 'se never scorn me ! I fee'd a man at Martinmas Wi' airle-pennies three ; But a' the faut I had to him He couldna labour lea. O, clappin 's guid in Febarwar, An' kissin 's sweet in May ; But what signifies a young man's love, An 't dinna last for ay ? O, kissin is the key o' love An' clappin is the lock ; An' makin of 's the best thing That e'er a young thing got ! Chorus. O, can ye labour lea, young man, O, can ye labour lea ? Gae back the gate ye came again - Ye 'se never scorn me ! 274 THE DEIL'S AWA WI' TH' EXCISEMAN. THE DEUK'S DANG O'ER MY DADDIE. [Adapted by Burns from an old song.] The bairns gat out wi' an unco shout : — 'The deuk's dang o'er my dad- die, O ! ■ The fien-ma-care,' quo' the feirrie auld wife, ' He was but a paidlin body, O ! He paidles out, and he paidles in, An' he paidles late and early, O ! This seven lang years I hae lien by his side. An' he is but a fusionless carlie, O ! ' n. ' O, haud your tongue, my feirrie auld wife, O, haud your tongue, now Nan- sie, O ! I 've seen the day, and sae hae ye. Ye wad na been sae donsie, O. I 've seen the day ye butter'd my brose. And cuddl'd me late and early, O ; But downa-do 's come o'er me now, And och, I find it sairly, O ! ' SHE'S FAIR AND PAUSE. [The general allusion is to the girl who jilted Alexander Cunningham.] She's fair and fause that causes my smart ; I lo'ed her meikle and lang ; She 's broken her vow, she 's broken my heart ; And I may e'en gae hang. A coof cam in wi' routh o' gear. And I hae tint my dearest dear; But Woman is but warld's gear, Sae let the bonie lass gang ! Whae'er ye be that Woman love, To this be never blind : Nae ferlie 't is, tho' fickle she prove, A woman has 't by kind. O Woman lovely. Woman fair, An angel form 's faun to thy share, 'T wad been o'er meikle to gien thee mair! . . . I mean an angel mind. THE DEIL'S AWA WI' TH' EXCISEMAN. [Burns states that he composed and sung this song at an Excise dinner in Dumfries.] Chorus. The Deil 's awa, the Deil 's awa, The Deil 's awa wi' th' Exciseman! He 's danc'd awa, he 's danc'd awa. He 's danc'd awa wi' th' Exciseman! The Deil cam fiddlin thro' the town, And danc'd awa wi' th' Exciseman, And ilka wife cries : — ' Auld Mahoun, I wish you luck o' the prize, man ! II. ' We '11 mak our maut, and we'll brew our drink, We'll laugh, sing, and rejoice, man. And monie braw thanks to the meikle black Deil, That danc'd awa wi' th' Excise- There 's threesome reels, there 's four- some reels. There 's hornpipes and strathspeys. AS 1 STOOD BY YON ROOFLESS TOWER. 275 But the ae best dance ere cam to the land Was The Deil 'j Awa tvi' tK Excise- man. Chorus. The Deil 's awa, the Deil 's awa, The Deil 's awa wi' th' Exciseman ! He 's danc'd awa, he 's danc'd awa. He's danc'd awa wi' th' Excise- man! THE LOVELY LASS OF INVERNESS. [The song commemoiates CuUoden, April i6, 1746.] The lovely lass of Inverness, Nae joy nor pleasure can she see ; For e'en to morn she cries ' Alas ! ' And ay 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. III. Their winding-sheet the bluidy clay. Their graves are growin green to see, And by them lies the dearest lad That ever blest a woman's e'e. Now wae to thee, Ihou cruel lord, A bluidy man I trow thou be. For monie a heart thou hast made sair That ne'er did wrang to thine or thee! A RED, RED ROSE. [Derived by Bums from old blackletter ballads.] O, MY luve is like a red, red rose, That 's newly sprung in June. O, my luve is like the melodie, That 's sweetly play'd in tune. As feir art thou, my bonie lass, So deep in luve am I, And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a' the seas gang dry. III. Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, And the rocks melt wi' the sun ! And I will luve thee still, my dear, While the sands o' life shall run. And fare thee weel, my only luve, And fare thee weel a while ! And I will come again, my luve, Tho' it were ten thousand mile ! AS I STOOD BY YON ROOF- LESS TOWER. [The "roofless tower" was part of the ruins of Lincluden Abbey, situated at the junction of the Cluden with the Nith.] Chorus. A lassie all alone was making her moan, Lamenting our lads beyond the sea: — ' In the bluidy wars they fa' and oui honor 's gane an' a'. And broken-hearted we maun die.' 276 O, AN YE WERE DEAD, GUIDMAN. As I stood by yon roofless tower, Where the wa'flow'r scents the dewy air, Where the houlet mourns in her ivy bower, And tells the midnight moon her care: II. The winds were laid, the air was still, The stars they shot along the sky, The tod was howling on the hill, And the distant-echoing glens reply. III. The burn, adown its hazelly path. Was rushing by the ruin'd wa', Hasting to join the sweeping Nith, Whase roarings seem'd to rise and fa'. IV. The cauld blae North was streaming forth Her lights, wi' hissing, eerie din : Athort the lift they start and shift, Like Fortune's favours, tint as win. Now, looking over firth and fauld. Her horn the pale-faced Cynthia rear'd, When low ! in form of minstrel auld A stem and stalwart ghaist appear'd. VI. ^nd frae his harp sic strains did flow, Might rous'd the slumbering Dead to hear, But O, it was a tale of woe As ever met a Briton's ear ! VII. He sang wi' joy his former day, He, weeping, wail'd his latter times : But what he said — it was nae play ! — I winna ventur 't in my rhymes. Chorus. A lassie all alone was making het moan. Lamenting our lads beyond the sea: — ' In the bluidy wars they fa', and our honor's gane an' a'. And broken-hearted we maun die.' O, AN YE WERE DEAD, GUIDMAN. [Revised and shortened from an old set in Herd.] Chorus. Sing, round about the fire wi' a rung she ran. An' round about the fire wi' a rung she ran : — ' Your horns shall tie you to the staw, An' I shall bang your hide, guidman ! ' AN ye were dead, guidman, A green turf on your head, guidman ! 1 wad bestow my widowhood Upon a rantin Highlandman ! There 's sax eggs in the pan, guidman, There 's sax eggs in the pan, guidman : There 's ane to you, and twa to me, And three to our John Highlandman .' in. A sheep-head 's in the pot, guidman, A sheep-head 's in the pot, guidman : The flesh to him, the broo to me. An' the horns become your brow, guidman ! Chorus. Sing, round about the fire wi' a rung she ran. An' round about the fire wi' a rung she ran : — ' Your horns shall tie you to the staw. An' I shall bang your hide, guidman ' ' AULD LANG SYNE. — HAD I THE AAfYTE. 277 AULD LANG SYNE. [Sent to Mrs. Dunlop, Dec. 17, 1788: ■■ Apropos, is not the Scotch phrase Auld Langsyne exceedingly expressive? There is an old song and tune which has often thrilled through my soul," etc. " Burns said that this famous lyric was traditional. The chorus ' lang syne ' does occur in a Jacobite ditty, attributed to ' a skulker in the year 1746.' Why Burns should have disclaimed the poem, if it was his, is hard to conjecture." — ANDREW Lang.] Choriis. For auld lang syne, my dear, For auld lang syne, 'We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet For auld lang syne ! Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And never brought to mind? Should auld acquaintance be forgot. And auld lang syne. And surely ye '11 be your pint-stowp, And surely I '11 be mine, And we '11 tak a cup o' kindness yet For auld lang syne ! We twa hae run about the braes, And pou'd the gowans fine. But we 've wander'd monie a weary fit Sin' auld lang syne ! IV. We twa hae paidl'd in the burn Frae morning sun till dine, But seas between us braid hae roar'd Sin' auld lang syne. V. And there 's a hand, my trusty fiere, And gie 's a hand o' thine, And we'll tak a right guid-wUlie waught For auld lang syne ! Chorus. For auld lang syne, my dear, For auld lang syne. We '11 take a cup o' kindness yet For auld lang syne ! LOUIS, WHAT RECK I BY THEE. [Probably made soon after his mar- riage, and certainly before the Revolution of 1795.] Louis, what reck I by thee. Or Geordie on his ocean? Dyvor beggar louns to me ! I reign in Jeanie's bosom. Let her crown my love her law. And in her breast enthrone me, Kings and nations — swith awa ! Reif randies, I disown ye. HAD I THE WYTE. [Bums's original was certainly a frag- ment in the Herd Ms. The inference is irresistible that the fragment in Herd sug- gested two songs to Bums, — one for publi- cation, and the other «o/.] 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. 278 COMIN THRO' THE RYE.— YOUNG JAMIE. II. Sae craftilie she took me ben And bade me male nae clatter : — ' For our ramgunshoch, glum guidman Is o'er ayont the water.' Whae'er shall say I wanted grace When I did kiss and dawte her, Let him be planted in my place, Syne say I was the fautor ! Could I for shame, could I for shame. Could I for shame re&s'd her? And wadna manhood been to blame Had I unkindly used her? He claw'd her wi' the ripplin-kame, And blae and bluidy bruis'd her — When sic a husband was frae hame, What wife but wad excus'd her ! I dighted ay her een sae blue, An' bann'd the cruel randy, And, weel I wat, her willin mou' Was sweet as sugarcandie. At gloamin-shot, it was, I wot, I lighted — on the Monday, But 1 cam thro' the Tyseday's dew To wanton Willie's brandy. COMIN THRO' THE RYE. [This is an old song dressed up a little by the poet.] Chorus. O, Jenny's a' weet, poor body, Jenny 's seldom dry : She draigl't a' her petticoatie, Comin thro' the rye ! COMiN thro' the rye, poor body, Comin thro' the rye. She draigl't a' her petticoatie, Comin thro' the rye ! Gin a body meet a body Comin thro' the rye, Gin a body kiss a body, Need a body cry? III. Gin a body meet a body Comin thro' the glen. Gin a body kiss a body, Need the warld ken ? Chorus. O, Jenny 's a' weet, poor body, Jenny 's seldom dry : She draigl't a' her petticoatie, Comin thro' the rye ! YOUNG JAMIE. [" Conceivably an appeal to the offended Mrs. Riddell." — ANDREW LANG.] Young Jamie, pride of a' the plain, Sae gallant and sae gay a swain, Thro' a' our lasses he did rove. And reign'd resistless King of Love. II. But now, wi' sighs and starting tears. He strays amang the woods and breers ; Or in the glens and roCky caves His sad complaining dowie raves : — ' I, wha sae late did range and rove. And chang'd with every moon ray love — I little thought the time was near. Repentance I should buy sae dear. OUT OVER THE FORTH. — CHARLIE HE'S MY DARLING. 279 The slighted maids my torments see, And laugh at a' the pangs I dree ; While she, my cruel, scornful Fair, Forbids me e'er to see her mair.' OUT OVER THE FORTH. [" How do you like this thought in a ballad which I have just now on the tapis, ' I look to the west ' ? " (R. B. to Alexan- der Cunningham, March 12, 1791.)] 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 wide 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 loe best, The man that is dear to my babie and me. WANTONNESS FOR EVER- MAIR. ["The triolet is not uncommon' in old Scots verse, and ' Wantonness for Ever- mair,' as passed through Burns, has an odd look of a triolet — Once upon a Time — which has been violently carried away from the grace of its first state by a ravisher who knew nothing of the form."] Wantonness for evermair, Wantonness has been my ruin. Yet for a' my dool and care It 's wantonness for evermair. I hae lo'ed the Black, the Brown;- I hae lo'ed the Fair, the Gowden ! A' the colours in the town — I hae won their wanton favour. CHARLIE HE'S MY DARLING. [The song was probably suggested by some Jacobite fi-agment. There is another set by Lady Naime.] Chorus. An' Charlie he 's my darling, My darling, my dariing, Charlie he 's my darling — The Young Chevalier ! 'T WAS on a Monday morning Right early in the year. That Charlie came to our town - The Young Chevalier ! As he was walking up the street The city for to view, O, there he spied a bonie lass The window looking thro' ! Sae light 's he jumped up the stair, And tirl'd at the pin ; And wha sae ready as hersel' To let the laddie in ! He set his Jenny on his knee. All in his Highland dress ; For brawlie weel he kend the way To please a bonie lass. It 's up yon heathery mountaia And down yon scroggy glen, 28o THE LASS O' ECCLEFECHAN. — FOR THE SAKE O' SOMEBODY We daurna gang a-milking For Charlie and his men ! Chorus. An' Charlie he 's my darling, My darling, my darling, Charlie he 's ray darling — The young Chevalier ! THE LASS C ECCLEFECHAN. [Burns, in the course of his " duty as supervisor," was accustomed to " visit this unfortunate wicked little village," and slept in it on Feb. 7, 1795 (R. B. to Thomson), about two months after the birth of Thomas Carlyle. It was long a favorite resort of such vagabonds as are pictured in "The Jolly Beggars," which may — or may not — account in some measure for Carlyle's affec- tion for that admirable piece.] ' Gat ye me, O, gat ye me, Gat ye me wi' naething ? Rock an' reel, an' spinning wheel, A mickle quarter basin : Bye attour, my gutcher has A heich house and a laich ane, A' forbye my bonie sel, The toss o' Ecclefechan ! ' II. 'O, hand your tongue now. Lucky Lang, O, haud your tongue and jauner ! I held the gate till you I met, Syne I began to wander : I tint my whistle and my sang, I tint my pe?ce and pleasure ; But your green graff, now Lucky Lang, Wad airt me to my treasure.' THE COOPER O' CUDDY. [In the Ms. (Hastie Collection) Burns directs it to be sung to the tune, " Bab at the Bowster," which he states " is to be met with everywhere,"] Chorus. We'll hide the cooper behint the door, Behint the door, behint the door. We'll hide the cooper behint the door, And cover him under a mawn, 0. The Cooper o' Cuddy came here awa, He ca'd the girrs out o'er us a', An' our guidwife has gotten a ca'. That 's anger'd the silly guidman, O. He sought them out, he sought them in, Wi' 'Deil hae her!' an' 'Deil hae him !' But the body he was sae doited and blin'. He wist na where he was gaun, O. They cooper'd at e'en, they cooper'd at morn, Till our guidman has gotten the scorn : On ilka brow she 's planted a horn. And swears that there they sail Stan', O ! Chorus. We'll hide the cooper behint the door, Behint the door, behint the door. We '11 hide the cooper behint the door And cover him under a mawn, O. FOR THE SAKE O' SOME- BODY. [It is evident that the idea of this charm- ing lyric came to Burns through Allan THE CARDIN O'T. — SAE FLAXEN WERE HER RINGLETS. 281 Ramsay and " The Tea-Table Miscel- Janv."l My heart is sair — I dare na tell — My heart is sair for Somebody : I could wake a winter night For the sake o' Somebody. O-hon ! for Somebody ! 0-hey ! for Somebody ! I could range the world around For the sake o' Somebody. Ye Powers that smile on virtuous love, O, sweetly smile on Somebody ! Frae ilka danger keep him free, And send me safe my Somebody ! O-hon ! for Somebody ! O-Jiey ! for Somebody ! I wad do — what wad I not ? — For the sake o' Somebody THE CARDIN O'T. [Suggested, perhaps, by Alexander Ross's " There was a wife had a wee pickle tow, And she wad gae try the spinning o 't."] Chorus. The cardin o 't, the spinnin o 't, The warpin o 't, the winnin o 't ! When ilka ell cost me a groat, The tailor staw the lynin o 't. 1 COFT a stane o' haslock woo, To mak a wab to Johnie o 't, For Johnie is my only jo — I lo'e him best of onie yet ! For tho' his locks be lyart gray, And tho' his brow be beld aboon, Yet I hae seen him on a day The pride of a' the parishen. Chorus. The cardin o 't, the spinnin o 't, The warpin o 't, the winnin o't ! When ilka ell cost me a groat, The tailor staw the lynin o 't. THERE'S THREE TRUE GUID FELLOWS. [The stanza following the chorus, says Stenhouse, was " hastily penned by Burns at the request of the publisher" (Johnson), to enable him to include it] There 's three true guid fellows. There 's three true guid fellows, There 's three true guid fellows, Down ayont yon glen ! It 's now the day is dawin, But or night do fa' in, Whase cock 's best at era win, Willie, thou sail ken ! SAE FLAXEN WERE HER RINGLETS. ["Do you know, my dear sir, a black- guard Iiish song called ' Oonagh's Water- fall ' ? . . . The air is charming, and I have often regretted the want of decent verses to it. It is too much, at least for my humble, rustic miise, to expect that every effort of hers must have merit; still I think that it is better to have mediocre verses to a favorite air, than none at all." (R. B.) The heroine was Miss Lorimer.] I. Sae flaxen were her ringlets, Her eyebrows of a darker hue, Bewitchingly o'er-arching Twa laughing een o' bonie blue. 282 THE lASS THAT MADE THE BED. Her smiling, sae wyling, Wad make a wretch forget his woe I What pleasure, what treasure, Unto those rosy lips to grow ! Such was my Chloris' bonie face, When first that bonie face I saw. And ay my Chloris' dearest charm — She says she lo'es me best of a' ! Like harmony her motion, Her pretty ankle is a spy Betraying fair proportion Wad make a saint forget the sky ! Sae warming, sae charming, Her faultless form and gracefii' air, Ilk feature — auld Nature Declar'd that she could dae nae mair! Hers are the willing chains o' love By conquering beauty's sovereign law, And ay my Chloris' dearest charm — She says she lo'es me best of a'. in. 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. While falling, recalling. The amorous thrush concludes his sang ! There, dearest Chloris, wilt thou rove By wimpling burn and leafy shaw, And hear my vows o' truth and love. And say thou lo'es me best of a'? THE LASS THAT MADE THE BED. [Composed on an amour of Charles II., when skulking in the North about Aberdeen in the time of the Common< wealth.] When Januar' wind was blawin cauld, As to the North I took my way, The mirksome night did me enfauld, I knew na where to lodge till day. By my guid luck a maid I met Just in the middle o' my care. And kindly she did me invite To walk into a chamber fair. I bow'd fu' low unto this maid. And thank'd her for her courtesie ; I bow'd fu' low unto this maid. An' bade her mak a bed to me. She made the bed baith large and wide, Wi' twa white hands she spread it down. She put the cup to her rosy lips, And drank: — 'Young man, now sleep ye soun'.' III. She snatch'd the candle in her hand. And frae my chamber went wi' speed. But I call'd her quickly back again To lay some mair below my head : A cod she lay below my head. And served me with due respeck, And, to salute her wi' a kiss, I put ray arms about her neck. 'Hand aff your hands, young man,' she said, 'And dinna sae uncivil be ; Gif ye hae onie luve for me, O, wrang na my virginitie ! ' Her hair was like the links o' gowd, Her teeth were like the ivorie. Her cheeks like lilies dipt in wine. The lass that made the bed to me ! SAE FAR AWA. — I'LL AY CA' IN BY YON TOWN. 283 V. Her bosom was the driven snaw, Twa drifted heaps sae fair to see ; Her limbs the polish'd jnarble stane, The lass that made the bed to me ! I kiss'd her o'er and o'er again, And ay she wist na what to say, I laid her 'tween me an the wa' — The lassie thocht na lang till day. Upon the morrow, when we raise, I thank'd her for her courtesie. But ay she blush'd, and ay she sigh'd, And said: — 'Alas, ye've ruin'd me!' I clasp'd her waist, and kiss'd her syne, While the tear stood twinklin in her e'e. I said : — * My lassie, dinna cry. For ye ay shall mak the bed to me.' VII. She took her mither's hoUand sheets. An' made them a' in sarks to me. Blythe and merry may she be, The lass that made the bed to me ! The bonie lass made the bed to me. The braw lass made the bed to me ! I '11 ne'er forget till the day I die, The lass that made the bed to me. SAE FAR AWA. [" Burns's name is attached to this pretty little song, which would seem to have been composed for the old air 'O'er the Hills, and Far Awa ' ; but as that tune had already been given in an early volume of the * Mu- seum," set to its well-known Anglo-Scottish verses, another air was found to fit the poet's words." — William Scott Douglas.] I. O, 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 formed this Fair sae far awa, Gie body strength, then I '11 ne'er start At this my way sae far awa ! How true is love to pure desert ! So mine in her sae far awa, And nocht can heal my bosom's smart, While, O, she is sae far awa ! IV. Nane other love, nane other dart I feel, but hers sae far awa ; But fairer never touched a heart, Than hers, the Fair sae far awa. THE REEL 0' STUMPIE. [" The exact share of Burns in this song is not now to be determined."] Wap and rowe, wap and rowe, Wap and rowe the feetie o 't ; I thought I was a maiden fair. Till I heard the greetie o 't ! My daddie was a fiddler fine. My minnie she made mantie, O, And I myself a thumpin quine, And danc'd the Reel o' Stumpie, O. I'LL AY CA' IN BY YON TOWN. [Adapted by Burns from an old song.] Chortis. I '11 ay ca' in by yon town And by yon garden green again I 284 O, WAT YE WHA'S IN YON TOWN. I 'U ay ca' in by yon town, And see my bonie Jean again. There 's nane shall ken, there 's nane can guess What brings me back the gate again, But she, my fairest faithfu' lass. And stow'nlins we sail meet again. She '11 wander by the aiken tree, When trystin time draws near again ; And when her lovely form I see, haith ! she 's doubly dear again. Chorus. 1 '11 ay ca' in by yon town And by yon garden green again ! I '11 ay ca' in by yon town, And see my bonie Jean again. O, WAT YE WHA'S IN YON TOWN. [Begun at Ecclefechati, where Burns was storm-stayed, Feb. 7, 1795. Some time afterwards Burns produced a complete copy, at Brechin Castle. In the set sent to Johnson, Jeanie — either Jean Armour or Jean Lorimer — is the heroine. In that sent to Thomson the name is Lucy, who was the wife ot Mr. Richard Oswald.] Chorus. O, wat ye wha 's in yon town Ye see the e'enin sun upon ? The dearest maid '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. II. How blest ye birds that round her sing, And welcome in the blooming year ! And doubly \jelcome be the Spring, The season to my Jeanie dear ! The sun blinks blythe in yon town. Among the broomy braes sae green ; But my delight in yon town, And dearest pleasure, is my Jean. IV. Without my Love, not a' the charms O' Paradise could yield me joy ; But gie me Jeanie in my arms. And welcome Lapland's dreary sky ! Idy cave wad be a lover's bower, Tho' raging Winter rent the air, And she a lovely little flower. That I wad tent and shelter there VI. O, sweet is she in yon town The sinkin sun 's gane down upon I A fairer than 's in yon town His setting beam ne'er shone upon If angry Fate be sworn my foe, And suff''ring I am doom'd to bear, I 'd careless quit aught else below, But spare, O, spare me Jeanie dear! VIII. For, while life's dearest blood is warm, Ae thought frae her shall ne'er depart. And she, as fairest is her form. She has the truest, kindest heart. WHEREFORE SIGHING ART THOU ? — HIGHLAND LADDIE. 28? Chorus. O, wat ye wha 's in yon town Ye see the e'enin sun upon? The dearest maid's in yon town That e'enin sun is shining on. WHEREFORE SIGHING ART THOU, PHILLIS ? [Suggested, probably, by an old English song beginning : " Do not ask me, charming Phillis."] Wherefore sighing art thou, Phillis ? Has thy prime unheeded past? Hast thou found that beauty's lilies Were not made for ay to last ? Know, thy form was once a treasure — Then it was thy hour of scorn ! Since thou then denied the pleasure. Now 'tis fit that thou should'st mourn. O MAY, THY MORN. [Supposed to commemorate the parting with Clarinda.] O May, thy morn was ne'er sae sweet As the rairlc night o' December ! For sparkling was the rosy wine. And private was the chamber, And dear was she I dare na name, But I will ay remember. And here's to them that, like oursel. Can push about the jorum ! And here's to them that wish us weel — May a' that 's guid watch o'ei 'em ! And here 's to them we dare na tell, The dearest o' the quorum ! AS I CAME O'ER THE CAIR- NEY MOUNT. [Probably suggested by old Jacobite ballads, " Highland Laddie," etc.] Chorus. O, my bonie Highland lad ! My winsome, weel-faur'd Highland laddie ! Wha wad mind the wind and rain Sae weel row'd in his tartan plaidie '. As I came o'er the Cairney mount And down among the blooming heather, Kindly stood the milking-shiel To shelter frae the stormy weather. Now Phoebus blinkit on the bent. And o'er the knowes the lambs were bleating; But he wan my heart's consent To be his ain at the neist meeting. Chorus. O, my bonie Highland lad ! My winsome, weel-faur'd Highland laddie ! Wha wad mind the wind and rain Sae weel row'd in his tartan plaidie ! HIGHLAND LADDIE. [Chieflv an abridgment of the Jacobite ditty, "The Highland Lad and the High- land Lass."] The bonniest lad that e'er I saw — Bonie laddie, Highland Jaddie ! 286 WILT THOU BE MY DEARIE? — LOVELY POLLY STEWART. Wore a plaid and was fu' braw — Bonie Highland laddie ! On his head a bonnet blue — Bonie laddie, Highland laddie ! His royal heart was firm and true — Bonie Highland laddie .' ' Trumpets sound and cannons roar, Bonie lassie, Lawland lassie ! — And a' the hills wi' echoes roar, Bonie Lawland lassie ! Glory, Honour, now invite — Bonie lassie, Lawland lassie ! — For freedom and my King to fight, Bonie Lawland lassie ! ' 'The sun a backward course shall take, Bonie laddie. Highland laddie ! Ere aught thy manly courage shake, Bonie Highland laddie ! Go, for yoursel' procure renown, Bonie laddie, Highland laddie. And for your lawful King his crown, Bonie Highland laddie ! ' WILT THOU BE MY DEARIE ?. [Evidently made in honor of Miss Janet Miller of Dalswinton.] Wilt thou be my dearie ? When Sorrow wrings thy gentle heart, O, wilt thou let me cheer thee ? By the treasure of my soul — That 's the love I bear thee — ] swear and vow that only thou Shall ever be my dearie ! Only thou, I swear and vow, Shall ever be my dearie ! Lassie, say thou lo'es me. Or, if thou wilt na be my ain. Say na thou 'It refuse me ! If it winna, canna be. Thou for thine may choose me, Let me, lassie, quickly die, Trusting that thou lo'es me ! Lassie, let me quickly die. Trusting that thou lo'es me ! LOVELY POLLY STEWART. [Polly or Mary Stewart was daughter of William Stewart, factor at Closebum. She died in Italy at the age of seventy- two.] Chorus. O lovely Polly Stewart, O charming Polly Stewart, There 's ne'er a flower that blooms in May, That 's half so fair as thou art ! The flower it blaws, it fades, it fa's. And art can ne'er renew it ; But Worth and Truth eternal youth Will gie to Polly Stewart ! May he whase arms shall fauld thy charms Possess a leal and true heart ! To him be given to ken the heaven He grasps in Polly Stewart ! Chorus. O lovely Polly Stewart, O charming Polly Stewart, There 's ne'er a flower that blooms in May, That 's half so fair as thou art ! THE HIGHLAND BALOU.— WAEIS MY HEART. 287 THE HIGHLAND BALOU. [Stenhouse states that it is " a versifica- tion by Burns of a Gaelic nursery song, the literal import of which, as well as the air, weie communicated to htm by a Highland lady."] Hee balou, ray sweet wee Donald, Picture o' the great Clanronald ! Brawlie kens our wanton Chief Wha gat my young Highland thief. Leeze me on thy bonie craigie ! An thou live, thou 'U steal a naigie. Travel the country thro' and thro', And bring hame a Carlisle cow ! Thro' the Lawlands, o'er the Border, Weel, my babie, may thou furder, Kerry the louns o' the laigh Coun- trie, Syne to the Highlands hame to me ! BANNOCKS O' BEAR MEAL. [No doubt suggested by a song on the Duke of Argyll (ihe great Duke, born 1678, died 1743), entitled, "The Highlandman Speaking of His Maggy and the Bannocks of Barley Meal."] Ckortts. Bannocks o' bear meal, Bannocks o' barley. Here 's to the Highlandman's Bannocks o' barley ! Wha in a brulyie Will first cry ' a parley ' ? Never 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 ! Chorus. Bannocks o' bear meal. Bannocks o' barley. Here 's to the Highlandman's Bannocks o' barley ! WAE IS MY HEART. [The last stanza is closely imitated from the last of Lady Grizzel Bailie's " Were Na My Heart Licht I Wad Die."] 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 ear. Love, thou hast pleasures — and deep hae I lov'd ! Love, thou has sorrows —and sair hae i prov'd ! But this bruisfed heart that now bleeds in my breast, I can feel by its throbbings, will soon be at rest. O, if I were where happy I hae been, Down by yon stream and yon bonie castle green ! For there he is wand'ring and musing on me, Wha wad soon dry the tear frae his Phillis' e'e ! 28S THERE GROWS A BONIE BRIER-BUSH. HERE'S HIS HEALTH IN WATER. [Framed on a Jacobite song for James VIII. (the "Old Pretender").] Altho' my back be at the wa', And tho' he be the fautor, Altho' my back be at the wa', Yet here 's his health in water ! O, wae gae by his wanton sides, Sae brawly 's he could flatter ! Till for his sake I 'm slighted sair And dree the kintra clatter ! But, tho' my back be at the wa', Yet here 's his health in water ! THE WINTER OF LIFE. [Doubtless suggested by a song of the same title to be found in '* The Goldfinch," Edinburgh, 1777.] But lately seen in gladsome green, The woods rejoiced the day ; Thro' gentle showers the laughing flowers In double pride were gay ; But now our joys are iied On winter blasts awa, Yet maiden May in rich array Again shall bring them a'. But my white pow — nae kindly thowe Shall melt the snaws of Age ! My trunk of eild, but buss and bield. Sinks in Time's wintry rage. O, Age has weary days And nights o' sleepless pain ! Thou golden time o' youthfu' prime. Why comes thou not again r THE TAILOR. [Suggested probably by " The TaUor " ii Herd's Collection.] The tailor he cam here to sew. And weel he kend the way to woo. For ay he pree'd the lassie's mou', As he gaed but and ben, O. For weel he kend the way, O, The way, O, the way, O ! For weel he kend the way, O, The lassie's heart to win, O ! II. The tailor rase and shook his duds. The flaes they flew awa in cluds ! And them that stay'd gat fearfii' thuds — The Tailor prov'd a man, O ! For now it was the gloamin, The gloamin, the gloamin ! For now it was the gloamin. When a' the rest are gaun, O ! THERE GROWS A BONIE BRIER-BUSH. [Stenhouse states, that "with the excep- tion of a few lines, which are old," this song was written by Burns for Johnson's " Museum."] There grows a bonie brier-bush in our kail-yard, There grows a bonie brier-bush in our kail-yard ; And below the bonie brier-bush there 's a lassie and a lad, And they 're busy, busy courting in our kail-yard. We '11 court nae mair below the buss in our kail-yard. IT WAS A' FOR OUR RIGHT FU' KING. 289 We '11 court nae mair below the buss in our kail-yard : We '11 awa to Athole's green, and there we '11 no be seen, Where the trees and the branches will be our safeguard. Will ye go to the dancin in Carlyle's ha'? Will ye go to the dancin in Carlyle's ha', Where Sandy and Nancy I 'm sure will ding them a' ? I winna gang to the dance in Carlyle- ha'! IV. What will I do for a lad when Sandie gangs awa ! What will J do for a lad when Sandie gangs awa ! I will awa to Edinburgh, and win a pennie fee, And see an onie lad will fancy me. V. He 's comin frae the north that 's to marry me. He's comin frae the north that's to marry me, A feather in his bonnet and a ribbon at his knee — He 's a bonie, bonie laddie, an yon be he ! HERE'S TO THY HEALTH. [Regarded as traditional by Mrs. Begg (Burns's sister) . Mr. Scott Douglas accepts it as a genuine contribution to Johnson's " Museum," and internal evidence is in liis favor.] I. Here 's to thy health my bonie lass ! Guid night and joy be wi' thee ! I '11 come nae mair to thy bower-door To tell thee that I lo'e thee : O, dinna think, my pretty pink. But I can live without thee : I vow and swear I dinna care How lang ye look about ye ! Thou 'rt ay sae free informing me Thou hast nae mind to marry, I '11 be as free informing thee Nae time hae I to tarry. I ken thy freens 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. For I 'm as free as any he — Sma' siller will relieve me ! I '11 count my health my greatest wealth Sae lang as I '11 enjoy it. I '11 fear nae scant, I '11 bode nae want As lang's I get employment. IV. But far off fowls hae feathers fair. And, ay until ye try them, Tho' they seem fair, still have a care — They may prove as bad as I am ! But at twel at night, when the moon shines bright. My dear, I '11 come and see thee. For the man that loves his mistress weel, Nae travel makes him weary. IT WAS A' FOR OUR RIGHT- FU' KING. [" The third verse of this beautiful song is found in a stall-ballad (Mally Stewart), but the date of the ballad is not ascertained." — Andrew Lang.] i. It was a' for our rightfu' king We left fair Scotland's strand ; 2go THE HIGHLAND WIDOW'S LAMENT. It was a' for our rightfu' king, We e'er saw Irish land, My dear — We e'er saw Irish land. Now a' is done that men can do, And a' is done in vain, My Love and Native Land fareweel. For I maun cross the main. My dear — For I maun cross the main. He turn'd him right and round about Upon the Irish shore. And gae his bridle reins a shake, With adieu for evermore. My dear — And adieu for evermore ! rv. The soger frae the wars returns. The sailor frae the main. But I hae parted frae my love Never to meet again, My dear — Never to meet again. When day is gane, and night is come. And a' folk bound to sleep, I think on him that 's far awa The lee-Iang night, and weep. My dear — The lee-lang night and weep. THE HIGHLAND WIDOW'S LAMENT. [Burns supplied the music for Johnson's " Museum," which he got from a lady in the north of Scotland. The refrain is borrowed from an old song, said to have been a lament for Glencoe.] O, I AM come to the low countrie — Ochon, ochon, ochrie ! — Without a penny in my purse To buy a meal to me. It was na sae in the Highland hills - Ochon, ochon, ochrie ! — Nae woman in the country wide Sae happy was as me. For then I had a score o' kye — Ochon, ochon, ochrie ! — Feeding on yon hill sae high And giving milk to me. IV. And there I had three score o' y owes - Ochon, ochon, ochrie ! — Skipping on yon bonie knowes And casting woo' to me. I was the happiest of a' the clan — Sair, sair may I repine ! — For Donald was the brawest man, And Donald he was mine. VI. Till Charlie Stewart cam at last Sae far to set us free : My Donald's arm was wanted then For Scotland and for me. Their waefu' fate what need I tell? Right to the wrang did yield : My Donald and his country fell Upon CuUoden field. Ochon ! O Donald, O r Ochon, ochon, ochrie ! Nae woman in the warld wide Sae wretched now as me ! THOU GLOOMY DECEMBER. — O, STEER HER UP. 291 THOU GLOOMY DECEMBER. [The first two stanzas were sent to Cla- rinda on Dec. 27, 1791, as a song to " a charming plaintive Scots tune."] Ance raair I hail thee, thou gloomy December ! Ance mair I hail thee wi' sorrow and care ! Sad was the parting thou makes me remember : Parting wi' Nancy, O, ne'er to meet mair ! Fond lovers' parting is sweet, painful pleasure, Hope beaming mild on the soft parting hour ; But the dire feeling, O farewell for ever ! Anguish unmingled and agony pure! Wild as the winter now tearing the forest, Till the last leaf o' the summer is flown — Such is the tempest has shaken my bosom, Till my last hope and last comfort is gone ! IV. Still as I hail thee, thou gloomy December, Still shall I hail thee wi' sorrow and care ; For sad was the parting thou makes me remember : Parting wi' Nancy, O, ne'er to meet MY PEGGY'S FACE, MY PEGGY'S FORM. [" Written for Miss Margaret Chalmers. Both she and Miss Hamilton were probably friends rather than ' flames ' of Burns." — Andrew Lang.] 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 ray Peggy's angel air, Her face so truly heavenly fair. Her native grace so void of art ; But I adore my Peggy's heart. The lily's hue, the rose's dye. The kindling lustre of an eye — Who but owns their magic sway? Who but knows they all decay? rv. The tender thrill, the pitying tear. The generous purpose nobly dear. The gentle look that rage disarms — These are all immortal charms. O, STEER HER UP, AN' HAUD HER GAUN. [Written for Johnson's " Museum " by Burns. The first half stanza is Ramsay's, from a set founded on an old improper ditty.] O, STEER her up, an' haud her gaun — Her mither 's at the mill, jo. An' gin she winfla tak a man. E'en let her tak her will, jo. 292 WEE WILLIE GRAY. — WE'RE A' NODDIN. First shore her wi' a gentle kiss, And ca' anither gill, jo, An' gill she tak the thing amiss, E'en let her flyte her fill, jo. O, steer her up, an' be na blate. An' gin she tak it ill, jo. Then leave the lassie till her fate, And time nae langer spill, jo ! Ne'er break your heart for ae rebute. But think upon it still, jo, That gin the lassie winna do 't, Ye '11 fin' anither will, jo. WEE WILLIE GRAY. [" A child's song, with an appearance of popular antiquity." — ANDREW LANG.] Wee Willie Gray an' his leather wallet, Peel a willow-wand to be him boots and jacket ! The rose upon the brier will be him trouse and doublet — The rose upon the brier will be him trouse and doublet 1 II. Wee Willie Gray and his leather wal- let, Twice a lily-flower will be him sark and gravat ! J eathers of a flie wad feather up his bonnet — Feathers of a flie wad feather up his bonnet ! WE'RE A' NODDIN. [This ditty is a medley of two old songs Kith variations and amendments.] Chorus. We 're a' noddin, Nid nid noddin, We 're a' noddin At our house at hame ! 'GuiD e'en to you, kimmer, And how do ye do?' 'Hiccup!' quo' kimmer, ' The better that I 'm fou ! ' Kate sits i' the neuk, Suppin hen-broo. Deil tak Kate An she be na noddin too ! III. ' How 's a' wi' you, kimmer ? And how do you fare ? ' 'A pint o' the best o't. And twa pints mair ! ' * How 's a' wi' you, kimmer ? And how do ye thrive ? How monie bairns hae ye ? ' Quo' kimmer, ' I hae five.' 'Aretheya' Johnie's?' ' Eh ! atweel na : Twa o' them were gotten When Johnie was awa 1 ' VI. Cats like milk. And dogs like broo ; Lads like lasses weel, And lasses lads too. Chorus. We 're a' noddin, Nid nid noddin. We 're a' noddin At our house at hame ! O, AY MY WIFE SHE DANG ME. — O, GUID ALE COMES. 293 O, AY MY WIFE SHE DANG ME. [Written for Johnson's " Museum " to a tune in Oswald's collection, " My Wife She Dang Me."J Chorus. O, ay my wife she dang me, An' aft my wife she bang'd me ! If ye gie a woman a' her will, Guid faith ! she '11 soon o'er-gang ye. On peace an' rest my mind was bent, And, fool I was ! I married ; But never honest man's intent Sae cursedly miscarried. Some sairie comfort at the last, When a' thir days are done, man : My ' pains o' hell ' on earth is past, I 'm sure o' bliss aboon, man. Chorus. O, ay my wife she dang me. An' aft my wife she bang'd me ! If ye gie a 'woman a' her will, Guid faith ! she '11 soon o'ergang ye. SCROGGAM. [Founded on an older ditty, or perhaps gathered from more than one.] There was a wife wonn'd in Cockpen, Scroggam ! She brew'd guid ale for gentlemen : Sing Auld Cowl, lay ybu down by me — Scroggam, my dearie, ruffum ! The guidwife's dochter fell in a fever, Scroggam ! The priest o' the parish fell in anither : Sing Auld Cowl, lay you down by me — Scroggam, my dearie, ruflfum ! They laid the twa 1' the bed thegither, Scroggam ! That the heat o' the tane might cool the tither : Sing Auld Cowl, lay you down by me — Scroggam, my dearie, ruffum ! O, GUID ALE COMES. [Partly traditional. Stenhouse states that only the chorus is old.] Chorus. O, guid ale comes, and guid ale .goes, Guid ale gars me sell my ho.se, Sell my hose, and pawn my shoon — Guid ale keeps my heart aboon ! I HAD sax owsen in a pleugh, And they drew a' weel eneugh : I sell'd them a' just ane by ane — Guid ale keeps the heart aboon ! Guid ale bauds me bare and busy, Gars me moop wi' the servant hizzie. Stand i' the stool when I hae dune — Guid ale keeps the heart aboon ! Chorus. O, guid ale comes, and guid ale goes, Guid ale gars me sell my hose. Sell my hose, and pawn my shoon — Guid ale keeps my heart aboon ! 294 DOES HAUGHTY GAUL INVASION THREAT? ROBIN SHURE IN HAIRST. [Sent by Burns to Robert Ainslie with the remark : " I have brushed up the follow- ing old favorite song a little, with a view to your worship. I have only altered a word here and there; but if you like the humor of it, we shall think of a stanza or two to add to it."] Chorus. Robin shure in hairst, I sliure wi' him : Fient a heuk had I, Yet I stack by him. I GAED up to Dunse To warp a wab o' plaiden At his daddie's yett Wha met me but Robin ! Was na Robin bauld, ■fho' I was a cottar? Play'd me sic a trick, An' me the Eller's dochter ! Robin promis'd me A' my winter vittle : Fient haet he had but three Guse feathers and a whittle ! Chorus. Robin shure in hairst, I shure wi' him : Fient a heuk had I, Yet I stack by him. DOES HAUGHTY GAUL IN- VASION THREAT? [" Written for the Dumfries Volunteers. Burns, if sincere, changed his mind about the Revolution, like Coleridge and Words- worth." — Andrew Lang.] Does haughty Gaul invasion threat ? Then let the loons beware, Sir ! There 's wooden walls upon our seas And volunteers on shore, Sir i The Nith shall run to Corsincon, And CrifFel sink in Solway, Ere we permit a foreign foe On British ground to rally ! O, let us not, like snarling tykes, In wrangling be divided. Till, slap ! come in an unco loun, And wi' a rung decide it ! Be Britain still to Britain true, Amang oursels united ! For never but by British hands Maun British wrangs be righted ! III. The kettle o' the Kirk and State, Perhaps a clout may fail in 't ; But Deil a foreign tinkler loon Shall ever ca' a nail in 't ! Our fathers' blude tha kettle bought, And wha wad dare to spoil it. By Heav'ns ! the sacrilegious dog Shall fuel be to boil it ! IV. The wretch that would a tyrant own. And the wretch, his true-sworn brother, Who would set the mob above the throne. May they be damn'd together ! Who will not sing God save the King Shall hang as high 's the steeple ; But while we sing God save the King, We '11 ne'er forget the People I O ONCE I LOV'D. — MY LORD A-HUNTING. 295 O ONCE I LOV'D A BONIE LASS. [Of this song Burns says : " The following composition was the first of my perform- ances and done at an early period of life, when my heart glowed with honest warm simplicity ; unacquainted and uncorrupted with the ways of a wicked world. . . , The subject of it was a young girl, who really deserved all the praises 1 have bestowed upon her.] O ONCE I lov'd a bonie lass, Ay, and I love her still ! And whilst that virtue warms ray breast, I '11 love my handsome Nell. II. As bonie lasses I hae seen. And monie full as braw. But for a modest gracefu' mien The like I never saw. III. A bonie lass, I will confess. Is pleasant to the e'e ; But without some better qualities She 's no a lass for me. IV. But Nelly's looks are biythe and sweet, And, what is best of a'. Her reputation is complete And fair without a flaw. She dresses ay sae clean and neat, Both decent and genteel ; And then there 's something in her gait Gars onie dress look weel. A gaudy dress and gentle air May slightly touch the heart ; But it 's innocence and modesty That polishes the dart. 'T is this in Nelly pleases me, 'T is this enchants my soul ; For absolutely in my breast She reigns without controul. MY LORD A-HUNTING. [Stenhoiise says : "Johnson long hesitated to admit this song into his work ; but being blamed for such fastidiousness, he at length gave it a place there." ] Chorus. My lady's gown, there 's gairs upon 't. And gowden flowers sae rare upon 't ; But Jenny's jimps and jirkinet. My lord thinks meikle mair upon 't ! My lord a-hunting he is gane. But hounds or hawks wi' him are nane ; By Colln's cottage lies his game. If Colin's Jenny be at hame. My lady 's white, ray lady 's red. And kith and kin o' Cassillis' blude ; But her ten-pund lands o' tocher guid Were a' the charras his lordship lo'ed. Out o'er yon rauir, out o'er yon moss, Whare gor-cocks thro' the heather pass, There wons auld Colin's bonie lass, A lily in a wilderness. Sae sweetly move her genty limbs, Like music notes o' lovers' hymns ! The diamond-dew in her een sae blue, Where laughing love sae wanton 296 SWEETEST MAY. — JOCKIE 'S TA'EN THE PARTING KISS= My lady 's dink, ray lady 's drest, 1 he flower and fancy o' the west ; But the lassie that a man lo'es best, O, that 's the lass to mak him blest ! Chorus. My lady's gown, there 's gairs upon 't. And gowden flowers sae rare upon 't, But Jenny's jimps and jirkinet, My lord thinks meikle mair upon 't ! SWEETEST MAY. [An imitation, open and unabashed, of Ramsay's "My Sweetest May, let Love incline Thee." J Sweetest May, let Love inspire thee ! Take a heart which he designs 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 bonie, Not the high-born but noble-minded, In love's silken band can bind it. MEG O' THE MILL. [Suggested, doubtless, by an older ditty.] O, KEN ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten ? An' ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten? A braw new naig wi' the tail o' a rottan. And that 's what Meg o' the Mill has gotten ! O, ken ye what Meg o' the Mill lo'es dearly? An' ken ye what Meg o' the Mill lo'es dearly? A dram o' guid strunt in a morning early, And that's what Mego' the Mill lo'ei* dearly ! III. O, ken ye how Meg o' the Mill was married ? An' ken ye how Meg o' the Mill was married ? The priest he was oxter'd, the dark he was carried, And that 's how Meg o' the Mill was married ! O, ken ye how Meg o' the Mill was bedded ? An' ken ye how Meg o' the Mill was bedded? The groom gat sae fu' he fell awald beside it, And that 's how Meg o' the Mill was bedded ! JOCKIE 'S TA'EN THE PART- ING KISS. ["Probably written in sickness." — AN- DREW Lang.] JocKlE 's ta'en the parting kiss. O'er the mountains he is gane, And with him is a' my bliss — Nought but griefs with me remain. Spare my luve, ye winds that blaw, Flashy sleets and beating rain ! Spare my luve, thou feathery snaw, Drifting o'er the frozen plain ! O, LAY THY LOOF IN MINE.— THERE WAS A BONIE LASS. 297 When the shades of evening creep O'er the day's fair gladsome e'e, Sound and safely may lie sleep, Sweetly blythe his waukening be ! IV. He will think on her he loves, Fondly he '11 repeat her name ; For where'er he distant roves, Jockie's heart is stUl at hame. O, LAY THY LOOF IN MINE, . LASS. f" Perhaps Miss Lewars is the heroine." — ANDREW Lang.] Chorus. O, lay thy loof in mine, lass, In mine, lass, in mine, lass. And swear on thy white hand, lass. That thou wilt be my ain ! A SLAVE to Love's unbounded sway. He aft has wrought me meikle wae ; But now he is my deadly fae, Unless thou be my ain. There 's monie 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. Chorus. O, lay thy loof in mine, lass, In mine, lass, in mine, lass, And swear on thy white hand, lass, That thou wilt be my ain ! CAULD IS THE E'ENIN BLAST. [The tune, " Peggy Ramsay," is as old as Shakespeare's time. Sir Toby Belch in " Twelfth Night " says " Malvolio's a Peg-a- Ramsay."] Cauld is the e'enin blast O' Boreas o'er the pool, An' dawin, it is dreary, When birks are bare at Yule. O, cauld blaws the e'enin blast, When bitter bites the frost, And in the mirk and dreary drift The hills and glens are lost ! Ne'er sae murky blew the night That drifted o'er the hill. But bonie Peg-a-Ramsay Gat grist to her mill. THERE WAS A BONIE LASS- [A cento of old catchwords.] There was a bonie lass, and a bonie, bonie lass. And she loed her bonie laddie dear, Till War's loud alarms tore her laddie frae her arms Wi' monie a sigh and a tear. 11. Over sea, over shore, where the can- nons loudly roar. He still was a stranger to fear, And nocht could him quail, or his bosom assail. But the bonie lass he loed sae dear. 298 THERE'S NEWS, LASSES. — MALLY 'S MEEK, MALLY 'S SWEET. THERE'S NEWS, LASSES, NEWS. [Written for Johnson's " Museum." The original is evidently a fragment in the Herd Ms.] Chorus. The wean wants a cradle, And the cradle wants a cod, An' I '11 no gang to my bed Until I get a nod. There 's news, lasses, news, Guid news I 've to tell ! There 's a boatfu' o' lads Come to our town to sell ! II. ' Father,' quo' she, ' Mither,' quo' she, ' Do what you can : I 'U no gang to my bed Until I get a man ! ' III. I hae as guid a craft rig As made o' yird and stane ; And waly fa' the ley-crap For I maun till'd again. Chorus. The wean wants a cradle, And the cradle wants a cod. An' I '11 no gang to my bed Until I get a nod. O, THAT I HAD NE'ER BEEN MARRIED. [Burns quotes all that is old of this song in a letter to Mrs. Dunlop, 1795. His quota- tion includes stanza I. and the chorusj Chorus. Ance crowdie, twice crowdie, Three times crowdie in a day! Gin ye crowdie onie mair, Ye '11 crowdie a' my meal away. O, THAT I had ne'er been married, I wad never had nae care ! Now I 've gotten wife an' bairns, An' they cry ' Crowdie ' evermair. Waefu' Want and Hunger fley me, Glowrin by the hallan en' ; Sair I fecht them at the door. But ay I 'm eerie they come ben. Chorus. Ance crowdie, twice crowdie. Three times crowdie in a day ! Gin ye crowdie onie m;iir. Ye '11 crowdie a' my meal away. MALLY 'S MEEK, MALLY 'S SWEET. [Written for Johnson's " Museum."] Chorus. Mally 's meek, Mally 's sweet, Mally 's modest and discreet, Mally 's rare, Mally 's fair, Mally 's ev'ry way complete. As I was walking up the street, A barefit maid 1 chanc'd to meet ; But O, the road was very hard For that fair maiden's tender feet ! It were mair meet that those fine feet Were weel laced up in silken shoon! An' 't were more fit that she should sij Within yon chariot gilt aboon ! WANDERING WILLIE. — BRAW LADS O' GALLA WATER. 299 Her yellow hair, beyond compare, Comes tumbling down her swan- white neck, And her twa eyes, like stars in skies. Would keep a sinking ship frae wreck. Chorus. Mally 's meek, Mally 's sweet, Mally 's modest and discreet, Mally 's rare, Mally 's fair, Mally 's ev'ry way complete. WANDERING WILLIE. [Adapted by Burns from an old ballad.] Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie, Here awa, there awa, baud awa hame ! Come to my bosom, my ae only dearie. And tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same. Loud tho' the Winter blew cauld at our parting, 'T was na the blast brought the tear in my e'e : Welcome now Simmer, and welcome ray Willie, The Simmer to Nature, my Willie to me ! Rest, ye wild storms in the cave o' your slumbers — How your wild howling a lover alarms ! Wauken, ye breezes, row gently, ye billows, And waft my dear laddie ance mair to ray arms. But O, if he 's faithless, and minds na his Nannie, Flow still between us, thou wide- roaring main ! May I never see it, may I never trow it, But, dying, believe that ray Willie 's ray ain ! BRAW LADS O' GALLA WATER. [Sent to Thomson's " Scottish Airs." Burns got his lyrical idea from one of " Five Excellent New Songs " in a very old chap,] Braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes. They rove amang the blooming heather ; But Yarrow braes nor Ettrick shaws Can match the lads o' Galla Water. But there is ane, a secret ane, Aboon them a' I loe him better ; And I '11 be his, and he '11 be mine. The bonie lad o' Galla Water. Altho' his daddie was nae laird. And tho' I hae nae meikle tocher. Yet, rich in kindest, truest love. We'll tent our flocks by Galla Water. It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth, That coft contentraent, peace, and pleasure : The bands and bliss o' mutual love, O, that 's the chiefest warld's treas- 300 AULD ROB MORRIS. — OPEN THE DOOR TO ME, O. AULD ROB MORRIS. [Burns, writing to Tliomson, says : " I have partly taken your idea of ' Auld Rob Morris.' I have adopted the first two verses, and am going on with the song on a new plan, which promises pretty well."] 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 bonie lassie, his dautie and mine. II. She 's fresh as the morning the fairest in May, She 's sweet as the ev'ning amang the new hay. As blythe and as artless as the lambs on the lea, And dear to my heart as the light to my e'e. III. But O, she's an heiress, auld Robin's a laird. And my daddie has nocht but a cot- house and yard ! A wooer like me maunna hope to come speed : The wounds I must hide that will soon be my dead. rv. The day comes to me, but delight brings me nana ; 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. O, had she but been of a lower de- gree, I then might hae hop'd she wad smil'd upon me ! O, how past descriving had then been my bliss. As now my distraction no words can express ! OPEN THE DOOR TO ME, O. [It is doubtful how far Burns is indebted to an original, for none has ever been found. In Thomson it is headed, " As altered for tiiis work by Burns," and the air is marked as Irish.] O, OPEN the door some pity to shew, If love it may na be, O ! Tho' thou hast been false, I '11 ever prove true — O, open the door to me, O ! Cauld is the blast upon my pale cheek, But caulder thy love for me, O : The frost,' that freezes the life at my heart. Is nought to my pains frae thee, O ! The wan moon sets behind the white wave. And Time is setting with me, O : False friends, false love, farewell ! for mair I '11 ne'er trouble them nor thee, O ! IV. She has open'd the door, she has open'd it wide. She sees the pale corse on the plain, O, WHEN WILD WAR'S DEADLY BLAST. 301 'My true Jove ! ' she cried, and sank down by his side — Never to rise again, O ! WHEN WILD WAR'S DEADLY BLAST. [Sent to Thomson by Burns, who says, " I send you also a ballad to the tune of 'The Mill and the Mill, O.'" Thomson made certain changes in the song; but on a copy sent to Miss Graham of Fintry, Burns restored the old readings.] When wild War's deadly blast was blawn. And gentle Peace returning, Wi' monie a sweet babe fatherless And monie a widow mourning, I left the lines and tented field. Where lang I 'd been a lodger. My humble knapsack a' my wealth, A poor and honest sodger. A leal, light heart was in my breast, My hand unstain'd wi' plunder. And for fair Scotia, hame again, I cheery on did wander : I thought upon the banks o' Coil, I thought upon my Nancy, And ay I mind't the witching smile That caught my youthful fancy. III. At length I reach'd the bonie glen, Where early life I sported. J pass'd the mill and trysting thorn, Where Nancy aft I courted. Wha spied I but my ain dear maid, Down by her mother's dwelling. And turn'd me round to hide the flood That in my een was swelling ! Wi' alter'd voice, quoth I : — ' Sweet lass. Sweet as yon hawthorn's blossom, O, happy, happy may he be. That 's dearest to thy bosom ! My purse is light, I 've far to gang, And fain wad be thy lodger ; I've serv'd my king and country lang — Take pity on a sodger.' Sae wistfully she gaz'd on me, And lovelier was than ever. Quo' she : — 'A sodger ance I lo'ed. Forget him shall I never. Our humble cot, and hamely fare. Ye freely shall partake it ; That gallant badge — the dear cock- ade — Ye 're welcome for the sake o 't ! ' She gaz'd, she redden'd like a rose, Syne, pale like onie lily, She sank within my arms, and cried — ' Art thou my ain dear Willie ? ' ' By Him who made yon Sun and sky, By whom true love 's regarded, I am the man ! And thus may still True lovers be rewarded ! 'The wars are o'er and I'm come hame, And find thee still true-hearted. Tho' poor in gear we 're rich in love. And mair, we 'se ne'er be parted.' Quo' she : — ' My grandsire left me gowd, A mailen plenish'd fairly ! And come, my faithfu' sodger lad. Thou 'rt welcome to it dearly ! ' For gold the merchant ploughs the main. The farmer ploughs the manor ; 302 DUNCAN GRAY. — DELUDED SWAIN, THE PLEASURE. But glory is the sodger's prize, The sodger's wealth is lionour ! The brave poor sodger ne'er despise, Nor count him as a stranger : Remennber he's his country's stay In day and hour of danger. DUNCAN GRAY. [Of this song and " Auld Rob Morris " Burns says to Tiiomson : "The foregoing I submit, ray dear sir, to your better judg- ment; acquit them or condemn them as seemeth good in thy sight. ' Duncan Gray ' is that kind of light-horse gallop of an air which precludes sentiment. The ludicrous is its ruling feature."] Duncan Gray cam here to woo (Ha, ha, the wooing o't !) On blythe Yule-Night when we were fou (Ha, ha, the wooing o't !). Maggie coost her head fu' high, Look'd asklent and unco skeigh, Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh — Ha, ha, the wooing o 't ! Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd (Ha, ha, the wooing o 't !), Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig (Ha, ha, the wooing o 't !). Duncan sigh'd baith out and in, Grat his een baith bleer't an blin', Spak o' lowpin o'er a linn — Ha, ha, the wooing o't ! Time and Chance are but a tide (Ha, ha, the wooing o 't ! ) : Slighted love is sair to bide (Ha, ha, the wooing o't !). 'Shall I like a fool,' quoth he, 'For a haughty hizzie die? She may gae to — France for me ! ' - Ha, ha, the wooing o 't ! How it comes, let doctors tell (Ha, ha, the wooing o 't) : Meg grew sick, as he grew hale (Ha, ha, the wooing o't!). Something in her bosom wrings, For relief a sigh she brings, AndO! her een they spaksicthings!- Ha, ha, the wooing o 't ! Duncan was a lad o' grace (Ha, ha, the wooing o 't !) Maggie's was a piteous case (Ha, ha, the wooing o't ! ) : Duncan could na be her death. Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath ; Now they 're crouse and canty baith - Ha, ha, the wooing o 't ! DELUDED SWAIN, THE PLEASURE. [" Pastiche of little merit on an old song." — ANDREW Lang.] 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 cloud's uncertain motion. They are but types of Woman ! O, art thou not ashamM To doat upon a feature ? If Man thou wouldst be namfed, Despise the silly creature ! Go, find an honest fellow. Good claret set before thee, Hold on till thou art mellow, And then to bed in glory ! HERE IS THE GLEN. — LORD GREGORY. 303 HERE IS THE GLEN. [Burns, writing to Thomson, says of this song : " I know you value a composition because it is made by one of the great ones as little as I do. However, I got an air, pretty enough, composed by Lady Eliza- beth Heron of Heron, which she calls the ' Banks of Cree.' Cree is a beautiful, ro- mantic stream, and, as her ladyship is a particular friend of mine, I have written the following song to it."] I. Here is the glen, and here the bower All underneath the birchen shade, The village-bell has toU'd the hour — O, what can stay my lovely maid? 'T is not Maria's whispering call — 'T is but the balmy-breathing gale. Mixed 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 't is music and 't is love ! And art thou come ? And art thou true? O, welcome, dear, to love and me, And let us all our vows renew Along the flowery banks of Cree ! LET NOT WOMEN E'ER COMPLAIN. [Burns says: "These English songs gravel me to death. I have not that com- mand of the language that I have of my native tongue. In fact, I think my ideas are more barren in English than in Scot- tish. I have been at ' Duncan Gray,' to dress it in English, but all I can do is de- plorably stupid."] Let not women e'er complain Of inconstancy in love .' Let not women e'er complain Fickle man is apt to rove ! Look abroad thro' 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, while we can — You can be no more, you know ! LORD GREGORY. [Peter Pindar (Dr. Wolcott) wrote Eng- lish verses for Thomson on the same theme. In relation to this, Burns writes : " I have tried to give you a set of stanzas in Scots on the same subject, which are at your service. Not that I intend to enter the lists with Peter — that would be pre- sumption indeed ! My song, though much inferior in poetic merit, has, I think, more of the ballad simphcity in it."] O, MIRK, mirk is this midnight hour, And loud the tempest's roar ! A waefu' wanderer seeks thy tower -^ Lord Gregory, ope thy door. An exile frae her father's ha', And a' for sake o' thee. At least some pity on me shaw, If love it may na be. III. Lord Gregory mind'st thou not the grove By bonie Irwine side, Where first I own'd that virgin love I lang, lang had denied? 304 O, STAY, SWEET WARBLING WOOD-LARK. ) How aften didst thou pledge and vow, Thou wad for ay be mine ! And my fond heart, itsel' sae true, It ne'er mistrusted thine. Hard is thy heart. Lord Gregory, And flinty is thy breast: Thou bolt of Heaven that flashest by, O, wilt thou bring me rest ! VI. Ye mustering thunders from above. Your willing victim see, But spare and pardon my fause love His wrangs to Heaven .and me ! O POORTITH CAULD. [Gilbert Burns told Thomson that Burns's heroine was a Miss Jane Blaclcstock, after- wards Mrs. Whittier of Liverpool. But it was probably Jean Lorimer, who was then contemplating the marriage of which she instantly repented.] Chorus. O, why should Fate sic pleasure have Life's dearest bands untwining? Or why sae sweet a flower as love Depend on Fortune's shining? O PooRTiTH cauld and restless Love, Ye wrack my peace between ye ! Yet poortith a' I could forgive, An 't were na for my Jeanie. The warld's wealth when I think on. Its pride and a' the lave o 't — My curse on silly coward man, That he should be the slave o 't ! Her een sae bonie blue betray How she repays my passion ; But prudence is her o'erword ay : She talks o' rank and fashion. O, wha can prudence think upon, And sic a lassie by him ? O, wha can prudence think upon, And sae in love as I am ? How blest the wild-wood Indian's fate \ He woos his artless dearie — The silly bogles, Wealth and State, Can never make him eerie. Chorus. O, whyshould Fate sic pleasure have. Life's dearest bands untwining? Or why sae sweet a flower as love Depend on Fortune's shining? O, STAY, SWEET WARBLING WOOD-LARK. [" If this piece had an occasion, nothing is known about it." — Andrew Lang.] O, STAY, sweet warbling wood-lark, stay, Nor quit for me the trembling spray ! A hapless lover courts thy lay, Thy soothing, fond complaining. Again, again that tender part. That I may catch thy melting art ! 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? O, nocht but love and sorrow join'd Sic notes o' woe could wauken ! SAW YE BONIE LESLEY. — YOUNG JESSIE. 30s 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 ! SAW YE BONIE LESLEY. [" Bonie Lesley " was Miss Leslie Baillie, daughter of Mr. Baillie of Mayfield, Ayr- shire. She married in June, 1799, Mr. Rob- ert Gumming of Logie, and died in July, 1843-] I. O, SAW ye bonie 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 ! III. 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 skaith thee. Or aught that wad belang thee : He 'd look into thy bonie face. And say — ' 1 canna wrang thee ! ' The Powers aboon will tent thee. Misfortune sha' na steer thee : Thou 'rt like themseP sae lovely, That ill they '11 ne'er let near thee. VI. Return again, fair Lesley, Return to Caledonie ! That we may brag we hae a lass There 's nane again sae bonie. SWEET FA'S THE EVE. [" How will the following do for ' Craig- ieburn Wood'?" (Burns to Thomson, Jan. 15, 1795.) See " Craigiebum Wood," P- 253-] I. Sweet fa's the eve on Craigiebum, And blythe 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 is wringing? III. 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 another. When yon green leaves fade frae the tree. Around my grave they '11 wither. YOUNG JESSIE. [The lady was Miss Jessie Staig (daughter of Provost Staig of Dumfries, on whose re- covery from illness Bums wrote the epigram "To i3r. Maxwell."] True hearted was he, the sad swain o' the Yarrow, And fair are the maids on the banks of the Ayr; But by the sweet side o' the Nith's winding river ' 3o6 ADOWN WINDING NITH. Are lovers as faithful and maidens as fair : To equal young Jessie seek Scotia all over — To equal young Jessie you seek it in vain ! Grace, beauty, and elegance fetter her lover, And maidenly modesty fixes the chain. 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 en- snaring ; Enthron'd in her een he delivers his law ; And still to her charms she alone is a stranger : Her modest demeanour 's the jewel of a'. ADOWN WINDING NITH. [" Miss Phillis is a Miss Phillis M'Murdo, sister to the ' Boniejean' which I sent you some time ago." (Burns to Thomson, Au- gust, 1793-)] Chorus. Awa wi' your belles and your beau- ties — ■ They never wi' her can comoare ! Whaever hae met wi' my Phillis Has met wi' the Queen o' the Fair ! 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. The Daisy amus'd my fond fancy, So artless, so simple, so wild : ' Thou emblem,' said I, ' o' my Phil- lis'— For she is Simplicity's child. The rose-bud's the blush o' my charmer. Her sweet balmy lip when 'tis prest. How fair and how pure is the lily ! But fairer and purer her breast. Yon knot of gay flowers in the arbour, They ne'er wi' ray Phillis can vie : Her breath is the breath of the wood- bine. Its dew-drop o' diamond her eye. Her voice is the song o' the morning, That wakes thro' the green-spread- ing grove. When Phebus peeps over the moun- tains On music, and pleasure, and love. But Beauty, how frail and how fleet- ing ! The bloom of a fine summer's day ! While Worth in the mind o' my Phillis Will flourish without a decay. Chorus. Awa wi' your belles and your beau- ties — They never wi' her can compare ! Whaever hae met wi' my Phillis Has met wi' the Queen o' the Fair ! A LASS WI' A TOCHER.— BY ALLAN STREAM. 307 A LASS Wr A TOCHER. [" The other day I strung up a kind of rhapsody to another Hiljernian melody that I admire much." (Burns to Thomson, February, 1796.) The " Hibernian melody " was " Balinamona Ora,"] 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 ! AwA wi' your witchcraft o' Beauty's alarms, The slender bit beauty you grasp in your arms ! O, gie me the lass that has acres o' charms ! O, gie me the lass wi' the weel-stockit farms ! 11. \ our Beauty 's a flower in the morn- ing that blows, And withers the faster the faster it grows ; But the rapturous charm o' the bonie green knowes, ' Ilk spring they 're new deckit wi' bonie white yowes ! III. And e'en when this Beauty your bosom has blest. 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 carest ! 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 ! BLYTHE HAE I BEEN ON YON HILL. [Burns writes this " is one of the finest songs I ever made in my life, and is com- posed on a young lady, positively the most beautiful lovely woman in the world." She was Miss Leslie Baillie.] Blythe 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. Jleavy, heavy is the task. Hopeless love declaring ! Trembling, I dow nocht but glow'r Sighing, dumb despairing ! If she winna ease the thraws In my bosom swelling. Underneath the grass-green sod Soon maun be my dwelling. BY ALLAN STREAM. [Written in August, 1793. The poem pleased Burns, who writes, " I may be wrong, but I thinli it is not in my worst style."] By Allan stream I chanc'd to rove, While Phebus sank beyond Ben- ledi ; The winds were whispering thro' the grove. The yellow corn was waving ready ; I listen'd to a lover's sang. An' thought on youthfu' pleasures monie. And ay the wild-wood echoes rang : — ' O, my love Annie 's very bonie ! 3o8 CANST THOU LEAVE ME. — CONTENTED WI' LITTLE. 'O, happy be the woodbine bower, Nae nightly bogle make it eerie ! Nor ever sorrow stain the hour, The place and time I met my dearie ! Her head upon my throbbing breast, She, sinking, said : — "I 'm thine for ever ! " While monie a kiss the seal imprest — The sacred vow we ne'er should The haunt o' Spring 's the primrose- brae. The Summer joys the flocks to follow. How cheery thro' her short'ning day Is Autumn in her weeds o' yellow ! But can they melt the glowing heart. Or chain the soul in speechless pleasure, * Or thro' each nerve the rapture dart, Like meeting her, our bosom's treasure ? CANST THOU LEAVE ME ! [" Well, I think this, to be done in two or three turns across my room, and with two or three pinches of Irish blackguard, is not far amiss. You see, I am determined to have my quantum of applause from some- body." (Burns to Thomson, Nov. 20, 1794.)] Chorus. Canst thou leave me thus, my Katie ! Canst thou leave me thus, my Katie ! Well thou.knovv'st my aching heart, And canst thou leave me thus for pity.? Is this thy plighted, fond regard : Thus cruelly to part, my Katie ? Is this thy faithful swain's reward : An aching broken heart, my Katie? Farewell ! And ne'er such sorrows tear That fickle heart of thine, my Katie ! Thou may'st find those will love thee dear, But not a love like mine, my Katie. Chorus. Canst thou leave me thus, my Katie ! Canst thou leave me thus, my Katie ! Well thou know'st my aching heart. And canst thou leave me thus for pity? COME, LET ME TAKE THEE. [" A mosaic. Lines written many years earlier, in ' Peggy Alison,' are added to verses suggested by Jean Lorimer." — AN- DREW Lang.] Come, let me take thee to my breast, And pledge we ne'er shall sunder, And I shall spurn as vilest dust The world'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. II. Thus in my arms, wi' a' her charms, I clasp my countless treasure, I '11 seek nae mair o' Heav'n to share Than sic a moment's pleasure ! And by thy een sae bonie blue I swear I 'm thine for ever. And on thy lips 1 seal my vow. And break it shall I never ! CONTENTED WP LITTLE. [" I have some thoughts of suggesting to you to prepare a vignette ... to my song ' Contented wi' Little and Cantie wi' Mair,' FAREWELL, THOU STREAM. — HAD I A CAVE. 3°9 in order the portrait of my face and the pic- ture of my mind may go down the stream of time together." (.Burns to Thomson, May, 1795-)] Contented wi' little and cantie wi' mair, Whene'er I forgather wi' Sorrow and Care, I gie tfiem a skelp, as they 're creepin alang, Wi' a cog o' guid swats and an auld Scottish sang. I whyles claw the elbow o' troublesome Thought ; But Man is a soger, and Life is a faught. My mirth and guid humour are coin in my pouch, And my Freedom 's my lairdship nae monarch daur 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 Deil ever thinks o' the road he has past? Blind Chance, let her snapper and stoyte on her way. Be 't to me, be 't frae me, e'en let the jade gae ! Come Ease or come Travail, come Pleasure or Pain, My warst word is — 'Welcome, and welcome again ! ' FAREWELL, THOU STREAM. [The heroine was Maria Riddell, to whom Burns sent a copy. To this he added (his note ffirst published in the Centenary edi- tion), " On reading over the song, I see it is but a cold, inanimated composition. • It will be absolutely necessary for me to get in love, else I shall never be ab'e to make a line worth reading on the subject." " The poet having, meanwhile, had a difference with that lady, he disguised the song by chang- ing the name from ' Maria ' to Eliza, and by giving it a new opening line, with direc- tions to have it set to a different tune." — William Scorr Douglas.] Farewell, thou stream that winding flows Around Eliza's dwelling ! O Mem'ry, 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, un- known, I fain my griefs would cover : The bursting sigh, th' unweeting groan Betray the hapless lover. I know thou doom'st me to despair, Nor wilt, nor canst relieve me ; But, O Eliza, hear one prayer — For pity's sake forgive me ! The music of thy voice I heard. Nor wist while it enslav'd me ! I saw thine eyes, yet nothing fear'd, Till fears no more had sav'd me : Th' unwary sailor thus, aghast The wheeling torrent viewing, 'Mid circling horrors sinks at last In overwhelming ruin. HAD I A CAVE. [" That crinkum-crankum tune, ' Robin Adair,' has run so in my head, and I suc- ceeded so ill in my last attempt f" Phillis 3IO HERE'S A HEALTH. — HOW CRUEL ARE THE PARENTS. the Fair," p. 345], that I ventured in my morning's walk one essay more." (Burns to Thomson, August, 1793.)] I. Had I a cave On some wild distant shore, Where the winds howl To the wave's dashing roar, There would I weep my woes. There seek my lost repose. Till grief my eyes should close, Ne'er to wake more ! II. Falsest of womankind, Can'st 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 ! HERE'S A HEALTH. [The heroine, Jessie Lewars, sister of John Lewars, a fellow-exciseman, was of great service to the Burns household during the last illness. She married Mr. James Thomson, of Dumfries, and died May 26, I85S-] Chorus. Here 's a health to ane I loe dear ! Here 's a health to ane I loe dear ! Thou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers meet, And soft as their parting tear, Jessy — And soft as their parting tear ! Altho' thou maun never be mine, Altho' even hope is denied, 'T is sweeter for thee despairing Than ought in the world beside, Jessy — Than ought in the world beside ! I mourn thro' the gay, gaudy day, As hopeless 1 muse on thy charms ; But welcome the dream o' sweet slumber ! For then I am lockt in thine arms, Jessy — For then I am lockt in thine arms ! Chortis. Here 's a health to ane I loe dear ! Here 's a health to ane I loe dear ! Thou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers meet, And soft as their parting tear, Jessy — And soft as their parting tear ! HOW CRUEL ARE THE PARENTS. ["A song altered from an old English one," (R. B.) found in several London pub- lications, 1733-1756.] How cruel are the parents Who riches only prize. And to the wealthy booby Poor Woman sacrifice ! 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 impending ruin Awhile her pinion tries. Till, of escape despairing, No shelter or retreat. She trusts the ruthless falconer, And drops beneath his feet. HUSBAND, HUSBAND. — IT WAS THE CHARMING MONTH. 311 HUSBAND, HUSBAND, CEASE YOUR STRIFE [Sent to Thomson, December, 1793.] Husband, husband, cease your strife, Nor longer idly rave, sir ! Tho' 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 't is still the lordly word. Service and obedience, I '11 desert my sov'reign lord. And so goodby allegiance ! ' Sad will I be so bereft, Nancy, Nancy ! Yet I '11 try to make a shift, My spouse Nancy ! ' III. • My poor heart, then break it must, My last hour I am near it : When you lay me in the dust. Think, how will you 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 like my dear Nancy, Nancy ! Then all Hell will fly for fear. My spouse Nancy ! ' IT WAS THE CHARMING MONTH. [Abridged from a song in " Tlie Tea- Table Miscellany." Burns writes to Thom- son, November, 1794: "You may think meanly of this ; but take a look at the bom- bast original, and you will be surprised that I have made so much of it."] Chorus. Lovely was she by the dawn. Youthful Chloe, charming Chloe, Tripping o'er the pearly lawn. The youthful, charming Chloe ! It was the charming month of May, When all the fiow'rs were fresh and gay, One morning, by the break of day, The youthful, charming Chloe, From peaceful slumber she arose. Girt on her mantle and her hose. And o'er the flow'ry mead she goes — The youthful, charming Chloe ! The feather'd people you might see Perch'd all around on every tree ! With notes of sweetest melody They hail the charming Chloe, Till, painting gay the eastern skies. The glorious sun began to rise, Outrival'd by the radiant eyes Of youthful, charming Chloe. Chorum. Lovely was she by the dawn. Youthful Chloe, charming Chloe, Tripping o'er the pearly lawn. The youthful, charming Chloe ! 312 LAST MAY A BRAW WOOER. LAST MAY A BRAW WOOER. [Sent to Thomson, July 3, 1795. A corrupt set was published in Johnson's " Museum," 1803.] I. Last May a braw wooer cam down the lang glen, And sair wi' his love he did deave me. I said there was naething I hated like men : The deuce gae wi 'm to believe me, believe me — The deuce gae wi 'm to believe me ! He spak o' the darts in my bonie black een, And vow'd for my love he was diein. I said, he might die when he liket for Jean: The Lord forgie me for liein, for liein — The Lord forgie me for liein ! A weel-stocket mailen, himsel for the laird, And marriage aflF-hand were his proffers : I never loot on that I kenn'd it, or car'd. But thought I might hae waur offers, waur offers — But thought I might hae waur offers. IV. But what wad ye think ? In a fort- night or less (The Deil tak his taste to gae near her!) He up the Gate-Slack to my black cousin, Bess 1 Guess ye how, the jad ! I could bear her,' could bear her — Guess ye how, the jad ! I could bear her. But a' the niest week, as I petted wi' care, I gaed to the tryste o' Dalgarnock, And wha but my fine fickle lover was there? I glowr'd as I 'd seen a warlock, a warlock — I glowr'd as I 'd seen a warlock. But owre my left shouther I gae him a blink. Lest neebours might say I was saucy. My wooer he caper'd as he 'd been in drink. And vow'd I was his dear lassie, dear lassie — And vow'd I was his dear lassie ! I spier'd for my cousin fu' couthy and sweet : Gin she had recover'd her hearin ? And how her new shoon fit her auld, shachl'd feet ? But heavens ! how he fell a swearin, a swearin — But heavens ! how he fell a swearin ! VIII. He beggfed, for gudesake, I wad be his wife. Or else I wad kill him wi' sorrow ; So e'en to preserve the poor body in hfe, I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morrow — I think I maun wed him to-morrow ! MY NANIE'S AWA.— NOW ROSY MAY. 313 MY NANIE'S AWA. [Sent to Thomson, December 9, 1794. " Mrs. MacLehose was one of Biirns's Nanies or Nancies. The hnes may or may not refer to her." — Andrew Lang.] Now in her green mantle blythe Nature arrays, And listens the lambkins that bleat o'er the braes, While birds warble welcomes in ilka green shaw, But to me it 's delightless — my Nanie 's awa. The snawdrap and primrose our woodlands adorn, And violets bathe in the weet o' the morn. They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw : They mind me o' Nanie — and Nanie 's awa ! III. Thou lav'rock, that springs frae the dews of the lawn The shepherd to warn o' the grey- breaking dawn. And thou mellow mavis, that hails the night-fa'. Give over for pity — my Nanie 's awa. IV. Come Autumn, sae pensive in yellow and grey. And soothe me wi' tidings o' Nature's decay ! The dark, dreary Winter and wild- driving snaw Alane can delight me — now Nanie 's awa. NOW ROSY MAY. [" The words ' Dainty Davie ' glide so sweetly in the air, that to a Scots ear, any song to it, without Davie being the hero, would have a lame effect." (R, B. to Thomson, August, 1793.)] Chorus. Meet me on the Warlock Knowe, Dainty Davie, Dainty Davie ! There I '11 spend the day wi' you, My ain dear Dainty Davie. Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers To deck her gay, green-spreading bowers ; And now comes in the happy hours To wander wi' my Davie. The crystal waters round us fa', The merry birds are lovers a', The scented breezes round us blaw, A wandering wi my Davie. When purple morning starts the hare To steal upon her early fare. Then thro' the dews I will repair To meet my faithfii' Davie. When day, expiring in the west. The curtain draws o' Nature's rest, I flee to his arms I loe the best : And that 's my ain dear 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. 314 NOW SPRING HAS CLAD. — O, THIS IS NO MY AIN LASSIE. NOW SPRING HAS CLAD. [Inscribed to Allan Cunningham, and dated Aug. 3, 1795.] Now spring has dad the grove green, And strew'd the lea wi' flowers ; The furrow'd, waving corn is seen Rejoice in fostering showers ; While ilka thing in nature join Their sorrows to forego, O, why thus all alone are mine The weary steps o' woe ! The trout within yon wimpling burn Glides swift, a silver dart, And, safe beneath the shady thorn, Defies the angler's art : My life was ance that careless stream, That wanton trout was I, But Love wi' unrelenting beam Has scorch'd my fountains dry. The little floweret's peaceful lot, In yonder chff that grows. Which, save the linnet's flight, I wot, Nae ruder visit knows, Was mine, till Love has o'er me past. And blighted a' my bloom ; And now beneath the withering blast My youth and joy consume. IV. The waken'd lav'rock warbling springs. And climbs the early sky. Winnowing blythe his dewy wings In Morning's rosy eye : As little reck't I Sorrow's power, Until the flowery snare J' witching Love in luckless hour Made me the thrall c' care ! O, had my fate been Greenland snows Or Afric's burning zone, Wi' Man and Nature leagu'd my foes, So Peggy ne'er I 'd known ! The wretch, whose doom is ' hope nae mair,' What tongue his woes can tell, Within whose bosom, save Despair, Nae kinder spirits dwell ! O, THIS IS NO MY AIN LASSIE. ["'This is No My Ain House,' puzzles me a good deal ; in fact, I think to change the old rhythm of the first, or chorus part of the tune, will have a good effect. I would have it something like the gallop of the following." (Burns to Thomson, June, I79S0] Chorus. O, this is no ray ain lassie, Fair tho' the lassie be : Weel ken I my ain lassie — Kind love is in her e'e. 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. II. She 's bonie, blooming, straight, and , tall, And lang has had my heart in thrall ; And ay it charms my very saul. The kind love that 's in the e'e. A thief sae pawkie is my Jean, To steal a blink by a' unseen ! But gleg as light are lover's een, When kind love is in the e'e. O, WHAT YE WHA THAT LO'ES ME. — SCOTS, WHA HAE. 315 rv. It may escape the courtly sparks, It may escape the learned clerks ; But well the watching lover marks The kind love that 's in her e'e. Chorus. O, this is no my ain lassie, Fair tho' the lassie be : Weel ken I my ain lassie — Kind love is in her e'e. O, WAT YE WHA THAT LO'ES ME. [Sent to Mr. Cleghorn, in January, 1796, after an illness of the poet's.] Chorus. O, that's the lassie o' my heart, My lassie ever dearer ! O, that's the queen o' womankind. And ne'er a ane to peer her ! O, WAT ye wha that lo'es me, And has my heart a keeping? O, sweet is she that lo'es me As dews o' .summer weeping, In tears the rosebuds steeping ! 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 : — III. If thou hadst heard her talking (And thy attention 's plighted), That ilka body talking But her by thee is slighted, And thou art all-delighted : — If thou hast met this fair one. When frae her thou hast parted, If every other fair one But her thou hast deserted. And thou art broken-hearted : — Chorus. O, that 's the lassie o' my heart. My lassie ever dearer ! O, that 's the queen o' womankind, And ne'er a ane to peer her ! SCOTS, WHA HAE. [Varying accounts are given of the time and circumstances of the origin of this song. John Syme connects it with a tour with Burns in Galloway in July, 1793: "I told you that in the midst of the storm on the wilds of Kenmure, Burns was rapt in medi- tation. What do you think he was about? He was charging the English army along with Bruce at Bannockburn. He was en- gaged in the same manner on our ride from St. Mary's Isle, and I did not disturb him. Next day he produced me the following address of Bruce to his troops, and gave me a copy for Dalzell." Burns tells a dif- ferent tale. After some remarks to Thomson (Aug. or Sept., 1793) on the old air " Hey ■Tutti Taiti," and on the tradition that "it was Robert Bruce's march at the battle of Bannockburn," he introduces " Scots Wha Hae : " " This thought, in my yesternight's evening walk, roused me to a pitch of en- thusiasm on the theme of liberty and inde- pendence, which I threw into a kind of Scots ode, fitted to the air, that one might suppose to be the gallant royal Scot's ad- dress to his heroic followers on that event- ful morning." The two statements are irreconcilable ; and we must conclude either that Syme misdated the tour, and that the " yesternight " of Bilms was the night of his return to Dumfries, or that Burns did not give Syme a copy until some time after his return, and that, like some other circum- 316 THEIR GROVES O' SWEET MYRTLE. — THINE AM I. stances he was pleased to father, his "yes- ternight's evening walk " need not be literally interpreted.] Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, Scots, wham Bruce has aften led, Welcome to your gory bed Or to victorie ! Now 's the day, and now 's the hour : See the front o' battle lour, See approach proud Edward's power — Chains and slaverie ! III. Wha will be a traitor knave? Wha can fill a coward's grave? Wha sae base as be a slave? — Let him turn, and flee ! Wha for Scotland's King and Law Freedom's sword will strongly draw, Freeman stand or freeman fa', Let him follow me ! By Oppression's woes and pains, By your sons in servile chains. We will drain our dearest veins But they shall be free ! Lay the proud usurpers low ! Tyrants fall in every foe ! Liberty 's in every blow ! Let us do, or die ! THEIR GROVES O' SWEET MYRTLE. [" The Irish air, ' Humours of Glen," Is a great favorite of mine; and as, except the silly verses in ' The Poor Soldier,' there are not any decent words for it, I have written for it as follows." (Bums to Thomson, April, 1795.)] I. Their groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon, Where bright -beaming summers exalt the perfume ! Far dearer to me yon lone glen o' green breckan, Wi' the burn stealing under the lang, yellow broom ; Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers. Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk lowly, unseen ; For there, lightly tripping among the wild flowers, A-list'ning the linnet, aft wanders my Jean. Tho' rich is the breeze in their gay, sunny vallies, And cauld Caledonia's blast on the wave. Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud palace. What are they ? — The haunt of the tyrant and slave ! The slave's spicy forests and gold- b'lbbling 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. THINE AM I. [Intended as English words to "The Quaker's Wife." Burns afterwards intro- duced " Chloris" into the song.] Thine am I, my faithful Fair, Thine my lovely Nancy : THOU HAST LEFT ME EVER, JAMIE. — HIGHLAND MARY. 317 Ev'ry pulse along my veins, Ev'ry roving fancy ! To thy bosom lay my heart There to throb and languish. Tho' despair had wrung its core, That would heal its anguish. Take away those 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 the cloudless summer's sun, Nature gay adorning. THOU HAST LEFT ME EVER, JAMIE. [" I do not give these verses for any merit tliey have. I composed them at the time in which ' Patie Allan's mither de'ed ' — that was ' about the back o' midnight ' — and by the leeside of a bowl of punch, which had overset every mortal in company except the Hautbois and the Muse." (Burns to Thomson, September, 1793.)] I. THOtJ hast left rne ever, Jamie, Thou hast left me ever ! Thou hast left me ever, Jamie, Thou hast left me ever ! Aften hast thou vow'd that Death Only should us sever ; Now thou 'st left thy lass for ay — I maun see thee never, Jamie, I 'II see thee never ! Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie, Thou hast me forsaken ! Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie, Thou hast me forsaken ! Thou canst love another jo, While my heart is breaking. Soon my weary een I '11 close. Never mair to waken, Jamie, Never mair to waken ! HIGHLAND MARY. ^ [" The foregoing song pleases myself; I think it is in my happiest manner; you will see at first glance that it suits the air. The subject or tlie song is one of the most inter- esting passages of my youthful days ; and I own that I would be much flattered to see the verses set to an air which would ensure celebrity. Perhaps, after all, 't is the still glowing prejudice of my heart that throws a borrowed lustre over the merits of the composition." (Burns to Thomson., Nov, 14, 1792-)] Ye banks and braes and streams around The castle o' Montgomery, Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, Your waters never drumlie ! There Summer first unfald her robes, And there the langest tarry ! For there I took the last fareweel O' my sweet Highland Mary ! How sweetly bloom'd the gay, green birk, How rich the hawthorn's blossom, As underneath their fragrant shade I clasp'd her to my bosom ! The golden hours on angel win^s Flew o'er me and my dearie : For dear to me as light and life Was my sweet Highland Mary. Wi' monie a vow and lock'd embrace Our parting was fu' tender ; And, pledging aft to meet again. We tore oursels asunder. But O, fell Death's untimely frost, That nipt my flower sae early ! 3i8 MY CHLORIS, MARK. — FAIREST MAID ON DEVON BANKS. Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay, That wraps my Highland Mary ! IV. O, pale, pale now, those rosy lips 1 aft hae kiss'd sae fondly ; And clos'd for ay, the sparkling glance That dwalt on me sae kindly ; And mouldering now in silent dust That heart that lo'ed me dearly ! But still within my bosom's core Shall live my Highland Mary. MY CHLORIS, MARK. [" On my visit the other day to my fair Chloris (that is the poetic name of the lovely goddess of my inspiration) she suggested an idea which on my return from the visit I wrought into the following song." (Burns to Thomson, November, 1794.)] My Chloris, mark how green the groves, The primrose banks how fair ! The balmy gales awake the flowers, And wave thy flaxen hair. The lav'rock shuns the palace gay. And o'er the cottage sings : For Nature smiles as sweet, I ween, To shepherds as to kings. Let minstrels sweep the skilfu' string In lordly, lighted ha' : The shepherd stops his simple reed, Blythe in the birken shaw. IV. 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? Here wild-wood flowers I 've pu'd, to deck That spotless breast o' thine : The courtier's gems may witness love — ■ But 't is na love like mine ! FAIREST MAID ON DEVON BANKS. [Bums's last song. " I tried my hand on ' Rothiemurchie ' this morning. The meas- ure is so difficult that it is impossible to infuse much genius into the lines." (Burns to Thomson, July 12, 1796.)] Chorus. Fairest maid on Devon banks, Crystal Devon, winding Devon, Wilt thou lay that frown aside, And smile as thou wert wont to do? Full well thou know'st I love thee dear — Couldst thou to malice lend an ear! O, did not Love exclaim — ' Forbear, Nor use a faithful lover so ! ' Then come, thou fairest of the fair, Those wonted smiles, O, let me share, And by thy beauteous self I swear No love but thine my heart shall know ! Chorus. Fairest maid on Devon banks. Crystal Devon, winding Devon, Wilt thou lay that frown aside. And smile as thou wert wont to doi LONG, LONG THE NIGHT. 3"9 LASSIE Wr THE LINT-WHITE LOCKS. [The " Chloris," who did duty as Burns's Muse for some time after his break with Maria Riddell, was the daughter of William Lorimer. She was unfortunate in her married relations, and her misfortunes so touched the poet that he became exceed- ingly enamoured of her.] Chorus. Lassie wi' the lint-white locks, Bonie 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, O, wilt thou share its joys wi' me. And say thou 'It be my dearie, O ? II. The primrose bank, the wimpling burn, The cuckoo on the milk-white thorn, The wanton lambs at early morn Shall welcome thee, my dearie, O. III. And when the welcome simmer shower Has cheer'd ilk drooping little flower, We'll to the breathing woodbine- bower At sultry noon, my dearie, O. When Cynthia lights wi' silver ray The weary shearer's hameward way. Thro' yellow waving fields we '11 stray. And talk o' love, my dearie, O. And when the howling wintry blast Disturbs my lassie's midnight rest, Enclasp&d to my faithfu' breast, I '11 comfort thee, my dearie, O. Chorus. Lassie wi' the lint-white locks, Bonie lassie, artless lassie. Wilt thou wi' me tent the flocks - Wilt thou be my dearie, O ? LONG, LONG THE NIGHT. [A song on Chloris Being III. " It appears that Mrs. Burns was not jealous of Chloris. A letter of Burns's avers that she asked Chloris to dinner." — Andrew Lang.] Chorus. Long, long the night. Heavy comes the morrow, While my soul's delight Is on her bed of sorrow. Can I cease to care. Can I cease to languish, While my darling fair Is on the couch of anguish ! Ev'ry hope is fled, Ev'ry fear is terror : Slumber e'en I dread, Ev'ry dream is horror. Hear me. Powers Divine : O, in pity, hear me ! Take aught else of mine. But my Chloris spare me ! Chorus. Long, long the night. Heavy comes the morrow, While my soul's delight Is on her bed of sorrow. 320 LOGAN WATER. — YON ROSY BRIER. LOGAN WATER. [The refrain of an old ballad. Burns says : " If I have done anything like justice to my feelings, the following song, com- posed in three-quarters of an hour's lucu- brations in my elbow-chair, ought to have some merit."] I. O Logan, sweetly didst thou glide That day I was my Willie's bride, And years sia syne hae o'er us run Like Logan to the simmer sun. But now thy iiowery banks appear Like drumlie winter, dark and drear. While my dear lad maun face his faes P'ar, far frae me and Logan braes. Again the merry month of May Has made our hills and vallies gay ; The birds rejoice in leafy bowers, The bees hum round the breathing flowers ; Blythe JVIorning lifts his rosy eye. And Evening's tears are tears o' joy : My soul delightless a' surveys. While Willie's far frae Logan braes. III. Within yon milk-white hawthorn bush, Amang her nestlings sits the thrush : Her faithfu' mate will share her toU, Or wi' his song her cares beguile. But I wi' my sweet nurslings here, Nae mate to help, nae mate to cheer, Pass widow'd nights and joyless days, While Willie 's far frae Logan braes. O, wae upon you, Men o' State, That brethren rouse in deadly hate ! As ye make monie a fond heart mourn, Sae may it on your heads return ! Ye mindna 'mid your cruel joys The widow's tears, the orphan's cries j But soon may peace bring happj days, And WiUie hame to Logan braes ! YON ROSY BRIER. [Sent to Thomson in August, 1795.! O, BONIE was yon rosy brier That blooms sae far frae haunt o' man. And bonie she — and ah, how dear ! — It shaded frae the e'enin sun ! Yon rosebuds in the morning dew. How pure among the leaves sae green ! But purer was the lover's vow, They witnessed in their shade yes- treen. in. All in its rude and prickly bower. That crimson rose how sweet and fair ! But love is far a sweeter flower Amid life's thorny path o' care. The pathless wild and wimpling burrij Wi' Chloris in my arms, be mine, And I the warld nor wish nor scorn — Its joys and griefs alike resign ! WHERE ARE THE JOYS. [" ' Saw Ye My Father ? ' is one of mj greatest favorites. The evening before las' 1 wandered out, and began a tender song BEHOLD THE HOUR. — FORLORN MY LOVE. 321 in what 1 think is its native style." (Burns to Thomson, September, 1793.)] Where are the joys I hae met in the morning, That danc"d to the lark's early sang ? Where is the peace that awaited my wand'ring At e'ening the wild-woods amang ? Nae mair a-winding the course o' yon river And marlcing sweet flowerets sae fair, Nae mair I trace the light footsteps o' Pleasure, But Sorrow and sad-sighing Care. in. Is it that Summer's forsaken our vallies. And grim, surly Winter is near?. No, no, the bees humming round the gay roses Proclaim it the pride o' the year. Fain wad I hide what I fear to dis- cover, Yet lang, lang, too well hae I known : A' that has caused the wreck in my bosom Is Jenny, fair Jenny alone ! Time cannot aid me, my griefs are immortal. Not Hope dare a comfort bestow. Come then, enamor'd and fond of my anguish. Enjoyment I '11 seek in my woe ! Y BEHOLD THE HOUR. [" The following song I have composed for ' Oran Gaoil,' the Highland air that you tell me in your last you have resolved to give a place in your book. I have this moment finished the song, so you have it glowing from the mint. li it suit you, well ! if not, 't is also well! " (Burns to Thomson, September, 1793.)] Behold the hour, the boat arrive ! Thou goest, the darling of my heart ! Sever'd from thee, can I survive ? But Fate has will'd and we must part. I '11 often greet the surging swell, Yon distant isle will often hail : — ' E'en here I took the last farewell ; There, latest mark'd her vanish'd sail.' II. Along the solitary shore, While flitting sea-fowl round me cry. Across the rolling, dashing roar, I '11 westward turn my wistful eye : — ' Happy, thou Indian grove,' I '11 say, ' Where now my Nancy's path may be ! While thro' thy sweets she loves to stray, O, tell me, does she muse on me? FORLORN MY LOVE. [" How do you like the foregoing ? I have written it within this hour; so much for the speed of my Pegasus, but what sav you to his bottom f " (Burns to Thomson, May, 1795.)] Chortts. O, wert thou, love, but near me, But near, near, near me, How kindly thou would cheer me. And mingle sighs with mine, love ! 322 CA' THE YOWES. — HOW CAN MY POOR HEART. 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. Around me scowls a wintry sky, Blasting each bud of hope and joy, And shelter, shade, nor home have I Save in these arms of thine, love. III. Cold alter'd friendship's cruel part. To poison F.ortune's ruthless dart ! Let me not break thy faithful heart, And say that fate is mine, love ! But, dreary tho' the moments fleet, O, let me think we yet shall meet ! That only ray of solace sweet Can on thy Chloris shine, love! Chorus. O, wert thou, love, but near me, But near, near, near me, How kindly thou would cheer me. And mingle sighs with mine, love ! CA' THE YOWES TO THE KNOWES. SECOND SET. [The chorus from an older song. (See P- 245-)] Chorus. Ca' the yowes to the knowes, Ca' them where the heather grows, Ca' them where the burnie rowes, My bonie dearie. Hark, the mavis' e'ening sang Sounding Clouden's woods amang Then a-faulding let us gang. My bonie dearie. II. We '11 gae down by Clouden side. Thro' the hazels, spreading wide O'er the waves that sweetly glide To the moon sae clearly. Yonder Clouden's silent towers Where, at moonshine's midnight hours. O'er the dewy bending flowers Fairies dance sae cheery. rv. Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear — Thou 'rt to Love and Heav'n sae dear Nocht of ill may come thee near, My bonie dearie. Chorus. Ca' the yowes to the knowes, Ca' them where the heather grows, Ca' them where the burnie rowes, My bonie dearie. HOW CAN MY POOR HEART. [Thomson did not think this one of Bums's " happiest productions," and told him so. To which Burns replied : " Mak- ing a poem is like begetting a son; you cannot know whether you have a wise man or a fool, until you produce him to the world and try him."] How can my poor heart be glad When absent from my sailor lad? How can I the thought forego — He 's on the seas to meet the foe ? Let me wander, let me rove, Still my heart is with ray love. IS THERE FOR HONEST POVERTY. 323 Nightly dreams and thoughts by day Are with him that 's far away. On the seas and far away, On stormy seas and far away — Nightly dreams and thoughts by day, Are ay with him that 's far away. When in summer 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 ! Bullets, spare my darling boy ! Fate, do with me what you may, Spare but him that 's far away ! On the seas and far away. On stormy seas and far away — Fa'.e, do with me what you may, Spare but him that 's far away ! At the starless, midnight hour When Winter rules with boundless power, As the storms the forests tear. And thunders rend the howling air, Listening to the doubling roar Surging on the rocky shore, All I can — I weep and pray For his weal that 's far away. On the seas and far away, On stormy seas and far away, All I can — I weep and pray For his weal that 's far away. Peace, thy olive wa'nd extend And bid wild War his ravage end ; Man with brother man to meet. And as brother kindly greet! Then may Heaven with prosperous gales Fill my sailor's welcome sails. To ray arms their charge convey, My dear lad that 's far away ! On the seas and far away. On stormy seas and far away, To my arms their charge convey, My dear lad that 's far away ! IS THERE FOR HONEST POVERTY. [This famous song is very plainly an ef- fect of the writer's sympathies with the spirit and the fact of the French Revolution, and of that estra.ngement from weaUhier loyalist friends with which his expression of these sympathies had been visited.] Is there for honest poverty That hings his head, an' a' that? The coward slave, we pass him by- — We dare be poor for a' that ! For a' that, an' a' that, Our toils obscure, an' a' that. The rank is but the guinea's stamp. The man's the gowd for a' that. What though on hamely fare we dine, Wear hoddin grey, an' a' that ? Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine — A man 's a man for a' that. For a' that, an' a' that, Their tinsel show, an' a' that. The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor, Is king o' men for a' that. Ye see yon birkie ca'd ' a lord,' Wha struts, an' stares, an' a' that? Tho' hundreds worship at his word. He 's but a cuif for a' that. For a' that, an' a' that, His ribband, star, an' a' that. The man o' independent mind, He looks an' laughs at a' that. 324 MARK YONDER POMP. — O, LET ME IN THIS AE NIGHT. rv. A prince can mak a belted knight, A marquis, duke, an' a' that ! But an honest man's aboon his might — Guid faith, he mauna fa' that ! For a' that, an' a' that. Their dignities, an' a' that, The pith o' sense an' 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' earth Shall bear the gree an' a' that ! For a' that, an' a' that, . It 's comin yet for a' that. That man to man the world o'er Shall brithers be for a' that. the MARK YONDER POMP. [A " reverie " on Chloris. " Well, this is not amiss." (Burns to Thomson, May, I79S0] Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion Round the wealthy, titled bride ! But, when compar'd with real pas- sion, Poor is all that princely pride. 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 wond'ring 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 : O, then, the heart alarming And all resistless charming. In love's delightful fetters she claims the willing soul ! Ambition would disown The world's imperial crown ! Ev'n Avarice would deny His worshipp'd deity. And feel thro' every vein love's rap- tures roll ! O, LET ME IN THIS AE NIGHT. [Founded on old ballads. Burns made four trials before he produced this song, which he sent to Thomson in February, I79S-] Chorus. O, let me in this ae night, This ae, ae, ae night ! O, let me in this ae night, And rise, and let me in .' O LASSIE, are ye sleepin yet. Or are ye waukin, I wad wit ? For Love has bound me hand fit, And I would fain be in, jo. II. an' the winter wind thro' the driving Thou hear'st weet: Nae star blinks sleet! Tak pity on my weary feet. And shield me frae the rain, jo, O PHILLY, HAPPY BE THAT DAY. 32s III. The bitter blast that round me blaws, Unheeded howls, unheeded fa's : The cauldness o' thy heart 's the cause Of a' my care and pine, jo. Chorus. O, let me in this ae night, This ae, ae, ae night ! O, let me in this ae night, And rise and let me in ! Her Answer. Chorus. I tell you now this ae night. This ae, ae, ae night. And ance for a' this ae night, I winna let ye in, jo. O, TELL me na o' wind an' rain, Upbraid na me wi' cauld disdain, Gae back the gate ye cam again, I winna let ye in, jo ! The snellest blast at mirkest hours, That round the pathless wand'rer pours Is nocht to what poor she endures. That 's trusted faithless man, jo. The sweetest flower that deck'd the mead. Now trodden like the vilest weed — Let simple maid the lesson read ! The weird may be her ain, jo. rv. The bird that charm'd his summer day. And now the cruel fowler's prey, Let that to witless woman say : — ' The gratefu' heart of man,' jo. Chorus. I tell you now this ae night, This ae, ae, ae night. And ance for a' this ae night, I winna let ye in, jo. PHILLY, HAPPY BE THAT DAY. [Burns began this song in September, 1794. He finished it in November, " though a keen blowing frost," in his walk before breakfast. The portion written in Septem- ber consisted of stanzas IV. and v.] Chorus. He and She. For a' the joys that gowd can gie, 1 dinna care a single flie ! The ^{^"^[llove'sthejj^dlfor \ lass \ I lass \ me. And that 's my ain dear \ ^^^'. \ He. O Philly, happy be that day When, roving thro' the gather'd hay. My youthfu' heart was stown away. And by thy charms, my Philly ! She. O Willy, ay I bless the grove Where first I own'd my maiden love. Whilst thou did pledge the Powers above To be my ain dear Willy. He. As songsters of the early year Are ilka day mair sweet to hear, So ilka day to me mair dear And charming is my Philly. 326 O, WERE MY LOVE. — SLEEFST THOU. She. As on the brier the budding rose Still richer breathes, and fairer blows, So in my tender bosom grows The love I bear my Willy. He. The milder sun and bluer sky. That crown my harvest cares wi' joy> Were ne'er sae welcome to my eye As is a sight o' Philly. She. The little swallow's wanton wing, Tho' wafting o'er the flowery spring. Did ne'er to me sic tidings bring As meeting o' my Willy. IV. He. The bee, that thro' the sunny hour Sips nectar in the op'ning flower, Compar'd wi' my delight is poor Upon the lips o' Philly. She. The woodbine in the dewy weet, When ev'ning shades in silence meet. Is nocht sae fragrant or sae sweet As is a kiss o' Willy. He. Let Fortune's wheel at random rin. And fools may tyne, and knaves may win ! My thoughts are a' bound up on ane. And that 's my ain dear Philly. She. What 's a' the joys that gowd can gie? I dinna care a single flie ! The lad I love 's the lad for me. And that 's my ain dear Willy. Chorus. He and She. For a' the joys that gowd can gie, I dinna care a single flie ! Theji^^Jllove'sthelJ^d^fo;^^ And that 's my ain dear \ ^-^.u' \ O, WERE MY LOVE. [Adapted by Burns from an old song, and sent to Thomson, June, 1793.] O, WERE my love yon lilac fair Wi' purple blossoms to the spring, And I a bird to shelter there, When wearied on my little wing. How 1 wad mourn when it was torn By Autumn wild and Winter rude ! But I wad sing on wanton wing. When youthfu' May its bloom renew'd. O, gin my love were yon red rose, That grows upon the castle wa', And I mysel a drap o' dew Into her bonie breast to fa', O, there, beyond expression blest, I 'd feast on beauty a' the night, Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest, Till fley'd awa by Phoebus' light ! SLEEP'ST THOU. [Burns sent a copy to Thomson, Oct. 19, 1794, and a revised copy on Oct. 27.] Sleep'st thou, or wauk'st thou, fairest creature ? Rosy Morn now lifts his eye. Numbering ilka bud, which Nature Waters wi' the tears o' joy. THERE WAS A LASS. 327 Now to the streaming fountain Or up the heathy mountain The hart, hind, and roe, freely, wildly- wanton stray ; In twining hazel bowers His lay the linnet pours ; The laverock to the sky Ascends wi' sangs o' joy. While the sun and thou arise to bless the day ! Phcebus, gilding the brow of morning, Banishes ilk darksome shade. Nature gladdening and adorning: Such to me my lovely maid ! When frae my Chloris parted. Sad, cheerless, broken-hearted. The night's gloomy shades, cloudy, dark, o'ercast my sky ; But when she charms my sight In pride of Beauty's light, When thro' my very heart Her beaming glories dart, 'Tis then — 'tis then I wake to life and joy ! VARIATION On the preceding poem, as given in the Chambers Edition. Now to the streaming fountain, Or up the heathy mountain The hart, hind, and roe, freely, wildly- wanton stray. In twining hazel bowers His lay the linnet pours ; The lavrock, to the sky Ascends wi' sangs o' joy, Whife the sun and thou arise to bless the day. When frae my Chloris parted. Sad, cheerless, broken-hearted. The night's gloomy shades, cloudy, dark, o'ercast my sky : But when she charms my sight, In pride of Beauty's light ; When thro' my very heart Her beaming glories dart ; 'Tis then — 'tis then I wake to life and joy ! THERE WAS A LASS. [The heroine was Jean M'Murdo, daughter of Burns's friend, John M'Murdo. The finished ballad'was sent to Thomson, July, 1793.] I. There was a lass, and she was fair ! At kirk and market to be seen When a' our fairest maids were met, The fairest maid was bonie Jean. And ay she wrought her country wark, And ay she sang sae merrilie : The blythest bird upon the bush Had ne'er a lighter heart than she ! But hawks will rob the tender joys. That bless the little lintwhite's nest. And frost will Might the fairest flowers, And love will break the soundest rest. Young Robie was the brawest lad. The fiower 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 danc'd wi' Jeanie on the down, And, lang ere witless Jeanie wist. Her heart was tint, her peace was stown ! 328 THE LEA-RIG. — MY WIFE'S A WINSOME WEE THING. VI. As in the bosom of the stream The moon-beam dwells at dewy e'en, So, trembling pure, was tender love Within the breast of bonie Jean. (/And now she works her country's wark, And ay she sighs wi' care and pain, Vet wist na what her ail might be. Or what wad make her weel again. VIII. 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? IX. While monie a bird sang sweet o' love, And monie a flower blooms o'er the dale, His cheek to hers he aft did lay, And whisper'd thus his tender tale: — ' O Jeanie fair, I lo'e thee dear. O, canst thou think to fancy me ? Or wilt thou leave thy mammie's cot. And learn to tent the farms wi' me? At barn or byre thou shalt na drudge. Or naething else to trouble thee, But stray amang the heather-bells. And tent the waving corn wi' me.' Now what could artless Jeanie do? She had nae will to say him na! At length she blush'd a sweet consent, And love was ay between them twa. THE LEA-RIG. [Suggested by an older song. Fergus, son also wrote a song to this refrain.] When o'er the hill the eastern star Tells bughtin time is near, my jo. And owsen frae the furrow'd field Return sae dowf and weary, O, Down by the burn, where scented birks Wi' dew are hangin clear, my jo, I '11 meet thee on the lea-rig, My ain kind dearie, O. At midnight hour in mirkest glen I 'd rove, and ne'er be eerie, O, If thro' that glen I gaed to thee, My ain kind dearie, O ! Altho' the night were ne'er sae wild, And I were ne'er sae weary, O, I '11 meet thee on the lea-rig, My ain kind dearie, O. III. The hunter lo'es the morning sun To rouse the mountain deer, myjo; At noon the fisher takes the glen Adown the burn to steer, my jo : Gie me the hour o' gloamin grey — It maks my heart sae cheery, O, To meet thee on the lea-rig. My ain kind dearie, O ! MY WIFE'S A WINSOME WEE THING. [" The following I made extempore; and though, on further study, I might give you something more profound, yet it might not suit the light-horse gallop of the air so well as this random clink." (Burns to Thom- son, Nov. 8, 1792.JJ MARY MORISON. — A RUINED FARMER. 329 Chorus. She is a winsome wee thing, She is a handsome wee tiling, She is a lo'esome wee thing, This sweet wee wife 0' mine ! I NEVER saw a fairer, I never lo'ed a dearer, And neist my heart I '11 wear her, For fear my jewel tine. The warld's wrack, we share o 't ; The warstle and the care o 't, Wi' her I '11 blythely bear it, And think my lot divine. Chorus. She is a winsome wee thing. She is a handsome wee thing. She is a lo'esome wee thing. This sweet wee wife o' mine. MARY MORISON. fThis little masterpiece of feeling and ex- pression was sent to Thomson, March 20, 1793. Burns says of it: "The song pre- fixed is one of my juvenile works. I do not think it very remarkable either for its merits or demerits." Thomson suppressed it for twenty-five years. The heroine was probably Elison Bcgbie.] I. O Mary, at thy window be ! It is the wish'd, the trysted hour. Those smiles and glances let me see. That make the miser's treasure poor. How blythely wad I bide the stoure, A weary slave frae sun to sun, Could I the rich reward secure — The lovely Mary Morison ! Yestreen, when to the trembling string Thedance gaed thro' the lighted ha'. To thee my fancy took its wing, I sat, but neither heard or saw : The' 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 ! ' O 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 gie, At least be pity to me shown : A thought ungentle canna be The thought o' Mary Morison. MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. A RUINED FARMER. [Probably written during the crisis of William Burness's difficulties at Mount Oliphant. " The farm proved a ruinous bargain; and, to clench the curse, we fell into the hands of a factor, who sat for the picture I have drawn of one in my ' Tale of Two Dogs."' (R. B.)] I. The sun he is sunk in the west, All creatures retired to rest, While here I sit, all sore beset With sorrow, grief, and woe : And it 's O fickle Fortune, O ! The prosperous man is asleep. Nor hears how the whirlwinds sweep \ But Misery and I must watch The surly tempests blow : And it 's O fickle Fortune, O ! 330 MONTGOMERIE'S PEGGY.— THE LASS OF CESSNOCK BANKS. Ill, There lies the dear Partner of my breast, Her cares for a moment at rest ! Must I see thee, my youthful pride, Thus brought so very low ? — And it 's O fickle Fortune, O ! There lie my sweet babies in her arms ; No anx;ious fear their little hearts alarms ; But for their sake my heart does ache, With many a bitter throe : And it 's O fickle Fortune, O ! I once was by Fortune carest, I once could relieve the distrest ; Now life's poor support, hardly earn'd, My fate will scarce bestow : And it 's O fickle Fortune, O ! No comfort, no comfort I have ! How welcome to me were the grave ! But then my wife and children dear — O, whither would they go ! And it 's O fickle Fortune, O ! O, whither, O, whither shall I turn, All friendless, forsaken, forlorn? For in this world Rest or Peace I never more shall know : And it 's O fickle Fortune, O ! MONTGOMERIE'S PEGGY. [Peggy was a housekeeper at Coilsfield House in Bums's Tarbolton period.] Altho' my bed were in yon muir, Amang the heather, in my plaidie. Yet happy, happy would I be. Had I my dear Montgomerie'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 Montgomerie's Peggy. Were I a Baron proud and high. And horse and servants waiting ready. Then a' 't wad gie o' joy to me — The sharin't with Montgomerie's Peggy. THE LASS OF CESSNOCK BANKS. [The heroine is supposed to have been Elison Begbie, tlie daughter of a farmer in the parish of Galston, fo whom Burns made what was probably his first offer of mar- riage.] On Cessnock banks a lassie dwells. Could I describe her shape and mien ! Our lassies a' she far excels — An' she has twa sparkling, rogueish een ! II. She's sweeter than the morning dawn. When rising Phoebus first is seen. And dew-drops twinkle o'er the lawn — An' she has twa sparkling, rogueish een ! III. She's stately like yon youthful ash. That grows the cowslip braes be- tween. THE LASS OF CESSNOCK BANKS. 33» And drinks the stream with vigour fresh — An' she has twa sparkling, rogueish een ! IV. She's spotless like the flow'ring thorn With flow'rs so white and leaves so green, When purest in the dewy morn — An' she has twa sparkling, rogueish een! Her looks are like the vernal May, When ev'ning Phcebus shines serene, While birds rejoice on every spray — An' she has twa sparkling, rogue- ish een ! VI. Her hair is like the curling mist. That climbs the mountain-sides at e'en, When flow'r-reviving rains are past — An' she has twa sparkling, rogueish Her forehead 's like the show'ry bow. When gleaming sunbeams inter- vene. And gild the distant mountain's brow — An' she has twa sparkling, rogueish Her cheeks are like yon crimson gem, The pride of all the flowery scene, Just opening on its thorny stem — An' she has twa sparkling, rogueish IX. Her teeth are like the nightly snow, When pale the morning rises keen, While hid the murm'ring streamlets flow — An' she has twa sparkling, rogueish een! X. Her lips are like yon cherries ripe. That sunny walls from Boreas screen : They tempt the taste and charm the sight — An' she has twa sparkling, rogueish een ! XI. Her teeth are like a flock of sheep With fleeces newly washen clean, That slowly mount the rising steep — An' she has twa sparkling, rogueish een ! Her breath is like the fragrant breeze, That gently stirs the blossom'd bean, When Phoebus sinks behind the seas — An' she has twa sparkling, rogueish een ! XIII. Her voice is like the ev'ning thrush. That sings on Cessnock banks unseen. While his mate sits nestling in the bush — An' she has twa sparkling, rogueish een ! XIV. But it's not her air, her form, her face, Tho' matching Beauty's fabled Queen : 'Tis the mind that shines in ev'ry grace — An' chiefly in her rogueish een ! 332 THO' FICKLE FORTUNE. — MY FATHER WAS A FARMER. THO' FICKLE FORTUNE. [This piece "was an extempore under the pressure of a heavy train of misfortunes, which, indeed, threatened to undo me altogether." (R. B.)] Tho' fickle Fortune has deceived me (She promis'd fair, and perform'd but ill), Of mistress, friends, and wealth be- reaved me, Yet I bear a heart shall support me still. I '11 act with prudence as far as I 'm able; But if success 1 must never find. Then come, Misfortune, I bid thee welcome — I '11 meet thee with an undaunted mind ! RAGING FORTUNE. [Composed about the same time as " Tho' Fickle Fortune."] O, RAGING Fortune's withering blast Has laid my leaf full low ! O, raging Fortune's withering blast Has laid my leaf full low ! My stem was fair, my bud was green, My blossom sweet did blow ; The dew fell fresh, the sun rose mild, And made my branches grow. III. But luckless Fortune's northern storms Laid a' my blossoms low 1 But luckless Fortune's northern storms Laid a' my blossoms low ! MY FATHER WAS A FARMER. [" The following song is a wild rhapsody, miserably deficient in versification, but as the sentiments are the genuine feelings of my heart, for that reason I have a particular pleasure in conning it over." (R. B.) In- scribed in the " First Common Place Book," April, 1784.] My father was a farmer upon the Carrick border, O, And carefully he bred me in decency and order, O. He bade me act a manly part, though I had ne'er a farthing, O, For without an honest, manly heart no man was worth regarding, O. Then out into the world my course I did determine, O : Tho' to be rich was not my wish, yet to be great was charming, O. My talents they were not the worst, nor yet my education, O — Resolv'd was I at least to try to mend my situation, O. III. In many a way and vain essay I courted Fortune's favour, O : Some cause unseen still stept between to frustrate each endeavour, O. Sometimes by foes I was o'erpower'd, sometimes by friends forsaken, O, And when my hope was at the top, I still was worst mistaken, O. IV. Then sore harass'd and tir'd at last with Fortune's vain delusion, O, I dropt my schemes like idle dreams, and came to this conclusion, O : — O, LEAVE NOVELS. 333 The past was bad, and the future hid ; its good or ill untried, O, But the present hour was in my pow'r, and so I would enjoy it, O. No help, nor hope, nor view had I, nor person to befriend me, O ; So 1 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 : For one, he said, to labour bred was a match for Fortune fairly, O. VI. Thus all obscure, unknown, and poor, thro' life I 'm doom'd to wander, O, Till down my weary bones I lay in everlasting slumber, O. No view nor care, but shun whate'er might breed me pain or sorrow, O, I live to-day as well 's I may, regard- less of to-morrow, O ! But, cheerful still, I am as well as a monarch in a palace, O, Tho' Fortune's frown still hunts me down, with all her wonted malice, O : I make indeed my daily bread, but ne'er can make it farther, O, But, as daily bread is all I need, I do not much regard her, O. When sometimes by my labour I earn a little money, O, Some unforeseen misfortune comes gen'rally upon me, O : Mischance, mistake, or by neglect, or my good-natur'd folly, O — But, come what will, I 've sworn it still, I '11 ne'er be melancholy, O. All you who follow wealth and power with unremitting ardour, O, The more in this you look for bliss, you leave your view the farther, O. Had you the wealth Pctosi boasts, or nations to adore you, O, A cheerful, honest-hearted clown I will prefer before you, O ! O, LEAVE NOVELS. [Burns never published this poem. He was " Rob Mossgiel " from 1784 to 1786.] O, LEAVE novels, ye Mauchline belles — Ye 're safer at your spinning-wheel ! Such witching books are baited hooks For rakish rooks like Rob Mossgiel. Your fine Tom Jones and Grandisons They make your youthful fancies reel ! They heat your brains, and fire your veins. And then you 're prey for Rob Mossgiel. III. Beware a tongue that's smoothly hung, A heart that warmly seems to feel ! That feeling heart but acts a part — 'T is rakish art in Rob Mossgiel. IV. The frank address, the soft caress Are worse than poisoned darts ol steel : The frank address and politesse Are all finesse in Rob Mossgiel. 334 THE MAUCHLINE LADY.— THERE WAS A LAD. THE MAUCHLINE LADY. [" Possibly the Mauchline belle of this snatch is Jean Armour, afterwards the poet's wife."] When first I came to Stewart Kyle, My mind it was na steady : Where'er I gaed, where'er 1 rade, A mistress still I had ay. II. But when I came roun' by Mauchline toun, Not dreadin anybody, My heart was caught, before I thought, And by a Mauchline lady. ONE NIGHT AS I DID WAN- DER. [" A fragment, probably of May, 1785." — ANDREW Lang.] One night as I did wander, When corn begins to shoot, I sat me down to ponder Upon an auld tree-root : Auld Ayr ran by before me. And bicker'd to the seas ; A cushat crooded o'er me, That echoed through the trees. THERE WAS A LAD. [Not published by Burns. The tune is an old one.] Chorus. Robin was a rovin boy, Rantin, rovin, rantin, rovin, Robin was a rovin boy, Rantin, rovin Robin ! 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. II. Our monarch's hindmost year but ane Was five-and-twenty days begun, 'T was then a blast o' Janwar' win' Blew hansel in on Robin. III. The gossip keekit in his loof. Quo' scho : — ' Wha lives will see the proof. This waly boy will be nae coof : I think we '11 ca' him Robin. ' He '11 hae misfortunes great an' sma'. But ay 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 cliap will dearly like our kin'. So leeze me on thee, Robin ! ' Guid faith,' quo' scho, ' I doubt you, stir. Ye gar the lasses lie aspar ; But twenty fauts ye may hae waur— So blessins on thee, Robin ! ' Chorus. Robin was a rovin boy, Rantin, rovin, rantin, rovin, Robin was a rovin boy, Rantin, rovin Robin 1 WILL YE GO TO THE INDIES.— THE LASS O' BALLOCHMYLE. 335 WILL YE GO TO THE INDIES, MY MARY. [" In my very early years, when I was thinking of going to the West Indies, I toolc the following farewell of a dear girl." (Burns to Thomson, October, 1792.) Prob- ably refers to Highland Mary.j Will ye go to the Indies,, my Mary, And leave auld Scotia's shore? Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, Across th' Atlantic roar? n. O, sweet grows the lime and the orange, And the apple on the pine ; But a' the charms o' the Indies Can never equal thine. I hae sworn by the Heavens to my Mary, I hae sworn by the Heavens to be true. And sae may the Heavens forget me, When I forget my vow ! O, plight me your faith, my Mary, And plight me your lily-white hand ! O, 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 curst be the cause that shall part us ! The hour and the moment o' time ! HER FLOWING LOCKS. [" If Miss Whitefoord is the heroine, she may well have admired the audacity of the singer." — ANDREW Lang.] Her flowing locks, the raven's wing, Adown her neck and bosom hing. How sweet unto that breast to cling. And round that neck entwine her ! II. Her lips are roses wat wi' dew — O, what a feast, her bonie mou ! Her cheeks a mair celestial hue, A crimson still diviner !. THE LASS O' BALLOCHMYLE. [" Sent to Miss Wilhelmina Alexander of Ballochmyle, who did not reply, though, when old, she was proud of the triblite. *You will easily see," wrote Burns to Mrs. Stewart of Stair, ' the impropriety of expos- ing the song much, even in manuscript.' " — Andrew Lang.] '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 ev'ry glen the mavis sang, All 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 rejoic'd in Nature's joy. When, musing in a lonely glade, A maiden fair I chanc'd to spy. 336 THE NIGHT WAS STILL. — MASONIC SONG. Her look was like the Morning's eye, Her air like Nature's vernal smile. Perfection whisper'd, passing by : — ' Behold the lass o' Ballochmyle ! ' Fair is the morn in flowery May, And sweet is night in autumn mild, When roving thro' the garden gay, Or wand'ring in the lonely wild ; But woman. Nature's darling child — There all her charms she does com- pile ! Even there her other works are foil'd By the bonie lass o' Ballochmyle. IV. O, had she been a country maid, And I the happy country swain, Tho' shelter'd in the lowest shed That ever rose on Scotia's plain, Thro' weary winter's wind and rain With joy, with rapture, I would toil, And nightly to my bosom strain The bonie lass o' Ballochmyle ! Then Pride might climb the slipp'ry steep, Where fame and honours lofty shine, And thirst of gold might tempt the deep. Or downward seek the Indian mine ! Give me the cot below the pine, To tend the flocks or till the soil, And ev'ry day have joys divine With the bonie lass o' Ballochmyle. THE NIGHT WAS STILL. [The manuscript was given to one of the daughters of Dr. Laurie of Newmilns ; and commemorates a dance — when Burns for the first time heard the spinet — in the manse of Newmilns, on the banl^s of Irvine.] The night was still, and o'er the hill The moon shone on the castle wa', The mavis sang, while dew-drops hang Around her on the castle wa' ^ Sae merrily they danc'd the ring Frae eenin' till the cock did craw, And ay the o'erword o' the spring Was : — ' Irvine's bairns are bonie a'." MASONIC SONG. [Said to have been recited by Burns at his admission as an honorary member of the Kilwinning St. John's Lodge, Kilmar- nock, Oct. 26, 1786.J Ye sons of old KiUie, assembled by Willie To follow the noble vocation, Your thrifty old mother has scarce such another To sit in that honored station ! I 've little to say, but only to pray (As praying's the ton of your fashion) . A prayer from the Muse you well may excuse ('Tis seldom her favourite pas- sion) : — II. ' Ye Powers who preside o'er the wind and the tide. Who marked each element's border, Who formed this frame with benefi- cent aim. Whose sovereign statute is order, Within this dear mansion may way ward Contention THE BONIE MOOR-HEN. — HERE'S A BOTTLE. 337 Or withered Envy ne'er enter ! May Secrecy round be the mystical bound, And brotherly Love be the cen- tre!' THE BONIE MOOR-HEN. [An adaptation from an old song. A fevorite ditty of the old ballads.] Chorus. I rede you, beware at the hunting, young men ! I rede you, beware at the hunting, young men Take some on the wing, and some as they spring, But cannily steal on a bonie moor- hen. The heather was blooming, the mead- ows were mawn. Our lads gaed a-hunting ae day at the dawn. O'er moors and o'er mosses and monie a glen : At length they discovered a bonie 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 O, as she wanton'd sae gay on the wing, III. Auld Phoebus himsel', as he peep'd o'er the hill, In spite at her plumage he tryfed his skill : He level'd his rays where she bask'd on the brae — His rays were outshone, and but mark'd where she lay ! rv. 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. Chorus. I rede you, beware at the hunting, young men ! I rede you, beware at the hunting, young men ! Take some on the wing, and some as they spring. But cannily steal on a bonie moor- hen. HERE'S A BOTTLE. [Gilbert Bums expressed his doubts of Robert's authorship of this trifle.] There 's none that's blest of human kind But the cheerful and the gay, man. Here 's a bottle and an honest man ! What wad ye wish for mair, man .' Wha kens, before his life may end. What his share may be o' care, man ? Then catch the moments as they fly, And use them as ye ought, man ! Believe me. Happiness is shy. And comes not ay when sought man 338 THE BONIE LASS. — THE CHEVALIER'S LAMENT, THE BONIE LASS OF ALBANIE. I^Charlotte Stuart, daughter of Charles Edward, the " Young Pretender," by Clem- entina Walkinsiiaw. She was legitimized by the " Parlement of Paris," December 6, 1787, when she took the style of Duchess of Albany. She died soon after her father.] My heart is wae, and unco wae, To think upon the raging sea, That roars between her gardens green An' the bonie lass of Albanie. This noble maid 's of royal blood, That rulfed Albion's kingdoms three ; But O, alas for her bonie face ! They hae wranged the lass of Al- banie. In the rolling tide of spreading Clyde There sits an isle of high degree, And a town of fame, whose princely name Should grace the lass of Albanie. rv. But there is a youth, a witless youth. That fills the place where she should be. We '11 send him o'er to his native shore, And bring our ain sweet Albanie ! V. Alas the day, and woe the day ! A false usurper wan the gree, Who now commands the towers and lands, The royal right of Albanie. We'll daily pray, we '/I nightly pray. On bended knees most fervently. That the time may come, with pipe and drum We '11 welcome hame fair Albanie. AMANG THE TREES. [Written in honor of Niel Gow (1727- 1807), the famous fiddler, whom Bums met during his Northern tour in 1787.] Amang the trees, where humming bees At buds and flowers were hinging, O, Auld Caledon drew out her drone, And to her pipe was singing, O. 'Twas Pibroch, Sang, Strathspeys and Reels — She dirl'd them afFfu' clearly, O, When there cam' a yell o' foreign squeels, That dang her tapsalteerie, O ! II. Their capon craws an' queer 'ha, ha's,' They made our lugs grow eerie, O. The hungry bike did scrape and fyke, Till we were wae and weary, O. But a royal ghaist, wha ance was cas'd A prisoner aughteen year awa. He fir'd a Fiddler in the North, That dang them tapsalteerie, O ! THE CHEVALIER'S LAMENT. ["The Chevalier was dead (March, 1788) when the song was written. Prince Charles is accused by d'Alembert, in his Mloge on the Earl Marischal, of indifference YESTREEN I HAD A PINT O' WnSTE. 339 to the fate of his supporters." - Lang.] -Andrew The small birds rejoice in the green leaves returning, The murmuring streamlet winds clear thro' the vale, The primroses blow in the dews of the morning, And wild scatter'd cowslips bedeck the green dale : But what can give pleasure, or what can seem fair. When the lingering moments are numbered by care ? No flow'rs gaily springing, Nor birds sweetly singing Can soothe the sad bosom of joyless despair ! II. The deed that I dar'd, could it merit their malice, A king and a father to place on his throne ? His right are these hills, and his right are those valleys. Where the wild beasts find shelter, tho' I can find none ! But 'tis not my sufF'rings thus wretched, forlorn — My brave gallant friends, 'tis your ruin I mourn ! Your faith prov'd so loyal In hot bloody trial, Alas ! can I make it no better return? YESTREEN I HAD A PINT O' WINE. [The Anna of the song was Anne Park, niece of Mrs. Hyslop of the Globe Tavern, Dumfries. She bore a daughter to Burns, March 31, 1791, which was first sent to Mossgiel, and afterwards fostered by Mrs. Burns along with her baby, William Nicol, bom ten days after it.] Yestreen I had a pint o' wine, A place where body saw na ; Yestreen lay on this breast o' mine The gowden locks of Anna. The hungry Jew in wilderness Rejoicing o'er his manna Was naething to my hiney bliss Upon the lips of Anna. Ye monarchs take the East and West Frae Indus to Savannah : Gie me within my straining grasp The melting form of Anna ! IV. There I '11 despise Imperial charms, An Empress or Sultana, While dying raptures in her arms I give and take wi' Anna ! Awa, thou flaunting God of Day ! Awa, thou pale Diana ! Ilk Star, gae hide thy twinkling lay. When I 'm to meet my Anna ! Come, in thy raven plumage, Night (Sun, Moon, and Stars, withdrawn And bring an Angel-pen to write My transports with my Anna ! Postscript. I. The Kirk an' State may join, and telJ To do sic things I maunna: The Kirk an' State may gae to Hell, And I '11 gae to my Anna. 34° SWEET ARE THE BANKS.— YE FLOWERY BANKS. She is the sunshine o' my e'e, To live but her I canna : Had I on earth but wishes three, The first should be my Anna. SWEET ARE THE BANKS. [First published in this form by Scott Douglas. Bums writes to Cunningham from Ellisland, March ii, 1791 : " I have this evening sketched out a song which I have a good mind to send you. ... It is intended to be sung to a Strathspey reel of which I am very fond, called ' Ballindalloch's Reel ' and ' Camdelmore." " — ANDREW LANG.] Sweet are the banks, the banks o' Doon, The spreading flowers are fair. And everything is blythe and glad. But I am fu' o' care. Thou '11 break my heart, thou bonie bird. That sings upon the bough ! Thou minds me o' the happy days When my fause Luve was true. Thou '11 break my heart, thou bonie bird. That sings beside thy mate, For sae 1 sat, and sae I sang, And wist na o' my fate ! Aft hae I rov'd by bonie Doon, To see the woodbine twine. And ilka bird sang o' its luve. And sae did I o' mine. Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose Upon its thorny tree. But my fause luver staw my rose. And left the thorn wi' me. Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose Upon a morn in June, And sae I flourish'd on the motn, And sae was pu'd or noon. YE FLOWERY BANKS. [" While here I sit, sad and solitary, by the side of a fire in a little country inn, and drying my wet clothes, in pops a poor fellow of a sodger, and tells me he is going to Ayr. By Heavens ! says I to myself, with a tide of good spirits which the magic of that sound ' Auld Toon of A yr ' conjured up, I will send my last song to Mr. Ballantine." (R. B.)] I. Ye flowery banks o' bonie Doon, How can ye blume sae fair? How can ye chant, ye little birds, And I sae fu' o' care? n. Thou 'II break my heart, thou bonie bird, That sings upon the bough : Thou minds me o' the happy days When my fause Luve was true ! ni. Thou 'U break my heart, thou bonie bird. That sings beside thy mate : For sae I sat, and sae I sang. And wist na o' my fete ! IV. Aft hae I rov'd by bonie Doon To see the woodbine twine. And ilka bird sang o' its luve, And sae did I o' mine. Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose F'rae aff its thorny tree. And my fause luver staw my rose, But left the thorn wi' me. CALEDONIA. 34« They darken'd the air, and they CALEDONIA. plunder'd the land. Their pounces were murder, and fSent to Johnson Jan. 23, 1789; but Johnson did not publish the song.] horror their cry ; They'd conquer'd and ravag'd a world beside. I. She took to her hills, and her arrows There was on a time, but old Time let fly — was then young, The daring invaders, they fled of That brave Caledonia, the chief of they died ! her line, From some of your northern deities IV. sprung The Cameleon-Savage disturb'd her (Who knows not that brave Cale- repose. donia 's divine). With tumult, disquiet, rebellion. From Tweed to the Orcades was her and strife. domain. Provoked beyond bearing, at last she To hunt, or to pasture, or do what arose. she would. And robbed him at once of his Her heav'nly relations there fixfed her hopes and his life. reign. The Anglian Lion, the terror of And pledged her their godheads to France, warrant it good. Oft, prowling, ensanguin'd the Tweed's silver flood. II. But, taught by the bright Caledonian lance. He learned to fear in his own native A lambkin in peace but a lion in war. The pride of her kindred the hero- wood. ine grew. Her grandsire, old Odin, triumphantly V. swore : — The fell Harpy-Raven took wing from ' Whoe'er shall provoke thee, th' en- the north. counter shall rue ! ' The scourge of the seas, and the With tillage or pastui-e at times she dread of the shore ; would sport. The wild Scandinavian Boar issued To feed her fair flocks by her green forth rustling corn ; To wanton in carnage and wallow But chiefly the woods were her fav'rite in gore; resort, O'er countries and kmgdoms their Her darling amusement the hounds fury prevail'd, and the hom. No arts could appease them, no arms could repel ; But brave Caledonia in vain they in. assail'd. Long quiet she reign'd, till thither- As Largs well can witness, and ward steers Loncartie tell. A flight of bold eagles from Adria's strand. VI. Repeated, successive, for many long Thus bold, independent, unconquer'd, years, and free, 342 YOU'RE WELCOME, WILLIE STEWART. — WHEN FIRST I SAW. Her bright course of glory for ever shall run, For brave Caledonia immortal must be, I '11 prove it from Euclid as clear as the sun : — Rectangle-triangle, the figure we '11 chuse ; The upright is Chance, and old Time is the base, But brave Caledonia's the hypothe- nuse; Then, ergo, she'll match them, and match them always ! YOU'RE WELCOME, WILLIE STEWART. [Originally inscribed on a crystal tumbler, now at Abbotsford. The song is modelled on the same Jacobitism as"0 Lovely Polly Stewart."] Chorus. You 're welcome, Willie Stewart ! You 're welcome, Willie Stewart ! There 's ne'er a flower that blooms in May, That 's half sae welcome 's thou art ! Come, bumpers high ! express your joy! The bowl we maun renew it — The tappet hen, gae bring her ben, To welcome Willie Stewart ! May foes be strong, and friends be slack ! Ilk action, may he rue it ! May woman on him turn her back, That wrangs thee, Willie Stewart ! Chorus. You 're welcome, Willie Stewart ! You're welcome, Willie Stewart ! There 's ne'er a flower that blooms in May, That 's half sae welcome 's thou art \ WHEN FIRST I SAW. [Chambers states that the heroine of it was a Miss Jean Jeffrey, whom Bums cele- brated in " The Blue-eyed Lassie."] Chorus. She 's aye, aye sae blithe, sae gay. She 's aye sae blithe and cheerie, She 's aye sae bonie, blithe and gay, O, gin I were her dearie ! When first I saw fair Jeanie's face, I couldna tell what ail'd me : My heart went fluttering pit-a-pat, My een they almost fail'd me. She 's aye sae neat, sae trim, sae tight, All grace does round her hover ! Ae look depriv'd me o' my heart, And I became her lover. Had I Dundas's whole estate. Or Hopetoun's wealth to shine in , Did warlike laurels crown my brow, Or humbler bays entwining ; I 'd lay them a' at Jeanie's feet. Could I but hope to move her. And, prouder than a belted knight, I 'd be my Jeanie's lover. III. But sair I fear some happier swain, Has gain'd my Jeanie's favour. If sc, may every bliss be hers, Though I maun never have her ! But gang she east, or gang she west, 'Twixt Forth and Tweed all over, While men have eyes, or ears, or taste, She '11 always find a lover. HERE'S A HEALTH TO THEM THAT'S AWA. 343 Chorus. She 's aye, aye sae blithe, sae gay, She 's aye sae blithe and cheerie, She 's aye sae bonie, blithe and gay, O, gin I were her dearie ! BEHOLD THE HOUR. FIRST SET. [Sent to Clarinda, Deo. 27, 1791.] Behold the hour, the boat, arrive ! IVIy dearest Nancy, O, farewell ! Sever'd frae thee, can I survive, Frae thee whom I hae lov'd sae well ? Endless and deep shall be my grief, Nae ray of comfort shall I see, But this most precious, dear belief, That thou wilt still remember me. Along the solitary shore. Where flitting sea-fowl round me cry, Across the rolling, dashing roar, I '11 westward turn my wistful eye. ' Happy thou Indian grove,' I '11 say, ' Where now my Nancy's path shall be! While thro' your sweets she holds her way, O, tell me, does she muse on me?' HERE'S A HEALTH TO THEM THAT'S AWA. [Founded on an old Jacobite song.] Here 's a health to them that 's awa, Here 's a health to them that 's awa ! And wha winna wish guid luck to our cause. May never guid luck be their fa'! It's guid to be merry and wise. It 's guid to be honest and true, It 's guid to support Caledonia's cause And bide by the buiF and the blue. II. 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, . Altho' that his band be sma' ! May Liberty meet wi' success, May Prudence protect her frae evil ! May tyrants and Tyranny tine i' the mist And wander their way to the Devil ! III. Here 's a health to them that 's awa. Here 's a health to them that 's awa ! Here 's a health to Tammie, the Nor- lan' laddie. That lives at the lug o' the Law ! Here 's freedom to them that wad read, Here's freedom to them that would write ! There 's nane ever fear'd that the truth should be heard But they whom the truth would indite ! Here 's a health to them that 's awa, An' here 's to them that 's awa ! Here 's to Maitland and Wycombe ! Let wha does na like 'em Be built in a hole in the wa' ! Here's timmer that's red at the heart, 344 AH, CHLORIS. — MEG O' THE MTLL. Here's fruii that is sound at the core, And may he that wad turn the buflf and blue coat Be turn'd to the back o' the door ! ' 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, Tho' bred amang mountains o' snaw ! Here 's friends on baith sides o' the Firth, And friends on baith sides o' the Tweed, And wha wad betray old Albion's right, May they never eat of her bread ! AH, CHLORIS. ["Esteem for Miss Lorimer may have been a genuine sentiment." — ANDREW Lang.] Ah, Chloris, since it may not be That thou of love wilt hear, If from the lover thou maun flee, Yet let the friend be dear ! Altho' I love my Chloris mair Than ever to.igue could tell, My passion I will ne'er declare — I 'li say, I wish thee well. III. Tho' a' my daily care thou art. And a' my nightly dream, I '11 hide the struggle in my heart, And say it is esteem. PRETTY PEG. [A fragment by Bums. Authorship oi the whole not certain.] As I gaed up by yon ^te-end. When day was waxm weary, Wha did I meet come down the street But pretty Peg, my dearie? Her air so sweet, her shape complete,, Wi' nae proportion wanting — The Queen of Love could never move Wi' motion mair enchanting ! With link&d hands we took the sands Down by yon winding river ; And O ! that hour, and shady bow'r, Can I forget it? Never! MEG O' THE MILL. SECOND SET. [" Much of a peculiar sort of the old Scotch humor which inspired ' The Hag- gis in Dunbar ' and similar rude lyrics." — ANDREW Lang.] O, KEN ye what Meg o' the mill has gotten ? An' Ken ye what Meg o' the mill has gotten? She 's gotten a coof wi' a claute o siller. And broken the heart o' the barley miller ! The miller was strappin, the millei was ruddy, A heart like a lord, and a hue like a lady. O SAW YE MY DEAR, MY PHILLY. 34; The laird was a widdifu', bleerit knurl — She 's left the guid fellow, and taen the chvirl ! m. The miller, he hecht her a heart leal and loving. The laird did address her wi' matter more moving : A fine pacing-horse wi' a clear, chained bridle, A whip by her side, and a bonie side saddle I O, wae on the siller — it is sae pre- vailing ! And wae on the love that is fixed on a mailen ! A tocher 's nae word in a true lover's pari, But gie me my love and a fig for the warl 1 PHILLIS THE FAIR. [Sent to Thomson, August, 1793. The heroine is Miss Phillis M'Murdo.] While larks with little wing Fann'd the pure air, Viewing the breathing Spring, Forth I did fare. Gay, the sun's golden eye Peep'd o'er the mountains high ; ' Such thy bloom,' did I cry — ' PhUlis the fair ! ' In each bird's careless song, Glad, I did share ; While yon wild flowers among, Chance led me there. Sweet to the opening day, Rosebuds bent the dewy spray ; ' Such thy bloom,' did I say — 'Phillis the fak!' III. 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 ! O SAW YE MY DEAR, MY PHILLY. [Sent to Thomson, Oct 19, 1794. A degradation of " My Eppie Macnab."] O, SAW ye my Dear, my Philly ? O, saw ye my Dear, my Philly ? She 's down i' the grove, she 's wi' a new love. She winna come hame to her Willy. What says she, my Dear, my Philly? What says she, my Dear, my Philly ? She lets thee to wit she has thee for- got, And for ever disowns thee, her Willy. III. O, had I ne'er seen thee, my Philly ! O, had I ne'er seen thee, my Philly ! As light as the air, and fause as thou 's fair. Thou 's broken the heart o' thj Willy. 346 O, WERT THOU IN THE CAULD BLAST. 'TWAS NA HER BONIE BLUE E'E. [Sent to Thomson, April, 1795, but not published by him.] T WAS na her bonie blue e'e was my ruin : Fair tho' she be, that was ne'er my undoin. 'T was the dear smile when naebody did mind us, 'Twas the bewitching, sweet, stoun glance o' kindness ! II. Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me, Sair do I fear that despair maun abide me; But tho' fell Fortune should fate us to sever. Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever. III. Chloris, I 'm thine wi' a passion sin- cerest, And thou hast plighted me love o' the dearest, And thou'rt the angel that never can alter — Sooner the sun in his motion would falter ! WHY, WHY TELL THY LOVER. [Written for the tune "Caledonian Hunt's Delight." Bums writes to Thomson, July 3, 1795 : " Such is the d — d peculiarity of the rhythm of this air that I find it im- possible to make another stanza to suit it.] Why, why tell thy lover Bliss he never must enjoy? Why, why undeceive him And give all his hopes the lie? O, why, while Fancy, raptur'd, slum- bers, ' Chloris, Chloris,' all the theme. Why, why wouldst thou, cruel. Wake thy lover from his dream ? THE PRIMROSE. [Altered from an old English song, " Ask Me Why I Send You Here." Sent to Thomson, 1793.] I. Dost ask me, why I send thee here The firstling of the infant year : This lovely native of the vale, That hangs so pensive and so pale? Look on its bending stalk, so weak, That, each way yielding, doth not break, And see how aptly it reveals The doubts and fears a lover feels. III. Look on its leaves of yellow hue Bepearl'd thus with morning dew. And these will whisper in thine ears : — 'The sweets of loves are wash'd with tears.' O, WERT THOU IN THE CAULD BLAST. [Written during his last illness, in honor of Miss Jessie Lewars.] O, 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. YOUR FRIENDSHIP. — LET LOOVE SPARKLE. 347 Or did Misfortune's bitter storms Around thee blaw, around thee blaw, Thy bield should be my bosom, To share it a', to share it a'. II. 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 of the globe, Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign. The brightest jewel in my crown Wad be my queen, wad be my queen. INTERPOLATIONS. YOUR FRIENDSHIP. [Included in a poem of Clarinda's, Not of Love."] Talk Your friendship much can make me blest — O, why that bliss destroy? Why urge the only, one request You know I will deny? II. Your thought, if Love must harbour there, Conceal it in that thought, Nor cause me from my bosom tear The very friend I sought. FOR THEE IS LAUGHING NATURE. [Written to complete a song by Clarinda, an additional quatrain being necessary to fill the tune.] For thee is laughing Nature gay, For thee she pours the vernal day : For me in vain is Nature drest, While Joy 's a stranger to my breast. NO COLD APPROACH. [Inserted in the song, "The Tears I Shed," by Miss Cranstoun, to com^plete the last octave, and so fit it for the tune.] No cold approach, no alter'd mien, Just what would make suspicion start, No pause the dire extremes between : He made me blest — and broke my heart. ALTHO' HE HAS LEFT ME. [Inserted by Burns in a song from Herd's Collection, " As I Was a Walking."] Altho' he has left me for greed o' the siller, I dinna envy him the gains he can win : I rather wad bear a' the lade o' my sorrow Than ever Iiae acted sae faithless to him. LET LOOVE SPARKLE. [Inserted by Burns in " Jocky Fou and Jenny Fain," to complete an octave,] Ithers seek they ken na what, Features, carriage, and a' that ; Gie me love in her I court, Lofe to love maks a' the sport. 348 AS DOWN THE BURN. — ELEGY ON STELLA. Let loove sparkle in her e'e, Let her lo'e nae man but me : That 's the tocher guid I prize, There the luver's treasure lies. AS DOWN THE BURN. [Sent to Thomson in September, 1793, i a substitute for the final stanza of Robert Crawford's song, " Down the Bum, Davie."] As down the burn they took their way, And thro' the flowery dale ; His cheek to hers he aft did lay, And love was ay the tale, With^ — 'Mary, when shall we return, Sic pleasure to renew ? ' Quoth Mary — ' Love, I like the burn, / And ay shall follow you.' ' IMPROBABLES. [The authorship of these verses, credited to Bur^is by many of his editors, is not authenth Gated, and the quality of most of them is not worthy of his genius.] ON ROUGH ROADS. [According to Scott Douglas, " It is very familiarly quoted in Ayrshire, as a stray im- promptu of Burns's."] II. and I 'm now arriv'd — thanks to the Gods! — Through pathways rough muddy : A certain sign that makin' roads Is no this people's study. Yet, though I 'ra no wi^. scripture cramm'd, I 'm sure the Bible says That heedless sinners shall be damn'd, Unless they mend their ways. ELEGY ON STELLA. ["Conceivably the piece may have been inspired by a memory of Highland Mary. The authorship is dubious. The present editor is inclined to regard the piece as Burns's own." — ANDREW LANG.] Strait is the spot and green the sod, From whence my sorrows flow ; And soundly sleeps the ever dear Inhabitant below. Pardon my transport, gentle shade> While o'er the turf I bow ! Thy earthly house is circumscrib'd. And solitary now ! in. Not one poor stone to tell thy name Or make thy virtues known ! But what avails to thee — to me — The sculpture of a stone ? I '11 sit me down upon this turf, And wipe away this tear. The chill blast passes swiftly by, And flits around thy bier. Dark is the dwelling of the dead, And sad their house of rest : Low lies the head by Death's cold arm In awfiil fold embraced. VI. I saw the grim Avenger stand Incessant by thy side ; Unseen by thee, his deadly breath Thy lingering frame destroy'd. ELEGY ON STELLA. 349 vil. Pale grew the roses on thy cheek, And wither'd was thy bloom, Till the slow poison brought thy youth Untimely to the tomb. viir. Thus wasted are the ranks of men - Youth, health, and beauty fall ! The ruthless ruin spreads around, And overwhelms us all. IX. Behold where, round thy narrow house, The graves unnumber'd lie ! The multitude that sleep below, Existed but to die. X. Some with the tottering steps of Age Trod down the darksome way ; And some in Youth's lamented prime, Like thee, were torn away. Yet these, however hard their fete, Their native earth receives : Amid their weeping friends they died, And fill their fathers' graves. xn. From thy lov'd friends, when first thy heart. Was taught by Heaven to glow, Far, far remov'd, the ruthless stroke Surpris'd, and laid thee low. XIII. At the last limits of our Isle, Wash'd by the western wave, Touch'd by thy fate, a thoughtful Bard Sits lonely on thy grave ! XIV. Pensive he eyes, before him spread. The deep, outstretch'd and vast. His mourning notes are borne awaji Along the rapid blast. And while, amid the silent dead. Thy hapless fate he mourns, His own long sorrows freshly bleeds And all his grief returns. XVI. Like thee, cut oflFin early youth And flower of beauty's pride, His friend, his first and only joy. His much-lov'd Stella died. XVII. Him, too, the stern impulse of Fate Resistless bears along, And the same rapid tide shall whelm The Poet and the Song. XVIII. The tear of pity, which he shed. He asks not to receive : Let but his poor remains be laid Obscurely in the grave ! XIX. His grief-worn heart with tniest joy Shall meet the welcome shock ; His airy harp shall lie unstrung And silent on the rock. XX. O my dear maid, my Stella, when Shall this sick period close. And lead the solitary Bard To his belov'd repose? 35° POEM ON PASTORAL POETRY. POEM ON PASTORAL POETRY. [Currie (1800), from a Ms. in Burns's hand; hut Gilbert Bums strongly douhted its authenticity, and internal evidence shows that it may have been written by some con- temporary of Allan Ramsay.] Hail, Poesie ! thou Nymph reserv'd ! In chase o' thee, what crowds hae swerv'd Frae common sense, or sunk enerv'd 'Mang heaps o' clavers ! And och ! o'er aft thy joes hae starv'd 'Mia a' thy favours ! Say, Lassie, why thy train amang. While loud the trump's heroic clang, And sock or buskin skelp alang To death or marriage, Scarce ane has tried the shepherd- sang But wi' miscarriage ? In Homer's craft Jock Milton thrives ; Eschylus' pen Will Shakespeare drives ; Wee Pope, the knurlin, till him rives Horatian fame ; In thy sweet sang, Barbauld, survives Even Sappho's flame ! But thee, Theocritus, wha matches ? They're no herd's ballats, Maro's catches ! Squire Pope but busks his skinklin patches O' heathen tatters ! I pass by hunders, nameless wretches, That ape their betters. In this braw age o' wit and lear. Will nane the Shepherd's whistle mair Blaw sweetly in its native air And rural grace, And wi' the far-fam'd Grecian share A rival place ? VI. Yes ! there is ane — a Scottish callan ! There 's ane ! Come forrit, honest Allan ! Thou need na jouk behint the hallan, A chiel sae clever ! The teeth o' Time may gnaw Tan- tallan, But thou 's for ever. VII. Thou paints auld Nature to the nines In thy sweet Caledonian lines ! Nae gowden stream thro' myrtles twines. Where Philomel, While nightly breezes sweep the vines. Her giiefs wUl tell : VIII. In gowany glens thy burnie strays. Where bonie 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. IX. Thy rural loves are Nature's sel' : Nae bombast spates o' nonsensa swell, Nae snap conceits, but that sweet spell C witchin love. That charm that can the strongest quell, The sternest move. THE JOYFUL WIDOWER. 35' ON THE DESTRUCTION OF DRUMLANRIG WOODS. [First published in the Scots Magazine for July, 1803, where it is stated that the verses liad been found "written on the window-shutter of a small inn on the banks o( the Nith," and that they were " supposed to have been written by Burns."] As on the banks of winding Nith Ae smiling simmer morn I stray'd, And trac'd its bonie holms and haitghs, Where Unties sang, and lammies play'd, I sat me down upon a craig, And drank my fill o' fancy's dream, When from the eddying deep below Up rose the Genius of the Stream. Dark like the frowning rock his brow, And troubled like his wintry wave, And deep as sughs the boding wind Amang his caves the sigh he gave. 'And come ye here, my son,' he cried, ' To wander in my birken shade ? To muse some favourite Scottish theme, Or sing some favourite Scottish maid? III. ' There was a time, it 's nae lang syne. Ye might hae seen me in my pride. When a' my banks sae bravely saw Their woody pictures in my tide ; When hanging beech and spreading elm Shaded my stream sae clear and cool; And stately oaks their twisted arms Threw broad and dark across the pool ; 'When, glinting thro' the trees, ap- pear'd The wee white cot aboon the mill. And peaceful rose its ingle reek, That, slowly curiing, clamb the hik But now the cot is bare and cauld. Its leafy bield for ever gane, And scarce a stinted birk is left To shiver in the blast its lane.' ' Alas ! ' quoth I, ' what ruefu' chance Has twin'd ye o' your stately trees ? Has laid your rocky bosom bare ? Has stripp'd the deeding aff your braes ? Was it the bitter eastern blast. That scatters blight in early spring ? Or was't the wil'fire scorch'd their boughs ? Or canker-worm wi' secret sting ? ' 'Nae eastlin blast,' the Sprite re- plied — ' It blaws nahere sae fierce and fell. And on my dry and halesome banks Nae canker-worms get leave to dwell : Man ! cruel man ! ' the Genius sigh'd, As through the cliffs he sank him down: 'The worm that gnaw'd my bonie trees. That reptile wears a Ducal crown.' THE JOYFUL WIDOWER. [This performance (No. 98 in Johnson, 1787) is attributed to Burns, but he never acknowledged it. There are many black- letter ballads — most of them unsavory enough — on scolding wives.] I MARRIED with a scolding wife The fourteenth of November : 352 THE TREE OF LIBERTY. She made me weary of my life By one unruly member. Long did 1 bear the heavy yolce, And many griefs attended, But to my comfort be it spoke, Now, now her life is ended ! We liv'd full one-and-twenty years A man and wife together. At length from me her course she 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 would come at her ! III. Her body is bestowed well — A handsome grave does hide her. But sure her soul is not in Hell — The Deil would ne'er abide her ! I rather think she is aloft And imitating thunder. For why?; — Methinks I hear her voice Tearing the clouds asunder I WHY SHOULD WE IDLY WASTE OUR PRIME. [Attributed by Cunningham to Bums.] Why should we idly waste our prime Repeating our oppressions ? Come rouse to arms ! 'Tis now the time To punish past transgressions. 'Tis said that Kings can do no wrong — Their murderous deeds deny it. And, since from us their power is sprung, We have a right to try it. Now each true patriot's song shall be: — ' Welcome Death or Libertie ! ' Proud Priests and Bishops we '11 trans- late And canonize as Martyrs ; The guillotine on Peers shall wait ; And Knights shall hang in garters. Those Despots long have trode us down, And Judges are their engines : Such wretched minions of a Crown Demand the people's vengeance ! To-day 't is theirs. To-morrow we Shall don the Cap of Libertie ! III. The Golden Age we '11 then revive : Each man will be a brother ; In harmony we all shall live. And share the earth together, In Virtue train'd, enlighten'd Youth Will love each fellow-creature ; And future years shall prove the truth That Man is good by nature : Then let us toast with three times three The reign of Peace and Libertie \ THE TREE OF LIBERTY. [Chambers credits these verses to Burns on the authority of a Ms. then in the posses- sion of Mr. James Duncan, Morefieid, Glas- gow. The Ms. has not been heard of since 1838.] Heard ye o' the Tree o' France, And wat ye what's the name o't? Around it a' the patriots dance — Weel Europe kens the fame o 't ! It stands where ance the Bastile stood — A prison built by kings, man, THE TREE OF LIBERTY. 35? When Superstition's hellish brood Kept France in leading-strings, Upo' this tree there grows sic fruit, Its virtues a' can teil, man : It raises man aboon the brute, It mak's him ken himsei', man ! Gif ance the peasant taste a bit, He's greater than a lord, man. And wi' the beggar shares a mite O' a' he can afford, man. This fruit is worth a' Afric's wealth : To comfort us 't was sent, man, To gie the sweetest blush o' health, And mak' us a' content, man ! It clears the een, it cheers the heart, Mak's high and low guid friends, man. And he wha acts the traitor's part. It to perdition sends, -man. My blessings ay attend the chiel, Wha pitied Gallia's slaves, man. And staw a branch, spite o' the Deil, Frae 'yont.the western waves, man ! Fair Virtue water'd it wi' care. And now she sees wi' pride, man. How weel it buds and blossoms there. Its branches spreading wide, man. But vicious folk ay 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 watchman crack'd his crown, Cut aff his head and a', man, 2A A wicked crew syne, on a time, Did tak' a solemn aith, man. It ne'er should flourish to its prime — I wat they pledg'd their faith, man ! Awa they gaed wi' mock parade. Like beagles hunting game, man. But soon grew weary o' the trade, And wish'd they 'd been at hame, man. VII. Fair Freedom, standing by the tree, Her sons did loudly ca', man. She sang a sang o' Liberty, Which pleas'd them ane and a', man. By her inspir'd, 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 hei joke, And o'er her neighbours shine, man ! But seek the forest round and round. And soon 't will be agreed, man. That sic a tree can not be found 'Twixt London and the Tweed, man. Without this tree alake this life Is but a vale o' woe, man, A scene o' sorrow mix'd wi' strife, Nae real joys we know, man ; We labour soon, we labour late, To feed the titled knave, man, And a' the comfort we 're to get, Is that ayont the grave, man. 354 TO A KISS. — TO THE OWL. Wi' plenty o' sic trees, I trow, The warld would live in peace, man. The sword would help to mak' a plough, The din o' war wad cease, man. Like brethren in a common cause. We 'd on each other smile, man ; And equal rights and equal laws Wad gladden every isle, man. Wae worth the loon wha wadna eat Sic halesome, dainty cheer, man ! I 'd gie the shoon frae afF my feet. To taste the fruit o 't here, man ! Syne let us pray, Auld England may Sure plant this far-famed tree, man ; And blythe we '11 sing, and herald the day That gives us liberty, man. TO A KISS. [Published in a Liverpool paper called the " Kateidoscope," and there attributed to Burns. It originally appeared in " The Oracle," Jan. 29, 1796. The authorship is practically unknown.] Humid seal of soft affections, Tend'rest pledge of future bliss, Dearest tie of young connections. Love's first snow-drop, virgin kiss ! Speaking silence, dumb confession, Passion's birth and infant's play, Dove-like fondness, chaste confession, Glowing dawn of brighter day ! Sorrowing joy, adieu's last action, Ling'ring lips — no more must join ! Words can never speak affection, Thrillingand sincere as thine ! DELIA. ["The lines, if authentic, are obviously a parody." — Andrew Lang.] 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 dehghtful still Steal thine accents on mine ear. The flower-enamoured busy bee The rosy banquet loves to sip ; Sweet the streamlet's limpid lapse To the sun-brown'd Arab's lip : But, Delia, on thy balmy lips Let me, no vagrant insect, rove ! O, let me steal one liquid kiss ! For O ! my soul is parch'd with love ! TO THE OWL. [Found among Burns's Ms., in his own handwriting, with occasional interlineations, such as occur in all his primitive effusions, but attributed by him to John M'Creddie, of whom nothing is known.] Sad bird of night, what sorrow calls thee forth. To vent thy plaints thus in the midnight hour? THE VOWELS. 3SS Is it some blast that gathers in the north, Threat'ning to nip the verdure of thy bow'r ? Is it, sad owl, that Autumn strips the shade, And leaves thee here, unshelter'd and forlorn ? Or fear that Winter will thy nest in- vade? Or friendless Melancholy bids thee mourn? Shut out, lone bird, from all the feather'd train, To tell thy sorrows to th' unheed- ing gloom, No friend to pity when then dost complain, Grief all thy thought, and solitude thy home, rv. Sing on, sad mourner ! I will bless thy strain, And pleas'd in sorrow listen to thy song. Sing on, sad mourner ! To the night complain. While the lone echo wafts thy notes along. Is Beauty less, when down the glow- ing 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? VI. Ah no, sad owl ! nor is thy voice less sweet, That Sadness tunes it, and that Grief is there ? That Spring's gay notes, unskill'd, thou can't 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 even- ing spray. When darkness calls thee from thy reverie ! From some old tower, thy melancholy dome. While the gray walls and desert solitudes Return each note, responsive to the gloom Of ivied coverts and surrounding woods : IX. There hooting, I will list more pleased to thee, Than ever lover to the nightingale, Or drooping wretch, oppress'd with misery. Lending his ear to some condoling tale! THE VOWELS. A TALE. [Found among the poet's papers.] 'T WAS where the birch and sounding thong are ply'd, The noisy domicile of pedant pride ; Where Ignorance her darkening va- pour throws. And Cruelty directs the thickening blows ! 356 ON THE ILLNESS OF A FAVOURITE CHILD. Upon a time, Sir ABC the great, In all his pedagogic powers elate. His awful chair of state resolves to mount, And call the trembling Vowels to account. First enter'd A. a grave, broad, solemn wight. But, ah ! deform'd, dishonest to the sight ! His twisted head look'd backward on his way, And flagrant from the scourge he grunted, ait Reluctant, E stalk'd in ; a piteous case. The justling tears ran down his hon- est face ! That name, that well-worn name, and all his own. Pale, he surrenders at the tyrant's throne ! The Pedant stifles keen the Roman sound Not all his mongrel diphthongs can compound ; And next the title following close behind. He to the nameless, ghastly wretch assign'd. The cobwebb'd gothic dome re- sounded, Y ! In sullen vengeance, I disdain'd reply : The Pedant swung his felon cudgel round. And knock'd the groaning vowel to the ground ! In rueful apprehension enter'd O, The wailing minstrel of despairing woe : Th' Inquisitor of Spain the most ex- pert. Might there have learnt new mysteries of his art. So grim, deform'd, with horrors en- tering, U His dearest friend and brother scarcely knew ! As trembling U stood staring all aghast. The Pedant in his left hand clutch'd him fast. In helpless infants' tears he dipp'd his right, Baptiz'd him eu, and kick'd him from his sight. ON THE ILLNESS OF A FAVOURITE CHILD. [" It is hard to believe that Bums, thouo[h his taste in English was none of the finest, could ever transcribe such immitigable rub- bish." — Centenary Edition^ Now health forsakes that angel face. Nae mair my dearie smiles. Pale sickness withers ilka grace, And a' my hopes beguiles. The cruel Powers reject the prayer I hourly mak' for thee : Ye Heavens ! how great is my despair ! How can I see him die ! ON THE DEATH OF A FA- VOURITE CHILD. [Burns's daughter, Elizabeth Riddel!, died in the autumn of 1795. But this fact can scarce be regarded as proof of the authenticity of the verses.] O, SWEET be thy sleep in the land of the grave. My dear little angel, for ever ! For ever ? — O no ! let not man be a slave. His hopes from existence to sever ! A TIPPLING BALLAD. 357 Though cold be the clay, where thou pillow'st thy head In the dark, silent mansions of sor- row, The spring shall return to thy low, narrow bed. Like the beam of the day-star to- morrow. III. The flower-stem shall bloom like thy sweet seraph form Ere the spoiler had nipt thee in blossom. When thou shrank frae the scowl of the loud winter storm, And nestled thee close to that bosom. O, still I behold thee, all lovely in death. Reclined on the lap of thy mother, When the tear-trickle bright, when the short stifled breath Told how dear ye were ay to each other. My child, thou art gone to the home of thy rest, Where suffering no longer can harm thee : Where the songs of the Good, where the hymns of the Blest Through an endless existence shall charm thee ! VI. While he, thy fond parent, must sigh- ing 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 mor- row. POEMS OF DOUBTFUL AUTHENTICITY. The following poems are not considered sufficiently authenticated — or perhaps for other reasons — to be included in the " Centenary Edition." They are printed either in the Wallace-Chambers edition or in the edition of Andrew Lang, or in both, as well as in some of the earlier editions. The notes prefixed to each poem will sufficiently explain the occasion of their production. A TIPPLING BALLAD. ON THE DUKE OF BRUNSWICK'S BREAKING UP HIS CAMP, AND THE DEFEAT OF THE AUSTRIANS, BY DUMOURIER, NOVEMBER, 1 792. [" The title explains the occasion : Burns's political sentiments supply the rest." — AN- DREW Lang. Parts of this ballad are printed in the Chambers and Globe Edi- lions.} When Princes and Prelates, And hot-headed zealots, A' Europe had set in a low, a low. The poor man lies down, Nor envies a crown, And comforts himself as he dow, as he dow. And comforts himself as he dow. The black-headed eagle. As keen as a beagle. He hunted o'er height and o'er howe, In the braes o' Gemappe, He fell in a trap. E'en let him come out as he dow, dow, dow. E'en let him come out as he dow. 358 THE WREN'S NEST. — WHEN PLEASURE FASCINATES. But truce with commotions, And new-fangled notions, A bumper, I trust you '11 allow ; Here 's George our good king, And Charlotte his queen. And lang may they ring as they dow, dow, dow. And lang may they ring as they dow. THE WREN'S NEST. [" Burns communicated to Johnson, for the fifth volume of the ' IVfuseum,' the following fragment of a nursery ballad on the loves of Robin and the Wren, taken from Jean Armour's singing. It appears to be part of another fragment on same subject, preserved by David Herd." — William Scoit Douglas.] The Robin to the Wren's nest Cam keekin in, cam keekin in ; O weel 's me on your auld pow. Wad ye be in, wad ye be in ? Thou 's ne'er get leave to lie without, And I within, and I within. As lang.'s I hae an auld clout To rowe ye in, to rowe ye in. MY GIRL SHE'S AIRY. ["The date is 1784 ; the girl may be any- body. The remaining lines of this piece have never been printed in full." — ANDREW Lang. Printed also in Chambers.] My girl she 's airy, she 's buxom and gay; Her breath is as sweet as the blossoms in May ; A touch of her lips it ravishes quite : She 's always good natur'd, good humor'd, and free ; She dances, she glances, she smiles upon me ; I never am happy when out of her sight. THE PLOUGHMAN'S LIFE. [" Possibly this is a scrap from tradition, which Buins may have written down, with no idea of claiming it for his own." — An- drew Lang. Printed also in Chambers.] As I was a-wand'ring ae morning in spring, I heard a young ploughman sae sweetly to sing ; And as he was singin', thir words he did say, — There 's nae life like the ploughman's in the month o' sweet May. The lav' rock in the morning she'll rise frae her nest. And mount i' the air wi' the dew on her breast. And wi' the merry ploughman she '11 whistle and sing. And at night she '11 return to her nest back again. • SOUND BE HIS SLEEP. [Said to have been found on a window in the Cross Keys Inn at Falkirk, where Burns had spent the night. Printed in the Chambers Edition.] Sound be his sleep and blithe his morn That never did a lassie wrang ; Who poverty ne'er held in scorn — For misery ever tholed a pang. WHEN PLEASURE FASCI- NATES. [In a letter to Mrs. Dunlop, Jan. 31, 1796. Printed in the Chambers Edition.] When pleasure fascinates the mental sight, Affliction purifies the visual ray, DEAR SIR, OJR LU'CKY HUMBLY BEGS. 359 Religion hails the drear, the untried, night, And shuts, for ever shuts ! life's doubtful day. ON THOMAS KIRKPATRICK, LATE BLACKSMITH IN STOOP. [Printed in the Chambers Edition.] Here lies, 'mang ither useless matters, Auld Thomas wi' his endless clatters. SICK OF THE WORLD. [Enclosed in a letter to Clarinda, Jan. 21, 1788. Printed in the Chambers Edition.] Sick of the world and all its joy. My soul in pining sadness mourns ; Dark scenes of woe my mind employ, The past and present in their turns. THE PHILOSOPHER'S STONE. [" This anonymous quatrain appeared in the ' Dumfries Weekly Journal ' of July 7, 1795. Circumstantial and internal evidence are proof that it is from the pen oi Burns." — Chambers Edition^ Long have the learned sought, with- out success, To find what you alone, O Pitt, possess ! Thou only hast the magic power to draw A guinea from a heaiU not worth a straw. NOW, GOD IN HEAVEN. [Enclosed in a letter to M. ryfife, Sur- geon, Edinburgh. Printed in the Cham- bers Edition.] Now, God in heaven bless Reekie's town With plenty, joy, and peace ! And may her wealth and fair renown To latest Amen. times encrease ! ! ! — LEEZIE LINDSAY. [Printed in the Chambers Edition.] Will ye go to the Hielands, Leezie Lindsay ? Will ye go to the Hielands wi' me ? Will ye go to the Hielands, Leezie Lindsay, My pride and my darling to be? IT MAY — DO — MAUN — DO. [Enclosed in a letter to John Arnot, of Dalquhatswood, Esq., April, 1786. Printed in the Chambers Edition.] It may — do — maun — do, Sir, wi' them wha Maun please the great folk for a wame-fou ; For me, sae laigh I need na bow, For, Lord be thankit ! I can plough : And when I downa yoke a naig, Then, Lord be thankit ! I can beg. — ■ DEAR SIR, OUR LUCKY HUMBLY BEGS. [Enclosed in a letter to Mr. Alexander Findlater, June 17, 1791. Printed in the Chambers Edition.] Dear Sir, Our Lucky humbly begs Ye 'U prie her caller, new-laid eggs : Lord grant the cock may keep her legs Aboon the chuckles ; * * * « * Nae curs&d, clerical excise On honest Nature's laws and ties : Free as the vernal breeze that flies At early day, 26o COME FILL ME A BUMPER. We 'd tasted Nature's richest joys But stint or stay. But as this subject 's something Icittle, Our wisest way's to say but little, Yet, while my Muse is at her mettle, I am, most fervent, Or may I die upon a whittle ! Your friend and servant, Robert Burns. I LOOK TO THE WEST. [Enclosed in a note to Alexander Cun- ningham, March 12, 1791. Printed in the Chambers Edition.] I LOOK to the west when I gae to rest, That happy my dreams and my slumbers may be ; For far in the west lives he I lo'e best — The lad that is dear to my babie and me ! AH, CHLORIS ! [The two following stanzas were enclosed in a letter to Mr. Alexander Findlater, Sep- tember, 1794. Printed in the Chambers Edition.] " Ah, Chloris, could I now but sit As unconcerned as when Your infant beauty could beget Nor happiness nor pain." KIST YESTREEN, KIST YES- TREEN. " KiST yestreen, kist yestreen, O as I was kist yestreen, I '11 ne'er forget while the hoUin grows green. The bonie sweet lassie I kist yestreen." COME FILL ME A BUMPER. [Adapted by Burns. Printed in the Chambers Edition.] Come fill me a bumper, my jolly, brave boys, Let's have no more female impert'- nence and noise ; I 've tried the endearments and witch- craft of love. And found them but nonsense and whimsies, by Jove. Chorus. Truce with your love ! no more of your love ; The bottle henceforth is my mistress^ by Jove. EXTEMPORE LINES. [In answer to a card from an intimatfc friend of Burns, wishing him to spend an hour at a tavern.] The king's poor blackguard slave am I, And scarce dow spare a minute ; But I '11 be with you by and bye, Or else the devil 's in it ! THANKSGIVING FOR A NA- TIONAL VICTORY. [" Adapted from lines ' on the Thanks- giving Day for Perth and Preston, 17th June, 1716' (Maidment's' Scottish Pasquils,' 1868). The victory Bums celebrated was doubtless Howe's, off Ushant, 1st June, 1794." — Chambers, revised by William Wallace.] Ye hypocrites, are these your pranks ? To murder men and give God thanks r Desist, for shame ! Proceed no further : God won't accept your thanks for murther. THE HERMIT OF ABERFELDY. 361 POEMS REJECTED BY LATEST EDITORS OF BURNS. The following poems have been printed in nearly all the earlier editions of Burns, and many of them are reprinted in late editions, as being undoubtedly the poet's productions. Other editors have been more critical, and have rejected them as being either spurious, or not verified. But as the readers of Burns nave been so long accustomed to see them in the pages of their favorite poet, it has been considered best to print them, with this expla- nation. The volumes in which they have appeared are the Kilmarnock (William Scott Douglas) , the edition edited by Alexander Smith, Oxford (edited by Logie Robertson, M.A.), the London edition of Bliss, Sands, & Co., and the Albion edition, published by F. Warne & Co. THE HERMIT OF ABERFELDY. FIRST COLLECTED IN HOGG AND MOTHERWELL'S EDITION, 1834-35. ["Very few readers of Burns can be persuaded that these verses were composed by him. They were furnished to Mother- well by Peter Buchan of Peterhead. The poet reached Aberfeldy towards evening, on 30th August, 1787, stayed half an hour, and was back to Dunkeld for supper. He described the Falls in undying song, as all the world knows; but when were these heavy hnes composed ? The term, ' desert drear,' used in the opening verse, shows that this Hermit belonged to some other quarter than Aberfeldy, where all is as ' light- some' as the poet's song." — WILLIAM ScoTT Douglas.] Whoe'er thou art, these lines now reading, Think not, though from the world receding, I joy my lonely days to lead in This desert drear — That fell remorse, a conscience bleed- ing Hath led me here ! No thought of guilt my bosom sours ; Free-will'd I fled-from courtly bowers ; For well I saw in halls and towers That lust and pride — The arch-fiend's dearest, darkest powers. In state preside. I saw mankind with vice incrusted ; I saw that honor's sword was rusted, — That few for aught but folly lusted, — That he was stUl deceived who trusted To love or friend ; And hither came, with men disgusted, My life to end. In this lone cave, in garments lowly, Alike a foe to noisy wily. And brow-bent, gloomy melancholy, I wear away My life, and in my office holy Consume the day. This rock my shield when storms are blowing, The limpid streamlet yonder flowing Supplying drink, the earth bestowing My simple food ; But few enjoy the calm I know in This desert wood. 362 TO CLARINDA.— THE RUINED MAID'S LAMENT. Content and comfort bless me more in This grot, than e'er I felt before in A palace — and with thoughts still soaring To God on high, Each night and morn with voice im- ploring, This wish I sigh : ' Let me, O Lord ! from life retire, Unknown each guilty, worldly fire, Remorse's throb, or loose desire, — And when 1 die, Let me in this belief expire, — To God I fly.' Stranger ! if full of youth and riot, And yet no grief has marr'd thy quiet. Thou haply throw'st a scornful eye at The hermit's prayer ; But if thou hast good cause to sigh at Thy fault or care — IX. If thou hast known false love's vexa- tion, Or hast been exiled from thy nation. Or guilt affrights thy contemplation, And makes thee pine, Oh ! how must thou lament thy sta- tion, And envy mine ! PASTORAL VERSES TO CLARINDA. [" This piece — omitted in all collections of the poet's works that we are aware of, except Blackie's edition of 1861 — is not contained, although apparently referred to, in the ' Clarinda Correspondence,' edited by the lady's grandson, in 1843. The veises seem to bear some marks of authenticity. although certainly they are not in the poet's best style."— William Scott Douglas.] Before I saw Clarinda's face. My heart was blythe and gay. Free as the wind, or feather'd race That hop from spray to spray • II. But now, dejected I appear, Clarinda proves unkind ; I, sighing, drop the silent tear, But no relief can find. In plaintive notes, my lays rehearse The woes which fail to move ; And every tree records a verse In praise of her I love : rv. But she, ungrateful, shuns my sight — My faithful love disdains. My vows and tears her scorn excite — Another happy reigns. Ah, though rny looks my love betray, I envy his success ; Yet love to friendship shall give way,— I cannot wish it less. THE RUINED MAID'S LAMENT [" Allan Cunningham has Hot the ques- tionable merit of this fabincation : to William Mbtherwell we must accord that honor. Tempted by Allan's success, he tiled his hand on doctoring a piece at p. 51 of the ' Crochallan ' volume. Verses i, 4, and 5 are entirely Motherwell's own ; while 2, 3, 5, and 7 are very nearly Burns's words. In consideration of the pathetic beauty of the song we think it proper to reprint Mother- THE BANKS OF NITH.— HAPPY FRIENDSHIP. 363 well's adaptation." — William Scott DOUGLAS.J O MEIKLE do I rue, fause love, O sairly do I rue, That^ e'er I heard your flattering tongue, That e'er your face I knew. O I hae tint my rosy cheeks. Likewise my waist sae sma' ; And I hae lost my lightsome heart That little wist a fa'. Now I maun thole the scornfu' sneer O' mony a saucy quine ; When gin the truth were a' but kent, Her life 's been waur than mine. IV. Whene'er my father thinks on me He stares into the wa' ; My mither, she has ta'en the bed Wi' thinking on my fa'. Whene'er I hear my father's foot^ My heart wad burst wi' pain ; Whene'er I meet my mither's e'e, My tears rin down like rain. Alake ! sae sweet a tree as love Sic bitter fruit should bear ! Alake ! that e'er a merry heart Should draw a sauty tear ! VII. But Heaven's curse will blast the man Denies the bairn he got. Or leaves the merry lass he lo'ed, To wear a ragged coat. THE BANKS OF NITH. A BALLAD. [Printed in Globe Edition (Alexander Smith) and Bliss & Sands'.] To thee, lov'd Nith, thy gladsome plains, Where late wi' careless thought 1 rang'd. Though prest wi' care and sunk in woe. To thee I bring a heart unchang'd. I love thee, Nith, thy banks and braes, Tho' mem'ry there my bosom tear ; For there he rov'd that brake my heart, Yet to that heart, ah, still how dear ! HAPPY FRIENDSHIP. [Printed in edition of Bliss, Sands, & Co.] Here around the ingle bleezing, Wha sae happy and sae free ; Tho' the northern wind blaws freez- ing, Frien'ship warms baith you and me. Chorus. Happy we are a' thegither, Happy we '11 be yin an' a', Time shall see us a' the blyther. Ere we rise to gang awa'. See the miser o'er his treasure Gloating wi' a greedy e'e ! Can he feel the glow o' pleasure That around us here we see ? 364 COME REDE ME. — ACCEPT THE GIFT. Can the peer, in silk and ermine, Ca' liis conscience lialf liis own ; His claes are spun an' edged wi' vermin, Tho' he Stan' afore a throne ! IV. Thus then let us a' be tassing AfF our stoups o' gen'rous flame ; An' while roun' the board 't is pass- ing, ' Raise a sang in frien'ship's name. V. Frien'ship mak's us a' mair happy, Frien'ship gi'es us a' delight ; Frien'ship consecrates the drappie, Frien'ship brings us here to-night. Chorus. Happy we 've been a' thegither. Happy we 've been yin an' a', Time shall find us a' the blyther When we rise to gang awa'. COME REDE ME, DAME. , [Printed in edition of Bliss, Sands, & Co., and Albion Edition.] Come rede me, dame, come tell me, dame, And nane can tell mair truly. What color maun the man be of, To love a woman duly. The carlin clew baith up and down, And laugh and answer'd ready, I learn'd a sang in Annandale, A dark man for my lady. III. But for a country quean like thee, Young lass, I tell thee fairly. That wi' the white I 've made a shifil^ And brown will do fu' rarely. IV. There's mickle love in raven locks, The flaxen ne'er grows youden. There 's kiss and hause me in the brown. And glory in the gowden. VERSES WRITTEN UNDER VIOLENT GRIEF. [" We have little faith in the authenticity of this production, which is said to have first been printed in the Sun newspaper, in April, 1823. It is supposed to have been originally written on a presentation copy of his Kilmarnock volume, in the summer of 1786." — WILLIAM ScOTT Douglas.] Accept the gift a firiend sincere Wad on thy worth be pressin' ; Remembrance oft may start a tear. But oh ! that tenderness forbear, Though 't wad my sorrows lessen. My morning raise sae clear and fair, I thought sair storms wad never Bedew the scene ; but grief and care In wildest fury hae made bare My peace, my hope, for ever ! You think I 'm glad ; oh, I pay weel For a' the joy I borrow, In solitude — then, then I feel I canna to mysel' conceal My deeply-ranklin' sorrow. IV. " Farewell ! within thy bosom free A sigh may whiles awaken ; AS I WAS A-WANDERING. — COULD AUGHT OF SONG. 365 A tear may wet thy laughin' e'e, For Scotia's son — ance gay like tliee — Now hopeless, comfortless, for- saken! AS I WAS A-WANDERING. [" Burns has merely made some changes upon an old song." — Chambers, r^z". by Wallace.] As I was a-wandering ae midsummer e'enin', The pipers and youngsters were making their game ; Amang them I spied my faithless fause lover, Which bled a' the wounds o' my dolor again. Chorus. Weel, since he has left me, may pleasure gae wi' him ; I may be distressed, but I winna complain ; I flatter my fancy I may get anither, My heart it shall never be broken for ane. II. I couldna get sleeping till dawin for greetin'. The tears trickled down like the hail and the rain : Had I na got greetin', my heart wad ha' broken, For oh ! love forsaken 's a torment- ing pain. III. Although he has left me for greed o' the siller, I dinna env^ him the gains he can win; I rather wad bear a' the lade o' my sorrow Than ever hae acted sae faithless to him.* COULD AUGHT OF SONG. ['* This elegant composition is so want- ing in some of the characteristic features of Burns's lyrics, that, by many, it has been doubted to be a product of his muse, and some have suggested Dr. Beattie as its probable author. Burns's Ms., however, is still in the possession of Johnson's repre- sentatives by purchase, and his name is affixed to the song in the filth volume of the "Museum." —WILLIAM Scorr DOUG- LAS.] Could aught of song declare my pains, Could artful numbers move thee, The muse should tell, in labor'd strains, O Mary, how I love thee ! They who but feign a wounded heart, May teach the lyre to languish ; But what avails the pride of art, When wastes the soul with an- guish ? n. Then let the sudden bursting sigh, The heart-felt pang discover ; And in the keen, yet tender eye, O read th' imploring lover ! For well I know, thy gentle mind Disdains art's gay disguising ; Beyond what Fancy e'er refin'd, The voice of Nature prizing. > The last stanza appears on p. 347 of this edition. 366 ON HIMSELF. — LASS, WHEN YOUR MITHER IS FRAE HAME. ON HIMSELF. [Printed in Globe Edition.] Here comes Burns On Rosinante ; She 's d — poor, But he 's d — canty ! EPITAPH ON THE POET'S DAUGHTER. [Printed in edition of Bliss, Sands, & Co., and in Globe Edition.] 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. I MET A LASS, LASS. A BONIE ["This song is made up from two verses of a song in the 'Crochallan' volume." — William Scott Douglas.] I MET a lass, a bonie lass. Coming o'er the braes o' Couper, Bare her leg and bright her een. And handsome ilka bit about her. Weel I wat she was a quean Wad made a body's mouth to water ; Our Mess John, wi' his lyart pow, His haly lips wad lickit at her. ON MARIA DANCING. [Printed in the edition of Bliss, Sands, & Co., and in the Oxford Edition.] How gracefiiUy Maria leads the dance ! She 's life itself. I never saw a foot So nimble and so elegant ; it speaks, And the sweet whispering poetry it makes Shames the musician. JENNY M'CRAW. [Printed in the Globe and Oxford Edi- tions. Scott Douglas says : " The original song, at page 102 of the ' Crochallan ' vol- ume, consists of three verses to the tune of 'The Bonie Moor-hen,' of which Allan's six lines are a weak travesty."] Jenny M'Craw, she has ta'en to the heather, Say, was it the covenant carried her thither : Jenny M'Craw to the mountains is gane, Their leagues and their covenants a' she has ta'en ; My head and my heart, now quo' she, are at rest, And as for the lave, let the Deil do his best. LASS, WHEN YOUR MITHER IS FRAE HAME. [Extracted from Burns's " Common-Place Book," but the auihenticity is doubtful. Printed in Globe and Oxiord Editions.] Lass, when your mither is frae hame, Might 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 and wat. Warm me in thy .sweet bosom ; Fair lass, wilt thou do that ? Young man, gif ye should be sae kind, When our gudewife 's frae hame. As come to my bower-window, Whare I am laid my lane, LAMENT. ^O WAT YE WHAT MY MINNIE DID? 36: And warm thee in my bosom — But I will tell thee what, The way to me lies through the kirk, Young man, do you hear that ? LAMENT. [Written at a time when the poet was about to leave Scotland. Printed in the Globe and Oxford Editions.] O'er the mist-shrouded cliffs of the lone mountain straying, Where the wild winds of winter in- cessantly rave, What woes wring my heart while in- tently surveying The storm's gloomy path on the breast of the wave. Ye foam-crested billows, allow me to wail, Ere ye toss me afar from my lov'd native shore ; Where the flower which bloom'd sweetest in Coila's green vale, The pride of my bosom, my Mary 's no more. No more by the banks of the stream- let we '11 wander. And smile at the moon's rimpled face in the wave; No more shall my arms cling with fondness around her, For the 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 dis- tant shore ; Where unknown, unlamented, my ashes shall rest. And joy shall revisit my bosom no more. O GIE MY LOVE BROSE, BROSE. [" This is the chorus and one of five verses — greatly altered — of a song in the ' Croch- allan ' volume." Printed in the Globe Edi- tion.] O GIE my love brose, brose, Gie my love brose and butter; For nane in Carrick or Kyle Can please a lassie better. The lav'rock lo'es the grass, The muirhen lo'es the heather ; But gie me a braw moonlight, . And me and my love together. O WAT YE WHAT MY MIN- NIE DID ? [Printed in the Globe and Oxford Edi- tions. Scott Douglas considers the verses spurious.] I. O WAT ye what my Minnie did. My Minnie did, my Minnie did, O wat ye what my Minnie did. On Tysday 'teen to me, jo ? She laid me in a saft bed, A saft bed, a saft bed. She laid me in a saft bed, And bade gudeen to me, jo. An' wat ye what the parson didy The parson did, the parson did, An' wat ye what the parson did, A' for a penny fee, jo? He loosed on me a lang man, A mickle man, a Strang man. He loosed on me a lang man, That might hae worried me, jo. 368 O WHA IS SHE THAT LO'ES ME. — EVAN BANKS. An' I was but a young thing, A young thing, a young thing, An' I was but a young thing, Wi' nane to pity me, jo. I wat the kirk was in the wyte, In the wyte, in the wyte, To pit a young thing in a fright, An' loose a man on me, jo. O WHA IS SHE THAT LO'ES ME? [Printed in the Globe, Oxford, and Al- bion Editions.] O WHA is she that lo'es me, And has my heart a-keeping? O sweet is she that lo'es me, As dews o' simmer weeping. In tears the rose-buds steeping. Chorus. O that 's the lassie o' my heart, My lassie ever dearer ; O that 's the queen o' womankind. And ne'er a ane to peer her. , II. 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 ; O that's, etc. If thou hadst heard her talking, And thy attentions plighted, That ilka body talking, But her by thee is slighted, And thou art all delighted ; O that 's, etc. 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 ; O that's, etc. EVAN BANKS. [" Dr. Currie inserted this in his first edition, but withdrew it on finding it was the composition of Helen Maria Williams. Burns had copied it ; his Ms. is now in the British Museum." — Globe Edition.] Slow spreads the gloom my soul desires, The sun from India's shore retires : To Evan Banks with temp'rate ray. Home of my youth, he leads the day. II. Oh Banks to me for ever dear ! Oh stream, whose murmur still I hear! All, all my hopes of bliss reside Where Evan mingles with the Clyde. III. And she, in simple beauty drest, Whose iniage lives within my breast ; Who trembling heard my parting sigh, And long pursued me with her eye : Does she, with heart unchang'd as mine. Oft in the vocal bowers recline ? Or, where yon grot o'erhangs the tide, Muse while the Evan seeks the Clyde ? Ye lofty Banks that Evan bound, Ye lavish woods that wave around, And o'er the stream your shadows throw, Which sweetly winds so far below ; ON BURNS'S HORSE BEING IMPOUNDED. 369 What secret charm to mem'ry brings, All that on Evan's border springs ! Sweet Banks ! ye bloom by Mary's side: Blest stream ! she views thee haste to Clyde. VII. Can all the wealth of India's coast Atone for years in absence lost ! Return, ye moments of delight. With richer treasures bless my sight ! Swift from this desert let me part, And fly to meet a kindred heart ! No more may aught my steps divide From that dear stream which flows to Clyde. POWERS CELESTIAL! WHOSE PROTECTION. [" These fine verses have no mark in the •Museum' to indicate their authorship; but, among the poet's MSS. after his death, they were found with the title, ' A Prayer for Mary.' Internal evidence shows that the date of composition was in 1786, between the final parting of the lovers in May, and the time fixed for the poet's departure for the West Indies, some four or five months thereafter." — William Scott Douglas.] Powers celestial ! whose protection Ever guards the virtuous fair, While in distant climes I wander. Let my Mary be your care : let her form so fair and faultless — Fair and faultless as your own — Let my Mary's kindred spirit Draw your choicest influence down ! II. Make the gales you waft around her Soft and peaceful as her breast ; Breathing in the breeze that fans hel Soothe her bosom into rest : Guardian angels ! O protect her. When in distant lands I roam ; To realms unknown while fate exiles me. Make her bosom still my home ! O CAN YE SEW CUSHIONS? [" The beautiful air, along with the nurs- ery words of this song, were communicated by Burns to Johnson, and, by the vocalism of Uriani, if scon became highly popular." — WiLLiAM SCOTT DOUGLAS.] O CAN ye sew cushions ? and can ye sew sheets? And can ye Eing bal-lu-loo when the bairn greets ? And hee and baw birdie, and hee and baw lamb ! And hee and baw birdie, my bonie wee lamb ! Hee, O ! wee, O ! what would I do wi' you ? Black 's the life that I lead wi' you ; Mony o' you, little for to gie you ; He, O ! wee, O ! what would I do wi' you ? ON BURNS'S HORSE BEING IMPOUNDED, AND HIS MASTER BROUGHT BEFORE THE MAYOR. [" This epigram is of doubtful authentic- ity, for we do not hear of the poet ever hav- ing been at Carlisle except once — namely, on 31st May, 1787, and the day following, while on his Border tour." — WILLIAM SCOIT DOUGLAS.] Was e'er puir poet sae befitted, The maister drunk — the horse com- mitted. Puir harmless beast ! tak' thee rae care. Thou 'It be a horse when he 'g nae mair (mayor). 37° HUGHIE GRAHAM. — KATHARINE JAFFRAY. HUGHIE GRAHAM. ["Cromek assures us that two verses of 'Hughie Graham ' are wholly by Burns, and that his corrections are visible in some others." — WILLIAM ScoTT Douglas.] O LOWSE my right hand free, he says, And put my braid sword in the same ; He 's no' in Stirling toun this day, Dare tell the tale to Hughie Graham. They've ta'en him to the gallows- knowe, — He looket to the gallows-tree ; Yet never the color left his cheek, Nor ever did he blink his e'e. O hand your tongue, my father dear. And wi' your weeping let it be ; Thy weeping 's sairer on my heart, Than a' that they can do to me. And ye may tell my kith and kin, I never did disgrace their bluid ; And when they meet the bishop's cloak To mak' it shorter by the huid. THE SELKIRK GRACE. ["Allan Cunningham records that this very characteristic ' Grace before meat ' was uttered at the table of the Earl of Sel- kirk, while on his tour through Galloway with his friend Syme in July, 1793." — William Scott Douglas.] Some hae meat and canna eat, And some wad eat that want it ; But we hae meat, and we can eat, And sae the Lord be thanket. DAMON AND SYLVIA. ["This pretty double-verse appears to have been first published, in its present modified form, in the ' Edinburgh Maga- zine' for January. 1818. It is the middle one of three double verses of a veiy warm character, which narrate the exploits of Damon and Sylvia on a Summer morn — this latter being the title of the piece in the ' Crochallan ' volume, p. 49." — William ScoTr Douglas. Printed in Globe and Oxford Editions.] Yon wandering rill that marks the hi]\ And glances o'er the brae. Sir, Slides by a bower where many a flowei Sheds fragrance on the day, Sir; There Damon lay with Sylvia gay. To love they thought no crime, Sir; The wild-birds sang, the echoes rang, While Damon's heart beat time, Sir. WHAN I SLEEP I DREAM. [Printed in Globe and Oxford Editions.] I. Whan I sleep I dream. Whan I wauk I 'm eerie, Sleep I canna get. For thinkin' o' my dearie. II. Lanely night comes on, A' the house are sleeping, I think on the bonie lad That has my heart a keeping. Ay waukin, O, waukin ay and wearie. Sleep I canna get, for thinkin' o' my dearie. III. Lanely night comes on, A' the house are sleeping, I think on my bonie lad. An' I bleer my een wi' greetin' ! Ay waukin, etc. KATHARINE JAFFRAY. [Printed in Globe, Oxford, and Albion Editions.] I. There liv'd a lass in yonder dale, And down in yonder glen, O ; BRAW LADS OF GALLA WATER. — LIBERTY. 37» And Katharine Jaffray was her name, Weel known to many men, O. Out came the Lord of Lauderdale, Out frae the south countrie, O, All for to court this pretty maid, Her bridegroom for to be, O. He's tell'd her father and mother baith, As I hear sindry say, O ; But he has na tell'd the lass hersel' ; Till on her wedding day, O. IV. Then came the Laird o' Lochinton Out frae the English border, All for to court this pretty maid, All mounted in good order. BRAW LADS OF GALLA WATER. ["This is in Johnson's second vol., p. 131, copied veroatlm from Herd's Collec- tion, 1776 (vol. ii. p. 202), so that it is quite an error to include it in Burns's worlcs as some editors have done. Burns in his notes, records a ' concluding verse,' which appears very like his own manufacture : — • And ay she cam' at evening fa', Amang the yellow broom, sae eerie, , To seek the snood 0' silk she tint, — Shefand na that, but met her dearie.' " — William Scoit Douglas.] [Printed in the Globe Edition.] Chorus. Braw, braw lads of Galla Water ; O braw lads of Galla Water ! I '11 kilt ray coats aboon my knee. And follow my love through the water. Sae fair her hair, sae brent her brow, Sae bonie blue her een, my dearie ; Sae white her teeth, sae sweet her mou', The mair I kiss she 's ay my dearie. O'er yon bank and o'er yon brae, O'er yon moss amang the heather ; I '11 kilt my coats aboon my knee, And follow my love through the water. Down amang the broom, the broom, Down amang the broom, my dearie. The lassie lost a silken snood, That cost her raony a blirt and bleary. Chorus. Braw, braw lads of Galla Water ; O braw lads of Galla Water ! I '11 kilt my coats aboon my knee. And follow my love through the water. LIBERTY. A FRAGMENT. [Printed in the Globe Edition.] 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 ! Beneath the hallow'd turf where Wallace lies. Hear it not, Wallace, in thy bed of death ! Ye babbling winds, in silence sweep ; 372 THE LAST BRAW BRIDAL. — YE HAE LIEN A' WRANG, LASSIE, Disturb not ye the hero's sleep, Nor give the coward secret breath. Is this the power in Freedom's war, That wont to bid the battle rage ? Behold that eye which shot immortal hate, Crushing the despot's proudest bearing, That arm which, nerved with thunder- ing fate, Brav'd usurpation's boldest daring ! One quench'd in darkness like the sinking star. And one the palsied arm of tottering, powerless age. THE LAST BRAW BRIDAL. [Printed in the Globe and Albion Edi- tions.] The last braw bridal that I was at, 'Twas on a Hallowmass day, And there was routh o' drink and fun, And mickle mirth and play. The bells they rang, and the carlins sang. And the dames danced in the ha' ; The bride went to bed wi' the silly bridegroom. In the midst o' her kimmers a'. THERE CAME A PIPER. [Printed in tiie Globe and Albion Edi- tions.] There came a piper out o' Fife, I watna what they ca'ed him ; He play'd our cousin Kate a spring. When fient a body bade him. And ay the mair he hotch'd an' blew, The mair that she forbade him. THERE'S NAETHIN LIKE THE HONEST NAPPY. [Printed in the Globe Edition.] There's naethin like the honest nappy ! Whaur '11 ye e'er see men sae happy. Or women sonsie, saft an' sappy, 'Tween morn an' morn. As them whalike to taste the drappie In glass or horn. I 've seen me daez't upon a time ; I scarce could wink or see a styme ; Just ae hauf mutchkin does me prime, Ought less is little. Then back I rattle on the rhyme As gleg 's a whittle ! WHEN I THINK ON THE HAPPY DAYS. [Printed in the Globe and Albion Edi- tions.] When I think on the happy days I spent wi' you, my dearie ; And now what lands between us lie, How can I be but eerie ! How slow ye move, ye heavy hours, As ye were wae and weary ! It was na sae ye glinted by When I was wi' my dearie. YE HAE LIEN A' WRANG, LASSIE. [Printed in the Globe and Albion Edi. tions.] Ye hae lien a' wrang, lassie, Ye 've lien a' wrang ; Ye 've lien in an unco bed, And wi' a fremit man. JOHNNY PEEP. — ON RUINS OF LINCLUDEN ABBEY. 373 O ance ye danced upon the knowes, And ance ye lightly sang — • But in herrying o' a bee byke, I 'm rad ye 've got a stang. JOHNNY PEEP. [Printed in the Albion Edition.] Here am I, Johnny Peep : I saw three sheep, And these three sheep saw me ; Half-a-crown a-piece Will pay for their fleece, And so Johnny Peep gets free. INNOCENCE. [Allan Cunningham gives the lines as by Burns, and extols them highly. They are, however, probably quoted from some older poet.] — Innocence Looks gaily-smiling on; while rosy pleasure Hides young desire amid her flowery wreath. And pours her cup luxuriant ; man- tling high The sparkling heavenly vintage, Love and Bliss ! VERSES ON AN EVENING VIEW OF THE RUINS OF LINCLUDEN ABBEY. [" These beautiful ruins are on the banks of the river Cluden, near Dumfries." — Albion Edition^ Ye holy walls, that, still sublime, Resist the crumbling touch of time ; How strongly still your form displays The piety of ancient days ! As through your ruins, hoar and gray — Rums yet beauteous in decay — The silvery moonbeams trembling fly : The forms of ages long gone by Crowd thick on Fancy's wondering eye, And wake the soul to musings high. Even now, as lost in thought profound, I view the solemn scene around, And, pensive, gaze with wistful eyes, The past returns, the present flies ; Again the dome, in pristine pride, Lifts high its roof and arches wide, That, knit with curious tracery. Each Gothic ornament display. The high-arched windows, painted fair, , Show many a saint and martyr there. As on their slender forms I gaze, Methinks they brighten to a blaze ! . With noiseless step and taper bright, What are yon forms that meet my sight ? Slowly they move, while every eye Is heavenward raised in ecstasy. 'T is the fair, spotless, vestal train, That seek in prayer the midnight-fane. And. hark ! what more than mortal sound Of music breathes the pile around? 'T is the soft-chanted choral song, Whose tones the echoing aisles pro- long; Till, thence returned, they softly stray O'er Cluden's wave, with fond delay ; Now on the rising gale swell high. And now in fainting murmurs die ; The boatmen on Nith's gentle stream. That glistens in the pale moonbeam. Suspend their dashing oars to hear The holy anthem, loud and clear ; Each worldly thought a while forbear And mutter forth a half-formed prayer. But, as I gaze, the vision fails. Like frost-work touched by southern gales ; The altar sinks, the tapers fade. And all the splendid scenes decayed. In window fair the painted pane 374 TO MY BED. — SHELAH O'NEIL. No longer glows with holy stain, But through the brolcen glass the gale Blows chilly 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 drowned amid the mournful scream That breaks the magic of my dream ! Roused by the sound, I start and see The ruined sad reality. VERSES TO MY BED. [Printed in the Albion Edition.] Thou Bed, in which I first began To be that various creature — Man ! And when again the fates decree The place where I must cease to be ; When sickness comes, to whom I fly. To soothe my pain, or close mine eye, When cares surround me where I weep. Or lose them all in balmy sleep ; When sore with labor, whom I court, And to thy downy breast resort ; Where, too, ecstatic joys I find, When deigns my Delia to be kind — And full of love, in all her charms. Thou giv'st the fair one to my arms. The_ centre thou, where grief and pain. Disease and rest, alternate reign. Oh, since within thy little space So many various scenes take place ; Lessons as useful shalt thou teach, As sages dictate — churchmen preach ; And man, convinced by thee alone. This great important truth shall own : — That thin partitions do divide The bounds where good and ill re- side; That nought is perfect here below ; But bliss still bord'ring upon woe. BRUCE. A FRAGMENT, [Printed in the Albion Edition.] His royal visage seamed with many a scar, That 'Caledonian reared his martial form. Who led the tyrant-quelling war. Where Bannockburn's ensanguined flood ■ Swelled with mingling hostile blood, Soon Edward's myriads struck with deep dismay. And Scotia's troop of brothers win their way. (Oh, glorious deed to bay a tyrant's band ! Oh, heavenly joy to free our native land!) While high their mighty chief poured on the doubling storm. SHELAH O'NEIL. [Printed in the Albion Edition.] 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? My point I soon carried, for straight we were married. Then the weight of my burden I soon 'gan to feel, — For she scolded, she fisted — O then I enlisted, Left Ireland, and whiskey, and Shelah O'Neil. SHELAH O'NEIL. 375 Then tired and dull-hearted, O then I deserted, And fled into regions far distant from home, To Frederick's army, where none e'er could harm me. Save Shelah herself in the shape of a bomb. I fought every battle, where cannons did rattle, Felt sharp shot, alas ! and the sharp-pointed steel ; But, in all my wars round, thank my stars, I ne'er found Aught so sharp as the tongue of cursed Shelah O'Neil. MOTTO PREFIXED TO THE KILMARNOCK EDITION. " The simple Bard, unbroke by rules of art, He pours the wild effusions of the heart : And if inspired, 't is nature's pow'rs inspire — Hers all the melting thrill, and hers the kindling fire." NOTES. HALLOWEEN. [The following notes by Burns, alluded to in the note to the text, will explain the traditions upon which the poem, is based, and render it more intelligible to the non-Scottish reader.] 1 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 n grand anniversary. 2 Certain little, romantic, rocky green hills, in the neighbourhood of the ancient seat of the Earls of Cassilis. 3 A noted cavern near Colean-house, called the Cove of Colean ; which, as well as Cassilis Downans, is famed in country story for being a favourite haunt of fairies. 4 The famous family of that name, the ancestors of Robert, the great deliverer of his country, were Earls of Carrick. 5 The first ceremony of Halloween is pull- ing each a stoc^, 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 pro- phetic of the size and shape of the grand object of all their spells — the husband or wife. If any yird, or earth, stick to the root, that is tocher, or fortune ; and the taste of the custock, that is the heart of the stem, is indicative of the natural temper and dis- position. 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 Tunis, ihe names in question. 6 They go to the barn-yard and pull each, at three different times, a stalk of oats. If the third stalk wants the tap-pickle, that is, the grain at the top of the stalk, the party in question will come to the marriage-bed anything but a maid, 7 When the corn is in a doubtful state, it being too green, or wet, the stack-builder, by means of old limber, etc., makes a large apartment in his stack, with an opening in the side which is fairest exposed to the wind : this he calls a Fause-house, 8 Burning the nuls is a famous charm. They name the lad and the lass to each particular nut as they lay them in the fire; and accordingly as they burn quietly to- gether, or start from beside one another, the course and issue of the courtship will be. 9 Whoever would, with success, try this spell, must strictly observe these directions: Steal out, all alone, to the kiln, and dark- ling, throw into the^o/ a clue of blue yarn ; wind it in a new clue off the old one ; and towards the latter end something will hold the thread; demand Wha haudsf \.^.,\i\iO holds ? an answer will be returned from the kiln-pot, by naming the Christian and sur- name of your future spouse. 1" Take a candle and go alone to a look- ing-glass ; eat an apple before it, and some traditions say you should comb your hair all the time ; the face of your conjugal com- panion to be will be seen in the glass, as if peeping over your shoulder, 11 Steal out unperceived and sow a hand- ful of hemp-seed, harrowing it with anything you can conveniently draw after you. Re- peat now and then, *' Hemp-seed, I saw thee, hemp-seed, I saw thee ; and him (or 377 378 NOTES. her) that is to be my true-love, come after me and pou thee." Look over your left shoulder, and you will see the appearance of the person invoked in the attitude of pulling hemp. Some traditions say, " come after me and shaw thee," that is, show thyself; in which case it simply appears. Others omit the harrowing, and say, " come after me and harrow thee." ^ This charm must likewise be performed unperceived and alone. You go to the darn and open both doors, taking them off the hinges, if possible ; for there is danger that the dein^ about to appear may shut the doors, and do you some mischief. Then take that instrument used in winnowing the corn, which in our country dialect we call a wecht, and go through all the attitudes of letting down corn against the wind. Repeat it three times ; and the thiid time an appa- rition will pass through the barn, in at the windy door and out at the other, having both the figure in question and the appear- ance or retinue marking the employment or station in Hfe. 13 Take an opportunity of going, un- noticed, to a Bear-stack, and fathom it three times round. The last fathom of the last time you will catch in your arms the appear- ance of your future conjugal yoke-fellow, 1* You go out, one or more (for this is a social spell) , to a south running spring or rivulet, where " three lairds' lands meet," and dip your left shirt sleeve. Go to bed in sight of a fire, and hang your wet sleeve before it to dry. Lie awake, and some- where near midnight an apparition, having the exact figure of the grand object in ques- tion, will come and turn the sleeve, as if to dry the other side of it. 15 Take three dishes ; put clean water in one, foul water in the other, and 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 the foul, a widow ; if in the empty dish, it foretells with equal cer- tainty no marriage at all. It is repeated three times, and every time the arrange- ment of the dishes is altered. 18 Sowens, with butter instead of milk to them, is always the Halloween Supper, THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. " ' The Cotter's Saturday Night ' is included in the list of poems mentioned by Burns in his letter to Richmond, 17th Feb- ruary, 1786 : it was therefore composed be- tween the beginning of November, 1785, and that date. Gilbert Burns relates that Robert first repeated it to him in the course of a walk one Sunday afternoon. He also states that the ' hint of the plan, and the title of the poem,' were taken from Fergusson's ' Farm- er's Ingle.' " This is true, but the piece as a whole is formed on English models. It is the most artificial and the most imitative of Bums's works. Not only is the influence of Gray's ' Elegy ' conspicuous, but also there are echoes of Pope, Thomson, Goldsmith, and even Milton; while the stanza, which was taken, not from Spenser, whom Burns had not then read, but from Beattie and Shen- stone, is so purely English as to lie outside the range of Burns's experience and accom- plishment. ' These English songs," he wrote long afterwards (1794) to Thomson, 'gravel me to death. I have not that command of the language that I have of my native tongue. In fact, I think my ideas are more barren in English than in Scottish." This is so far true as to make one wish that here, as else- where, he had chosen a Scots exemplar: that he had taken (say) not merely the scheme but also the stave — a, b, a, b, c, d, c,d,d — of The Farmer's Ingle,' and sought after effects which he could accomplish in a medium of which he was absolute master. As it is, 'The Cotter's Saturday Night' is supposed to paint an essentially Scottish phase of life; but the Scottish element in the diction — to say nothing of the Scottish cast of the effect — is comparatively slight throughout, and in many stanzas is alto- gether wanting. In the '94 Edition the vernacular was a little coloured by a more general substitution of ' a«" for ' and', ' wi' ' for ' with,' and so on. But it may be that Tytler, rather than Burns, was responsible for this ; and the earlier orthography, being NOTES. 379 in better keeping with the general English cast, has been retained." — The Centenary Edition. "The quiet households of the kingdom have received a sort of apotheosis in * The Cotter's Saturday Night.' It has been ob- jected that the subject does not afford scope for the more daring forms of the author's genius; but had he written no other poem, this heartful rendering of a good week's close in a God-fearing home, sincerely de- vout, and yet relieved from all suspicion of sermonizing by its humorous touches, would have secured a permanent place in our liter- ature. It transcends Thomson and Beattie at their best, and will smell sweet like the actions of the just for generations to come." —John Nichol, LL.D. TAM O' SHANTER. "Allow AY Kirk was originally the church of the quoad civilia parish of AUo- way ; but this parish having been annexed to that of Ayr in 1690, the church fell more or less to ruin, and when Burns wrote had been roofless for half a century. It stands some two hundred yards to the north of the picturesque Auld Brig of Do.on, which dates from about the beginning of the Fifteenth Century, and in Burns's time was the sole means of communication over the steep- banked Dopn between Carrick and Kyle. The old road to Ayr ran west of the Kirk : the more direct road dating from the erec- tion of the New Brig — a little west of the old one — in 1815. " Bums's birthplace is about three-fourths of a mile to the north; so that the ground and its legends were familiar to him from the first. Writing to Francis Grose (first published in Sir Egerton Brydges, ' Censura Literaria,' 1796), 'Among the many witch- stories I have heard,' he says, ' relating to Alloway Kirk, I distinctly remember only two or three. Upon a stormy night, amid whistling squalls of wind and bitter blasts of hail — in short, on such a night as the devil would choose to take the air in— a farmer, or farmer's servant, was plodding and plashing homeward with his plough- irons on his shoulder, having been getting some repairs on them at -a. neighbouring smithy. His way lay by the Kirk of Allo- way ; and being rather on the anxious look- out in aporoaching a place so well known to be a favourite haunt of the devil, and the devil's friends and emissaries, he was struck aghast by discovering through the horrors of the storm and stormy night, a light, which on his nearer approach, plainly shewed it- self to proceed from the haunted edifice. Whether he had been fortified from above on his devout supplication, as is customary with people when they suspect the imme- diate presence of Satan, or whether, ac- cording to another custom, he had got courageously drunk at the smithy, I will not pretend to determine; but so it was, that he ventured to go up to, nay into, the very Kirk. As luck would have it, his temerity came off unpunished. The mem- bers of the infernal junto were all out on some midnight business or other, and he saw nothing but a kind of kettle or cauldron, depending from the roof, over the fire, sim- mering some heads of unchristened chil- dren, limbs of executed malefactors, etc., for the business of the night. It was, in for a penny, in for a pound with the honest ploughman : so without ceremony he un- hooked the cauldron fi'om the fire, and pouring out the damnable ingredients, in- verted it on his head, and carried it fairly home, where it remained /ong in the family, a living evidence of the truth of the story. Another story, which I can prove to be equally authentic, was as follows : On a market day in the town of Ayr, a farmer from Carrick, and consequently whose way lay by the very gate of Alloway Kirkyard, in order to cross the river Doon at the old bridge, which is about two or three i^undred yards further on than the said gate, had been detained by his business till by the time he reached Alloway it was the wizard hour between night and morning. Though he was terrified with a blaze streaming from the Kirk, yet, as it is a well-known fact that to turn back on these occasions is running by far the greatest risk of mischief, he prudently advanced on his road. When he had reached the gate of the Kirkyard, he was surprised and entertained, through the ribs and arches 380 NOTES. of an old Gothic window, which still faces the highway, to see a dance of witches mer- rily footing it round their old sooty black- guard master, who was keeping them all alive with the power of his bagpipe. The farmer, stopping his horse to observe them a Uttle, could plainly descry the faces of many old women of his acquaintance and neighbourhood. How the gentleman was dressed, tradition does not say, but that the ladies were all in their smocks: and one of them happening unluckily to have a smock which was considerably too short to answer all the purpose of that piece of dress, our farmer was so tickled that he involun- tarily burst out with a loud laugh, " Weel luppen, Maggy wi' the short sark!" and recollecting himself, instantly spurred his horse to the top of his speed. I need not mention the universally known fact, that no diabolical power can pursue you beyond the middle of a running stream. Lucky it was for the poor farmer that the river Doon was so near, for notwithstanding the speed of the horse, which was a good one, when he reached the middle of the arch of the bridge, and consequently the middle of the stream, the pursuing vengeful hags were so close at his heels that one of them actually sprang to seize him : but it was too late ; nothing was on her side of the stream but the horse's tail, which immediately gave way at her infernal grip, as if blasted by a stroke of lightning ; but the farmer was beyond her reach. However, the unsightly tailless con- dition of the vigorous steed was, to the last hour of the noble creature's life, an awful warning to the Carrick farmers not to stay too late in Ayr markets- " 'The last relation I shall give, though equally true, is not so well identified as the two former with regard to the scene ; but as the best authorities give it for Alloway, I shall' relate it. On a summer's evening, about the time nature puts on her sables to mourn the expiry of the cheerful day, a shepherd boy, belonging to a farmer in the immediate neighbourhood of Alloway Kirk, had just folded his charge and was return- ing home. As he passed the Kirk, in the adjoining field, he fell in with a crew of men and women who were busy pulling stems of the plant ragwort. He observed that as each person pulled a ragwort, he or she got astride of it and called out, "Up horsiel" on which the ragwort flew off, like Pegasus, through the air with its rider. The foolish boy likewise pulled his ragwort, and cried with the rest, " Up horsie ! " and, strange to tell, away he flew with the company. The first stage at which the cavalcade stopt was a merchant's wine-cellar in Bordeaux, where, withoiit saying by your leave, they quaffed away at the best the cellar could afford, un- til the morning, foe to the imps and works of darkness, threatened to throw light on the matter, and frightened them from their carousals. The poor shepherd lad, being equally a stranger to the scene and the liquor, heedlessly got himself drunk; and when the rest took horse he fell asleep, and was found so next day by some of the peo- ple belonging to the merchant. Somebody that understood Scotch, asking him what he was, he said such a one's herd in Allo- way ; and by some means or other getting home again, he lived long to tell the world the wondrous tale.' " The motto is the eighteenth verse of Gavin Douglas's sixth ' Prolong ' (Eneados), and should read thus : ' Of browneis and of bogillis full this buke.' " Probably Burns drew the suggestion of his hero, Tam o' Shanter, from the char- acter and adventures of Douglas Graham — bom 6th January, 1739, died 23rd June, 1811 — son of Robert Graham, farmer at Douglastown, tenant of the farm of Shan- ter on the Carrick Shore, and owner of a boat which he had named ' Tam o' Shanter.' Graham was noted for his convivial habits, which his wile's ratings tended rather to confirm than to eradicate. Tradition relates that once, when his long-tailed grey mare had waited even longer than usual for her master at the tavern door, certain humourr ists plucked her tail to such an extent as to leave it little better than a stump, and that Graham, on his attention being called to its slate next morning, swore that it had been depilated by the witches at Alloway Kirk (MS. Notes by D. Auld of Ayr in Edinburgh University Library). The prototype — if prototype there were,— of Souter Johnie is NOTES. 381 more doubtful; but a shoemaker named John Davidson — born 1728, died 30th June, 806 — did live for some time at Glenfoot of Ardlochan, near the farm of Shanter, whence he removed to Kirkoswald. " In AUoway Kirk and its surroundings, apart from its uncanny associations. Burns cherished a special interest, 'When my father,' says Gilbert, 'feued his little prop- erty near Alloway Kirk the wall of the churchyard had gone to ruin, and cattle had free liberty of pasturing in it. My father and two or three other neighbours joined in an application to the Town Council of Ayr, who were superiors of the adjoining land, for liberty to rebuild it, and raised by sub- scription a sum for enclosing this ancient cemetery with a wall ; hence he came to consider it as his burial-place, and we learned the reverence for it people gen- erally have for the burial-place of their ancestors.' When, therefore. Burns met Captain Grose — then on his peregrinations through Scotland — at the house of Cap- tain Riddell, he suggested a drawing of the ruin ; and ' the captain,' Gilbert says, 'agreed to the request, provided the poet would furnish a witch story to be printed along with it.' It is probable that Burns originally sent the stories told above for in- sertion, in the work, and that the narrative in rhyme was an afterthought. Lockhart, on Cromek's authority, accepts a statement, said to have been made by Mrs. Burns, that the piece was the work of a single day, and on this very slender evidence divers critics have indulged in a vast amount of admiration. Burns's general dictum must, however, be borne in mind: 'AH my poetry is the effect of easy composition, but of laborious correction ; ' together with his special verdict on ' Tam o' Shanter ' (letter to Mrs. Dunlop, April, 1791) 'hat it 'showed a finishing pohsh,' which he despaired of 'ever excelling.' It appeared in Grose's •Antiquities'— published in April, 1791 — the captain's indebtedness being thus acknowl- edged : 'to my ingenious friend, Mr. Robert Burns, I have been seriously obligated: he was not only at the pains of making out what was most worthy of notice in Ayrshire, the county honoured by his birth, but he also wrote, expressly for this work, the pretty tale annexed to Alloway Church.'" — Centenary Edition, " Lovers of rustic festivity may agree with Professor Craik in holding that the poet's greatest performance is his narrative of ' Halloween,' which for easy vigor, fulness of rollicking life, blended truth and fancy, is unsurpassed in its kind. Campbell, Wilson, Hazlitt, Montgomery, Burns himself, and the majority of his critics, have recorded their preference for 'Tam o' Shanter,' where the weird superstitious element that has played so great a part in the imaginative work of this part of our island is brought more prominently forward. Few passages of description are finer than that of the roaring Doon and Alloway Kirk glimmer- ing through the groaning trees; but the unique excellence of the piece consists in its variety, and a perfectly original com- bination of the terrible and the ludicrous. Like Goethe's ' Walpurgis Nacht,' brought into closer contact with real life, it stretches from the drunken humours of Christopher Sly to a world of fantasies almost as brill- iant as those of the ' Midsummer Night's Dream,' half solemnized by the severer at- mosphere of a sterner clime. The contrast between the lines ' Kings may be blest,' etc., and those which follow, beginning ' But pleasures are like poppies spread,' is typical of the perpetual antithesis of the author's thought and life, in which, at the back of every revelry, he sees the shadow of a warning hand, and reads on the wall the writing, Omnia mutantur" — JOHN NiCHOL, LL.D. THE WHISTLE. " This poem is thus prefaced by Burns : 'As the authentic Prose history of the Whistle is curious, I shall here give it. In the train of Anne of Denmark, when she came to Scotland with our James the Sixth, there came over also a Danish gentleman of gigantic stature and great prowess, and a matchless champion of Bacchus. He had a little ebony Whistle, which, at the com- mencement of the orgies, he laid on the table ; and whoever was last able to blow it, everybody else being disabled by the 382 ISrOTES. potency of the bottle, was to carry off the Whistle, as a trophy of victory. — The Dane produced credentials of his victories, with- out a single defeat, at the courts of Copen- hagen, Stockholm, 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 overthrows on the part of the Scots, the Dane was encountered by Sir Robert Low- rie of Maxwelton, ancestor to the present worthy baronet of that name; who, after three days and three nights' hard contest, left the Scandinavian under the table, " And blew on the Whistle his requiem shrill." " ' Sir Walter, son to Sir Robert before mentioned, afterwards lost the Whistle to Walter Riddell of Glenriddell, who had married a sister of Sir Walter's. On Fri- day, the i6th October, 1790, at Friars-Carse, the Whistle was once more contended for as related in the Ballad, by the present Sir Robert Lowrie of Maxwelton ; Robert Rid- dell, Esq. of Glenriddell, lineal descendant and representative of Waher Riddell, 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 gentle- man carried off the hard-won honours of the field.' " In this Prefatory Note Burns misdates the contest by a year, as is proved by (i) the date of a letter — i6th October, 1789 — to Captain Riddell, in which he refers to the contest of the evening; and (2) by the memorandum of the ' Bett," now in the pos- session of Sir Robert Jardine of Castlemilk, first published in ' Notes and Queries,' Sec- ond Series, vol. x. (i860), p. 423 : — " ' DOQUET " ' The original Bett between Sir Robert Laurie and Craigdarroch, for the noted Whistle, which is so much celebrated by Robert Burns' Poems — in which Bett I was named Judge — 1789. '"The Bett decided at Carse — i6th Oc- tober, 1789. " 'Won by Craigdarroch — he drank upds. of 5 Bottles of Claret. " ' MEMORANDUM FOR THE WHISTLE '"The Whistle gained by Sir Robert Laurie (now) in possession of Mr. Riddell of Glenriddell, is to be ascertained to the heirs of the said Sir Robert now existing, being Sir R. L., Mr. R. of G., and Mr. F. of C. — to be settled under the arbitration of Mr. Jn. M'Murdo : the business to be de- cided at Carse, the i6th of October, 1789. " ' (Signed) ALEX. FERGUSON. R. Laurie. ROBT. Riddell. " ' COWHILL, lath October, 1789. " ' John M'Murdo accepts as Judge. " * Geo. Johnston witness, to be present. " ' Patrick Miller witness, to be pre. if possible. " ' Minute of Bett between Sir Robert Laurie and Craigdarroch, 1789.' " The question, whether or not Burns was present, has been hotly debated. The ref- erences in his letter on the day of the fight, as well as the terms of the * Bett,' seem to show that, tradition notwithstanding, he was not. But there are no data for an absolute conclusion." — Centenary Edition, THE JOLLY BEGGARS. "This immortal poem was partly given in manuscript by Burns, ' as rich men give who care not for their gifts,' to one Rich- mond, in whose company, in 1785, he had watched a festival of vagrom men. In 1793, Burns had forgotten the Cantata, and kept no copy. Shakespeare was not more regardless of his works. The rest of the manuscript was presented by Burns to a Mr. David Woodburn, without Richmond's part, which has been added — it runs from 'Poor Merry-Andrew' to 'he's far dafter than 1." The whole MS. has wandered to the Azores, to Nova Scotia, and home again (Scott Douglas). Part of Tennyson's ' Vision of Sin ' is clearly inspired by this Cantata. It is characteristic of Bums that he neither published nor took any pains to secure the future of this extraordinary piece, first printed in 1799, by Stewart and Meikle, without Richmond's portion, added in 1801 by Thomas Stewart." — Andrew Lang. NOTES. 383 " The form of the piece is a mere can- tata, the theme the half-drunlcen snatches of a joyous band of vagabonds, while the grey leaves are floating on the gusts of the wind in the autumn of the year. But the whole is compacted, refined, and poured forth in one flood of liquid harmony. It is light, airy, and soft of movement, yet sharp and precise in its details ; every face is a portrait, and the whole a group in clear photography. The blanket of the night is drawn aside; in full ruddy gleaming light these rough tatterdemalions are seen at their boisterous revel wringing from Fate another hour of wassail and good cheer." — Thomas Carlyle. " Over the whole is flung a half-humor- ous, half-savage satire — aimed, like a two- edged sword, at the laws and the law- breakers, in the acme of which the grace- less crew are raised above the level of ordinary gipsies, footpads, and rogues, and are made to sit ' on the hills like gods to- gether, careless of mankind,' and to launch ^ their Titan thunders of rebellion against the world." — JOHN NiCHOL, LL.D. SYLVANDER TO CLARINDA. "Clarinda was Mrs. Agnes Maclehose, nee Craig, daughter of Andrew Craig, sur- geon, Glasgow. She was bom in April, 1759 — the same year as her Poet ; and when he met her in Edinburgh (7th December, 1787) she had for some time been sepa- rated from her husband. The Bard, who was (as ever) by way of being a buck, accepted an invitation to take tea with her on the gth ; but an accident obliging him to keep his room, he wrote to express his regret, and at the same time intimated his resolve to cherish her ' friendship with the enthusiasm of religion.' Mrs. Maclehose responding in the same key, the ' friendship ' proceeded apace. On Christmas Eve she sent him certain verses, signed ' Clarinda,' ' On Burns saying He had nothing else to Do,' three of which he quoted in the ' Glen- riddell Book ' : — ** * When first you saw Clarinda's channs. What rapture in your bosom grew! Her heart was shut to Love's alarms, But then — you 'd nothing else to do. • Apollo oft had lent his harp, But now 't was strung from Cupid's bow; You sung — it reached Clarinda's heart — She wish'd you 'd nothing else to do. * Fair Venus smil'd, Minerva frown'd, Cupid observed, the arrow flew : Indifference (ere a week went round) Show'd you had nothing else to do.' Thus challenged, Sylvander — (he became Sylvander there and then) — replied as in the text ; and the romantic terms in which the two went on to conduct their corre- spondence soon served the ardent youth as a pretext for the expression of fiercer senti- ments than Clarinda's 'principles of reason and religion' should have allowed. She sent her Arcadian poems, which he amended for Johnson's Museum; and he fell so deeply enamoured that, on leaving Edinburgh (24th March) he must write thus to a firiend : — ' During these last eight days I have been positively crazy.' Clarinda (like Maman Vauquer) avait des idees — as what lady in the circumstances would not? And when Clarinda learned, in August, that Burns had married Armour, Clarinda resented her Sylvander's defection as an unpardonable wrong. They were partly reconciled in the autumn of 1791 ; and ere she rejoined her husband in Jamaica, they had an interview on 6th December, which the gallant and romantic little song, ' O May, Thy Morn Was Ne'er sae Sweet,' is held to com- memorate. On the 27tb he sent her 'Ae Fond Kiss and Then We Sever,' with the finest lines he ever wrote : — " ' Had we never loved sae kindly. Had we never loved sae blindly. Never met or never parted. We had ne'er been broken-hearted ' : — ' Behold the Hour, the Boat Arrive," and part of ' Gloomy December,' with the re- mark : — 'The remainder of this song is on the wheels — Adieu ! Adieu ! ' Mrs. Macle- hose, still unreconciled to her husband, re- turned to Scotland in August, 1792. Burns and she corresponded occasionally, but never met again. She died 22nd October, 1841. His letters to her were pirated in Stewart's Edition (1802). The greater part of the Correspondence appeared in 1843."-— Centenary Edition, GLOSSARY. A-tack, (i) behind; (2) away. Abiegk, aloof, off: ' stand abiegh." Ablins, V. Aiilins. * Aboon, (i) above [the usual sense] ; also (a) up: 'a lift aboon,' 'temper-pins aboon,' 'heart aboon,' 'his heart will never get aboon ' = his heart will never again rejoice. Abread, abroad : ' beauties a' abread.' Abreed, in breadth (R. B.) : ' spread abreed thy weel-fill'd brisket.' Ado, to-do : ' mickle ado.' Adle, cow-Iant, putrid water: 'deal brim- stone like adle.' Ae, one. Aff. off. Aff-hand, at once: 'a carpet weaver aff- hand,' * marriage aff-hand.' Aff-loof, off-hand, extempore: 'Just clean aff-loof.' A-fiel, a-field. Afore, before. Aft, oft. Aften, often. Agley, askew: 'gang aft agley." y4Ai«, behind : 'lan'-ahin,' 'fur-ahin.' Aiblins, may be, perhaps, Aik, oak. Aiken, oaken. Ain, own. Air, early. Airle, hansel, earnest money : ' airle-pennies three,' ' an airle-penny.' Airles, hansel : ' the airles an the fee.' Aim, iron. Airt, direction. Airt, to direct: 'airt me to my treasure,' ' airted till her a guid chiel.' Aith, oath. 2C 385 Aits, oafs. Aiver, an old horse (R. B.) ; ' a noble aiver.' Aizle, a cinder : ' an aizle brunt.' A-jee, (i) ajar: 'the back-yett be a-jee'; (2) to one side: 'his bonnet he a thought a-jee.' Alake, alas. Alane, alone. Alang, along. Amaist, almost. Amang, among. An, if. An!, and. Ance, once. Ane, one. Aneath, beneath. Anes, ones. Anither, another. Aqua-fontis, spring-water: 'aqua-fontis, what you please.' Aqua-vitae, whisky. Arte, V. Airle. Ase, ashes. Asklent, (i ) askew [not according to Hoyle] : "cam to the warl' asklent ' ; (2) askance: ' look'd asklent.' Aspar, aspread : ' the lasses lie aspar.' Asteer, astir. A' thegither, altogether. Athort, athwart. Atweel, in truth: ' eh 1 atweel na.' Atiueen, between. Aught, eight. Aught, -possessioni 'whase aught," = who owns. Aughten, eighteen. Aughtlins, at all, in any way : ' Aughtlins fawsont ' : V. Oughtlins, Auld, old. 386 GLOSSARY. Auldfarran, auldfarrant, (i) shrewd: *a chap that's damn'd auldfarran ' ; (2) old- fashioned in the sense of sagacious: ' your auld-farrant frien'ly letter.' Auld Reekie, Edinburgh, Auldrwarld^ old-world. Aumous, alms: *just hke an aumpus dish.' Ava^ at all. Awa, away, Awald, backways and bent together: 'fell awald beside it.* Awauk, awake. Awauken, awaken. Awe, owe : ' devil a shilling I awe, man, Awkart, awkward, Awnie, bearded: 'aits set up their awnie horn.' Ayoni, beyond, Ba\ a ball. Baby-clouts, bdbie-clouts, baby clothes : * like baby-clouts a-dryin/ ' O wha my babie- clouts will buy.' Backet, bucket or box : ' auld saut-backets.' Backit, backed: 'howe-backit now, an' kn aggie.' Backlins-comin^ coming back, returning (R. B.). Back-yett, gate at the back : ' the back-yett be a-jee.' Bade, endured: 'bade an unco bang/ Bade, asked : ' and bade nae better.* Baggie, the belly, the stomach : * a ripp to thy auld baggie.* Baig'nets, bayonets. Bailie, magistrate of a Scots burgh. Bainie, bony, big-boned: the *brawnie, bainie, ploughman chiel.' Bairn, child. Baimtime, brood, issue : ' thae bonie baim- time,' ' my pleugh is now thy baimtime a'.' Baitk, both. Bakes, biscuits : ' bakes and gills.' Ballots, ballads. Balou, lullaby : ' The Highland Balou." Bamboozle, to trick by mystifying : ' wicked men bamboozle him.* Ban, swear [special Scottish meaning in addition to curse] : ' the devil-haet that I sud ban." Ban', band \i.e. of the Presbyterian clergy- manj : ' gown an' ban* * = the clergyman. Bane, bone. Bang, an eiTort (R. B.), a blow, a large number. Unco bang, great or prolonged effort : ' he bade an unco bang.* Bang, to thump ; ' bang your hide,* ' she bang'd me,' ' bang'd the despot.* Banie, v. Bainie. Bannet, bonnet. Bannock, bonnock, a soft cake : * twa mash- lum bonnocks,' ' Saxpence an* a ban- nock,' ' Bannocks o' Bear Meal, Ban- nocks o' Barley,' ' hauvermeal bannock.* Bardie, dim. oi bard, Barejlt, barefooted. Barket, barked. Barley-brie or -bree, barley-brew = ale or whisky : ' barley-brie cement the quarrel,* ' taste the barley-bree.* Barm, yeast: 'that clarty barm should stain my laurels.* Barmie, yeasty. Barn-yard, stackyard. Bartie, the Devil : ' as fou as Bartie.* Bashing, abashing: 'bashing and dashing.' Batch, a number, a company; 'batch o* wabster lads.* Batts, the botts [applied to horses], the colic: 'a country laird had taen the batts.* Bauckie-bird, the bat: 'wavering like the bauckie-bird.' Baudrons, Baudrans, the cat: 'a winkin baudrons,* 'like baudrons by a rattan,' ' auld baudrans by the ingle sits.' Bauk, cross-beam : ' grapit for the bauks,* Bauk, V. Bawk, Bauk-en', beam-end; 'or whether 't was a bauk -en*.' Bauld, bold, Bauldest, boldest Bauldly, boldly. Baumy, balmy. Bawbee, a halfpenny [probably a babie penny]. Bawdrons, v. Baudrons. Bawk, a field-path : ' a com-inclos6d bawk." Baws'nt, white-streaked: 'sonsie, baws'nt face.* Bawtie, pet name for a dog : ' my auld teeth- less Bawtie.* Be, alone [i.e. as one is already] : ' an* let poor damnfid bodies be,* ' let a body be.' GLOSSARY. 387 Bea*"^ barley. Beas', beasts, vermin [i.e. lice] : • grey wi' beas'.' Beasiie, dim. ol beast. Beck, a curtsy : ' she 'II gie ye a beck.' Beet, feed, kindle, fan, add fuel to: 'beet his hymeneal flame,' ' it heats me, it beets me," 'or noble Elgin beets,' 'it 's plenty beets the lover's fire." Cf. Chaucer, ' Two fires on the autor [altar] gan she beete,' Knight's Tale, Canterbury Tales, 2292. Befa', befall. Behln', behint, behind. Beild, V. Biel. Belang, belong. Beld, bald. Bellum, assault: 'brawlie ward their hel- ium." Bellys, bellows. Belyve, by and by : ' belyve the elder bairns,' ' weel-swall'd kytes belyve are bent.' Ben, a parlour. Ben, into the spence or parlour (R. B.). Benmost, inmost ; * benmost bore,' ' benmost neuk.' Be-north, to the northward of. Be-south, to the southward of. Bethankit, the grace after meat (R. B.). Beuk, a book : ' devil's pictur'd beuks ' = playing-cards. Beyont, beyond. Bicker, a wooden cup : ' in cog or bicker.' Bicker, a cupful, a glass : ' a hearty bicker.' Bicker, a short run : ' I took a bicker.' Bicker, to flow swiftly and with a slight noise: 'bicker'd to the seas,' 'bickerin dancin dazzle.' Cf. also 'smoke and bickering flame,' Milton's Paradise Lost, vi. 766. Bickerin, noisy and keen contention : ' there will be bickerin there.' Bickering, hurrying : ' bickering brattle.' Bid, to ask, to wish, to offer : ' bid nae bet- ter,' ' ne'er bid better." See also Bade. Bide, abide. See also Bade. Biel, bield, a shelter: 'hap him in a cozie biel,' 'the random bield o' clod or stane,' • but buss and bield,' ' thy bield should be my bosom.' Biel, bield, a sheltered spot : ' the sun blinks kindly in the biel,' 'roses blaw in ilka bield.' Bien, prosperous, comfortable: 'bien and snug,' ' her house sae bien.' Bien, bienly, comfortably : ' that deeds me bien,' ' bienly clad.' Big, to build. Biggin, building. Biggin, a structure, a dwelling : 'the auld clay biggin,' ' houlet-haunted biggin.' Bike, V. Byke. Bill, the bull : ' as yell's the bill.' Billie, fellow, comrade, brother [several examples of each of these meanings], Billy, William. Bings, heaps : ' potatoe-bings." Birdie, dim. of bird, also maidens : ' bonie birdies." See also Burdie. Birk, the birch. Birken, birchen. Birkie, a fellow [usually implies conceit]. Birr, force, vigour : ' wi' a' my birr." Birring, whirring : ' birring paitricks.' Birses, bristles: 'tirl the bullions to the birses.' Birth, berth : " a birth afore the mast.' Bit, small \eg. a bit beauty, bit brugh, bit lassie, etc.]. Bit, nick of time : 'just at the bit.' Bitck-foUj completely drunk. Bizz, a flurry ; ' that day when in a bizz/ Bizz, to buzz. Bizzard, the buzzard. Bizzie, busy. Black-bonnet, the elder : ' a greedy glowr black-bonnet throws,' ' an' douse black- bonnet." Black-nebbit, black-beaked: ' black-nebbit Johnie." Blae, blue, livid. Blastet, blastii, blasted [used in contempt and = damn"d] : ' wee, blastit wonner,' 'creepin, blastit wonner,' 'onie blastit, moorland toop.' Elastic, a blasted \i.e. damn'd] creature; 'the blastie"s makin," 'red-wud Kilbirnie bias tie." Blate, (i) modest : ' owre blate to seek " ; (2) bashful, shy : ' nor blate nor scaur,' ' some unco blate,' 'but blate and laithfu',' 'young and blate," ' steer her up, an" be na blate.' Blather, bladder. Blaud, a large quantity, a screed : ' a hearty blaud,' ' a blaud o" Johnie's morals." 388 GLOSSARY. Btaud, to slap : ' he ' s the boy will blaud her.' Blaudin, drivirig.pelting : ' the bitter, blaudin show'r.' Blmn, to blow. Blaw, to brag, to boast : ' blaw about my- sel,' ' he brags and he blaws o' his siller.' Blaming, blowing. Blawn, blown. Bleer, to blear. Bleer't, bleared. Bleez*d, blazed. Bleeze, a blaze. Bleezin, blazing. Blellum, (i) a babbler: ' drunken blellum '; (2) a railer ; ' sour-mou'd, girnin blellum ' ; (3) a blusterer : ' to cowe tne biellums.' Blether^ blethers, nonsense. Blether, to talk nonsense. Bletherin\ talking nonsense. Blin', blind. Blin', to blind. Blink, a glance, a moment, a short period [several examples ol each of these mean- ings]. Blink, to glance, to shine. Blinkers, (i) spies: 'seize the blinkers'; (2) oglers : ' delicious blinkers.' Blinkin, blinking, shining. Blinkin, (i) smirking: 'Blinkin Bess of Annandale ' ; (2) leering : ' are blinkin at the entry,' Blin't, blinded : ' blin't his e'e.' Butter, the snipe : ' blitter frae the boggle.* Blue-gown, the Uvery of the hcensed beg- gar : ' the Blue-gown badge.' Bhiid, blood. Bluidy, bloody. Blume, to bloom. Bluntie, a stupid \i,e. one who is n't sharp] : * oar me look like bluntie.* Blypes, shreds: 'till skin in blypes cam haurlin.' Bobbed, curtsied: 'When She Cam Ben She Bobbed.' Bocked, vomited : ' or thro' the mining out- let bocked.' Boddle, a farthing [properly two pennies Scots, or one-third of an English penny] : ' he car'd na deils a boddle,' * I *U wad a boddle.' Bodkin, tailor's needle: 'your bodkin's bauld,' Body, todie, a person, a creature. Boggle, dim. of bog; 'the blitter frae the boggie.' Bogle, a bogie, a hobgoblin : ' lest bogles catch him unawares,' ' nae nightly bogle make it eerie,' ' Ghaist nor bogle,' ' the silly bogles. Wealth and State.' Bole, a hole, or small recess in the wall: ' there sat a bottle in a bole.* Bonie, bonnie, pretty, beautiful. 1 Bonilie, prettily. Bonnock, v. Bannock, 'Boon, above. Board, board, surface: 'the jingUpg icy boord.' Boord-en', board end : ' sitting at yon boord- en'.' Boortrees, ' the shrub-elder, planted much of old in hedges of barnyards,' etc. (R. B.) : ' thro' the boortrees comin.' Boost, behoove, must needs : * I shortly boost to pasture,' ' like a blockhead, boost to ride.' ^i7£?/, payment to the bargain : ' the boot and better horse," ' the saul of boot,' ' O' boot that night.' Bore, a chink, a. small hole, an opening: ' thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing,' • the benraost bore,' ' to guard, or draw, or wick a bore.* Botch, an angry tumor (R. B.) : * scabs and botches.' Bouk, a human trunk [Eng. bulk: cf. 'to shatter all his bulk,* Shak. Hamlet, ii. i. 95] ; ' and monie a bouk did fa'.* 'Bout, about. Bow-hough' d, bandy-thighed : ' she *s bough- hough'd, she 's hem-shin'd.' Bow-kail, cabbage : * wandered thro* the bow-kail,' 'his bow-kail runt.' Bow't, bent : ' like a sow-tail sae bow't. Brackens, ferns : ' amang the brachens.* See also Breckan. Brae, a small hill, the slope of a hill. Braid, broad. Braid-claith, broadcloth. Braik, a harrow : ' in pleugh orbraik.* Braing't, pulled rashly : ' thou never braing't^ an' fetch't, an' fliskit.* Brak, broke. Brake, broke. Brak 's, broke his. GLOSSARY. 389 Branis, a wooden curb, a bridle : ' As cheeks o" branks," 'goavin's he'd been led wi' branks,' ' wi' braw new branks,' ' if the beast and branks be spar'd.' Branky, spruce: 'whaur hae ye been sae brankie, O. Brany, brandy. Brash, short illness: 'monie a pain an' brash.' Brats, small pieces, rags : ' brats o' claes,' 'brats o' duddies.' Brats, small children: "our ragged brats and callets,* * wives and dirty brats.* Brattle, a. spurt, a scamper : ' waur't thee for a brattle,' ' wi' bickering brattle.' Brattle, noisy onset : ' brattle o' winter war.* Braw, handsome, fine, gaily dressed [many examples of each of these meanings]. Brawlie, finely, perfectly, heartily. Braxies, sheep that have died of braxie [a disease] : ' guid fat braxies.' Breastie, dim, ol breast. Breaslit, sprang forward : ' thou never lap, an' sten't, an' breastit.' Brechan, a horse collar: "a braw new brechan.' Breckan, ferns: "yon lone glen o' green brechan.' See also Brackens. Breedin, breeding, i.e. manners : ' has nae sic breedin,' Breeks, breeches. Breer, briar. Brent, brand : ' brent new fi-ae France.' Brent, straight, steep \i.e. not sloping from baldness] : ' your bonie brow was brent.' Brief, writ : • King David o' poetic brief.' Brier, briar. Briery, briary. Brig, bridge. Brisket, breast : * thy weel-fill'd brisket.' Brither, brother. Brock, a badger : ' a stinking brock," ' wil- cat, brock, an' tod." Brogue, a trick : ' an' play'd on man a cursfed brogue.' Broo, soup, broth : ' the flesh to him, thebroo to me,' ' suppin' hen-broo,' ' dogslike broo.' Broo, brew, liquid, water ; ' the snaw-broo rowes ' ' I 've borne aboon the broo.' Brooses, wedding races from the church to the home of the bride : ' at brooses thou had ne'er a fellow.' Brose, a thick mixture of meal and warm water, also a synonym for porridge : • they maun hae brose,' ' then cogs o' brose,' * ye butter'd my brose.' Browst, malt liquor [and properly the whole liquor brewed at one time] : ' the browsl she brew'd.' Brffwster wives, ale wives : * browster wives an' whisky-stills.' Brugk, a burgh, a borough. Brulzie, brulyie, (i) a brawl: 'than mind sic brulzie ' ; (2) brangle : * Hell mixed in the brulyie,' ' wha in a brulyie.' Brunstane, brimstone. Brunt, burned. Brust, burst. Buckie, dim. of buck, a smart younker ; * that daft buckle, Geordie Wales,' ' envious buckles.' Buckle, a curl : 'his hair has -a. natural buckle.* Buckskin, Virginian : ' the buckskins claw,' ' the buckskin kye.' Budget, tinker's bag of tools : ' the budget and the apron,' * here's to budgets.' Buff, to bang, to thump : ' buff our beef.' Bughtin, folding \i.e. gathering sheep into the fold] : ' tells bughtin time is near, my jo.' Buirdly, (i) stout, stalwart : ' buirdly chiels ' ; (2) stately : ' a filly buirdly.' Bum, the buttocks : * many a tatter'd rag hanging over my bum.' Bum, to hum ; ' ayont the dyke she 's heard you bummin,' 'bum owre their treasure.' Bum-clock, the beetle: 'the bum-clock humm'd wi' lazy drone.' Buminle, a drone, a useless fellow : * some drowzy bummle.' Bunker, a seat : ' a wunnock-bunker in the east.' Bunters, harlots : ' and kissing barefit hun- ters.' Burdies, dim. of bird or burd [a lady], maidens : ' ae blink o' the bonie burdies. See also Birdie. Cf. Burd Ellen. Bure, bore. Burn, a rivulet. Burnewin, the blacksmith [i.e. burn the wind] : ' then Burnewin comes on like death.' Burnie, dim. of burn [a rivulet]. 390 GLOSSARY. Burr-thistle, spear-thistle : ' the rough burr- thistle spreading wide.' Busk, (i) to dress, to garb : ' New Brig was buskit in a braw new coat/ * they '11 busk her like a fright,' 'busking bowers'; (2) to dress up : ' busks his skinklin patches ' ; (3) to trim, to adorn: 'her bonie buskit nest,' ' weel buskit up sae gaudy.' Busking, V. Busk. Buskit, V. Busk. Buss, a bush : ' like a rash-buss stood in sight,' ' but buss or bield.' Bussle, bustle. But, without. But, butt, in the kitchen \i.e. the outer apart- ment], ' butt the house ' = in the kitchen. *see also Ben. By, past, aside. By, beside. By himsel, beside himself, off his wits; ' monie a day was by himsel.' Bye aftour [i.e. 'by and attour' = beside and at a distance], moreover : *bye attour my gutcher has.' Byke, (i) a bees' nest, a hive : ' assail their byke ' ; (2) a swarm, a crowd : * the glow- rin byke,* ' the hungry bike.* Byre, a cowhouse. Ca', a call. Ca', to call. Ca', a knock, Ca', to knock [e.g, a nail], to drive [e^. cattle]. Ca'd, ca't, called. Ca'd, ca't, knocked, driven. Cadger, a hawker : * a cadger pownie's death,* ' like onie cadger's whup." Cadie, caddie, a varlet : ' e'en cowe the cadie,' ' Auld-Light caddies.* Caf, chaff. Caird, a tinker. Calf-ward, grazing plot for calves \i.e, churchyard], Callan, callant, a stripling. Caller, cool, refreshing : ' the caller air,' ' little fishes' caller rest.' Callef, a trull : ' my bottle and my callet,* ' our ragged brats and callets.' Cam, came. Canie, cannie, (i) gentle : ' bonie wee thing, cannie wee thing,' * cannie young man'; (2) tractable: 'tawie, quiet, an* cannie ' ; Cs) quiet : ' a cannie errand,' ' a cannie hour at e'en,' ' then cannie,' ' kind and cannie'; (4) prudent: 'wi' cannie care'; (s) careful: * cannie for hoarding o' money.' Cankrie, crabbed : ' O' cankrie Care.' Canna, cannot. Cannie, (i) gently: 'straik her cannie'; (2) quietly: 'slade cannie to her bed*; (3) sensibly: 'and cannie wale*; (4) care- fully : ' I maun guide it cannie ' ; (5) ex- pertly : ' nickin down fu' cannie,' Canniest, quietest : ' the canniest gate, the strife is sair.* Cannilie, cannily, quietly, prudently, cau- tiously: ' cannilie he hums them,' *can- nily keekit ben,' ' cannily steal on a bonie moor-hen.' Cantie, cheerful, lively, jolly, merry [very many examples], Cantraip, (i) magic: ' by cantraip wit," can- traip sleight'; (2) witching: 'some can- traip hour.* Cants, (i) merry stories : ' monie cracks and cants'; (2) canters or sprees or merry doings : * a' my cants.' Cape-stane, cope-stone. Capon, castrate : * their capon cries.* Car'd na by, cared not a jot. Care na by, (i) do not care, (2) care noth- ing, (3) care not although you do. Carl, carle [from churl], a man, an old man. Carl-hemp, male-hemp : ' thou stalk o' carl- hemp.* Carlie, a mannikin: ' a fusionless carlie.* Carlin, carline, a middle-aged, or old woman, a beldam, a witch. Carmagnole, a violent Jacobin : * that curst carmagnole Auld Satan.' Cartes, playing cards. Cartie, dim. of cart: * or hurl in a cartie.* Ca't, v. Ca'd. Catch-the-plack, the hunt for coin. Caudron, a caldron : ' fry them in his cau- drons.' V. Cauldron, Cauf, a calf. Cauf-leather, calf-leather. Cauk, chalk : ' o' caulk and keel * = in chalk and ruddle. Cauld, cold, Cauld, the cold. GLOSSARY. 391 Cauidness, coldness. Cauldron, caldron: 'clout the cauldron.' V. Caudron. Caup, a wooden drinking-vessel \i.e. cup] : 'the lugget caup; 'yill-caup commenta- tors,' ' in cogs an* caups,' ' that kiss'd his caup.' Causey-cleaners, causeway-clean ers. Cavie, a hen-coop : * behint the chick'en- cavie.' Chamer, chaumer, chamber. Chang-e-house, tavern. Chanter, (1) bagpipes, the pipe of the bag- pipes which produces the melody : ' your chanters tune,' ' chanters winna hain * ; (2) syn. for song : ' quat ray chanter.' Chap, a fellow, a young fellow. C/iap, to strike : ' ay chap the thicker.' Chapman, a pedler. Chaumer, v. Chamer. Chaup (or chap) , a stroke, a blow : ' at ev'ry chaup.' Chear, cheer, to cheer, Chearfu\ cheerful. Chearless, cheerless. Cheary, cheery. Cheek-for-chow, cheek by jowl {i.e. close beside] : * cheek-for-chbw a chufRe vint- ner,* ' cheek-for-chow, shall jog thegither.' Cheep, peep, squeak : ' wi' tunefu' cheep,' * cheeps like some bewildered chicken.' Chiel^chleld [i.e. child], a, fellow, a young fellow [indicates approval]. Chimla, chimney. Chow, V. Cheek-for-chow, Chows, chews. Chuck, 2. hen, a dear: 'the martial chuck.' Cf. 'pray chuck come hither,* Shak. Othello, iv. 2, 24, Chuckle, dim. of chuck, but usually signifies mother-hen, an old dear : ' auld chuckie Reekie,' * a daintie[y] chuckie.* Chuffie, fat-faced : ' a chufifie vintner,* Chuse, to choose. at, the civet : ' the cit and polecat stink.' at, a citizen, a merchant. Clachan, a small village about a church, a 'hamlet (R. B.) : 'the clachan yill,' 'Jock Hornbook i* the clachan/ 'within the clachan." Claeding, clothing. Claes, claise, clothes. Claith, cloth. Claithing, clothing. Claivers, v. Clavers, Clankie, a. severe knock : * Clavers got a clankie, O.' Clap, the clapper of a mill : ' and still the clap plays clatter.' Clark, clerkly, scholarly : ' learned and dark.* Clark, a clerk : ' like onie dark.' Clarkitj clerked, wrote: 'in a bank and clarkit.* Clarty, dirty: ' clarty barm.' Clash, an idle tale, the story of a day (R, B.) : ' the countra clash.' Clash, to tattle. Clatter, (i) noise : ' the dap players clatter ' [z.e. clapper], 'bade me maknae clatter*; (2) tattle, gossip: ' kintra clatter'; (3) talk : ' sangs and clatter,' ' anither gies them clatter ' ; (4) disputation : ' a' this clatter ' ; (5) babble : ' rhymin clatter,' Clatter, (i) to make a noise by striking: ' the pint-stowp clatters,' ' gar him clatter', 'clatter on my stumps'; (2) to babble: ' the gossips clatter bright ' ; (3) to prattle : 'clatters, "Tam Samson's dead."' Claught, clutched, seized : ' claught her by the rump,' ' claught th* unfading garland.' Claughtin, clutching, grasping : ' claughtin 't together.' Claut, (i) a clutch : ' our sinfu' saul to get (1 claut on * ; (2) a handful : ' a claut o' gear." Claut, to scrape : ' ye claut my byre.' Clautet, scraped: 'the laggen they hae clautet.* Claver, clover. Clavers, (i) gossip : ' clavers and havers (2) nonsense : * heaps o' clavers.* Claw, a scratch, a blow. Claw, to scratch, to strike. Clay-cauld, clay-cold. Claymore, a two-handed Highland. sword: 'an' guid claymore,' 'wi' dirk, claymore/ Cleckin, a brood: 'its minnie and the cleckin.' deed, to clothe. Cleek, to snatch : ' cleek the sterlin ' ^ pinch the ready, Cleekit, took hold : * they cross'd, they cleekit/ Clegf gadfly ; * the clegs 0* feeling stang,' 392 GLOSSARY. Clink, (i) a sharp stroke: 'her doup a clink ' ; (2) jingle : ' o" rhymin clink.' Clink, (i) money, coin: 'o' needfu' clink'; (2) wealth: ' the name o' clink.' Clink, to chink : ' he '11 clink in the hand.' Clink, to rhyme : ' mak it clink,' ' gar them clink.' Clinkin, with a smart motion : ' clinkin* down beside him.' Clinkum, Clinkumhell, the beadle, the bell- man : ' a'uld Clinkum at the inner port,' ' Clmkumbell, wi' rattlin tow.' Clips, shears : * ne'er cross'd the clips.' Clish-ma-claver, (i) gossip, tale-telling: ' for a' their clish-ma-claver ' ; (2) non- sense, idle talk : * what farther clish-ma- claver might been said.' Clockin-time, clucking- [= hatching-] time: 'the clockin-time is by.' Cloot, the hoof in general, the half of the cloven hoof: 'upon her cloot she coost a hitch,' * an' wear his cloots,' Clootie, Cloots, Hoofie, Hoofs [a nickname of the Devil] : ' Auld Cloots," ' Nick or Clootie,' 'auld Cloven-CIootie's haunts." Clow, a bump or swelling after a blow (R. B.) : ' clours an' nicks.' Clout, (i) iv cloth, it rag : ' wi' lies seam'd like a beggar's clout ' ; (2) a patch : ' per- haps a clout may fail in't." See also Babie-clout. Clout, to patch : ' clout the cauldron," ' clout the bad girdin o't,' 'reft and clouted,' ' cloutin a kettle." Clud, a cloud. Clunk, to make a hollow sound : * made the bottle clunk.' Coatii, dim. oi coat. Coble, a broad and flat boat : " wintle like a saumont-coble." Cock, the mark [in curling] : ■ station at the cock." Cockie, dim. of cock [applied to an old man] : ' my guid auld cockie." Cocks, fellows, good fellows : ' my hearty cocks,' ' the wale o' cocks." Cod, a pillow: 'a cod she laid below my head,' ' the cradle wants a cod." Coft, bought : ' coft for her wee Nannie," ' I coft a stane o" haslock woo," 'that coft enjoyment.* Cog, (i) a wooden drinking- vessel : 'in cogs an' caups," ' in cog or bicker,' ' cog an' ye were ay fou," ' a cog o" guid swats '; (2) a porridge-dish : ' their cogs o' brose "; (3) a corn measure for horses : ' thy cog a wee bit heap." Coggie, dim. of c0g, a little dish. Coil, Coila, Kyle [one of the ancient dis- tricts of Ayrshire]. Collie, (i) a general, and sometimes a par- ticular, name for country curs (R. B.) ; (2) a sheep-dog: 'a ploughman's collie." Collieshangie, a squabble: 'or how the coUieshangie works." Cood, cud, Coof, v. Cuif, Cookin, cooking. Cookit, hid : ' cookit underneath the braes,* Coor, cover: ' coor their fiids.' Cooser, a courser, a stallion: *a perfect kintra cooser.' Coost [i.e. cast], (i) looped : ' coost a hitch ' ; (2) threw off: 'coost their claes," 'coost herduddies"; (3) tossed: 'Maggie coost her head"; (4) chucked: 'coost it in a corner." Cootie, a small pail : ' the brunstane cootie.* Cootie, leg-plumed : ' cootie moorcocks." Corbies, ravens, crows : ' corbies and clergy,' Core, corps. Corn mou, com heap : ' commend me to the corn mou." Com't, fed with corn : ' thou was com't.' Corse, corpse : ' the pale corse on the plain,* Corss, cross : 'Mauchline Corss,' Cou'dna, couldna, could n't, Countra, country. Coup, to capsize : ' coup the cran ' = upset the pot. Couthie, couthy, (i) loving: 'couthie For- tune ' ; (2) affable : * fu' couthy and sweet.* Couthie, comfortably : ' kindle couthie, side by side.' O>zue,to scare, to daunt: 'cowe the cadie,* 'cowe the louns,' 'cowe the blellums,* ' cowe the lairds,' ' cowe the rebel genera- tion.' Cowe, to crop ; * cowe her measure shorter.* Crack, (i) tale: 'tell your crack'; (2) a chat: ' a hearty crack," ' ca' the crack ' = have a chat; (3) talk: 'hear your crack," 'for crack that day,* Crack, to chat, to talk : ' the ^ther cracks GLOSSARY. 393 of horses/ 'wha will crack to me my lane.' Cro-ckin, conversing : * crackin crouse.' Cracks, (i) stories: 'cracks and cants'; (2) conversation: 'gashing at their cracks,' ' an' friendly cracks,* Craft, croft. Craft-rig^ croft-ridge. Craig, the throat : ' that nicket Abel's craig.* Craig, a crag. Craigie, dim. of craig, the throat : ' weet my craigie,' ' thy bonie craigie.' Craigy, craggy. Craik, the corn-crake, the land-rail: 'the craik amang the clover hay,' ' mourn clam'ring craiks, at close o' day.* Crambo-clink, rhyme : ' live by crambo- clink.' Crambo-jingle^ rhyming : ' I to the crambo- jingle fell.' Cran, the support for a pot or kettle : * coup the cran.' Crankous, fretful : * in crankous mood.' Cranks, creakings : ' what tuneless cranks.' Cranreuck, hoar-frost, rime : ' cranreuch cauld,' ' hoary cranreuch drest.' Crap, crop. Crap, to crop : ' that crap the heather bud.' Craps, (i) crops : ' his craps and kye,' (2) tops ; ' craps o' heather ' = heather- tops. Craw, crow. Creel, an osier basket: *my senses wad be in a creel' = I would be perplexed, 'in Death's fish-creel,' ' nieves, like midden- creels.' Creepie-ckair, stool of repentance : 'mount the creepie-chair.' See also Cutty- stools. Creeshie, greasy. Crocks, old ewes : ' tent the waifs an* crocks.' Cronie, intimate friend, Crooded, cooed: 'a cushat crooded o'er me.' Croods^ coos: 'the cushat croods.' Croon, (i) moan : ' wi' eldritch croon ' ; (2) a low : ' an outler quey gat up an' gae a croon,* (3) note : ' the melancholious croon,' 'melancholious, sairie croon,* Croon, to toll: 'jow an' croon.' Croon' d, hummed: 'croon'd his gamut.* Crooning, humming ; ' crooning to a body's sel,' * crooning o'er some auld Scots son- net.' Cropse, crouse, (i) cocksure : ' keen an' croose ' ; (2) set : ' when I grow crouse ' ; (3) proud: 'crouse and canty.' Crouchie, hunchbacked : ' crouchie Merran Humphie.' Crouse, cheerfully : * crackin crouse.' V- Croose. Crousely, confidently: ' crousely craw.' Crowdie^ meal and cold water, meal and milk, porridge: 'wi' crowdie unto me,' *ance crowdie, twice crowdie,' etc. Crowdie-time, porridge-time \i.e. breakfast* time] . Crowlin, crawling: 'ye crowlin ferlie.* Crummie, a horned cow : ' auld Crummie's nicks.' Crummock, cummock, a cudgel, a crooked staff [cf. the Gaelic or Welsh cam or cum = the crook of a stick, and camon = Irish hockey] : ' louping and flinging on a crummock,' ' on a cummock driddle.' Crump, crisp : ' farls . . . fu' crump,' Crunt, a blow : ' wi' hearty crunt.' Cuddle, to fondle : ' bairns' bairns kindly cuddle,' ' cuddle my kimraer.' Cuddl'd, fondled: 'cuddl'd me late and early.' Cuif, coof, (i) a dolt, a -ninny, a weakling; ' fumbling cuifs,' ' blockhead, coof,' ' coofs on countless thousands rant,' 'cuifs o' later times,' ' a wealthy coof,* ' a coof . . , wi' routh o' gear,* ' he's but a cuif,' ' will be nae coof ' ; (2) a dastard : * a cuif like him.' Cummock, v. Crummock. Curck, a kerchief for the head: 'her curch sae clean,* ' I tint my curch.* Curchie, a. curtsy : ' wi' a curchie low did stoop.' Curler, one who plays at curling [a game on the ice] : ' the curlers quat their roar- ing play,' ' to the loughs the curlers flock.' Curmurring, commotion : * curmurring in his guts.* Curpin, the crupper of a horse: 'haurls at his curpin.' Curple, the crupper [z>. buttocks] ; 'hiugin owre my curple.' Cushat^ the wood pigeon. 394 GtXDSSARY. Custock, the pith of the colewort: 'gif the custock's sweet or sour.' Cutes, feet [properly of an animal] : anliles : " her bonie cutes sae sma'.' Cutty, short: 'cutty sarlc,' 'cutty sarins.' Cutty-stools, stools of repentance : ' datt bar- gains, cutty-stools.' Vad, daddie, father. Daez't, dazed. Dafin, larking, fun : ' to spend an hour in daffin,' 'fits o' dafiin,' 'towsing a lass i' my daffin." Daft, mad, foolish. Dails, planks : ' some carryin dails.' jDaimen icker, an odd ear of com: *a daimen icker in a thrave.' Dam, pent up water, urine : • ye tine your dam.' Damie, dim. of dame. Dang, dung [pret. of ding\. Danton, v. Daunton, Darena, dare not. Darg, labor, task, a day's labor: 'nought but his han' darg,' ' monie a sair darg.' Darklins, in the dark : ' an' darklins grapit for the bauks.' Daud, to pelt : ' set the bairns to daud her,' ' the bitter, daudin showers.' Daunton, to daunt. Daur, dare. Daurna, dare not. Daur't, dared. Daut, dawte, to fondle, to pet : * I kiss and daut thee,' ' kiss and dawte.' Dautei, dawtit, petted: 'unoo muckle dautet,' ' dawtit twal-pint hawkie.' Daw, to dawn : ' the day may daw.' Dawds, lumps, large portions : ■ an' dawds that day.' Dawing, dawning. Dawtingly, pettingly, caressingly: 'dawt- ingly did cheer me.' Dead-sweer, extremely reluctant Dearie, dim. of dear, Deave, to deafen. Deevil, v. Deil, Deil, devil. Deil-haet (i) nothing [Devil have it] : •the deil-haet ails them'; (2) Devil have my soul: 'the devil-haet that I sud ban.' Deil-ma-care, no matter [the Devil may care, but not I]. Deleeret, delirious, mad : ' an' liv'd an' died deleeret.' Delvin, digging : ' dubs of your ain delvin.' Dem'd, hid [from the Old Eng. deam of dern: 'that dern time,' Craig's Oxford Shak. King l^ar, iii. -i. 62] : ' dern'd in dens and hollows.' Descrive, to describe. Deuk 's, the duck has : ' The Deuk 's Dang O'er My Daddie.' Deuks, ducks : ' your deuks and geese.' Devel, a stunning blow : * an unco devel.* Diddle, to move quickly [of fiddling]: ' elbuok jink an' diddle.' Dight, to wipe. DigAt, winnowed, sifted : ' the cleanest com that e'er was dight.' Din, dun, muddy of complexion : ' dour and din.' Ding, to beat, to surpass. Ding, be beaten or upset: 'facts are chiels that winna ding.' Dink, trim : ' my lady's dink, my lady's drest.* Dinna, do not. Dirl, to vibrate, to ring: "played dirl' = went tinkle, ' roof and rafters a' did dirl,' 'she dirl'd them aff fu' clearly.' Diz'n, dlzzen, dozen. Dochter, daughter. Doggie, dim. of dog. Doited, (i) muddled: 'doited Lear,' 'a doited monkish race,' ' my very senses doited ' ; (2) stupid, bewildered : ' doited stots,' * the doited beastie stammers,' ' sae doited and blin'.' Donsie, (i) vicious, bad-tempered: 'ye ne'er was donsie ' ; (2) restive : ' their donsie tricks ' ; (3) testy : • ye wad nabeen sae donsie, O." Dool, (i) woe: 'sing dool,' 'may dool and sorrow be his lot,' ' O, dool on the day ' ; (2) sorrow: 'to sit in dool,' 'bitter in dool,' 'care and dool," dool and care'; (3) ' dool to tell ' = sad to tell. Doolfu', doleful, woful ; ' doolfu' clamour," ' the doolfu' tale." Dorty, pettish : ' tho" a minister grow dorty.' Douce, douse, sedate, sober, serious, pra- dent : ' douce honest woman,' ' O ye douce GLOSSARY. 39S folk," ' douce or merry tale,' ' douce con- veners,' ' douce folk,' 'thrifty citizens an' douce,' ■ douce Wisdom's door,' ' for ye sae douce,' ' sae cursfed douce.' Pouce, doucely, dousely, (i) sedately : ' douce hingin owre my curple ' ; (2) prudently : ' doucely manage our affairs,' ' doucely fill a throne.' Doudi'd, dandled : * doudl'd me up on his knee." Dought [pret. of dov}\, could : ' as lang 's he dought," ' do what I dought,' ' dought na bear us.' Douked, ducked : ' in monie a well been douk^d.' Dotip, the bottom. Dmtp-skelper, bottom-smacker : * vile doup- skelper, Emperor Joseph.* Dour^ doure, (1) stubborn, obstinate : * teughly doure,' ' the tither's dour,' ' and Sackville doure,* ' doiu: and din ' ; (2) cutting : ' fell and doure.* Douse, V. Douce, Douser, sedater : ' oughtlins doucer." Dow, dowe, am [is or are] able, can : ' the best they dow,' ' dow but hoyte and hob- ble,' 'as lang's I dow,' 'dow scarcely spread Iier wing,' * hirples twa-fold as he dow,' ' dow nocht but glow'r.* Dow, a dove, a pigeon: ' like frighted dows, man.' Dow/, dowff, dull: 'her dowff excuses,' ' dowff an' dowilie,' ' dowf and weary.' Dowie, drooping, mournful : ' our Bardie, dowie," ' dowie, stiff and crazy,' ' dowie she saunters,' ' I wander dowie up the glen,' ' some that are dowie.' Dowie, mournfully: 'his sad complaining dowie raves.' Dowilie, drooping: ' dowff and dowilie they creep.* Downa, cannot. DownOr-do, cannot-do. Doylt, stupid, stupefied: • doylt, drucken hash,' ' he 's doylt and he 's dozin." Doytin, doddering : ' cam doytin by.* Dozen-' d, torpid: 'dearest member nearly dozen'd.' Dozin, torpid : ' he 's doylt and he 's dozin.' Draigtt, draggled. Drants, prosings : ' to wait on their drants.' Vrap, drop. Drappie, dim, of drop, Draunting, tedious : ' draunting drivel,* Dree, (i) endure : ' dree the kintra clatter'; (2) suffer: 'the pangs I dree.* Dreigk, v. Driegh, Dribble, drizzle ; ' the winter's sleety dribble,* Driddle, to toddle : ' us'd to trystes an' fairs to driddle,' ' on a cummock driddle.' Driegh, tedious, dull : ' stable-meals , . . were driegh,* 'the moor was dreigh.' Droddum, thehreech : ' dress your droddum.' Drone, part of the bagpipe. Droop -rumpl't, short-rumped : 'droop- rumpl't cattle.' Drouk, to wet, to drench: 'to drouk the stourie tow.' Droukit, wetted, soaked : * my droukit sark- sleeve." Drouth, thirst: 'Scotland's drouth,' 'their hydra drouth,' ' holy drouth.* Drouthy, thirsty : ' drouthy neebors,' * drouthy cronie.' Druken, drucken, drunken, Drumlie, (1) muddy: 'drumlie German- water,' ' the drumlie Dutch ' ; (2) turbid : * drumlie wave,' • waters never drumlie ' ; {3) dull ; ' drumlie winter.' Drummock, raw meal and cold water: 'a bellyfu' o' drummock.' Drunt, the huff: ' took the drunt' Dry, thirsty : ' confoundedly dry,' ' a' dry wi' drinken o't.' Dry, dryly : ' answer him fu' dry.' Dub, puddle, slush : ' thro' dub ajid mire/ ' thro' dirt and dub.' Dub, a puddle : ' gumlie dubs,' ' the burning dub.' Duddie, ragged : ' tho' e'er sae duddie,' ' dild- die weans,' ' duddie boy,' ' duddie, des- perate beggar.' ' Duddies, dim. of duds, rags: 'coost her duddies,' ' their orra duddies,' ' brats o' duddies.' Duds, rags, clothes: *wi' reekit duds,' ' pawn'd their duds,' ' flaffin wi' duds,' ' tartan duds,' ' shook his duds.' Dung, v. Dcmg. Dunted, throbbed: 'wi' life-blood dunted.' Dunts, blows. Durk, dirk. Dusht, touched : eerie 's I 'd been dusht,' DwalUng, dwelling. 396 GLOSSARY. Dtoalt, dwelt. (3) claim : 'guid faith he mauna fa' that.' Dyke, (i) a fence [of stone or turf], a wall : Cf. Alexander Scott's Wken His Wife ' a sheugh or dyke/ * biggin a dyke,' ' yont Left Him : ' For fient a crumb of thee the dyke,' ' your lives a dyke,' ' sun our- she fa's ' [i.e. claims]. sels about the dyke,' * about the dykes,' Faddom'd, fathomed. ■ owre a dyke,' ' lap o'er the dyke." Fae, foe. Dyke-back, the back of a fence. Faem, foam. Dyke-side, side of a fence : ' a lee dyke- Faiket, let off, excused: "sio ban's as you side.' sud ne'er be faiket.' Dyvor, a bankrupt : ' rot the dyvors," ' dyvor, Fain, fond, glad. V. Fidgin-fain. beggar loons.* Fainness, fondness : ' wi' fainness grat.' Fair ft£, good befall ! welcome ! * fair fa* Ear', early. your honest sonsie face,' ' fair fa' my col- Eastlin, eastern. lier laddie.' Cf. ' fair fall the bones that E'e, eye. took the pains for me,' Shak. King John, E'ebrie, eyebrow. i. I. 78. Een, eyes. Fairin, a present from a fair : ' he gets his E'en, even. fairin,' ' thou '11 get thy fairin.' E'en, evening. Fallow, fellow. E'enin, evening. Fa'n, fallen. E'er, ever. Fand, found. Eerie, apprehensive, inspiring ghostly fear Far-af, far-ofE [many examples of both meanings]. Farls, small, thin oat-cakes: 'farls, bak'd Eild, eld. wi' butter.' Eke, also. Fas A, annoyance: 'to gie ane fash,' "or Elbuck, elbow. fash 0' fools.' Eldritch, (i) unearthly: 'eldritch squeel,* Fash, (i) to trouble: ' fash your thumb ' = * eldritch croon,' ' an eldritch, stoor care a rap ; ' I never fash ' = I never " quaick, quaick," ' ' eldritch laugh,' ' el- trouble about ; 'fash your head ' ; (2) dritch skriech * ; (2) haunted : ' eldritch worry : * fash me for 't,' * fash nae mair.' tower ' ; (3) fearsome : ' eldritch part.' FasKd,fash't, (i) bothered: ' they're fash't EleUt, elected. eneugh,' 'they seldom fash't him'; (2) Ell [Scots], thirty-seven inches. irked : ' fash'd wi' fleshly lust." Eller, elder: ' me the EUer's dochter.' Pashious, troublesome : ' fin' them fashious.' Eri, end. Fasten-e'en, Fasten's Even [the evening Eneugh, enough. before Lent]. Enfauld, infold. Faught, a fight. Ettow, enough. Fauld, the sheep-fold. Erse, Gaelic : ' a Lallan tongue or Erse.' Fa-uld, folded: 'within his mouth was Ether-stane, adder-stone : ' and make his fauld.' ether-stane.' Faulding, folding, sheep-folding: 'a-fauld- Ettle, aim : ' wi' furious ettle.* ing let us gang,' 'faulding slap ' = fold Evermair, evermore. gate : ' steeks his faulding slap.' Ev'n down, downright, positive : ' ev'n down Faun, fallen. want 0' wark.' Pause, false. Expeckit, expected. Pause-house, hole in a cornstack : ' kiutlin in Eydent, diligent : * wi' an eydent hand,* the fause-house,' ' the fause-house in her Fa\ fall, to fall. mm . Paut, fault. Fa', lot, portion. Fautor, transgressor: 'syne, say I was a Fa', (i) to have : ' best deserves to fa' that ' ; fautor,' ' tho' he be the fautor.' (2) suit: 'weel does Selkirk fa' that'; Pawsont, (i) seemly, well-doing: 'honest GLOSSARY. 397 fawsont folk ' ; (2) good-looking : • aught- lins fawsont.' Feat, spruce. Fecht, a fight. Fecht, to fight. Feck, the bulk, the most part : ' the feck of a' the Ten Comman's,' ' the feck o' my life.' Feck, value, return : ' for little feck." Fecket, \T.) sleeve-waistcoat [used by farm- servants as both vest and jacket] : ' got me by the fecket ' ; (2) waistcoat [without sleeves] : ' his fecket is white.' Feckless, weak, pithless, feeble : ' as feckless as a wither'd rash,' ' an auld wife's tongue 's a feckless matter.' Feckly, partly, or mostly : * carts . . . are feckly new.' Feg, a fig. Fegs, faith ! ' but fegs ! the Session.' Feide, feud : ' wi' deadly feide.' Feint, v. Fieni. Feirrie, lusty : ' the feirrie auld wife.' Fell, (i) keen, cruel, dreadful, deadly [many examples of each shade of meaning] ; (2) pungent : ' her weel-hain'd kebbuck fell.' Fell, the cuticle under the skin : ' the skin an' fell.' Cf. ' flesh and fell,' Shak. King Lear, v. 3. 24. Felly, relentless : ' felly spite.' Fen', a shift : ' might mak a fen'.' Fen', /end, (i) to look after, to care for: 'fend themsel'; (2) keep off: 'fend the show'rs ' ; (3) defend : ' fecht and fen ' = shift for themselves j ' how do ye fen' ? ' = how are you getting on? Fenceless, defenceless. Ferlie, ferly, (i) a wonder [implying also disgust]: 'ye crowlin ferlie'; (2) ' nae ferlie[y] ' = no wonder, no marvel. Ferlie, to marvel : ' an' ferlie at the folk in Lon'on.* Fetches, catches, gurgles: 'fetches at the thrapple.' Fetch' t, stopped suddenly: 'braing't, an' fetch't, an' fliskit." Fey, fated to death : ' fey men died.' Fidge, (i) to fidget, to wriggle : ' fidge your back,' 'fidge an' claw'; (2) 'fidge fu' fain ' = tingle with delight; (3) 'fidg'dfu' fain ' = fidgeted with fondness.' Fidgin-fain,\i) tingling wild : ' fidgin-fain to hear'f; (2) tingling with fondness. Fiel, well : ' haps me fiel and warm.' Fient, fiend, a petty oath (R. B.). Fient a, not a : ■ the fient a ' = nothing of a. Fient haet, nothing [fiend have it]. Fient haet o', not one of, Fient-ma-care, the fiend may care [I don't !]. Fier,fiere, companion; ' my trusty fier[e].' Fier, sound : ' hale and fier.' Fin', to find. Fish~creel, v. Creel, Fissle, tingle, fidget with delight [it is also used of the agitation caused by frying] : ' gar me fissle.' Fit, foot. Fittie-lan', the near horse of the hindmost pair in the plough : ' a noble fittie-lan'.' Flae, a flea. Flaffin, flapping : * flaffin wi' duds.' Flainin,Jiannen, flannel. Flang, flung. Flee, to fly. Fleech'd, wheedled: ' Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd.* Fleeckin, wheedling: *a fleechin, fleth'rin Dedication.' Fleesh, fleece : ' a bonier fleesh ne'er cross'd the clips.' Fleg, (i) either a scare [as the word is used by Ramsay], or a blow: 'jirt an' fleg'; (2) action, movement : ' uncouth countra fleg.' Fleth'rin, flattering : ' fleth'rin dedication.' Flewit, a sharp lash : ' a hearty flewit.' Fley, to scare : ' Want and Hunger fley me.' Fle^d, scared : * fley'd an' eerie,' * but be na fley'd,' ' fley'd awa.' Flichterin, fluttering: as young nestlings when their dam approaches (R. B.); ' flichterin noise and glee.* Flinders, shreds, broken pieces (R. B.). Flinging, kicking out in dancing, capering : 'louping and flinging on a crummock.' Flingin-tree, a piece of timber hung by way of partition between two horses in a stable, a flail (R. B.): 'the thresher's weary flingin-tree.' Fliskit, fretted, capered : ' fetch't an' fliskit,' Flit, to shift. Flittering, fluttering. Flyte, scold : * e'en let her flyte her filU' Fock, focks, folk. Fodgel, dumpy : ' a fine, fet, fodgel wight.' i^s GLOSSARY. Foor^ fared \i.e. went] : • o'er the moor they lightly foor.' Foorsday, Thursday. Forbears, forebears, forefathers. Forby,fordye, besides. Forfairn, (i) worn out: *wi* crazy eildl 'm sair forfairn'; (2) forlorn: * Fenwick, sair forfairn.* Forfougkten.y exhausted \i.e. by labour or conflict] : ' tho" forfoughten, sair eneugh.' Forgather^ to meet with, to fall in with. Forgie, to forgive. Forjesket, jaded with fatigue (R. B.) ; ' for- jesket sair, with weary legs.' Forrit, forward. Father, fodder. Fou, fow] full \i.e» drunk] , Foughten, troubled \i,e. by conflict with dif- ficulties] : ' sae loughten an' harass'd.' See Forfougkten. Foursome, a quartette : ' foursome reels.' Foutk, fulness, abundance: 'fouth o' auld nick-nackets,* Fow, V. Fqu» Fow, a bushel, Frae, from. Freatk, to froth, Fremit, estranged, hostile: Ms now a fremit knight.' Fu\ full. V, also Fou. Fu'-han't, full-handed [having abundance] : * ay fu'-han't is fechtin best.* Fud, a short tail [of a rabbit or hare] : • cock your fud fu' braw/ ' to coor their fuds.' Fuff't^ pufifed: *she fuff't her pipe wi' sic a lunt.' Fur^furr^ a furrow. Fur'akin, the hindmost plough-horse in the furrow : ' my fur-ahin's a wordy beast.* Furder, success. Furder, to succeed. Furm, a wooden form. Fusionless, pithless, sapless, tasteless: *he is but a fusionless carlie.' Fyke, fret : ' as bees bizz out wi' angry fyke.' i^ke, (i) to fuss: 'fyke an' fumble'; (2) to fidget \i.e. from annoyance or pain] : 'until ye fyke.' J^/e,to defile, to foul: 'her face wad fyle the Logan Water.* fy/ied, soiled : * that fyl'd his shins.' Gab, the mouth, the jaw : *his gab did gape,' * steak your gab for ever,' ' she held up her greedy gab,* 'his teethless gab/ 'set a' their gabs a-steerin.' Gab, to talk, to speak: 'gab like Boswell,' Gabs, talk; ' some wi' gabs/ Gae, gave. Gae, to go. Gaed, went. Gaen, gone. Gaels, ways, manners : ' learn the gaets/ Gairs, slashes: *my lady's gown, there's gairs upon 't.' Gane, gone. Gang, to go. Gangrel^ vagrant : ' o' randie, gangrej bodies.' Gar, to cause, to make, to compel. Gar*t, made, compelled, Garten, garter. Garten'd, gartered. Gash, (i) wise: 'a gash an' faithfu'tyke'; (2) self-complacent [implying prudence and prosperity]: 'here farmers gash'; (3) talkative and self-complacent : * a gawsie, gash guidwife.' Gashing, talking, gabbing: 'gashing at their cracks.' Gat, got. Gate, way, road, manner. Gatty, enervated : ' auld an' gatty," Gaucie, v. Gawsie, Gaud, a goad. Gaudsman, goadsman, driver of the plough- team : ' a gaudsman ane, a thrasher t' other.' Gau'n, Gavin. Gaun, going. Gaunted, gaped, yawned: * I've grain'd and gaunted.' Gawky, a foolish woman or lad [the female of gowk, q.v^ : * gawkies, tawpies, gowks, and fools.' Gawky, cuckooing, foolish ; * the senseless, gawky milhon.' Cf. A Dream, stanza ii, lines 3-4 : — * God save the Ktng*% a cuckoo song. That's unco easy said ay.' Gawsie, (i) buxom: 'her strappin limb an' gawsie middle'; (2) buxom and jolly: ' a gawsie, gash guidwife ' ; (3) big and joyous : ' his gawsie tail,' GLOSSARY. 399 GayUes, gaily: 'but they do gaylies,' Gear, (i) money, wealth ; (2) goods; (3) stuff: ' taste sic gear as Johnie brews.' Ceca, (i) to sport: ' may Freedom geek'; (2) to toss the head: 'ye geclc at me because I 'm poor." Ged, a pilce : ' and geds for greed/ ' Johnie Ged's Hole ' = the grave. Gentles, gentry. Genty, trim and elegant : ' genty waist,' ' her genty limbs.' Genty, trimly : ' sae genty sma'." Geordie, dim. of George, a guinea. Get, issue, offspring, breed: 'nae get o' moorlan tips,' ' a true, guid fallow's get." Ghaist, ghost. Gie, to give. Gied, gave. Gien, given. Gtf, if. Giftie, dim. of gift. Giglets, giggling youngsters or maids : ' the giglets keclcle.' Cf. ' a giglet wench ' = a light woman, Shak. 1 Henry VI., iv. 7. 41. Gillie, dim. of gill [glass of whisky.] Gllpey, young girl : ' I was a gilpey then.' Gimmer, a young ewe. Gin, (i) if, should, whether; (2) by: 'their hearts o' stane, gin nicht, are gane.' Girdle, plate of metal for firing cakes, ban- nocks, etc. : * the vera girdle rang.' Girn, (1) to grin, to twist the face [but from pain or rage, not joy] : ' it makes good fellows girn an' gape ' ; (2) gapes : ' that gims for the fishes and loaves'; (3) snarls: 'gims and looks back.' Girnin, grinning, snarling [see under Gir7i\ : ' wi' girnin spite,' ' thy girnin laugh,' ' every sour-mou'd girnin blellum.' Gzzz, wig: 'an' reestit gizz.' See also Jiz. Glaikit, foolish, thoughtless, giddy : ' glaikit Folly's portals,' ' I 'm red ye 're glaikit," 'ye glaikit, gleesome, dainty damies,' 'glaikit Charlie.' Glaizie, glossy, shiny: 'sleek an' glaizie." Glaum' d, grasped [Coll. a ' glaum ' or ' glam ' = a ■ grab '] : ' glaum'd at kingdoms three, man.' Gled,2. hawk, a kite [Anglo- Sax. 'Gleida' = the glider] : ' a bizzard gled,' ' at I had fed an Athole gled.' Gleede, a glowing coal, a blaze [Anglo-Sax ' Gled ' \ cf. ^ the cruel ire reed [red] as any gleede,' Chaucer, Knight's Tale, Canterbury Tales, 1997] : ' cheery blinks the ingle-gleede.' Gleg, (i) nimble : 'gleg as onie wumble ' ; (2) sharp, quick, keen : ' Death's gleg guUie,' 'as gleg's a whittle'; (3) keen- witted : ' he 's gleg enough,' ' wee Davoo 's grown sae gleg,' ' gleg as light are lover's een.' Gleg, smartly: 'he'll shape you aff fu' gleg-' Gleib, a portion : " a gleib o' Ian'.' Glib-gabbet, smooth-tongued. Glinted, sparkled: 'thou glinted forth,' * glinted by.' Glintin : ' wi' glorious light was glintin.' V. Glinted. Gloamin, (i) gloaming, twilight, dusk [gleaming of light after the sun has set] : 'an' darker gloamin brought the night,' •when ance life's day draws near the gloamin,' 'the hour o' gloamin grey,' ' beside me gin the gloamin,* ' now it was the gloamin ' ; (a) ' gloamin-shot ' = sun- set. Glow'r, a stare. Glow'r, to stare. Glomrin, staring. Glunch, a frown, a growl : * twists his gruntle wi' a glunch.' Glunch, to frown, to growl. Goavin, (i) looking dazedly: 'goavin's he 'd been led wi' branks ' ; (2) mooning : * idly goavin, whyles we saunter,' Gorcock, the moorcock: 'the gorcock springs on whirring wings,' 'where gorcocks thro' the heather pass.' Gotten, got. Gowan, the wild or mountain daisy. Gowany, covered with wild daisies. Gowd, gold. Gowdie, the head: 'heels o'er gowdie* = topsy-turvy. Gowff'd, struck as in the game of golf: ' gowff'd Willie like a ba', man.' Gowk, the cuckoo, a dolt : ' conceited gowk,' * Andro' Gowk,' ' gowks and fools.' Gmoling, lamenting [as a dog in grief] : ' Misfortunes gowling bark.' G>'''ff, (i) a grave: 'cauld in his gTa£^ 400 GLOSSARY. 'your green graff"; (a) a vault: 'your marble giaffs.' Grain^df groaned. Graip, a dung-fork. Craith, (i) implements, gear: 'ploughmen gather wi' their graith ' ; (2) instruments : 'her spinnin-graith ' ; (3) furniture of all kinds : ' a' ray graith ' ; (4) attire, garb : ' farmers gash in ridin graith,' ' in shootin graith adorned," ' in heav'nly graith.' Graitking, gearing, vestments : * Episcopal graithing.' Crane, a groan. Grane, to groan. Grannie, Grannie, grandmother. Grape, grope. Graped, grapet, groped. Grot, wept. Grannie, v. Grannie, Gree, (i) the prize [degree]; 'bear'st the gree ' = tak'st the prize ; ' carry the gree ' = bear the bell ; 'bear the gree ' = have the first place ; ' bure the gree ' = bore off the prize \i.c. won the victory] ; ' wan the gree ' = gained the prize. Gree, to agree, Gree't, agreed. Greet, to weep. Greetin, weeping, Groanin maut, groaning malt, Grozet, a gooseberry: 'plump an' grey as onie grozet,' Grumphie, the pig : ' wha was it but grum- phie.' Grun', the ground, Gr untie, the face, the phiz: 'twists his gruntle,' Gr untie, dim. of grunt: ' a grane an* gruntle.' Grunzie, the snout : ' she dights her grunzie wi' a hushion,' Gruihie, growing : ' grushie weans an' faith- fu' wives," Grutten, wept Gude, God. Guid [also Gude\, good, Guid-een, [also Gudeen"], good evening, Guid-father, father-in-law, Guid-man [also Gude-man], the husband, Gu'ld^wife [also Gude^wlfe\, the mistress of the house, the landlady, Guid-Willie [also Gude-Willie\, hearty, full of good-will: 'a right guid-will:e waught,' Gulhe, gully, a large knife : ' see, there's a gully,' 'Death's gleg guIUe," 'iang-kail gullie." Gumlie, muddy : ' gumlie dubs of your ain delvin,' ' gumlie jaups up to the pouring skies,' Gumption, wisdom, skill [sometimes of the nostrum variety] : ' her cracks wi' a' their gumption,' Gusty, tasty : ' an' gusty sucker.' Gutcher, goodsire,grandfather: 'ByeattotW; my gutcher has," Ha', hall. Ha' folk, the servants : ' the ha" folk fill their pechan," Haddin, holding, inheritance : ' Hell for his haddin," Hae, have. Haet, V. Devil-haet, and Fient-kaet, Haffet, hauffet, the temple, the side of the head : ' in some beggar's hauffet," * her haffet locks as brown "s a berry.' Haffets, side-locks : ' his lyart haiTets,' Hafflins, half, partly: 'hafflins is afraid to speak," ' like hafHins-wise o'ercoines nim = nearly half overcomes him. Hag, a moss, a broken bog : ' owre monie a weary hag,' ' sendin the stuff o'er muirs an' haggs.' Haggis, a special Scots pudding, made of sheep's entrails, onions, and oatmeal boiled in a sheep's stomach [the piece de rSs2Stav£e at Burns Club dinners, and an esteemed antidote to whisky]-. Hain, to spare, to save, Hairst, har'st, harvest. Haith, faith [an oath], Haivers, v. Havers. Hal', hald, holding, possession : ' house an' har[d] ' = house and possession. Hale, hail, the whole. Hale, hail, whole, healthy. HalesQvie, wholesome. Half, half. Hallan, a partition wall, a porch : ' yont the hallan,' ' ne'er at your hallan ca',' ' glowrin by the hallan en',' ' joukbehint the hallan,' •to his.ain hallan door.* Halloween, All Saints' Eve (31st October)i GLOSSARY. 40t Hallowmas, All Saints' Day (ist November). Haly, holy. Hame, home. Han\ haun, hand. Han-darg [or daurli\. See Darg, Hand-waVd, hand-picked [i.tf. choicest] : ' my hand-wal'd curse.' Hangie, hangman [nickname of the Devil] : 'hear me, Auld Hangie, for a wee." Hansel, the first gift : ' blew hansel in on Robin.' Hap, a wrap, a covering against cold : ' mair vauntie o' my hap,' ' the stacks get on their winter hap.* Hap, to shelter : ' hap him in a cozie biel,' ' and haps me fiel.' Hap, to hop : ' while tears hap o'er her auld brown nose.' Happer, hopper [of a mill]. Happixg, hopping [as a bird]. Hap-stef-an'-lowp, hop-step-and-jump [an important item in Scots athletic gatherings but here used, of course, metaphorically]. Harkit, hearkened: 'to guid advice but harkit.' Ham, coarse cloth [cloth spun of ' hards,' i.e. coarse flax] : ' her cutty sark, o' Pais- ley ham.' Harst, V. Hairst, Hash, (i) an oaf: ' doylt, drucken hash'; (2) a dunderhead : ' conceited hashes.* Hastock woo, the wool on the neck \i.e, throat] of a sheep. Haud, to hold, to keep. Hauf, half. Haughs, low-lying rich lands, valleys (R. B.) : ' let husky wheat the haughs adorn,' ' haughs an" woods," ' holms and haughs.' Haun, v. Han'. Haurl, to trail : " and haurls at his curpin ' ' till skin in blypes cam haurlin,' ' haurl thee hame to his black smiddie.' Hause, cuddle : ' hause in ither's arms.* Haverel, hav'rel, one who talks nonsense, a half-witted person; 'poor hav'rel Will,' ■ hav'rel Jean.* Havers, nonsense. Havzns, manners, conduct ; 'pit some havins in his breast,' * havins, sense, an' grace,' ' to havins and sense." Hawkie, a white-faced cow, a cow. Heal, V. Hale. Healsome, v, Balesome. HecAt, (i) to promise: 'they hecht hir* some fine braw ane,* ' hecht them courtly gifts,' ' hecht an honest heart " ; (2) to menace : ' some mortal heart is hechtin.' Heckle, a flax-comb. Heels-o' er-gowdie. See Gowdie. Heeze, to hoist ; ' higher may they heeze ye/ ' heeze thee up a constellation.' Heich, heigh, high. Helicon, a mountam in Greece. Hem-shin' d, crooked shin'd. Here awa, here about. Herry, to harry. Herryment, spoliation : ' the herryment and ruin of the country.' Hersel, herself. Het, hot. Heugh, (i) a hollow or pit: "yon lowin heugh ' ; (2) a crag, a steep bank : * the water rins owre the heugh.' Heuk, a hook, a reaping hook. Hilch, to hobble, to halt: 'hilchin Jean M'Craw,' 'hilch, an' stilt, an' jimp.' Hillock, dim. of hill, a mound. Hiltie-skilHe, helter-skelter. Himsel, himself. Hiney, hinny, honey. Hing, to hang. Hirple, to move unevenly, to hop, to limp : 'the hares were hirplin down the furs," 'hirplin owre the field,' 'he hirpl'd up, an' lap like daft," ' November hirples o'er the lea,' ' he hirples twa-fauld as he dow," ' he hoasts and he hirples.' Hissels, so many cattle as one person can attend (R. B.) : ' the herds an' hissels were alarm'd.' Histie, bare : ' histie stibble-field.' Hizzie, a hussy, a wench. Hoast^ a cough : ' an" barkin hoast,* * hoast- provoking smeek.' Hoast, to cough : ' hoast up some palaver,* ' he hoasts and he hirples.' Hoddin, the motion of a sage countryman riding on a cart horse (R. B.) : ' gaed hoddin by their cotters.' Hoddin-grey, clownish-grey, coarse grey woollen [and retaining the natural color of the wool] : ' wear hoddin grey, an' a' that.' Hoggie, dim. of hog, a lamb : ' My Hoggie. 402 GLOSSARY. Hog-score^ a term in curling : ' Death's hog- score.' Hog-shouther, a kind of horse-play by jus- tling with the shoulder, to justle (R, B.). Hoodie-craw, the hooded crow, the carrion- crow. Hoodock, grasping, vulturish : ' the harpy, hoodock, purse-proud race.* Hooked, caught : ' monie a pursie she had hooked.' Hool, the outer case, the sheath: 'poor Leezie's heart maist lap the hool/ Hoolie, softly : * something cries " Hoolie," * Hoord, hoard. Hoordet, hoarded. Horn, (i) a horn spoon: 'horn for horn tney stretch an' strive ' ; (2) a toothed comb of horn : ' whare horn nor bane ne'er daur unsettle/ Hornie, the Devil. Host, V. Hoast. HotcKd, jerked [the action of a bagpiper's arm] : ' hotch'd and blew wi' might and main.' Houghmagandte, fornication (R. B.). Houlet, V. Howlet, Houpe, hope. Howdie, howdy, a midwife: *nae howdie gets a social night,* ' afore the howdy.* Howe, a hollow, a dell, Howe, hollow. Hawk, (i) to dig: 'mice and moudieworts they howkit/ ' howkin in a sheugh ' ; (2) ' howkit dead * = disburied dead. Howlet, the owl, Hoyse, a hoist : ' they *11 gie her on the rape a hoyse.' Hoy% urged (R. B.) : 'they hoy't out Will, wi' sair advice.' Hoyte, to amble crazily (R. B.) : 'Now ye dow but hoyte and hobble.' Hug-hoc, dim. of Hugh. HuilionJ., slovens : ' tirl the huUions to the birses.' Hunder, a hundred. Hunkers, hams : ' upon his hunkers bended.' Hurcheon, the hedgehog: 'o'er hurcheon hides.' Hurckin, urchin. Hurdies, tht, loins, the crupper (R. B.) \i.e. the buttocKs] : ' hung owre his hurdies wi' a swirl,' 'row't his hurdies in a hammock,' • meekly gie your hurdies to the smiterst • your hurdies like a distant hill,' ' I wad hae gi'en them off my hurdies,' ' their ample hurdies.' Hurl, to trundle : ' or hurl in a cartie.* Hushion, a footless stocking: 'she dights her grunzie wi' a hushion.' Hyte, furious. /', in. 1 ■ Icker^ an ear of com : * a daimen icker in a thrave.' ler-oe, a. great-grandchild: ' wee curlie John's ier-oe.' Ilk, ilka^ each, every. /// V, bad at it : ' wretched ill o V lil-taen, ill-taken. Ill-Thief, the Devil: 'the Ill-Thief blaw the Heron south,' Ill-willie^ ill-natured, malicious, niggardly (R. B.) : ' your native soil was right ill- willie,' Indentin, indenturing : ' his saul indentin.* Ingine, (i) genius, ingenuity (R. B.) : 'he had ingine ' ; (2) wit : ' wi' right ingine.' Ingle, the fire, the fireside [very frequent]. Ingle-cheek, fireside [properly the/i3:?«i5 of the fireplace] : * lanely by the ingle-cheek.' Ingle-gleede, v. Gleede. Ingle-lowe, ingle low, the flame or light of the fire : ' by my ingie-lowe 1 saw,' ' beyont the ingle low ' = at the back of the fire- place, / 'se, I shall, or will. Ither, other, another, ItseV, itself. Jad, a jade, Janwar, January, Jauk, (i) to trifle, to dally : ' she made nao jaukin,' ' to jauk and play.'^ Jauner, gabber: 'haud your tongue and jauncr.' Jauntie, dim. of jaunt: 'your wee bit jauntie,' Jaup, to splash : * that jaups in luggies.' Jaups, splashes: 'gumlie jaups up to the pouring skies.* Jaw, talk, impudence: * deil-ma-care about their jaw.* Jaw, to throw, to dash ; ' and in the sea did jaw, man/ GLOSSARY. 403 f, to jog : ' and jeeg the cradle wi' my tae.' YUht, a jilt: 'a jillet brak his heart at last." Jimp, small, slender : ' thy waist sae jimp.' Jimply^'Osa.W'j: 'sae jimply lac'd." yimps, stays : ' but Jenny's jimps.' Jink, the slip : ' our billie 's gien us a' a jink.' yini, (i) to frisk: 'thro' wimplih worms thou jink ' ; (2) to sport : * and jinkin hares, in amorous whids ' ; (3) ' jink an' diddle '= dance and shake ; (4) to dodge : * he '11 turn a corner jinkin,' ' Rab slips out, an* jinks about,' 'jink there or here ' ; (5) ' the swallow jinkin ' = the swallow darting; (6) move out and in: 'and drawers jink.' Jinker, (i) ' a jinker noble ' = a noble goer ; (2) dodger, gamester \i.e. coquette], Jirkinet, bodice : ' Jenny's iimps and jirki- net.' Jirt, a jerk : ' monie a jirt and fleg.' Jiz, a wig. Jo, a sweetheart : ' John Anderson, My Jo.' Jocteleg, a clasp-knife, Jouk, to duck, to cower, to dodge : ' jouk beneath Misfortune's blows,' 'to Nobles jouk,' ' jouk behint the hallan.' Jow, tojow, a verb which includes both the swinging motion and pealing sound of a large bell (R. B.) : ' to jow an' croon.' Jumpet,Jumpit, jumped. Jundie, to justle (R. B.). Jurr, a servant wench : ' Geordie's jurr.' Kae, a jackdaw : ' thievish kaes." Kail, kale, (i) the colewort [also cabbage, but see Boza-kail] ; (2) Scots broth. Kail-blade, the leaf of the colewort. Kail-gulUe, a cabbage-knife. V. Gullie. Kail-runt, the stem of the colewort. Kail-whittle, a cabbage-knife. Kail-yard, a kitchen garden. Kain, kane, rents in kind : ' his kain, an' a' his stents,' 'to Death she's dearly pay'd the kain.* Kame, a comb : ' clawed her wi' the ripplin- kame.' Kebars, rafters : ' he ended ; and the kebars sheuk.' Kebbuck, a cheese: 'syne draws her keb- buck an* her knife,' 'her weel-hain'd kebbuck, fell,' ' a kebbuck-heel * = the last crust of a cheese. Keckle, to cackle, to giggle loudly [as a girl]: ' the giglets keckle.' Keek, (i) a look, a glance : ' he by his shouther gae a keek'; {2) a stolen glance : ' at ev'ry kindling keek.' Keek, (i) to look, to peep, to glance: 'now the sinn keeks in the wast,' ' I cannily keekit ben,* 'the gossip keekit in his loof ' ; (2) to pry : * but keek thro* ev'ry other man.' Keekin-glass, the looking-glass. Keel, V. Cauk. Keepit, kept. Kelpies, river-demons [usually shaped as horses] : ' water-kelpies haunt the foord,' ' fays, spunkies, kelpies.' Ken, to know. Kend, kent, known, Kenna, know not. Kennin, sl very little [merely as much as can be perceived] : * a kennin wrang.' Kent, V. Kend. Kep, to catch [a thing thrown or falling] : ' shall kep a tear.' Ket, the fleece on a sheep's body : ' tawted ket, an' hairy hips.' Key, quay. Key-stane, key-stone, Kiaugk, Q.&i)ii: 'his weary kiaugh and care beguile.' Kilt, to tuck up : ' her tartan petticoat she '11 kilt,' ' she kiltit up her kirtle weeL" Kinimer, (i) a wench, a gossip : ' despite the kittle kimmer ' [Dame Fortune] : ' ye weel ken, kimmers a',' ' loosome kim- mers ' = lovable girls, ' guid e'en to you, kimmer ' ; (2) a wife or bed-fellow : ' the kimmers o' Largo,' 'I cuddle my kim- mer.' Kin\ kind. King's-kood, the second stomach in a rumi. nant [equivocal for the scrotum] : ' Deil mak his king's-hood in a spleucban,' Kiiitra, country. Kirk, church. Kim, a churn : ' plunge an' plunge the kim in vain.* Kirn, harvest-home : ' the jovial, ranting kirns,* ' an' ay a rantin kim we gat,' ' at kirns an' weddins we 'se be there,' 404 GLOSSARY. Kirsen, to christen : ' and kirsen him wi' reekin water." Kist, (i) a chest ; (2) a counter [humorous] : * behint a kist to lie an' sklent.' Kitchen^ to relish [to add relish to] : ' thou kitchens fine.' Kittle, (i) difficult ; ' kittle to be misleared ' ; (2) ticklish : ' are a. shot right kittle ' ; (3) delicate : ' to paint an angel 's kittle ■wark ' ; (4) fickle : ' despite the kittle kimmer.' Kittle, to tickle: 'to kittle up our notion,' 'kittle up your moorland harp," ' I kittle up my rustic reed,' ' while I kittle hair on thairms.' Kittlin, a kitten : ' as cantie as a kittlin.* Kmtlin, cuddling : ' kiutlin in the fause- house.' Knaggie, knobby : ' tho' thou 's howe-backit now, an' knaggie.' Knappin-hammers, hammers for breaking stones [from knaf, to strike], Knowe, a knoll, a hillock. Kye, cows, kine. Kyles, V. Nine-pin kyles. Kytes, bellies : ' weel-swalled kytes.' Kytke, to show: 'fu' sweetly kythe hearts leal.' Laddie, dim. of lad. Lade, a load. Lag, backward: 'thou's neither lag nor lame.' Laggen, the bottom of a wooden dish : ' the laggen they hae clautet.' Laigh, low. Lair, lore, learning. Laird, landowner [the lord of houses or lands] . Lairing, sticking or sinking in moss or mud : ' deep-lairing, sprattle.' Laitk, loath. Laithfit', loathful, sheepish : ' but blate and laithfu', scarce can weel behave.' Lallan, Lalland, lowland : ' wad ding a Lal- lan tongue, or Erse,' ' the lalland laws he held in scorn,' ' a lalland face he feared none.' Lallans, Scots Lowland vernacular : * in plain, braid Lallans.' Lammie, dim. of lamb. Lan', land. Lari-afore, the foremost horse on the un. ploughed land side. Lan'-ahin, the hindmost horse on the im- ploughed land side. Lane, lone, Lang, long. Lang syne, long since. Lap, leapt. Lassie, dim. of lass. Lave, the rest, the remainder, the othels. Laverock, Lav'rock, the lark. Lawin, the reckoning, ' landlady, count the lawin,' ' guidwife, count the lawin.' Lea, grass, untilled land [also used in an equivocal sense]. Lear, lore, learning. Leddy, lady. Lee-lang, live-long. Leesome, lawful [allowable] : ' the tender heart o' leesome loove.' Leeze m.e on [from Leis me = dear is to me], blessings on, commend me to : ' leeze me on thee, John Barleycorn,' ' leeze me on drink,' ' leeze me on rhyme,' ' leeze me on the calling,' etc. ; ' O leeze me on my spin- nin-wheel,' ' leezemeonthybonie craigie.* Leister, a fish-spear : ' a three-tae'd leister on the ither.* Leri, to lend. Leugh, laugh'd : ' how graceless Ham leugh at his dad.* Leuk, look. Ley-crap, lea-crop [used equivocally] : ' waly fa' the ley-crap.' Libbet, castrate : ' how libbet Italy was sing- ing.' Licket, llckit, licked, beaten, whipt : * ye sud be lickit,' * how I 've been licket* Licks, a beating, put^ishment : ' monie a fallow gat his licks,' Lien, lain, Lieve, lief. Lift, the sky. Lift, a load : ' gie me o' wit an' sense a lift.* Lightly, (i) to disparage ; ' whyles ye may lightly my beauty a wee'; (2) to scorn: ' for lack o' gear ye lightly me.' Lilt, to sing : ' lilt wi' holy clangor.' Limmer, (i) a jade: 'still persecuted by the limmer,' 'ye little skelpie-limmer's- face ' ; (2) a mistress : ' or speakin lighflj o' their limmer,* GLOSSARY. 405 Lifnpet, limpit^ limped. Lin, V. Linn. Link, (i) to trip or dance with the utmost possible activity ; ' and linket at it in her sark ' ; (2) to hurry : ' will send him linkin.' Livn, a waterfall. Lint, flax : ' sin' lint was i" the bell,' ' I bought my wife a stane o' lint.' Lint-white, flax-colored [a pale yellow] : ' Lassie wi' the lint-white locks.' Lintwhite, the linnet : ' the lintwhites chant amang the buds,' ' the mavis and the lintwhite sing,' ' the blackbird strong, the hntwhite clear,' ' the lintwhites in the hazel braes,' ' the little lintwhite's nest.' Liffen'd, trusted : ' I lippen'd to the chiel." Lippie, dim. of lip. Loan, a lane, a field-path, the private road to a farm or house ; • the kye stood rowtin i' the loan,' * and up the loan she shaw'd me.' Loanin, the private road to a farm, a road : ■ wi' double plenty o'er the loanin.' Lo^ed, loved. Lon'ott, London. Loof \J>^- looves], the palm of the hand: 'an 's loof upon her bosom,' 'an' heav'd on high my waukit loof,' 'hear'st thou, laddie — there 's my loof,' ' an' wi' her loof her face a-washin,' ' O lay thy foof in mine, lass,' ' the gossip keekit in his loof,' ' wi' well-spread looves, an' lang wry faces.' Loon, loun, town, a. fellow, a varlet [very fre- quent]. Lootome, lovable: 'loosome kimmers." Loot, let : ' loot a winze,' ' I never loot on that I kenn'd it.' Loove, love. Looves, V. Loof. Losh, a minced oath [a mild form of Lord] : ' Losh, man, hae mercy wi' your natch.' Lough, a pond, a lake: 'ayont the lough,' ■ when to the loughs the curlers flock.' Loup, lowp, to leap. Low, lowe, a flame: 'the sacred lowe o' weel-plac'd love.' See also Ingle-lowe. Lowin, lowing, (i) flaming: Mowin brun- stane,' 'tho' yon lowin heugh 's thy hame'; (2) burning: 'to quench their lowin drouth.' Lown, V. Loon. Lowf, V. Loup. Lowse, louse, (i) to untie : ' lowse his pack' , (2) let loose : * lows'd his ill-tongued wicked scaul,' ' lows'd his tinkler jaw, ' louse Hell upon me.* Lucky, (i) a grandmother, an old woman : ' honest Lucky ' ; (2) an ale-wife : ' Lady Onlie, Honest Lucky.' Lug, the ear. Lugget, having ears : ' lugget caup ' = tvi^- eared cup. Luggie, a porringer : ' the luggies three are ranged,' ' that jaups in luggies.' Lum, the chimney. Lume, a loom : ' wark-lume' = a tool. Lunardi, a balloon-bonnet [named after Lunardi, a famous balloonist] : ' Miss's fine Lunardi.' Lunches, full portions: 'dealt about in lunches.' Lunt, a column of smoke or steam : ' she fuff't her pipe wi 'sic a lunt,' ' butter'd sow'ns, wi' fragrant lunt." Luntln, smoking : * the luntin pipe.* Luve, love. Lyart, (r) grey in general: 'but ane wi' lyart lining'; (2) discolored by decay or old age : ' lyart haffets wearing thin and bare,' ' lyart pow,' ' lyart gray,' ' lyart leaves.' Lynin, lining. Mae, more. Af alien, mallin, a farm: 'than stocket mailins,' ' there 's Meg wi' a mailen,' ' a mailen plenisH'd fairly,' 'a weel-stocket mailen.' Maille, Molly. Mair, more. Malst, most. Maist, almost. Mak, make. Mak 0', make 0', to pet, to fondle : ' I will mak o' my guidman,' 'makin of's the best thing.' Mall, Mally, Moll, Molly [Mary]. Manteele, a mantle. Mark, or merk, an old Scots coin [isld. sterling]. Mashlum, of mixed meal : ' mashlum bon- nocks.' MasHn-pat, the teapot. Maukin, a hare: 'hunger'd maukin taen 4o6 GLOSSARY. her way,' 'ye maukins, cock your fiid fu' braw,' 'ye maukins, whiddin through the glade,' 'the coward maukin sleep secure,' *skip't like a maukin owre a dyke/ 'are hunted like a maukin.' Mixun, must. Maunna, mustn't, Maut, malt. Mavis, the thrush. Mawin, mowing. Mawn, mown. Mawn, a large basket: 'and cover him under a mawn, O.' C/. ' A thousand favours from a maund she drew/ Shake- speare, Lover's Complaint^ 1. 36. Mear, a mare. Meikle, mickle, muckie, much, great. Meider, the quantity of corn sent to be ground : ' ilka meider wi' the miller.' Meli, to meddle: 'wi* bitter deathfu' wines to mell/ ' to moop an' mell/ Melvie, to meal-dust: * melvie his braw claithing.' Men', to mend, Mense, tact, discretion : ' could behave her- sel wi' mense,' 'ye but show your little mense.' Menseless, unmannerly: 'like other mense- less, graceless brutes.' Merle, the blackbird : ' the merle, in his noontide bower.* Merran, Marian. Mess yokn. Mass John [the parish priest, the minister ; in Chaucer and Shakespeare * Sir John ' is the name for the priest]. Messin, a cur, a mongrel : ' a tinkler-gipsy's messin/ Midden, a. dunghill: 'better stuff ne'er claw'd a midden/ Midden-creels, manure-baskets; 'her walie nieves like midden-creels/ Midden dub, midden puddle. Midden-hole, a gutter at the bottom of the dunghill (R. B.) : ' an* ran thro' midden- hole an' a*.' Milking shiel, a milking shed. Mim, prim, affectedly meek (R. B.) : 'an' meek an* mim has view'd it/ Mim-mou'd, prim-lipped : ' some mim- mou*d, pouther'd priestie/ ' mim-mou*d Meg o' Nith/ Min\ mind, remembrance. Mind, to remember, to bear in mind. Minnie, mother. Mirk, dark, gloomily dark. Misca', to miscall, to abuse: 'an' Russell sair misca'd her,* * they sair misca' thee/ ' misca'd waur than a beast.* Mishanter, mishap : * mishanter fa' me/ 'till some mishanter/ Mislear'd, mischievous, unmannerly(R. B.), Miss't, mist, missed, Mistak, mistake, Misteuk, mistook. Mither, mother, Monie, many. Mods, crumbling earth, dust : ' worthy frien's laid i' the mools,' * he wha could brush them down to mools.' Moop, (i) to nibble: 'to moop an' mell'; (2) to keep close company, to med- dle : * gars me moop wi' the servant hizzie.' Mottie, dusty: 'mottie, misty clime.* Mou', the mouth. Moudieworts [Old Engl, mold-warp, i.e. the warper of the mold or earth], moles: • whyles mice an* moudieworts they howkit.' Muckle, V. Meikle. Muslin-kail, beefless broth: 'water brose or musiin'-kail.' Mutchkin,^x\ English pint: 'hermutchkin stowp as toom's a whistle/ ' come, bring the tither mutchkin in,' ' ae hauf-mutch- kin does me prime/ Mysel, myself. Na, nae, no, not. Naething^ naithing, nothing. Naig, a nag. Naigie, dim. oinaig, Nane, none. Nappy, ale, liquor: 'twalpennie worth o' nappy/ 'the nappy reeks wi' mantling ream,' * while we sit bousing at the nappy/ ' drown'd himsel amang the nappy,' ' there 's naething like the honest nappy/ Natch, a notching implement; ' hae mercy wi' your natch.* Neebor, neibor, neighbour. Needna, needn't. NegleckU, neglected. GLOSSARY. 407 Neive, v. Nieve. Neuk. newk, a nook, a corner. New-ca'd, newly-driven [not newly calved] : ' while new-ca'd kye rowle at the stake ' [Burns's kye did not make it a habit to calve, all, or the most of them, at a par- ticular hour of the same evening, and that the zist of April]. iVic/S [Auld], Nickie-ben, a name of the Devil. Nick, (i) to sever: 'to nick the thread," 'nickin down fu' cannie, the staff o' bread ' ; (2) to slit : ■ that nicket Abel's craig'; (3) to nail, to seize away: 'by fell Death was nearly nicket." Nickie-ben, v. Nick. Nick-imckets, curiosities. Nicks, (i) cuts : ' clours an' nicks ' ; (2) the rings on a cow's horns : ' auld Crummie's nicks.' Niest, next. Nieve, the fist. Nieve-fu', fistful: 'their worthless nieve-fu" of a soul." Niffer, exchange : ' and shudder at the nif- fer." Nit, a nut. No, not. Nocht, nothing. Norland, Northern [Northland]. Nowt, nowte [Engl. Neai], cattle. a, of. Cferword, (i) the refirain : 'the o'erword o' the spring"; (2) catchword: 'prudence is her o'erword ay.' Onie, any. Or, ere, before. Orra, extra : ' their orra duddies.' O 't, of it. Ought, aught. Oughtlins, aughtlins, aught in the least, at all : ' oughtlins douser." V. Aughtlins. Ourie, shivering, drooping (R. B.) : ' the ourie cattle." Oursel, oursels, ourselves. Outler, unhoused, in the open fields: 'an outler quey." Owre, over, too. Owsen, oxen. Oxter' d, held up under the arms: 'the priest he was oxter'd.' Pack an' thick, confidential : ' unco pack an' thick thegither.' Paidle, (i) to paddle, to wade : ' thro' dirt and dub for life I '11 paidle,' ' we twa hae paidl'd in the burn " ; (2) to walk with a weak action: 'he was but a paidlin body, O." Painch, the paunch. Paitrick, (i) a partridge; (2) used equivo- cally [the bird was once esteemed sala- cious] : ' I brocht a paitrick to the grun." Pang, to cram : ' it pangs us fu' o' knowl- edge.' Parishen, the parish \i.e, the persons of the parish] : ' the pride of a' the parishen." Parritch, porridge. Parritch-pats, porridge-pots. Pat, pot. Pat, put. Pattle, pettle, a plough-staff: 'my new pleugh-pettle," ' wi' murdering pattle,' * as ever drew before a pettle.' Paughty, haughty : ' yon paughty dog," ' the paughty feudal throne." Paukie, pauky, pawkie, artful : ' the slee'st, pawkie thief,' 'her paukie een,' 'a thief sae pawkie is my Jean.' Pechan, the stomach : ' the ha' folk fill their pechan.' Pechin, panting, blowing: "up Parnassus pechin.' Penny-wheep, small beer: 'be"t whisky-gill or penny-wheep." Pettle, V. Pattle. Phihbeg, the Highlander's kilt: 'Adam's philibeg," ' with his philibeg an' tartan plaid," ' the philibegs and skyrin tartan trews." Phraisin, flattering, wheedling: 'phraisin terms." Phrase, to flatter, to wheedle; 'to phrase you an' praise you." Pickle, (i) a few, a little: *a pickle nits"; (2) a ' pickle siller." Pint [Scots], two English quarts. Pit, put. Plack, four pennies Scots [but only the third of an English penny]. Plackless, penniless : ' poor, plackless devils like mysel.' Plaiden, coarse woollen cloth : ' to warp a plaiden wab," ' a wab o' plaiden." 4o8 GLOSSARY. Plaister, plaster. Plenish'd, stocked: 'a majlen plenished fairly." Plmgk-fettle, v. Pottle. Pleugh, flew, a plough. PHskie, a trick : ' play'd her that pliskie." Pliver, a plover, pock, a poke, a small bag, a wallet: 'the auld guidman raught down the pock," ' they toom'd their pocks." Poind, to seize [originally in war, or as prey], to distrain, to impound: 'poind their gear." Poind, distrained : ' poind and herriet," Poortith, poverty. Pou, to pull. Pouch, pocket. Pouk, to poke : ' and pouk my hips.' Poupit, pulpit. Pouse, a push : ' a random pouse.' Poussie, a hare [also a cat] : ' poussie whid- din seen." V. Pussie, Poutker, fowther, powder, /ba/j.chicks : 'an" the wee pouts begin to cry.' Pow, the poll, the head. Pownie, a pony. Poiiit, pulled : ' an' pow't, for want o" better shift." Pree'd, pried [proved], tasted: 'for ay he pree'd the lassie's mou',' ' Rob, stownlins, pried her bonie mou'.' Preen, a pin: 'my memory's no worth a preen.' Prent, print. Prief, proof: 'for ne'er a bosom yet vas prief,' ' stuff o' prief.' Priggin, haggling : ' priggin owre hops an' raisins.' Primsie, dim. of prim, precise : ' primsie Mallie.' Proveses, provosts [chief magistrate of a Scots burgh] : ' ye worthy proveses.' Pu', to pull. Puddock-staols, toad-stools, mushrooms : 'like simmer puddock-stools.' Puir, poor. Pun',pund, pound. Pursie, dim. of purse. Pussie, a hare: 'as open pussies mortal foes.' V. Poussie. Pfet, a magpie: 'cast my een up like a pyet," Pyke, to pick: ' sae merrily the banes we 1 pyke.' Pyles, grains : ' may hae some pyles o' cafl in.' Quat, quit, quitted. Quean, a young woman, a lass : ' now Tam, O Tam ! had thae been queans,' ' the sonsie quean,' 'wha follows onie saucie quean.' Quey, a young cow [that has not calved]. Quire, choir. Quo', guod, quoth. Rab, Rob [dim. of Robert^ Rode, rode. Raep, a rope. Ragweed, ragwort, benweed \Senecio Jaco- tea, Linn.] : ' on ragweed nags.' Raibles, recites by rote: 'an' Orthodoxy raibles.' Rair, to roar. Rairin, roaring. Rair't, roared. Raise, rase, rose. Raize, to excite: 'that daur't to raize thee." Ramfeezl'd, exhausted : ' the tapetless, ram- feezl'd hizzie." Ramgunshoch, surly: 'our ramgunshoch, glum guidman." Ram-stam,\isa.S>aa^: ' harum-scarum, ram- stara boys.' Randie, lawless, obstreperous: 'a metiie core o' randie, gangrel bodies.' Randie, randy, (i) a scoundrel: 'bann'd the cruel randy"; (2) a rascal: 'reif randies, I disown thee.' Rant, (i) to rollick; (2) to roister [frequent examples of both meanings]. Rants, (i) merry meetings, sprees: 'our fairs and rants,' 'drucken [drunken] rants'; (2) rows: ' an' bloody rants.' Rape, V. Raep. Raploch, homespun: 'tho' rough an' rap- loch be her measure.' Rash, a rush: 'as feckless as a wither'd rash," ■ green grow the rashes.' Rash-buss, a clump of rushes: 'ye, like a rash-buss, stood in fight," Rashv, rushy: 'aboon the plain sae rashy, O.' GLOSSARY. 405 Rattan, ratton. a rat : * an' heard the restless rations squeak,' ' a ratton rattl'd up the wa", 'while frighted rations backward leuk,' ' like baudrons by a ratton. V. Rot- tan^ Ratton-key, the Rat-Quay. Raucle,(i) strong, bitter : ' a raucle tongue ' ; (2) sturdy: 'a raucle carlln." Rauglit, reached : ' the auld guidman raught down the pock.' Raw, a row. Rax, to stretch, to extend : * and may ye rax Corruption's neck,' ' rax your leather ' = fill your stomach; *ye wha leather rax,' ' raxin conscience ' = elastic conscience ; 'how cesses, stents, and fees were rax'd.' Ream, cream, foam : ' the nappie reeks wi' mantling ream.' Ream, to cream, to foam: 'ream owre the brink,' 'thou reams the horn in,' 'wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely,' ' the swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle,' ' but there it streams, an" richly reams.' Reave, to rob : ' reave an' steal.' Rehute, rebuff: ' ne'er break your heart for ae rebute.' Red, advised, afraid: 'I'm red ye 're glaikit.' Red, rede, to advise, to counsel. Rede, counsel : ' and may ye better reck the rede.' Cf. 'Recks not his own rede,' Shakespeare, Hamlet, i. 3. 51. Red-wat-skod, red-wet-shod: 'still pressing onward, red-wat-shod.' Red^ud, stark mad : ' an' now she 's like to rn red-wud.' Reek, smoke. Reek, to smoke. Reekie, reefy, smoky. Reestit, scorched: 'wi' reekit duds an' reestit gizz.' Reestit, refiised to go: 'in cart or car thou never reestit.' Reif, thieving : ' reif landies." V. Rief. Remead, remedy. Rickks, ricklets [small stacks of corn in the fields] : ' nor kick your rickles aff their legs,' i?«X plunder: 'that e'er attempted stealth or rief." V. Reif. Rifr, a ridge [of land]. tiiggitt, (i) the roof-tree: ■ rations squeak about the riggin 'j (2) the roof : • or kirk deserted by its riggin.' Rigwoodie, ancient, lean ; ' rig-woodie hags wad spean a foal.' Rin, to run. Ripp, a handful of corn from the sheaf: ' teats o' hay an' ripps o' corn,' ' there 's a ripp to thy auld baggie.' Ripplin-kame, the wool- or flax-comb : ' he claw'd her wi" thfc ripplin-kame.' Riskit, cracked : ' wad rair't an' riskit.' Rive, (i) to split : ' he rives his father's auld entails,' ' they '11 rive it wi' the plew ' ; (2) to tear : ' are riven out baith root an' branch,' ' rives 't aff their back,' ' riven the words to gar them clink'; (3) to tug: •till him rives Horatian fame'; (4) to burst : ' maist like to rive.' Rock, a distaff. Rockin, a social meeting, Roon, round, shred : ' wore by degrees, till hor last roon.* Roose, to praise, to flatter. Roose, reputation : ' ye hae made but toom roose.' Roosty, rusty. Rottan, a rat: 'the tail o' a rottan.' V. Rattan. Roun\ round. Roupet, exhausted in voice: 'my roupet muse is haerse,' ' till ye are haerse an' roupet.' Routh, V. Rffwth. Routhie, well-stocked: "a routhie butt, a routhie ben.' Row, rowe, (1) to roll: 'if bowls row right'; (a) to flow, as a river [very frequent] ; (3) to wrap [also very frequent]. Rowte, to low, to bellow: 'while new-ca'd kye rowte at the stake,' ' rowte out-owre the dale,* 'to hear you roar and rowte,' * the kye stood rowtin.' Rowth, plenty, a. store : 'ay, a rowth,' ' rowth o' rhyme[s],' ' routh o' gear.' , Rozet, rosin : * mercurial rozet.* Run-deits, downright devils. Rtmg, a cudgel : ' she *s just a devil wi' a rung,' ' a meikle hazel-rung,' ' round about the fire wi' a rung she tan,* 'wi' a rung decide it." RuKkl'd, wrinkled : ' yon rankl'd pair.' Kunt, a cabbage- or coiewort-stalk : 4IO GLOSSARY. runt, was like a sow-tail,' 'his bow-kail runt,' ' runts o' grace,' Kyke, to reach, Sad^ to sob, Sae, so. Soft, soft. Sair, sore, hard, severe, strong. £air, to serve : ' what sairs your gram- mars '= what avails your grammars; ' some less maun sair,' ' your clerkship he should sair,' * I 'd better gaen an* sair't the king,' 'your billie Satan sair us," 'he'll sair them as he sair't his King.' Sair, sairly, sorely, etc. Sairie, (i) sorrowful : ' the melancholious, sairie croon ' ; (2) sorry : ' some sairie comfort at the last.' Sail, shall. Sandy, Sannock, dim. of Alexander, Sark, a shirt. Saugh, the willow : ' o' saugh or hazle,' ' saugh woodies ' = willow twigs, Saul, soul. Saumont, sawmont, the salmon. Saunt, saint. Saut^ salt. Saut-backets, v. Backets, Saw, to sow. Sawney, v. Sandy, Sax, six. Scar, to scare. Scathe, scaitk, damage ; v. Skaith, Scaud, to scald. Scaul, scold : ' his ill-tongu'd wicked scaul.* Scauld, to scold. Scaur, afraid, apt to be scared : ' nor blate nor scaur.' Scaur, a jutting cliff or bank of earth : 'whyles round a rocky scaur it strays,' ' beneath a scaur.' Scko, she. Scone, a soft cake; 'souple scones,' 'hale breeks, a scone, and whisky gill,' * an' barley-scone. shall cheer me.' Scanner, disgust. Scanner, sicken [with disgust] ; ' until they sconner.' Scraichln, calling hoarsely; "and paitricks scraichin loud at e'en.' Screed, a rip, a rent : ' a screed some day,' ' or lasses gie my heart a screed,' Screed, to repeat rapidly, to rattle : ' he '11 screed you aff " Effectual Calling." ' Scriechin, screeching ; ' and scriechin ou( prosaic verse.' V. Skriech. Scriegh, skriegh : ' thou wad prance, an' snore, an' skriegh.' V. Skriegh. Scrievin, careering : ' gae down-hill, scrievin,' 'owre the hill gaed scrievin,' ' then hiltie-skeltie, we gae scrievin.' Seroggie, scraggy, scrubby : ' amang the braes sae seroggie,' 'down yon scroggy glen.' Sculdudd'ry, bawdry: 'sculdudd'ry an' he will be there.' See'd, saw [pret. Q>isee\, Seisins, freehold possessions: 'in bonds and seisins.' Sel, seV, sell, self. Sell'd, sell't, sold. Semple, simple : ' semple folk ' = humble folk. Sen', send. Set, to set off, to start : ' for Hornbook sets,' ' while for the barn she sets.' Set, sat. Sets, becomes: 'it sets you ill,' 'nane sets the lawn-sleeve sweeter.' ShachVd, shapeless: 'how her new shoon fit her auld, shachl'd feet.' Shaird, shred, shard : ' the hindmost shaird.* Shangan, a cleft stick : ' he '11 clap a shangan on her tail.' Shanna, shall not. Shaul, shallow : ' an' Peebles shaul.* Shaver, a funny fellow : ' he was an unco shaver.' Shaw, a wood. Shaw, to show. Shearer, a reaper [with a hook oririnally, but now reapers in general]. Sheep-shank, a sheep's trotter ; ' nae sheep- shank bane' = a person of no small importance. Sheerly, wholly : ' priests wyte them sheerly.' Sheers, scissors. Sherra-moor, Sheriffmuir. Sheugh, a small cutting to allow water to run away, a ditch, a furrow : ' as ever Ian a sheugh or dyke,' ' a cottar howkin in a sheugh,' ' they '11 a' be trench'd wi' monie a sheugh,' ' and reekin-red ran monie a sheugh.' GLOSSARY. 4" Sheuk, shook. SAiel, a shed, cottage : ' the swallow jinlcin round my shiel." See also Milking- shiel. Skill, shrill. Shog, a shake : • an' gied the infant warld a shog." Cf. ' His gang garis all your chalm- eris schog,' Dunbar, On James Dog. Shool, a shovel. Shoon, shoes. Shore, (i) to offer: ' even as I was heshor'd me,' ' and shor'd them " Dainty Davie," ' 'I doubt na Fortune may you shore'; (2) to menace, to threaten : ' had shor'd them with a glimmer of his lamp,' ' has shor'd the Kirk's undoin,' ' an' shore him weel wi' " Hell," ' ' if e'er Detraction shore to smit you,' ' like good mothers, shore before ye strike,' ' first shore her wi' a gentle kiss.' Short syne, a little ago: 'as short syne broken-hearted.' Shouldna, should not. Sh(mther, showther, shoulder. Shure, shore [did shear] : ' Robin shure in hairst.' Sic, such. Siccan, such very. Sicker, (i) steady: 'to keep me sicker'; (2) ' sicker score ' = strict conditions ; (3) certain : ' thy sicker treasure.' Sidelins, sideways : ' sidelins sklented." Siller, silver, money in general, wealth. Simmer, summer. Sin, son : ' his sin gat Eppie Sim wi' wean." Sin\ since. Sindry, sundry. Singet, singed, shrivelled : " singet Sawnie.' Sinn, the sun : ' the sinn keeks.' Sivy, sunny : ' in the pride o' sinny noon.' Skaith, damage. Skaith, to harm, to injure: 'the Deil he couldna skaith thee,' ' think, wicked sin- ner, wha ye 're skaithing.' Skellum, a good-for-nothing, a scullion: ' thou was a skellum,' ' ilk self-conceited critic-skellum,' ' by worthless skellums.' Skeigh, sHegh, skittish: 'when thou an' I were young and skiegh,' 'and Meg was skeigh,' ' look'd asklent and unco Skelp, a slap, a smack: 'I gie them a skelp as they're creeping along,* 'skelp — a shot* = crack — a shot. Skelp, (i) to spank \i.e. to trounce, to slap] : ' to skelp and scaud poor dogs like me,' ' or else I fear, some ill ane skelp him,' ' wi' your priest-skelping turns'; (2) 'skelpin at it ' = driving at it ; (3) to spank \i.e. to hasten, to move quickly] : ' cam skelpin up the way,' ' skelpin barefit,' * the words- come skelpin rank an' file,' ' Tarn skelpit on thro' dub and mire,' ' and barefit skelp' ; (4) ' skelpin jig an* reel ' = danc- ing jig and reel ; (s) ' a skelpin kiss ' = a sounding kiss. Skelpie-limmer' s-face, a technical term in female scolding [R. B.] : ' ye little skelpie- limmer's-face.' Skelvy, shelvy: 'foaming down the skelvy rocks.' Skiegh, V. Skeigh. Skinking, watery : ' nae skinking ware.' Skinklin, small : ' skinklin patches.' Skirl, to cry or sound shrilly: 'skirlin weanies * = squalling babies, ' loud skirl'd a' the lasses,' * an' skirl up the Bangor' ' he screw'd his pipes, and gart them skirl,' ' he skirled out encore.' Sklent, a slant, a turn : ' my notion *s taen a sklent.* Sklent, (i) to slant, to squint: 'wi* sklentin light,' ' an* sklented on the man of Uzz,' ' ironic satire, sidelins sklented,' ' an' sklent on poverty their joke'; (2) to cheat: 'to lie an' sklent.' Skouth, play [freedom] : ' to gie their malice skouth.' Skriech, a scream : wi' monie an eldritch skriech and hollo.' Skriegh, to scream, to whinny: 'prance an* snore an* skriegh.* Skyrin, flaring : ' skyrin tartan trews, man.* Skyte, squirt, lash [the primary meaning of to skyte is to eject forcibly = to stool] : ' when hailstanes drive wi* bitter skyte.* Slade, slid. ' Slae, the sloe. Slap, (i) a breach in a fence, an opening: ' to slink thro* slaps,* ' at slaps the bilUes halt a blink,' ' the mosses, waters, slaps, and styles ' ; (2) a gate : ' the sheep-herd steeks his faulding slap.' Slaw, slow. 41* GLOSSARY. Slee, sly, ingenious, SUekit, (i) sleek: 'wee, sleekit, cow'rin, lim'rous beastie'; (a) crafty: 'sleekit Chatham Will.' Slidd'ry, slippery : ' Fortune's slidd'ry ba'.' i>loken, to slake: 'their hydra drouth did sloken.' Slyfet, slipped: 'an' slypet ow're ' = fallen smoothly over, Sma', small. Smeddum, a powder ; ' or fell, red smeddum.' Smeek^ smoke, Smiddy^ smithy, Smoor^dt smothered, Smotttie, smutty. Smytris, a small collection, a litter: 'a smytrie o' wee duddie weans.' ,SKa^i«, sneering : *wi' hingin lip an' snakin,' Snapper, to stumble : ' Blind Chance let her snapper and stoyte on her way.' SnasA, abuse: 'how they maun thole a factor's snash.' Snaw, snow, Snma-broo, snow-brew [melted snow] : ' the snaw-broo rowes.' Cf. ' A man whose blood is very snow-broth,' Shak, Measure for Measure, i. 4, 58. Stted, (l) to crop : ' an' legs, an' arms, an' heads will sued ' j (2) to prime : ' I '11 sned besoms." Sneeshin mill, a snuff-box : ' the luntin pipe, the sneeshin mill.' Snell, bitter, biting : ' snell and keen,' ' the snellest blast at mirkest hours.' Snick, a latch : ' when click I the string the snick did draw ' ; snick-drawing = schem- ing: 'ye auld, snick-drawing dog,' 'he weel a snick can draw ' = he is good at cheating. Cf. Engl, a draw-latch, Snirtle, to snigger : ' he feign'd to snirtle in his sleeve,' Snoods, iiMtls: 'and silken snoods he gae me twa.* Snool, (i) to cringe : ' owre proud to snool ' ; (2) to snub : * they snool me sair,* Saoove, to go slowly: (i) 'thou snoov't awa ' = thou jogged along ; (2) * snoov'd awa ' = toddled oflf. Snowkit, pried with the nose [expressive of the sound made by the dog's nose] : ' snuff 'd and snowkit,' Se(tger, soger, a soldier. Sonsie, sonsy, pleasant, good-natured, joll) ' his honest, sonsie, bawsn't lace,' ' an un( . sonsie,' ' fair fa' your honest, sonsie faci 'sonsie, smirking, dear-bought Besi 'women sonsie, saft, and sappy,' 'tl sonsie quean,' ' sae sonsy and sweet.' Soom, to swim, Soor, sour. Sough, V. Sugh. Souk, suck: 'and ay she took the tithi souk,' Soiipe, sup, liquid: 'the soupe their on hawkie does.afford ' = the milk. V, Sow^ Souple, supple : ' souple scones,' 'souple tai ' souple jad,' Souter, cobbler: 'Souter Hood,' 'Souti Johnie.' Sowps, sups : ' wi' sowps o' kail,' ' sowps 1 drink.' Soiiith, to hum or whistle in a low tout * we *11 sit an' sowth a tune.' Sowther, to solder: 'sowther a' in dee debauches,' 'a night o' guid fellowshi sowth ers it a'.' ^ae, to foretell : • to spae your fortune,' ^ails, chips : * a' to spalls.' Spairge, (i) to splash: 'spairges about th brunstane cootie'; (2) to spatter: ' name not envy spairges.' Spak, spoke. Spates, floods : ' bombast spates.' See als ^eat, Spavie, th^ spavin. Spavit, spavined. ^ean, to wean : ' wad spean a foal ' [h disgust]. Speat, a flood : ' the roaring speat.' Speel, to climb : ' Moodie speels the hoi door,' ' ance that five-an'-forty 's speel'd * to speel , . . the braes o' fame,' ' if or\ beastie I can speel,' ' now sma' heart ha I to speel the steep Parnassus.' Speer, spier, to ask, Speet, to spit : ' to speet him like a pliver.' Spence, the parlor: 'keeps the spence ' ben i" the spence.' Spier, V. Speer, Spleuchan, (i) tobacco-pouch madeof som sort of peltry : ' Deil mak his king's-hoo in a spleuchan '; (2) [equivocally], ' hui her spleuchan.' Sflore, (I) a frolic: 'a landom-splore ' GIjOSSARY. 4IJ (2) a carousal : ' in Poosie-Nansie's held the splore ' ; (3) a row : ' he bred sic a splore." Spiachl'd, clambered : • I sprachl'd up the brae.^ Sprattle, scramble: "sprawl and sprattle," ' deep-lairing, sprattle.' Sprecklea, speckled. Spring, a quick tune, a dance : ' I Ve play'd mysel a bonie spring,' ' he play'd a spring, and danc'd it round,' ' Charlie gat the spring to pay,' ' the o'erword o' the spring,' Sprittie, full of roots of sprits [a kind of rush] : ' sprittie knowes.' Sprush, spruce. Spunk, (i) a match : ' we 11 light a spunk ' ; (2) a spark : ' a spunk o' Allan's glee ' ; (3) fire, spirit : ' a man o' spunk,' ' life and spunk.' Spunkie, sprightful, full of spirit : ' a spunkie Norland billie.' Spunkie, liquor, spirits : ' and spunkie ance to mak us mellow.' Spunkies, jack-o'-lanthorns : 'moss-travers- ing spunkies,' ' fays, spunkies, kelpies.' Spurtle-blade, the pot-stick [= sword]. Squattle, to squat, to settle : ' in some beg- gar's hauffet squattle.' Stacker, (i) to totter: 'th' expectant wee- things, toddlin, stacher through 'j (2) to stagger : ' I stacher'd whyles,' ' except when drunk he stacher't thro' it.' Staggie, dim. of staig [a young horse]. Staig, a young horse. Stan' , stand. Stane, stone, Sfan't, stood. Stang, sting. Stank, (i) a moat: 'out-owre a stank'; (2) a pond: 'the Muses' stank,' "soor Arminian stank.* Stap, to stop. Stapple, a stopper : ' for every hole to get a stapple.' Stark, strong: 'an' thou was stark,' 'baith wight and stark.' Stamies,&vca. of stam or star: 'ye twin- kling starnies bright.' Starns, stars : ' ye hills, near neebors o' the starns.' Startle, to course : ' or down Italian vista startles.' Staumrel, half-witted: 'stanmrel, corky- headed, graceless gentry.' Staw, a stall: 'your horns shall tie you to the staw.' Staw, to surfeit, to sicken : ' olio that would staw a sow.' Staw, stole : ' auld hermit A3rr staw thro' his woods,' * the lasses staw frae 'mang them a',' ' staw my rose,' ' staw the hnin o 't,' • staw a branch.' Stechzn, cramming; 'the gentry first are stechin.' Steei, a stitch : ' thro' the steeks,' ' ne'er a wrang steek in them a', man.' Steek, to shut, to close : ' their solemn een may steek,' ' steek their een,' ' steek your gab for ever,' ' the sheep-herd steeks his faulding slap,' ' and bonie bosoms steekit ' [ij. closed in]. Steer, (i) to stir: 'steer about the toddy, ' set a' their gabs a-steerin ' [i^. moving] ; (2) rouse : ' O steer her up ' ; (3) to touch, meddle with : ' the Deil, he daurna steer,' ' nae cauld nor hunger e'er can steer them,* ' thy servant true wad never steer her,* * misfortunes sha'na steer thee.' Steeve, compact : ' a filly, buirdly, steeve, an' swank.' Stell, a still. Sten, a leap, a spring: ' foaming, Strang, wi' hasty stens,' ' my heart to my mou gied a sten.' Sten't, sprang : ' thou never lap an' sten't an' breastit.' Stented, erected, set on high : ' my watchman stented.' Stents, assessments, dues : ' an' a' his stents,' ' how cesses, stents, and fees were rax'd.' Steyest, steepest: 'the steyest brae thou wad hae fao't it.* Stable, stubble. Stibble-rig, chief harvester [with the hook]. Stick-an-siowe, completely; 'ruin'd stick- an'-stowe.' Stilt, limp [with the aid of stilts] : ' hilch an' stilt, an' jump.* Stimpart, a quarter peck. Stirk, a young bullock or heifer [after one year old]. Stock; 2l plant of cabbage or colewort. Stoited, stumbled : ' down George's Street I stoited.' «I4 GLOSSARY. Stoiter'd, staggered : ' stoitei'd up ' = strug- gled up. Stoor, (i) harsh [in sound]: 'an eldritch, stoor "quaick, quaick"'; (2) stern: 'a carlin stoor and grim.* Stouri, stound. Stoure, dust [literal and figurative], Stourie, dusty. Stown, stolen. Stownlins, by stealth : ' Rob, stownlins, prie'd her bonie mou,' 'an' stow'nlins we sail meet again.' Stoyte, to stagger : ' let her snapper and stoyte on her way.' Strae death, death in bed [j.«. on straw]. Straik, to stroke. Strak, struck. Strang, strong. Straught, straight. Straught, to stretch: 'will straught on -a, board.' Streekit, stretched: 'ance ye were streekit owre frae bank to bank,' ' streekit out to bleach.' Striddle, to straddle : * striddle owre a rig,' Stron't, lanted. Strunt, liquor : ' a social glass o' Strunt,' ' a dram o' guid strunt.' Strunt, to swagger : ' ye strunt rarely.' Studdie, an anvil : ' till block an' studdie ring an' reel,' ' come o'er his studdie.' Stumpie, dim. of stump, a worn quill: ' doun gaed stumpie in the ink.' Sturt, worry, trouble : ' sturt and strife." Sturt, to fret, to vex : ' ay the less they hae to sturt them.' Sturtin, frighted, staggered: *tho* he was something sturtin.' Styme, the faintest outline: "or see a styme.' Sucker, sugar : ' gusty sucker." Sud, should. Sug/i, sough, (i) sigh: 'sough for sough"; (2) moan : ' wi' waving siigh ' ; (3) wail .* ' wi' angry sugh ' ; (4) swish : ' the clang- ing sugh of whistling wings.' -Sumph, a churl : ' ye surly sumphs." Sune, soon. Suthron, Southern \i.e. English], Swaird, the sword. Swall'd, swelled. Suianh, limber : ' stceve, an' swank.' Swankies, strapping fellows: 'swankies young.' Swap, exchange : ' a swap o' rhymin-ware,' ' the swap we yet will do *t.' iST^tz^fif, swopped, exchanged : 'we swapped for the worse.' Swarf, to swoon : ' amaist did swarf, man.' Swat, sweated. Swatch^ a sample : ' a chosen swatch,' ' a swatch o' Hornbook's way/ *a swatch o' Manson's barrels.' Swats, new ale : ' reaming swats, that drank divinely,' ' the swats sae ream'd in Tam- mie's noddle.* Sweer, v. Dead-sweer, Swirl, a curl ; ' hung owre his hurdles wi' a swirl,' Swirlie, twisted, knaggy: 'a swirlie, auld moss-oak.' Swith, (i) haste, off and away: 'then swith! an' get a wife to hug,''«with! in some beggar's hauffet squattle," ' swith to the Laigh Kirk,' ' swith awa.' Swither, doubt, hesitation; 'a hank'ring switHer,' 'an eerie swither," 'I've little swither.' Swoom, swim, Swoor, swore, Sybow, a young onion : ' a sybow-tail." Syne, since, then. Tack, possession, lease : * stand as tightly by your tack,' ' or Poland, wha had now the tack o 't,' ' a tack o' seven times seven.^ Tacket, shoe nail : ' wad baud the Lothians three in tackets," Tae, to. Tae, toe. Tae'd, toed : ' a three-tae'd leister," Toed, toad : * sprawlin like a taed." Taen, taken, Tairge, to target [with importunities]: 'I on the Questions tairge them tightly," Tak, to take. Tald, told, Tane, one in contrast to other : ' the tane is game," ' the heat o' the tane." Tangs, tongs. Tap, top, Tafetless, pithless : ' the tapetless, ramfeezi'd hizzie." Tapmost, topmost. ^ GLOSSARY. 415 Tappet-hen, a crested hen-shaped bottle holding three quarts of claret: 'the tap- pet hen, gae bring her ben." Taf -pickle, the grain at the top of 'he stalk: ' her tap-pickle maist was lost." Tafsalteerie, topsy-turvy. Tarrow, to tarry [the original sense in Henryson and the older writers, a sec- ondary sense being to haggle], to be reluctant, to murmur: 'that yet hae tar- row't at it ' ; (2) to weary : ' if you on your station tarrow.' Tassie, a goblet : ' the silver tassie.' Tauk, talk. Tauld, told. Tawie, tractable : ' hamely, tawie, quiet, an' cannie.' Tawpie, a foolish woman: 'gawkies, taw- pies, gowks, and fools.* Tawted, matted \i.e. hanging with matted tawts or teats] : ' nae tawted tyke,' ' wi" tawted ket.' Teats, small quantities : ' wi' teats o' hay.' Teen, vexation [common in Shakespeare, e^, ' of sorrow and of teen,' Love*s La- bour's Lost, iv. 3. 164] : ' spite and teen." TeU'd, told. Temper-pin, (i) a fiddle-peg : ' screw your temper-pins'; (2) the regulating pin of the spinning-wheel: 'and ay she shook the temper-pin.' Tent, heed: 'tak [or took] tent ' = take [or took] care. Tent, to tend, to heed, to observe [very frequent] . Tentie, (i) watchful: 'wi' tentie e'e," 'wi' tentie care"; {2) careful: 'wi' joy the tentie seedsman stalks'; (3) heedful: ' some tentie rin.' Tentier, more watchful : ' a tentier way.' Tentless, careless : ' tentless heed.' Tester [Old Fr. Test, a head], an old Scots silver coin about sixpence in value: 'till she has scarce a tester.' Cf. ' Hold, here 's n tester for thee," Shak., 2 Henry IV., iii. 2. 296. Teugh, tough. Teuk, took. Thack, thatch: 'thack and rape ' = the covering of a house, and therefore used as a simile lor home necessities ; ' thack and rape ' [01 a corn-stack]. Thae, those. Thairm, (i) small guts: "painch, tripe, or thairm ' ; (2) catgut [a fiddle-string] : ' thairm-inspiring,' ' o'er the thairms be tryin,' ' kittle hair on thairms.' Thecklt, thatched : ' an' theckit right.' Tkeg-ither, together. Themsel, tkemsels, themselves. Thick, V. Pack an' thick. Thieveless, forbidding, spiteful: 'thieveless sneer.' Thiggin, begging : ' come thiggin at your doors an' yetts.' Thir, these, ThirVd, thrilled: 'it thirl'd the heart- strings.' Thole, to endure, to suffer : ' thole a factor's snash,' ' thole the winter's sleety dribble,' ' thole their blethers,' ' thole their mither's ban,' ' the scathe and banter We 're forced to thole.' Thou 'se, thou shalt. Thowe, thaw, Thowless, lazy, useless: '"Conscience." says I, " ye thowless jad." * Thrang, (i) busy : ' that were na thrang at hame,' ' aiblins thrang a parliamentin,' ' thrang winkin on the lasses ' ; (2) throng- ing in crowds, ' the lasses, skelpin barefit, thrang,' 'thick an' thrang'; (3) busily: * complimented thrang ' ; (4) at work : 'are whistling thrang.* Thrang, (1) a' throng, a crowd: 'aff the godly pour in thrangs'; (2) acompany: • the jovial thrang.' Thrapple, the windpipe: 'see now she fetches at the thrapple,* 'as murder at his thrapple shor*d.' Thrave, twenty-four sheaves of corn: 'a daimen icker in a thrave.' TAraw, a twist : ' she turns the key wi' can- nie thraw.* Thraw, (i) to twist, to turn : ' for thrawin * = against twisting or bending; 'great Mackinlay thrawn his heel,' ' thraw saugh woodies,"did our hellim thraw*; (2) to thwart: 'the German chief to thraw, man," ' did his measures thraw,* 'a mortal sin to thraw that.* Thraws, throes: ,'ease the thraws.* Threap, maintain [with asseverations] : ' wad threap auld folk the thing misteuk.' 4i6 GLOSSARY, Threesome^ v. Foursome, Thretteen, thirteen. Thretty, thirty. Thrissle, thistle. Thristed, thirsted. Through : ' male to through ' = make good. Throu'ther [through otlier], pell-mell : ' cry a' throu'ther.', Thummarty polecat. 2'hy lane, alone ; ' no thy lane, In proving foresight may be vain." Tight, girt, prepared : ' he should been tight that daur't to raize thee." Till, to. Till't, to it. Tiinmer, (i) timber [common] ; (2) ma- terial [as also timber in English], 'the timmer is scant, when ye 're taen for a saunt ' = the saintly material is scant when you are taken for one. [Some wisacres affirm the meaning to be the wood (for the gallows) is scant: but (i) if this were the meaning the article 'the' would be superfluous; (2) it is absurd to suppose that there was then not wood enough to erect a gallows; (3) wood was less essential than a rope, and (4) 'material' is quite a common meaning of ' timmer.'] Tine, to lose, to be lost [frequent]. linkler, a tinker. Tint, lost [very frequent] : ' tint as win ' = lost as soon as won. Tippence, twopence. Tippenny, two-penny ale: ' wi* tippenny we fear nae evil.' Tirl, to strip : ' tirlin the kirks," ' tirl the bullions to the birses.* Tirl, to knock for entrance : ' tirl'd at your door,' ' tirl'd at the pin.' Tither, the other [very frequent]. Tittlin, whispering : ' a raw o' tittlin jads." Tocher, dowry. Tocher, to give a dowry. Tod, the fox. To-fa', the fall : ' to-fa' o' the night.' Tiwm, empty. Toop, a tup. Toss, the toast: 'the toss of Ecclefechan." Tousie, shaggy : ' his tou^ie back,' ' a tousie tyke.' low, flax, a rope. Towmond, towmont, a twelve-month, Towsing, rumpling [equivocal] : ' towsing a lass i' my daffin." Cf. ' Damn me if he sha't have the tousling of her," Fielding, Tom Jones, Toyte, to totter : ' toyte about wi' ane anither." Tozie, flushed with drink : ' the tozie drab.' Trams, shafts [of a barrow or cart] : ' baith the trains are broken.' Trashtrie, small trash : ' sauce, ragouts, an' sic like trashtrie." Trsioj, trousers: ' skyrin tartan trews.' V. Trouse, Trig, neat, trim : ' the lads sae trig," ' and trig an' braw,' ' he sae trig lap o'er the rig.' ' Willie's wife is nae sae trig.' Trin'le, the wheel of a barrow. Troggin,via.xes: ' buy braw troggin.' Troke, to barter : ' wi' you nae friendship I will troke." Trouse, trousers : ' will be him trouse and doublet." Trowth, In truth. Tryste, a fair; a cattle-market: 'to trystes an' fairs to driddle,' ' the tryste o' Dalgar- nock," ' he gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryste.' Trysted, appointed, agreed upon: 'the trysted hour." Trysting, meeting : ' trystin time," ' trysting thorn." Tulyie, tiilzie, a squabble, a tussle: 'The Holy Tulyie," ' in logic tulzie,' ' amid this mighty tulyie.' ' the tulyie 's teugh 'tween Pitt and Fox." Twa, two. Twafauld, two-fold, double: 'he hirples twa-fauld." Twal, twelve ; the twal = twelve at night. Twalpeiinie worth = a penny worth [ster- ling]. Twang, a twinge. Twa-three, two or three. Tway, two ; ' ne'er a ane but tway.' Twin, also Twine, to rob: 'twins . . . o'' ■ half his days," ' may twin auld Scotland o' a. life,' ' has twined ye o' your stately trees." Twistle, a twist, a sprain: 'the LotJ's cause gat na sic a twistle.' Tyke, a dog. Tyne, to tine. l^sday, Tuesday. GLOSSARY. 417 V2!:ie, oil : ■ wi' pouther and wi' ulzie.' Unchancy, dangerous : ' an' mair unchancy.' See WanckcLncie. Unco, (i) remarkably, uncommonly: 'unco pack an' thick,' ' unco happy,' ' unco weel'; (2) excessively, mightily [sar- castic] : ' Address to the Unco Guid.' Unco, (i) remarkable, uncommon : ' an unco calf; (2) terrible [sarcastic]: 'an unco loun ' ; (3) strange : 'unco folk.' Uncos, news, strange things, wonders : ' each tells the uncos that he sees or hears.' Unkend, unknown. Unsicker, uncertain : * feeble, and unsicker,' Unskaitked, unhurt. Usquabae, usquebae, whisky. Vauntie, proud: 'and she was vauntie," 'vauntie o" my hap,' 'your letter made me vauntie.' Vera, very. Virls, rings : ' virls and whirly-gigums.' Vittle [victual], (i) grain: 'a' the vittel in the yard ' j (2) food : ' a' my winter vit- tle.' Vogie, vain : ' and vow but I was vogie.* Wa', waw, a walL Wab, a web. Wabster, a weaver. Wad, to wager: ' I 'II wad my new pleugh- pettle,' ' I- '11 wad a groat," wad a boddle.' Wad, to wed : ' and or I wad another jad.' Wad, would, would have. Wad'a, would have. Wadna, would not Wadset, a mortgage : ' here 's a little wadset.' Woe, wofiil, sorrowful [also sarcastic]. Wae, woe : ' wae 's me ' = woe is to me. Cf. ' I am woe for it, sir,' Shakespeare, Tempest, v. 1. 139, Waesucks, alas! 'waesucksl for him that gets nae lass.' Wae worth, woe befalU Wair, V. Ware. Wale, to choose. Wale, choice. Walie, wawlie, choice, ample, large : * walie nieve," ' walie nieves," ' this walie boy,' ' ae winsome wench and wawlie.' Wallop, (i) to kick, to dangle: ' may Envy wallop in a tether,' 'wallop in a tow"; 2£ (2) to gallop, to dance : ' wallopM about the reel.' Walyfa' = ill befalL Wame, the belly. Wamefou, bellyful. Wan^ won. Wanchancie, dangerous: 'that vile wait- cliancie thing — a rape.' See Unchancie. Wanrestfu' ,xiii\\im'. ' wanrestfu' pets,' ■ ' Ware, wair, to spend, bestow : ' and ken ) na how to ware 't,' ' to ware his theologic care on,' ' tho' wair'd on Willie Chalm- ers.' Ware, worn : ' gratefully be ware.' Work, work. Wark-lume, v. Lume, Warl', warld, world. Warlock, a wizard. Wariy, war Idly, worldly. Warran, warrant. Warse, worse. Warsle, warstle, wrestle. Was na, was not Wast, west Wastrie, waste. Wat, wet Wat, wot, know. Water-fit, water-foot [the river's mouth]. Water-kelpies, v. Kelpies. Wauble, to wobble : ' ran them a' till they did wauble,' Waught, a draught : ' a right guid-willie waught.' Wauk, to awake. Wauken, to waken. Waukin, awake. Waukit [with toil], homy: 'my waukit loof.' Waukri/e, wakeful : ' till waukrife morn,' * waiikrife winkers.' Waur, worse. Waur, to worst : ' and faith, he '11 waur me,' ' waur them a'.' Waur't, worsted, beat [in running] ; ' might aiblins waur't thee for a brattle,' ' Wean [wee one], a child. Weanies, babies : ' when skirlin weanies see the light.' Weason, weasand. Wecht, a measure for corn : ' three wechts o' naething.' Wee, a little ; a wee, a short space, or time. 4t8 GLOSSARY, Wee things, children. Whissle, whistle. Weel, well. Whitler, a draught: 'tak our whitter.' Well-faured, well-favoured. Whittle, a knife. Weel-gaun, well-going. Wi', with. Weel-hain'd, well-saved : ■ her weel-hain'd Wick, ' wick a bore.' kebbuck,' ' weel-hain'd gear.' WVs, with his. Weepers, mournings [on the sleeve, or hat] : Wi 't, with it. ' auld cantie Kyle may weepers wear." Widdifli', gallows-worthy: 'a widdifu'j Werena, were not. bleerit knurl.' We 'se, we shall. Widdle, wriggle : ' the weary widdle.' W«rf/2«, western. Wiel, eddy : ' whyles in a wiel it dimpl't.' Wha, who. Wight, strong, stout : ■ wight an' wilfu', Whaizle, wheeze : ' and gar't them whaizle.' ' wight and stark.* Whalpet, whelped. Wighter, more influential. Wham, whom. Willcat, wild cat. Whan, when. Willyart, disordered : ' willyait glow'r.' Whang, a shive, a large slice : ' in monie a Wimple, to meander. whang.' Win, won : 'like fortune's favours, tint ax Whang, flog : ' and gloriously she '11 whang , win ' = lost as soon as won. her.' Winn, to winnow : ' to winn three wechts o' Whar, whare, where. naething.' Wha's, whose. Winna, will not W%ii'f, whois. Winnin, winding: 'the warpin o't, thfl Whase, whose. winnin o 't.' What for, what/ore, wherefore: *What for Winnock, window. no ? ' = Why not ? Winnock-bunker, v. Bunker, Whatna, what [partly in contempt] : ' whatna Win't, did wind : ' an' ay she vrin't' day o' whatna style.' Wintle, a somersault: 'tumbled wi' a What reck, what matter, nevertheless : ' but wintle.' yet, what reck, he at Quebec,' ' when I, Wintle, (i) to stagger: 'wintle like a whatreck, did least expeck.' saumont-cobble'; (2) to swing, to wrig- M'hatt, whittled. gle : ' wintle in a woodie,' ' that wintles in Whaup, the curlew. a halter.' Whaur, where. Winze, a curse : ' loot a winze,' Wheep, V. Penny^mheep.. Wiss, wish. Wheep, jerk : ' to ste our elbucks wheep.* Won, to dwell : ' there was a wife wonn'd Whid, a fib : 'a rousing whid at times to in Cockpen,' 'there wons auld Colin's vend.' bonie lass,' ' Auld Rob Morris that wons IfAirfrfiB, scudding: 'an' morning poussie in yon glen." Cf. ' The wild beast, where whiddin seen," 'ye maukins whiddin he wons,' Milton, Paradise Lost, vii. 457. through the glade.' Wonner, a wonder, a marvel : ' blastit won- Whids, gambols : ' jinkin hares, in amorous ner.' whids.' Woo', wool. Whigmeleeries, crotchets; ' whigmeleeries Woodie, woody, a rope [originally of in your noddle." withes] : (i) ' the meikle Devil wi' a Whmgin, whining: 'if onie whiggish woodie * ; (2) a gallows rope : * wintle in whingin sot' a woodie"; (3) the gallows: 'the waefii' Whins, furze : ' thro' the whins an' [and] by woodie," ' learning in a woody dance.' the cairn.' Woodies, twigs, withes : • saugh woodies.* Whirlygigums, flourishes. Wooer-bahs, love-knots. Whisht, silence: 'held my whisht '=- kept Wordy, worthy: 'wordy of a grace,' 'a silence. wordy beast.' GLOSSARY. 419 Werset, worsted: 'her braw, new worset apron.' WortA, f. Wae worth. Wrang^ wrong. Wud, wild, mad : ' as wud as wud can be," 'like onie wud bear.' See also Eed- wud. Wumble, wimble: 'gleg as onie wumble.' Wyliecoat, undervest. Wyte [weight], blame: ' Had I the wyte? ' Wyte, to blame, to reproach. Yard, a garden, a stackyard. Vaud, an old mare : ' the auld grey yaud.' Yealings, coevals. Yell, dry [milkless] : ' as yell 's the bill.' Yerd, earth : ' their green beds in the yerd." See Yird, Yerkit, jerked : ' yerfcit up sublime.' Yerl, Earl. Ye *se, ye shall. Yestreen, last night. Yett, a gate. Yeuk, to itch : ' If Warren Hastings' neck was yeukin,' ' yeuks wi* joy.' Yill, ale. Yill-caup, ale-stoup. See Cmip. Yird, yeartk, earth ; v. Yerd. Yokin, yoking; (i) a spell, a day's work: ' a yokin at the pleugh ' ; (2) a set to : 'a hearty yokin at " sang about." ' Yon, yonder. ' Yont, beyond. Yowe, ewe, Yowie, dim. of ewe\ a pet ewC Yule, Christmas. CHRONOLOGICAL INDEX. «ft''here, braving angry vrinter's storms, 234. My Peggy's face, my Peggy's form, 291. The banks of the Devon, 229. On the Death of Lord President Dundas, 194. When dear Clarinda, matchless fair, 152. 1788.— ^t. 29. On Mr. Elphinstone's Translation of Mar- tial, 205. A Farewell to Clarinda, 235. Whistle, an' I '11 come to ye, my lad, 222. M'Pherson's Farewell, 224. Stay, my charmer, can you leave me ? 225. Strat'hallan's Lament, 225. The Young Highland Rover, 227. Raving winds around her blowing, 230, Musing on the roaring ocean, 231. To Clarinda, with a Pair of Drinking-glasses. 152. The Chevalier's Lament, 338. Epistle to Hugh Parker, 153. Of a' the airts the wind can blaw, 242. O, were I on Parnassus hill, 243. Written in Friars Carse Hermitage, 91. To Mr. Alexander Cunningham, 153. Epistle to Robert Graham, Esq., of Fintry, 9S- The F6te Champetre, X77. The day returns, my bosom bums, 239. On Robert Fergusson, 216. The lazy mist hangs from the brow of the hill, 24r. I hae a wife o' my ain, 262. Auld lang syne, 277. Go fetch to me a pint o' wine, 241. Robin shure in hairst, 294. 1788-89.— .;Et. 29-30, Sweet Tibbie Dunbar, 236. The Gard'ner wi' his paidle, 239. Beware o' bonie Ann, 238. My heart 's in the Highlands, 244. The banks of Nith, 252. Tam Glen, 252. 1789. — .ffit. 3a Elegy on the year 1788, 132. Extempore Verses to Captain Riddell, 156. Caledonia, a ballad, 341. Ode, Sacred to the Memory of Mrs. Oswald of Auchencruive, 91. Pegasus at Wanlockhead, 196. Ode to the Departed Regency-bill, 1789, 171, O, sing a new song to the Lord ! 172. Delia, an Ode, 354. Sketch, inscribed to Charles James Fox, Esq., 173. Verses on a Wounded Hare, 102. To James Tennant of Glenconner, 156, The Kirk's Alarm, 120. To Robert Graham, Esq., of Fintry, 154. Willie brew'd a peck o' maut, 251. The Whistle, log. Thou Lingering Star, 247. To Dr. Blacklock, 158. On Captain Grose's Peregrinations thro' Scotland, 103. Epigram on Captain Grose, 907. 424 CHRONOLOGICAL INDEX. v^erses on Captain Grose, 133. Election ballad for Westerha', 179. The Five Carlins, an Election Ballad, 178. The blue-eyed lassie, 252. Sketch — New-year's Day, 134. Prologue spoken at the Theatre, Dumfries, on New-year's Day Evening (1790), 165. 1790. — ^t. 31. Thine am I, my faithful fair, 316. Prologue for Mrs. Sutherland's Benefit- night, Diimfries, 166, Peg Nicholson, 195. Written to a Gentleman who had sent the Poet a Newspaper, and offered to con- tinue it free of Expense, 159. Dear Peter, dear Peter, 160. Yestreen I had a pint o' wine, 339. I murder hate, 209. Epistle to Robert Graham, Esq., of Fin- try, 180. Elegy on Captain Matthew Henderson, 92. Epitaph on Captain Henderson, 94. Tam o' Shanter : a Tale, 99. Stanzas on the Birth of a Posthumous Child, born in peculiar circumstances of Family- distress, io3. Elegy on the late Miss Burnet of Mon- boddo, 196. 1791. — .lEt. 32. Lament of Mary Queen of Scots, on the approach of Spring, 94. There '11 never be peace till Jamie comes hame, 255. Lament for James, Earl of Glencairn, 97. Lines sent to Sir John Whitefoord, Bart., 98. Dear Sir, Our Lucky humbly begs, 359. Sensibility how charming, 257. Address to the Shade of Thomson, 103. Lovely Davies, 261. Epigram on Miss Davies, 208. Bonie wee thing, 259. A Fragment : on Glenriddell's Fox breaking his Chain, 174. To John Maxwell. Esq., of Terraughtie, on his Birthday, 160. Ae fond kiss, and then we sever, 260. Ance mair I hail thee, thou gloomy Decem- ber! 291. yareweil, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies, 271. Craigieburn Wood, 253. The Banks o' Doon, 267. 1792.— .lEtss. My Nanie 's awa, 313. Wandering Willie, 299. Lines on Fergusson, 195. The Deil 's awa wi' th' Exciseman, 274. Bonie Lesley, 305. The lea-rig, 328. My wife 's a winsome wee thing, 328. Highland Mary, 317. The Rights of Woman : an Occasional Ad- dress spoken by Miss Fontenelle, 167. To Miss Fontenelle, on seeing her in a favourite Character, 210. Auld Rob Morris, 300. Duncan Gray, 302. Here 's to them that 's awa, 343. 1793. — .iEt. 34. Extempore on some Commemorations oi Thomson, 197. O poortith cauld and restless love, 304. Galla Water, 299. Sonnet on hearing a Thrush sing, 198. Lord Gregory, 303. Open the door to me, 300. On General Dumourier's desertion frewj the French Republican Army, 197. Young Jessie, 305. When Wild War's deadly blast was blawn, 301. It is na, Jean, thy bonie face, 258, Meg o' the Mill, 296. Blythe hae I been on yon hill, 307. Logan Water, 320. O were my love yon Lilac fair, 326. There was a lass and she was fair, 327. Epitaph on a Lap-dog, 217. Epigram on Morine, 210. Phillis the Fair, 345. Had I a cave on some wild distant shore, 309. By Allan stream I chanc'd to rove, 307. O, whistle and I '11 come to ye, my lad, 222. Adown winding Nith I did wander, 306. Come, let me take thee to my breast, 308. Scots Wha hae, 315, Where are the joys ? 320. Impromptu on Mrs. Riddell's Birthday ^fh November, 1793, ^9^' CHRONOLOGICAL INDEX. 425 At Brownhill we always get dainty good cheer, 208. Graces before and after meat, 214. Husband, husband, cease your strife, 311. Address spoken by Miss Fontenelle on her benefit night, 168. Lovely Polly Stewart, a86. In a lady's pocket-book, 210. Epigrams on the Earl of Galloway, 210. 1794. — iEt.3S. Monody on a Lady famed for her caprice, 217, Epistle from Esopus to Maria, 135. The lovely lass of Inverness, 275. Out over the Forth, 279. Louis, what reck I by thee ? 277. Charlie, he 's my darling, 279. The Cooper o' Cuddy, 280. Somebody ! 280. Wilt thou be my Dearie ? 285. Wae is my heart, 287. Here 's to thy health, my bonie lass, 2S9. Sonnet on the Death of Glenriddell, 199. To William Stewart, 161. Extempore pinned to Mrs. Riddell's car- riage, 211. Epigram on a noted Coxcomb, 218. Here is the Glen, 303. Fragment of an Ode for Washington's Birthday, 175. As I stood by yon roofless tower, 275. A tippling ballad, 357. Address to the Daughter of Mr. Graham of Fintry, 161. Ye true ' Loyal Natives,' attend to my song, 209. How can my poor heart be glad ? 322. Ca' the yowes to the knowes, 322. Sae flaxen were her ringlets, 281. To Dr. Maxwell, on Miss Jessy Staig's Recovery, 211. To Chloris, 163. Lassie wi' the lint-white locks, 319. ' O saw ye my dear, my Philly ? 345. How lang and dreary is the night, 231. Let not Woman e'er complain, 303. Sleep's! thou, or wauk'st thou, fairest crea- ture, 326. But lately seen in gladsome green, 288. Epigram on seeing Mrs. Kemble in Yar- ic9, 212. Epigram on Walter Riddell, Esq., 218. My Chloris, mark how green the groves, 31& O Philly, happy be that day, 325. Contented wi' little, 308. Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy ? 308. To the Hon. Wm. R. Maule of Panmure, 212-, Thanksgiving for a National Victory, 360. 1795. — .lEt. 36. Scroggam, 293. My Lord a-hunting, 295. Jockey's ta'en the parting kiss, 296. O lay thy loof in mine, lass, 297. There *s news, lasses, news, 298. O Mally 's meek, Mally 's sweet, 298. A Man '5 a Man for a' that, 323. O let me in this ae night, 324. Ballads on Mr. Heron's Election, 1795, 183. Does haughty Gaul invasion threat ? 294. Instead of a song, boys, I'll give you a toast (?I793).I7S,- Oh, wat ye wha 's in yon town ? 284. Verses to John Syme of Ryedale, 212. O stay, sweet warbling woodlark, 304. On Chloris being ill, 360. Caledonia, 221. 'T was na her bonie blue e'e was my ruin, 346, Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion, 324. Address to the Toothache, 129. Forlorn, my Love, no comfort near, 321. Last May a braw wooer, 312. O, this is no my ain lassie, 314. Now spring has clad the grove in green, 314. O bonie was yon rosy brier, 320. For an Altar of Independence, 213. Verses on the Duke of Queensberry, 180. Verses on the Destruction of the Woods near Drumlanrig, 351. To Collector Mitchell, 161. O wha is she that lo'es me, 368. Epigram on William Cruickshank, 217. The f'hilosopher's Stone, 359. 1796.— .^t. 37. The Dean of the Faculty, 187. To Colonel de Peyster, 162. A lass wi' a tocher, 307. Here 's a health, 310. Oh, wert thou in the cauld blast, 346. Wha will buy my troggin, 186. Verses to Miss Jessie Lewars, 213. Fairest maid on Devon banks, 318. GENERAL INDEX OF TITLES AND FIRST LINES. — — <««iin. Apostrophe to, 190. Gaul Invasion Threat, Does Haughty, 294. Lines on, 195. Glen, Tam, 252. On Robert, 216. Glencairn, Lament for James, Earl of, 97. Ferrier, To Miss, 151. Glenriddell's Fox Breaking his Chain, Fill Me with the Rosy Wine, 213. On, 174. Fintry, My Stay in Worldly Strife, 180. Globe Tavern, Dumfries, At the, 209, 214, . see Graham. Go, Fetch to Me a Knt o" Wine, 241. First When Maggie was My Care, 242. Coldie's Brains, On Commissary, ?r)r). 43° GENERAL INDEX OF TITLES AND FIRST LINES. Goldie, To John, 137. Gordon Castle, 132. Gordon's Reel Dancing, On the Duchess of, 133. Gracie, Tliou Art a Man of Worth, 213. Graham, Esq., of Fintry, Election Ballad Addressed to Robert, 180. ■ Esq., of Fintry, Sonnet to Robert, 158. • To Robert, 95, 154. of Fintry, Inscription to Miss, 161. Graham of Mosslinowe, On William, 219. Grant Me, Indulgent Heaven, that 1 may Live, 210. Gray, Duncan (first set), 229. (second set) , 302, To Symon, 151. Wee Willie, 292. Green Grow the Rashes, O, 88. Gregory, Lord, 303. Grieve, Laird of Boghead, Tarbolton, On James, 215. Grizzel Grimme, On, igg. Grose, On Captain Francis, 207. Grose's Peregrinations Thro' Scotland, On the Late Cajptain, 103. Gude Pity Me, Because I 'm Little, 126. Guid E'en to Youj Kimmer, 292, Guid-mornin to Your Majesty, 20, Guid Speed and Furder to You, Johnie, 138. Guidwife, Count the Lawin, 255. I Mind it Weel, in Early Date, 148. Guilford Good, When, 86, Had I a Cave, 309. Had I the Wyte ? Had I the Wyte, 277. Hail, Poesie! thou Nymph reserv'd, 350. Hail, Thairm-inspirin, Rattlin Willie, 147, Halloween, 28. Hamilton, Esq., A Dedication to Gavin, 49. ' Extempore to Gavin, t4S. For Gavin, 64. To Gavin, 142. Hampden, On Johnson's Opinion of, 205. Happy Friendship, 363. Hark, the Mavis' E'ening Sang, 322. Harry, Highland, 237. Has Auld Kilmarnock Seen the Deil, 76. Ha! Whare Ye Gaun, Ye Crowlin Fer- lie, 51. Health to the Maxwells' Vet'ran Chief, 160. Hear, Land o' Cakes, and Brither Scots, 103. Heard ye o' the Tree o' France, 35*. He Clench'd His Pamphlets in His Fist 204. Hee Balou, My Sweet Wee Donald, 287. He Looked Just as Your Sign-post Lions Do, 207. Henderson, Elegy on Captain Matthew, 92. Her Daddie Forbad, Her Minnie Forbad, 226, Here am I, Johnny Peep, 373, Here around the Ingle Bleezing, 363. Here Awa", There Awa', Wandering Willie, 299. Here Brewer Gabriel's Fire 's Extinct, 220. Here Comes Burns, 366. Here Cursing, Swearing Burton Lies, 219. Here Holy Willie's Sair Worn Clay, 215. Here is the Glen, and Here the Bower, 303- Here Lies a Mock Marquis, Whose Titles were Shamm'd, 219, Here Lies a Rose, a Budding Rose, 366. Here Lies Boghead Amang the Dead, 215. Here Lies in Earth a Root of Hell, 219. Here Lies Johii Bushby — Honest Man, 219. Here Lies Johnie Pigeon, 2i5. Here Lies 'Mang Ither Useless Matters, 359- Here Lie Willie Michie's Banes, 217. Here Lyes with Dethe Auld Grizzel Grimme, 219. Here 's a Bottle, 337. Here 's a Health, 310. Here 's a Health to Them That 's Awa, 343. Here 's his Health in Water, 28S. Here Souter Hood in Death Does Sleep, 63. Here Stewarts Once in Glory Reigned, 306. Here 's to Thy Health, My Bonie Lass, 289. Here, Where the Scottish Muse Immortal Lives, 160, Her Flowing Locks, the Raven's Wing, 335. Heron's Election, 179S, Ballads on, 1831 He Who of Rankine Sang, Lies Stiff and Deid, 220. Hey, Ca' Thro', 273. Hey the Dusty Miller, 227. Highland Harry, 237. Laddie, 285. Mary, 317. His Face with Smile Eternal Drest, 207. GENERAL INDEX OF TITLES AND FIRST LINES. 43« His Royal Visage Seamed with Many -a I 'U Go and be a Sodger, 190. Scar, 374. I Love My Love in Secret, 236. Holy Willie's Prayer, 119. I Married with a Scolding Wife, 351, Hood, Here Souter, 63. I Met a Lass, a.Bonie Lass, 366. Hornbook, Death and Dr., 6$. I'm now Arrived— Thanks to the Gods! How Can My Poor Heart be Glad, 322. 348. How Cold is that Bosom that Folly Once I 'm O'er Young to Marry Yet, 223. Fired, 217. Impromptu on Mrs. Riddell's Birthday, 198. How Cruel are the Parents, 310. ■ to Captain Riddell, 156. How Daur Ye Ca' Me ' Howlet-face,' 209. I Murder Hate by Field or Flood, 20Q. How Gracefully Maria Leads the Dance, In a Lady's Pocket-book, 210. 365. In Comin' by the Brig 0' Dye, 22S. How Lang and Dreary is the Night, 231. I Never Saw a Fairer, 3^. How, ' Liberty 1 ' Girl, Can it be by Thee In Honest Bacon's Ingle-neuk, 161. Nam'd, 211. Inhuman Man, Curse on Thy Barbarous How Pleasant the Banks of the Clear Wind- Art, 102. ing Devon, 229. In Lamington Kirk, 208. How Wisdom and Folly Meet, Mix, and In Mauchline There Dwells Six Proper Unite^ 173. Hughie Graham, 370. Young Belles, 190. Innocence, 373. Humid Seal of Soft Affections, 354. Inscribed on a Work of Hannah More's, Husband, Husband, Cease Your Strife, 311. 191. Inscribed to the Right Hon. C. J. Fox, 173. I Am a Keeper of the Law, 136. Inscription to Chloris, 163. I Am My Mammie's Ae Bairn, 223. Inscription to Miss Graham of Fintry, 160. I Bought My Wife a Stane o" Lint, 261. In Se'enteen Hunder 'n Forty-nine, 212. I Call no Goddess to Inspire My Strains, In Simmer, When the Hay was Mawn, 265. 158. Instead of a Song, Boys, I '11 Give You a I Coft a Stane 0' Haslock Woo, 2S1. Toast, 173. I Do Confess Thou Art Sae Fair, 257. In Tarbolton, Ye Ken, There are Proper I Dream'd I Lay Where Flowers Were Youns Men, 189. Springing, 227. In this Strange Land, this Uncouth Clime, I Fee'd a Man at Martinmas, 273. 153- If Thou Should Ask My Love, 240. In Truth and Honor's Name. Amen, 127. If Ye Gae Up to Yon Hill-top, 18S. In Vain would Prudence with Decorous If You Rattle Along Like Your Mistress's Sneer, 204. Tongue, 211. Inveraray, At, 2O5. I Gaed a Waefu' Gate Yestreen, 252. Inverness, The Lovely Lass of, 275. I Gaed Up to Dunse, 294. In Wood and Wild, Ye Warbling Throng, I Gat Your Letter, Winsome Willie, 56. 217. I Had Sax Owsen in a Pleugh, 293. I Rue the Day I Sought Her, O, 240. I Hae a Wife 0' My Ain, 262. I See a Form, I See a Face, 314. I Hae Been at Crookieden, 258. I Sing of a Whistle, a Whistle of Worth, I Hold it, Sir, My Bounden Duty, 142. 109. I Lang Hae Thought, My Youthfu' Friend, Is there a Whim-inspir&d Fool, 64. 47. Is there for Honest Poverty, 323. Ilk Care and Fear, when Thou art Near, Is this thy Plighted, Fond Regard, 308. 233- Ithers Seek They Ken na What, 347. J Look to the West, 360. It is na, Jean, thy Bonie Face, 258. I '11 Ay Ca' in by Yon Town, 283. It may — do — maun — do, Sir, 359. Ill-fated Genius 1 Heaven-taught Fergusson, It was a' for our Rightfu' King, 289. 195- It was in Sweet Senegal, 271, 432 GENERAL INDEX OF TITLES AND FIRST LINES. It was the Charming Month of May, 311. It was upon a Lammas Night, 60. Jamie comes Hame, There '11 never be Peace till, 255. Jamie, Come Try Me, 240. Jamie, Thou Hast Left Me Ever, 317. Jeanie's Face, When First I Saw Fair, 342. Jean, Thy Bonie Face, It is na, 258. Jenny M'Craw, 366. Jessie, Young, 305. Jockie 's Ta'en the Parting Kiss, 296. Jockie was the Blythest Lad, Young, 249. John Anderson, My Jo, John, 244, John Barleycorn, 85, John, Come Kiss Me Now, 0, 254. Johnie, On Wee, 63. John, Jumpin, 226. johnny Peep, 373. J n. To the Beautiful Miss Eliza, 211. Johnson's Opinion of Hampden, On, 205. Jumpin John, 226, Katharine Jaffray, 370. Kellyburn Braes, 269. Kemble in Yarico, On Seeing Mrs., 212. Kemble, Thou Cur'st my Unbelief, 212. Kentnure 's On and Awa, Willie, O, 263. Kennedy, To John, 141. A Farewell, 143. Ken Ye Ought o' Captain Grose, 133. Killiecrankie, 251. Kilmarnock Wabsters Fidge an' Claw, 73. Kind Sir, I 've Read Your Paper Through, IS9- Kirk and State Excisemen, 211. Kist Yestreen, Kist Yestreen, 360. Know Thou, O Stranger to the Fame, 64. Kyle, There was a Lad was Born in, 334. Laddie, Lie Near Me, 238. Lady Mary Ann, 268. Lady Onlie, Honest Lucky, 228. Laggan, On the Laird of, 210. Lament for James, Earl of Glencairn, 97. Lament for the Absence of William Creech, 130. Lament Him, Mauchline Husbands a', 216. Lament in Rhyme, Lament in Prose, 16. Lament of Mary Queen of Scots, 94. Lament when the Poet was about to Leave Scotland, 367. Lamington Kirk, In, 208. Landlady, Count the Lawin, 230, Lang hae we Pairted Been, 238. {First, £2. Second, 54. Third, 138. Lascelles, On Captain, 218. Lassie wi* the Lint-white Locks, 319. Lass, when Your Mither is Frae Hame, 366= Last May a Braw Wooer Cam Down the Lang Glen, 312. Late Crippl'd of an Arm and now a Leg, 95, Leezie Lindsay, 359. Lesley, O Saw Ye Bonie, 305. Let Loove Sparkle in her E'e, 347. Let not Women e'er Complain, 303. Let Other Heroes Boast Their Scars, 128. Let Other Poets Raise a Frdoas, 3. Lewars, To Miss Jessie, 163. Lewars, Versicles to Jessie, 213, * Liberty, 371. Life Ne'er Exulted in so Rich a Prize, igS. Light Lay the Earth on Billie's Breast, 218. Lines on Fergusson, 195. on Meeting With Lord Daer, 129. on the Fall of Fyers, 108. to Sir John Whitefoord, Bart., 98. Written on a Bank Note, 191. Logan* To Ivlajor, 147. , To Miss, 82. Water, 320. Lone on the Bleaky Hills, the Straying Flocks, 194. Long Have the Learned Sought, Without Success, 359. Long Life, My Lord, an' Health be Yours, 169. Long, Long the Night, 319. Lord Gregory, 303. Lord, Thee We Thank, and Thee Alone, 214. Lord, to Account Who does Thee Cal', 209, Loud Blaw the Frosty Breezes, 227. Louis, What Reck I by Thee, 277. Lovely Davies, 261. Lovely Polly Stewart, 286. Lugar Flows, Behind Yon Hills Where, 87, M'Adam of Craigen-Gillan, To Mr., 142. Mackenzie, To Dr., 143. M'Leod, Esq., On the Death of John, 103. , To Miss Isabella, 150. GENERAL INDEX OF TITLES AND TIRST LINES. 433 M'Math, To the Rev. John, 139. M'Murdo, On John, 198. MacNab, My Eppie, 259. M'Pherson's Farewell, 224. Maggie, X^e Aii'd Fanner's New-year Morning Salutation to His Auld Mare, 31. Mailie, The Death and Dying Words of Poor, 15. Maine's Elegy, Poor, 16. Mally 's Meek, Mally 's Sweet, 298. Man was Made to Mourn,' 43. Maria, From Esopus to, 135. Mark Yonder Pomp of Costly Fashion, 324. Mary Ann, Lady, 268. Mary, Highland, 317. Mary Morison, 329. Mary Queen of Scots, Lament of, 94. Mary, Will ye Go to the Indies, My, 333. Masonic Song, 336, Mauchline Belles, O Leave Novels, 333. Mauchline Lady, The, 334. Mauchline, The Belles of, 190. Maule of Panmure, To the Hon. Wm. R., 212. Maxwell, Esq., of Terraughtie, To John, 160. If Merit Here You Crave, 211, , To Dr., 211. Meg o' the Mill, 296, 344. Menzies' Bonie Mary, Theniel, 228. Michie, For Mr. William, 217. Mild Zephyrs Waft Thee to Life's Farthest Shore, 203. Mitchell, To Collector, 161. Monody on a Lady Famed for Her Ca- price, 217. Montgomerie's Peggy, 350. More's, Inscribed on a Book of Hannah, 191. Morison, Mary, 329. Morris, Auld Rob, 300. Motto prefixed to the Kilmarnock Edition, 375- Muir in Tarbolton Mill, On Wm., 213. On Robert, 217. Musing on the Roaring Ocean, 231. My Blessings on Ye, Honest Wife, 204. My Chloris, Mark how Green the Groves, 318. My Collier Laddie, 264. My Curse upon Your Venom'd Stang, 129. My Eppie MacNab, 259. My Father was a Farmer upon the Carrick Border, O, 332. 2F My Girl She 's Airy, 358. My Godlike Friend — Nay, do not Stare, 153- My Harry was a Gallant Gay^ 237. My Heart is a-Breaking, Dear Tittie, 232. My Heart is Sair — I Dare na Tell, 2Ui. My Heart is Wae', and Unco Wae, 338. My Heart 's in the Highlands, 244. My Heart was Ance as Blythe and Free, 222. My Highland Lassie, 0, 224, My Hoggie, 226. My Honor'd Colonel, Deep I Feel, 162. My Lord a-Hunting He is Gane, 295. My Lord, I Know, Your Noble Ear, 105. My Lov'd, My Honor'd, Much Respected Friend, 33. My Love, She *s but a Lassie Yet, 240. My Love was Born in Aberdeen, 246. My Nanie, O, 87. My Nanie 's Awa, 313. My Peggy's Face, My Peggy's Form, 291. Myra, the Captive Ribband 's Mine, 243, My Sandy Gied to Me a Ring, 236. My Tocher *s the Jewel, 254. My Wife 's a Winsome Wee Thing, 328. Nae Gentle Dames, Tho" Ne'er Sae Fair, 224. Nae Heathen Name shall I Prefix, 131. Nanie O, My, 87. Nanie 's Awa, My, 313. Nature's Law, 128. New Year's Day, 1791, 134. Nicol, For William, 217. Nicol's Mare, Elegy on, 193. Ninetieth Psalm Versified, 82, Nithsdale's Welcome Hame, 264. Nith, The Banks o', 232. No Churchman am 1 for to Rail and to Write, 89. No Cold Approach, no Altered Mien, 347. No More of Your Guests, be They Titled or Not, 213. No More, Ye Warblers of the Wood, No More, 199. No Sculptur'd Marble Here, nor Pompous Lay, 216. No Song nor Dance I Bring from Yon Great City, 163. No Spartan Tube, No Attic Shell, 176. No Stewart Art Thou, Galloway, zia ♦34 GENERAL INDEX OF TITLES AND FIRST LINES. Now God in Heaven Bless Reekie's Town, 3S9- Now Haply Down Yon Gay Green Shaw, 284. Now Health Forsakes that Angel Face, 356. Now Honest William 's Gaen to Heaven, 217. Now in Her Green Mantle Blythe Nature Arrays, 313. Now Kennedy, if Foot or Horse, 141. Now Nature deeds the Flowery Lea, 319. Now Nature Hangs Her Mantle Green, 94. Now Robin Lies in His Last Lair, 192. Now Rosy May Comes in wi' Flowers, 313. Now Simmer Blinks on Flow'ry Braes, 223. Now Spring has Clad the Grove in Green, 314. Now to the Streaming Fountain, 327. Now Westlin' Winds and Slaught'ring Guns, 61. O, an Ye were Dead, Guidman, 276. O a' ye Pious Godly Flocks, 117. O, Ay My Wife She Dang Me, 293. O, Bonie was Yon Rosy Brier, 320. O, Cam' Ye Here the Fight to Shun, 248. O, Can Ye Labour Lea, 273. O, Can Ye Sew Cushions? 369. O, Could I Give Thee India's Wealth, 138. O Death, Had'stThou but Spar'd His Life, 63. O Death! Thou Tyrant Fell and Bloody, 92. Ode for General Washington's Birthday, I7S- Ode Sacred to the Memory of Mrs. Oswald, 91. Ode to the Departed Regency Bill, 171. O'er the Mist-shrouded CUffs of the Lone Mountain Straying, 367. O'er the Water to Charlie, 232. Of all the Numerous Ills that Hurt our Peace, 201. Of a' the Airts the Wind Can Blaw, 242. Of Lordly Acquaintance You Boast, 208. O for Ane-and-Twenty, Tam, 262. O Gie My Love Brose, Brose, 367. O Goudie, Terror o' the Whigs, 137. O, Guid Ale Comes, 293. O, Had each Scot of Ancient Times, 207. O Had the Malt Thy Strength of Mind, 212. O, How Can I be Blythe and Glad, 256. O, How Shall I, Unskilfu', Try, z6i. O, I am Come to the Low Countrie, aga O John, Come Kiss Me Now, 254. O, Kenmure 's On and Awa, Willie, 262. O, Ken Ye What Meg o' the Mill has Gc* ten, 296, 344. O, Lady Mary Ann Looks o'er the Castle Wa', z68. O Lassie, Are Ye Sleepin Yet, 324. O, Lay Thy Loof in Mine, Lass, 297. Old Winter, with His Frosty Beard, 198. O, Leave Novels, Ye Mauchline Belles, 333, O, Leeze Me on My Spinnin-wheel, 262. O, Let Me in this Ae Night, 324. O Logan, Sweetly Did'st Thou Glide, 320, O Lord, since We have Feasted thus, 214. O Lord, We do Thee humbly Thank, 214. O Lord, When Hunger Pinches Sore, 214. O Lowse My Right-hand Free, He Says, 370. ( O, Luve Will Venture in Where it Daur na Weel be Seen, 266. O Mary, at Thy Window Be, 329. O May, Thy Morn was Ne'er sae Sweet, 285. O Meikle do I Rue, Fause Love, 363. O Meikle Thinks my Luve o' my Beauty, 254- O, Merry Hae I Been Teethin a Heckle, 246. O, Mirk, Mirk is This Midnight Hour, 303. O, My Luve is Like a Red, Red Rose, 275. On a Bank of Flowers in a Summer Day, 238. On a Beautifiil Country Seat, 208. On a Celebrated Ruling Elder, 63. On a Galloway Laird, 219. On a Goblet, 212. On a Henpecked Squire, Epigram, 63. , Epitaph, 63. On a Lap-dog, 217. On Andrew Turner, 212. On an Innkeeper Nicknamed 'The Mar- quis,' 219. On a Noisy Polemic, 63. On a Noted Coxcomb, 2i8. On a Scotch Bard, 48. On a Suicide, 219. On a Swearing Coxcomb, 219. On a Wag in Mauchline, 216. On a Work of Hannah More's, Inscribed, 191. GENERAL INDEX OF TITJ.ES AND FIRST LINES. 435 On Being Appointed to an Excise Divi- On Seeing the Royal Palace at Stirling in sion, 207. Ruins, Z06. On Burns's Horse Being Impounded, 369. On some Commemorations of Thomson, On Captain Francis Grose, 207. 197. On Captain Grose, 133. On Tam the Chapman, 215. On Captain Lascelles, zi8. On Thanksgiving for a National Victory, Once Fondly Lov'd and Still Remember'd 211. Dear, 144. On the Author, 220. On Cessnock Banks a Lassie Dwells, 330. On the Birth of a Posthumous Child, 108. On Chloris, 211. On the Commemoration of Rodney's Vic- On Commissary Goldie's Brains, 209. tory, 17s. On Dr. Babington's Looks, 212. On the Death of a Favourite Child, 356. On Elphinstone's Translation of Martial, On the Death of John M'Leod, Esq., 105. 205. On the Death of Lord President Dundas. One Night as I Did Wander, 334. 194. One Queen Artemisa, as Old Stories Tell, On the Death of Robert Riddell of Glen- ^3. riddell. Sonnet, 199. On General Dumourier's Desertion, 197. On the Destruction of Drumlanrig Woods, On Glenriddell's Fox Breakmg his Chain, .351- 174. • On the Duchess of Gordon's Reel Dancing, On Grizzel Grimme, 219. 133. On Hearing a Thrush Sing in a Morning On the Earl of Galloway, on the Author Walk in January, 198. ' being Threatened with Vengeance, 2io„ On Himself, 366. On the Illness of a Favourite Child, 356, On Holy Willie, 215. On the Laird of Laggan, 210. On James Grieve, Laird of Boghead, Tar- On the late Captain Grose's Peregrinations bolton, 215. thro' Scotland, 103. On John Bushby of Tinwald Downs, 219. On the Same [»>. the Earl of Galloway], On John Dove, 216. 210, On John M'Murdo, 198. On Thomas Kirkpatrick, 359. On John Rankine, 215. On Wee Johnie, 63. On Johnson's Opinion of Hampden, 205. On William Creech, 202, Onlie, Honest Lucky, Lady, 228. On Wm. Graham of Mossknowe, 219. On Maria Dancing, 366. On Wm. Muir in Tarbolton Mill, 213. On Maria Riddell, 210. On William Smellie, 202. On Marriage, 214. 0, Once I Lov'd a Bonie Lass, 295. On Miss Ainslie in Church, 205. 0, Open the Door some Pity to Shew, 300. On Miss Davies, 208. Philly, Happy be that Day, 325. On Miss Fontenelle, 210. Poortith Cauld and Restless Love, 304. On Miss Jean Scott, 207. Oppress'd with Grief, Oppress'd with Care, On Mr. James Gracie, 213. 42. On Peace an' Rest my Mind was Bent, 0, Raging Fortune's Withering Blast, 332. 293- 0, Rattlin, Roarin Willie, 234. On Reading in a Newspaper the Death of Rough, Rude, Ready-witted Rankine, 59, John M'Leod, Esq., 105. Orthodox! Orthodo::, Izo. On Robert Fergusson, 216. 0, Sad and Heavy should I part, 283. On Robert Muir, 217. 0, Saw Ye Bonie Lesley, 305. On Rough Roads, 348. 0, Saw Ye my Dearie, my Eppie MacNat| On Scaring Some Water-Fowl in Loch 259. Turit, 107. 0, Saw Ye my Dear, my Philly, 345. On Seeing a Wounded Hare, 102. O' Shanter, Tam, 99. On Seeing Mrs. Kemble in Yarico, 212, 0, Sing a New Song to the Lord, 172. 436 GENERAL INDEX OF TITLES AND FIRST LINES. O, Some will Court and Compliment, 254. O, Stay, Sweet Warbling Wood-lark, 304. O, Steer Her up, an' Hand Her Gaun, 291. Oswald, Ode Sacred to the Memory of Mrs., 91- O, Sweet be thy Sleep in the Land of the Grave, 356. O, That I Had ne'er been Married, 298. O, This is no My Ain Lassie, 314. O Thou Dread Power, Who Reign'st Above, 80. O Thou Great Being! What Thou Art, 81. O Thou, in Whom We Live and Move, 214. O Thou Pale Orb that Silent Shines, 41. O Thou that in the Heavens does Dwell, 119. O Thou the First, the Greatest Friend, 82. O Thou Unknown, Almighty Cause, 45. O Thou ! Whatever Title Suit Thee, 13. O Thou, Who Kindly dost Provide, 214. O Thou Whom Poesy Abhors, 205. O Tibbie, I hae Seen the Day, 234. Our Thrissles Flourished Fresh and Fair, 24S- Out over the Forth, I Look to the North, 279. O, Wat Ye Wha "s in Yon Town, 284. O, Wat Ye Wha that Lo'es Me, 315. O, Wat ye what my Minnie Did, 367. O, Were I on Parnassus Hill, 243. O, Were my Love yon Lilac Fair, 326. O, Wert Thou in the Cauld Blast, 346. O, Wha is She that Lo'es Me, 368. O, Wha my Babie-clouts will Buy, 247. O, Whare Live Ye, my Bonie Lass, 264. O, Whar Gat Ye that Haiiver-meal Ban- nock, 221. O, Wha Will to St. Stephen's House, 177. O, When She cam Ben, She Bobbed fu' Low, 262. O, Whistle and I '11 Come to Ye, My Lad, 222. O, Why the Deuce should I Repine, 190. O Willie Brewed a Peck o' Maut, 251. O, Wilt Thou Go wi' Me, Sweet Tibbie Dunbar, 236. O Ye, Wha are sae Guid Yoursel, 75. O Ye Whose Cheek the Tear of Pity Stains, 64. Paraphrase of the First Psalm, 81, Parker, To Hugh, 153. Parnassus Hill, O, Were I on, 243. Passion's Cry, 203. Pastoral Verses to Clarinda, 362, Pegasus atWanlockhead, 196, Peggy, Montgomerie's, 330, Peggy's Face, My Peggy's Form, My, agi. Peg Nicholson was a Good Bay Mare, 195, Peg, Prelty, 344. Phillis the Fair, 345. Wherefore Sighing art Thou, 285. Philly, Happy be that Day, O, 325. O Saw Ye my Dear, my, 345. Pinned to Mrs. Walter Riddell's Catriage, 211. Poem on Pastoral Poetry, 350. Poor Mailie's Elegy, 16. Powers Celestial 1 Whose Protection, 369. ' Praise Woman Still,' His Lordship Ro§irs, 210. Prayer: O Thou Dread Power, 8<*. Prayer under the Pressure of Violent An- guish, 81. Pretty Peg, 344.. Primrose, The, 346. Prologue Spoken at the Theatre of Dum- fries, 165. Spoken by Mr. Woods, 164. Raging Fortune, 332. Rankine, Epistle to John, S9, 135. On John, 215. Rash Mortal, and Slanderous Poet, thy Name, 206. Rattlin, Roarin Willie, 234. Raving Winds around Her Blowing, 230. Remorse, 201. Remorseful Apology, 161. Renton of Lamerton, 150. Reply to an Invitation, 143. to a Note from Captain Riddell, 156. Reply to a Trimming Epistle from a Tailor, 146. to the Threat of a Censorious Critic, 206. Reverftd Defender of Beauteous Stuart, 149. Richardson, For Gabriel, 220. Riddell, For Mr. Walter, 218. , Impromptu on Captain, 156. of Glenriddell, Sonnet on the Death of, 199. , On Maria, 210. , Reply to a Note from, 136. GENERAL INDEX OF TITLES AND FIRST LINES. 437 Riddell's Birthday, Impromptu on Mrs., 198. ' Carriage, Pinned to Mrs. Walter, 211. Right, Sir! Your Text I'll Prove It True, 75- Robin Shure in Hairst, 294. Roddick of Corbiston, On Captain Wm., 218. Rodney's Victory, On the Commemoration of, I7S- Ronalds of the Bennals, The, 189. Roslin Inn, At, 204. Ruisseaux, Elegy on the Death of Robert, 192. Rusticity's Ungainly Form, 202. Sad Bird of Night, what Sorrow Calls thee forth, 354. Sad thy jf ale, thou Idle Page, 105. Sae Fair Her Hair, sae Brent Her Brow, 371- Sae Far Awa, 283. Sae Flaxen were her Ringlets, 281, Samson's Elegy, Tarn, 76. Sandy Gied to Me a Ring, My, 236. Saw Ye Bonie Lesley, 305. Say, Sages, What 's the Charm on Earth, 213. Scotch Drinlc, 4. Scots Prologue for Mrs. Sutherland, 166. Scots Wha hae wi' Wallace Bled, 315. Scott, On Miss Jean, 207. Scroggam, 293. Searching Auld Wives' Barrels, 207. Sensibility how Charming, 257. She Kiltit up her Kirtle Weel, 133. Shelah O'Neil, 374. She Mourns, Sweet Tuneful Youth, thy Hapless Fate, 216. Sherramuir, The Buttle of, 248. She 's Fair and Fause th.it Causes my Smart, 274. Should Auld Acquaintance be Forgot, 277. Sick of the World, 359. Simmer's a Pleasant Time, 238. Simpson of Ochiltree, To William, 56. Sing on, Sweet Thrush, upon the Leafless Bough, 198. Sir, as your Mandate did Request, 124. Sir, o'er a Gill I Gat your Card, 142. Sir, Yours this Moment I Unseal, 143. Sketch for an Elegy, 202, Sleep'st Thou, or Wauk'st Thou, Fairest Creature, 326. Slow Spreads the Gloom My Soul Desires, 368. Smellie, On William, 202. Smith, Epistle to James, 17. So Heavy, Passive to the Tempest's Shocks, 207. Some Books are Lies frae End to End, 65. Some hae Meat and canna eat, 370. Sonnet on the Death of Robert Riddell of Glenriddell, 199. to Robert Graham, Esq., of Fintry; 158. Sound Be His Sleep, 358, So Vile was Poor Wat, such a Miscreant Slave, 218. Spare me thy Vengeance, Galloway, 210. Stanzas in Prospect of Death. 80. Stay, my Charmer, can you Leave me, 225, Stella, Elegy on, 348. Stewart, Lovely Polly, 286. To William, 161. You 're Welcome, Willie, 342, Still Anxious to Secure your Partial Favour, 168. Stirling, Additional Lines at, 206. in Ruins, On Seeing the Royal Palace at, 206. St. James' Lodge, Tarbolton, Farewell to the Brethren of, 62. Stop, Passenger 1 my Story 's brief, 94. ' Stop Thief ! ' Dame Nature Call'd to Death, 219. Strait is the Spot, and Green the Sod, 348. Strathallan's Lament, 225. Streams that Glide in Orient Plains, 132. Stuart, To Peter, 160. Stumpie, The Reel o', 283. Such Parcel of Rogues in a Nation, 269. Sutherland, Scots Prologue for Mrs., 166. Sweet Afton, 271. Sweet are the Banks, 340. Sweet Closes the Ev'ning on Craigiebum Wood, 253. Sweetest May, Let Love Inspire Thee, 29S1 Sweet Fa's the Eve on Craigieburn, 305. Sweet Flow'ret, Pledge o" Meikle Lovq 108. Sweet Na!vet6 of Feature, 210. Sweet Tibbie Dunbar, 236. Sylvander to Clarinda, 152. Syme, Apology to John, 213, 438 GENERAL INDEX OF TITLES AND FIRST LINES. Syme of Ryedale, To John, 212. The Deil 's Awa wi' th' Exciseman, 274. Symon Gray, You "re Dull To-day, 151. The Deuk 's Dang o'er my Daddie, 274. The Devil got Notice that Grose was Talk not to Me of Savages, 213. a-Dying, 207. Tam Glen, 252. The Dusty Miller, 227. Tarn 0' Shanter, gg. Thee, Caledonia, thy Wild Heaths Among, Tam Samson's Elfgy, 76. 371- Tam the Chapman, On, 213. The Farewell, ig2. Tarbolton Lasses, 188. The Farewell, 62. Tennant of Glenconner, To James, 156. The FSte Champetre, 177. Thanksgiving for a National Victory, 360. The Five Carlins, 178. That Hackney'd Judge of Human Life, 214. The Flower it Blaws, it Fades, it Fa's, 286. Thfat there is a Falsehood in his Looks, The Friend whom. Wild from Wisdom's 212. Way, 161. The Auld Farmer's New-Year Morning The Gallant Weaver, 272. Salutation to his Auld Mare, Maggie, 31, The Gard'ner wi' his Paidle, 239. The Author's Earnest Cry and -Prayer, 7. The Gloomy Night is Gath'ring Fast, 89. The Bairns Gat out wi' an Unco Shout, 274. The Greybeard, Old Wisdom, may Boast The Banks 0' Doon, 267. of his Treasures, 2og. i The Heather was Blooming, theTVIeadows The Banks of Nith, 252. "I'he Banks of Nith (2d), 363. were Mawn, 337. The Banks of the Devon, 22g. The Hermit of Aberfeldy, 361. The Battle of Sherramuir, 248. The Highland Balou, 287. The Belles of Mauchline, 190. The Highland Widow's Lament, 290. The Birks of Aberfeldie, 223. The Holy Fair, 10. The Blude-Red Rose at Yule may Blaw, The Holy Tulyie, 117. 232. The Humble Pethion of Bruar Water, log. The Blue-Eyed Lassie, 252, The Inventory, 124. The Bonie Lad that 's far Awa, 256. Their Groves 0' Sweet Myrtle let Foreign The Bonie Lass of Albania, 338. Lands Reckon, 316. The Bonie Moor-Hen, 337. The Jolly Beggars, a Cantata, iii. The Bonniest Lad that e'er I Saw, 285. The Joyful Widower, 351. The Book- Worms, 205. The Keekin Glass, 209. The Braes 0' Ballochmyle, 247. The King's Poor Blackguard Slave am I, The Brigs of Ayr, 68. 360. The Calf, 75. The Kirk's Alarm, 120. The Captain's Lady, 241. The Laddies by the Banks 0' Nith, 179. The Captive Ribband, 243. The Lament, 40. The Cardin 't, 281. The Lamp of Day with Ill-Presaging The Cares 0' Love are Sweeter far, 204. Glare, 193. The Catrine Woods were Yellow Seen, 247. The Lass 0' Ballochmyle, 335. The Chevalier's Lament, 338. The Lass 0' Ecclefechan, 280. The Cooper 0' Cuddy Came Here Awa, 280. The Lass of Cessnock Banks, 330. The Cotter's Saturday Night, 33. The Lass that Made the Bed, 282. The Court of Equity, 126. The Last Braw Bridal that I was at, 372. The Crimson Blossom Charms the Bee, The Lazy Mist Hangs from the Brow of the 150. Hill, 241. The Day Returns, My Bosom Burns, 23g. The Lea-Rig, 328. The Dean of the Faculty, 187. The Lovely Lass of Inverness, 27s. The Death and Dying Wbrds of Poor The Man, in Life Wherever Plac'd, 8l. Mailie, 15. Tlie Mauchline I^dy, 334. The Deil cam Fiddlin' thro' the Town, 274. Theniel Menzies' Bonie Mary, 228. GENERAL INDEX OF TITLES AND FIRST LINES. 439 The Night was Still, 336. The Ninetieth Psalm Versified, 82. The Noble Maxwells and their Powers, 265. The Old Cock'd Hat, the Brown Surtout the Same, 202. The Ordination, 73. The Philosopher's Stone, 359. The Ploughman, He 's a Bonie Lad, 230. The Ploughman's Life, 358. , The Poor Man Weeps — Here Gavin Sleeps, 64. The Posie, 266. The Primrose, 346. The Rantin Dog, the Daddie o 't, 247. The Reel o' Stumpie, 283. There Came a Piper out o' Fife, 372. There Grows a Bonie Brier-Bush in our Kail-Yard, 288. There Lived a Carl in Kellyburn Braes, 269. There livft a Lass in Yonder Dale, 370. There 'U never be Peace till Jamie comes Hame, 255. There 's Auld Rob Morris that Wons in yon Glen, 300. There 's a Youth in this City, it were a Great Pity, 243. There 's Death in the Cup, so Beware, 212. There's Naethin liiie the Honest Nappy, 372- Tliere 's Nane shall Ken, there 's Nane can Guess, 284. There 's News, Lasses, News, 298. There 's Nought but Care on ev'ry Han", 88. There 's Three True Guid Fellows, 281. There was a. Bonie Lass, and a Bonie, Bonie Lass, 297. Therc'was a Lad was Bom in Kyle, 334. There was a Lass, and She was Fair, 327. There was a Lass, They Ca'd her Meg, .228. There was a Wife Wonn'd in Cockpen, 293. There was Five Cailins in the South, 178. There was on a Time, but Old Time was then Young, 341. There was Three Kings into the East, 85. The Rights of Woman, 167. The Robin to the Wren's Nest, 358. The Ronalds of the Bennals, i8g. The Ruined Maid's Lament, 362. The Selkirk Grace, 370. The Silver Tassie, 241. The Simple Bard, Rough at the Rustic Plough, 63. The Slave's Lament, 271. The Small Birds Rejoice in the Green Leaves Returning, 339. The Smrling Spring comes in Rejoicing. 272. The Solemn League and Covenant, 212. The Song of Death, 271. The Sun had Clos'd the Winter Day, 22. The Sun he is Sunk in the West, 329. The Tailor Fell thro' the Bed, Thimble an' a', 237. The Tailor he Cam here to Sew, 2S8. The Tarbolton Lasses, 188. The Thames B'lows Proudly to the Sea, 252. The Tither Morn, when I Forlorn, 26a The Toadeater, 208. The Tree of Liberty, 352. The Twa Dogs, i. The Twa Herds, 117. The Tyrant Wife, 208. The Vision, 22. The Vowels, 355. The Weary Fund o' Tow, 261. The Whistle, 109. The White Cockade, 246. The Wind Blew Hollow frae the Hills, 97. The Winter it is Past, and the Simmer comes at Last, 236. The Winter of Life, 288. The Wintry West Extends his Blast, 44. The Wren's Nest, 358. The Young Highland Rover, 227. They Snool me Sair, and Hand me Down, 263. Thickest Night, Surround my Dwelling, 225. Thine am I, my Faithful Fair, 316. Thine be the Volumes, Jessie Fair, 163. This Day Time Winds th' Exhausted Chain, 134- This Wot ye All whom it Concerns, 1291 Tho' Cruel Fate should Bid Us Part, 225. Tho' Fickle Fortune has Deceived Me, 332. Thomson, On some Commemorations of, 197. Thou Bed, in which I First Began, 374. Thou Flatt'ring Mark of Friendship Kind, 191. Thou Fool, in thy Phaeton Towering, 212. Thou Gloomy December, 291. Thou hast Left Me ever, Jamie, 317. Thou, Liberty, thou Art my Theme, 174. Thou Ling'ring Star, with Lessening Ray, 247. 44° GENERAL INDEX OF TITLES AND FIRST LINES. Thou of an Independent Mind, 213. Thou 's Welcome, Wean ! Mishanter Fa' Me, 123. Thou whom Chance may Hither Dead, 91, 131. Thou, who thy Honour as thy God Rever'st, 98. Tho' Women's Minds, like Winter Winds, 250. Through and Through th' Inspired Leaves, 205. Tibbie, I hae Seen the Day, O, 234. 'T is Friendship's Pledge, my Young, Fair Friend, 163. To a Gentleman who had Sent a Newspaper, 159- To a Haggis, Address, 83. To a Kiss, 354. To Alex. Cunningham, 133. To a Louse, 51, To a Mountain Daisy, 43. To a Mouse, 37. To an Artist, 20J. To an Old Sweetheart, 144. To a Young Friend, Epistle, 47. To Clarinda with a Pair of Wine-Glasses, 152. To Collector Mitchell, 161. To Colonel De Peyster, 162. To Daunton Me, 232. To Davie, a Brotlier Poet, Epistle, 38. Second Epistle, 140. To Dr. Blacklock, 158. To Dr. Mackenzie, 143. To Dr. Maxwell, 211. To Edinburgh, Address, 83. To Gavin Hamilton, Esq., 142. A Dedication, 49. Extempore, 145. To Hugh Parker, 153. To James Smith, Epistle, 17. To James Tennant of Glenconner, 156. To J. Lapraik, Epistle, 138. . • , Second Epistle, 54, . ■ , Third Epistle, 138. To John Goldie, 137. To John Kennedy, 141. A Farewell, 143. To John Maxwell, Esq., of Terraughtie, 160. To John M'Murdo, 157. To John Rankine, 136. ■ Epistle, 59. To John Syme of Ryedale, 212. ■ , Apology, 213. To Major Logan, 147. To Miss Cruickshank, 104. To Miss Ferrier, 151. To Miss Graham of Fintry, 161. To Miss Isabella Macleod, 150. To Miss Jessie Lewars, 163. To Miss Logan, 82. To Mr. M'Adam of Craigen-Gillan, 142. To Mr. Renton of Lamerton, 130, To Peter Stuart, 160. To Riddell, Much-Lamented Man, 213. To Robert Graham of Fintry, Esq., 95, 154. Sonnet, 158. To Ruin, 46. To Symon Gray, 151. To the Beautiful Miss Eliza J — '—n, 211. To the Dell, Address, 13. To Thee, Lov'd Nith, Thy GladsdiEe Plains, 363- To the Guidwife of Wauchope House, 148. To the Hon. Wm. R. Maule of Panmm-e, 212. To the Owl, 354. To the Right Hon. C. J. Fox, Inscribed, 173. To the Rev. John M'Math, 139. To the Shade of Thomson, Address, 103. To the Toothache, Address, 129. To the Unco Guid, Address, 75. To the Weaver's gin ye Go, 222. To William Simpson of Ochiltree, 56. To William Stewart, 161. To Willie Chalmers' Sweetheart, 144. To Wm.Tytler, Esq.,of Woodhouselee, 149. To You, Sir, this Summons I 've Sent, 145. Tragic Fragment, 201. Trogger, The, 186. True-hearted was He, the Sad Swain o' the Yarrow, 305. Turn again, Thou Fair Eliza, 265. Turn-coat Whigs Awa, Man, 180, Turner, On Andrew, 212. 'T was Even : the Dewy Fields were Green, 335- 'T was in that Place o" Scotland's Isle, i. 'T was in the Seventeen Hunder Year, 1850 'T was na her Bonie Blue E'e, 346. *Twas on a Monday Morning, 279. Tytler, Esq., of Woodhouselee, To Wm., 149. 'T was Where the Birch and Sounding Thong are Ply'd, 354. GENERAL INDEX OF TITLES AND FIRST LINES. 441 Under the Portrait of Miss Burns, 205. Up in the Morning Early, 226. Upon a Simmer Sunday Morn, 10. Upon that Night, when Fairies Light, 28. Up wi' the Carls of Dysart, 273. Verses in Friars Carse Hermitage, 131. Verses Intended to be Written below a Noble Earl's Picture, 192. Verses on Lincluden Abbey, 373. Verses to My Bed, 374. Verses Written Under Violent Grief, 364. Verses Written with a Pencil at Taymouth, 107. Versicles on Sign-posts, 207. Versifies to Jessie Lewars, 213, Wae is my Heart and the Tear 's in my E'e, 287. Wae Wijhh thy Power, thou Cursed Leaf, 191. Wandering Willie, 299. Wantonness for Evermair, 279. Wap and Rowe, Wap and Rowe, 283. Was e'er Puir Poet sae Befitted, 369. Washington's Birthday, Ode for General, 175- Wastle, Willie, 267. Wauchope House, To the Guidwife of, 148. Weary Fa' You, Duncan Gray, 229. We Cam na Here to View your Warks, 206. Wee, Modest, Crimson-tipped Flow'r, 45. Wee, Sleekit, Cowrin, Tim'rous Beastie, 38. Wee Willie Gray an' his Leather Wallet, 292. We Grant they 're Thine, those Beauties all, 208. We 're a' Noddin, 292. Westerha', Election Ballad for, 179. Wha in a Brulyie, 2S7. Wha is That at my Bower Door, 259. Wham will we Send to London Town, 183. Whan I Sleep I Dream, 370. Whare are you Gaun, my Bonie Lass, 250. Whare ha'e ye Been sae Braw, Lad, 251. What Ails ye now, ye Lousie Bitch, 146. What can a Young Lassie, 256, What dost Thou in that Mansion Fair, 210. What Man could Esteem, or what Woman could Love, 217. What Needs this Din about the Town o' Lon'on, 166. What will I Do gin my Hoggie Die, 226. Wha will Buy my Troggin, 186. When Biting Boreas, Fell and Doure, 78. When by a Generous Public's Kind Acclaim, 164. When Chapman Billies Leave the Street, 99. When Chill November's Surly Blast, 43. When Dear Clarinda, Matchless p'air, 152. When Death's Dark Stream I Ferry o'er, 206. When Eighty-Five was Seven Months A'uld, 125. When First I Began for to Sigh and to Woo Her, 374. When First I Came to Stewart Kyle, 334. When First I Saw Fair Jeanie's Face, 342. When First my Brave Johnie Lad Came to the Town, 254. When Guilford Good our Pilot Stood, 86. When I Think on the Happy Days, 372. When Januar' Wind was Blawin Cauld, 282. When Lascelles Thought fit from this World to Depart, 218. When Lyart Leaves Bestrow the Yird, in. When Morine, Deceas'd, to the Devil went down, 210. When Nature her Great Masterpiece De- sign'd, 154. When o'er the Hill the Eastern Star, 328. When Pleasure Fascinates, 358. When Princes and Prelates, 357. When Rosy May comes in wi" Flowers, 239, When she Cam Ben, she Bobbed, 262. When the Drums do Beat, 241. When Wild War's Deadly Blast was Blawn, 301, Where are the Joys I hae Met in the Morn. ing, 320. Where, Braving Angry Winter's Storms, 234- Where Cart Rins Rowin to the Sea, 272. Wherefore Sighing art Thou, Phillis, 285. Whigham's Inn, Sanquhar, At, 207. While at the Stook the Shearers Cow'r, 139. While Briers an' Woodbines Budding Green, 52. While Europe's Eye is Fix'd on Mighty Things, 167. While Larks; with Little Wing, 345. +42 GENERAL INDEX OF TITLES AND FIRST LINES. While New-ca'd Kye Rowte at the Stake, S4- Wliile Virgin Spring by Eden's Flood, 103. While Winds frae aff Ben Lomond Blaw, 38. Whistle an' I '11 Come to Ye, my Lad, 222. Whistle o'er the Lave o 't, 242. Whitefoord, Bart., Lines to Sir Johil, 98. Whoe'er He be that Sojourns Here, 206. Whoe'er Thou art, O Reader, Know, 63. Whoe'er Thou art, these Lines now read- ing, 361. Whose is that Noble, Dauntless Brow, 193. Why am I Loth to Leave this Earthly Scene, 80. Why should We idly Waste our Prime, 352. Why, why Tell thy Lover, 346. Why, ye Tenants or the Lake, 107. Wi' Braw New Branks, in Mickle Pride, 144. Willie Brew'd a Peck o' Mauf, 251. Willie, On Holy, 215. Willie, Rattlin, Roarin, 234. Willie, Wandering, 299. Willie Wastle Dwalt on Tweed, 268. Will ye Go to the Hielands, Leezie Lind- say, 359- Will ye Go to the Indies, my Mary, 335. Wilt Thou be my Dearie, 286. Winter, 44. Wishfully I Look and Languish, 260. With .lEsop's Lion, Burns Says : — ' Sore I Feel, 206. With Pegasus upon a Day, 196. Woods, Prologue Spoken by Mr., 164. Wow, but your Letter Made me Vauntie, 158. Written in Friars Carse Hermitage, 91. Yarico, On Seeing Mrs. Kemble in, 212. Year 1788, Elegy on the Departed, 132. Ye Banks and Braes and Streams around, 317- Ye Banks and Braes o' Bohie Doon, 267. Ye Flowery Banks o' Bonie Doon, 340. Ye Gallants Bright, I Rede you Right, 238. Ye Hae Lien a' Wrang, Lassie, 372. Ye Hqly Walls, that, still Sublime, 373. Ye Hypocrites, are these your Pranks, 360. Ye Irish Lords, ye Knights an' Squires, 7. Ye Jacobites by Name, 266. Ye Maggots, feed on Nicol's Brain, 217. Ye Men of Wit and Wealth, 211. Ye Sons of Old KilUe, assembled by WiUie, 336. Yestreen I had a Pint o' Wine, 339. Yestreen I Met You on the Moor, 235. Ye True Loyal Natives attend to My Song, 209. ' Yon Rosy Brier, 320. Yon Wandering Rill that Marks the HiM,370t Yon Wild Mossy Mountains, 257. Young Friend, Epistle to a, 47. Young Jamie, Pride of a' the Plain, 27S. Young Jessie, 305. Young Jockie was the Blythest Lad, 249. Young Peggy, 221. Your Billet. Sir, I grant Receipt, 150. You're Welcome to Despots, Duraourier, 197. You 're Welcome, Willie Stewart, 342, Your Friendship much can make Me Blest; 347- Your News and Review, Sir, 156. Youth in this City, There 's a, 243. Yowes to the Knowes, Ca' the (ist), 245. Yowes to the Knowes, Ca' the (2d) , 322. n III mi-